Hansel would be the first to admit - readily, in fact - that his people skills were rusty. He could read a wild animal as if they were words on a page, could read the changes of the season and smell the coming of a storm as easily as he could touch his nose. But people? Once upon a time he'd been good with them - sure, always a little gruff around the edges, but a good guide. A protector. A mentor; trusted to be as sturdy as the trees around him when worst came to worst. Now, his people skills were akin to the same effect he'd get from shooting himself in the foot.
A forest man he was, if there was any other to judge. And the stranger in front of him was so clearly a city dweller; unfamiliar surrounded by living coverage and life that breathed, just as he did. Out of his comfort zone, out of what he knew. Alone, just like Hansel was - but the city stranger most likely was not used to being left to fend for himself without a pack at his back, not like Hansel was. City-dwellers tended to stick together. This one was alone.
Hansel had to remind himself of this - remind himself to have compassion - as he straightened up, brushing his hands clean on his brown trousers and arching his shoulders back to stretch them out. He didn't know what the younger man had been through before he'd stumbled into Hansel. Maybe a bit of compassion would help to ease whatever burden the man was carrying.
The other man's sighs, combined with his words, brought Hansel's attention back to the issue at hand. Glancing up with the expectation to see the other male sneering at him - or at least glowering - Hansel was taken by surprise at the state of the other. He looked tired, fatigued, a hand perched in his hair as his head shook with some internal dialogue. It was... cute, not a word that Hansel would often use to describe another grown man, but for lack of a better word, that's what it was - cute.
"Follow me, and step lightly. The round mounds of moss occasionally release contaminated pollen when agitated." The words left his mouth before he'd consciously made a decision, his face still tight with a mask of concealed emotions. He looked away, trying to shake out the image of the man's previous state as he turned his back to the stranger and stepped carefully over a heaping pile of moss, threading through the forest as if he were a predator stalking his prey.
In reality, he was eager to get out of the open - the need for safety and the incessant hunger gnawing at his stomach quickening his steps.
The stranger's next question caught Hansel off guard - enough that he paused his step, waiting for the other to catch up as his eyebrows knit together in confusion. For a moment, the German could not conceive as to why the other would want a name - if he only planned on staying for the night, why would it matter what his companion's name was? But a name wasn't too much to ask - not really - in comparison to the demand for food and shelter.
"Hansel." The name blurred, unfamiliar on his tongue and tangled up tight in an accent heavy with neglect; native and yet not spoken for so long. He almost didn't recognize his own name, rarely had he spoken it himself, and the last time he'd heard it... well, that was before the world had gone to radioactive rot.
He toyed with the idea of asking the other man for his name - after all, if they were going to act civil, having something to call each other besides stranger was a good way to start. Yet... a name meant more familiarity, which meant more vulnerability demanded in return. But if the younger man had asked him, surely he wasn't opposed to offering his own in return.
The next part comes out with the barest traces of teasing hidden in deep, rich depths, the corners of his lips drawing up in the ghost of an unseen smile. "What do I call you, besides trespasser?"
Hansel would be the first to admit - readily, in fact - that his people skills were rusty. He could read a wild animal as if they were words on a page, could read the changes of the season and smell the coming of a storm as easily as he could touch his nose. But people? Once upon a time he'd been good with them - sure, always a little gruff around the edges, but a good guide. A protector. A mentor; trusted to be as sturdy as the trees around him when worst came to worst. Now, his people skills were akin to the same effect he'd get from shooting himself in the foot.
A forest man he was, if there was any other to judge. And the stranger in front of him was so clearly a city dweller; unfamiliar surrounded by living coverage and life that breathed, just as he did. Out of his comfort zone, out of what he knew. Alone, just like Hansel was - but the city stranger most likely was not used to being left to fend for himself without a pack at his back, not like Hansel was. City-dwellers tended to stick together. This one was alone.
Hansel had to remind himself of this - remind himself to have compassion - as he straightened up, brushing his hands clean on his brown trousers and arching his shoulders back to stretch them out. He didn't know what the younger man had been through before he'd stumbled into Hansel. Maybe a bit of compassion would help to ease whatever burden the man was carrying.
The other man's sighs, combined with his words, brought Hansel's attention back to the issue at hand. Glancing up with the expectation to see the other male sneering at him - or at least glowering - Hansel was taken by surprise at the state of the other. He looked tired, fatigued, a hand perched in his hair as his head shook with some internal dialogue. It was... cute, not a word that Hansel would often use to describe another grown man, but for lack of a better word, that's what it was - cute.
"Follow me, and step lightly. The round mounds of moss occasionally release contaminated pollen when agitated." The words left his mouth before he'd consciously made a decision, his face still tight with a mask of concealed emotions. He looked away, trying to shake out the image of the man's previous state as he turned his back to the stranger and stepped carefully over a heaping pile of moss, threading through the forest as if he were a predator stalking his prey.
In reality, he was eager to get out of the open - the need for safety and the incessant hunger gnawing at his stomach quickening his steps.
The stranger's next question caught Hansel off guard - enough that he paused his step, waiting for the other to catch up as his eyebrows knit together in confusion. For a moment, the German could not conceive as to why the other would want a name - if he only planned on staying for the night, why would it matter what his companion's name was? But a name wasn't too much to ask - not really - in comparison to the demand for food and shelter.
"Hansel." The name blurred, unfamiliar on his tongue and tangled up tight in an accent heavy with neglect; native and yet not spoken for so long. He almost didn't recognize his own name, rarely had he spoken it himself, and the last time he'd heard it... well, that was before the world had gone to radioactive rot.
He toyed with the idea of asking the other man for his name - after all, if they were going to act civil, having something to call each other besides stranger was a good way to start. Yet... a name meant more familiarity, which meant more vulnerability demanded in return. But if the younger man had asked him, surely he wasn't opposed to offering his own in return.
The next part comes out with the barest traces of teasing hidden in deep, rich depths, the corners of his lips drawing up in the ghost of an unseen smile. "What do I call you, besides trespasser?"
Shooting his cyan gaze downwards at the ground that rested below his feet, Jasper appeared just a tad bit uneasy as he heard the other male speak of how the moss wasn't free of contamination… And because he didn't have a wide vocabulary, the word ‘gross’ would have to do to describe how he felt about this moss, though a better word may have been ‘grotesque’, or even ‘disgusting.’
