Sept. 13th, XX21
He has never known how to be angry with people. Her especially. Still, he has learned something from his time in the tower. It hasn't been terribly long since then, Mono knows that. But for him, whose body is now forever altered in a way that he towers a foot or 2 over her... To her, magic is something that must be bent and broken through sheer will. But it's a painful memory to him, a medium that stretches him like taffy and shrivels him down again to repeat the cycle. He's never been good at learning, either.
Six cranes her neck to look at him. Then raindrops peek over the brim of her hood and she ducks. "We should get away from here." He doesn't see a reason for the rush. She has torn his prison down brick over fleshy brick, and thus has no need to fear the broadcast's influence over him anymore. This time, it is he who follows, lagging behind in token resistance. For several long minutes he wonders why this feels so strange, and he realizes 2 things. Their hands aren't connected. And her shoulders are hunched.
This rain isn't like any of the ones preceding. Under his coat, which wetly clings to him like a heavy skin, his own is like ice. And Six is trembling violently, the sight so inexplicably sad it feels like a physical blow. And so he ducks under the hood of a disposal bin, waiting for her to notice rather than call out. She does, and they sit there for a very long time. Once or twice, she inhales as if to say something but doesn't. And then she closes her eyes. Mono peers past her hood. Even in the shadows, it's easy—so painfully easy—to spot the dark circles beneath her eyes, the lines that no child should have if only this world were a little kinder. How long had it been, he wondered, since she'd rested like this? His heart constricts, as if tied by knots, and he quickly finds the only way to loosen them is to wrap his arms around her, his legs molding to accommodate hers.
Come morning, she's awake before him and makes no effort to move away. There are no words needed to know all is forgiven.
Sept. 15th, XX21
Ultimately, they decide to return to where they started. The hunter's shack is far, far from perfect, but it's also far from the terrors of society with an equal amount of ready-at-hand traps to boot. Anyone will know they are not welcome.
"Except you." Six says pointedly.
"But I had you waiting for me, didn't I?" And that sufficiently shuts her up.
The days are dominated by cleaning. The rancid food remains are chucked out back, the dust swept up and surfaces mopped with rags. When the sun is a red orb sinking into the lake, they open the windows and lie side by side on the floorboards, blissfully aware that the rotten smell is slowly but surely seeping out of the house. Their house. "This isn't so bad. Right, Six?" She doesn't respond immediately, which is expected of her. But he turns his head and follows her gaze to the door held together by a few shards. The glint of the music box shines through the gaps. He grasps her hand, notably clammy. "We'll board it up tomorrow. Ok?"
"Mm." It's just about as helpful a response as any, but her fingers tighten reflexively on his.
That night, they gather the taxidermied corpses into a fire pit. The hunter's included. Only touches of his flesh remain, tears and gnawing marks on his exposed bones to signify a hungry predator. Lurking nearby, perhaps? Mono didn't much care. Six the Terrible was beside him, and who would dare challenge her? Still...
"I don't wanna touch it." Mono complained, and Six merely clicked her tongue. Flecks of glittery black emanated off of her shoulders like smoke as the corpse lifted into the air, orange drips of decomposition coming off its clothes and plopping it onto the pile with a nauseating sploosh sound. It was the first Mono had ever seen of her powers. "That is so cool." She tossed him her lighter and walked away.