[ He's thought and dreamed of this moment countless times; this lost, gormless child that he used to be, shaking pathetically in the first of many cages. The other boy—he thinks of him often, but he's surprised at how many of his features he's forgotten.
His good hand is clenched into a tight fist, but his expression is carefully neutral, besides one of his ears flicking. ]
I'm here.
[ He watches the darkness as the rest plays out. A second, predictable half.
—Because he gets sick. Ash is his name. Plenty of the other slaves get sick, whether it's from testing or neglect. You either eke out a living, or you aren't worth keeping alive; Ash is malnourished and ordinary, and he's not going to get treatment or survive a bout of illness. Nehan knows that. Looking over his condition, he knows that he's already in the active process of dying.
"Hold on!"
It doesn't matter. He doesn't think twice, digging into his meager supplies.
"Here, chew on this grass—should alleviate the pain a bit..." He urges him, voice crackling with more desperation than encouragement. Ash is conscious enough to listen, biting down slowly on the herbs held to his mouth, but he can't even answer, his breathing pained and erratic, so Nehan startles and lies some more. His voice breaks against the words. "You'll make it through this!"
He hovers and tries to treat him, but with what? A handful of painkillers? Kindness? The other boy eventually stops writhing, too weak for even that; eventually, as expected, he dies. They don't even come to collect his corpse right away.
And he's tired; it's not as though this is his first foray with death. But it's still strangely devastating, this person turned property turned forgotten body, left cooling in his cell. He backpedals away from the corpse until he's at the far wall, head bumping against the cold stone and ears flattening against his head as he just—he lets the truth of it all finally settle into all his corners, without any delirious veneer of hope and company: this was his life, and it was never meant to turn out any better. He lets out an exhausted, distraught sob, then another. Quiet and shivering and pointless.
He forgets to clean up the chewed up blades of grass. ]
no subject
His good hand is clenched into a tight fist, but his expression is carefully neutral, besides one of his ears flicking. ]
I'm here.
[ He watches the darkness as the rest plays out. A second, predictable half.
—Because he gets sick. Ash is his name. Plenty of the other slaves get sick, whether it's from testing or neglect. You either eke out a living, or you aren't worth keeping alive; Ash is malnourished and ordinary, and he's not going to get treatment or survive a bout of illness. Nehan knows that. Looking over his condition, he knows that he's already in the active process of dying.
"Hold on!"
It doesn't matter. He doesn't think twice, digging into his meager supplies.
"Here, chew on this grass—should alleviate the pain a bit..." He urges him, voice crackling with more desperation than encouragement. Ash is conscious enough to listen, biting down slowly on the herbs held to his mouth, but he can't even answer, his breathing pained and erratic, so Nehan startles and lies some more. His voice breaks against the words. "You'll make it through this!"
He hovers and tries to treat him, but with what? A handful of painkillers? Kindness? The other boy eventually stops writhing, too weak for even that; eventually, as expected, he dies. They don't even come to collect his corpse right away.
And he's tired; it's not as though this is his first foray with death. But it's still strangely devastating, this person turned property turned forgotten body, left cooling in his cell. He backpedals away from the corpse until he's at the far wall, head bumping against the cold stone and ears flattening against his head as he just—he lets the truth of it all finally settle into all his corners, without any delirious veneer of hope and company: this was his life, and it was never meant to turn out any better. He lets out an exhausted, distraught sob, then another. Quiet and shivering and pointless.
He forgets to clean up the chewed up blades of grass. ]