Parting his mouth slightly as if to speak, the dark haired male decided against it. Whatever he was going to say didn't matter, as it was simply going to be an agitated remark about the moss. Jasper decided to simply focus, hurriedly working on catching up with the other made who called himself Hansel, and he barely managed to catch a glimpse of his mild surprise as he was taken aback temporarily by the dark haired male’s sudden question, which enabled him to steadily catch up before his cyan gaze looked back to the ground.
He seemed to take the ‘watch your step’ phrase quite literally, especially after being informed of the nature of the forest. Jasper was glad he was with someone who understood the forest like the back of their hand, even if they'd only be together for a day, possibly less.
However, the dark haired male couldn't help but scoff upon being called a ‘trespasser.’ Even though it was technically true, he couldn't help but feel personally targeted. Then, something in his mind prodded Jasper with the fact that Hansel didn't seem to mean any harm with his words.
By God, it's a joke? When the last time I've ever heard one? And because of this, Jasper couldn't help but snort in amusement. It was such a foreign emotion that his cyan eyes grew just a tad misty, tears beginning to swell up within them.
It had been so long since he had experienced such upbeat emotions that he felt like crying, a shaken sigh escaping past his parted lip whilst the dark haired male simply attempted to regather his calm demeanor.
He couldn't cry, crying was an alarming sign of weakness.
“You can just call me Jasper, it's been so long that I can't quite recall what my last name is… Well, was.” Jasper spoke in a softer tone, a very drastic change as opposed to his previous on-guard hostility that was almost a part of who he was… Even the speaker of this gentleness was momentarily stunned by this.
Could it be that the dark haired male actually felt relaxed? It was so strange to feel this way.
Am I developing a fever? All of this exposure to the chemical waste must be coming back to me… This is odd. A look of concern crossed the dark haired male’s scarred visage, tightly knitting his thin, dark eyebrows together in a manner that reflected this visible concern. It was strange, indeed.
Shooting his cyan gaze downwards at the ground that rested below his feet, Jasper appeared just a tad bit uneasy as he heard the other male speak of how the moss wasn't free of contamination… And because he didn't have a wide vocabulary, the word ‘gross’ would have to do to describe how he felt about this moss, though a better word may have been ‘grotesque’, or even ‘disgusting.’
Parting his mouth slightly as if to speak, the dark haired male decided against it. Whatever he was going to say didn't matter, as it was simply going to be an agitated remark about the moss. Jasper decided to simply focus, hurriedly working on catching up with the other made who called himself Hansel, and he barely managed to catch a glimpse of his mild surprise as he was taken aback temporarily by the dark haired male’s sudden question, which enabled him to steadily catch up before his cyan gaze looked back to the ground.
He seemed to take the ‘watch your step’ phrase quite literally, especially after being informed of the nature of the forest. Jasper was glad he was with someone who understood the forest like the back of their hand, even if they'd only be together for a day, possibly less.
However, the dark haired male couldn't help but scoff upon being called a ‘trespasser.’ Even though it was technically true, he couldn't help but feel personally targeted. Then, something in his mind prodded Jasper with the fact that Hansel didn't seem to mean any harm with his words.
By God, it's a joke? When the last time I've ever heard one? And because of this, Jasper couldn't help but snort in amusement. It was such a foreign emotion that his cyan eyes grew just a tad misty, tears beginning to swell up within them.
It had been so long since he had experienced such upbeat emotions that he felt like crying, a shaken sigh escaping past his parted lip whilst the dark haired male simply attempted to regather his calm demeanor.
He couldn't cry, crying was an alarming sign of weakness.
“You can just call me Jasper, it's been so long that I can't quite recall what my last name is… Well, was.” Jasper spoke in a softer tone, a very drastic change as opposed to his previous on-guard hostility that was almost a part of who he was… Even the speaker of this gentleness was momentarily stunned by this.
Could it be that the dark haired male actually felt relaxed? It was so strange to feel this way.
Am I developing a fever? All of this exposure to the chemical waste must be coming back to me… This is odd. A look of concern crossed the dark haired male’s scarred visage, tightly knitting his thin, dark eyebrows together in a manner that reflected this visible concern. It was strange, indeed.
Discord: .xielian | he/him | FR+2 | gay rights alone will save our clan
Though he could feel the air around them cooling, night on the horizon, he waited for the other to catch up with him. All his efforts would be for naught if the younger man only ended up getting lost. He watched with approval as the younger man - Jasper - heeded his words, before continuing to lead the way. At least he was not too proud to listen to Hansel's warning. Perhaps having Jasper for the night wouldn't be as much of a burden as he'd first thought.
At the very least, Hansel could ease his conscious by ensuring that the younger man was safe and fed for the night. He'd be a monster, just like the rest of them, if he'd turned the other man away. He was low on water and even lower on food but the man beside him was worse-off than he was, and his Oma had always taught her grandchildren that giving what you had to help others was the honorable thing to do - especially when it came to hospitality.
Hopefully his hospitality would not be all be for naught if whatever the younger man had been running from came to hunt him down. Hansel hadn't, as of yet, done anything to attract the attention of any of the city gangs - not that they knew that he existed.
He was, to them, a ghost. Non-existent. And that's how he wanted it to remain.
Jasper. Not a name that he would have thought to belong to the young man. Not that Hansel had any idea of what consisted for a normal name; yet Jasper seemed so... soft. A beautiful name, the name of a stone that stood for endurance, as precious as it was strong. Judging from the little that he knew about the other man... no, endurance seemed to suit the young man just fine. It was more suiting than his own name: Gift from God.
If God existed, He certainly wasn't giving gifts these days.
A bark of laughter forced its way past Hansel's guard, which slipped minutely the more relaxed he became, at Jasper's words. No wonder he didn't remember his last name - there wasn't much use for those anymore, from what Hansel knew. Truth be told, he couldn't remember the date that he was born on anymore, though his last name... "Braun; that's my last name. The only reason I remember it is because it's carved into a log in my cabin, right after my first name. Think I put it there right after The Event, to remind myself of who I am."
A glance back, to gauge Jasper's sudden silence, had Hansel's building comfort screech to a halt. Upon noticing the change of expression on Jasper's face, worry began to grow and he paused again, holding up a hand to stop the other's progress as well.
"Are you hurt?"
