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@ringleadering || The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

[postocular]

[ Consciousness comes sluggishly. He can't seem to open his eyes, swimming through the blank emptiness toward a small crack of light and getting nowhere. Waking shouldn't be this hard. It feels like he just went to sleep, limbs heavy, not working. It's funny. He doesn't feel anything, pain or not. Like he's a head without a body.

So he doesn't. He simply lets go.

The next time, it feels different. His fingers twitch. Where he couldn't hear anything before, there's definitely noise, but it sounds like he's underwater. Distant. Muffled. Can't make out the words. His eyes still feel heavy, but Carl feels like it's important to open them.

Open. Come on. Just once.

When he finally manages it, it's hard to process exactly what he's seeing. Stark white walls. The smell of disinfectant. The sound of a few machines nearby. A heart monitor and.. something else. It's not right.

There's sound nearby. Not the expanse of nothing but nature. The sound of death groans. The heart monitor spikes, the beats speeding up as his brain tries to piece everything together. The edges don't fit. It hurts his head.

He lets his head flop to the side, opening his eyes briefly one more time. The sight is a relief, and he tries to call out to his dad, to let him know that he's here, but all that comes out is a raspy croak.

...Weird. How long had he been asleep? And where the hell were they? It wasn't the farm. Nor Alexandria.. The hand beneath his is warm, his dad holding his hand loosely. Carl curls his fingers as best he can. Why isn't anything responding? ]

[ringleadering]

[ One second and everything changed for good in the life of Rick Grimes. For one thing, a freak accident left his son in a coma with the doctors unsure if he would ever wake up but Rick refused even the possibility of such a thing. When Carl woke up they would find a way to put the pieces back together of their lives. The second biggest change being the complete destruction of his marriage with Lori. It turned out Lori had started seeing Shane not too long into Carl's coma. Anytime Rick left to sit by Carl's bedside, Shane and Lori were together. One night, he learned the truth when he came home earlier to grab a quick shower and found them in bed.

It led to a very, very messy divorce.

A year or so later, a new transfer to the station sparked a romance for him and he also received a new partner. The latter he still needed to get used to but Arat vouched for the man being decent, just with a very loud mouth and zero boundaries. Shane transferred to another precinct but he and Lori continued trading off when they sat by Carl's bedside. Rick wanted to make sure someone would always be there with him no matter what.

Sleepily dozing in the chair beside Carl's bed, Rick snapped awake when he felt movement against his hand. Eyes flashing open, he looked up at Carl's face in hope. ]

Carl. [ The name nearly came out like a sob from his lips and after he pressed a kiss to Carl's forehead, he went to alert the doctor and nurses. They bustled into the room quickly to check Carl's vitals and explain to Rick what would happen from there.

Once everyone left, he moved back over to Carl to cup his cheek and sit back down. ]

How're you feelin'? It's been awhile. [ He grabbed for a cup of water to help Carl drink it, relief making his shoulders sag and his heart clench up. ] So happy you're awake.

[postocular]

[ The feeling of dread sits heavily in his stomach as the room is flooded with doctors and nurses. He doesn't really follow what they're saying, what little focus he has staying on his dad's face. They feel familiar, but there are entirely too many people around. Honestly, he just wants to go back to sleep.

It takes what he feels is an unnecessarily long time to find his voice. Carl is glad for the help as he sips at the water, he doesn't think he could hold anything without dropping it. ]

How-- [ The words stop and he takes a few long moments to look around the room for anything familiar. A glimpse of the life they've had. Had they somehow managed to find another civilization with actual doctors? It's similar enough to what he was told about the hospital in Atlanta.. None of this is right. His dad looks the same as he remembers, though aged from stress. With everything that has happened with Negan, it's understandable.

Negan. They can't waste any time with laying around, they have to prepare for the war they know is coming.. Carl's attention flicks to the tubes attached to his arm. He should really take those out so they can leave.

He couldn't just lay here! Even though he's just woken up, Carl feels tired down to the bone, but resists letting his eyes shut. Shifting as much as he has the energy to, he flops his head sideways on the pillow so he can better watch his dad and the door. It still makes him uneasy that they're just sitting here. What his dad says finally registers. It's been a while. What's that supposed to mean? Did he actually get Lucille to the back of the head? ]

'm okay. What happened?

