nine-four-nine

[nine-four-nine]

What symbolic fruit are you ?

Dates

In Islam, during Ramadan, dates are used to break the daily fast that Muslims engage in and are sacred symbols of faith, abundance, longevity, hospitality and peace. In other faiths, they are also used to represent faith, power and pilgrimage. Dates, being high in sugar, are prosperous in desert regions and were known for keeping men from starvation. In the same way dates are subtly sweet, so are you. More even-tempered than others, though you likely have a more placid surface, your waters do run deep. You're someone who has a strong connection to whatever faith or belief system you believe in and enjoy engaging in deep conversations with those around you. Contemplation and gratitude are words that aren't rare in your vocabulary. You spend much of your time putting others before yourself, getting by on the dates of kindness alone. Just remember, you cannot survive to be there for other people; you have to put yourself first sometimes.

Tagged by: @origami-assassin (ty)! Tagging: anybody!

[nine-four-nine]

To say that Monkey wasn't aware that this brief invasion of personal space would bother the stranger would be a lie— usually something he respected for his own sake as much as the other person's. However, it's hard not to react when witnessing the closest thing to a miracle he's ever seen. Logically, he knows there has to be some sort of reasonable explanation, but he has no clue what that explanation could be. He's never seen wounds mend themselves like that before, and he's never heard anyone claim that they could.

When the woman speaks, he looks up, his own eyes staring back at him through the reflective lenses of her glasses. At the moment, he can't even think of what to say since the first question that comes to mind (how'd you do that?) would be pointless, considering she had just told him that there's very little she remembers or understands about it herself. So instead, wonderment giving way to earnestness under her plea, he nods, letting escape a quiet grunt before retreating to his spot beside the fire.

Having left the first rabbit angled above the flame (unfortunately, just a little too small to cook more than one at a time), Monkey retrieves the stick he'd been using as a skewer, rotating the creature to a different side. And, after a beat of silence, he turns his face back in her direction, keeping his gaze on the meat.

"Y'know, even if anyone did believe me, yer secret's safe with me. I get it."

While the man may not have the right word for it, he knows her concern and that it's justified. Most people are desperate, and extortion is far from unheard of out in the wild—whether to gain food, shelter, muscle, or all of the above. And being able to heal like that? Well, she's right to be worried.

His fascination (confusion?) was impossible not to take note of. This massive man watching her origami at work; the palms of her hands and the rawness of the pads of her fingers closed. Left discolored with remnants of scabs where the origami failed to fully heal her. But it was substantially better than it had been.

With nimble digits flexed, the woman allowed herself a momentary sigh. Relief from the crude aches and pains after tearing her hands against steel braided cabling no doubt having left a smear of blood in its wake.

It wasn't perfect. But it was much more tolerable. Pausing only when she sees how intensely he appears to be studying where the grotesque wounds had been. Brows risen up slowly. Cautious gaze rested upon him feeling the urge to lean back a bit if only to maintain some level of distance between them.

"Don't tell anyone." The threat had been made before, and now -- it's a weak plea. Still firm, and demanding, yet its undertone carried with it a nesting paranoia. The tiniest hint of fear slipping through the cracks of a much more stubborn, and determined façade.

It wouldn't be long before she's withdrawn her hands, clutching them tight to her chest with her knees pressed in against her wrists. Tightly curled up still seated where she had been. Trying to warm a little more by the fire without drawing more attention to -- well -- everything she had just revealed.

Eyes swept behind sunglasses towards the rabbits he had procured. An audible rumble with her stomach breaking any attempt at silence.

[nine-four-nine]

Luckily, Monkey's already temporarily lowered the half-skinned rabbit in his hands in favor of leaning a mite closer to the stranger, interest piqued upon hearing his first bona fide answer to a question— even if that answer was initially nothing more than a simple "I don't know." Sitting crossed-legged and turned to the side from the woman, he had craned his torso toward her, propping himself up against a forearm draped across his knee, displaying genuine attentiveness.

When she mentions her lack of memories, his head tilts, eyes narrowing slightly (more of that inquisitiveness), but he doesn't have time for a proper response before yet another of her tiny creatures begins moving on its own. This by itself isn't all that unusual; the man is well-acquainted with the small mechanized dragonflies everywhere, and he's even seen them occasionally shed sparks of light behind them. What is extraordinary is when the thing seemingly disintegrates into thin air.

What's even more extraordinary, and why it was lucky to have already lowered the rabbit, is because he probably would have dropped it when he realized that whatever the thing had done had miraculously left the other healed. That's definitely something he's never seen, whether mechanical or organic.

Absentmindedly, without looking away, he puts the animal atop the pile of others and, in a curiously simian-like fashion, utilizing knuckles while staying low to the ground, he closes a bit of the gap between them to try and get a better look at her hands.

He hears the warning, although the words don't wholly register with him right now. Fortunately, Monkey is far more amazed than he is scheming.

"What the hell," is all that's muttered under his breath.

It's hard not to express the amount of pain she's enduring with these reopened wounds. The shredded skin and permeating arc of growing discomfort at the exposure of raw flesh to air. It felt better; more tolerable bound within the bloodied bandages. But it's too late now.