Though he could feel the air around them cooling, night on the horizon, he waited for the other to catch up with him. All his efforts would be for naught if the younger man only ended up getting lost. He watched with approval as the younger man - Jasper - heeded his words, before continuing to lead the way. At least he was not too proud to listen to Hansel's warning. Perhaps having Jasper for the night wouldn't be as much of a burden as he'd first thought.
At the very least, Hansel could ease his conscious by ensuring that the younger man was safe and fed for the night. He'd be a monster, just like the rest of them, if he'd turned the other man away. He was low on water and even lower on food but the man beside him was worse-off than he was, and his Oma had always taught her grandchildren that giving what you had to help others was the honorable thing to do - especially when it came to hospitality.
Hopefully his hospitality would not be all be for naught if whatever the younger man had been running from came to hunt him down. Hansel hadn't, as of yet, done anything to attract the attention of any of the city gangs - not that they knew that he existed.
He was, to them, a ghost. Non-existent. And that's how he wanted it to remain.
Jasper. Not a name that he would have thought to belong to the young man. Not that Hansel had any idea of what consisted for a normal name; yet Jasper seemed so... soft. A beautiful name, the name of a stone that stood for endurance, as precious as it was strong. Judging from the little that he knew about the other man... no, endurance seemed to suit the young man just fine. It was more suiting than his own name: Gift from God.
If God existed, He certainly wasn't giving gifts these days.
A bark of laughter forced its way past Hansel's guard, which slipped minutely the more relaxed he became, at Jasper's words. No wonder he didn't remember his last name - there wasn't much use for those anymore, from what Hansel knew. Truth be told, he couldn't remember the date that he was born on anymore, though his last name... "Braun; that's my last name. The only reason I remember it is because it's carved into a log in my cabin, right after my first name. Think I put it there right after The Event, to remind myself of who I am."
A glance back, to gauge Jasper's sudden silence, had Hansel's building comfort screech to a halt. Upon noticing the change of expression on Jasper's face, worry began to grow and he paused again, holding up a hand to stop the other's progress as well.
"Are you hurt?"
So he still has a home, what sort of miracle could that be? Jasper thought to himself, irritation gracing his internal tone. His home was long gone, destroyed with the rest of his neighborhood. When his father was pronounced dead in war, he had to abandon school to take care of his mother… Then it all continued to go south, and nothing in his life got better from there.
After Jasper’s depressed mother gave into her illness, that was around the same time of the contamination that spread like wildfire. It was horrifying to witness- he saw his dead mother be resurrected into a corrupted monster of pestilence… And the dark haired male had to make the most difficult decision of his life, only being around sixteen years old at that time.
He had lost a piece of himself on that day, and Jasper was ashamed to call himself a member of the Larkins family, a family that had wealth to their name and businesses that stood for hundreds of years; thus causing him to forget what his last name was. All Jasper had was his name, everything else about that innocent boy from years ago was gone, dead like his family.
Now, Jasper was only a lost man, searching endlessly to belong and be loved like he once was… But that seemed to be an impossible task; he thought he would die before such a miracle ever happened. His luck was fresh out, and he knew that more than anyone.
Breaking out of his thoughts when he nearly ran into the other male’s arm, the dark haired male stopped dead in his tracks, glancing at Hansel’s arm, and then up to his visage, raising a thin, dark eyebrow in question due to this action.
Am I hurt? What kind of question is that? Of course I'm hurt. Jasper said to himself, though he allowed his cyan gaze to shift off to the side, a small frown showing on his scarred features.
“You may have to specify that question… But I do feel like a gash reopened on my back. I was running from some sort of weird… Animal a bit ago, and it got me good at one point.” The dark haired male explained within a sour tone, rolling his shoulders to simply crack them, and sure enough, a sharp pain shot down his spine, causing him to hiss a few curses under his breath.
Jasper was certain he was injured, and he only hoped that Hansel would have something to help treat his scar… He knew that if he let this scar rest on his already scarred body untreated, he would develop an infection… And with the chemicals that polluted the lands around the Earth, it may become life-threatening.
So he still has a home, what sort of miracle could that be? Jasper thought to himself, irritation gracing his internal tone. His home was long gone, destroyed with the rest of his neighborhood. When his father was pronounced dead in war, he had to abandon school to take care of his mother… Then it all continued to go south, and nothing in his life got better from there.
After Jasper’s depressed mother gave into her illness, that was around the same time of the contamination that spread like wildfire. It was horrifying to witness- he saw his dead mother be resurrected into a corrupted monster of pestilence… And the dark haired male had to make the most difficult decision of his life, only being around sixteen years old at that time.
He had lost a piece of himself on that day, and Jasper was ashamed to call himself a member of the Larkins family, a family that had wealth to their name and businesses that stood for hundreds of years; thus causing him to forget what his last name was. All Jasper had was his name, everything else about that innocent boy from years ago was gone, dead like his family.
Now, Jasper was only a lost man, searching endlessly to belong and be loved like he once was… But that seemed to be an impossible task; he thought he would die before such a miracle ever happened. His luck was fresh out, and he knew that more than anyone.
Breaking out of his thoughts when he nearly ran into the other male’s arm, the dark haired male stopped dead in his tracks, glancing at Hansel’s arm, and then up to his visage, raising a thin, dark eyebrow in question due to this action.
Am I hurt? What kind of question is that? Of course I'm hurt. Jasper said to himself, though he allowed his cyan gaze to shift off to the side, a small frown showing on his scarred features.
“You may have to specify that question… But I do feel like a gash reopened on my back. I was running from some sort of weird… Animal a bit ago, and it got me good at one point.” The dark haired male explained within a sour tone, rolling his shoulders to simply crack them, and sure enough, a sharp pain shot down his spine, causing him to hiss a few curses under his breath.
Jasper was certain he was injured, and he only hoped that Hansel would have something to help treat his scar… He knew that if he let this scar rest on his already scarred body untreated, he would develop an infection… And with the chemicals that polluted the lands around the Earth, it may become life-threatening.
Discord: .xielian | he/him | FR+2 | gay rights alone will save our clan
He was definitely in danger of developing a headache from how tightly his eyebrows were knitted together in worry, lips drawn into a thin line as he listened to the other's report. A sense of shame flit through his chest: he'd been so paranoid about the potential danger that the young man' posed that he hadn't before bothered to ask him if he was alright. He hadn't offered to help the young man with anything more than food and shelter. All the time that they had been conversing, Jasper had been injured.
