"we're all stories in the end."

They were content to stand there looking bored while the woman droned on, but when she attempted some semblance of an attitude Harlow couldn’t help the snort that escaped their lips. “Pfft….alright.” They’d never gotten along with this type. Harlow didn’t see the point in pretending everything was peachy keen sugar dandy when the world had all but gone to hell. They lifted their free hand, the one that didn’t currently hold their skateboard, and waved it about as if making spirit fingers. “Watch out world–she’s got stickers!”

Harlow had to stop themself from instinctively taking a step back as the woman took one forward, but they managed to stand their ground. They put their free hand on the strap of their bag to avoid shaking hands, instead offering a small nod of the head. “Harlow.” Before she could ask, they added, “–Just Harlow.” They didn’t have a last name, hadn’t for a while now. Mostly to amuse themself, they decided to answer her second question as well. “I don’t have a favorite color either, but I do have this really gnarly scab on my elbow that keeps shooting out this rad looking yellow puss.”

                    “Wanna see?” They asked, hint of a smirk on their features.

“Mm. Nope, nope... I’m good,” Ryan said quickly, the thought of seeing one more infected wound nearly making her gag. The state of some of the injuries she’d already seen around her camp never ceased to floor (and disgust) her. She was an athlete - quite used to bruises and blood, and even broken bones - but infections? Nope. She couldn’t. Best to let the medics handle that. She wouldn’t be much help anyone while passed out on the floor.

Deciding to brush the visitor’s attitude to the side, she offered Harlow what she hoped was a neutral expression that didn’t show too much of the aggravation  she felt inside. At least they’d shared their name... Ryan supposed that was some kind of progress. “Well Harlow, if you wanna go ahead and put whatever you’re trading today on the table, I’ll start getting together some things,” she said, grabbing a grocery bag and beginning to move down the nearest aisle, getting a jump start on packing just a few of the very most basic things for them. Depending on what Harlow pulled out to offer, she would add more to match the value.

apcstasies

mateo’s always been distant, in a way, never quite present in a conversation. even when he looks and acts like he is, there’s always a part of him that’s somewhere else, usually it’s the memory of his biological father’s crumpled form, but lately it’s been the mound of dirt in his backyard where his foster father lies. it’s easier when whoever he’s talking to is nice though, because it makes him feel like less of a fraud, his friendliness a little more genuine.

it’s not always easy, when so much of his life has been filled with grief and tragedy, but he does his best to catalogue small moments of kindness. it doesn’t quite change his mind on the cruelty of people, but it’s at least reassurance that there can be exceptions. gaze even on the back of the woman’s head as he follows her into the room, he’s convinced that this is not their first transaction, even if her name eludes him at the moment. mateo’s always made it a habit to remember names –– he’s learned from experience that it makes people feel special when he address them by name, and it’s the easiest way to get someone wrapped around his finger.

not that he’s trying to take advantage of her kindness here, no. he tries to tell himself that he’s just trying to be nice by showing her that she’s made an impression on him, but can’t help the little voice inside his head that points out that if he gets her to like him then she’s more likely to help him in the future and he wonders if he’ll ever be able to do anything that isn’t tainted by some sort of agenda.

‘ well, in that case, i should thank you for keeping the question light-hearted, ryan. ’ the name slips past his lips without conscious thought, despite his effort to recall it earlier, and he hopes that he’s got the right one at least. ‘ there are some wounds that are too fresh to be reopened. ’ his tone remains light, but the truth of the statement hangs between them nonetheless, and he goes on, unwilling to let the thought fester, ‘ a first aid kit, a tool kit, and a hunting knife; i know it’s not much, but i’ll take any scraps of food you’re willing to give me.

“Ah! So you’re good with names then, huh? Good on you, Matthew.” Ryan said with a playful wink. She was rather good with faces - could always remember that she’d seen a person before if she’d ever seen them - but when it came to recalling names, she struggled. It wasn’t unusual for her to have to ask for a name a couple times before she had it committed to memory so it always surprised her when people that she’d met casually in passing, like Matthew, remembered hers. It made her feel good. Like maybe she’d left behind a positive impact the last time she saw that person which was always her intention in interactions.

“You can go ahead and start unloading your stuff right there,” she said, pointing to a table at the side of the room where she collected each day’s trades. “I’ll go get you some food.”

