Feel The Earth Move

[MethodicalSlacker]

[M19 - Cybil Price: Start]

Cybil hadn't seen anyone yet. If he had, then they'd already be dead. That's just how it would go. No hard feelings.

Squatting on the top of the flat roof of a small, one story home, Cybil gazed out at the street. His sword lay at his side, his bag a few feet behind him. He reckoned that he'd been keeping watch for at least a couple of hours. Long enough to eat a good portion of his bread, at the very least. It was probably mid-morning, judging from the sun. He felt like he was a little overdressed, and had started to sweat early on, so he took off his over-shirt and tied it around his waist.

The sword seemed sharp enough. If it wasn't, he could always bash someone over the head with it. Lifting it was no issue for him.

Yeah.

There wasn't much to do.

Patience.

But eventually, someone would come.

And Cybil would be ready.

[Cicadan]

((Continued From))

Where was he going to go now? Clay ran. Then, walked, then... Hesitated, even as he lingered in the shade of several balcony's worth of home. He processed quickly as he could, until nauseating brain exhaustion. How best to proceed, the question. Find shelter? How could he barricade himself in? Was he injured? Did he need to take time to assess himself, would resting for that reason put him in danger? No, he was already in danger. Right? He was standing still, paralyzed by indecision, instead of actually doing anything productive.

He stared blankly into the gorgeous void of a tropical flavor sky.

Saw a familiar face. Pants, mittens, he'd seen Cybil only so long ago, back when they'd both been students, unarmed, un-dangerous... Cybil was an honest man. Well. Was that the right word, honest? Clay had never quite been able to clearly define Cybil. Except, well, as a friend, end of it all. All disquieting oddities aside.

A friend was a friend. Clay approached, tentatively. He stepped out of the shadows of the wall he had pointlessly  lounged under. Between them was a side street and then a wide open main thoroughfare, far more abandoned than a road it's size had any business being. Cybil would see Clay on approach for a good fifteen seconds before the distance was closed.

Shout a greeting? Would that draw too much attention? By the time Clay had any answer to his own question he was already close enough to speak anyway, coming to a standing stop by the alabaster gutter of the home Cybil had perched on.

"Hey, uh. How'd you get up there?" Clay held his hands up. "No weapons. FYI."

[MethodicalSlacker]

Maybe the mittens would be the next thing to go. In all honesty, Cybil probably should have taken them off before he took off his over-shirt - which was starting to look more and more like a coat, now that he thought about it. He supposed that he'd taken to wearing it so habitually that it had become casual for him. He hadn't ever been somewhere this warm, where a coat suggested some kind of occasion, or event.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw somebody. It didn't matter who. The embers of determination burned in his eyes. Within seconds, Cybil's sword was in his hand, and he had sprung up to a standing position, ready to leap off and roll onto the ground to meet-

Clay.

Cybil dropped his guard. His sword hung at his side. The heat seemed to cool, for just a few moments.

It didn't matter who.

Slowly, Cybil put the sword down. He moved back into a sitting position, letting his feet dangle off the edge of the roof. The left side of his lips curled into something of a half-smile, while the other half remained relaxed.

"There's a way up inside," he said, pointing his thumb behind him. "Skylight."

Cybil's throat felt dry. He reached in his bag for a bottle of water.

"Come on up."

It wasn't a question.

[Cicadan]

There was a good second of awkward pause. Good second's worth of Clay's thoughts steaming, like a hot-ass dump, straight off the tracks. Did he look like an idiot to everyone watching? The way his nose and jaw buzzed with hot and angry bee stings worth of pain, he didn't imagine he looked so good. It probably didn't matter, it wasn't like the editors of the final broadcast would even include much of his footage. If any... But wait, fuck, did fractured bones get infected? Would his death end up being that ignoble and pointless?

Clay smiled back when Cybil smiled.

"Gotcha."

