The face that stares through the doorway is framed by fur, big dark eyes staring out of a flat, wooden face... with... a knot of wood, and... Wait. Is that.... A mask? White-knuckled hands point a spear at Roe.
Roe swallows, tasting the remains of the coffee grounds. The person is... rather quite terrifying, really. "I- I don't mean anything bad," he says, "I can't do anything, I'm alone. I'm all alone." He's all alone. He resists the urge to run deeper into the house.
The mask swivels, taking in the room, the contents. There's an echo of Roe's voice, from outside, a low, quiet. "I'm alone." The fur-clad humanoid throws themself at the door, shoving it shut.
"Is that- that thing? The fox thing? Outside?" Words are difficult. Roe tries very hard to resist the urge to drop his weapons.
"Are- are you going to hurt me?" It's been five years now, almost exactly. That- that nothing really bad has happened yet... Roe can feel his breathing speed up. No, no, not now- His hands are shaking. "I gotta- kitchen. I gotta," he does not want to drop the bat, "do you know what drug withdrawal is?" He really doesn't want to cry again.
They shake their head. Hesitate. Hug their spear and start motioning with long, thin fingers that move quick from shape to shape...
(I don't think so but he has four dots in academics so I could justify it under he's read about it. Enough to know what it is but not to 'speak')
Roe recognizes the signs, but he's never been able to entirely teach himself. "You can hear me right?" he asks. He shouldn't be talking, the voice stealer could still be around, but he's so lonely... "I can't respond in ASL, I'm sorry," he says, "I think- can you write? I have pens, paper, something. Somewhere. There is a lot of stuff... Upstairs, I haven't touched since- stuff." He coughs. "Dunno if I could right, though. Gonna need to take a pill for the shakes to stop."
"Okay." He drops the bat but keeps the knife. "I'm going to go to the kitchen and get a pill, first, then go upstairs." The relief from swallowing the pill is worrying (washed down with the same probably okay liquid. Its blue. It fizzes. It's fine) but he can't think about that. He hurries upstairs, grabs an old pad and two pens and emphatically does not look at the clothing neatly folded on the bed in that room, quietly gathering dust. As he walks down the steps he tears the remnants of an old order list off the top of the pad.
When Roe returns, a chair is shoved under the knob of the front door and the stranger is very much NOT where he left them.
The thing. Fuck. Did the fox thing get them? "Hello?" he calls out. "I have-" he falls silent. No. The thing. It can take his words.