[ringleadering]

[ While not the most religious person by any means, Rick knew Carl waking up was a miracle beyond any other comprehension. The doctors made sure to tell them often how Carl's injuries were substantial and they needed to prepare for the possibility their son may never regain consciousness but Rick never gave up. He refused to ever give up when it came to Carl and it paid off. Lori might have doubted but Rick never wavered as easily. Clearly, given his solo commitment to the vows they once shared.

There were so many things he needed to tell Carl but in a slower way to not upset him unnecessarily. It would be a shock to the system to learn of Lori and Shane's marriage and his new romance with Arat. But he knew Carl would like Arat when given the chance to get to know her. Nearly, everyone approved of her, minus Lori but he knew to never expect her to easily accept anything in his life now.

Squeezing Carl's hand, he fumbled for his cell phone in his other. He needed to call Lori and Shane to tell them the incredible news. ]

You had an accident Carl but it's okay now. [ Rick leaned forward to press a kiss against Carl's forehead, pulling back when Lori picked up and he explained to her what happened. ]

[ He hung up a few moments later and pocketed his phone again. ] Your mom and Shane will be here in about twenty minutes. I'll call the station later to let 'em know I won't be in today. [ With another squeeze of Carl's hand, he let out a soft breath. ] Negan won't be happy 'bout it, he'll have to deal with one of the rookie's as a partner -- you'll meet 'im later. He's my new partner. Shane transferred to another station after -- I knew you'd wake up, Carl, never doubted it.

[postocular]

Dad, wha-- [ Nothing is making sense. Mom's alive, and with Shane? Why isn't she here? How are they both alive? Carl shot both of them. They were dead. As good as buried. This has to be some sort of fever dream that he's caught in..

His heart leaps up to his throat, lodging itself there. He's my new partner. That can't be right. Dad wouldn't actually work alongside Negan without harboring the hatred he carries. Struggling to get his body to cooperate, Carl pushes himself up onto his elbows so he can attempt to sit fully.

Carl's head is throbbing, trying to wrap around everything his dad is saying, but none of it matches up against what he knows is real. Why was no one else around? Where was Michonne?? He desperately wanted to see her, too. She'd make all of this seem more normal, at least..

Frantically, he looks around the room for any sign that another vitally important member of their family was missing. Rick hadn't even mentioned her.. Brow furrowed in worry, his gaze turns back to his dad's face. Trying to swallow past the lump still in his throat, he rasps: ]

Where's Judy?

[ringleadering]

[ The look on Carl's face more than anything else worried him. He looked so troubled and oddly confused, which he understood. Being in a coma for so long made things very difficult to come to terms with. Reaching out, he tried to help Carl lay back and rest, running a hand over his hair with a softening smile. Having his son back changed everything and he couldn't wait to introduce everyone new in his life.

Judy? A girl from school, perhaps? Had Carl ever mentioned her before? The name didn't ring a bell other than Carl's teacher but why would he want her contacted? Sitting back down on the chair, he tilted his head slightly to the side. ]

You want me to call her? Anyone else you want to see? Might be a few more days till ya can have a lot of visitors.

[ Gripping for Carl's hand, he opened his mouth to say something else but the nurses and doctors rushed in before he could. The heart monitor beeping so wildly alerted them. They bustled him back and tried to calm Carl down again, checking all his vitals. His heart leapt into his throat and he felt everything within him churning up. Losing Carl after having him back so soon would destroy him. ]

Natasha;;

[postocular]

[ It's only his second shift, and Carl doesn't think it will get any less painful, like his body is boiling from the inside out. Sharp points of pain as his body contorts and changes. Into what, he still doesn't quite understand- can't seem to wrap his head around it past the pain and the instinct and the power. He feels powerful, in a way he'd never experienced before. Senses are heightened so much it's an overload most of the time. There's too much going on that it's hard to string things together in a way that makes sense.

It should never have come to this. He still doesn't know what he did to deserve the bite-- no. The attack. He got more than just a bite to the shoulder that night. The mangled remnants of his right eye throb in remembrance of it. Vision skewed, he has to be careful as he darts through the heavily wooded area since his depth perception is off. He doesn't even know where he is, though something in the back of his head says north. How much, he doesn't know. As soon as that godawful shift had happened and he could see past the pain, he'd taken off. Running as fast as his feet could carry him. It didn't matter where, so long as he was far away from that asshole.

One thing is certain. He's hungry. Needs to sink his teeth into something before the night is out. He's only managed to catch small mammals, but nothing satisfied him. Nothing satisfied the monster that's lurking just under his skin now. A branch snaps somewhere close and the hackles raise as his attention swings in that direction. Fight or flight is starting to kick in, and he doesn't know which urge is stronger.

