undone.

While he felt he owed her, he still had an itch in the back of his mind that it was better, safer, to lie to her about the extent of his injury. It hadn’t felt right since Nika’s visit, the muscle even more sore than it had been previously. The edges of it were angry, a dark red under his skin that felt hot to the touch and the veins had risen a bit. It had to have been infected, but there was this pit in this stomach that telling her such would be a bad thing. He wanted to give it some time, before he hit the panic button. It didn’t hurt him any more than it would have if someone stuck their fingers in a healing wound, especially where the muscles were no doubt working hard to stitch themselves back together. It would take time. 

So when she asked about any swelling or discoloration, he shook his head with ease. “Just gross,” he answered, and it wasn’t a lie. Sometimes he got a bit squeamish with this sort of thing, but he had only really been looking at the wound with curiosity instead of the usual aversion. “Well–” Don’t tell her about the projector. Or maybe, at least, what he’d seen out of it. That felt like his own little secret, save for the woman who brought him those wires that day, in the box of “junk”. Logan wouldn’t understand how amazing it was, he was sure of it. No, that was best left for his eyes, and his eyes alone. And all he wanted to do was go back into his hovel of darkness, watching those blessed images go by on a loop. But that would be too suspicious. “I could go for a walk,” he said, figuring that’s what she was implying. “Let me put on some shoes?”

“Only if you’re up for it, of course. You’re good to be mobile, yeah?” Logan's sense of responsibility seemed to grow the longer she existed in the space, prompting her overactive imagination to conjure events yet to happen and reflect with increasing regret over those which had. A simmering anxiety which would only haunt her in the hours and days to come — she begrudgingly had to admit the truth of such was undeniable without intervention. If she was to walk away after today totally pleased with her accumulated efforts, she would eventually have to assuage her nerves at the sacrifice of bothering Emmett for more time. “I'm sure you've done an amazing job, but I’ll check it when we get back, just for my peace of mind. Nothing personal, just making sure nothing gets moved out of place, y'know?”

Joel glanced at the female, taking a moment to run his eyes through as he attempted to place her. She looked much more familiar than she sounded though, that was for sure. Probably one of the diner's frequent, though he did tend to get lost in his work - often forgetting about the people inside altogether. “  Can I help you?  ” his smile quickly followed as her earlier words finally settled, “  I can’t say I’ve ever been religious but for you, I just might give it my best try.  ” A joke, for the most part, but he did take note of her pretty face. The way her sunken greyish eyes ghostly complimented the tan on her flesh… there was much to gauge and admire on the surface of her skin, but he did wonder if within she’d be just as clean. Haunting and alluring 'til the floor beneath them ceased to exist. “  Is my brother okay?  ” he asked soon after, remembering the urgency in his steps only moments earlier.

“Just seeing how you’re going. With everything that’s been going on and all…” Granted, the very existence of life in general could be seen as something ‘going on’. Arcadia was a carnivorous organism, with no promise of passive days. Between the sun's rise and set, anything could go wrong somewhere — and most often did. “Injuries are easy, it’s the rest that’s a bitch. How’s your head? I mean, scale of 1-10 how lost has your mind felt lately?”

Instead, he found himself nursing an injury - there was a muddy embankment he had slipped on, falling into a stony ditch, something that looked as if it used to be a creek that had long since dried up. The bow was tossed upwards in the slide, over the hump of the hill to make sure he didn’t accidentally crush it along the way. It was too priceless, and fortunately ended up fine in the scuffle. His arm felt a bit bruised, but his arm and face each suffered their own gashes; a nick over his left brow, a slice of sharp rock that went from the bottom of his palm along the side of his forearm. Ben would have typically had no trouble seeking medical attention, but things were still a bit odd, a bit tense with Shaw. Of course, it was an incredible thing, to be reunited with one’s parent after a decade and a half, but so much time, so many stressful years had already passed, and things needed to be slow. Ben rushing in with injuries on their home turf still somehow felt like an intrusion.

But that was no matter - he had his own first aid kit, one that was left behind by the previous owner of the cabin he now resided in. He had patched himself up well enough, taking a little bit too long in the process (Ben had wanted it to be nice, neat, and nearly perfect in terms of how evenly spread the gauze could be) and was surprised that when he finally did settle in for the evening, there was a knock on his door. Alert immediately, he had stalked closer before realizing there was still time left before They came waltzing through Arcadia’s streets. He opened the door to an unfamiliar face and mustered a polite smile. “Hello - are you alright?”

