all in flames.

          In HINDSIGHT, he wished he’d opted to stay back at the Country Club. Though the blizzard that had held them all indoors for days on end had finally blown over the city ( leaving in its wake not hills but MOUNTAINS of frigid white that buried sidewalks and roadways and melted slowly beneath the February sun ) conditions were still harsh — harsher than he’d expected, admittedly. But the surplus of dry cat food he’d managed to stock several months back was finally wearing thin, and as the bowl scraped the BOTTOM of the last bag when he’d gone to fill it for Paul that morning, he knew he didn’t have a choice but to go out in search of more. 

          ( At VERY least, he was immensely grateful he’d thought to leave the cat behind — Topher was having a difficult enough time on his own trudging through it, and he only imagined how quickly he might’ve lost Paul in the snow banks. ) 

          He’d spent HOURS searching what he could of the town, but the weather proved an obstacle in getting very far, and he’d made it little more than a few miles from the camp by the time the sun began to sink beyond the horizon. Realizing he wouldn’t have daylight on his side much longer, he’d opted instead to find a place to try and thaw his freezing limbs and maybe catch a few hours’ sleep, assuming he was lucky enough. And that — THAT was how he’d ended up here. 

          EMPTY hands lifted before him as if to prove he was unarmed when the occupant of the house he’d hoped to take shelter in lifted her gun to aim at his silhouette in the doorway. Brows lifted to disappear behind damp curls at her words and he blinked, shaking his head. “Well, I mean, I — I’m not plannin’ to take anything from you,” he admitted, lowering his hands as he took another slow step inside. “Unless y’happen to have cat food, but even then, I mean, I’d prob’ly offer t’trade with you for it first. No, I was jus’ — jus’ tryin’ t’get outta the cold for a minute.” The wind HOWLED in the open door behind him as if to prove his point. “It’s kinda gnarly, y’know?”

        She rolled her head to the side, a lazy smile on her face as though she didn’t have a CARE in the world.    ( & right now, she felt as though that was TRUE - despite the circumstances. )    Her gun was still pointed at him - even as she saw his bare hands - “ah, well, fuck it - at least if you end up being a RAIDER I’ll die  high.” 

         She put her gun down, by her side in easy access despite what they young man told her - “close the door would you, kid? It’s freezing outside okay, and if you’re ARMED can you just put your weapons on the floor and chill, that’d be awesome.”    She drew the joint to her lips and took a deep double-drag,     h o l d i n g    her breath for a few  beats, “and yeah.  Jack Frost really took a two-flusher on this patch of the world - with the weather  at least.    Oh, and can you please DEADBOLT the door behind you?   I’ve got no issue with he living, but I’m really not in the mood for frozen rotters.”

        Marisol watched the smoke waft above her head for a moment -- - “please don’t tell me you’re resorting to eating CAT FOOD, mierda !   Just kill some birds for Christs sake.  But either way, I don’t have any, sorry.

An audience, the exact thing she didn’t need. Usually it was a good thing to have eyes watching as she impressed them with her various talents. That was fun every now and again but in that moment all she wanted to do was shudder alone and throw a pity party for one while she failed to build a fire before she froze to death. ‘Here lies a frozen fool’, not ideal but at least she went out trying to bring a little entertainment back into the apocalypse. She squinted to try and make out the body waiting ashore for her. The artist wasn’t exactly sure what she expected, but that woman didn’t move a muscle while she smirk at the scene in front of her. Elliot tried to keep her composure the cold had seeped so deeply into her that she couldn’t quite stop her body from shaking. 

“Fuck.” She murmured to herself as she wading through the ice as it broke up around her. “Well I w-would have died if it wasn’t for yo-your help.” Elliot managed to get out as she reached the lakeside, standing tall in front of the woman but shivering nonetheless. “I know we’re not on a f-first name basis, but it needs to happen.” The artist said as she stripped off her sopping wet clothes and trudged over towards her back to find something dry to put on. She threw her wet clothes down to the side and rummaged threw her pack before finding an over sized tshirt and some track pants she’d picked up somewhere along the way. Once dressed she looked back at her company. “I’m Elliot.. And you’re– Uh, y-you’re welcome for the show I just gave you.” 

