There was frost on every surface, rusting metal and rotting wood glistening with a sheen of diamonds that carried no value save the small beauty they brought to the dirt and rubbish. It was a village of the dead, a massacre of human neglect that had attacked the buildings and left the entire place in decay. The train station had fallen into a pile of blackened wood, burned by some hooligans years ago before their families had either fled or been consumed by disease. The resurrected version of this village was over the hills nearby, and the tracks of the railroad still ran along the deserted landscape as though promising that any moment the roar of the engine would return to rescue the ghosts of this place from the graveyard of plague. It was strange, how death could linger in the air for so many years, a vague stench drifting in the air that filled one's throat and choked the clean breath from their lungs….
The footfalls were sharpened by the frozen wood, the sharp click of dress shoes audible even though the one wearing them was made invisible by the darkness of night. Shifting clouds revealed the moon in dimmed glory, revealing the walker as he paused at the platform that had once served as the entrance to the village. His hair was dark, a hue edging between black and brown reminiscent of Spanish chocolate that had been softened and twisted into impossibly soft curls. The majority of this was hidden by a tall top hat, but a few stray curls fell out from beneath to place dark shadows on the caramel tone of his skin. It was obviously habitual as the man pulled off his hat to run his fingers through the mess of curls, golden eyes scanning the wreck of buildings before him with slight annoyance in his gaze.
"Incómodo..." He sighed softly. Setting the hat back in the place with a twist to secure it, he started off into the ghost town, looking around with a soft whistle of summons. Nothing responded, the lingering silence almost deafening. A small number of houses were still standing in one part of the town, three structures that were sagging in their frames and threatening collapse at any minute. They were full of holes, most likely infested with every imaginable species of vermin native to this place, but there was a faint sound coming from within the least decrepit of the homes. The man stood completely still for a long while, simply listening to the night and skittering of rats until the noise came yet again; a creak of rotting wood, a soft whimper of desperation. He stepped carefully over the threshold to enter the house the sounds had come from, cautious of any decay that may have sent the entire place crashing down around him. "Hello?" He spoke softly as he moved up the ladder-steps to the second floor, one of the rungs giving way beneath his foot and forcing him to scramble up to avoid falling. There was the sound of something moving, or at least trying to do so, a ragged breathing before it was still again, but he could see it as he pulled himself to stand on the dangerous floor. He almost opened his mouth to remark on the difficulty he'd had, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he found the words had disappeared, swallowed by some shocked block of ice that had suddenly developed in the back of his throat. It was some sort of misperception, he was certain, but the one step he managed to take didn't make it disappear.
There were two of them, mere boys, frail little creatures that barely seemed human beneath the ripped and torn clothing that covered their frames. Their faces were bloody, hands and arms covered with black crusts of old wounds and the seeping, damp crimson that slipped forth from the torn flesh of fresh injuries. One, seemingly the elder of the two, had somehow managed to sit up straight, back pressed to the wall as he held the other tightly in his bony arms. There was something strange about the smaller of the two: As the face barely turned to look at the intruder on their territory, the man felt his stomach turn in his gut. The lower half of the face was mutilated, entirely covered with blood and missing a mouth that had instead been replaced by zigzag indentations in the skin. Whatever had done it had been in a hurry, leaving some sort of stringy material hanging down from the face in bloody snarls, and the horror surged up once again as it tried to make some sort of crying sound. Both pairs of eyes were coated with sticky blood, barely able to open as dull gold stared out into the dark with some indescribable lack of spirit.
He didn't know how long he stood there, the chill wind seeming to cut straight through his long winter coat as he stared at the pair before him. Perhaps he was trying to convince himself these were the wrong ones, that he had made a mistake, but there wasn't any question in the scent and the feeling. He swallowed the lump in his throat with some effort, taking several careful steps forward to kneel before the mauled pair. The eyes were watching him, waiting for injury or threat in his actions, mistrust obvious in their gaze. There was no way he could make them trust him, or believe his good intentions, so he acted on sheer instinct, not allowing his lack of confidence to show in his actions. One gloved hand reached out, barely brushing across the blood-stiffened hair of the one sitting against the wall. He made a shushing sound as the boy flinched, letting the hand rest once again on the petite head. "Be calm, now. My name's Tiki… I'm here to take you home."