Inwardly, she reminded herself it was not a social call but a practical one with a time-sensitive purpose. The clinic’s catgut supply had been spent after a recent spell of severe injuries and heavy suturing, leaving the clinic critically unprepared should another wave of destruction hit before the following month. She considered her lack of personal familiarity with the hunter to his credit, making him less impressionable and predictable than the other figures on her list. Outsourcing beyond the walls of the medical office had been essential, she knew that much. The professional utility of its residents had waned considerably as of late, a natural effect Logan speculated had been caused by an influx of limerence-induced navel-gazing. Shaw was unavailable for anything which required physical exertion, Dilara’s plate was full enough without being asked to trade her tender hands for slaughter, and Mav already performed more than his fair share of selfless acts of service. It had to be someone else.

“I need a favour. There’s a loose hog in the forest I need help bringing into town for processing. It’s been too much of a nuisance to wrangle alone.” Despite rarely asking after anyone, Logan was keenly aware and against creating any inconvenience such a side quest might produce. “If you can't — or would rather not, I'd understand, too,” she amended, a fail-safe, “in which case I’d ask if you'd have any other recommendations.”

The journal she buried herself into that day was put together the publication company Wiley Blackwell on the study of anesthesia focusing on critical care medicine and pain therapy. It took the sound of Logan’s voice to detach Dilara’s focus and she glanced up almost surprised by her own focus. She offered a smile at the apology, though didn’t feel compelled to touch on it. There was no one around to care. “ I’ve not. Sorry. ” she replied, after taking a look at the book in Logan’s grasp. “ I think you may be able to find an extra copy in the library. Unless that’s the one, of course. ” Dee couldn’t begin to understand why anybody would rip the last chapter out, unless they did it specifically to get a kick out of those looking for it. “ Was it getting good? ”

Logan’s shoulders sagged slightly as she leant over to set down her book down on the desk in front of her, realising only then how tense she had grown from hours spent in one rigid position. “I hope you’re having better luck with yours,” she spoke, arms stretching out ahead of her in an attempt to relieve the tension radiating down the stiffened muscles. Abandoning the long silence which had previously cushioned the space between two engrossed readers, she perched her elbows on the desktop and raised her eyebrows suggestively as a new thought struck: “Is the plan to read the afternoon away, or are you up for playing party girl tonight?” 

The darkness that had settled upon the town was...unsettling, if one was to put it lightly. But time didn't stop. It just kept on moving, and Bastian had stopped trying to make sense of any of it long ago. They had to keep on keeping on - and one way they would do that is to make sure they all got at least a somewhat satisfying meal in their bellies.

Bastian had made it his own personal mission to try and keep the survivors of the town fed with healthy and tasty meals, even if what he was working with was limited. He was working on a stew on this particular evening when someone stepped into the diner and closed the door firmly behind them. Yeah, life still went on and people still needed to eat, even if there were creatures looking to kill you beyond those doors.

He shook away the thought and slapped a smile onto his face, grabbing a spoon and a bowl to fill with a serving, soon approaching the newcomer and extending the bowl in their direction. "Here - please. You've got to try this and let me know what you think."

But when she spoke to him like that, melodic in her introduction, words strewn together like they were made to be spoken by her lips, well, it was hard for Mav not to want to be important to her. He watched as she approached him, and found that he had nothing witty or clever to say back. He often found himself outwitted in her company, not that that was particularly hard, most people outwitted him, but there was another barrier whose symptoms included clammy palms, elevated heart rate, and a dry mouth. Yes, any doctor would have diagnosed Mav with a consuming case of the nerves. Thankfully the topic of conversation shifted to something Mav could string a few sentences about, and he pushed back from the stall gate in order to open it. Milk stepped out first, head determined in its assault on Logan’s leg, always seeking an apple or whatever he could swindle from her. 

