Hell and Hope. Buried, Buried.(Gina)

Silence.

The gargoyle was greeted by an unfamiliar phenomena as she approached the Spires, the sense of stillness pressing in on her from all sides. It was silent. As one drew nearer Agnes’s domain, it was common to hear a faint hum, even from this far out—it was so soft, it was almost impercievable, like a crawl upon the back of your neck. At first, it had unnerved the teen, but now it was commonplace—the absence of the sound of swarms scared her more than the presence thereof.

The skies were clear—anywhere else, that would have been a good thing—not hear. Not now. Where were the goddamn swarms?! Gina swallowed the anxiety in her stomach, but her approach quickened. Perhaps Agnes was just giving the airborne beasties a break? Sure.

As was typical of their visits, Gina landed at the perimeter, and was greeted by the next peculiarity. The bugs had fallen still, for the most part—some of them, their legs flailed uselessly, or they crept along weakly, but most were dead. Completely dead.

“Guys?” Gina inquired. They’d always been able to understand her, Agnes understood them. They’d know, “What’s going on?”

There was no sign of a response. Something was very wrong. Gina kicked off of the ground, forgetting the routine, and launching herself forward with powerful wingbeats, her body following familiar avenues, whilst her mind wandered elsewhere. Her expression was stern. Determined, yet numb. She didn’t see the blatant signs of conflict, for her internal dialogue had preoccupied her too much.

Gina was caught by how surreal it all was, and trying to fight the steadily rising panic—it was as if her anxiety was caught behind a damn from which a single leak had sprung. She stopped one hole up, and another emerged. It was only a matter of time before she couldn’t stop the next leak and the downpour—be it of relief or bereavement—would strike soon enough.

Gina landed on the balcony upon which she’d landed so many times, running inside with a shout. The dying insects were not as plentiful, there, so she didn’t mind her steps as carefully.

“Agnes!” Gina yelled, her voice tough with strain. When she called out a second time, her tone cracked, betraying her, “Agnes!”

The throne room was cool and empty. It was the only room that was familiar to Gina, but she would skim the tower top-to-bottom until she found her. Agnes had to be here… unless she wasn’t. Some hopeful, naïve part of the gargoyle wondered if, perhaps, her sister had found her humanity and walked to the Town…? And with her newfound humanity, couldn’t control all the bugs, couldn’t take them all with her? Maybe. For now, that “maybe”, however unlikely of a “maybe” it was, was what Gina clung to. She had to find her sister…

Her feet carried her from room-to-room, and each time Gina entered a room, she cried out for her sister. Her tone lost its resolve—a quiver seeped into it, betrayed her anxiety and fear—and pet names joined it, references to “Sis”, and “Aggs” sounding almost pained as Gina shouted them. She had to be there. She had to be. Gina finally reeled into perhaps the thousandth hallway she’d approached today, and she slumped over in exhaustion. Her breaths were ragged, her heart hammering in her chest as she came to a pause. Agnes… she couldn’t find Agnes anywhere… And now, she was also lost. Without a single glimpse of sky, the gargoyle had no idea where to turn now.

A rather animated cockroach skittered past, and Gina noticed it with a start.

“H-hey! Hey, you!” she shouted at it. It kept going without stopping. Gina looked in the direction from which it had come, and began to walk that way—as she drew closer, she heard digging, and when she came to a rather crude doorway, what her met her eyes broke her resolve in an instant.

The dam had broken.

Her mouth opened to sculpt words, but her lips nor tongue found any to suffice. Two familiar forms lay crumpled, lifeless, on the floor, as if to sleep, but without life. My god… oh my god… Gina wanted to murmur. Agnes… Becca… Her mouth opened, and all that emerged was a sob. The pain of loss tore through the gargoyle, and was manifest in her cry. With her second breath, came a single, trembling utterance.

“No… no…” Gina ran in—with complete disregard for the enormous cockroach in the corner—and fell to her knees beside her sister, partially blinded by the tears that were raising up within her eyes. Her weapon, a modified shovel, was discarded just to her side, as her hand preoccupied themselves with fussing over the motionless forms.

“Agnes, wake up,” Gina moaned, “Becca, you too… guys… please…”

Gina shook arms that were unnaturally stiff for anyone living, touched faces that were as cold as slate as if touching the face of an unconscious relative that one held near. However cliché, though Gina knew that they were both truly dead, her heart couldn’t handle such a though. Her mind couldn’t contort around it, and her entire body had surrendered itself to sobs and shivering. No…

“No… no…”

Someone made a grab for her shovel, placing a steadying hand upon her shoulder, and Gina reacted accordingly—her form tensed, and her hand reflexively went to the handle of the shovel, and she spun around, attempting to pull it back.