Ryan was taught not to turn her back on anyone from another camp when they were in the stockroom. Apparently absolutely no one could be trusted now that it was the end of the world. But Ryan was ever the idealist, always looking to see the good things and the positive potential in people. She didn’t want to start seeing all people as monsters just because of their circumstances. No, she preferred to reserve that outlook for the things that roamed outside... So, she did turn from Matthew, grabbing a plastic shopping bag from a box full of them and going to the aisle where she’d collected all the longer-lasting pantry goods. She grabbed fruit, beef jerky and instant oatmeal with two bottled waters to seal the deal. 

As far as what she was giving him, she knew that according to some of the other provisioners’ standards she was overdoing it as is, but before she went back she slipped a candy bar in the bag too, hoping that maybe it would brighten the teenage boy’s situation... whatever that situation may be. 

  “Thanks! And it’s nice to meet you too!” Surprised by how quickly Ryan granted her entrance to the stock room, she cautiously stepped in behind her and made no move to hide her reaction as she scanned the shelves. The rations weren’t what a typical day’s worth of food would have been before, but they were obviously well off. It felt silly to be talking about something as mundane as colours, though she supposed finding comfort and familiarity in the little things didn’t hurt. “Agree to disagree,” She grinned, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. It was nice to just…Be normal for a split second. As the conversation shifted to the rations, Mariella listens intently as she speaks, refraining from adding in that it must be easier to ration when you have far more supplies to hand out. It would sound bitter, though, so she kept her mouth shut.

“Mm.” She nods as the woman points to the wall. Nutrition was apart of one of her courses in school, so this part was right up her street. It was pretty standard and similar to the one at their camp, only smaller portions all around seemed to be the main difference. “I suppose our ways of doing things aren’t as different as I’d originally thought, but I do still have a few questions…Like, I know you factor in age; do you ever give your elder members less because they’re, well, older? And what about younger, with growing children and teens? I’d imagine there’s a certain amount of ethics applied to each case.” That was one aspect that she was unclear on as far as their rations at home, so she wanted a second opinion. Should one set of people get more or less based on different factors out of their control? Should the young be put before the weak? Were all questions running through her mind, fingers lightly tapping against the paper as she turned back to face Ryan.

She wouldn’t remember the last time she was asked about where she was from not where she was currently staying, and the thought only made her smile even brighter. A small part of her wished she had never left the country after graduation, and wondered whether her parents were alive. “England! Well, there and France. Mum and dad never could agree on anything, so I was raised between. After I finished secondary school I chose to stay in London full-time and never looked back.” Another smile directed at Ryan, who she had a good feeling about. They both seemed to be optimistic and kind, a refreshing outlook at the end of the world. “How about you? Where did you call home?”

Mariella’s question about whether the elderly or the young should be treated differently when it came to rationing brought on an overwhelming sadness in Ryan that sank straight through her chest like a hot, heavy rock. She laid awake many nights wondering how long they had before Costco’s stockroom shelves were bare. Sure, supplies seemed plenty now, but that was to her relatively untrained eye and adding to that, there were no massive shipments coming in to replenish the rations that they put out. The scavengers were doing their best, especially considering the circumstances, but even the best of that crew had days when their findings were little more than scraps. So when that dreaded day came - when the shelves were empty and Ryan and her fellow provisioners were left with nothing more to give - Ryan wondered would she really have to make a call as tough as whether or not she could feed a grandparent in favor of the grandchild? And was she really capable of making that decision?

Could Ryan really sentence someone to starve?

When Elodie showed up for her ration, her eyes settled on one of the newer girls: friendly with a smile like sunshine and a certain brand of optimism that either welcomed or repelled, depending on what kind of survivor you were. In her case, she fell towards the latter category, gaze going from Ryan to the bags tied with metallic red and green. She was sure there were those that appreciated the small gesture ( families, kids, those clinging to any shred of normalcy and the illusion things were okay ), but she didn’t care for it. She just wanted her shit.

“Don’t you get tired of being this peppy?” Not only was it 9 in the fucking morning, but there were also hoards of zombies roaming around in the parking lot, so how Ryan managed to be this bright was beyond her. Mostly, Elodie was glad she didn’t have her job. She’d take scavenging over having to deal with the dissatisfied, frustrated masses or go through shelves and shelves of supplies ( she wouldn’t suffer through retail hell twice ). At least risking her life was something she was used to. Stealing and looting? She could check those off, too. Not exactly what you’d put on a resume, but the end of the world didn’t require one.

“Elodie Ahn. Black, like my coffee, 90% of my closet before everything went to shit, and my soul.” Her delivery was deadpan, her expression nonchalant, arms crossed as if daring Ryan to stay bubbly.

