Theresa "Tess" Servopoulos (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dog_eat_dog) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisa2013-08-26 04:49 pm
dog_eat_dog) wrote in paradisa2013-08-26 04:49 pm
Entry tags:
First Shot
[Everything changes with the bat of an eye.
While she registers the change immediately, it takes a moment to truly sink in. Tess finds herself in what could only be a dream –– she hasn't seen a bedroom so immaculate and new and utterly inviting outside of old magazines in decades, and she's certainly never slept in one. She's never even stayed in a hotel this nice, never had her own place with such crisp, perfect white linens. The very act of being in a well-kept bedroom is jarring and discomforting and panic-inducing.
The only thing that keeps her from outright panicking is the fact that she still has her handgun in her hands, her arms outstretched to point it at some invisible intruders, her finger laid against the side of the gun, ready to move to the trigger at a heartbeat's notice––
Seconds ago, there had been bullets, and Joel and Ellie's retreating footsteps––
There's an assortment of things on the dresser, a hairbrush that had likely never even approached anyone's scalp, a comb with all its teeth, a jewelry box that looks freshly polished––
There had been a throbbing in her chest and collarbone and neck, and––
No, no, the throbbing is still there, the collar of her shirt half-stuck to the mess that is her throat, and Tess could (and can) feel it almost thrumming under her skin, almost moving––
Tess backs up into a wall, her support hand leaving the base of the gun in favour of splaying against the immaculate paint. Purple. The walls are rich, warm purple, without so much as a hairline crack, and Tess is pressing the grime of her skin and clothes against it. She feels like she needs to apologize, even when there is no one around to apologize to.
She's alone here, almost. Alone as any host is.
She's not sure if she can "feel" the infection crawling under her skin because she knows it's working its way towards her brain so that it might kill her, or if there really are cordyceps tendrils spawning in her veins, winding through her muscle tissue and up her neck to her skull. Have they reached her brain yet? Will it hurt when they do?
Of course it's going to hurt, she tells herself, almost angrily. But Joel and Ellie are gone, and oh thank god, Joel is gone, Joel doesn't have to see this, and there are no soldiers to shoot her like a fucking rabid dog, and it's just her and the gun and this immaculate not-quite-afterlife hotel room.
It was easy to maintain her composure when she had work to do and Joel to protect –– she couldn't let him see her die or turn or suffer, she had her pride and her obligations to her goddamn partner –– but now she's alone and she is going to become a monster if she doesn't put herself out of her own misery.
Tess fits the barrel of the gun to her chin.
Don't be such a fucking coward, Tess.
She pulls it away, takes a hard breath, and closes her eyes for a beat.
It's only been a few hours. You've got hours. Maybe twelve hours, or twenty-four, or maybe even forty-eight––
When she opens her eyes, they settle immediately on the window across from "her" bedroom wall. More importantly, they settle on what appears to be a distant city basking under a summer sun, and for an instant she thinks of being a teenager again, when she dreamed of backpacking across Europe. There were lots of pictures of little French cities all over the Internet, back then, cities that could still feel like quaint little towns despite their sprawl.
For a moment, she just stares in silence, and then she says:]
Couldn't pick a nicer fucking place to die, huh...
While she registers the change immediately, it takes a moment to truly sink in. Tess finds herself in what could only be a dream –– she hasn't seen a bedroom so immaculate and new and utterly inviting outside of old magazines in decades, and she's certainly never slept in one. She's never even stayed in a hotel this nice, never had her own place with such crisp, perfect white linens. The very act of being in a well-kept bedroom is jarring and discomforting and panic-inducing.
The only thing that keeps her from outright panicking is the fact that she still has her handgun in her hands, her arms outstretched to point it at some invisible intruders, her finger laid against the side of the gun, ready to move to the trigger at a heartbeat's notice––
Seconds ago, there had been bullets, and Joel and Ellie's retreating footsteps––
There's an assortment of things on the dresser, a hairbrush that had likely never even approached anyone's scalp, a comb with all its teeth, a jewelry box that looks freshly polished––
There had been a throbbing in her chest and collarbone and neck, and––
No, no, the throbbing is still there, the collar of her shirt half-stuck to the mess that is her throat, and Tess could (and can) feel it almost thrumming under her skin, almost moving––
Tess backs up into a wall, her support hand leaving the base of the gun in favour of splaying against the immaculate paint. Purple. The walls are rich, warm purple, without so much as a hairline crack, and Tess is pressing the grime of her skin and clothes against it. She feels like she needs to apologize, even when there is no one around to apologize to.
She's alone here, almost. Alone as any host is.
She's not sure if she can "feel" the infection crawling under her skin because she knows it's working its way towards her brain so that it might kill her, or if there really are cordyceps tendrils spawning in her veins, winding through her muscle tissue and up her neck to her skull. Have they reached her brain yet? Will it hurt when they do?
Of course it's going to hurt, she tells herself, almost angrily. But Joel and Ellie are gone, and oh thank god, Joel is gone, Joel doesn't have to see this, and there are no soldiers to shoot her like a fucking rabid dog, and it's just her and the gun and this immaculate not-quite-afterlife hotel room.
It was easy to maintain her composure when she had work to do and Joel to protect –– she couldn't let him see her die or turn or suffer, she had her pride and her obligations to her goddamn partner –– but now she's alone and she is going to become a monster if she doesn't put herself out of her own misery.
Tess fits the barrel of the gun to her chin.
Don't be such a fucking coward, Tess.
She pulls it away, takes a hard breath, and closes her eyes for a beat.