He stepped out, shut the gate behind him and then focused his attention back on the redhead. “About as well as ya can expect. Aah did mah best doin' what ya taught meh last time, ya know with the hand placement. Aah just don't have the... the way about it that ya do.” A look at her then, proper, like it was the first time he was seeing her. Despite his best interest, Mav found himself reaching out to tuck a wet strand of hair over her shoulder. He had half a mind to ask if she wanted him to see if he could find her something dry, his own clothes too thoroughly soaked to be offered but decided better of it. If she wanted anything from him she knew to ask. “Through he-yah.” Mav gestured to the opposing corner of the barn where the few sheep were kept. “Little lady doesn’t have a name yet. Ahh reckon Logan would suit her, just kind of rolls of the tongue,” he teased.

“The only way I have is patience and bribery,” she dismissively answered with a broadening half-smile, the calf’s persistent nudges jostling her in place and forcing her to take a step backward. “Sorry, honey, I wasn’t prepared to see you. Next time I’ll bring you something extra sweet, m’kay? Just don't tell anyone else, they'll think I've picked a favourite.” She murmured softly, giving Milk a final soft pat on velvety haunches before she pivoted to head towards the corner of the barn. With time to waste so long as the storm persisted, her steps were slow and meandering. She took opportunity to look into each stall passed, noting differences and similarities since her last drop-in. His voice kept her attention occupied, listening to his resonant tone weave clearly beneath the down pour. Her eyes rolled at the comment, side-eyeing his expression. “Very creative, I’d say. That’s certainly fine name. You come up with that one all by yourself?” Peering over the stall of her final destination with the quip, Logan's elbows propped atop the gate, watchfully perching her chin in her palms. New life was an incomparable thing worth marvelling at, in any form — though the stakes were highest here, symbolising an even greater achievement. She fell momentarily quiet as she watched the lamb bleat and fuss along the wall, tiny legs quivering with each inch of exploration. In the far corner, the ewe was tucked into a tight ball that from a distance resembled little more than a large pile of wool. She slept soundlessly, unfazed by the baby’s concern of the falling sky. "A new mama with a rainy day nap agenda, I respect that. It's a great sign if she feels safe enough to put you on full-time babysitting duty already."

He hadn’t realized how much he missed it until he was seated.

Visitors had been pushed out quickly the last few days, the few and far between there were. Only today did he finally decide to pull himself away long enough to feed himself, make sure Tripod was settled (he could hear the pitter-patter of zoomies in the rafters above his head constantly) and clean himself up a bit. Per Logan’s instructions, Emmett had been more diligent before. She was the one who patched him up after the incident in the cinema, the dark brown stains adorning the one seat farther off in the back rows constantly remaining out of his field of vision. But hearing her voice downstairs had him hesitating. He was about to change his bandages, and that took time. He was using too many now - the wound in his chest wasn’t healing the right way, he knew that. It was getting darker, but it wasn’t weeping blood anymore - now it just felt like a big bruise. “Be down in a minute!” 

Don’t let her see. The idea of seeing her eyes over the blackening spot at his chest filled him dread and fear, like a child afraid of punishment, despite Logan being nothing but nice to him. He did a hack job at putting bandages on, and putting a little too many in the hopes she wouldn’t be very tempted to take them apart and study his progress himself. His hair was still a little wet from his shower and he put on an old sweatshirt the mean girl from the church gave him before taking a breath and heading down the stairs. “Good morning,” he said, shaking his wet curls between his fingers and giving her an inconspicuous smile. “I just put more gauze on.”

Thus, as she awaited in the foyer, she tried her best to nurture the spark which hoped Emmett could be relied upon not to lie about his health, though the legs of her trust felt a degree weaker the instant her eyes found him. Perhaps it was nothing more than the subpar light quality of being indoors, but he looked much paler than she would have liked. It was barely a valid symptom, considering how everyone’s pallor dulled as a side effect of residency, but silently noted nonetheless as she acknowledged his arrival with a gentle smile. 

