Doritos come in value packs

_{continued from here}

It is at least seven minutes before Vertigo stops his progress, and when he does halt it surprises him so much he falls off the bike. Tumbling onto the roadside, tumbling tumbling

Like how the clouds tumble across the sky like patterns in the cloth like the leaf in the wind like, like…

He waits patiently for the man to catch up. Growls softly as a memory touches his mind. "Not wolves. But Grimke's a bastard, don't trust him, bastard, bastard, will," he trails off, teeth clenching. He touches his shoulders, gently.

faint tapping, faint, faint as the heartbeat against the walls of his ribcage. The hearts of the teethdogs of the pit throb like his own

waiting. Vertigo whistles a tune, softly, gently. A reminder of a time long past, along with the scraps of his memory.

He’s damning himself as he continues running, though now it has turned into a light jog. Side cramping, lungs failing on him entirely, and his stomach threatening to empty itself right then and there if he keeps this strenuous exercise crap up. He makes a mental note to maybe get back into better shape later. Just in case there are anymore impromptu bicycle chases or explosives he needs to flee from.

But he spies the bike and he spies Spidereye eventually, after his legs have transformed into wobbling blobs of jelly. He makes his way, painfully slow, over to him with the full intention of yelling at him but somehow that just changed into…sitting down at the roadside a few decent feet away from Spideye to catch his breath.

He glowers, of course, as he breathes and presses his hand to his side. Bicycles, why bicycles, of anything to have—

“You,” he starts off with, pausing to take a few more breaths. “I should…strangle you. But I won’t. Because….I am a nice guy, yeah? Never again. That is going to happen never again. Deal?”

That, and he would rather not be blown up today. Or tomorrow. But at least, for now, he could sit and try to relax for whatever amount of time he could.

His eyes are darting now, looking him over. Throughly. Information about him was stored with no system at all, possible chest and hip measurements tucked away hand in hand with the type of fabric that his pants are made out of, then brand of his cologne.

Vertigo sort of inches his way over. Tugs at his arm. "Prince," he went wither, for a name. Prince, the man wasn't a prince, was he? Gallaway, yes, maybe lost in the woods and no, the man but he never left home the forest had come to him and..

There was already Rapunzel, flowing copper braid to the ground and up that the other hand'd managed to cut down, yet, right no, now there needed. More, woven, Snow white he could find white white like sheets like bone he could....

Vertigo jerks away, back a few feet, arms flailing. "This way, this way," feet light on the dusty broken asphalt.

As he passes the bike he snatches the doll up from the basket, tosses it over his shoulder.

"Duck!"

He eyes him warily, judging his movements all over again. He doesn’t move when he reaches for his arm or move very much at all. He frowns slightly and stares down at his hand, but that is all.

“Prince?” Salan repeats in a deadpan. “I have a--”

He cuts himself off when Spidereye moves away. His frown deepens. Either this person is clumsy or he just has no sense of balance whatsoever, since he always seems to be in a perpetual state of falling or flailing about and all he would need is something to keep him standing upright.

Salan stands up and dusts himself off, sighing and preparing to follow this most disturbed individual. He isn’t sure why he is or what the benefits could possibly be, but he decides that contemplating those wouldn’t bring him any closer to an answer than just following along. He severely starts to regret this judgment shortly afterwards.

“Holy shit!” Salan yelps, not only ducking but also dodging and dancing away from the thrown doll and picking up speed so he could get that much closer to Spidereye. The last thing he needed was more things exploding at him.

“Listen, buddy, Spidereye, whatever your name actually is,” Salan states, voice somewhat shaky and yet stern as if lecturing a child. He grabbed onto his arm once he had successfully gotten in arms length. “You really need to stop throwing things. At me. Or at anything, really.”

"But Foxy-loxy," Vertigo says, pulling away, looking genuinely agonized a moment, then back to the brittle smile. "Foxy loxy's in the shadows. He says he knows where it's safe but you go in and you don't come out, that's what he does, that's the way the story goes, the sky is falling, and..."

He jerked, gestures.

"The team, where's is," trailing off, then crisp and military was there again sharp. "Spidereye, Vertigo. Vertigo.” Falling from the sky, the pieces of the sky are falling down, like rats down London bridge.

Vertigo is tall enough to stand behind him, talk in his ear. "Bastard Grimke, really. Snow White, Snow White, these are the woodlands, these are the wilds, these are the inhabitants, the dwarves.."

“Where is your team mate? What are you doing in the pit by yourself?"

Vertigo doesn’t sound anymore believable as a name than Spidereye to Salan, but then again, nothing that this Vertigo has said has sounded believable at all. He finds himself listening – interested, yes, but comprehending anything that he means to be saying, not at all. That’s not to say it doesn’t make him uncomfortable, not that he shows any outward signs of such feelings besides his back straightening a bit more.

And another mention of Grimke. Salan is positive he has never heard this name before meeting Vertigo and it doesn’t mean anything to him at all, but obviously Vertigo has some sort of tie to him. A negative one. He almost prompts and asks him what that might be. But what little logic he has in his brain says this would probably just piss the guy off more.

