Vaska packed up their scattered belongings along with the drum kit and flag into the burlap shit sack they slung on their back, rolling their sleeping roll—mat, it’s really more of a mat then a roll because ya see mats are supposed to be better for your back? And it isn’t padded like a sleeping bag or anything. Lanis said one time while he was updating Vaska’s network that mats were better then rolls, and so when they’d raided some scavenger hideout they decided on the mat over the roll because well sure, the mat had a few splotches of human gunk on it, but Vaska had partially shoved a knife through the roll in a few places…which then also had some human goo associated with it so I guess we’ll just go with the mat, but we’ll need to scrape off the arm congealed on there and—and strapped it under their backpack.
The human greasespot was still festering—well not festering, but…well…you’ll see in a sec—near the entrance, but Vaska had sprayed him with some Decay-Away
Decay away! Is nuclear radiation effecting your waters supply? Are your lobsters going cannibal on a dead friend of theirs who’s just barely out of your reach? You need, Decay-Away! Just take off the top, and spray on any decaying pile of organic material. Then watch the magic as it stays as it was for over 400+ years! Developed by the scientists who pioneered the McD’s pink paste, who found customers tended to have organs with chemical compositions closer to plastic then organic material after eating their food. Decay-Away, keep your food and drink for another day, with Decay-Away!
So he had stayed in pretty much the same spot. Physically and in the stages of rot.
“Varshka it is time to leave”
Vaska frowned and looked around. No one was there, as they expected, and they quickly took their pistol from their underarm holster. Vaska liked calling it their pit viper, cause it was from their armpit, and it stung like a hot damn. They quietly slipped their gas mask back on and got down on all fours, sliding to the back of the unit. Low profile, not just in terms of social media presence either.
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“Varshka what’s going on, get me out of here and we need to leave.”
Vaskya tilted their head, confused why they weren’t dead yet, or why the voice was talking like—Oh
Vaska pushed the mask up their head until it sat perched like a bird on their brow.
“oh. It’s you.”
Vaska reached into their pack and pulled out the jarred lizard.
As Vaskya held up the jar the lil guy—well the lil lizard, I never asked their pronouns or anything like that but it’s a turn of phrase, see? Its just a turn of phrase—the lil guy was scamperin’ around the circular base of the jar. The lizard was about the size of your middle finger, and twice as offensive.
“We need to MOVE Varshka, we have no time to waste.”
Vaska rolled their eyes then frowned, a reaction quickly becoming routine for anything said to them, “I’m not takin orders from a fuckin Gürvel[1],” Vaska paused before grumbling, “I was just about to leave anyways so im doing this because I wanted to not because you want me to.”
“Rrrrreeeeegaurlash I have a mission and it needs to be done!”
Vaska went to wipe their eyes, but then bumped their nose which sparked another fresh bout of pain.
“FUCK SHIT ASS”
They went a searching in their bag for…yes, they wrapped their fingers around a small V-shaped piece of plastic with a thick handle. In between the prongs was a bit of wet gauze being fed from the handle, which they pressed down over their broken nose (I wont say wincing again because I feel I’ve used it too muc—ah fiddlesticks there it is again) grinding their teeth to keep from moving, covering the whole broken bridge of their nose. They counted to five, and then rapped on the insta-cast with their knuckle and put it away.
Vaska slid a tiny mic into the jar(careful not to let it out), the jar into the backpack, the mask over their newly repaired face, and then their ass out of the panel.
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[1] Lizard. Mongolian