His name rings clear on her lips and for a second, it’s the only thing she manages to say, silence lingering like some kind of tension. She’s quick to clear her throat, watching him with furrowed eyebrows as she debates. She’s not good at this. Not really. She’s okay with sympathy. She’s okay with listening. Those are things she can manage. But HELPING, really helping, like she’s sure she’s meant to do, isn’t something she’s quite got a handle on yet.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you’re still holding on to?”
It feels like a stupid question. Cruel, somehow. Because it was obvious enough that he wanted to let go. Deserved to let go, even. No one would have questioned that, not really. But people didn’t just STAY. Not when they knew they weren’t supposed to be there.
“Or something you’re still supposed to do?”
Eric listens, but only in fraction. His mind occupied with the ghosts of memories, and his desperation to reach them again. Her. Shelly. The love of his life. His reason for all of this. His reason for anything. It is the memory of her, his need for her, that clouds his thinking. It is only until Liv poses the questions that he reconnects to the present – a hollow place, without her.
Holding on to— her voice echoes, and he becomes exhausted. It aches too much. There is nothing he’d cared more than to see Shelly again. Be with her again. Purpose spent, rage gone. They’d paid for what they’d done. Perhaps all too kindly, too. Eric had made sure of it. Tin-tin, Fun-boy, T-bird, Skank. Even Gideon, Myca, Grange… and Top Dollar. All gone. Nothing left for him here. The bird hadn’t said a thing. The skeletal cowboy in his duster and spurs hand’t explained. Had he done something— wrong?
The realization then dawned. He no longer deserved to be with her, did he? Not after what he’d done. Not after all of that death, all of that violence. No. Not anymore. Eric swallowed in silence. His heart coldly sinking to new depths. “I think I know.” he says, vaguely.
She eyes him wearily for half a second, letting out a small sigh as she settles with that answer. She should’ve expected that, in all honesty. No one ever just showed up for a CHAT anymore, everyone always NEEDED something. Especially the dead.
“Yeah, well. I’m sure the dead don’t have much reason to be friendly.” She moves on quickly, going back to her coffee as she watches him out of the corner of her eye. At least she trusted him. He didn’t seem like he’d USE her unless he had another option.
“ – What do you need help with, then?”
Docile eyes averted from her, in thought. Humbled, lost, helpless. A strange rush of embarrassment overtook the former musician, and despite the presence his darkened attire and mime-like makeup invoked, he walked in silence.
Now forgiven for being there, in her apartment, without a proper invitation, his former self came through. He existed now in a world of violence and murder, of bloodshed and horror, yet Eric remained. Like an abandoned child, injured and confused, he took to the couch. He was asking too much of her, only a bystander in the nightmare his posthumous state brought. Still, to her misfortune, he had nowhere else to turn. “I’m stuck.” he said vaguely, his voice clear, gentle.
“I thought–” after the terror he’d caused, after the lives taken, the blood spilled, he would get to see Shelly again. “– it’d be over.” He didn’t.
She takes a sharp breath in when she sees him, clenching her jaw before a sound any louder can make it’s way out. Honestly, the BOW pushes off any irritation she might feel.
“I think most people still KNOCK, Eric.” She smiles, regardless. She doesn’t mind seeing him, really, most of the other things that let themselves in weren’t nearly as pleasant. “What brings you by?”
An apology dances in his eyes, round and brown. A pull away from his new form, the former musician holds the intended utterance in silence. Masked in black & white, his brows arch. Passive steps approach the wooden door, an electrical-tape covered hand extends & knuckles give rhythmic taps against the surface. In death, trivialities became important.
“Friendly faces are scarce among the dead.” Eric said, a touch of sorrow in the words. A regretful truth he’d quickly learned. "I need your help.“
A courteous bow, a cue to her presence. The black-clad dead man allows his wet boots into sight, his shape following suit.
“—- Evening, Miss Aberdine.” Eric hoped she did not mind the intrusion. A matter of safety - a precaution the Skull Cowboy did not understand nor forgave. “I noticed your door was open.”
Her eyebrows furrow as she takes him in again, studying him in a much more serious manner. ‘shouldn’t worry about that with me.’ what did that even mean? Was he dead? Christ – he was dead, wasn’t he? On one hand, it wouldn’t have surprised her – but she should’ve been able to tell the difference.
She could never tell the difference, anymore. Everyone was the same disastrous shade of blueish-gray. Some people were more vibrant, but that hardly meant that they were alive. He certainly didn’t seem to be indicating that he was. Still, she lets the question go a moment later. It’s not worth the time it would take to press. She can find out later. As long as there IS a later.
He seems confident enough. Despite the tears still in her eyes, she finds it encouraging. Enough that she nods as she backs a step away, nervously palming her pepper spray – like it would do her any good against anything that might’ve crawled it’s way out of hell.
“ – Promise? Promise you’ll come find me –” She needs some ANSWERS, at least. Something.
The spurs, however, catch her off guard. For a moment, she wonders if she isn’t imagining them. Drawing the sound from the back of her panicked mind. She needs to LEAVE. If anything’s a sign of that, this is. The thought is only driven home when she pulls her eyes up from the street to glance in the direction of the sound.
“ – what is that?”
Her voice barely makes it out, eyebrows furrowing as she sucks a breath in, in an attempt to keep herself from passing out in the street. Because that would’ve been the most helpful thing she could do, at the moment.
She’d seen her share of demons. THAT didn’t look like any of them.
It’s enough to make her back another step away, legs determined to carry her back to her apartment, even through her bout of confusion. Worry about it later. Live tonight, question in the morning. Even if LEAVING him suddenly feels like it’s not the right thing to do.
“You’re, ah – you’ll be alright?”
˗ˏˋ SUIT Y’RSELF, KID. ˎˊ˗ The Skull Cowboy finally gave. Eric frustrated both the bird and the skeletal figure. His good nature often got in the way of what they called his ‘mission’. It couldn’t be helped. Despite of this traumatizing form of re-birth, Eric remained.
Thankfully, he knew where to aim his good intentions. There was an absentminded, barely detectable nod from him to answer Liv’s final question. Subconscious thing to do, perhaps. Certainly, he didn’t know for sure what was approaching, not to a proper full extent— Liv knew better & a lot more than he did. Still, what kind of damage could a dead man receive?
Eric began to walk toward the presence. He could not see it, yet. But he could feel it. It cause the cold, empty, damp street to fill with a sense of dread. Whatever it was, it felt like a giant cloud of predatory oppression. It wanted the girl, Liv. And it wanted her badly.
The crow stayed behind, with its all-seeing eyes at the ready, perched on the window frame. Questioning Eric’s actions. ⊰ IT’S OKAY, ERIC. ⊱ The bird had revised and encouraged. Eric listened and continued on its path.
Giving one last look back to where the skinless man had been, he saw nothing. No longer could he hear the happy jingle of the spurs, nor see his dirt-covered coat. The cowboy, he was gone. And an emptying silence overtook the night. Eric walked on, only to find a small figure. Like that of a child. Standing in the middle of the street. The shadows playing over its silhouette. No features on its (her?) face. None that he could see.
Eric stopped at the sight. His impulse would have been to ask if she needed help, but this time— this time he knew better. The creature finally moved. A simple, quizzical tilt of its head. Perhaps questioning Eric’s— nature of sorts. Confused.
