hardlydead | (( get them drunk on rose water ))

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(( get them drunk on rose water ))

[ crotus prenn is pretty low on the list of places david opts to go exploring or scavenging, not because of anything to do with the place itself, but its inhabitants are both... territorial. and they both give him the wig in massively different ways. unfortunately it's a great place for gathering a ton of different supplies — medical mostly, but who knows what you'll find if you're willing to root around the carnival — and after returning from a few trips out without much to show for it, david feels like he should give it a proper try. ]

[ it's miserable out here, always is. the chapel smells of burned wood even from a distance and the air is cold and damp and yet somehow stale. david shoves his hands in his jacket pockets with a frown — one part thought, one part deep displeasure at being here, but if they run across a killer he'd rather take his chances with the clown than the nurse. so. chapelside of the realm it is. ]

[ billy's fast and not one to take stupid risks too. it's not why david brought him along, but it's a good bit of security if they get caught out. toss his bag billy's way to make sure the stuff gets back to camp and david'll keep the killer occupied. different stakes, but still more or less the same as in trials. ]

God, I fuckin' hate this place. [ he clicks his flashlight on and off like he doesn't already know it works fine and glances billy's way. ] Start with the church, yeah? Probably not much there if anything, but who knows.

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[ No, Crotus Prenn is not the most pleasant realm to wander outside of trials. Ormond sucks, but at least you can steal weed from shitty teenagers. If you sneak around RCPD, you can steal weed from missing cops. Billy hasn’t found weed in Crotus Prenn, but there is plenty of weird other shit. Some of it valuable to the survivors, to Claudette, to scavengers looking for scraps.

It’s not ideal, but Billy is pleased enough that he was asked. That David hasn’t ousted him after one too many frustrating arguments. That he knows Billy is just as capable if a killer catches wind of them. In his mind: they’re equals. He’d have a chance to tell David to go and Billy could do his thing to keep the killer distracted for as long as possible.

He should probably know better by now.

But the grounds are hauntingly empty, an unnatural chill hanging in the air and seeping under his denim jacket. ]

Less likely to get our boo-boos looked at. [ The nurse gives Billy the creeps. Well. So does the clown. So does— Ok, which killer doesn’t give him the creeps? But the clown, for whatever reason, prefers his fucked up little carnival ground to the church itself. Not that he doesn’t use it to dump shit in.

Billy climbs over a board, haphazardly covering a break in the wall. His boots hit the rubble quietly, because he’s good at this, okay?

No generators sit unnaturally in the church. Detritus lines the ground. Boxes are squished into corners and Billy starts nosing around a pew, looking for something. Looking for anything. ]

This remind you of home? Your parents ever make you go to church?

[ in david's mind it just makes sense. most killers fucking hate him at this point. even outside of trials there's only a couple of killers he's anything bordering respectful to, and clown sure as fuck isn't one of them, it's on sight with that fat fuck whenever david sees him. he's polite enough to nurse, but as someone who manages to slam a pallet on her head every now and then, there's no way she wouldn't take the chance to snuff him out if the opportunity presented. ]

[ that's all in the back of david's head though, a problem for him to worry about later. right now he sticks close to billy — not so much that he's right on his case or anything, but close enough they can talk without raising their voices — and ducks into a corner where there's a little old box tucked away. ]

Just for the holidays-- Christmas, Easter. That kinda shit. [ just prayer books, shit. he was hoping for wine. ] Trussed up in my finest so we looked good.

[ god he does not miss that in the least, trying to make sure the family looked good at social events. parents criticising him because he was too 'flashy' and made them look like new money pretenders or whatever. ]

Yours?

Yeah. We went when I was a kid. After mom left, just holidays.

[ Neil Hargrove didn't have money like he wanted to have money. He'd blow it on booze and cigarettes and fancy cars, presents for his spurned wife, and then he'd be righteously angry when everything else went to shit. You'd think moving from California to Indiana would have stretched a dollar further, but the front steps at the house on Cherry Street were still chipped, the house squat. But everyone had to assemble for church in their Sunday best. Billy really pushed the envelope the longer his curls grew.

