The Ongoing Adventures of Blonsky/Chris: Part 5

[moralimperative]

life is like a mean machine, it made a mess out of me it left me caught between like an angry dream I was stranded-- I was stranded

For all their limited resources and the setbacks inherent to having to utilize such an indiscreet vehicle, they had managed to reach the middle of bumfuck nowhere before the Humvee called it quits; it rattled and sputtered and overheated before finally succumbing to whatever poor luck or lack of maintenance had driven it to the edge of its capabilities, coming to a stop along the side of a secluded road surrounded in all directions by nothing of note nor landmark, all trees and fields and undeveloped land. Of all the places for a breakdown, at least it offered the rogue soldier and his companion some amount of privacy before the ever-present threat of being caught up to once again.

Chris tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing expectantly over to the older man. There hadn't been much in the way of talking after they'd set out, this time; he didn't chance to break the silence here, either. Instead: a cautious dart of tongue to wet his lips, awaiting Blonsky's instructions (while already he began to dig through a mental catalog of automotive parts and problems, attempting to evaluate the probability that any of it might apply to the unfamiliar Humvee).

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[moralimperative]

By the time Abomination returned, Chris was covered in his efforts to butcher the deer, blood to match the grease and oil from before covering his hands and forearms. There was one streak along his cheek, as well, from where he'd absently drawn the back of one hand across his face (an involuntary response after being startled from his work by the first thundering of felled tree trunks).

Grateful for the excuse to abandon the ill-fated deer and work on starting a fire instead, Chris dropped his knife in favor of one of the lighters he'd pocketed earlier and knelt in front of the small pile of firewood. He picked out a few remaining twigs and splinters to use as kindling, lighting them absently as his attention shifted back to his companion.

Apropos of nothing, he spoke: "Was your DNA mixed with something? Do you know? Some kind of... horned lizard? Ooh, wait--! A crested lizard."

[likeamonster]

The giant creature took in the state of Chris with an unreadable expression. Something dangerous and predatory flashed in those multicolored eyes. If he were himself, the fate of their dinner and fire building would have been abandoned by now.

After some sudden remodeling of the rocky interior, he made a comfortable seating arrangement. It was, essentially, a throne made of rocks and boulders upon which he sat. He had yet to take his eyes off Chris. The impromptu question was enough to distract him. Momentarily.

"No. It wasn't." He growled just before reaching out and pulling Chris to him by his shirtfront. With one hand laid flat on that messy hair to keep him in place, Abomination licked that damnable streak off his cheek, savoring the taste. He then released Chris as though nothing had happened.

[moralimperative]

Upon being let go, Chris reached up in the start of a motion to smooth his hair, stopping just short when he realized the state his hands were in. He glanced between them and then back to Abomination, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder to avoid smearing blood across it a second time. "Um. Thanks."

He turned back to the fire, toeing a log over the burgeoning embers in hope it would catch quicker. "So it's just... that's bizarre. The spikes, I mean. The rest of your bone structure is still..." Chris looked at him, brows pinched in thought. "... and ears. Where does your hair go?"

[likeamonster]

He rolled his eyes, clearly not pleased with this sudden barrage of questions. "Hulk turns green. Grows, gains muscles. Why are spikes so different?" That wouldn't please the kid and he let out a sigh. It was times like this he really wished he knew the secret to transforming back. "I still have ears. They're just smaller."

No, he's not answering about his hair. It's gone and he never really thought about why, or how he gains it back when returning to himself. It was... simply what happened.

"Weren't you cutting up a deer for your dinner?"

[moralimperative]

There were more questions--an exhaustive number of questions--on the tip of his tongue, interrupted by mention of the deer. Chris grimaced as he looked at his unfinished handiwork before gathering his courage to retrieve the knife and try his hand at it again. As he worked, he suddenly began rattling off a list of animals without visible external ears, occasionally making note of this or that oddity specific to one species or another. It wasn't until he reached tympanal organs that he'd made any amount of progress in obtaining anything remotely resembling appetizing meat from the deer, and he dropped the knife unceremoniously next to the carcass with a flick of his blood-soaked hands.

"Have I mentioned I've never been camping?" Chris interrupted his own seemingly endless dialog with a huff of breath. "Look in there for something I can use as a pan or a skewer, or..." He looked from their bag of supplies to the Abomination and back down at his own hands. "Or just dump everything out so I can get at it without covering it all in Bambi over here. Whichever."

[likeamonster]

While Chris prattled on, the Abomination watched him lazily. Things were calm, his thoughts were losing their amped quality. Heartrate and breathing seemed to be slowing down as well. It was like coming off a caffeinated binge (with a healthy dose of several illegal substances) to a relatively normal state.

"Sure." An agreement to a statement he hadn't paid attention to. His vision was blurring, the iris switched colors from the bright gamma to his own darker hazel and back. The red blood on Chris's arms stood out, gave him something to focus on.

Already he'd begun to shrink, while his bones cracked, broke, and realigned themselves to proper positions. He moved off the throne of boulders, fell to all fours then onto his stomach. The process was, mercifully, without pain, despite what its numerous noises might indicate. It was still an exhausting one, and Blonsky remained still, breathing deeply, allowed it to run its course.

[moralimperative]

It was the first audible--painful, if only to hear--snap of breaking bone that arrested Chris's immediate attention to the complete disregard of all else, bringing him to his feet in the same instant that Blonsky hit the ground.

"Blonsky!" He was at the soldier's side in an instant, dropping to his knees for blood-soaked hands to hover at his shoulders in a moment of brief, blind panic before he rolled the older man onto his back. The lack of pain in Blonsky's expression (or his mastery over it, it was difficult to tell from an outside perspective) calmed him by a few degrees, but only some. Chris still leaned over him protectively, one hand at his collarbone, the other at his jaw, both inadvertently painting the soldier's skin red as the last vestiges of the transformation left him in their wake. "Blonsky. Hey, come on. A little warning? ...Are you okay?"