Ryan spent a few seconds blinking in stunned silence at Elodie’s response to the color question. It took her off guard.

“I’m… pretty sure that’s the best answer I’m gonna get all day,” Ryan nodded matter-of-factly. “And yeahhh, I was a cheerleader and an athlete in a past life so, you know... I kinda bleed peppiness and intense optimism, I guess.” The mention of a past life made Ryan feel more rooted to the horrible present then she ever preferred to feel and she tried to shake it off, to catch her expression before it fell. 

What she really wanted to do, if she was honest, was get to know Elodie better. Ryan was drawn to people who seemed like they had interesting stories and she found everything about Elodie - from the superficial (like the way that she dressed), to what Ryan believed she could see deeper down in the girl’s eyes - intriguing. Elodie seemed like the kind of woman who could handle herself without assistance in this new world and even though most of the time Ryan intentionally distanced herself from the terrible reality, even she was smart enough to know that at some point she’d need to become more lke Elodie if she wanted even a hope of finding her father again.

“Oh please, there is absolutely no reason to call me Mister anything. Just call me Siwa or Siwazuri if you’re feeling particularly formal.” He offered with a chuckle as he looked up at her. He knew Ryan was competent at the job she had been assigned with, so he knew he didn’t need to take too much time to make sure everything was filled out perfectly.

Looking down at the tags, he saw the Christmas tree tag and it instantly took him out for a moment. Christmas was not a fond time for him. From his mother’s death to the sudden outbreak of the zombie apocalypse, he had managed to not have Christmas be a very positive time in his life. But the people could use a happy moment. Shaking himself out of the momentary lapse, he smiled and glanced up at the woman in front of him. “Yes, it’s more than fine. It’s always good to try and make people as happy as we can.”

She didn’t miss the way his face fell ever so slightly as his eyes scanned the bags on the floor and she wondered if there was a particular tragedy behind it. For the first time since she’d started tagging the bags, Ryan felt self-conscious about what she’d done… For her, the pretty tags with the familiar festive colors reminded her of the good parts of Christmas. The tree trimming, the cookie decorating and the time spent with her dad... Focusing on those positives helped to take her mind off the terrible realities of her last Christmas where she’d hidden in her apartment while God knows what prowled the apartment halls outside…

it wasn’t completely unusual for her to be outside of bergan mercy, though she did find herself chewing the inside of her cheek–the familiar sting of copper on her tongue. as terrifying as the world beyond the glass doors of the hospital was–as dangerous and bleak–she could not expect other people to follow or respect her if she was not one of them. and neve channing was more than willing to get her hands dirty and pull her own weight. it was easily a three mile trek to the costco camp, but with her backpack full of supplies it did feel just a bit more arduous. with positions sparsely filled in the hospital, she was more than willing to wear as many hats as was needed and today–well, today neve was a trader.

granted easy enough access into the camp once her intentions and identity were made clear, neve headed provisions as instructed to see what she could exchange the rolls of gauze, iv start kits, nose clamps, and other random–but useful–supplies she knew the hospital had in abundance for the time being.

“neve,” she began, raising her brow in amusement at the woman’s questions. “well, genevieve channing. neve’s the nickname.” sliding a backpack strap off her shoulder, she rested the pack on a nearby surface at hip height for easier access to her own supplies. “tough one.” neve chuckled, mulling the question over. “i suppose i’m partial to olive.” unzipping her pack, she made quick work of pulling out some samples of supplies she had tucked away and continued the introduction. “i’m from bergan mercy hospital. i was hoping we could help each other out? i’m in dire need of some cliff bars and i have a campmate that i’m certain has never had a bowl of fruity pebbles in his life.”

“Ooooo, now olive is solid. Yep. I really respect that choice.”  Ryan nodded appreciatively as she held the door open for her visitor and stepped aside to give the woman space to enter.