It's only been a few hours. You've got hours. Maybe twelve hours, or twenty-four, or maybe even forty-eight––
When she opens her eyes, they settle immediately on the window across from "her" bedroom wall. More importantly, they settle on what appears to be a distant city basking under a summer sun, and for an instant she thinks of being a teenager again, when she dreamed of backpacking across Europe. There were lots of pictures of little French cities all over the Internet, back then, cities that could still feel like quaint little towns despite their sprawl.
For a moment, she just stares in silence, and then she says:]
Couldn't pick a nicer fucking place to die, huh...
no subject
[And hell, he's sure that she really believed that, but Joel makes it clear with his tone that she didn't make negotiations an option for them. And she didn't. He can at least be confident in that much.]
She was gonna kill her and kill me too if I so much as tried anything. I had to make my own choices.
no subject
Tess knows she's strung-out on exhaustion when that shit starts happening. Tess doesn't start to doubt herself without a good fuck-up on her record and a fifth of vodka in her system.
God, she wants to kick his ass, but if her voice can't stand up to his self-righteousness, what else could?]
That's fucking bullshit. So much fucking bullshit, Joel.
[She's not sure if she's arguing or sympathizing.]
But hey, at least your secret can die with me.
no subject
But why did she expect otherwise? Why did she see so much in him that wasn't there? He was just her partner, not someone who could liberate her from the debt she owed on her second life. It wasn't on him or Ellie to live up to her expectations just because she was feeling guilty about the choices she'd made as a survivor. But that was too harsh for this moment, Joel decides as he spares her a side-glance, his brow furrowing up.]
Listen, whatever happened between you and me is separate from what went on in that fucking hospital. [Now he sounds old, his voice dropping to a low and stubborn pitch.] I know you think I'm a big damn disappointment right now, but I never made myself out to be more than I was to you.
no subject
I fucking know that. You don't think I fucking know that? If it was the other way around, and me getting ready to put you down, I'd be telling myself that just because something's there doesn't mean I owe you the rest of my goddamn life. We never made promises like that, Joel. We knew we'd have to deal with this shit eventually.
[She pauses to wipe at her face again. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.]
But right now I don't want this. Any of it. Right now, I want to finish the job and collect that big cache of merchandise and go the fuck home. But I don't get to do that, so instead I'm gonna be pissed at you, alright?
no subject
[Then don't ask twice, three times. Take the hint the first time and don't corner me with it, he thinks, but he doesn't say it. God, neither of them had any respect for the end, bickering back and forth like this no matter how many times they experienced it. He was getting ready to shoot this woman, someone he considered dear to him, and this was how their last conversation went? Was this all there was to a lengthy version of the first take?
His own sour and petty tone manages to piss him off. Joel tightens his hands into fists. She keeps crying and he wishes-- he doesn't know, he's not sure what to do. He wishes he could bring her something nice at the end of her life, something comforting, but the truth about the one thing she wanted is anything but. All he has is an empty hand and an inability to do anything other than what Tess asks of him in the short term.
He just lets that one word sit between them and waits. They'll be nearing the outside by now. He takes another careful look at her, for any signs that her infection is spreading.
He doesn't ask, just looks.]
no subject
She knows exactly what he's asking.
Tess doesn't break eye contact, she just pulls the collar of her shirt aside again to show the ugly mass of infected tissue, unchanged from before but still angry throbbing red. She's never even seen it herself — not with it tucked along her neck — but she can imagine.]
So?
no subject
... looks the same.
[He doesn't dare speak of the possibilities, lest she start turning on him right now and his last words to her end up being maybe magic castles are real.
But didn't infections start to spread within the hour?]
no subject
It hasn't been that long. It's probably just... having trouble working past the bone or muscle or something.
[She would call herself on the ludicrousness of that statement if she wasn't so focused on the mental imagery of it.]
I don't know.
no subject
[Both instinctive and a little afraid, that instruction. As if she could make it angrier looking than it is if she fiddles with it.]
It's been long enough we should see some change.
no subject
Does it matter if it hasn't grown? It's still there.
[Tess doesn't know if she's been snappier and shorter of temper because of the cordyceps winding its way through her body or because of stress alone. Or both, maybe.]
no subject
[There's no way she's in the mood for this, but maybe this has something to do with their new environment after all. He'd been here a little longer than her and he'd seen some weird shit.]
What if it never moves on to the next stage?
no subject
[That one's less biting, more tired. Tess shakes her head.]
I really don't see what you're suggesting as an alternative, Joel. Even if it doesn't get worse, it's going to be in my blood, in my saliva, everything. And I'm supposed to just leave this nasty thing on my shoulder and wait for the day where I accidentally pass it to you? To anyone else around here? I don't fucking think so.
no subject
They don't have many, he agrees. The thing was they knew so little about where they were and how things worked, and now the bite wasn't changing.]
Might be somethin' like Ellie's immunity.
[Optimist.]
no subject
She tears her gaze away from the dense, lovely woods beyond the castle grounds. Tersely:]
Ellie's bite does not look like this, Joel. If you're getting cold feet...
no subject
[Just one word, just as clipped. There was no goddamn way he was turning and running in the last minute. He doesn't like the look of the woods at night, honestly - he's still expecting the place to be infested with clickers or runners at some turn. Or something worse. Anxious paranoia aside, Joel pauses because the moment deserves it.
He meets her eyes with just a shade of something wounded, buried deep underneath layers of calm determination.]
But we're gonna wait till we see a change.
no subject
Only this time, he has to watch.]
Alright, Texas. Alright.
[She's left her backpack with Ellie, so she pulls her hand flashlight off her belt and turns it on. The trees cast long shadows with their already towering trunks, and Tess feels small.]
How deep do you want to go?