For a moment, a sense of loneliness found its way to her eyes. Narrowed down with teeth slightly exposed beneath a subtle, uncomfortable expression. Breathing slow and deep to try to ease the new found suffering with little impact on the severity of these wounds.

She had truly had enough trying to hide her secret. This was impossible to deal with if she had any hope of being able to survive in this brutal world.

Sinking back slightly, she eases the tips of her fingers into folds within her worn attire. Tattered ends shifting away to reveal what appeared to be an origami koi newly spotted with bits of blood from digits.

"I don't know." She answered finally. "I haven't any memory of life before it appeared to me.. Just as I've no understanding of--" A breath washed heavy against the koi, bathing it in a fountain of life as it stirred from her fingertips and began to swim in the air above her hands, "This." It would be her first real confession. Perhaps some part of her aching to be accepted.

If it were a mech of some sort, she's not entirely sure how she were able to create it from paper. Nor how its motions seemed to begin knitting flesh back together. Painfully.. Like microscopic needles were sewing it all back up. Recreating the lost flesh in layers until the skin had become whole again. And should he have observed the koi itself, he would find it altered. Embers dripping away from its paper body as it seemed to disintegrate like a hot coal pressed to parchment. No fire, or smoke, or scent, recreating itself into what appeared to be a living creature.

However as soon as the skin had been closed leaving only traces of blood and scabs where once the flesh was opened and exposed, the koi much as it had been created, would begin to crumble from tail to tip. Gentle fragments sparking like glass sand shimmering in the light, vanishing until nothing remained.

And for origami crane? Watching. As if it contained a sort of sentience of its own.

"I have weapons too." She warned, giving him a passing glare, "Should you think to use me."

[nine-four-nine]

[nine-four-nine]

In the firelight, a flash of something is written across the man's face as he redirects his attention back to the task at hand again: disgust. More so now than when the stench of death had refilled their small alcove just seconds before— not at her, of course, but rather at the mere insinuation. Granted, he's lived alone in the wild long enough to know that it is exceedingly rare to be offered something for free, but the thought of repayment (that brand of repayment especially) hadn't crossed his mind.

Before he speaks, he takes a moment, eyebrows rising ever so slightly and head tilting to one side; it's evident that Monkey makes a conscious effort to soften his expression. The stranger is hurt and looking for a little reassurance, a fact that he's already been trying to remind himself of whenever the twinge of annoyance might attempt to surface at her avoidance of any and all questions.

Besides, if he's true to his word, she doesn't owe him anything she's unwilling to give, right? A concept that extends to names and explanations. He's here of free will; he could leave if he doesn't like it.

"Didn't try n' pull anythin' while ya'were passed out— though I guess I shouldn't've left, either." The afterthought is spoken while he glances behind himself in the vague direction of their deceased visitor. When he looks back, his sights are turned toward her once more. Initially, his gaze lingers on the bloodied bandages, resisting the urge to advise against removing them and aggravating the wounds all over again, but—

She already has.

So instead, and for the third time, his eyes drift toward the tiny white bird, correctly perched upon her shoulder. Even if she isn't inclined to share anything with him, he tries one last query, giving his head an upward flick as if to signal the creature in question.

"Hey, what is that thing, anyways? Some kinda mech?"

Warmth. The first she'd felt in a while, though subtle in its existence briefly. Growing with his careful nursing. The putrid stench of the previous encounter making a reappearance, though she seems entirely unbothered by its lingering stench. It was still warm. Still heat of some sort, and would provide her chilled body an opportunity to recover from it.

The cold corner had become less comfortable with the growing heat, encouraging her a bit closer to bask in the warmth with her raw, still pained hands lifted to collect as much of its gentle glow against her exposed fingertips.

"Doesn't it?" She questioned, "Last bloke to freely help, tried freely helping himself. How can I be sure you won't do the same?" He has been pretty respectful despite how abrasive she's been towards him. While he had his own hard edge, it should have been clear by now that he probably wouldn't try anything.

Unless the other guy's brutal end roused a stronger sense of caution and survival into the man, encouraging him against being foolish.

The little origami crane pulled itself free to reside upon her shoulder. It's tiny body could be easily mistaken for some kind of ornament she might wear upon her attire, or even in her hair; no bigger than the palm of her hands. Its head lowered towards where she had lifted the wounds on her palms closer to the fire, then towards the light strain upon her features from the absolutely awful pain that accompanied the wounds and warmth introduced.

She could - should - just heal them. As much as it could in any case. Drawing them back to begin unraveling bloodied cloth. Skin tacky and sickly against the fabric used to protect them. Some coming away from her hands, dead and frail with new blood seeping to the surface as if she'd just reopened the wound.

Which she really had.

But it was becoming more than she could deal with. In her efforts to hide what she could do, she had neglected to entertain the idea of remedying this awful injury.

For a moment, she just stares at the wounds. Breath somewhat heavier, but her composure remained with fingers stiffly flexed to test the extent of injury.

