Work Text:
There's no real semblance of time here, she thinks rather uselessly, as she rubs at her yellow raincoat in vain. No matter how hard she presses at the stains, they seem to be a permanent addition to the coat. A testament to how long she's been here.
Years? Months, maybe, she's not too sure of anything these days. There's been a fog taking over her head recently and it's hard to think straight. How does her coat even fit her anymore? The fabric should be way too small for her by now, how-
Maybe it's the lighting.
By now the writhing meat may as well make up a part of the scenery. Gardens of flesh extend for miles, she thinks, and if she squints hard enough she can imagine the ever-blinking eye's sclera as clouds. Mountainous hills of meat, ripe for the hiking. She takes the thought seriously. Something to do, a voice whispers in the back of her head it doesn't sound like her, and she wonders how many hours she can keep herself entertained doing just that.
She attempts a step up her nearest fleshy-hill; manages but two and a roll backward as she tumbles down. She sighs in defeat, not even bothering to stand up again. Her back presses into the cushioning meat. She winces as the flesh bubbles beneath her -- no doubt complaining about her fall. If it were the ground, she would surely have a headache by now.
She used to be better than this, a distant thought ricochets round her skull and out through her ears; loses itself in the flesh, as all things eventually do. She wonders when she'll lose herself she already has
A pair of shoes appears before her suddenly. For a ridiculous second she wants to hide her bare feet underneath her in embarrassment, but remembers that she's currently on her back and that the towering figure is offering her a hand up off of his floor. She takes it gratefully, ignores the way her thoughts leak like blood from a sutured wound and rights herself once.
The boy -- no, something in between a man and a boy, he hasn't been just a boy for quite some time -- tips his hat to her. A fedora. He's in his same clothes as always; an impossibly pristine jacket and black suit pants. She's annoyed for a second, and grumbles as she fidgets with the hem of her rather tarnished coat. How come he gets a new one and she doesn't?
Impossibly quickly, he clocks in on her worrying hands and she's not even surprised. Sometimes, she thinks his eyes have observed her much more feverently than all the roving orbs within the tower have put together.
There's always facts to life. The grass is green. The sky is blue (or was it red?)
And no matter how far she flees, she cannot escape Mono's gaze.
"How come you get nice clothes?" She spits out rather petulantly, and sometimes it's hard to forget that she is not just a girl anymore. Yes, she is inbetween a girl and a woman, just like Mono. He hums, a sound laced with static amusement and he pokes at her sides with an impossibly large hand. She squirms and moves to defend herself, the act futile, and he glances at her with empty eyes.
"I like you in yellow," he says, and she heeds the warning in his tone. She doesn't favour poking a sleeping dog. She'd rather sneak out of their cave while they're sleeping where did that thought come from? She's happy here. In the next instant he has her hand in his palm and he's dragging her off somewhere.
She can't really tell where she's going. After long enough, the flesh shifts like sand and becomes a blur to her. There's no rhyme or reason here. She gets deja vu to when they were younger as she watches his retreating back. Always leading her by the hand.
---
She crawls away from the grainy television set. Her legs feel weak, the tar harsh under her toughened skin and her heart is beating too quickly, like a rabbit being hunted. She breathes in a lungful of static, and it chokes her like smoke.
She wonders if she truly is a rabbit, and out of the TV stalks a wolf.
---
The flesh didn't shift before. She has a dainty memory of a door when she was younger, of bare feet and blunt nails scratching against its surface like some feral animal trying to escape. She doesn't know what she was doing by that door. Her memories get foggier when she thinks about it, you see. The tower is safe. Why would she try to escape? She should stop thinking about that nono she doesn't belong
"Six," a bright voice croons, and suddenly her mind is focused on the present.
"What's wrong? Don't drift off on me again," he smiles with terrifying teeth and she's reminded of a dog. She presses her head to his chest in lieu of a response. That's the only place she can reach, nowadays. He's grown a lot taller.
"Where have you been?" She asks, as she had asked days and months before this. He smiles at her with narrow eyes. His mouth does not curve up.
"Work," he replies as he always does, and they continue their routine together. She can't help but wonder where he goes off to do his work. The flesh never ends.
She questions. He lies. Everything's okay.
He does a funny little half bow -- she wonders if he learnt it from those shows he's always enthralled with -- and gestures to some indescribable structure of meat.
She's good at using her imagination by now. The mounds of meat take the shape of a table. Two smaller mounds near either end serve as seats. What's more surprising is the actual plates on the "table". Some chipped tea cups with floral designs are placed next to them.
