The man rises and I freeze, twitching anxiously as I send a pebble skittering towards him. Imagine that. The last thing I do before I get a bullet put through me is kick a pebble by accident. What a gravestone that would be. Bold of me to assume, though, that he has a gun on him, since his only apparent form of protection as of now are the water bottle clutched in his hand. Not that he’ll need protection from me - after all, I plan to just take a few bottles, nothing violent has to go down, a nice, friendly interaction that ends in my benefit.
His head twitching towards me effectively eliminates any plans of friendly interaction, particularly when his first instinct is to reach for a machete that I definitely did not see in my initial observation of the area. Shit. I scramble off the ground faster than anyone could say “you’re dead” and take a few steps backwards. Not quite out of the area though, and I certainly don’t run - I want those damn water bottles. I faint forwards, springing not even half a step towards him, just to check his reflexes.
They’re good. He brandishes the machete at me without making a move forward to mirror mine, just waiting for me to be dumb enough to get within stabbing range. His patience is what scares me the most. The man doesn’t appear concerned to see me, nor eager to stab me, but the glint in his eyes matches the light reflecting off his blade and it tells me he wouldn’t hesitate to skin me. Awesome. I try to skitter around to the left, which he is having none of and quickly moves to block me, waving the knife at me in a motion of encouragement.
“C’mon, bud,” he taunts. “I haven’t got all day.”
I roll my eyes, in my head of course, and sigh. He does actually have all day - what else could he possibly have to do after a major city got blown up and the country has gone to pieces? I evaluate his stance, the tensing of his muscles that ripple in anticipation of my death at his hand, and make a decision. I’ll become what he couldn’t possibly fear: a young, meager boy who is only desperate to live.
“Please,” I whisper, cringing internally at my broken, wobbling tone. “I just wanted water.”
His expression doesn’t shift in the slightest, which concerns me a bit, since I thought I was playing the poor-me card pretty well. Fine then, I’ll ramp it up. Stray tears here, well placed tremble there, I’ll have water in no time.
“I just…” I trail off, allowing tears to well in my eyes, a feeling that I’ve grown heavily unaccustomed to over the years. “I’ve been trying to find my sister, I haven’t had food or water in days, I can’t find my parents.”
I shudder as though a sob might be on the verge of overtaking me, curling my shoulders inwards to make myself appear smaller. I’m careful to keep my eyes directed at the ground, not making eye contact with him, no matter how tempted I am to gauge how much he is believing me. I almost laugh at the story I’m giving him; hopefully Kaelin doesn’t mind me stealing her trauma, I’ll be sure to give it back later if we’re both still alive.
“Sob story, huh?” The man says gruffly, and I finally let myself look up to witness his expression.
I’ve seen a lot in my years, but I’ve never seen somebody call bullshit so hard with just his eyebrows. Though I can tell he is about to blow holes through every word that comes out of my mouth, I’m determined to stick to my story until I get at least one bottle of water.
“Guess so,” I shrug honestly. “Either way, sir, I’m just trying to get on my way.”
Ugh, I sound like a beggar child, my ego is bleeding.
“And stop along the way to steal from me?”
“I wish I didn’t have to steal, but, sir, I’m so thirsty and exhausted,” I huff, finally managing to squeeze out a tear that trickles down my cheek.
He grumbles, striding a ways away, bending down to grab four water bottles from his stash. My heart skips for a moment; there’s no chance that I just got that lucky. He gestures at me and mimes a toss before actually tossing the bottles to me, which I catch gratefully. In my excitement I almost break character, though I catch myself quickly and humble my expression.
“Thank you, sir, oh thank you! May the spirit of Vixen Lao himself bless you!” I cry out, dipping into an exaggerated bow.
“Yeah, alright, kid. I doubt you’ll be thanking me so much later.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, hesitation creeping into my voice as I stare down at the bottles in my hands.
“You know, when the water runs out,” he explains vaguely, already turning away and plodding back towards his seat.
I take my cue to scurry away, clutching the water bottles close to my chest despite his odd statement. I can’t afford to be too suspicious, I’ve gone without water for far too long. My logical brain hisses warnings and curses of my own stupidity as shaking hands crack open the first bottle, but the moment I feel my eyes widen, I know I’m going to drink this water. Despite a quick inspection of the lid and top of the bottle, I determine it’s good enough for my sandy throat and press the bottle to my lips. I tip up the end of the bottle, guzzling the contents greedily as it floods my mouth, satisfying my desperation. Though I know it will undoubtedly hurt my stomach later, I can’t stop chugging the water, gulping it down until I feel it dampen even the lining of my stomach. Once the whole bottle is gone, I pull it away from my lips, gasping oxygen as I smile deliriously - my thirst has been quenched. I bring the back of my hand to my lips, dragging it sloppily across my chin to smear away the water droplets that had the audacity to avoid my mouth. Even though I’m tempted to down every bottle I clutch, I force myself to resettle, cupping the other three bottles in between my bicep and my chest, cuddling them close. I tuck the crumpled, empty bottle into the waistband of my pants, shifting at the uncomfortable scratching, but satisfied in my storage capacity and lack of thirst. I meander further along, moving steadily away from the man and towards who knows what, since I’m not even quite sure where I am. Somewhere in Cicatrix still, I’m sure; regardless of all the walking I’ve done, I doubt I’ve gone far enough to make it into Pilaran.
I shuffle across the ground, approaching a rocky area, with a little cave area that suits my needs for a nap just fine. The exhaustion has suddenly flooded me, causing my left knee to buckle, my chin tipping down to my chest. I yawn, rolling my neck around, assuming the exhaustion had finally caught up with me, debating settling down before I even reach the rocks. Abruptly though, I don’t have a choice, and my legs bend underneath me in that instant, forcing me to awkwardly collapse to the ground in a jumble of confused limbs. I try to unfold my arms from underneath me, stretch out my legs, anything, but I can’t seem to function. It’s almost like my brain is completely offline, the signals to my muscles entirely muffled. I manage to roll sort of on my side, tucking the water bottle more firmly into my fairly limp grasp, figuring that I’d better secure my supply if I’m about to pass out in an open area. My eyelids flutter, dipping shut gently, then snapping open as nausea floods my throat, burning through my nose. I choke and cough, trying to prevent myself from throwing up, because I’ll be damned if I give up all the water I just drank. I heave, trying to keep my mouth clamped shut, but apparently throwing up is the one signal my brain will accept, because I retch and gag instantly on the ground beside me. I cringe, then gag again, choking on nothing, since anything that was in my stomach is now on the ground. My stomach contracts, belly button sinking to touch my spine as my body tries to force itself to expel actual organs this time, and my eyes bug out as I gasp in oxygen, then hold my breath again as my body convulses against my will. I cough, eyes drooping, nearly all the way closed now.
With my last conscious thought, I manage to curse that man and whatever he put in the water, as well as his mother and all his ancestors before him.
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