Fuck.
Fuuuuuuck.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Why did Julien have to be so
goddamn slow?
[Lucas Diaz continued from
Zero Sum.]
He knew exactly why. Dressed the goddamn wound himself! Didn't make it any less excruciating to walk so slowly. Every root, under foot, a hill to climb over. Every patch of wet leaves a fucking ice rink crossed on tip-toes. Every snapped branch ringing out that much longer, every crunched leaf that much... crunchier. The weight of his weapons was a little much, now. He'd taken to carrying the crowbar, putting the keyblade through the straps of his bag, the rod pressing against the small of his back forcing him upright. Posture was never his area of expertise. Was it anyone's? It was just a thing that people did. Why did Lucas think it was a thing that people could, with work, get
good at, when in reality you either knew it or you didn't? You either knew how to be a person or you did not. It took a stupid video game sword to remind Lucas that he was absolute garbage. Or maybe that was the last of the Prozac leaving his body.
Every so often, they'd exchange words, or Julien would ask for Lucas' help, and he'd oblige. He brought Julien along because he wanted company, and to make sure he didn't add another number on to Erika's kill-count. Why, then, did Lucas feel like the burden? Julien deserved someone who could help him out more. Someone who was a better support. A better conversation partner. He had to keep a conscious lid on anything he could say that would potentially be taken as a sign that Lucas was maybe not the best person to have Julien's back. Did he really actually say that Julien had nice legs? Did he actually really ask Sven for the light-saber? Did he really shout 'Clout Gang' at a group of people that could have killed him?
Lucas couldn't afford another fuck-up. He had a goal. He had a reason to live. Any more fuck-ups, and he could lose that.
As day passed on into night and the rain stopped, Lucas realized that it had been a long time since the two of them stopped and ate. He didn't even know exactly where they were, but it was woodsy. They'd have passed by the village, assuming they went in a straight line. Past the village, but not to the water. So, nearby, they'd find either the zoo buildings, or the temple, or the lake, or some cliffs, or something that suggested the end of the world.
Instead, they found the rice paddies. The smell of wet death rushed to Lucas' nose as he stepped out of the brush and into the wide open space. He gagged, leaning down and hunching over in case he needed to throw up. Nothing came out. Jesus. He rose back to full height, bracing himself against the weight of the keyswordthing and grimacing at everything he saw out there, bobbing up and down in the water, the aftermath of untold battles and stories, a backdrop on which countless more lives would be taken, liters more blood spilled, a field that Lucas was forced to cross on the way to his destiny oh hey look
it's some people.
Lucas took his glasses off, breathed on the lenses, and rubbed them on his shirt before returning them to his face. It didn't make them that much cleaner, but he could see now who was there, under a tree not too far away. The horse furby girl whose name he did not know and absolutely would spell or pronounce wrong if he tried. Marco, who basically looked like he was literally falling apart, one of god knows how many—he was reminded of Spongebob: "Are there any more Marco's in this house that I should know about? Mreow." And of course, Princess, who tried too hard, basically all the time.
These people could kill him. These people could save his life.
He turned over his shoulder and looked at Julien, pointing over at the tree just to make sure he could see.
Hell, why not infantilize him a little more?
"You see the people over there?" Lucas asked, "I think we should go over and say hi. Princess and Katelynne haven't killed anyone, so they're probably okay, and they might need help dealing with Marco."
His line of sight was brought back down to Julien's wound, and Lucas winced.
"Actually, maybe stay over here until I know if it's okay. I'll, like, turn and wave at you. Just don't hurt yourself."
With that, Lucas turned back around and started to walk across the rice paddies, crossing one of the dirt banks over to the tree. He needed to make himself known, somehow, but he couldn't figure out how. A revival of "clout gang" was off the table. Absolutely forbidden. But he couldn't juse say "yo" or "hey" or something absolutely unoriginal and lame, like that. That wasn't his burgeoningly heroic brand, at all. Lucas drew a blank. His ear to the world, he listened for something worth making an entrance out of.
He found it in the group he was approaching. Princess, taking a stand against those who had done evil. Katelynne, distraught, wondering aloud what the two of them could accomplish on their own. Marco, just kind of listening, a dumbfuck dumbstruck by the idea that, hey, maybe someone still had some virtue, here. Lucas' opening was perfect. Deep breaths, now.
Inhale.
dontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdontfuckupdont
Exhale.
"Don't give up hope," he said, a little too loud, a bit too firm for how little he actually had to say.
"There's, uh, there's still good people out there that haven't fallen to them. People who agree that some have taken things too far. Earlier today, I was walking in the woods when I saw two people trying to help someone who had been shot, someone they had no reason to save other than because it was the right thing to do. Julien, over there, can attest to that. "
He waved Julien over, then turned back to the trio.
"Good still has a chance," Lucas said. He was surprised to find that he meant it.