"Please! Please, you've got to listen to me!"
Tristian was in the middle of the camp area he'd set up for defense practices, sitting on a creaky metal chair that looked about to collapse from rust overtaking it. In his coarse hands were some equipment he was strengthening: a rusted steel switchblade that Tristian was wrapping paracord tightly around the grip. Not only would that protect his hands from tearing under the bare metal, but the paracord could be undone and used for multiple purposes. He was lucky enough to find it under some rotten corpses after he'd regained control of this territory.
While he tightened and tied the cord he heard the screams for help again, and could tell it was a woman pleading, scrabbling in the dirt against the wall of tribesmen and allies he'd amassed while scouring the demolished world that was theirs now. She sounded like she was half-crazed, but not a zombie at least, or someone who seemed intent on destroying their tribe.
"I need to speak to the leader!" she cried again, voice growing hoarse with despair. She tried to weakly push against the tribesman in front of her but he wasn't moving a bit. Her knees weakened in a bout of coughing fits and she fell down. Her companion dropped down beside her and held her close while she shook with coughs. "I have a deal to make," the woman croaked out, reaching up to the guard.
Tristian had heard enough. With an irritated grunt he stood up and sheathed the knife into his side pack and adjusted his jeans. As he headed towards the woman, his eyes watching her carefully. The tribe filtered calmly out of his way lest they earn a punch in the face, and soon he was standing before the pair of lost souls. His dark eyes scoured their bodies for any sign of weapons, his muscles tense and ready to respond. But he found nothing, only two people who looked worse for wear. "Who the fuck are you? Why are you here, at my tribe?" he demanded.
The woman raised her head, and Tristian got a full view of her. Her auburn hair looked sunbleached and graying; it was long but mostly tied back with a strip of cloth. Strands fell across her face, and he could see her cheekbones starting to protrude her skin. She'd once had a beautiful and well-cared-for face but now she looked weathered and disheveled. Her stark blue eyes still shown with life, and Tristian looked coldly into them. He watched her stand up, and try to brush off her mangled and torn jeans. Her lumberjack top looked too big on her; he assumed she'd probably taken it off a corpse. Her thin figure was none the bit threatening; shit, he knew he could snap her wrist with the flick of his hand. The companion with her didn't look threatening either; Tristian's eyes washed over the figure, taking every detail in.
He was a bit shorter than Tristian, and certainly less bulky. His cobalt eyes watched Tristian right back, wary and unwavering. His mop of messy chocolate hair fell over his face and across his neck; streaks of red and copper shone almost like highlights within the strands. His face was young and unscarred; he looked less unfed than the woman, and Tristian had a brief image of rubbing his palm across the boy's smooth cheek. He shook his head.
"M-my son, I need to make a deal," the woman finally spoke, clearing her throat. Tristian's gaze drifted back to her and she continued. "My son will be of good assistance to you."
Tristian waved his hand dismissively. "He looks like he can't fight worth a shit; what do I want from him?"
The young man scowled. "I can fight-"
"Let's speak somewhere more privately, please?" the woman asked, eyes flickering around to the group of people around them. Tristian knew she had more she wanted to say, a better deal than what she wanted his people to hear. She was afraid that someone would either recognize her from what she wanted to say, or abuse the deal somehow without his knowledge. So with a smirk, he nodded his head and turned on his heels, making her and the boy follow his steps.
Once they'd found a quiet and unoccupied place within the camp, sitting on piles of cement blocks besides some slowly dying weeping willow trees, Tristian rubbed at his forehead in thought. He hoped she wasn't going to just offer some dumb shit, or else he'd have a couple of bodies to dispose of.
"My name is Elise," she said quietly. "This is my son, Erick. I'm offering him to you as my offering for help and protection; I want him to be your husband"
Tristian's head shot up quickly, and he glared at the woman. "Husband? The fuck do you mean?" He felt his face twist into a cruel snarl, but inside he was feeling a bit excited. Erick wasn't too bad looking admittedly, however they didn't know each other. "What does he offer me?" he asked cautiously.
Elise looked over at her son lovingly, eyes watering. "I can feel something inside me, growing stronger each moment, and I know I won't have forever to try and protect him." Tristan watched her hand caress Erick's cheek. "His father was a very intelligent man, and Erick learned so much from him to follow in his shoes before he disappeared. I want someone to protect him and keep him hidden from the bigger people out there, and in return he'll take a husband title, and do research to help save those who are sick."
Erick bit his lip as his mother sighed, and Tristian could see tears in their eyes. He mulled over the deal. It didn't seem too bad, but it would be annoying having to care for two extra mouths. He was lucky to have captured the area they camped in currently, since they'd found a large building with loads of canned foods still edible inside. He'd be good for a while longer taking care of his tribe as a whole. Fuck it, what could hurt?
"Alright," Tristian sighed. "I'm not sure how this will actually work out for researching, but I'll take you both in. But if you fuck up, you're done." he threatened, eyeing them carefully. Elise wiped her gaunt face and smiled, standing up.
"Thank you, sir," she breathed. Erick nodded, not saying much more than a 'thanks' under his breath. And so that was that.
The days went by, Tristian trying to teach Erick some basic fighting moves, then the two making ventures into the nearby woodlands for hunting practices. While hunting Erick would often find himself collecting grasses and fungi, taking them back and melting different mixtures in pots over the campfire, trying to make new concoctions to have his mother drink. Tristian would often curse at Erick for not helping collect 'real food', and in turn Elise would chide him for his colorful use of words. Oftentimes Tristian found himself listening to her the best he could, but it was hard to keep the habits down.
