Ashmouth/Deep.There is nothing new under the sun.
They sit together near the end of all things, watching the suns fall down under the shining veils of blue. Ashmouth fidgets incessantly with the small coils of gold wire - all that's left of his cartography gear - he winds it into a spiral shape, twists it straight, turns it on itself until it breaks. Deep himself trucks no distractions, but he sits alongside, quivering like a hound. He is waiting.
He's been waiting for this, his entire life.
The wire flexes around Ashmouth's fingers - long and sallow today, with delicate points at the tips of his nails. It's all so stereotypically demonic and boring
. The metal seems to love him, in the way it pours across his skin, fits itself close, makes little dents in the pale skin. Deep pays no attention to this constant movement, inasmuch as he disregards anything. Ashmouth's habits are familiar after so long together, and he is looking forward to this being over so he can get a little variety
or maybe for once a change.Ping
, the wire goes, snapping in half, and that's the first time Deep's ever seen that before. The map is breaking open, and the world is turning over in its rest. They must be in a place of power. They're so close to the crux of things he can taste it, along with the dust coating the top of his tongue.
"You realize what we're doing will mean the end of this," Ashmouth says, his voice dark and cracked as old leather, and as nastily-humored. There's an ugly taste in his words and Deep lets it fall down his throat eagerly.
"Don't care," he returns. "Don't care, really don't. This should've gone a long time ago anyway. It's unnatural. We should be able to know things like this. It's unfair." And it's boring.
All that toil in life, to be broken down the next time the fabric of the universe warps. The face of things changes, but in the guts it's all the same. And who wants that?
If everyone else could understand this, they'd know he was doing them a favor. Down with repitition and up with death. Up with death. Up with death.
He's been so bored,
his entire life: he's only 18 and already he feels older than Ashmouth, like he's gone through more, like he's seen more. This will be the biggest gift anyone's ever given to the ungrateful world.
"So it's unfair, and it should die because of it?" Ashmouth is laughing, in his voice, a deep crackle-warble. Funny, the way he laughs: high and birdish, so much higher than he voice. Cleaner. His yellow eyes flatten out and go dark with reptilian pleasure. It's taken six months, but he's finally a bit taken with Deep.
"It's unfair and it's boring
." Deep is adamant in this. "Nothing ever changes, it doesn't matter how many times we go round. It's not right
"You think you're bored? Try living as long as I have, and see how you feel."
Deep laughs at the words, how self-pitying they are. "Don't be a baby." In a moment his laugh shatters into a cough. His throat is parched and arid and that's
something to feel sorry for. "Is there any water left?"
There's another piece of wire making love to Ashmouth's fingers. It's twisting and turning and coiling around like salted slug, and Deep stares. He's transfixed at how it is different every time, in little subtle ways. The falling light gleams gentle on it. The sun is nearly down and then they will walk into the heart.
"Now who's acting young?" Ashmouth grins to his hands, dirty lashes falling to make shadows on his cheeks. "There's no water. You drank it all two hours ago." It's not fair, Ashmouth's not (really
) human, and Deep pouts at his companion, involuntarily. The older one laughs again. "Have an orange instead, if you wish. We might as well leave the food: it won't be so long a walk til the end."
The orange is heavy between his hands. On a whim, Deep tries peeling it all in one go: but the wobbling rind breaks early, only a fourth through. He is disappointed and tears the rest of the peel away in heavy chunks, dropping them carelessly to the ground. In less than a day it won't matter. He's looking forward to it.
"Hurry up." Ashmouth is scenting, glaring towards the last flaring rays of the sun: the last sunset in the last day in the last moment of their world.
It's a beautiful one, the only non-tedius thing in this shitty place. Blue scintillates and whorls in the sky.
"The heart is open. I can feel it." And in a moment, Ashmouth's up, taking big steps down the hill. He's dropped all the packs down in the dust. Deep mashes the last slices of fruit in his mouth and almost chokes and the flood of citrus-taste. There's orange peel caught under his fingernails. The sunset is falling down and his chapped lips, distantly, are stinging. He'll regret the loss of oranges - that, at least.
Yeah, I don't really know. ^^