2020

Chapter Forty

"..Seriously killed 'em all, Kristy?" Floyd laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Fuckin' hell." 
"Duh." Kristy laughed as well, standing up. She dragged her blade across the carpet, setting the table lantern back onto the table. "How's Marc?"
"Ask him yourself." He gestured to the floor, Kristy earlier stepping on him, nearly tearing her blade into his back. 
"..Shit." 
Floyd shook his head and sarcastically clapped, "Way to go."
"MAY I SAY," Marcy started, shouting. "YER SHOES ARE FUCKIN'..PAINFUL. LIKE, I THOUGHT I WAS USED TO PAIN N' ALL, BUT NOW THAT I'M--" He stopped, rolling over onto his back. "..Hey Kristy can I tell ya a secret? Floyd already knows, but."
She glared, crouching. "Hmm?"
"I'm bit and I may or may not die in a few hours." He smiled, "Love ya."
"Marc, if it's one of your jok--"
"..It's not a joke, I'm dead serious, Kris." He cut her off and sat up. "Why don't ya ever believe me? If ya want evidence," He rolled up his sleeve, then his pant leg, exposing a toothy bite mark, his whole forearm and lower leg tinted a pale color, like an infected's flesh. He sighed, "Go on, be pissed. Go on and on about how I'm a horrible brother and should've told ya sooner." 
"I won't, because it's not real," Kristy grabbed his arm roughly, holding it out to look better. She dipped the lantern down, examining the marks. She squinted, shaking her head. "Makeup."
"Kristy," Floyd chimed in behind her, whistling. "It's not makeup." 
"Then when did he get bit?" She dug her nails into Marcy's arm in frustration, making him screech. She then proceeded to stand, spinning towards Floyd. "Why would he tell you instead of me?" 
"..Because you freak out." He shrugged his shoulders, sliding his hands into his pockets. 
"I don't think it's real." She grumbled, turning back to Marcy.  
"And I can understand that. But, look at him. You really don't see anythin' wrong?"
She huffed, "So what if I did? If he's dyin', he's dyin'. There's nothin' we can do 'bout it."
"..Stop being such a bitch to him, goddamn." Floyd looked behind her, staring down at Marcy.
"I don't know." She shook her hands and grabbed Floyd's flashlight, storming off to the entrance. "..I need some time to think, I dunno. I'll be back."  
As she left, Marcy just laughed. "Soo, ya see our relationship isn't that good, y'know? I always play jokes on her and end up gettin' what I deserve," He chuckled and stood, sitting across from Floyd at the table. "Guess I messed up this time, heh." 
"Eileen was the closet I got to a sibling, but uh, I can imagine." Floyd shrugged his shoulders, sliding a pill bottle over to him. "Thank me later."
Marcy knocked the capsule back to him, yawning. "Thanks. I'll pass." 
Floyd poured two pills into his palm anyway, grabbing a bottle of water from the backpack in his lap. Floyd then motioned the items to Marcy, giving him a nod and a smirk. 
Marcy gave the pills a disgusted glare, then  popped them into his mouth, quickly downing them with water. 
"Was that hard?" Floyd laughed from the opposite side of the table, crossing his arms.
"Extremely." Marcy grinned, cracking his knuckles. "It'll do nothin'." 
"Did Debbie possess your soul?" Floyd cackled in response.
"..Debbie?" Marc shot him a confused look, as if he was no longer speaking English. 
"Debbie Downer. Was she the thing that bit you?" He snorted. 
"Okay, I'll give ya that one." Marcy leaned back in the chair, crossed his legs and stared out of the neighboring window next to him. "Yer tellin' me ya wouldn't be somewhat pissed off with," He held out his forearm to Floyd. "These tattoos?"
"You've lost it, Marc. That's the ugliest tattoos I've ever seen." 
"Awh. I thought the artist was pretty chill, until he stabbed his needles into my limbs." The two went back and forth for a bit, just talking about the same thing. 
"..Ever met Noelle?" Marcy started a new conversation when the other one went dry. 
"Who, your girlfriend?" Floyd cocked his head. 
"I had a dream about her." He laughed and clapped his hands. "Gotcha. And, I'm gay, thanks." 
"That song is like," Floyd rolled his eyes, thinking. "..Twenty somethin' years old. Older than you."
"So what? It was a good song." Marcy yawned, laying his head down on the table, keeping a steady grin. "Older than y-- Just kidding, oldie." 
"I'm not that old, asshole." 
"Yer like, eighty seven!" Marcy dismissed the thought, bobbing and weaving back and forth; from the table to the back of his chair. 
"..What're you doin'?"  Floyd watched him repeat the motion, narrowing his eyes. 
"I'm bored, I dunno. Yer old ass can't keep any conversation alive, nor---" He bit his tongue and whistled, "Ooh, look at the time." He gritted his teeth and stood, slamming his hands onto the tabletop.