The urge to fight wins out and he skulks toward the noise, head dipped low. The faintest hints of daylight are starting to peek through the gaps in the trees, but for now, there's still time for a kill. ]

[outstandingbalance]

[It's not the kid's fault he's dangerous right now. He's young, and he's new, and they're all unpredictable then. She smells the pain and the fear on him as she tracks him. She doesn't blame him.

But that doesn't mean he's not her problem.

She stalks through the woods for a time, following him. But when the time comes to decide how to move forward, she holds back from attacking. Instead, she makes a noise, intentional, to draw him in. If she can reach him then its possible they can avoid doing more damage to the kid tonight.

What he'll find following the crack doesn't seem intimidating at a glance. She's smaller than a wolf. Her pale fur is reddish and ruffled around her neck, ears forward. But her eyes flash red, and there's a presence around her that a more experienced wolf would know to defer to.

She doesn't show any signs of fear when he slinks closer.]

[postocular]

[ He knows he's getting close to the noise. There's an unfamiliar scent in the air, hard to place. Hard to really know. It's nothing like prey, doesn't have that sour smell to it like the animals he's hunted before. It doesn't take him long to find the source, and what he sees makes the hunger peak.

Smaller than he is, but confident. The flash of red makes his chest squeeze, but he's unsure what that actually means. It makes little difference, because the hunger is the more intense thing and of course he acts on it. Growling, he runs at the other wolf-- at least that's what it looks like from a distance.

His jaws snap when he gets close enough, the feeling of bloodlust rising to the forefront. He needs the kill. It consumes every other thought. ]

[outstandingbalance]

[It's probably a good thing she left Bucky behind. Not because he doesn't trust her to take care of herself, because he knows better than to under estimate either her skills or her instincts, but that doesn't mean he'd like seeing how she handles this, darting out of range of the young wolf's jaws and ducking under his body. When she crosses behind him she plants her hind feet in his flank and pushes off him, kicking him off balance.

The snarl she gives is a warning. If he doesn't get a hold of himself, there's worse to come.]

[postocular]

[ The other wolf is fast- faster than he is, especially in this state. She darts behind him and he's knocked over in a mess of limbs. Scrambling to get back up again, he faces her once more, those hackles up and growling, staring defiantly at her with that one eye.

Something says that maybe he should back down, but that panic rises again. Warring with the bloodlust and making him careless. Once more he darts at her in another attempt to get a bite in. He doesn't have long before the shift happens again. ]

[outstandingbalance]

[This time her snarl is louder, sharper, rising into a howl.

If he needs to hear an alpha before he'll back down, she can show him what an an alpha sounds like.

She doesn't think he's so wild or so powerful he'll fight that.]

@sallyfaced

[postocular]

The world isn't how it used to be. It's a phrase that Carl thinks about a lot- even as the weeks change, nothing is the same anymore. Their new future looks less and less like what he imagined when he was younger. The days of playing games or biking over to the neighbors to play in the sprinkler seem so far behind him, yet it wasn't really that far at all. That was the price they paid for being young when the world they knew ceased to be and the dead started to roam. Even the fights that threatened Alexandria and the other communities seemed like a lifetime away and the peace they fought for always felt like a precarious thing. The Saviors were nothing more than a nuisance, Negan locked in a cell in one of the homes of Alexandria until they figured out what to do with him, but his reign no longer lorded over their every move. Trading between the communities thrived, and there was even a Council being established with members from all the communities to establish some form of government.

Life was... Well, Carl didn't want to think of it as good, but it was better. More stable. Nobody had to worry about going hungry in those communities or fear for their life. There were walkers, but they were as much a part of life as learning to be ready to leave in an instant. Still, he knew that's not what it was like for everyone. Virginia was such a small portion of a bigger, looming problem, which is why he went on his own. Scouting for new members to welcome to their way of living, scavenging for whatever remained that could still be useful in the new life they'd established. There was always an ongoing list of demands, which he kept in a journal tucked into his backpack. Each item he marked off would make someone happy, and it was never anything out of the question: a comic book here or there, a stuffed cat, or even a windchime. Even the most inconsequential thing could mean the world to somebody else.