“I don’t have a team mate,” Salan replies with some undertones of sounding quite bitter, turning his head just an inch to look at Vertigo from the corner of his eyes. “I’m not in a team, as far as I know. I don’t know where I am. You’re the first person I’ve seen.”

Salan looks away from him, shoving his hands down into his pockets and opting to stare forward.

Vertigo had to think about that. "Foxy loxy," he says, gesturing towards the sea. Not that you could tell, the sea is far away, but if you'd gone as the crow flies in the direction of Vertigo's hand waggle you would have found the street sign.

"No, no, it's not that, it's more than will, it is, it's more than that it's training and team work and the pit takes what you can't defend and," The long like white cloak shone dull sterling grey. "How good can you climb, boy?"

to prove his point, "That bastard Grimke," he uses his fingers upon Salan's arm as pointers now. Almost disdainfully. "And his partners." Turns Salan around, gently.

Vertigo manages a very elegant bow, all things considered.

“Would you stop saying that?” Salan manages to hiss out, sounding somewhat exasperated. The frustration is becoming more apparent. “Foxy loxy isn’t even a word, damn it.”

But he looks to where Vertigo points regardless, frown still intact and brows furrowing. He huffs a sigh through his nose, jaw only slightly tense from frustration. There’s only so much crazy talk one can take in a day. To spite him, Salan ignores the question (if it was even a question at all, and not just part of his consciousness slipping out) and continues to stare.

He is not fond with the idea of Vertigo moving him around at all, nor the fact that he is still stuck standing there without any idea as to who Vertigo is or what the place he is in is either. He makes a face at Vertigo’s bow, eyebrow raised.

“Yes, that bastard Grimke,” Salan repeats, tone condescending. “And his partners. Bastards too. Everyone here is too. Everyone meaning you and me because, apparently, there’s no one else close. Just me. And you. And you can’t even seem to think properly.”

Salan finishes that little spat with another final sigh. He raises a hand to rub at his forehead, closing his eyes temporarily. But he doesn’t leave yet, partially because he has nowhere to go and partially because he doesn’t want to have his back turned to Vertigo.

For the first time since they’ve met Vertigo looks the man full in the eye.

"They take more than your life out here," Vertigo says, and his tone starts to waver. "They don't just kill you out here, sir no-name. They take you." He stretches his hand out, holds it up.

"It's all bright lights and silence, white clean, knives and needles. They take more than your life, boy."

If one didn’t know better Vertigo would have sounded sane. Sane as the confining white walls of a falling sky.

Vertigo put his hands over his face. His head hurt, suddenly, all at once. Blinding pain, really. He sat slowly, as if he'd been hit, settling onto a slab of broken concrete. "No-name, no name” His arms folded, head rested on them. A small wad now, for his size.

Salan feels as if the words should mean something to him. He feels wary, naturally. He doesn't exactly want to meet whoever Vertigo is talking about and he is quite opposed to dying. For now though, he thinks he could stand his own against other people. As long as they didn't all end up like Vertigo, of course.

He grimaces. There has to be some sort of shred of pity that goes towards the guy. Obviously he's been through something, not that Salan will shove blame to that for the craziness. After gnawing on his lip for a few seconds, he gives a short sigh.

"Hey," he starts, hesitant and his voice sounding too loud than he intended it to be. He almost asks if the near stranger is all right, but refrains. He nudges Vertigo's leg with his shoe as if trying to get his attention, hands still shoved into his pockets. "Name's Salan. What's wrong with you?"

The question sounded more rude than he meant it to be, but it works for him. Not rough sounding, just skeptical if, if not morbidly curious.

He looks up. The stroke of insanity back in its proper place behind his eyes.

"The castle," he replies.

It will take fifteen minutes of scrambling to get there, and there is no time to lose. Vertigo climbs to his feet, dusting Salan off for him. Takes his hand, pulls him along a few steps before loping off.

Once upon a time, a long long time ago,,,

this had been an amphitheater. Concrete steps in a crescent, curled around a flat, raised circle, like an chick around its yolk. Behind it, the backdrop, had once been a shining tower, glass and mirrors.

Now it was just another hulking mass. Tall, unstable. A thick, twisting braid of copper, gleaming, freshly pulled from it's plastic tubing, fell from a third story window, hit the ground in a coil.

Normally something like that would attract scavengers, magpies that they are.

But this place, at the foot of tallest dead building, was silent of nearly any sounds, and devoid of life for any given value of life.

Vertigo flies down the steps, two at a time, rushes over the empty space and up the copper braid, pulling something from the twisted pockets.

Runs back, holding out his hand. A thin, slightly gray object in his hand.

Of course he wouldn't get a proper answer from Vertigo. He didn't know what he thought he would. He grits his teeth together. No use in asking anymore questions. Good just to follow for now.