[nine-four-nine]

It takes a moment, but soon, one of the sparks produced from the flint and steel catches, and Monkey leans down to further bolster this developing flame with a slight rearrangement of its kindling and a few softly blown breaths. The smell at first is rancid, reintroducing the stench of burning flesh and rusty iron into the air all over again, and yet, with no more than a wrinkling of his nose, the man straightens again. Unless they want to switch spots altogether, there's little he can do about that.

Although not unlike her own recurring question, it once more brings to mind the dead man, charred and crumpled over on himself at the bottom of their perch. Monkey still can't help wondering what he'd done to deserve that. Had he merely wandered in and surprised her? Had he threatened her? The woman didn't seem too keen on elaboration of any sort.

Fair enough, he guesses; like she says, they'll be parting ways at some point anyway.

So, with lips thinning into a hard line, he finally sits after stowing the items away in the bag he'd left in the corner. Legs crossed underneath himself, he separates one of the three rabbits he dragged in, and, starting from around the animal's knees, he'd begin the meticulous skinning process. He doesn't have a knife right now, so his bare hands will have to suffice. Either way, it's nothing he hasn't done hundreds of times during his solitary life.

How does this all benefit him? "It don't," he reiterates, again straightforward and honest, accompanied by a shrug of those massive shoulders. Hands still preoccupied with their work, he looks toward the other, a fleeting glance given to the small paper bird once more. "Look, I ain't pressin' you for answers, 'least you can do is believe mine, all right? I can help, so I'm helpin'. Simple as that."

Maybe lingering was a mistake. It was probably best she didn't with the whole survival situation in this hellish post apocalyptic landscape. However getting around was going to prove even more daunting for her given the injuries to her hands. A sigh. Head rested back to close her eyes a moment, and try to control the slight tremor within her form. A sure sign she was starting to grow cold.

Unlike him, she could squeeze her small form into particularly tight spaces and escape the chill. Break into old structures. Find somewhere isolated out of the wind, to curl up and sleep for a short time where necessary. With him, though, that wasn't even remotely an option. He was easily four times her size. She may be overestimating that, but the man was monstrously large compared to her.

If carrying a roll on her back wasn't so cumbersome, she might have stolen a few blankets she'd found in the last hideout she broke into.

"Suppose it's inevitable." Jezebel remarked. "You'll be on your way soon then." More an observant comment. Two was a crowd after all. Being alone often had better odds than not. But she wasn't completely alone. She was accompanied by something else which, after a moment, peeked its paper head up from the edge of her collar. Its tiny face staring; a dulled white, and angular. Folded like -- an origami crane.

"I'm still not clear why you're helping me." the woman considered openly, "What could it possibly benefit you?"

[nine-four-nine]

Propped against his haunches, facing the fire he's working on reigniting and with his back turned to the gap he'd just come through, Monkey cranes to glance over his shoulder at the mention of boarding up the openings. It's wide, a chunk taken right out of the brick wall. She's right, of course; covering it would help capture the heat and make them less immediately apparent, only— "I wasn't plannin' on stayin' that long," he remarks before returning to the current task. More by way of an explanation regarding the unstrategic location choice than a dismissal of her thoughts.

He never stays anywhere long enough to warrant making such adjustments. And in truth, the more holes around, the more escape routes available to him. If it had just been him in here, he would have eaten, extinguished the flames, and then curled up in the corner somewhere to endure the cold for a couple hours of sleep before heading out again. His mind is usually geared toward making a quick exit above all else, something the man will suffer a little discomfort to retain.

But it isn't just him in here. "I'll see if I can't find somethin' to cover it with after I get these goin'." These refer to the rabbits, which are briefly and absently gestured toward.

Warmth was all she wanted right then. With how cold it was getting, she was growing more eager to experience what the once distinguished fire, could provide. "If you nailed board over the windows, it would be warmer in here." If that were possible given the state of the structure they occupied. It was better than letting all the heat escape, though. Just enough extra insulation to contain it a bit longer.

And avoid having to subject herself to body heat from the stranger. Goodness knows he could flex by accident and probably kill her.

However it had a second purpose as well. One she wouldn't wait long to mention, "The light might drawn attention, too." Not that the dead body wouldn't already. The disheveled, half burned heap he discarded onto the ground below, might give anyone (or anything) pause.

That was it. That's all she's giving him for the moment. She'll curl up a bit tighter in her little space, staring at the rabbits he'd procured for food, and contemplating the option of trying to tan the fur to help keep warm. He was a big dude so maybe he could get them into a spot easily missed by flyovers and anything on the ground that might try to kill or kidnap them.

@nine-four-nine [ from this thread ]

[nine-four-nine]

NINE FOUR NINE. ask — submit

RP blog for Monkey from Enslaved: Odyssey to the West

at a glance this blog is: semi-selective and multiverse. Crossovers encouraged, OC and female muse-friendly ✗ Canon compliant with strong headcanon influences ✗ 18+ only ✗ Slow or sporadic activity ✗ Beloved by Giffie (she/her, 21+, PDT) ✗ EST. 11/26/23

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