Gas was too rare a commodity to waste on the type of running he was doing. Thankfully among the list of things he'd been able to learn from the other communities was how to ride a horse and fight from the back of one if he needed to. It was a little harder to shoot from horseback given his already shoddy aim, but so long as he could get away, it didn't matter. The Appaloosa he trained with is his companion, and Carl had taken to him like a house on fire. Whiskey went wherever he did outside Alexandria, and would help him bring supplies back on the way. As they walk along an old highway, he's got a map spread out and a permanent marker in hand. Cities have been marked off along his way, and he's even further out than the trip before. Sooner or later, they'd run out of places to look. They're well outside Virginia, now. Maryland's border was about two days behind them. Montgomery was on a roadsign, about a hundred miles to go.

They come up to a small town, riding up the middle of the road. Walkers have been nonexistent, but they always came out of nowhere when they weren't expected. hopping down and giving Whiskey a pat on the neck, he leads the horse to a nearby house. Once it's clear, the horse goes into the garage and he shuts the door. It'll keep him in one location and away from walkers. It will be easier to clear things out on his own. Readjusting his backpack, Carl sets out after making a note on the edge of his map of the street he's on. He'll work his way up and come back before dark. He hasn't seen a soul since he left, but he'd got hope that they're not the only ones who survived.

[sallyfaced]

Maybe it's a bit dramatic, but Sal always felt like he was born into a world that had already gone to shit long before the Walkers took over en masse. The only difference now is that the outside finally matched the inside — kind of like himself, he thought. Maybe that’s why he was able to live this way for so long, on his own, with just he and his cat to keep him company. Gizmo may have been lazy but he was smart enough and agile enough to keep himself safe — and quite frankly, useful as hell. When it came down to it the cat was a reliable companion and Sal is sure the loneliness might have been more unbearable if not for him. Just as it had been before everything went tits up.

He stayed out of sight as much as he could. Even in this house, instead of taking refuge in a bedroom or an attic, his choice of refuge was underneath the house. Inside a crawlspace just small enough for him and the cat to squeeze through. Being incredibly short and lanky for his age paid off in these times, more often than he cares to count. His current digs reminded me of the time he and Larry explored the basement of the old apartment building where the homeless man (or woman, they never really found a person) had set up their safe haven. Cardboard bedding, a blanket, a flashlight, some food shoved into a corner, and magazines in case he got bored. The rest of the house was just a means to get around, to get to things he may need, but since the occasional Walker still wandered too close for comfort he chose underneath the house to actually sleep in without worry of being torn to bits in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t unusual for people to come through here either, in which case Sal would retreat into his hiding spot and wait them out. It was a mixed bag whether other survivors would be dangerous or not, but he rarely tested fate. His mask unsettled people, but without it most mistake him for a Walker and take aim. In a way, it’s no different now than it had been before, except now the threat of death was exponentially just…higher. Instead of getting his ass kicked he’d get a gun pointed at his head. Luckily, he was very good at staying hidden, just out of sight. He watches the stranger carefully from underneath the house, moving along the underside before skittering across the lawn and climbing the almost dilapidated treehouse that hangs over the hedge (whoever built that for their kid was an idiot). Normally, he would remain quiet, but the stranger looks to be about his age, and so Sal feels compelled to make his presence known. Granted, that didn't always guarantee a friendly response, but he felt more of an urge to at least try.

He peeks over the window with a large branch obscuring most of the view, leaving very little of his "face" visible from the awkward angle that is the sidewalk. Maybe he should be worried about this thing collapsing, but he's so light that it hasn't even budged the few times he's sat up here.

"Psst"! It's the least threatening noise he can make right now. He figures just calling out "hey" might be too aggressive. He does wave an arm though, sticking out of the window as if he weren't worried about someone just shooting his hand off. He wasn't shy about taking reckless risks.

@mortalcoil

[postocular]

[ Before he opens his eye, he's overcome with a sense of wrong. There's a strange mechanical hum that shouldn't be present and his body doesn't feel like it's eating him from the inside out. In fact, he feels fine? Better rested than he's felt in what feels like ages. He lays on a pretty comfortable bed (first red flag) that smells clean enough but with the edge of dust (second red flag). Mulling over his thoughts, which feel like a jumbled tangle of thread, things are starting to come back as if emerging from a fog.

Taking a steadying breath, he opens his eye and has to shield his vision with his arm as he's assaulted with bright, fluorescent light. Wait. That's... not right. Like. Super not right.

Sitting up and getting a full picture of what he's dealing with, the breath leaves his chest like a physical blow. He knows this place. Hell, how could he forget the place he'd been sent to twice? Looking down at himself pretty much confirms it, his clothes clean and like new when they'd been anything but when he'd closed his eye last.