It sickened him, to think that he'd allowed his humanity to slip far enough for his paranoia to block out the basic morals and virtues that he liked to say he lived by. Too busy covering his own hide to see the pain of someone else's.
Contamination. That was the next thought in his mind, upon registering that the wounds hadn't been inflicted within the city, but had been brought upon the other man by a mutated creature of the forest.
Knowing the number of creatures that called the forest home, Jasper's wounds - while not only hazards for his health, especially considering the location - but could also be a danger for infection. The back was a sensitive, vulnerable area: any damage to the spinal cord and mobility could be lost, an infection could spread to various other parts of the body, bodily functions could be damaged. The skin on the back was vast; enough surface area that should contamination be spread thinly over a large distance, it's rate of infection could be increased tenfold of the normal rate.
The other man seemed to be doing fine, standing by himself, walking, talking - but that did very little to ease the German's worry.
The instinct to protect arose sharply at the other man's hiss of pain, causing Hansel's eyes to widen in surprise. He hadn't felt it in so long, not since he'd last had someone around who needed protecting - not that he was inferring this man needed it, just that he was injured.
Hansel made to grab the other man's arm - instinct intended to ground and stabilize the other as well as hurry up their movements - but thought better of it, hand fluttering in the air between them for a moment before dropping back to his side. Not knowing what the man had been through, Hansel was uncertain of how Jasper would react to physical contact. Their... truce was already shaky at best, even if it had been progressively becoming less hostile as the minutes continued to pass. He'd loathe to do anything to jeopardize it further. Physical contact could be perceived as authority, power, or control over another, and that was not the idea that he wanted to plant in the other's mind.
Instead, eyes moved quickly, inspected the younger man from head to toe before meeting his eyes again, searching for any sign of weakness or lack of consciousness. Finding little, he made up his mind and turned, pace quickening as he navigated towards his cabin.
"We need to hurry."
He spoke as he walked, pace quick and determined, knowing the way back home by heart. It wasn't far now - perhaps another few feet and the single story, rustic log cabin would come into view.
"I don't have any of your fancy city medicine. I have sterilized torn cloth and string made from old clothes and tinctures that I myself boiled from the uncontaminated plants in this area. They should do the trick of drawing out any surface-level contaminants and clean the wound. If need be, I can stitch it up."
He was definitely in danger of developing a headache from how tightly his eyebrows were knitted together in worry, lips drawn into a thin line as he listened to the other's report. A sense of shame flit through his chest: he'd been so paranoid about the potential danger that the young man' posed that he hadn't before bothered to ask him if he was alright. He hadn't offered to help the young man with anything more than food and shelter. All the time that they had been conversing, Jasper had been injured.
It sickened him, to think that he'd allowed his humanity to slip far enough for his paranoia to block out the basic morals and virtues that he liked to say he lived by. Too busy covering his own hide to see the pain of someone else's.
Contamination. That was the next thought in his mind, upon registering that the wounds hadn't been inflicted within the city, but had been brought upon the other man by a mutated creature of the forest.
Knowing the number of creatures that called the forest home, Jasper's wounds - while not only hazards for his health, especially considering the location - but could also be a danger for infection. The back was a sensitive, vulnerable area: any damage to the spinal cord and mobility could be lost, an infection could spread to various other parts of the body, bodily functions could be damaged. The skin on the back was vast; enough surface area that should contamination be spread thinly over a large distance, it's rate of infection could be increased tenfold of the normal rate.
The other man seemed to be doing fine, standing by himself, walking, talking - but that did very little to ease the German's worry.
The instinct to protect arose sharply at the other man's hiss of pain, causing Hansel's eyes to widen in surprise. He hadn't felt it in so long, not since he'd last had someone around who needed protecting - not that he was inferring this man needed it, just that he was injured.
Hansel made to grab the other man's arm - instinct intended to ground and stabilize the other as well as hurry up their movements - but thought better of it, hand fluttering in the air between them for a moment before dropping back to his side. Not knowing what the man had been through, Hansel was uncertain of how Jasper would react to physical contact. Their... truce was already shaky at best, even if it had been progressively becoming less hostile as the minutes continued to pass. He'd loathe to do anything to jeopardize it further. Physical contact could be perceived as authority, power, or control over another, and that was not the idea that he wanted to plant in the other's mind.
Instead, eyes moved quickly, inspected the younger man from head to toe before meeting his eyes again, searching for any sign of weakness or lack of consciousness. Finding little, he made up his mind and turned, pace quickening as he navigated towards his cabin.
"We need to hurry."
He spoke as he walked, pace quick and determined, knowing the way back home by heart. It wasn't far now - perhaps another few feet and the single story, rustic log cabin would come into view.
"I don't have any of your fancy city medicine. I have sterilized torn cloth and string made from old clothes and tinctures that I myself boiled from the uncontaminated plants in this area. They should do the trick of drawing out any surface-level contaminants and clean the wound. If need be, I can stitch it up."
It was so abrupt when the pain from his back injury ended up scorching through his spine, as it was previously nothing but a small amount of stinging and heat the emitted from the wound. Jasper bit down on his lower lip, attempting to keep himself stable and continuing to wear that signature mask of calm; though under it rested inner turmoil, fear, and misery.
Only nodding his head a few times in a manner of acknowledgement when Hansel insisted that they hurry, Jasper seemed way ahead of him with that step, but he kept his pace even with the other male, cyan eyes occasionally glancing downwards, then shooting back up. It was a developing pattern as he moved.
Truly trying his best to ignore that throbbing pain in his mid-back, the dark haired male grit his teeth whilst he clutched his dark hued mask in one hand, tightly knitting his thin, dark eyebrows so that he could keep focused on the trail ahead- even though this look made him appear to be like he was extremely frustrated.
Even though he wasn't truly frustrated, Jasper was only frustrated with himself. Frustrated for not noticing his wound earlier, and instead letting it fester into something that could be life threatening. He was lucky to have ran into this other male, as he seemed just a little eager to try and offer him medicine to treat his back.
Whatever had to be done, so be it. It was better than dying, coming back as a mindless beast, and either killing or getting killed for a second time. Jasper desperately wanted to hang onto what life he had left, he wanted to experience the glorious end of this plague, and you couldn't do that if you were dead.
