This wasn’t a new experience for her. She had died multiple times before, and most likely would die multiple times after this. It wasn’t a novel experience, as nothing particularly exciting happens when you die. No, there was only one way Mari could truly describe the experience of dying.
Painful.
Now that wasn’t exactly the correct word to use, either. Seven letters couldn’t begin to convey the feeling of your skin cracking and peeling, your muscles snapping like frayed cable, your bones crumbling into ash, your very soul being seared as you feel every last part of you burning away in what could generously be described as a cleansing flame.
It was distilled agony, it was liquid pain, it was sheer absolute hell that stretched milliseconds into minutes and seconds into hours. There was no thinking, no planning, no waiting. Just an endless horizon that spanned all of sixty seconds.
To put it in Spork’s terms, it fucking sucked.
Mari’s first taste of consciousness was pressure against and under her. Not the cold tile that she’d fallen on when she died, but something warmer, softer, more human. That, combined with the sound of footsteps on pavement and the muttered string of curses growling through their voice filter, meant that Spork had found her body.
What Mari attempted to do was reassure them, let them know that she was okay, that they could set her down. She had forgotten that it took some time to fully regain control of her body, and that with the adrenaline drained from her system it would take even longer. So what crawled out of the helmeted figure in Spork’s arms was more akin to a death rattle from a robotic grim reaper.
They drop her. Listen, it isn’t their best moment. But in Spork’s defense, there’s really no other reasonable reaction to hearing a terrible deathly gurgle emerge from their dead best friend’s throat. It startles them, and they just… let go.
They’re also kind of running, and that momentum doesn’t die easily, so they trip over Mari’s now ground-ridden body and catch a faceful of asphalt. Well, a mask-ful. But the mask grinding against their face is nearly as uncomfortable as shattering their nose on dirty, back-alley conck-crete, so that’s really not a win for them.
Also their best friend might be a zombie, so they should really deal with that.
“Please don’t be a zombie. But if you are, don’t bite me. No bite. Do not.” They blabber, doing an awkward sort of leg-elevated push up so that they can get their legs under them and out of the biting danger zone. Their mask is still frying their vocals, so the plea sounds much more threatening than they intend it to. “Oh my god, I’m gonna have to buy a muzzle. I know I always said I would, but do you know what kind of new and exciting lists they’re gonna put me on? Where am I even gonna keep you? My parents are gonna find the apartment sooner or later, and they’re definitely gonna notice your rotting corpse in the living room, Mari! Jesus.”
They might be freaking out a little. Okay, a lot. They don’t even know what to do with their hands, or their feet, or any part of their body really, so they just sit there with their heels to their ass, faltering and pulling their hand back at least three times before slowly reaching out a gauntleted finger to poke at Mari’s cheek.