The Marsiva.. Now that he's more aware, he stands and looks around to gather his bearings. It's pretty much like he remembered. Carl runs a hand over a bit of paneling as he makes his way over to the large window overlooking the Fleet, tinny music crackling through the speakers above. Not as clear as it usually was, almost like a radio running out of batteries..

The view is still vast and endless, making him feel insignificant in the sea of stars. Out there floating in orbit is the Fleet- or what's left of it. That singular eye widens seeing what looks like half the ships torn apart as wreckage while the others chug along like nothing is out of the ordinary. He doesn't know how long he's been gone, but the way everything feels functional but in a state of neglect..

It feels too much like how things were back home when everything had gone to shit for a few months, making him uneasy. He doesn't know what day it is, there doesn't seem to be anything keeping track of the time or date. It's going to teleport him over to a ship automatically, right?

Right?!

He can feel the panic building in his chest, threatening to get caught in his throat. Carl catches sight of the broadcast system and makes for it on legs that feel a little more like jelly than he wants. His fingers are shaking when he presses the intercom button. ]

. . .-llo? H-hello? If anyone can hear-- -- plea--

[mortalcoil]

Coil had hit this world like landing wrong in an ice-cold pool. Aside from those first few moments of half-consciously absorbing the ambience of the ship--a humming engine, makes sense, he'd fallen asleep in the car during the long drive home hadn't he?--every moment had been nothing but mounting spikes of anxiety. He'd had nightmares like this. An infinity of black, mindless ships and wreckage suspended in it, surrounded by empty halls and dead comms. Alone.

Again.

Somewhere in the cavernous ship, Coil is currently losing his mind. He can't use his voice to vent his frustration, but he can use his body. The sound of desperate human fists slamming into metal echos down the halls.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!--

Over and over. He's so lost in his heedless, heartbroken rage that he almost misses the soft crackle of the comms entirely. It's only the last word or two and a hiss of static that manage to get through to him between strikes, and he freezes immediately in place. Panting breath is suddenly caught and held, burning in his lungs while he strains to listen.

Seconds tick by on nothing but dead air. He doesn't hear another word... but, eventually, there is an electrical pop. Something's trying to connect.

He flies to the comm, then. He practically attacks the keyboard, sending out a hasty message.

hello is someone there

With how half the lights on this panel don't seem to be lit, however, there's no way to be sure the message even successfully sent.

[postocular]

No one immediately responds, and it takes a great deal more effort not to panic than it should. He's been alone before, but the thought of being alone in the middle of space? God, it's fucking terrifying. Thankfully he doesn't have to wait long as a message flashes across the screen.

hello is someone there

Relief floods his veins and he lets out a whoop of victory that in no way could have been a sob if this hadn't worked out. Honest.

hello! I'm here! Where are you?

He waits eagerly for a response, his arms crossed defensively in front of himself, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. Carl doesn't care who it is, just that he's not completely alone. Then they can figure out how to fix whatever is happening.

[mortalcoil]

While he waits, staring holes through the screen, a headache beings to creep into his temples from how hard his jaw is clenching.

There's another little pop. He considers searching the massive ship for a more functional comm panel, but the fear of a response coming back as soon as he looks away keeps him rooted to the spot, desperately hoping that this one is working well enough to display a message if one does come through.

His fear is proven halfway true. Words finally pop up on the dark screen, but they're flickering so badly that it takes some squinting to make out. Once he deciphers the question, he replies.

marsiva

looking for zhas

where are you

[postocular]

His own console seems to be working properly at least. He waits there with his arms crossed, his leg bouncing in anxiety. As the responses come through, that lead weight in his stomach rises to somewhere behind his ribs.

marsiva

Okay, so in theory, he doesn't have to go very far. That's a relief in itself though he doesn't know who is stuck here with him. Honestly? He'd take fucking Negan if it meant he didn't have to be back in this place completely alone. Loneliness can kill just as easily as an asshole with a knife.

looking for zhas, where are you

There's only one person he knows who would be looking for Zhas, and it makes his heart beat faster. Carl doesn't waste any time moving from the console toward where he thinks more of the ship is accessible. He'd never gone further than the welcome center before. He hadn't needed to even if the Atroma had given them passage. His strides are purposeful and he cups his hands around his face to project his voice down the empty halls.

"Hello!? COIL???!"

