i don't think i can last here

[fireburned]

Harvestman isn't clean anymore, but he isn't all that dirty yet. He only smells faintly of rot; all that means is that he doesn't eat enough. There are holes in the tattered jeans and hoodie he's wearing, at the knees and elbows, with the hood pulled up and over his eyes. A battered gym bag is tucked underneath one arm, holding all the possessions

Comments

[crophisownrose]

Sagramore is wearing a tunic that does properly cover up the enormous bandage around his midsection, effectively hiding the fact that he's received a rather significant wound since Harvestman last saw him. On the other hand, his movements are incredibly ginger, and every now and then he winces, so it's obvious that something's wrong.

"Well, evidently I just kept offering."

[fireburned]

He can smell that injury from a mile away, like an animal seeking food. He keeps his teeth clamped shut, but his lips peel back as he breathes it in. Idiots. It was like they all wore eat me signs on their heads, stupid and oblivious no matter how many times he's said he wasn't human.

He should have eaten something earlier.

It takes him a few moments to get over it - a few moments of silence with his teeth hidden behind his hand until he's certain they'll stay human. "Most folks leave."

[crophisownrose]

Calmly, "There would've been no one else if I had gone."

[fireburned]

He had grounded his toothpick to bits. Irritated, he takes it out to examine. "So it worked out for you. It don't for everybody, no matter how committed you are to the person."

[a_pretty_fire]

"Oh, watch them suffer," Drusilla purred. She could have been a wraith, gliding towards Harvestman in her ghostly white dress. Her lips were very red against her pale skin. The red of someone who'd just filled their stomach with something delicious.

Watching people suffering was one of her favourite things to do. Sometimes she'd give them a push or two, to make sure that it really hurt. Sometimes she'd forget all about the offer she'd intended to make.

[fireburned]

He doesn't flinch as she comes closer - he should, he thinks, she is probably capable of kicking his ass - and the fact that she's obviously eaten kicks him in the stomach. Sitting down, he unzips his gym bag and pulls out one of his preciously reserved, bagged, cold, and thoroughly disgusting.

Harvestman rips a hole in it with his teeth and sucks on it slowly anyway. "I reckon that's too much cartoon villainy for my tastes."

[a_pretty_fire]

More than disgusting. Wrong. The scent that fills the air is sour and rotten, but he drinks it down. He drinks it down as if there isn't an alternative.

And they called her mad.

"Is that to your taste?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

[fireburned]

"Fuck no." He shouldn't drink the whole bag, even if he has the money for a second one. He does anyway. "Better than nothing."

[ihatethatstory]

"You can only do the handholding for so long." There's a lit cigarette between Spike's fingers and he takes a slow drag. Not because he's thinking, but because he has all the time in the world to kill. "If it's kicking your ass too just cut your losses and move on."

Spike's far from the advice giving type, but it's difficult to keep his mouth shut on the subject of getting burned.

[fireburned]

"That's usually what I see. Only so much you can take, I guess." Harvestman's eyes go straight to the cigarette. His toothpick wasn't doing it, and he had already grounded the end of it to bits. "Fuck, got an extra one?"

[ihatethatstory]

Spike lifts his eyebrows and you'd think Harvestman just asked him to give his right leg. "Only if we're trading."

[fireburned]

He laughs, despite himself. "Do I look like I got much to trade?"