As she refocused on the items that Neve pulled from her bag, she tried to keep a mental tally of their worth. She didn’t know very much about medical supplies per se, just that they were extremely valuable these days and that she should offer any trader who brought the good stuff their pick of the stockroom, within reason. Luckily, what Neve brought looked useful and by Ryan’s judgement, Cliff Bars and Fruity Pebbles were simple enough to dole out in exchange, especially if they meant helping the campmate that Neve mentioned to smile.

it’s been close to a week since he’s last been here –– of course, part of the reason for that had been the fact that he’d spent most of the past few days holed up in the library, recovering from a rather unfortunate stab wound to the gut. not that he had any intention of divulging that information to ophelia, who already fusses over him enough as it is. vaguely, mateo wonders if she’ll force him to stay at the camp to rest and recuperate for the next week if she finds out; he’s beginning to realise that medics are quite a force to be reckoned with, recalling the dark-haired girl who had pretty much wrangled him into the makeshift bed and refused to let him leave until some of the colour had returned to his cheeks.

nevertheless, he’s a free man once more, although he wonders if that freedom will be put at risk once the blonde leader of the camp finds him. he doesn’t have much of a choice though; while he’d managed not to lose all of his supplies, the damn looter that knifed him did manage to get away with a good amount of his food, and he’d only managed to pick up a couple of makeshift weapons and first aid kits while on his scavenging trip the day before. useful for sure, but not exactly what he needs at the moment.

it’s good enough to trade though. he’s not a part of the camp but he’s not quite an unfamiliar face either, and the guards wave him through easily enough when he mentions wanting to trade. first, he drops off the first aid kits at the trading station before making his way towards the stockroom.

‘ matthew beckett, favourite colour’s red. ’ the smile in her voice makes it hard for him not to mirror her expression, although he rushes to add, ‘ i’m not exactly a member of the camp, though. just dropping off some supplies in exchange for food. ’

“Okay, Matthew-Beckett-favorite-colour’s-red,” Ryan said playfully, waving the younger boy into the stockroom. “Come on back.”

She’d seen his face before, thought that maybe she’d helped to facilitate a trade for him sometime and knew for sure that he was a visitor from an outside camp. To be honest, even though Ryan loved interacting with all of the familiar faces from the Costco camp, visitors always felt like a special treat. A peek into the outside world, if you will. She hadn’t actually been outside since she’d walked into the wholesale store a few weeks back. She was too afraid of facing the reality of what she’d find - the injuries she’d seen on some of the traders and guards after their run-ins with... whatever those things were out there, being more than enough to convince her stay within solid walls.

When visitors came... well, they helped remind Ryan that there was still something more than death outside. She needed that. As long as others were surviving out there then maybe... maybe her dad was, too.

She turned back to face Matthew and tried to push those morbid thoughts aside.

Harlow had been to the department store turned survivor-haven a handful of times before–It happened to be the closest group of living people that the Rodeway Inn knew about. They were always looking for any reason to get out of the Inn, and the reasons came easily enough these days. While the Rodeway Inn was fairly well stocked for the moment, there were certain resources the other survivors had that they just didn’t. The constructors always made it a point to send Harlow to Costco, looking for anything to build up their defenses with; which is what brought Harlow there now, watching the woman with a raised brow and a look that said they were questioning her sanity.

They kicked up the skateboard they’d made their way through the camp on, holding it by their side as they. “…I’m from the Rodeway Inn. Couldn’t find any of your traders so I was sent to you.” Harlow explained, jumping over the stranger’s questions. As they waited for a response, they looked over the woman’s shoulder into the stockroom–doing their best to judge how full it was.

They let out a small snort, noticing the candy canes and stickers hanging off the bags. “Do you need some wrapping paper to go with that? Some Christmas lights and tinsel?” Harlow said sarcastically, commenting on the decor. After a moment they shrugged slightly, adjusting the heavy pack on their shoulders. “–Might even have some. No idea what’s in here anymore.” They muttered, more to themself.

Ryan was used to the sarcastic comments by now. The tired and jaded people who looked at her like she was losing her mind just because she preferred to make things brighter, happier, easier, where she could. Ryan tried not to let those kind of people get to her because she liked to think that she understood them, and that wouldn’t change where the Rodeway Inn visitor in front of her was concerned. Their aura made her wonder what their story was. There was always a story behind a person’s walls, she’d found. And the higher the walls, the deeper the story, oftentimes...

“We do have wrapping paper as a matter of fact. Would’ve used it except that I’ve always been shit at wrapping,” Ryan answered smoothly. “Look, maybe it’s no frills down at Rodeway but here I do things differently, k? I see a lot of frustrated people in this job. A lot of scared people. So, if I can slap a sticker on these bad boys to make their kid or their grandma smile, then hey.” Ry shrugged. “Consider it done.”

Siwa stood outside of the stockroom, quickly glancing down at the watch on his wrist. There were still a handful of moments before he was meant to make sure that the provisioner had done her job correctly. He was sure she had, being confident in each of the people working in his camp, but it was still his job to make sure that things were running smoothly.

