Thread: The Day the Lights Went Out [Langschwert x Cal]

Catherine was a bit annoyed at the way Michael seemingly ignored her question. At first she waited, politely, for him to answer her question. He had acknowledged her presence, but had only shot her a brief glance before he turned his attention back to his guitar. The first thought was immediate. She was used to having the boys attention focused on her, used to having them fawn over her. Michael seemingly wasnt giving her the light of day. Catherine knew she didnt look the best as she could, but that still didnt mean he could ignore her like this! She bit down onto her bottom lip briefly as she considered repeating herself, and as she parted her lips to speak, he quite suddenly interrupted her. She looked just a tad disgruntled at the sound of his voice, but listened regardless. Half-hearted at first, but with a growing interest. She kept her eyes upon him, upon his actions as he moved the guitar behind him, upon his features when he turned his attention to her again. And then their eyes locked as he spoke about the kill count, a couple of friends, his own.. mother? Michael would be able to see Catherines eyes widen with pure shock, followed instantly by a sadness and a sorrow that was profound. His own mother? How could he have killed his own mother? Even if she was insane, they could have done something, he could have.. But what could he have done, really? What could he have done if she had changed into one of them.. into an Eater. It was clear that she was struggling to come to terms with this new information, and thats why she hesitated before hopping onto the wagon. When she did, she kept her distance from Michael as far as she could, raising her knees up to her chest and resting her chin upon them. Her petite physique allowed her to wrap her arms around her knees, hugging them close in the growing colder air around them. She was still in her jeans and the tank top from their earlier encounter, clean clothes were a scarcity these days. The well was nearly completely dried up, so mundane things such as drinking water and washing oneself clean took precedence over the washing of clothes. Fortunately for her, the smell of sweat and fear had long been cleaned and washed away from her body. She used no perfume, having run out of that after the third month, and instead just smelled clean. Catherine smelled of none other than Catherine. A smell so subtle Michael would not been able to pick up on unless he was extremely close to her. She kept her eyes upon the movements of the whetstone, never having seen a sword up close before, she found herself being mildly fascinated by it. She remembered something from one of her history classes, and murmured absentmindedly when Michael paused and looked off into the darkness. I heard that the blade was the preferred weapon of choice in Japan, by the samurai. And then the Westerners came and pretty much annihilated them by bringing guns to the table. I suppose thats where the expression to never bring a knife to a gun fight comes from, eh? Catherine caught herself actually trying to sound interesting, for once. Michael seemed more than apt with the blade, remembering the way he moved effortlessly and killed those Eaters. Adoration seemed to bubble up to the surface again, but she kept her distance, especially when he spoke his next words. Catherine listened with bated breath. Worry slowly started to creep into her eyes, watching Michael as if to catch him on a lie. They had lived here in peace before he showed up, but she knew that too was a lie. Without him, she would have been dead by now. But panic gripped her throat regardless, and she wrapped her arms around herself a bit tighter. Her eyes dragged away from Michael, her turn to look into the darkness, as she turned her head to rest her cheek into the little dip of her pulled up knees, sighing softly. She seemed to not have any words for the situation, and instead was dumbed into silence. Michael made it seem as if they werent safe, no one was safe, but how could he know? He was just a boy himself. A boy who killed his own mother. Hes seen more than you have. Her inner voice spoke out to her. She fucking hated her inner voice. After a long stretch of silence, she spoke again, her voice thick with emotion. Planning, huh. she found it hard to contain herself. If we go south were fucked. If we go north were fucked. Going east will probably fuck us sideways and going west will probably kill us all the same just because of the sheer magnitude of the journey. She bit down onto her bottom lip to keep her bitter thoughts from spilling out, and instead made a frustrated little noise and ran her hands through her hair. Catherine reached into the pocket of her jeans to pull out a small hairband. It soothed her, running her fingers through her hair, and she did just that before pulling the thick mane of auburn hair into a tight ponytail. She raised her head again to look at Michael, clearly struggling with her words. A long time ago, she would have said whatever came to her mind. But now she knew better. Besides, her father had told her to act kindly. Repeatedly saying the f-word did not constitute as kindly in his book, of that she was certain. So, Catherine seemingly ignored everything Michael had just said. I wish the truth didnt suck so much. She had the decency to shoot him an apologetic smile. My father has been talking about going north again. Ive seen enough horror movies to know where this is going. Salvation lies in the cold. Alaska! Alaska! she mimicked a typical little Hollywood starlet caught in a B-rated movie, before rolling her eyes. Truth be told, she thought it was a pretty logical assumption, but kept that opinion to herself. Catherine ended up shrugging her shoulders lightly. They could always go with Michael, her and her family.. but somehow this idea made her hesitant. This would mean having to travel like a band of misfits. A ragged band of nomads. This conflicted with her years of having been overindulged by her parents. Of gadgets and devices and clothes and everything her little heart desired. Then again, the prospect of more Eaters sobered her up sufficiently to know that if Michael should be telling the truth.. they would have more and more of these attacks. And thus Catherine was conflicted once more. The mental and physical exhaustion seemed to weigh heavily upon her then, and she was barely able to stifle a yawn.