The ascent was a collapsing, fumbling mess. Boxes were stacked under the skylight, making a couple of little handholds and footholds. Clay proceeded to scrape ample amounts of flesh over every inch of splinters and sandpaper available. Silent cusses. By the time he reached the top he was panting rather obviously with exertion and adrenaline-medicated pain, he sprawled out, half-upright with his legs.

"Forgive the... fuck." Clay exhaled heavily, one of many. "Lost some of my energy in... a fight... Hah. Like I would have been able to climb up easily even in top condition, right?"

Lame joke, but Clay didn't exactly have the brainpower for any good ones.

[MethodicalSlacker]

Clay moved inside to find his way up. His head disappearing beneath the doorway, Cybil let out a deep sigh. His hand itched to pick up his sword, his legs urged to walk over to the light, and his head was still in the space of waiting for Clay when he came up, poised and ready for the kill.

It wasn't supposed to matter who he saw. But it did.

The noise behind him swayed his ears to the cause, too. Clay was having trouble making his way up onto the roof, despite the steps that Cybil had positioned to make his own ascent as easy as possible. A weak link. Someone that, roughly speaking, the world would be better off without. If he can't pull his own weight up a set of stairs, then it'd be worthless trying to get him over the finish line. Wounded, too, so he said. He looked rough, but any injuries must've been exaggerated or internal. Cybil still aired on the side of the former.

"Who'd you run into?" he asked, turning to face Clay, "and where were you when it happened, anyway?"

Chances are, they might still be hanging around there. The arena was large, but not so large as to prevent Cybil from making it in under ten minutes, if he had Clay watch his things and just took his sword. Give or take a few, depending on location. It'd be easier if he tried taking the rooftops, too.

The gaps between houses didn't look too far, anyway.

[Cicadan]

A moment of silence, to catch his breath. Then,

"The, uh... chapel, it was some sort of chapel. I was meditating when I heard him and when I called out he attacked, whoever he was." Clay realized he hadn't even checked the maps yet, and he knew there were maps, it wasn't like he hadn't watched Program... Not a lot of it, though. Not exactly family friendly entertainment. Should he have watched more? Fuck, what was he doing with his time, even? Besides wandering around like a less-coordinated tumbleweed.

"Dunno who it was. He sings though, so maybe in the school choir... As if that helps either of us figure it out." Clay sighed, suddenly a wee bit tired of it all. Trying to keep up with all the shit as it melted through his head like film reels burning away, it was actually ridiculously exhausting. "Sorry. Not the most helpful description, I know."

He tried to stand. Knees wobbling dangerously, okay, bad idea.

Well, maybe he needed to toughen up a bit. At least try to put up a fight, as if that'd help him or his case. Another few seconds of sitting on his ass, then he tried and failed to draw himself upright again.

"Ugh..." A mealy, wet sort of groan. "So..." Bunch of things he could have pointed out. Cybil had the physique and training to win. Clay wouldn't have been surprised if Cybil didn't already have some kind of secret, badass plan for this exact scenario. Cybil had always struck him as the sort... But no, Clay kept that shit to himself, where it probably belonged. No need to shoot himself in the foot when he didn't even have a gun to his name.

"... What are you going to do?"

[MethodicalSlacker]

Chapel. Cybil knew where that was, roughly, on his map. Not that bad of a distance. Probably wouldn't have to attempt roof-walking. The disadvantage of being on such a low roof was the lack of a good vantage point, but, then again, the surrounding buildings provided cover from gunfire. On the other hand, he could easily be ambushed by a small team of gunmen, but he doubted that anyone else had their shit together enough to have thought of that.

He didn't know any artsy folk. That would make this easier.

"Well, in a couple minutes, I'll probably head over to the chapel. See if he's still there or not."

Cybil took another sip of water, and swished it around in his mouth.

Then, I'll kill him. That's what I should be saying, right? I should be honest with Clay. He'd understand, wouldn't he?

"I dunno what comes after that."

Face-plant.

"How about you?"

