Being driven out of yet another establishment, Wikus clearly displayed the rage and frustration of rejection once both him and the female stepped outside. He swiped a couple of the pests from his shoulder only to discover that the shirt was partially ripped by an angry patron of the tavern, fingernails having scratched his flesh lightly. Kindly, he’d extend a hand to remove some from the female’s back, picking them as if he was picking peanuts, the centipedes holding on as if they were clinging to their nest instead of clothes. Having stood for the first time since their meeting, his height was now revealed as he towered over the female like a mountain rises over a mere hill. His clothing was light for the weather, the warmest piece of attire being the simplistic brown corduroy pants, and even they were partially rolled up to his calves. The night was completely set, the darkness outside of the torches' range being almost absolute as only the freezing gusts of winds dared to dwell within the shadows. There wasn’t any snow except in some corners where the morning's sunlight didn’t reach, but that snow was as hard as the ice layer that covered most of the dirt ground. The temperature was cold yet in a softer manner than his aerial counterpart, the humidity of the light fog somewhat easing the ambient.
Wikus stared down at the woman, looking for words to explain what his situation was in this settlement. Before he said a thing, however, the distant rumble of metal clatter and footsteps approaching halted him. The Knights would be coming to end the tavern's business for the night. Wikus reached for Millie’s wrist and pulled her lightly as he began walking. “They come. We not must be outside in curfew time.” Once he made sure the female was following him, he let go of her wrist and instead simply guided the way in the dark, moist, and tight streets of the village. He advanced with fast steps, looking back every now and then to make sure the female was following. He didn’t say much, except some vague words of warnings when crossing the tighter paths between the simplistic houses of the city. He was hiding, in a way. Every now and then a tear would pop out of his eyes, to which he’d covertly wipe it off, promising himself not to think of the villager’s hostility towards him yet failing repeatedly. He often relied to his mind as he lacked the company, and recalling all the injustice shown to him for no apparent reason only filled him with frustration and rage alike.
A few chimes on the walk finally brought them into yet another alleyway, partially illuminated by the remains of a torch lit ahead, yet the narrowness of the walls that formed said alley didn’t allow much of it to enter and properly light the path. The alley’s exit leaded to a small ‘clear’ in the madness that was the village’s architecture, a zone in which the poor planning had let a small square to form between the houses. Wikus didn’t seem to give the alley special treatment at first, yet once he peeked around the corner, he retreated back into the darkness of the alley. “Patrol.” He whispered, afraid of the consequences of breaking the curfew. Surely breaking the curfew wouldn’t be such a big deal as it was mostly to secure the villager’s life, yet given the poor treatment he was prone to receive, he preferred to let them leave. Looking back at the female, barely able to distinguish her frame in the partial darkness, he remained silent. Only after a couple of ticks he offered a badly phrased explanation. “Sorry, please. I am hated here. I don’t want you to be hated because you talk with me. I… enjoy you.” Despite his ignorance of his grammatical and pronunciation issues, he simply shrugged his shoulders and looked back towards the now stationary patrol whose back was facing the alley’s exit.
Said patrol was a pairing made of two farm boys that wished to one day reach glory, yet their own fear had them stuck in a village. Both were young and bored by day, now with eyes wide as plates as they watched the most terrifying sight they had ever seen. From one of the stone cottages, in front of the patrol's eyes and directly visible from the alleyway, a wall lacked a stone in its construction, and from inside they heard the infinite crawling of an infinite number of centipedes, and as they woke in the midst of the night they began pouring out like blood from a wound. They spewed in great numbers, hundreds spawning from the cottage's attic and simply falling to the ground as their numbers pulsed out, unable to adhere to the walls as instead they became a waterfall made of their own species. The sound was perhaps the worst of it, the loudness and reverb in the silent night being overwhelming, the sound of their surge, of their crawling, of their characteristic 'clicking' becoming a living nightmare for those easily affected by the presence of insects. As they fell, they began spreading throughout the street, each heading their own way as night was the period in which they fed. The patrol slowly backed away, unable to do anything but cower and witness the nightly invasions of the pest; aware that this was only one of the nests and that many others existed in the small village. “Soon we reach cot.“ Whispered Wikus, unnaturally calm for the sight that was opening a dozen feet away, simply waiting for the patrol to lose itself in the stone maze.