As soon as he saw the watch click over to 9:00am, he started to walk into the stockroom, smiling as he looked at the young woman. He was unable but to smile as he looked at the provisioner.

“Siwazuri Andenet. And I would like to say maroon, because it makes me look quite handsome, or possibly green. Like the green-eyed devil, which Shakespeare coined in Othello.”

“Oh, Good morning, Mr. Andenet. Maroon and green are great choices.” Ryan greeted the man warmly, his theater references brightening her smile. Not long ago she’d feel nervous if Siwa dropped by during her shift, even when he did so bearing the gift of Shakespeare recitations to lighten the mood. He was the leader of the whole place after all, and coming into it, she’d been completely oblivious to the job. But today, Ryan felt settled. Confident. Her shift didn’t start until 9:00am but she’d been in the stockroom since 7:00am, poring over the inventory logs and preparing. Making sure everything was just right just like she used to do on the morning of a game day or in the hours before a client interview. She liked that the work made her feel normal.

While she’s technically not supposed to be inside the Costco camp, the leader was kind enough to grant her entrance as she passed through. Not the sort of person to loot or come in uninvited (which one could easily deduce within the first fifteen minutes of knowing her ), the pit stop was purely for educational purposes. They had a whole store full of things to ration to their people and clearly weren’t struggling to make ends meet, but for her camp it wasn’t quite as simple. Their provisioners do the best they can with keeping things divided evenly, but sometimes it just isn’t enough; especially not for someone in her position. Staying well fed and rested are about half of her job, both equally important to keeping her going.

As no one’s hopped into line quite yet, she sees the chance and takes it. “ I’m not one of you lot, so I can’t have rations. But–” having been met with a smile as she turned to face her, Mary returns it not long after, readily extending her hand for the other in introduction. “The name’s Mariella Caulfield. And pink just so happens to be the best colour, I’d say.” She chuckles as she leans to the side, peering inside the stockroom over the girl’s shoulder. Her eyes involuntarily widen at the sight of all their food just waiting to be handed out, but she contains her reaction for the sake of pleasantries. This isn’t her terf, and stepping on any toes is the last thing she wants to do. “I’m just visiting! Was wondering if you could walk me through your process. Might have some helpful tips for me to take home to my group.”

“Nice to meet you, Mariella! Of course. Come on in.” Ry waves the woman in, welcoming her into the stockroom as if she were ushering a visitor into her own home (it’s not unlike that, Ry thinks; she certainly spends enough time in there to warrant feeling that way). “Pink is a good color, but I don’t know about the best,” Ryan teases. “I’m partial to purple myself.” With a wink, she clasps her hands in front of her, ready to explain anything that Mariella was curious about. Ryan wasn’t privy to any of the workings of the other camps or how their ration processes worked. The only thing she knows, from bits and pieces of conversations that she’d caught during dinnertime mostly, was that the Costco camp’s provision situation far outranked the other camps nearby.

“There’s not that much to it, really - and I think all of us provisioners do it differently - but basically it’s just following these rules on calorie and water requirements by age then we pull items that fulfill those requirements. See?” Ryan moves to the side of the room where a set of rationing rules was posted, pointing at it where it hung taped to the wall. She hates those rules. Not because they aren’t helpful or necessary; no - she hates them because they make her remember that, here, people are really just a set of numbers in the end. Just a formula for how many apples or pounds of beef that they’re allowed weighed against the stock they have on hand. “I can give you a copy of that if you need,” Ry offers, trying to tuck her sadness away behind her voice. 

The tags were a special touch, she thought. The tiny candy canes and Santas and Rudolphs gave off a happy vibe… In fact, if she cleared her mind of the horrors of the present, she could pretend like there was no disaster looming outside. She could pretend like all this was normal and she was just handing out groceries to people in need like she used to do with her dad when they volunteered at the shelter during the holiday months… 

When the sound of footfalls came outside the door to the stockroom, Ryan checked her watch. It was 9:00am. Time for the first shift of ration distribution to start for the day. Putting on a bright smile, she turned to face her first customer.

“First name, last name and favorite color, please.” The sound of her smile carried on her voice. “Those first two things are mandatory. The last one’s just for fun.”

hey, fellow survivors! i’m just getting off work and headed home so i’ll miss a good chunk of plotting time during the commute but please do feel free to still reach out to me for plotting! i’m down to brainstorm whatever, my responses will just be a bit delayed. :)