Quickly Lost, Remembered Slowly [Finished]

[Bee]

It was dusk when he finally made it to the graveyard, trudging slowly and low to the ground. It was just about the only place he could go in the City to get a little bit of peace and quiet. People depressed him. Peace and quiet depressed him too, actually. Eerie silence. Nobody wanting to talk to him.

He usually used his alone time to pursue vague personal interests, but they never stayed interesting for very long. He painted an indifferent picture that the most positive report had hailed as "existing somewhere for some reason." Cooked a meal so exceedingly bland that afterwards people weren't sure if they had actually eaten. Tried to work as an advice columnist, only to be fired when the suicide rate for that area quadrupled. The singing career hadn't panned out because of the chain in his mouth. Or it could have been something to do with the fact that his cheeriest lyrics read as follows:

Life is rot and Death's a folly
No reason to laugh or be jolly
We all meet our end alone and afraid
So what matters if it's natural or by the blade?

He'd been a huge hit with emo kids, actually. Which depressed him so much that he had pitched himself into the nearest river. Which the kids had talked about for months.

He thought he might try dance next.

One day he would find something that interested him, that he excelled at.

Until then, he was content to stare at the names of the departed. Well, not content. But that's what he did.

[seraaches]

Ladarius did not like the City. Really, Ladarius did not like being anywhere other people were. Ever. EVER. But being home in lovely Avington was far worse, because he knew those people and they knew him. It was always far, far worse when he knew the person. So he could only stare with sad eyes at his family, friends, and neighbours as most of them stared back with a heavy weight in their gaze. It was easier here where everyone was a stranger and it didn't matter wot he might or might not know. Right?

So he came here to rest and be away from the secrets walking around him and stroll among those whose secrets were already bared to the world or buried beneath the ground where no one could ever find them. Safe. Unknowing. Uncaring of wot might lurk behind his gaze. The cemetery was the only place he could ever remember being happy.

[Bee]

Ezra was used to having company in the graveyard, of course. There were plently of people who make the trek to extend the meaningless gesture of putting out flowers for people who could no longer enjoy them. There was something charming in the futility of the act, and he liked to watch them; once or twice he had even tried to make the joke that maybe they should perform plays or song and dance routines for the dead, too, if they were capable of appreciating flowers, but the people had merely stared at him blankly. Or threw things at him. But mostly the people left when they realized there was a lurker.

The newcomer didn't seem interested in paying any kind of "respects," however. He was difficult not to notice--Avington with bright green fur, and a ram at that. Ezra sat down by a particularly new looking grave marker, and watched.

[seraaches]

The bright-toned creature seemed oblivious to the other lurker; it wasn't as though he were particularly aware of those around him. So he continued his stately tread; cloven hooves taking a steady pace past one grave after another. He didn't really pause, simply skimmed the headstones and kept going. He wasn't looking for anyone in particular, as was evident, he wasn't even particularly somber. If anything, this was the most cheerful he'd been in a few days. It was lovely to be able to walk around, head held high and not worry about wot he might learn about someone.

So when Ladarius turned around and spotted the Torquehelm sitting over by a newer marker. The ram physically flinched from the sight, before sort of steeling himself and continuing on his path. It took him near to the other man and the ram seemed prepared to continue onwards, though, after that initial shock, he didn't seem too terribly concerned with the other's presence.

[Bee]

The ram had jerked away upon spotting him, but Ezra couldn't really blame him. He wouldn't want to make conversation with him either. It always seemed to turn to something morbid, like what exactly happened to the body when necrotizing fasciitis set in (eventually the skin would turn purple and start to blister, and then the total death of tissue set in, and the person who had it was essentially doomed--there were no antibiotics to treat it. It started so innocently, too, he always told them: just a little bit of pain, maybe some swelling, some vomiting; it was like any other illness), and then the other participant would usually begin to look very ill and hasten to make their escape.