[Cicadan]

Ominous. Like, Cybil hadn't really explicitly said anything but there was a good anything and everything left to infer. Theft. Assault and battery. Why? Shit if Clay knew. Maybe Cybil wanted some kinda misguided justice for a friend. Or maybe he just wanted an easy mark of some sort- the dude Clay could make a getaway from probably wasn't exactly a tough fight all things considered- or maybe he happened to really like chapels, or maybe just maybe he needed an excuse to get away from his pathetic friend who was sweating and panting over an hour's worth of combat exertions.

Cybil set one clear precedent though. Water. Clay rummaged in his bag for a bottle and promptly failed to ration it.

"I dunno. He was still down and groaning when I ran out, but I don't think I did much damage... Uh..."

What else useful? Physical details? Fighting style? Weapon loadout? Erring on the side of caution and just saying it all, perhaps?

"He was like, portly kinda dude. Blonde slick kinda hair, and uh... I don't think he knew how to fight. Or had a weapon. But obviously I'm not the expert on any of that stuff."

Clay wasted more of the water bottle splashing it over his face. Refreshing sensation, at least, cooling off some of his red-flushed skin.

"Me, I dunno. Stay here, this seems like a decent house to take shelter in. I mean," and Clay looked right at Cybil, at least briefly before chickening out and looking to his shoes instead," in an ideal world we'd partner up and, I dunno? Wait for the 'competition' to at least 'thin out' a little. But I might be missing some strategic points."

[MethodicalSlacker]

Cybil nodded along as Clay fed him more information. It seemed that they had reached an understanding, then. On some deeper level, Clay had penetrated to the point of Cybil's thinking where he would have confessed his desire to kill, and was giving back in turn. Clay probably didn't even notice this change. He was just rattling off bullet points, in his own head. He just happened to be working just the way that Cybil wanted.

Look at that waste of water. He won't make it another two days.

If the kid who attacked Clay didn't know how to fight, that made things all the more easy. Of course, Cybil had no idea how to jump his way across rooftops, but what mattered was the capacity to be able to do so. Clay's attacker didn't seem, from the few short words that Clay offered, the kind to have much of a capacity to do anything major. Clay didn't either, but that was besides the point.

"I don't think," Cybil interjected, "that staying put is a good idea."

Technically speaking, as far as Cybil was concerned, it was maybe the best idea. Pick a small area, and patrol it. Keep watch, and pounce when you can.

All the more reason for Clay to believe it wasn't.

"It's better to be active. Spread yourself out. If you linger in one place for too long, you'll just be found and kicked out by a bigger fish than you. Where does that leave you? Cold, alone, and on the brink of..."

The dissonant chord hangs in the air, waiting for its resolution.

"Just don't linger too long, is all I'm saying."

[Cicadan]

Some sort of odd harmony struck between them, as they talked back and forth. Vaguely uncomfortable, like a song not quite composed right. Clay was just being paranoid, perhaps. But it seemed, the more riposte Cybil offered to Clay's thoughts, the more off balance and teetering he felt despite his stable seating on the ground. Beads of water lazily trailblazed from his chin down his neck, ignored.

"I mean..."

Conflicting ideas, foreign and not, percolated like oil and water trying to mix in cacophony.

"I thought it was, like. You have a big chance of running into bigger threats if you're in motion same as they are, like..."

It was logical, right? Maybe... If Clay really tried to run his brain over the likely scenarios, of two singular points of humanity constantly in motion... In a fixed space... But a fleeting vision he couldn't easily wrap his head around, that.

"... increases exposure chances... But, yeah. I guess you're right."

Brain structures folded away, compressed, deleted, storage space freed. The phantasm of his own grasping and reaching at self-interest haunted him with the illusions of his own actions, but he dismissed it. Yes. He had no reason to doubt the expertise of a friend.

Well, the point of Program was that no friend was truly a friend, not anymore.

"... Yeah, I hear you. I'll get a move on myself, keep ahead of the game and all that."

