VIDEO

[killtime]

[ The camera angle is. Bad. This is a person who does not know how to use their communicator well. They probably can't even take a proper selfie. All that's showing is a pair of combat boots moving around in the grass — someone's backyard? — and in the distance, much farther out, a tree that (oddly enough) has a single board nailed to it for a reason only the gods know. It's not even nailed on straight.

The boots stop wandering. It's quiet for a moment.

Then there's a thwip, almost like the sound of a rubber band, and a thunk moments later, as an arrow hits the crooked board, dead center.

Unceremoniously then, a woman's voice: ]

Any of you know shit about teenagers?

[ Another thunk. A second arrow, its head practically kissing the first where it strikes. ]

What do normal fifteen-year-olds do these days?

[ Thunk. A third arrow. Three for three.

A mutter then, half to herself: ]

Fuck. Probably better get around to the whole "birds and bees" thing.

Comments

[killtime]

Guess so.

[ Mildly then: ]

Now you conveniently know a fuckton more about me than I know about you.

[besainted]

[ and whose fault is that! maybe stop answering random interrogations on the network!!

but because he's SUCH a nice guy: ] Oh — you're right, sorry about that. I'm Damian Saint Lorrant, I can make little blue flames since I arrived here, and I'll probably die within the next hundred or so years, if my luck stays good. Better?

[killtime]

[ LISTEN MAYBE BEING SURROUNDED BY FRIENDS AND FAMILY ALL THIS TIME HAS SOFTENED HER UP A BIT OKAY GOT HER GUARD DOWN LIKE ]

Little blue flames?

[besainted]

Just what it sounds like. They do absolutely nothing, as far as I can tell.

[killtime]

[ Dryly: ]

Wouldn't mind trading you. It would save me the trouble of always finding my lighter anyway.

[besainted]

I said they do absolutely nothing, and unfortunately I meant it. They're room temperature flames. Still want a trade?

[killtime]

Would it surprise you if I said yes?

[besainted]

It would, actually. You don't appreciate the powers you've got?

[killtime]

I've been alive for seven millennia. Against my will.

I'm tired.

Very fucking tired.

[besainted]

In a place like this, doesn't it seem like someone out there could change that for you?

[ like him. he could do it. pick him pick him. ]

[killtime]

[ Dryly: ]

Why, you volunteering, Sparky?

[besainted]

[ with a laugh: ] I somehow don't think room-temperature flames are quite up to the task, sorry. But let me know if you find some kind of power-trader, I don't think I'd mind not worrying about dying.

[killtime]

Oh. Didn't I mention?

I can die.

I just haven't yet.

[besainted]

Then how would you know?

[killtime]

[ She shrugs. ]

The others all died.

[besainted]

The others?

[killtime]

Others like me. There were others.

[ Funny, but when she tries to remember them all, there's an odd... Gap in her memory. Something she can't quite recall. Or someone. ]

There are others. I'm just the oldest.

[besainted]

They ... [ A pause, and then reluctantly: ] I'm sorry, this might be really insensitive, please don't answer if you don't want to. But ... how did they die?

[killtime]

We can die any old fucking way. Usually, it's violent. One day you go down and you just don't get back up again.

There's nothing special about it. We just die.

So I'm immortal. Until I'm not.

[besainted]

Does it ... take a wound bad enough? Or is there some other factor that does it?

[killtime]

Has to be fatal. Won't die from a papercut. But other than that, there's no way to tell. You'll regenerate your head a hundred times and get fucked the one-hundred-and-first.

[besainted]

[ as frank as she's being about it, a little more honest a reply seems safe: ]

That's interesting. It has to be tied to something, but maybe it's something outside your scope.

[killtime]

Or maybe it's just cruel, pointness randomness. Who the fuck knows. [ Flatly: ] I've existed like this for almost seven thousand years, and nobody — no god or devil — has ever bothered to explain it.

[besainted]

Seven thousand, really? That's -- [ deeply impressive, and he's super jealous?? ] You must have picked up a lot. Skills, trades, knowledge ... you could answer a million questions for historians, for a start.

[killtime]

[ Well. 6,733 give or take, but who the fuck is counting. ]

Sure. I learned a few things. Forgot plenty too. [ A bit dryly: ] I'm old. I'm not a fucking savant. You tell me if you can remember things for a couple decades, let alone a couple millennia.