But maybe the ram wouldn't. Perhaps he enjoyed flesh-eating bacteria and other such maladies. Ezra followed him at a slight distance, weaving through the gravestones, and after a short while he spoke. His voice was a bit mumbling, a bit difficult to comprehend, but taking the chain out of his mouth was unthinkable.

He tried to be as upbeat as possible, and set the conversation to something that fit the scenery: "How do you think you're going to die?"

[seraaches]

The ram tilted his head his head at the odd looking vermin; really the Torquehelmian resembled a cat with his large, heavy ears. Still the ram didn't seem the least bit put off by the morbid train of thought; perhaps it came from his own time spent meandering in cemeteries.

"I think it will either be a wasting sickness or by the hand of a higher-ranked Card who wants me out of the way." He tilted his head at the black creature, indigo eyes sweeping the other man now that they were closer to each other. "How do you foresee your ending?"

It didn't really occur to the Avington ram that this might not be the most appropriate conversation for a pair of strangers to strike up on in the middle of a graveyard as night fell around them like a comfortable cloak. Perhaps they should be discussing tupperware instead.

[Bee]

"I've imagined different things at different stages of life," said Ezra, pawing at the ground contemplatively. He thought about it a lot, actually. He tried not to, but sometimes, when he was trying to bake, he thought, the oven is going to explode and I'll be immoliated, and I'll leave a toasty corpse that smells like ash and vanilla extract. For quite some time he was worried about getting kidnapped and killed by rabid groupies. But he planned on keeping his underground former singing career quite firmly buried, where it belonged. Already a fan letter had made it to his new address, and he needed to be cautious.

Whenever he tried to imagine outcomes, they usually ended in his demise. Or someone else's. Or everyone's. He tried to force himself to imagine happy things like sunshine and kittens instead, but the sun always went supernova and the kittens got nuked.

"Right now I'm leaning toward graverobbers leaping from the bushes to bludgeon us to death with shovels to prevent us from calling the proper authorities."

[seraaches]

The Avington ram thought this over for awhile, then gave a small shrug; he didn't seem the least bit afraid of dying, though. perhaps their conversation wasn't all that unusual for two strangers who first met in a graveyard. "I guess it's a possibility; it seems like their better bet would be to wait for us to leave so they wouldn't have to worry about murder weapons or our bodies being found and traced back to them."

Then again, a grave robber must be pretty desperate to have to resort to robbing graves to survive. This didn't seem like a very upscale cemetery, so it was unlikely that the dead were buried with a great deal of money or valuables. The grave robber would have to work harder for less pay back. After a moment of thought, the ram shared these ideas with his companion.

[Bee]

"Well, we are in a graveyard," Ezra said contemplatively. He shifted the chain around in his mouth. Sometimes it bit into the corners and did unfortunate things to his teeth (not to mention the fact that it forced him to walk in a meandering pace and particularly hunched stance), but the ram didn't seem to mind it at all, which was nice. The only other people who hadn't minded were the fans, who seemed to like his voice better the more unintelligible he became. They had been incredibly odd people.

"They could just as easily bury us and then rid themselves of the weapons. Bury them with us, even; though that's usually unadvisable. But if they pad the dirt well enough, they can make ours look like old graves, and no one will notice."

The obvious question finally dawned on him. "So, what are you doing here?"

[seraaches]

Ladarius hadn't even thought of that option, and the mostly green ram tilted his head as he let that sink in. Yes, that was an equally valid option. If the grave robber was really smart about it, then they might -never- be found. He made a mental note that if he ever wanted to murder someone, he would bring them to a cemetery.

Indigo eyes flicked back to the Torquehelmian as he thought of how to answer that question. He had a very specific reason for being here, but saying 'I don't like to see people' would only cause futher questioning and those were the questions he didn't want to have to answer. "Looking for peace," he finally responded softly. "And you?" he let his answering question fall smoothly and naturally from his lips. He just hoped the other man didn't notice any rushing or something to change the subject.