“Oh, yeah?” Equal measures of relief, surprise, and pride bloomed within her chest at the knowledge that he had been taking care, at least recently. A small victory. “I'll be out of a job soon, at this rate,” she spoke warmly, teasing humour thinly veiling the curiosity beneath. “So it closed up alright? Any discolouration, swelling, abnormal discharge…?” The usual suspects, run-of-the-mill queries she assumed he would have the best grasp on to answer as the closest witness to the healing site. Her eyes briefly drifted down to where the hidden injury would have been on his chest, unable to resist wondering after the nasty state he’d been left in. Her fingers twitched at her sides, tapping lightly against the denim if her trousers. The lack of practical action left her restless, unwilling to physically overstep if his attention had been adequate yet desperate for whatever confirmation she could verbally pry from him. “When’s the last time you got some fresh air or sunshine?”

closed starter for @lcstghoul

Was there a shift in the weather? Or was Hell Town about as predictable in its climate as it was in its unnatural occurrences? He knew the cold weather had been a surprise to most of the town inhabitants, though for him it had felt like a natural change in seasons. It had been a bit of a reprise from the usual foggy weather that enveloped this town, though it had made it harder to tend for the animals (and subsequently the people of this town). While Mav was typically prepared for adverse weather events now, he hadn't appreciated the sudden downpour of rain and the way it had pooled in his saddle and cut his ride short. It did give him the opportunity to check in on his favourite yearling, Milk. The young cow was about as old as Mav's time in this town and the only thing apart from Titan that he had brought with him when he arrived. While it was harder for calves to survive without their mother, Mav had done an okay job at ensuring the little creatures survival, mostly out of fear that if the cow couldn't survive what hope did he have?

"Aah'm sorry about takin' ya away from yer mom little fellah," he said as he gave Milk half of his apple. "Ahh bet she's worried sick about ya." They were very similar that way, though it was Mav that was most likely worrying more about his mother than the other way around. He was sat in the section of the barn where the few cows were kept. While the rest of them were at the trough eating feed (or hell town style feed), Milk was resting his head on Mav's lap as he sat against the wall, legs outstretch and feet crossed over one another. The rain thundered against the tin-reinforced roof so loudly that Mav almost missed the sound of the barn door opening. He gently removed Milk's head from his lap and stood up before taking long strides to the wall of the cowbarn. Milk's little pitter patter followed behind him obediently. He leaned his arms cross the wall of the enclosure as he took in the sight of the unexpected (and yet most welcomed) visitor.

There had almost been something there, between the paramedic and the cowboy. A kiss that had led to nothing more than the understanding that they would be better off as friends, that hell town was not for the propagation of romance, of anything that could be swiftly cut down by the violence of this place. Still, saying that you wouldn't care and actually not caring were two different things. "Didja forget yer rain jacket?" It was said teasingly, though he felt bad for the sorry sight of how cold and wet she seemed. "If ya're he-yah fo-wah the pregnant ewe yous a little late, she gave birth— what was it? Two days ago?"

Rainfall had struck not long after Logan had emerged from the outskirts of the forest, basket full of riverside clippings, weaving a slow hut purposeful path back into town. Her own fault for not honing better attention toward the darkening sky. Certainly not dressed appropriately to remain dry, she hurriedly decided the first solid building intercepted en route, other than someone’s private abode, would be destined to serve as her shelter until the worst of it past. Thereby, when carefully unlatching the back door of the most looming of the ranch’s structures, she was at first relieved when the hinges swung freely — then sobered by what it meant. A worthwhile risk to encounter, only when on fortunately spacious grounds.

The interior of the barn felt marginally warmer than the outdoors, but still represented a welcome and gratefully sought reprieve. Running her fingers though dampened curls, abandoning hope of taming it back into a braid until fully dried, Logan could distinguish the cowboy by voice alone. His comment quickly earned him a sidelong scowl, though mere inches below her brow the twitching purse of her lips betrayed an alternative smile ordered into reserve. “Nice to see not even the rain can dampen your funny bone,” she lobbed back, a gentle toss that could have been sent off course by a spring breeze in its lacking ferocity. “You can’t stay in the barn forever, Bell. Though that crown of yours might brush the heavens, you’re as vulnerable as I am to a sudden storm.”

Wandering further into the space, she could not deny the safe air of familiarity it enveloped her with. Not from any amount of time spent there, in the local geographical sense, but for being a prominent atmosphere in the chapters of her life before. The sweat of animals, wet leather, dusty hay, cold manure, troughs with rusted edges, and aged timber — homey. His association with the lifestyle perhaps a contributor to any desire which had once brazenly stirred; now a temptation no longer actively, an entanglement deliberately unknotted. Her stance sloped to mirror his, though her heels had to raise slightly to permit her to huddle over the top bar of the next stall over, chin resting upon her forearms. She looked up over at him before being mindful to look away.