She wonders where he finds these things from. Some distant part of her screams he's getting better at controlling the tower. Better at pulling things from reality and that's not good.
It's too bad, because the bigger, foggier part of her is excited about the prospect of eating. She doesn't need food in the tower. Neither does he. it's a pleasant surprise nonetheless.
He guides her by the hand to her seat, like a gentleman, and the flesh cries as she settles her weight upon it. He takes his place opposite her, and she examines the contents of her plate.
Some murky liquid she can't possibly identify. Tea? No, maybe it's a soda. She doesn't recognize the colour.
"It's not tea, Six. It's something new. Try it," he replies, and she ignores that she never asked in the first place. When she looks up his attention is on her and her only. The contents of his own plate go ignored.
She picks the cup up with two hands and sniffs at the liquid. It smells like nothing. She looks at him again. His eyes are buzzing.
She can just run away. It's not too late, she could find that door again and then she would be free from him and
And suddenly he's behind her, a large hand on her shoulder. She doesn't remember him moving. His jaw is tense. Have his eyes gotten louder, or have her own ears become as unreliable as she?
"What are you thinking about?" He grumbles. Petulant; like she's withholding a secret from him. As if her thoughts are his right. She suspects he already knows.
He removes the teacup from her hands and presses it to her lips. She doesn't want to drink anymore, but her body and mind rarely come to accordance these days.
---
No matter how hard she tries, she is unable to muffle the harsh grunts of her breath. Her feet are numb. Her lungs burn. She fights against the tears threatening to spill against her cheeks, just as she had fought against death and every other Impossible fate thrown at her.
No matter what, she will not cry. If she has nothing else, she has her pride.
Two years after dropping him, she has been trapped in the city. Stuck in this dreary, backwards place. She's a remnant of time, standing still amongst all of its static buildings. She hates how she has become part of the hardscape. The city is her enemy, she must remember. All that is sacred is her thoughts. She remembers why she fights to live. She remembers her own convictions. She remembers why she left him. Why she still runs from him. She remembers wh
---
She wakes up with a knot In her neck and some hushed, violet light behind her eyes. When did she go to sleep? She remembers having dinner with Mono a day ago. Yes, she had dinner with him and then she went to sleep and he bid her goodbye to do some work, as he always does.
The flesh must've moved her. She ends up here, on the wooden chair, every time without fail. Mono sits with her sometimes, but he's not here today.
She reclines gracelessly and does what she always does; she thinks. Did she have a dream? She doesn't know, the fog is getting heavier than usual these days. Her stomach still churns. It must've been a bad dream. Maybe it's a mercy that she doesn't remember.
She has half a mind to get up and do something, but her body stubbornly stays rooted to the spot. She must sit for hours, because in the next second Mono is back from work and greeting her warmly. She mumbles a response to him, and he frowns as he approaches her.
There's something behind his back. In the next minute, he reveals it to be a raincoat. Yellow, just like hers, but slightly bigger. Cleaner. There's a dark patch of something staining his pant leg. He smells of blood as he comes closer to her.
She doesn’t have time to process what that means because he's plucking her up like a ragdoll and settling her to her feet.
She lifts her arms for him to remove her old raincoat, and as quickly as the garment is gone it's replaced with the new one. It doesn't fit her very well. It's much too large, and smells like something she's forgotten, but instead of voicing all of that she thanks him by doing a little twirl. He claps on in delight, as if she's a show and he's her most dedicated viewer.
He makes to move behind her; his shoes sinking upon the flesh with each step as he settles down upon his wooden chair. He urges her back towards him; sets her down upon his lap when she's close enough. She ignores how her new coat rubs against his pant leg and absorbs a downy red colour. She leans back against his chest anyway. He hums a bit.
They sit for a while, as still as statues, and when nothing happens a wide grin grows on his face.
"No thoughts today?" He smiles in a question, and she nods once. His grin grows wider.
She's beginning to think of something; she can feel the thoughts push up against the wall of her head, like an abandoned animal scratching at its owner's door. No, she corrects, there's no thoughts. Mono's fingers are carding through her hair. She has half a mind to reject the touch, but what reason is there for that anymore? She nuzzles her head against his chest; pushes her head up to meet his hand. Hides her eyes in his chest. She doesn't want to see the expression on his face.
There is something to be remembered. She sighs.
It's not important anymore.