Cybil could well not be an ally, but the friendly unknown was palatable. Clay let his doubts percolate. He'd run into a face with a gun around any unfamiliar corner. He'd run into death and not know their face. Disquieted as he was, Clay affirmed to himself that he'd take Cybil's advice. Cybil was a good friend. Maybe. And maybe, just maybe, one without an ulterior motive.

"After you find Chapel dude, like, what then though?"

[MethodicalSlacker]

"I'll..."

Say it.

"I'll keep walking, after I'm through with him, is what I'll do."

The chord hangs in the air, still and shrill.

Water bottle goes back in bag. Clay's comments about the logic of Cybil's position deflected off of the rubber coating around his head. Stuck to the ground, made glue in the sunlight. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it down as best he could. Cybil brought his hand in front of his face afterwards. Looked at it for a good couple seconds, then let it fuss with the coat around his waist.

He got up, turned around, and picked up the Spatha. The glint of sunlight bouncing off the metal caught in him the eye just the right way as he lifted it, making one small bluish-green dot to drift just out of the center of his vision wherever he looked. Cybil held the sword out in front of him, as far as his arm would go. Facing Clay, he turned it around in his hand a few times.

"Do you think this looks sharp enough to cut with?" he asked, "It's a little sharp, sure, but I'm not sure if it's what I'm looking for."

[Cicadan]

The chord's release truncated, a flat, chamber-like silence stealing through Clay's running thoughts, creating wide and open spaces. Spaces for sanctimonious thoughts, such as 'thou shalt not kill'.

Thoughts not spoken. Directly.

"You're going to start already? Isn't it better to observe the situation for a day, like, maybe a lot of people will be killing or, I dunno..." Clay didn't know how to voice an objection with substance. His eyes traced up the contour of Cybil's weapon, the blade catching the sun and cleaving it's rays in two.

"Yeah. It's definitely sharp."

Clay fell silent. A notated rest.

"Might be messy to use. I mean, melee kinda fights usually aren't so clean, right?" Clay's evidence, his own broken nose, and still-frame memories of video games.

[MethodicalSlacker]

"Maybe it will be messy," Cybil said, bringing the edge closer to his face for a few moments before letting it drop, dangling by his side.

"Things tend to be."

A light breeze blew across the rooftops.

"Who knows? I might decide it's not worth it. I might decide that I should lay low for a bit, or that I should join some group, or something."

Cybil shrugged. The breeze was getting annoying, by now. It moved him to move his bag a little further from the edge, and to move himself closer to Clay. He sat, hugging his knees to his chest, his sword resting just on the corner of his vision. For a few moments, he looked his friend in the eyes.

"Do you think that I..."

His hands began to shake. Cybil felt his fingers go numb, but found his mittens already covering them when he went to rub them together for warmth.

"Do you think that I could..."

For a brief second, he twitched, like a bird ruffling his feathers.

[Cicadan]

Things tend to be? Didn't Clay himself know that oh so well...? He grimaced as the breeze tickled wrongly at his busted nose. How was he supposed to respond? To any of this? He half expected the conversation to end in his death somehow, though he was only being paranoid, but with how tight Cybil's fist was around his blade maybe not...

Cybil himself echoed Clay's own thought process for a moment. Mights and maybes. So many maybes.

"Well..."

Clay unconsciously searched in the bag he'd by now brought up onto his lap. One hand dipped in, then out, with a soft and weak grip. Beads of cold steel and a cry to God was clenched in his fist.

"I guess I'd rather you not."

Clay put his fist to his mouth, the droplets of beads draping over his chin, turned his eyes skywards.

"But what you do is, well. Not my providence. That's between you and...

Whatever you believe in," Clay finished, well too aware of the dangers of defining.

[MethodicalSlacker]

Cybil's expression hardened. The smile, long gone from his face, came back to find that the locks had been changed. He unfolded his arms from around his legs and brought them down, moving into a cross-legged position. His arms drooped down by his sides.

"I'm not asking if it's right to do it, Clay," he drawled, looking up at the sky.

"I'm asking if you think that I have it in me."