Billy thinks it's all bullshit. But he still wears the St. Christopher's medallion around his neck, even if it didn't help a damn bit when a monster crawled under his skin and took it for a ride. ]

Didn't look like this though. [ Billy pushes a broken piece of plywood with his boot. ] Shithole. [ He stoops near a wall, near the stairs, the wall half-dilapidated. ]

Found some matches. [ He brushes some dust out of the way, fingers brushing over some burlap. He tugs it away and whistles. A line up of bottles, glistening liquid inside. Might be medicine, might be drugs. Billy picks one up, looks at it, and...

tosses it to David. ] Hey, look. Catch.

[ david's never believed in anything, not like that. maybe if church was more than another prop to hold up their social status, but if anything he was kind of cynical about the whole thing. mum in makeup and sunglasses to hide her black eye, singing 'christ the lord is risen today' and he's supposed to believe in a loving god? fuck that. ]

[ he's musing on that as he carefully moves some planks and detritus that've been propped up so he can see if there's anything behind them when billy speaks. turns and catches the bottle and looks at it with a considering frown; the liquid a glistening, warm orange. he swirls the bottle, uncorks it with a satisfying pop! and takes a quick smell. ]

[ it doesn't smell like anything he can put a name to. a frown of thought on david's face. ]

What do you think it is?

[ he takes another whiff. it's... warm? ]

Depends if it's his or hers. What's it smell like? [ The nurse and that clown have different MOs. There's a chance it could be gnarly, there's a chance it's a payday.

There are more behind the wall, tucked into the space under the stairs. A dumping ground. Maybe it's weird shit the nurse is hiding away. Maybe it's something the clown has dumped... or is hiding. He's always working on new, weird shit to throw at them. ]

Think it's an upper or a downer? Maybe Claudette can do something with it. [ Hey, depending, maybe Billy wants it. ]

[ the longer he stands there with that open bottle, letting those fumes waft up into his face, the warmer he starts to feel. the scent clings to his nostrils — musky, spiced, like a cheap cologne, but also a little alien to him — even as he notes the way heat starts to prickle under his skin, david can't quite bring himself to close the bottle just yet. ]

Smells weird. [ it's an absent comment, quiet, more to himself than billy. ]

[ --shit. billy. david shakes his head, puffs out a breath with a deep frown as he tries to pull his shit together. this isn't-- whatever this is, they shouldn't be fucking with it. david doesn't know what it is, but he thinks about billy inhaling this shit and feels certain it's not good. ]

S'Clowns. [ nurse wouldn't be mixing up weird stinky potions and hiding them around the place, right? david corks the bottle-- god he feels fucking woozy. ] Don't, uh-- [ he backs up against the nearest wall and slides down it to sit. ] Don't mess with it.

[ Billy's messed around with drugs, fucking around the city with 'friends' when he lived out west. Hawkins, Indiana, had less to offer, save when Munson secured better hookups. Billy fancies himself quite adult when it comes to these things, thank you very much, and he's waiting for David to make a crack about whatever it is. Upper, downer, brain melter. Even if it screws with their brains, scorches their nostrils and chemical burns their throats, they'll just come back.

So he, doesn't expect— ] Hey. Hey, David.

[ Billy rises back up, eyes narrowed and unsure, nerves clouded behind his usually cold eyes. He comes closer, ducking down on a knee to look at David's dilated eyes. ]

Jesus. Here, hold on. [ He probably shouldn't stick David with a needle, Billy's preferred way to be given a helping hand in the fog, but he's got some bullshit tucked in his pockets, vaguely remembers Claudette's careful explanations for what each herb does. His botanical knowledge is not high.

But first, he reaches for the bottle in David's hand. ]

[ he sees billy reaching for the bottle and abruptly, suddenly pulls it back. there's a part of him that desperately wants to take another deep breath of whatever's inside-- fuck it, drink it too. but that's not why he pulls away. he presses a thumb down hard on the cork, until it goes white from the pressure to make sure it's closed and carefully puts it down. ]

M'fine. [ said, of course, just before he practically rips off his jacket and throws it down like a toddler about to throw a fit. he's so fucking hot and the temperature just keeps rising. ] Jesus, s'fuckin' hot.