     Marisol leaned with her arms crossed across her chest, gloved hands tucked away, thick jacket BUFFERING the wind and her feet warm and snug in weatherproof boots and thick socks.   Just the sight of the sopping wet woman dragging herself through frigid waters was enough to make Marisol cringe.  Though she’d been blessed and always found herself running quite warm, even this weather was enough to make her shudder.

       -- - and perhaps in a different lifetime she would have stripped down and offered the shivering would-be ice skater her jacket... but by the time she’d moved her hands to the zip at the front, the tattooed figure was stripping down.

            ( & `THE LAST OF US. )      ( meme. )

         “you mumble in your sleep.”   ft. @conflicticn

“Bailarín?” At just three syllables, the word was difficult to replicate. The raise of inflection at the end beckoned the woman to correct her if she was wrong. Working with Huan to learn Chinese had taught her all manner of sounds her mouth had not been built for. Hunter nodded at the description of the mare’s rescue. A fair better kindness than she’d been able to grant her own Etain. “That’s real good of you.” She nodded, hoping the woman would never have to see the way a starved mare’s hip bones could practically CUT out of her own skin. The sight of a healthy horse brought a rare smile to Hunter’s lips.

“It was near a year ago.” It didn’t mean it didn’t still grip her chest in the same way ( although less often ), but if she’d felt the familiar pang of loss in that moment, she didn’t let it reach her face. “Appreciate it. An’ I’m sorry for followin’ you. Don’t mean you any kinda harm. I just wanted t’ see her is all.”

         Marisol smiled at the dark haired woman; watching as her tongue and lips attempted to curl around the foreign word, continuing to stroke Bailarín’s neck she remarked with a tender tone in her throat; “it’s Spanish - for Dancer. It seemed fitting,” the mare was her closest friend, and the only living creature in her sights that she fully TRUSTED, “and I’ve always liked the idea of having a horse called Dancer anyway.”

”You should have said something,” she said, wary eyes darting over to the source of the shuffling feet who finally materialised from the shadows. “I could have almost shot you without thinking.” She realised that she still had her rifle poised towards the stranger. Deciding that the other was no real threat - for now - she lowered her rifle and relaxed her posture.

“Oh shit,” Thea mumbled to herself as she rummaged through her worn backpack. She was in the midst of sorting out all of her old belongings now that she was finally somewhere safe, but the most important item to her was nowhere to be seen. Dissatisfied with the backpack’s current contents - or lack thereof- Thea pulled it upside down and all of her items became strewn on the ground. As she sifted through the mess on the floor, she let out a frustrated sigh. “Where the hell could it have gone?”

Amaya was walking back to the V.A by herself; arms crammed high with supplies of generally the medical kind. She had been with someone, but for some reason, they had decided to trust the girl to get back on her own. Secretly, she suspected they just thought she was extremely slow and wanted to get back quicker. Or maybe that was just her awful insecurities coming out to play again. One couldn’t know. Whether due to not looking where she was going or tripping over her own feet regardless, the girl fell to the ground – dropping the tray along with her. Thankfully, there wasn’t any full vials or anything too breakable. The more humiliating part was that someone was now watching her as she attempted to cram the things together again. “That was… silly,” She mumbled, partly to herself.

dante had been alone for so long that he had started to forget what it was like to be in the midst of conversation or to just sit beside another. cheyenne had once been a thriving city - when he moved from his uncle’s place just miles from the border, he had found it to be quite the social hub and place to be. now, it was like a barren wasteland.. with nothing but the distant moan of walkers to keep the city’s heart faintly thumping. dante wound his hand in the scarf he had found not too long ago, tightening it around the scratch he had acquired from broken wood. he was no medic, but he knew if he didn’t get it covered up - and fast - the walkers would be on him quicker than he’d like. he was huddled beneath one of the trees, the weather wasn’t on his side, it never was. his free hand reached for the empty gun that lay beside him, his fingers feeling for the handle as he heard footsteps. “who’s there?” he called out, his voice wavering a little from the whisk of cold from the wind. dante held the gun up, his bandaged hand feeling for the knife which was held in his back pocket. “speak up - fast!”

           Marisol had been out in the whirling wind and COLD for what seemed like an eon - but she wasn’t bothered.   The wind may have bitten at her skin, slicing through her clothes - but she was HUNTING... and she didn’t care what the weather had to say on that topic.      She flinched when she heard a voice - rotters didn’t have   v o i c e s   -- -   this had to be someone living - but were they friend or FOE ?