[mortalcoil]

Of course Coil had left the welcome center as soon as he'd arrived--it had been empty, and passage into the rest of the ship had mysteriously left open. Of course he had immediately set off into maze of Marsiva's guts to resolutely hunt down whoever was responsible for this outrage. Now in the depths of a labyrinth of weird, empty rooms and aging control panels, the last thing he's expecting is to hear traces of a voice reaching out from back the way he'd come from.

At least... he thinks that's the direction. It's hard to tell with the way these vacant halls echo.

He reluctantly tears his eye away from where he's waiting with held breath for something more to appear on the flickering screen, and--with a stressed breath hissing out of him--he jogs out of this nook and into the attached corridor.

He can't yell back. The only way he can alert what he desperately hopes is another person to his location is to haul back and kick the loosest-looking metal panel of the wall.

@sallyfaced || sneakin' out

[postocular]

It's not as if he's in trouble, exactly, but it certainly feels like it. If his dad's 'I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed' face had been anything to go by. Really, it was a lose-lose situation, but the prick had definitely deserved a punch. Not his fault his step-mom taught him how to throw a punch the summer before that and David's nose was apparently made of paper maché. Sucks to suck. There's no grounding because his parents believe in talking things out and actually listening to his side of things, there's definitely a vibe of 'you should probably stay in your room the rest of the week' lingering in the air.

Homework as close to done as it's going to get before the weekend gets abandoned for an old paperback. Flopped on his bed with Journey playing softly out of the worn-out stereo, he loses himself in the yellowed pages he could probably recite from memory if he tried when a loud 'tink' jerks his attention toward his window. After a few moments, another follows and it sounds more like a small pebble bouncing off his window frame. Flinging himself out of bed, he opens his window, squinting out into the darkness.

It takes him a minute to focus on Sal's form waving at him from the dark lawn and he huffs, casting an incredulous look toward his friend as he whisper-shouts leaning out of his bedroom window.

"Dude, you could have texted." He gestures pointedly to the police cruiser parked in their driveway. Sure, his dad is home, but he's not unreasonable. Until one of his windows is broken by a weirdo lurking outside his home. Parents are overprotective and weird like that.

"How many of those did you even throw before you got the right window?"

[sallyface]

Sal didn't exactly have to sneak out of his room. His dad was in his work chair, slumped over, bottle on the floor next to a sandwich Sal had brought him that he only took one bite out of. He wouldn't even realize he's gone for a while. Even if he was in danger of getting in trouble he wouldn't really care. He just wants to be out of the house.

Maybe he didn't want to be alone, either.

He glances towards the police cruiser - not that he hadn't noticed it. He should probably be careful...given that people already side eye him and his dad because of the cagey way they get whenever someone questions them about their lives before they moved here. Because he's the weird and creepy kid with the mask, but...

"I did. Or I was gonna, but my service is cut off." Either dad forgot to pay it, or he remembered but put it off for a while and then forgot. "I have no contact with the outside world. It's brutal, dude."

[postocular]

"..It's been like six hours. Pretty sure you'd be one of the first to go insane in a societal collapse." He casts a glance toward the clock on his bedside table. Okay, maybe it's been a little longer than that. It definitely doesn't feel as late as the neon numbers say it is. Rubbing the grit from his eye he ducks back into his window, crossing his arms atop the sill.

Late enough in the evening everyone should be asleep. He can't hear anyone moving about in the hall, but he may not have noticed in the first place. It's not as if he wants Sal to worry about his dad, he's a good guy. A good guy who Carl has demanded not be weird about his friend he made at school whose face might be more fucked up than his. They haven't exactly swapped stories or peeks under the wrapping yet.

That's definitely the second base of friendship, right?

"Do you.. uh. Want to come in, or are you working on your slasher vibes?"

[sallyface]

"At least the second." The video games and music would keep him busy for a while, okay. Maybe talking to Gizmo - unless that's a sign he's already gone insane. In that case, he doesn't even have to wait for a societal collapse.

"Slasher vibes. My plan was to lure you out of your house and do a really dramatic chase scene." He lifts his hand and pantomimes a stabbing motion. "You get to be the final girl, I guess."

[postocular]

"And that's how your cat eats your eyeball." In that incredibly unlikely scenario where the end of the world happens before they graduate high school.

Carl scoffs, shaking his head with a grin. "Oh, good. Hopefully it's a Sydney Prescott special and not a Friday the 13th where I die at the beginning of the sequel. Very anticlimactic for me."