At first glance, it might have served as a decent tool—but upon closer inspection, it was modified beyond being of any true, natural use. The blade was cut down and sharpened, the handle was half of its original length, sanded to be more ergonomic in Gina’s hand, and bore ornate carvings. In its former life, perhaps it had been a gardening tool, but now it was a weapon. She didn't know if the person was a threat or not.

Though, in the back of her mind, Gina knew that if whoever-it-was, if they’d meant on killing her, they would have done so already. She turned to face the offending individual, her brown eyes hard yet full of tears. Her throat was too tight with emotion to speak, though she did attempt to open her mouth to do so anyways, before closing it as an afterthought.

Damn it, Agnes.

The enormous cockroach that now grasped Gina's only weapon (besides her naturally-granted ones) saw fit to speak-up. Her expression darkened. Yes, it was cruel—however true the reassurance was, it was still quite callous. She wanted to lash out and strike him, yell at him. Gina didn't know what she would yell, but it was a better emotion to feel the hollowness that was washing over her—anything was better than the pain of loss.

“Please take your hand off of my weapon…” Gina murmured, her tone quivering yet resolute. Who he was didn't much matter to her—she didn’t want someone to watch her mourn, though the dismay was still apparent. Perhaps if he hadn't made a grab for her weapon, Gina would have greeted him more kindly, but as it were, he had not-- she was looking for some other emotion to feel the hollow, distraught void, and it flavors of annoyance and misplaced fury were seeping in. She could have done something, she should have done something, and she didn't. She couldn't. And now, her sister and a dear friend were both dead.

God pity the soul of the giant insect if this was this was his doing-- god pity his soul.

“Who are you?” she inquired, her brow furrowed, her vice-like grip remaining around the shovel's handle, “And what is your business here?”

She was doing her best to be resolute, but her expressions betrayed her. Her tone was raw, her eyes were tearful, and if it weren't for the tug-of-war over her only weapon and the presence of this stranger, Gina would still be mourning. Not now, though... later...

The enormous cockroach-man was not shaken at all by Gina’s blind bitterness, though his insistence to use her shovel to dig was infuriating—didn’t the fool see the modifications?! And he had the nerve to discuss the semantics of her weapon with her. In a confusing whirl of emotion, her grief churned closer and closer to something that was far easier to deal with—anger. At what, she didn’t know, but for the time being, it would be anger at the cockroach. He was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

“A lot of things have changed and found new meaning, and new purposes, with time,” the gargoyle growled, “This former tool is a weapon now. You’re going to dull the blade by using it to dig.” Sure, formerly it cultivated, formerly in mourned—now it cut down people that stood in the gargoyles’ way. Unfortunately, you couldn’t bludgeon someone with a shovel when their grip was stronger than yours. On the other hand… it was for Agnes and Rebecca. And their bodies didn’t deserve to be left out to decompose. Burial would be proper, and it was what Gina would have wanted for them. Her expression tightened, and her gaze dropped. Fine.

She released the shovel as the man stalked-off with it. Gina returned to her two fallen friends, clenching her teeth against persistent tears. The man went about his digging, and Gina knelt between Agnes and Rebecca, at their heads. She shook with quiet sobs, alternating between combing back Agnes’s hair, and then Becca’s, and paying little attention to the insectoid-creep behind her. She really, really didn’t want to talk about it, but he (apparently) did.

>> "I... Must admit, I am not good in emotional situations... I am more creature than man, and mourning is quite a human thing to do... Perhaps, though, if you find you want to talk about it... I will be adequate?"

It would only be fair—he’d told Gina of his business there, so… why not return the favor. Gina inhaled, let the silence sit for a few measures as she tried to hoard what scraps of composure that remained closer, before finally speaking-up.

“Agnes is… was… practically a sister to me,” Gina explained, “We were very close. I came to visit her, tried to talk her into returning to… the settlement with me, even after I found out she was with Sebastian the whole time. Rebecca… was her soulmate, I’m pretty sure. And she was my best friend.”

Gina pressed the back of her hand to her eyes, her wings extending slightly to hide the rest of her from view. She went quiet again, her mouth moving as if to sculpt words, but no sound escaping it.

“I wouldn’t have wanted it to be any other way—to have them die together,” Gina murmured quietly, “And happy… I just… you never want your friends to die. They were one of the few things that I had left to care for, in the world.”

Gina wasn’t rummaging for pity. Pity was the last thing she wanted—she was just being totally candid with this absolute stranger. What mattered most to her were those she cherished before the Apocalypse, and now, two of them were dead.

“I loved them so much, and I never got to tell them that,” Gina breathed, “I sure as Hell didn’t show it, either. I could’ve…” She broke off—she could’ve done something. Saved them. Protected them. If only they’d let her. She could have brought them to the fortress, cared for them—and she couldn’t. Perhaps if she could have, they wouldn’t’ve been dead now.