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He had been searching for his dear friend for days now, after they had been separated by the group that sewed his mouth, rotten yellow suits. He feels as if he’s been being watched all this time, and from time to time he sees a tall pale figure slink back behind a tree or something, awaiting its prey.
He knows why. It’s because he’s alone. His dear friend had told him, “that man that I just talked to said to never be alone. And if you are alone, say you aren’t. Alright?”
He had just given him a simple nod back then, but he’s glad he took it into consideration. Only bad thing? He is alone, and it’s obvious he is. He needs shelter.
So he stumbles across a blue house, with a small porch and chipped paint. He tries to open his mouth, forgetting there’s wires woven through. A searing pain hits him and he hisses slightly before knocking on the door. He runs his hands through his purple hair and checks behind himself one last time before turning to the now-opening door.
A man with a blue sweater answers, his hair brown. He seems middle aged, older than himself at least. His eyes were dead cold, staring at him as he observed the wires in his mouth. It was the first thing anyone would look at, after all.
He tries to make any sort of noise, but all that comes out is “mpphs”, as he fidgets uncontrollably. He really really REALLY needs to get in, he feels something bad coming. He never usually has these gut feelings, but when he does they’re typically right.
The Homeowner continues observing him, asking questions in an unintelligible language—Russian, he guesses. His dear friend’s Native language, yes, but he was never able to learn it before this apocalypse started.
He tries to explain he can’t understand the man, but it doesn’t seem to work. It wouldn’t work anyway, if they can both only speak one language. He, unfortunately, begins to spiral.
What if the man tells him to leave? He seems like he will, and then the door will shut and he will not have time to look for someone else. He can already imagine it now, the pale figure that has been stalking him would find him, and who knows what then. He can feel the pain already though, hear the crunch, and so he has to brace for it. When he is asked to leave, he will have to run as fast as he can. Maybe he can stay in an abandoned building or something, lie that there is someone with him. That might work, but the pale man would obviously figure it out quickly. After all, he wouldn’t be so dangerous if he wasn’t able to discern things so fast—
The man speaks once more, and he’s already ready to get a move on. To his shock, however, he is invited inside. The homeowner gestures for him to follow, and he complies. He thanks him profusely in gestures, but the other didn’t seem to totally understand. Maybe getting the gist though, because he is given a nod.
As soon as he steps in and the adrenaline wears off he realizes something. He’s tired. Like, he’s about to collapse on the floor kind of tired.
But he really needs to get these wires out first.
The first door he checks turns out to be a living room, where a tall man and an old lady sleep quietly. He shifts uncomfortably, shutting the door as quick as he can. That lady unsettled him quite a bit, the look of her face made it look like it was sagging and drooping unnaturally.
Another jolt of pain hits him because of the rusted wires and he lets out a quiet, distressed, cry(it was very manly! He was not embarrassed!), as he opens the next door. Once again, no place with a mirror. Just an office.
A man in a green hat sleeps quietly, with a… green man sitting by the chair. But he is not asleep, in fact, he seems to have just woken up. Why is he green? Maybe a birth mutation, he doesn’t know. The green man looks up at him and stares, his scleras also tinted green.
He begins speaking in the same language as the homeowner, albeit way faster and with more energy than the deadpan man from earlier. He catches a few words here and there that his dear friend once used, as well as that one product.. ‘Enerjeka’, he believes. He doesn’t understand it, in Georgia they never had that. Though, this man seems to be bringing it up a lot. And he has two cans of it on his head right now, so the man seems very… fond of it.
The Enerjeka Addict smiled at him, waiting for a response. He seemed to have not noticed the sewn mouth yet, so, as calmly as the shaky man could, he pointed to his own mouth.
“Ls, wznm! Blf mvvw svok, wlm’g blf? Ovg nv tl tvg hlnv hgfuu!” The addict said, motioning for him to stay, before running out of the room.
He stays still, sitting on the floor quietly. He doesn’t particularly understand anything the addict had said, but he trusts him enough. After all, if he was a..what are they called, Visitors? That is what his friend had said when he translated for him, correct? Everyone else is so confusing, he misses his friend so much. The last semblance of familiarity in his life, ripped away by the men in the yellow suits. FEMA, they called themselves. They broke his heart.
“I will only be gone for a little bit, Giorgi. Don’t worry, they’re only taking me for testing.” His friend had smiled at him, before they had taken him by the arm and dragged him away. He never saw him again.
Maybe he is okay, he hopes he is. His friend was a fighter. He used to aspire to be like him in that way. He could never be like that man, with his easygoing smiles and energetic reassurances.
This addict reminded him of his friend in a way. The rambles and already seemingly somewhat ditzy nature being a parallel to man he used to come here to visit.
Speaking of, the green man was back. He had a pair of scissors and a cloth. He immediately crouched in front of him and began to talk again, starting to cut at the wires. Each cut sent a bit of pain through him, though all his distress was met with small shushes and a comforting smile. The Enerjeka man’s voice soothed the despair coursing through him during the process.
As the man talks, he catches a name. Presumably, the addict’s own. “R’n Lev.” The man says, pulling out the last of the rusty wires. Damn, it hurt, “Zmw blf?”
He sniffles lightly, trying to mask the tears of both agony and joy, “I-I’m Giorgi.” He says, feeling his mouth as his eyes widened. He could talk again! He could move his mouth like a normal person!
“Giorgi? Evib kivggb! Yfg R wlm’g fmwvihgzmw blf.” Lev says, putting the cloth to Giorgi’s mouth. He understands why, the puncture holes were bleeding a whole lot. Even if he could talk and move his mouth, it still hurt. He continues to move it in awe even in pain, too excited to just not.
“Dsb wlm’g blf hgzb sviv uli gsv mrtsg? R’oo fs… xovzm gsv yollw hlnv nliv!” The Enerjeka addicted man smiles weakly, trying to use gestures to communicate. Maybe they should make a common language. Though, he does kind of understand it.
The other pats the space beside him with a bit of awkward eagerness, miming cleaning the blood. Does he want him to.. stay? In here? Really, for the night?
He hesitates, before nodding and sitting beside him. Lev continues to wipe the blood as he begins to relax again, going back to talking as he once did before. Giorgi listens and tries to understand as best he can, finally feeling much more relieved since his mouth was freed.
Time for his second priority, sleep. He shifts to sit beside the other in a more comfortable position, semi-curled up. Lev doesn’t seem to notice, but wraps an arm around him anyway.
He looks up at the other, before shutting his eyes and actually falling asleep to the soothing yet hyperactive rambles in a language he doesn’t even understand.
And if the other finally acknowledges it and quiets down to fall asleep too? Well, he doesn’t judge.