This place, though, this place was astounding. Destroyed or maybe just decaying, he found himself dragging his eyes over it. Had to learn the surroundings quick. Had to know where to go, just in case. He watches Vertigo, too, with some sort of mix between apprehension and mild dislike for the characteristics. Salan wonders if he is this difficult to deal with at all times.

He wonders that as if he would be sticking around longer, his thoughts tell him. Another quick frown, but it dissipates when Vertigo returns and is replaced by just a thin line: not a smile, not a frown, not quite a grimace.

With caution, he stares at Vertigo's hands. He jerks his chin up and stares him down. An unsaid, wary question.

Vertigo remains with his hand outstretched. Head slowly tilted to the left.

They'd been taught never to hesitate, because to hesitate before the trigger meant a lifetime of regret, a lifetime of shattered birdskulls and elephant bones, a lifetime of digging up graveyards in search for the shards of retribution that never but that was because Foxy Loxy took them all away, he came first, the first, the alpha

the omega

Vertigo frowns.

"Salan." he says. rolling the name between his tongue like how He used to roll his cigarettes cept those weren't cigarettes just like how the pretty rainbow fish weren't fish-fish they were pira--

"Salan-what's-wrong-with-you?" he almost deadpans.

Salan groans before shaking his head, rubbing at his brow momentarily before staring right back at Vertigo. With his head tilted like that he nearly resembles a confused puppy. Or, he thinks again, just another crazy guy. Puppies don't try to blow you up. Usually.

"No, just Salan," he says testily. "You had it right the first time. The second part was a question for...never mind. Doesn't matter."

He takes a few steps away and sinks down to the ground, sitting again rather than standing anymore. He is still tired from all the running after all and he still hasn't forgiven Vertigo for that either. Maybe getting too old for this, he thinks cheerlessly. But he glances over at Vertigo again and eyes his hand. He waits a few seconds before standing, scuffling over to Vertigo and snatching the stick from his hand.

"'S this for me?" he asks, pointing at it with his free hand.

Once again a blazingly bright smile. Like all was right with Vertigo’s world, regardless of whether it was real or not.

There are questions you ask, and there are questions you ask
like there are harvest moons to reap
and clouds in which you take apart the silver linings of stitch by careful stitch

pinpricks of blood welling up side by side

He turns away from Salan, and stares into the where the sun would be if the sky hadn’t swallowed it up. He begins walking. Backwards. Heel to toe, heel to toe.

Vertigo flings his arms out wide, his back to his home as he progresses towards it. Saying nothing as his smile grows wider and wider.

Another twinge of frustration sparks in the back of Salan's mind once again. The whole smiley, not-talking-except-to-babble-nothing thing was getting a bit too hard for him to deal with. He pockets the little gray stick and shoves his hands in the pockets too, frowning as a foil to Vertigo's grin.

He figures it would be much easier to not follow Vertigo about any more and just let him walk backwards to wherever it is he wanted to go. But part of him protested. And that was the part of him who wanted to see Vertigo trip because he wasn't watching where he was going.

For a second the thought that maybe, Vertigo just might be leading him off some place to kill him in secret was an entirely plausible idea. Salan's frown grew slightly. Then again, if he wanted to kill him, he would have been more accurate with his exploding teddy bear.

So he follows Vertigo, at several arms lengths away from him, half tempted to stick a leg out behind Vertigo and half tempted to just leave him there.

Home? Base? He asks the doll in his mind.

Should he wait? The signs haven’t appeared yet, there is nothing to base his assumptions off of— but wait, wasn’t the very definition of assumption hypocritical to what he wants to base it on?

No, he’s waiting. His home is Salan’s home now.

He stops and waits for Salan. If he had an organ on a stick he would have offered it to him. Took his arm at the elbow. Gently, really. "Thanks?" Repeating the word.

Thanks. Thank you. Magic words, right, that's what you told-

these are the magic words and.

Right? Yes. Right. "Thank you," he manages, instead.

Upon feeling the contact of the hand on his elbow, Salan's first instinct was to jerk away. Which was exactly what he did, though not with the violent or harshness behind it that he had intended. He half-frowns, fingers hovering over his arm.

Thanks for what, he wasn't sure, but responds just the same: "You're welcome, I guess. Just don't...touch. Without warning. Heads up, you know?"

He brushes at his arm, not quite like brushing away germs. He stuffs his hands back in his pockets and looks up at the sky with half a scowl.

"You live here then, eh?"

if you push

___________give
___________me
___________walking
___________legs

where_every
body__knows
just___how

if_______________by how
________________we can
________________hear

he looks at Salan, as if surprised. not really expecting Salan to follow him when he turns back to the building. reaches out with one hand grasping the twisted copper braid, and begins climbing. The wires had once cut into his hands, leaving their mark behind on the flesh of his palms, but over time the callouses had sprung up and it no longer stung like it once had.

Home, the loft, is quite a ways up. Vertigo had broken an ankle once from the fall.

oh, there are the stairs, of course, just around the corner if he wanted to use them, but Vertigo's never thought of that. Besides they were worn, with gaps like human teeth in them, and who knew how many lives they had let down before Vertigo was ever here?