SHE HATES THE FUCKING HEAT —– with the sun beating down on her back & sweat beading along her hairline , was there anything worse than the summers? even worse so , when the coolness of shadows are ABSENT & you’re carrying what feels like half of boulder county’s belongings on your shoulder — she’s long since ditched the sherpa which knows resides tied around her waist , and she underestimated her supply of WATER before leaving the brewery. ( hilarious , should have packed something a lot stronger than water. )
but what’s briar without a little complaint? she’s still RESILIENT , resourceful , when she finds the sign of LOVELAND on her way back to the brewery , she figures it’s as good of stop as any. ( despite it’s name , loveland ; briar snickers over the fact this is the last place you would find her seeking shelter. ) despite the way the undead seem to accumulate in it’s streets like it’s the fucking epicenter. SAFEWAY becomes the scavenger’s chosen destination , despite the fact she assumes it’s been picked though time & time again by vultures. she’s right , the place is ransacked ; shelves have been rummaged of anything with nutritional value or actual appealing flavor — she fills her bag with whatever is left , whatever she can throw into the rations bay back at camp & not have one of those bastards start an argument about not doing her job right.
was there anything worse than the summers? resorting to drinking dr. pepper as a form of hydration ; if you could call it that. ❛ then don’t make a noise. ❜ a hiss of matter-of-fact tone & she makes a scornful nod to the gun clutched between martine’s fingers — too loud , too easy , and briar isn’t much of a fan of the weapons to begin with. in fact , briar finds it IDIOTIC to use a gun in any situation nowadays , not when the undead have hearing near as impeccable as briar’s junior year english teacher being able to hear the passing of paper from the back of the classroom. ❛ keep your finger off the trigger , martine , or you’re on your own. ❜ she’s seen her around camp , but briar isn’t much of a socialite , not at the brewery atleast. ( she has her brother , that’s the only person she needs ; and also? she’s still trying to decide where she stands with raiders. ) and it’s not like she expected to round the corner from that safeway & cross paths with one of her camp members – in fact , it’s hopeful thinking not to. she brings that can of dr. pepper to her lips , taking a sip before she glances past the scout to access the potential threat of their current situation. ❛ how many are there? i can’t see with you flailing in front of me like that. ❜
common sense would have been the best course of action. put the gun down, point the barrel away from the target and release the hammer in a final swift push of her thumb, shove it back within the worn leather holster she’d scavenged on her first trip out of the brewery. that pistol going off would become a part of the equation that gets her killed, the sharp echo as a bullet ricochets between the empty buildings. she’d come sorely unprepared, though she refused to let the admission escape her lips. everything in her brain screamed that she should have. but this time stubbornness had claimed the victory, kept her hands back on the weapon and waiting with white knuckles, a scared animal trapped between brick and mortar.
some back at camp might have said she made the right choice. over dinner, she imagined her friends-but-not-quite-good-friends would whisper in muffled syllables past pieces of food that she would have made the right choice to remain defensive – to her briar existed as an enigma, a blank piece of paper without a scribbled note to be seen. she had no past, no present, no future. at least, none that she’d caught wind of. even the can of dr pepper in briar’s hand was outlandish ; who’d be so unprepared to leave without enough water to spare on a day like this?
‘ depends. i’ll be quiet if you’ve got a plan to tell me. ’ her chin jerked towards the soft drink. ‘ are you sure you’ll last much longer on that sugar high? ’
now had hardly become the time to run her mouth, pick a fight to really get an idea of who briar was. martine needed another to keep an eye out, get her back safely, no matter how begrudging she might’ve been to admit it. she drew the reaction to heat – heightened stress on the body, starved and dehydrated. likely to make the most amicable spit venom.
she straightened, moved to press her back by the corner wall. the contents of her bag poked uncomfortably, all the while she willed the rise and fall of her chest to slow. fear had begun to creep in, bring a shake to her hands and a sheen of sweat across her forehead. as martine’s voice dropped there was a slight crack in her words, beginning to stumble over them. ‘ there– there’s a lot of them. those things are still slow right now. ’