Determination was a better term to describe his need to live, and his hope to see the world grow healthy once again. Even though this chance was highly unlikely, it was one of the only things that was truly keeping the dark haired male alive.
“I can take pain as long as I have something to hold on to in case you need to stitch my back up.” Jasper retorted, glancing down at the dark hued mask in his hand. This would have to do… Better than nothing.
However, when the dark haired male so happened to look up at the rustic cabin that came into view. It appeared relatively well-kept, especially for being out in the middle of the forest. It gave off mysterious vibes, but none of which alerted Jasper of any red flags. He’d have to trust that he was safe… For now, at least. The days ahead were unpredictable and especially unforgiving.
It was so abrupt when the pain from his back injury ended up scorching through his spine, as it was previously nothing but a small amount of stinging and heat the emitted from the wound. Jasper bit down on his lower lip, attempting to keep himself stable and continuing to wear that signature mask of calm; though under it rested inner turmoil, fear, and misery.
Only nodding his head a few times in a manner of acknowledgement when Hansel insisted that they hurry, Jasper seemed way ahead of him with that step, but he kept his pace even with the other male, cyan eyes occasionally glancing downwards, then shooting back up. It was a developing pattern as he moved.
Truly trying his best to ignore that throbbing pain in his mid-back, the dark haired male grit his teeth whilst he clutched his dark hued mask in one hand, tightly knitting his thin, dark eyebrows so that he could keep focused on the trail ahead- even though this look made him appear to be like he was extremely frustrated.
Even though he wasn't truly frustrated, Jasper was only frustrated with himself. Frustrated for not noticing his wound earlier, and instead letting it fester into something that could be life threatening. He was lucky to have ran into this other male, as he seemed just a little eager to try and offer him medicine to treat his back.
Whatever had to be done, so be it. It was better than dying, coming back as a mindless beast, and either killing or getting killed for a second time. Jasper desperately wanted to hang onto what life he had left, he wanted to experience the glorious end of this plague, and you couldn't do that if you were dead.
Determination was a better term to describe his need to live, and his hope to see the world grow healthy once again. Even though this chance was highly unlikely, it was one of the only things that was truly keeping the dark haired male alive.
“I can take pain as long as I have something to hold on to in case you need to stitch my back up.” Jasper retorted, glancing down at the dark hued mask in his hand. This would have to do… Better than nothing.
However, when the dark haired male so happened to look up at the rustic cabin that came into view. It appeared relatively well-kept, especially for being out in the middle of the forest. It gave off mysterious vibes, but none of which alerted Jasper of any red flags. He’d have to trust that he was safe… For now, at least. The days ahead were unpredictable and especially unforgiving.
Discord: .xielian | he/him | FR+2 | gay rights alone will save our clan
It wasn't much - an old, humid-tainted wood log cabin with patches of uncontaminated moss sprouting up along the dips between logs. The stairs dipped to one side and were beginning to rot, creaking beneath a man's weight. It had seen better days, been in better repair, when access to materials from the city had been viable - but it was still home.
The sight of his homestead brought a fond smile to his face - he never knew which day would be his last, which day he'd leave to scavenge for that night's dinner and meet a beast that he wasn't strong enough to conquer.
Greeted by the scent of freshly picked and dried pine, the soft sound of an almost-dead crackling fire, and the faint musk of man as he stepped through the door, Hansel's paranoia crashing to nothingness - this was safe.
A bed lay pushed into the corner of the square room covered in thick blankets made from sewn-together clothing - mostly red and black plaids, and a fireplace sat across from it. Under the bed were baskets of dried plants and pots of water. Beside the fireplace sat a plain wooden stool covered in thick white animal hides - hides of white wolves. The wall directly across from the door wielded a large, near full-wall-length window, a bathing tub beneath it.
He didn't allow himself a moment to enjoy the sight, nor did he allow himself a moment to appreciate returning home. As soon as he stepped through the door, he got down to business. He left the door open behind him, trusting that the young man would have enough sense left in his head to close it behind him.
The German immediately made towards the bed, dropping to his knees in front of it. Ducking down further, he pulled his ax and the belt that held it off, placing it at the foot of the bed. Fingers searched beneath the bed, pushing wicker baskets of various plants to the side, searching.
Years of solitude with the only human voice being the one in his head made Hansel's immediate inner response to the young man's words 'sorry, kid, I won't be able to hold your hand through it', but considering how the man had reacted the last time Hansel had tried a joke, he chose to refrain this time.
"Sit down on the stool in front of the fire and..." he paused for a moment, eyebrow arching high over hazel eyes as he leaned back on his haunches, glancing over his shoulder and appraising the other man, "take your... upper layers off."
Leaning forward again, he snagged two baskets, balanced precariously on each other and then on his forearm, and a pot of water for each hand, and made to stand, heading towards the fire.
It wasn't much - an old, humid-tainted wood log cabin with patches of uncontaminated moss sprouting up along the dips between logs. The stairs dipped to one side and were beginning to rot, creaking beneath a man's weight. It had seen better days, been in better repair, when access to materials from the city had been viable - but it was still home.
The sight of his homestead brought a fond smile to his face - he never knew which day would be his last, which day he'd leave to scavenge for that night's dinner and meet a beast that he wasn't strong enough to conquer.
Greeted by the scent of freshly picked and dried pine, the soft sound of an almost-dead crackling fire, and the faint musk of man as he stepped through the door, Hansel's paranoia crashing to nothingness - this was safe.
A bed lay pushed into the corner of the square room covered in thick blankets made from sewn-together clothing - mostly red and black plaids, and a fireplace sat across from it. Under the bed were baskets of dried plants and pots of water. Beside the fireplace sat a plain wooden stool covered in thick white animal hides - hides of white wolves. The wall directly across from the door wielded a large, near full-wall-length window, a bathing tub beneath it.
He didn't allow himself a moment to enjoy the sight, nor did he allow himself a moment to appreciate returning home. As soon as he stepped through the door, he got down to business. He left the door open behind him, trusting that the young man would have enough sense left in his head to close it behind him.
The German immediately made towards the bed, dropping to his knees in front of it. Ducking down further, he pulled his ax and the belt that held it off, placing it at the foot of the bed. Fingers searched beneath the bed, pushing wicker baskets of various plants to the side, searching.