[ this is fine. it's probably fine. he just needs to ride it out is all. ]

[ It's not hot, it's clammy and kind of cool, but David's composure crumples apart. He looks like he's in pain. Billy jerks his hand away when David snatches the bottle closer; he doesn't really know what to do. There's no wound to slap some salve on. He's not really sure what herb would help. He isn't sure what it is—and a sharp pang of guilt niggles at him.

He found it. David smelled it. And now David's brain is going to leak out of his ears while Billy watches. Because David never lets Billy take the fall.

Billy is not particularly touchy, unless he's "talking" up a girl or breaking someone's nose in. His hand hovers for a second and then he leans forward and presses his palm to David's forehead. David often rests a hand on his shoulder or slaps his back; the least Billy can do is try to figure out how to stop him from dying. ]

Hold on, man. Do you want water? Let me— let me see what I have. Take something.

[ david flinches away from billy's hand with a soft hiss as if the touch burns, as if his hand is a thousand degrees. david is the one who's hot to the touch though, colour blooming on his cheeks, sweat starting to form on his forehead and the back of his neck. ]

[ water? no. he shakes head. his forehead tingles where billy touched him, like a faint buzzing under the skin, something hinting at what it is he needs. to be touched? david shakes his head again. no. not exactly. ]

Maybe, uh-- maybe someone at camp might know somethin' about this kinda thing.

[ it's not that he's struggling, not exactly, but the words come out a little leaden. as if he'd been drinking. not drunk but not sober enough for the words to form effortlessly. probably because his mind is zoning in on what it is he wants-- needs right now, where the heat is pooling in his body, and he is trying hard to think about anything except-- ] Jeff. Jeff'll be able to help.

[ Yeah, David's going to burn out. He's warm and clammy to the touch, and his eyes look all fucked up. It's kind of crazy, he didn't even drink it or anything, but the response is quicksilver quick as it works its way through David.

Billy lets his hand drop, and when he pulls out his phone there might be a bit of a tremble. Even if David would come back, Billy really doesn't want more people on his conscious. This feels different than a trial; it feels more real. ]

Yeah, what would Jeff know about it? [ Billy scoffs. Listen, he likes Jeff. Billy's a young man, interested in throwing axes and brewing beer, at least as hypotheticals. Jeff has an awful lot of manly hobbies, but Billy isn't sure he's ever heard him raise his voice, save for when he's screaming bloody murder while being stabbed in the side. Jeff is fine, but he also eats up a lot of David's time. Which is fine. But David is also Billy's da— friend, thank you very much.

He's already typing a message to Claudette: david breathed something now he's sweating and freaking out. green herb or yellowgreen herb? ] I'll message Claudette, just hold on.

[ First: he's still point-and-peck slow at texting. Second: he reaches out and grips David's shoulder loosely. Like... calming. Like David does to him. ]

[ he's not listening. he doesn't understand. david makes a quiet, frustrated noise at the way he dismisses jeff and stares at him, eyes wide and darting over billy's face as he tries to figure out how to make him understand. jeff doesn't have the medical or botanical knowledge some people do, sure, but he's also better than most at just being a calming presence. and his hands are warm and his touch is soothing and-- ]

[ billy puts a hand on his shoulder and normally he'd appreciate the gesture, but right now it sets too many neurons firing in a million directions and david tries to shrug it off with a weak complaint. ]

'm tellin' you. [ he pulls a face, trying to concentrate. ] Get'im.

Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. You want to talk to the old, crusty metalhead instead of the medic.

[ Billy says this dismissively, because he's not doing it. Because he's texting Claudette slowly. Maybe he should message Rebecca or Lisa? All three of them make more sense, and thankfully, Claudette is apparently not in trial. Unfortunately, it not that helpful:

>How are his vitals?
>what
>Tell me more symptoms. Pulse? Pupil size? Has he seized?

Jesus. Seizing? He really doesn't want David to start foaming at the mouth.

>sweaty. angry. doesn't want me to touch him.
big pupils. panting.
dont know. he said to get jeff.

It takes Claudette longer to respond this time.

>Oh. I see. Yes, you should see if Jeff is available. ]

Uh. Okay hold on.

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s.ᴏ.s. ᴍɪᴄʀᴏʙʀᴇᴡᴇʀɪᴇs

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