Gray Eyes, Gray Voice

A Chapter by PlacidoDi

All I have left are my unanswered questions. I've given everything else.

I wake up someplace cold and dark and it feels so, so good. Until it doesn't

“What is that?” New voice. Not Gray-eyes, not animal-woman. A girl.

“It is a she, and she is a person, Tae.” The weird one. “You know, humans? Homo sapiens? Honestly you-”

“I'm not stupid, Egg! I can see it's a person... who is it?” Yeah, she's a brat.

“Why should I know?” I can almost hear him shrug.

“Because you brought her here. What is wrong with you?” Tae the brat. It's official.

A sigh, long and drawn-out. Maybe 'Egg' would be a good mom too.

“A lot of things are wrong. The first being the obvious lack of food- did you eat for three while I was gone or did you forget to go and hunt?” That sounds ominous. My back really hurts. Egg isn't done either, “We have talked about this, it's been years, Tae. If you didn't have me-”

“I get it! I'd be dead! I'm worthless, I can't hunt, and my 'skills do not in any way approach survivable'- I've heard it all before Egg!”, I'm obviously awake at this point, but the screaming brat and her sarcastic friend sound muffled. There is probably a wall between us.

The feeling in my knees and shoulders hint at more than a day of unconsciousness. I'm on a floor. It gives a distinct feeling of being underground that I find comfort in. A lamp of some kind is lit in the corner of the room, which is apparently shaped like a curved triangle. The farthest wall is angled like a quarter of a circle, which helps the raised voices of the arguing pair echo.

It's strange, I think, attempting to roll over and stand up. It's strange that I'm the most shocked by their argument. We don't yell at each other in the North. We don't fight. Especially on shallow levels, on level 1 and 2 talking isn't even permitted. Too close to the surface, things may hear us. Our circumstances force us to be calm.

I'm on my knees, with my palms against the cold ground. The light in here is dim, but I can still see the dark pool of blood where my body used to be, a little to the left. Drip, drip, drip. I'm still bleeding. I can't feel where, but the drops land between my hands and darken the floor. So, my face then, my nose probably. I don't taste blood, but maybe I'm desensitized to the flavor at this point, I hope it isn't streaming into my mouth the way Olywen's blood did, all that time ago. I spit. The floor gets darker.

I need a weapon.

We are trained in preparation once every two weeks, back home. We are given a problem, an obstacle. Starving in the South. Hostage situations. Lickers. The priorities are pretty much the same, no matter what the issue is. I start asking my self 'the questions'. Who do I need to protect? Myself. What do I need in order to protect them? I go to pick up the lamp, raising it to spread light to the rest of the room. No sharp objects. Only a a thin rug, which I guess they didn't want me to stain, an alcove in the wall filled with unlit candles, and a thick, dirty coat. How do I come home? Pass, no idea. I pick up the coat though, my naked shoulders have started to shiver. Except I already have a shirt on.

New question: Who the hell dressed me? I think it's time to talk.

Walking is annoyingly difficult. Even with the coat and shirt, my shoulder scrapes the wall I'm leaning against. It sends jolts of stinging heat up my neck. The lantern weighs down my other arm, my right arm, which throbs from the repeated biting. She only bit the one spot. I grit my teeth and keep moving forward, trying not to think of my weak, useless arms. I haven't felt this vulnerable, physically, in a while. It isn't refreshing.

The doorway is only an opening, really. I move to walk through the doorless hole- and now I can feel the blood, running from my face to my chin and neck. I cough, and a sickly spray of red coats the wall. Disgusting. When I cough, the voices stop arguing. I hear chairs being moved, footsteps approaching, and have no way of defending myself. I can barely raise the lantern.

When I swing my head through the opening, I see them. The girl, Tae, even looks like a brat. Her hair is long and straight, light brown. She has the eyes of a child, and the body of a young woman. She is the kind of girl Leif would've called a 'bolt'. I never understood that, but I know it has something to do with 'screws', or 'screwing' or something. I was never a 'bolt'.

'Egg', doesn't look like he did in my dream. His hair was shorter then, his eyes colder. He looked like a Northerner, but he isn't. I have to remember that he isn't. Who do I need to protect, Rino? Myself.

There is a tangible silence when they see me. All I can hear are my rattling breaths, and the faint drip, drip of my blood on the floor. I do love making an impression.

Tae looks shocked, which is not shocking. Egg looks startled, which is startling. Wide, frightened, gray eyes. I want- need him to be in control. I ned him to be calm. One of has to know what's happening, and it is not me.

“Wha- are you okay?” My eyes go to the girl. The, obviously, young and stupid girl. 15 years old?

“I'm doing great, bolt. Could use a shower though.” I clear my throat, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground. There goes my charm. The man just stands there. Useless. He looks genuinely haunted. “But mostly I want answers. Which one of you are going to give them to me?” I drop the lantern, partly for drama, but mostly because my arm is in enough pain to make me want to bite off my own tongue. More blood. The lantern doesn't go out. "Or do I have to take answers?”

The man starts laughing. Full out, total body laughing. He isn't smiling though. None of him is smiling, yet all of him is laughing. I look at Tae. Still petrified. So, what's Egg's problem? He takes a step forward, then two more. He's too close to me, picking up the lantern. Every muscle wants to spring, to run away. I need to be strong, though. I'm not, but I need to be.

He leans in, close enough that I know- from experience- he can smell the blood on my breath. He can smell my death. Near-death. Would-be death. Would-be-if-not-for-him-death.

When he talks, he growls. Like the Licker on my birthday. Like the the woman who painted on me like a canvas. I'm not intimidating, I'm not strong. I'm soft like snow and he knows.

“You are in no condition, or situation, to make threats.” Gray eyes, gray voice. “Now, shut up, lie down, and I'll fix you a shower. Tae,” The girl jumps, eyes wide, “fix some food. I need to hunt. Make sure she rests.”

And then he leaves. But I can see the gun under his stained shirt. It was under a patch of blood I know must be mine.

Strange, seeing a part of yourself on a person you don't know. And I still don't know why.

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