Years of solitude with the only human voice being the one in his head made Hansel's immediate inner response to the young man's words 'sorry, kid, I won't be able to hold your hand through it', but considering how the man had reacted the last time Hansel had tried a joke, he chose to refrain this time.
"Sit down on the stool in front of the fire and..." he paused for a moment, eyebrow arching high over hazel eyes as he leaned back on his haunches, glancing over his shoulder and appraising the other man, "take your... upper layers off."
Leaning forward again, he snagged two baskets, balanced precariously on each other and then on his forearm, and a pot of water for each hand, and made to stand, heading towards the fire.
As the two made their way into the cabin that rested not too far ahead, a nostalgic look crossed Jasper’s scarred visage. It was quite obvious he had remembered something, something about his past that was pleasant… Even though the innocent boy he once was was dead, he still haunted him in his mind.
Jasper could remember walking into his house from school where he had come home with his friends, and he was greeted by both of his parents with friendly welcomes and kisses all over his tiny cheeks… Those were simpler days, days he’ll never get back… The dark haired male could dream, though.
A hushed sigh rolled off of his tongue after forcing himself back to reality, and Jasper took a quick glance at the wooden door behind him, hastily moving to shut it.
It would be rude, as well as dangerous, to leave it open.
Simply listening to Hansel’s words, Jasper nodded his head in a manner of acknowledgement, though he was unable to help but glance around the small cabin as he continued to make his way into it. It had been so long since he was in an actual home… It was a miracle that some still existed in this word; especially when he had watched his neighborhood get burnt down to a crisp, and the dark haired male was left in his home country living in a pastry shop until he had eaten everything that was there.
Tightly knitting his thin, dark eyebrows, Jasper wanted to tell himself to stop reminiscing on the past, but how could he stop? He'd never be able to forget what he had been through, even after his inevitable, bittersweet end that was waiting for him somewhere along the lines.
Still, he managed to obey the other male’s words, thus reaching to the bottom of his dark hued shirt with various tears here and there, pushing the gray fabric up- until he grit his teeth when he realized the mild pain that came with trying to take it off. Not only was his movements just a tad painful, but the gray fabric stuck to his wound.
Trying his best to ignore the searing pain, Jasper flung off his dark hued shirt like a bandaid, not even bothering to fold it neatly as he simply let it drape across his fleshy arm. Using his metallic hand to brush his jet hued hair out of his face, Jasper glanced over at the hide-covered stood before promptly taking a seat on it, though his posture was a tad slouched.
Now, you would have to be completely blind to not notice that his lean chest was plagued with scars that mostly covered his leftmost side, almost like a slow spreading contamination. That was the worst part of having to be without his shirt, Jasper could simply stare at his scars and his metal arm with absolute disgust… He hated them, it made most other people want to avoid him, almost as if they thought he would hurt them, albeit most of the time, this wasn't the case.
But aside from the scars and two missing limbs -one of which was still covered by his pants, you wouldn't be able to see it at all, there were a few lashes on the dark haired male’s back. But from what? A whip.
When Jasper was still a member of the gang, he was lashed when he insisted on trying to get out of his position of having to slaughter innocents for simple crimes until he learned his lesson. The rest of his scars came from that Chimera.
“Have you always lived here?” Jasper asked abruptly, trying to distract himself from paying too much attention to the scars on his body.
Though he was moreso curious than anything.
As the two made their way into the cabin that rested not too far ahead, a nostalgic look crossed Jasper’s scarred visage. It was quite obvious he had remembered something, something about his past that was pleasant… Even though the innocent boy he once was was dead, he still haunted him in his mind.
Jasper could remember walking into his house from school where he had come home with his friends, and he was greeted by both of his parents with friendly welcomes and kisses all over his tiny cheeks… Those were simpler days, days he’ll never get back… The dark haired male could dream, though.
A hushed sigh rolled off of his tongue after forcing himself back to reality, and Jasper took a quick glance at the wooden door behind him, hastily moving to shut it.
It would be rude, as well as dangerous, to leave it open.
Simply listening to Hansel’s words, Jasper nodded his head in a manner of acknowledgement, though he was unable to help but glance around the small cabin as he continued to make his way into it. It had been so long since he was in an actual home… It was a miracle that some still existed in this word; especially when he had watched his neighborhood get burnt down to a crisp, and the dark haired male was left in his home country living in a pastry shop until he had eaten everything that was there.
Tightly knitting his thin, dark eyebrows, Jasper wanted to tell himself to stop reminiscing on the past, but how could he stop? He'd never be able to forget what he had been through, even after his inevitable, bittersweet end that was waiting for him somewhere along the lines.
Still, he managed to obey the other male’s words, thus reaching to the bottom of his dark hued shirt with various tears here and there, pushing the gray fabric up- until he grit his teeth when he realized the mild pain that came with trying to take it off. Not only was his movements just a tad painful, but the gray fabric stuck to his wound.
Trying his best to ignore the searing pain, Jasper flung off his dark hued shirt like a bandaid, not even bothering to fold it neatly as he simply let it drape across his fleshy arm. Using his metallic hand to brush his jet hued hair out of his face, Jasper glanced over at the hide-covered stood before promptly taking a seat on it, though his posture was a tad slouched.
Now, you would have to be completely blind to not notice that his lean chest was plagued with scars that mostly covered his leftmost side, almost like a slow spreading contamination. That was the worst part of having to be without his shirt, Jasper could simply stare at his scars and his metal arm with absolute disgust… He hated them, it made most other people want to avoid him, almost as if they thought he would hurt them, albeit most of the time, this wasn't the case.
But aside from the scars and two missing limbs -one of which was still covered by his pants, you wouldn't be able to see it at all, there were a few lashes on the dark haired male’s back. But from what? A whip.
When Jasper was still a member of the gang, he was lashed when he insisted on trying to get out of his position of having to slaughter innocents for simple crimes until he learned his lesson. The rest of his scars came from that Chimera.
“Have you always lived here?” Jasper asked abruptly, trying to distract himself from paying too much attention to the scars on his body.
Though he was moreso curious than anything.
Discord: .xielian | he/him | FR+2 | gay rights alone will save our clan
Both pots of water went to hang over the fire from a metal rod; the plants that Hansel had picked that day dropping into one - the water to boil out their toxins. The baskets of plants came with him as he approached Jasper, holding up his now-empty hand in a sign of peace, slowly walking around the man, giving him ample time to see each movement and each step. He treated the other man as if he were a wounded animal; dangerous, unknown, and unpredictable. Yet he also afforded the other man the same level of respect as he would an animal: allowing Jasper the space to move away or reject the German's approach should he want to.
