Happier Times (Kyrie, Retro, September 2012)

["Tuvlan"]

OOC: If this is a bit of a stretch, PM me where Kyrie "works" at this time. Or maybe "Tuvlan" might meander wherever Kyrie is anyways =3. At any rate, in light of the new MGS game, WE TITLE THIS:

Scavengeance

It was the northern area of Barker's territory, near Dragon country. There were some Barker folk exploring about on their patrols at least five streets down... so they hadn't yet come across the devastated series of apartment complexes, with all their trees felled and splintered.

Inside the utterly ruined apartments of 4509 Walker Street, a young man would be found, hopping happily on a tree that appeared to be... uprooted and dragged into the base of this apartment's kitchen. He was scrounging around with his long arms, reaching into the exposed cabinets, gutting them of their contents, hastily tossing away broken or empty cans into the sink five feet behind him. Or trying, at any rate, as he wasn't exactly looking at it.

He wore ratty looking jeans that were still wet, a ruined black t-shirt with darkened maroon stains of hardened blood, and his exposed arms were covered with little bits and pieces of wood. His missing right eye was well covered with a black eye-patch that clung to his head tightly.

Long red hair was whipped back and forth as he continued to bounce, smiling gleefully, staring at the cabinet with a shining green eye, muttering over and over again excitedly:

"SMASH, SMASH, SMASH, SMASH, SMASH...

"=D!?"

[Kyrie Blaze]

A little ninja was another visitor to the ruined apartments. The blonde had skirted in and up the stairs to systematically work through what could be her source of food for the next little stretch of time. Beneath the clothes she wore, her stomach lurched and twisted. Hunger gnawed and bit. The gaunt blonde didn't want to be in Barker Territory.

Normally, she stuck with the neutral zone.

But hunger was a relentlessly scary thing. And there was a chance, in scavenging in Barker Territory, that she could find more than the extremely pillaged ruins of what was the neutral zone. It was hot. She was exhausted. And she was hearing things. A voice--which made her suspicious. Clanging sounds--more so. Kyrie carefully adjusted her pack and took a look, discreetly, out the window. The sound grew only slightly louder, from below. But that wasn't her real purpose. If someone was making that amount of racket, it would draw eyes. And attention.

The wrong kind.

The kind that the blonde wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

Get in, search, get out. That's what this was supposed to be.

But now she had to go and see. Perhaps encourage whomever it was to be quiet. Or avoid this building altogether if it came to it. The second option was probably for the best. But she could just barely make out the words as she hit the second floor, down from the third. She edged cautiously along...and found the sound more clearly emanating from the room she was almost upon. With quiet caution, she continued on, taking care to continue breathing when she forgot. A hole in the floor. Jagged, perhaps a little unstable. But she edged closer, carefully distributing her weight so she could look and see who was there.

The repetitive words made her wary. She sidled over. The clanks were distinctly metal of a lighter variety.

...and...and there was a tree?

A tree in the kitchen. What would have been a kitchen, and to be called by a name still was. Bouncing, tossing jars that clattered into the sink. Intense blue eyes flickered, taking note of the cans. The lids, specifically. The sharp edges. For now, she watched. A habit she'd forged long ago. Make a brief analysis. Continue to watch until she was certain.

This one. Enthusiastic. Perhaps childish--rather, childlike. The tree? Was that his doing? Potentially strong. Potentially unstable. Potentially hostile.

But then, potentially not.

["Tuvlan"]

What "CAN" I Do For You?

Kyrie would also see the amount of dirt sprawled into the ground, the dampness of the roots of the tree. If she was close enough, she might even have been able to smell the freshly "tilled" dirt that was scattered about on the ground. But if she paid any particular attention to the boy, was that while he was tall and lithe, even as he was sat, he looked fit and well fed for a man in the post apocalypse.l=

A final tin was thrown, and the boy gathered in front of himself... eleven cans. Beans, garbanzo beans, kidney beans, sardines, cream of mushroom, cream of chicken. All on the kitchen counter. The boy leaned forward towards them, arms outstretched to hug them with delight against his chest.

...He leaned too far forward and instead fell forward, hitting his forehead on the corner of the kitchen counter.

"SMAAS---"

The boy fell silent. His legs were sprawled out behind him, over and on the tree, as a stray ray of sunlight bore down over the back of his head from the window.

---His body would twitch violently for a moment, and then fall still.

[Kyrie Blaze]

Kyrie's eyes remained bright and watchful as she continued to observe the person that was slowly starting to take shape as an exuberant man-child. One that was...well. Distinctly not as hungry-looking as she was. Which meant he had a food source either provided for him...or he was just really single-minded in scouring for cans and tins of food that hadn't been damaged. Lanky, lean, but healthy. The smell of upturned dirt was just present.

A rapid motion caught her eye as she was looking to see if he had a companion, and just as a general precaution and her head swiftly jerked to see the cause.

