OOM: Conversations with Dead People II

[herr_bookman]

Autor finds himself floating this evening. He flails in the air, thinking he's falling, though he doesn't feel that pull on his stomach. After a while, he surrenders to it, lying on his back and putting his feet up.

A chair with broken legs sits empty in front of him, and a lighted chessboard--his side oriented to white--hovers in the air. He gasps, recognizing the set, and executes a graceful turn in the air in an attempt to get away from the zombies that he knows are coming.

Comments

[souffle_girlek]

"You just know how to make a girl feel wanted." She has a (blood)red rose in her hair, and oven mitts over her hands, as she cradles her latest souffle creation, setting it carefully on the table.

[herr_bookman]

"Oswin?" Autor gasps, his heart still in his throat. The sweat on the back of his neck cools as he watches her, and he swims towards her through the air. "You're not a zombie. I saved you. We saved each other."

[souffle_girlek]

"I'm not a zombie." She confirms, a laugh in her voice. "I might be a lot of things, but zombie was never one of them. Look, I didn't burn it this time." She's rather proud of her souffle - it's her mom's recipe. Mom always made the best souffles.

[herr_bookman]

The boy hovers near the soufflé, smelling the delicious scent of lemon. "Wow, good job," Autor says, blinking. "Soufflés are tough, and that one looks wonderful."

He pauses, almost at peace with how he's floating, and his friend is here. Almost. Something still bothers him, though he can't pinpoint what. "Oswin, what are you doing here?"

[souffle_girlek]

"Watching you flit about, evidently." She retorts, sitting primly on the broken chair. "All this time, and you never told me you could fly."

[herr_bookman]

"I can't fly, normally. I think. Can't I?" Autor says, puzzled about that. He waggles his feet in the air, about five feet off the ground. "I'm pretty sure that this is new. I hope it lasts."

When she sits in the chair, his nose fills with the pungent smell of rot. "Oswin... Are you all right? Do you smell that?"

[souffle_girlek]

"I'm fine. Well, I'm dead, but that's better than some of the alternatives." She shrugs, pulling the mitts off her hands. "At least I had time to finish the souffle."

[herr_bookman]

"No, you're not," Autor snaps, angry tears springing to his eyes. He's surprised about those but there are more important things to pay attention to. Like telling her that she's alive. "You're not dead. You're not. I saved you."

His breath hitches. "Didn't I?"

[souffle_girlek]

"Of course you did, silly. But no one lives forever." Oswin rolls her eyes at him, and fishes a fork out of her belt. "Who'd want to, anyway?"

[herr_bookman]

Autor floats down to her, and wraps his arms about her shoulders, using her as an anchor. He rests his nose in the crook of her neck, seeking the comforting scents of rose oil and cloves which linger under the nauseating rot.

"How did it happen?" he demands, though his anger cools as soon as he says it, and the fight goes out of him with a noisy breath. "Why are you dead?"

[souffle_girlek]

"Because the planet blew up? Someone had to keep the shields down, after all." She replies simply, leaning into his hold.

[herr_bookman]

Autor pants softly, squeezing her tight. He rests his cheek on hers, and his tears roll down both their faces. "B-But you were my friend, and... Oswin, why did you leave? You didn't h-have to leave the bar yet. Why did you leave me?"

[souffle_girlek]

"Leave you? Aren't you a cheeky monkey - what makes you think you're going to outlive me?" Oswin snorts. "Honestly, I'm not the one who ends up in the infirmary almost every other month."

[herr_bookman]

Floating has lost most of its appeal, so he clings to her, hovering. "But you're dead, and I'm alive. I t-think," Autor chokes out, sniffling. "Right? No, I am definitely alive, right now. Pretty sure. I'll take care of your cat after you're gone."

[souffle_girlek]

"... Um, Autor? I haven't had a cat in years." Oswin eyes him, "You should have some souffle."

[herr_bookman]

"Wait, years?" Autor says, blinking most of his tears away. He draws back to look at her, floating around to her front to meet her eye. "I'm seeing your future?"

[souffle_girlek]

"My current, thank you very much. Not half bad if I do say so myself." She retorts, sniffing.

[herr_bookman]

Oh, he could kiss her. So he does, cradling her cheeks in his hands and pulling himself forward to lightly brush his lips against her forehead.

"Your current time, of course," the boy says, and removes his glasses to scrub at his eyes with his palms. "I'd love to try some soufflé. Do you have an extra fork?"

[souffle_girlek]

"Of course." She grins, digging through her belt. "Just a minute."

It'd help, of course, if the souffle was something more than part of Oswin's imagination. It fades as soon as her attention is pulled away from it.

[herr_bookman]

And the lemon scent--faint under hers--fades as well. "Well," Autor says, furrowing his brow. "It was nice while it lasted, Oswin. Good job baking it." If she actually did. "When you died... Did it hurt?"

[souffle_girlek]

"Of course it didn't - Daleks don't feel pain." Oswin ruffles his hair fondly. "They didn't think too hard about that problem when they converted me."

[herr_bookman]

Autor flails in the air, which forces him to float backwards a bit. "Oswin! That's - Augh!" he says, breathing unsteadily.

The boy can't start crying again--and over such a small thing, too, or so he thinks--so he bites his lip. He swims toward her again, and embraces her. "Thank you for coming to visit me."

[souffle_girlek]

"Well, I figured you'd rather chat with me than some of the other folks around here." She smirks. "At least I'm pretty."

[herr_bookman]

Autor smiles at that. "Yes, you are," he says, shaking his head. He holds his hands out. "Dance with me?"

[souffle_girlek]

"Can't." She gives him a look, like he's being particularly slow. "Don't have legs."

[herr_bookman]

He feels particularly slow. The boy furrows his brow. "What? What are you talking about?" he says, folding his arms. Autor glances down. "Of course you have legs. They're right there. See?"

[souffle_girlek]

"I do, but as someone once told me - they're just a lie I'm telling myself." She explains, patiently.

[herr_bookman]

"Oswin," Autor says, soft and unsure. He floats to her again and wraps her up in his embrace, smelling the sharp tang of metal.

Is it just him, or is her skin hard and cool? He wants to believe the lie, wants to smell rose oil and cloves, wants to listen for a heartbeat--which he can't hear.

He's parched, so he draws a breath through his nose. "I still love you. No matter what form you take."

[souffle_girlek]

There's a clank, metal on metal, and the rattle of heavy chains.

AND. I. LOVE YOU. AU-TOR.

Someone had taken the time to strip the rose that's now in his hands of all its thorns.

[herr_bookman]

And he's left gasping when she disappears, only to roll out of bed and wake when he hits the floor.