Completely unarmed, the German was at his mercy. Even wounded, the other man was at the advantage: a metal arm capable of doing more damage to flesh easier than flesh could to flesh.
But the German would have had to be blind not to notice the road maps of scars painting the man's flesh; pathways that spoke of nightmarish times in his past, that spoke of pain that the German had never known - that he would most likely never understand, even if he lived through the mess that was their world until he died of old age. Pain that spoke of torture. The scars did not make Hansel fear the other man... they made him want to erase those scars - erase the memories of pain that must have been associated with them. Protect. It was ridiculous, considering he didn't know the man.
"No." His answer was straightforward, simple - it came off with more bite than he had intended. He wasn't used to people inquiring into his past - had become almost protective of it over the years, as it was the last reminder he had of what he'd been before the world went to the sewers.
He'd never told his story to anyone. His family had already known it - being a part of it themselves, and the tourists that passed through were less concerned about getting to know their guide's life story and more concerned about getting to know their guide's experience with and knowledge of the local terrain. But perhaps his words would distract the other man enough to take the edge off of the pain. Or, at the least, it would fill the silence and the sounds of Hansel working on the other man's flesh.
He slowly settled behind the other man, placing the baskets of dried plants at his feet. Surprise caused a hiss of breath and a swear word, uttered in crude German, to escape from the German's careful self-control before he could stop it; disgust welling up at the sight of the straighter scars on the man's back. But the disgust wasn't directed at the man in front of him - it was directed at the monster who had dared to treat another human being in such a way.
Fingers gingerly reached out, tracing the edge of one of the scars slowly - wonderment filling the man at exactly what nightmares the other had survived through. Jasper must have been strong - stronger than any Hansel had known - to bear all of the markings covering his body and still seek to live on.
The German grit his teeth. Not that anyone should have to survive through something like that.
The appraisal of the injury was quick: it was bad. It looked like something with horns or antlers had tried to gore the man from behind and had almost succeeded. The pain had to be tremendous; torn skin from the original wound but also ripped scabs from where blood had begun to clot and been torn off.
Knowing any visible personal reaction to the wound would not aid the situation, Hansel kept his mask of calm up, trading it in for one of concentration as he began his work. He only wished he had something to numb the pain. From the first basket he pulled a clump of dried moss, rubbing it between his hands a few times before gingerly pressing it into the man's back.
"My Oma always wanted to live in the middle of nowhere, in a log cabin between the mountains, surrounded by forests and nature and the sounds of the wild. She moved here before I was born." Fingers gently pressed the edges of the spongy moss into the young man's back, trying not to cause unnecessary pain. The moss did its work quickly; dryness drawing out the moisture and tainted blood at the surface of the wound, bringing with it the impurities that had entered through the broken skin. The victory was short-lived, however, when faint traces of bright green began to taint the moss - signs of infection.
At least it was coming out - and by the speed at which it was surfacing, hopefully he'd be able to draw it all out.
"I was born in Augsburg, Germany. Seven years after I was born, a civil war broke out. Reports had been leaked that biochemical warfare tactics were being developed in secret by the government in our own lands. The citizens were rioting, terrified of what would happen if an accident happened and an outbreak occurred. My parents decided it would be safer to raise me if we moved here. I have been here ever since."
Carefully - ensuring that the moss didn't catch on any of the torn skin - Hansel withdrew it, tossing it into the fire. He leaned over the other man's left shoulder, rough fingers grabbing the pot without the plants in it - water heated above room temperature but not scalding.
"My sister was born in this very cabin."
Both pots of water went to hang over the fire from a metal rod; the plants that Hansel had picked that day dropping into one - the water to boil out their toxins. The baskets of plants came with him as he approached Jasper, holding up his now-empty hand in a sign of peace, slowly walking around the man, giving him ample time to see each movement and each step. He treated the other man as if he were a wounded animal; dangerous, unknown, and unpredictable. Yet he also afforded the other man the same level of respect as he would an animal: allowing Jasper the space to move away or reject the German's approach should he want to.
Completely unarmed, the German was at his mercy. Even wounded, the other man was at the advantage: a metal arm capable of doing more damage to flesh easier than flesh could to flesh.
But the German would have had to be blind not to notice the road maps of scars painting the man's flesh; pathways that spoke of nightmarish times in his past, that spoke of pain that the German had never known - that he would most likely never understand, even if he lived through the mess that was their world until he died of old age. Pain that spoke of torture. The scars did not make Hansel fear the other man... they made him want to erase those scars - erase the memories of pain that must have been associated with them. Protect. It was ridiculous, considering he didn't know the man.
"No." His answer was straightforward, simple - it came off with more bite than he had intended. He wasn't used to people inquiring into his past - had become almost protective of it over the years, as it was the last reminder he had of what he'd been before the world went to the sewers.
He'd never told his story to anyone. His family had already known it - being a part of it themselves, and the tourists that passed through were less concerned about getting to know their guide's life story and more concerned about getting to know their guide's experience with and knowledge of the local terrain. But perhaps his words would distract the other man enough to take the edge off of the pain. Or, at the least, it would fill the silence and the sounds of Hansel working on the other man's flesh.
He slowly settled behind the other man, placing the baskets of dried plants at his feet. Surprise caused a hiss of breath and a swear word, uttered in crude German, to escape from the German's careful self-control before he could stop it; disgust welling up at the sight of the straighter scars on the man's back. But the disgust wasn't directed at the man in front of him - it was directed at the monster who had dared to treat another human being in such a way.
Fingers gingerly reached out, tracing the edge of one of the scars slowly - wonderment filling the man at exactly what nightmares the other had survived through. Jasper must have been strong - stronger than any Hansel had known - to bear all of the markings covering his body and still seek to live on.
The German grit his teeth. Not that anyone should have to survive through something like that.
The appraisal of the injury was quick: it was bad. It looked like something with horns or antlers had tried to gore the man from behind and had almost succeeded. The pain had to be tremendous; torn skin from the original wound but also ripped scabs from where blood had begun to clot and been torn off.