The word was cut off and he fell with a clatter. The cans of food beckoned. His body twitched them lay still. Kyrie internally squeaked and squeamed in mild distress. She could simply take the goods and have decent food rations for the next little span of time. Because with no apparent companions, if she cared for him because she was going to guess he just gave himself a concussion, then he would be a potential attachment she couldn't afford to have.

But the thing was...Kyrie wasn't a bad person. She only took what she absolutely needed, and most times from those who could afford to spare. And he was clearly most likely going to need attention.

With a muttered oath in a foreign tongue that only sounded melodious and pleasant - French was a musical language and superb to curse with - she curled her body over the ledge and dropped down, landing in a cautious crouch. Before she moved over to him she quickly and quietly picked up two tin lids with tabs and tucked them where she could reach them.

And then she quietly and with great caution closed in on the man. Boy. Either way her senses were on high alert as she quickly began to scan him. What she had assumed to be simple stains were actually patches of blood that only set off warning bells in her mind. She breathed, trying to be comforted by the smell of the tree and the dirt as she reached out to begin a very careful shift of his person so she could see his head, two fingers pressing delicately against his neck to check his pulse. She didn't sit or move too close, eyes wary and darting, body poised to spring away. But she would...

...she would aid him, if she could.

["Tuvlan"]

Test Passed

There was only a plopping sound to be heard as Kyrie, rather discreetly, dropped herself down, landing properly in a crouch. There was still to be no movement as she went on over to pick up the two tin lids...

...And nothing still as she careened over the boy. Hardened scars all over his arms, fading from over the years. A distinct bite mark at the right of the nape of his neck.

She would find that it was a very cool room. Even though most windows were shattered, it did not stop the apartment from processing out its original functions, keeping the inside fairly temperate. Hence she might find it a little strange with how warm the boy's neck was, and just how quickly his heart was beating.

A muffled sound came from the boy's downturned face in the ground. Then another, still garbled. His head suddenly shot backwards, eye open, gasping for air, mouth wide, crumbles of dirt and plaster entering his mouth. He reflexively began spitting, as he abruptly did a push-up and moved himself up into a crouch, while perhaps already under her touch.

Perhaps by this time, Kyrie would have already sprung away. But the boy would just keep spitting downward the nasty tasting plastic, making hocking sounds, unsightly threads of saliva running down both his upper and lower lip as his chest heaved, tongue trying to clip away at it. Like a gross thing, he moved his left arm in front of his face to smear off the excess, leaving strands of clear, damp stains on his exposed arm... before he looked on over with a nonchalant turn of his head towards her.

He wore the biggest smile.

"Smaaaaaaaaaaaasssshhhh?

"=D?"

Perhaps he had actually heard her...

---

OOC Notes:

-"Tuvlan" has noted Kyrie's kindness! He will not forget!

[Kyrie Blaze]

So many scars. From himself? From others? Kyrie frowned as she pressed her index and middle fingers against the young man's neck to feel for his pulse. He was warm. A sharp contrast to the surprisingly cool room. And with a slight adjustment of her fingers, she found his pulse. It was fast. Very quick. And not at all erratic, which was what she had been expecting after a hit to the head like that.

The first murmur didn't really alarm her, though her gaze sharpened and she set a gentle but firm hand upon his shoulder with the intent to start turning him over. She glanced back to ensure his feet and legs wouldn't twist to an awkward angle. Another gurgle sounded.

"It i--"

And then he jerked back. Kyrie snatched her hand back and was just about to reach out to stabilize him - 'Seizure--?!' - when he began spitting and pushed himself up with his arms. It was at this point, complete with wide eyes, that the slender and tiny blonde moved backwards, quick and quiet and hoping that if this was a trap, that she could flee or that it would be over fast and that she wouldn't have even the opportunity to get up again.

Because she would have to get up.

The young man with his red hair continued to cough. Kyrie stayed where she was, torn between high-tailing it out of there or reaching out to help. He didn't seem to be choking, but was he..?

Ugh. And then he wiped his face against his arm - very much like a child would, part of her noted while the other part winced in mild disgust - leaving a trail of slime against his arm.

Once again she was poised to flee and nearly did as his head shifted and turned towards her. The smile upon his face both alarmed and disarmed her--a dangerous feat. With her weight centered but shifted to the balls of her feet, the blonde pulled in a slow, deep breath, trying to keep both it and her exhale from being shaky. Her heart thrummed like the wings of a caged bird.

If she hadn't known the word he was saying before, she may have been alarmed--more than she was already. But it seemed like that was the only word he was apt to say. His smile didn't seem to be malicious, so she offered a small - oh-so-very-small - smile of concern and hopefully reassurance; she didn't want to provoke him to lunge at her in an attack: she could easily see he was muscular, built for strength while not being bulky.

"...you do not want to smash me." Said mostly in case it actually meant he was going to or if he was by chance meaning something else. "You hit your head, hard. Uhm--are you okay..?"

Kyrie didn't move back towards him, but did well to keep her wide blue eyes on him, and her ears open for incoming noises.