Knowing any visible personal reaction to the wound would not aid the situation, Hansel kept his mask of calm up, trading it in for one of concentration as he began his work. He only wished he had something to numb the pain. From the first basket he pulled a clump of dried moss, rubbing it between his hands a few times before gingerly pressing it into the man's back.
"My Oma always wanted to live in the middle of nowhere, in a log cabin between the mountains, surrounded by forests and nature and the sounds of the wild. She moved here before I was born." Fingers gently pressed the edges of the spongy moss into the young man's back, trying not to cause unnecessary pain. The moss did its work quickly; dryness drawing out the moisture and tainted blood at the surface of the wound, bringing with it the impurities that had entered through the broken skin. The victory was short-lived, however, when faint traces of bright green began to taint the moss - signs of infection.
At least it was coming out - and by the speed at which it was surfacing, hopefully he'd be able to draw it all out.
"I was born in Augsburg, Germany. Seven years after I was born, a civil war broke out. Reports had been leaked that biochemical warfare tactics were being developed in secret by the government in our own lands. The citizens were rioting, terrified of what would happen if an accident happened and an outbreak occurred. My parents decided it would be safer to raise me if we moved here. I have been here ever since."
Carefully - ensuring that the moss didn't catch on any of the torn skin - Hansel withdrew it, tossing it into the fire. He leaned over the other man's left shoulder, rough fingers grabbing the pot without the plants in it - water heated above room temperature but not scalding.
"My sister was born in this very cabin."
Keeing his cyan gaze on his dark hued shirt that was clumped in both flesh and metal bands alike, Jasper seemed to tense slightly when he felt the other male’s finger tracing along a faded scar on his back.
This was the first time in years when a touch from another human was gentle, Jasper realized, and he bit down on his lower lip, gaze growing just a tad misty. So people are still capable of being gentle, huh? He thought to himself, gradually beginning to relax when it clicked that he would not be hurt by this man unless provoked. Was safe a proper word to describe this?
As the dark haired male simply listened to Hansel speak, Jasper couldn't help but feel moved as he seemed a little more willing than he expected in regards to talking about his past. Nodding his head a few times to acknowledge that he was still listening, the dark haired male’s grip on the shirt in his hands got a bit tighter, fingers digging into the dark hued fabric.
The moss stung, he had to admit, but compared to most other scars and missing limbs, the pain from the moss on his back was nothing but a mere paper-cut. He could manage.
“I guess your family is gone, too.” Jasper spoke quietly and suddenly, a forced, airy laugh escaping past his parted lips, albeit no trace of a smile shown on his scarred features. Then again, he practically never smiled. We’re one of the same, it seems.
A sigh rolling off of his tongue, the dark haired male figured that speaking and listening to Hansel speak was enough to distract him from the mild pain from the moss that rested against the gash. Whatever the other male was doing, Jasper hoped it was working.
“I'm not proud to call myself a member of the family I was born into anymore. They all died, just like me. I'm a different man, and I'm not proud of my new start.” The dark haired male murmured, cyan gaze locked on his hands as he simply stared at them.
There was so much blood on them, and only he could see it. Only he could carry the burden of the lives that he ended with his bare hands.
“I lived in France up until now, and I'm… Afraid to go back…” Jasper grit his teeth as he finished his sentence. Perhaps he didn't mean to say it, to spill forth one of his only fears that cut into his chest like an open wound. Suddenly, he felt vulnerable, but he couldn't take back what he said. It was out there, and there was nothing that the dark haired male could do about it.
Murmuring some sort of apology in his native French tongue, Jasper sought out some way to try and change the subject, cyan gaze falling onto the fire that was just a few feet away. He tensed, his neighborhood haunted his vision. Abruptly shooting his eyes downwards again, Jasper opened his mouth as if to speak.
“You said you had a sister? What was that like?” The dark haired male asked abruptly, a feeble attempt to not talk about his own past. He still seemed too hurt by it.
Keeing his cyan gaze on his dark hued shirt that was clumped in both flesh and metal bands alike, Jasper seemed to tense slightly when he felt the other male’s finger tracing along a faded scar on his back.
This was the first time in years when a touch from another human was gentle, Jasper realized, and he bit down on his lower lip, gaze growing just a tad misty. So people are still capable of being gentle, huh? He thought to himself, gradually beginning to relax when it clicked that he would not be hurt by this man unless provoked. Was safe a proper word to describe this?
As the dark haired male simply listened to Hansel speak, Jasper couldn't help but feel moved as he seemed a little more willing than he expected in regards to talking about his past. Nodding his head a few times to acknowledge that he was still listening, the dark haired male’s grip on the shirt in his hands got a bit tighter, fingers digging into the dark hued fabric.
The moss stung, he had to admit, but compared to most other scars and missing limbs, the pain from the moss on his back was nothing but a mere paper-cut. He could manage.
“I guess your family is gone, too.” Jasper spoke quietly and suddenly, a forced, airy laugh escaping past his parted lips, albeit no trace of a smile shown on his scarred features. Then again, he practically never smiled. We’re one of the same, it seems.
A sigh rolling off of his tongue, the dark haired male figured that speaking and listening to Hansel speak was enough to distract him from the mild pain from the moss that rested against the gash. Whatever the other male was doing, Jasper hoped it was working.
“I'm not proud to call myself a member of the family I was born into anymore. They all died, just like me. I'm a different man, and I'm not proud of my new start.” The dark haired male murmured, cyan gaze locked on his hands as he simply stared at them.
There was so much blood on them, and only he could see it. Only he could carry the burden of the lives that he ended with his bare hands.
“I lived in France up until now, and I'm… Afraid to go back…” Jasper grit his teeth as he finished his sentence. Perhaps he didn't mean to say it, to spill forth one of his only fears that cut into his chest like an open wound. Suddenly, he felt vulnerable, but he couldn't take back what he said. It was out there, and there was nothing that the dark haired male could do about it.
Murmuring some sort of apology in his native French tongue, Jasper sought out some way to try and change the subject, cyan gaze falling onto the fire that was just a few feet away. He tensed, his neighborhood haunted his vision. Abruptly shooting his eyes downwards again, Jasper opened his mouth as if to speak.
“You said you had a sister? What was that like?” The dark haired male asked abruptly, a feeble attempt to not talk about his own past. He still seemed too hurt by it.
Discord: .xielian | he/him | FR+2 | gay rights alone will save our clan
