#fighterfrankie

Time passed with almost no recognition for Axel after that morning. It still ebbed and flowed but Axel just rode it out, let it take him where it pleased. He moved like a robot of sorts, threw himself into his work so that he couldn’t be able to feel anymore; took his shifts at the fence and more, went on the scheduled runs and stepped in on any others that he could. Helped around the city, acted as if everything was okay - but it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be. In the short period of time he had free to himself he couldn’t sleep, and when he did it was tormented with nightmares. 

The pain numbed after a while. Days that melded into weeks that pooled into months blurred by. Eventually the hurt washed away, replaced with nothing but a dull ache in his chest and an emptiness in his heart. He hadn’t known her long but he’d come to know her well, and having Frankie slip through his fingertips was the biggest mistake he’d made yet. She was something special to him. He could’ve done something. He could’ve saved her. 

Or maybe he couldn’t have - but he had deluded himself into thinking it was his fault, his fault that she was dead. Not those who had attacked Fall City and torn it to pieces, not Xavier or any of his men. It was his fault because he couldn’t be there when she needed him most. 

But this was the new reality and it was what he would have to live with from now on. Xavier had disappeared, the attack on Fall City nothing but a distant memory, and they had been forced to move on. 

So he took up his post at the gates just like any other night, pacing back and forth at the post, kicking up dirt with his boot. It had gone like almost any other night so far until a noise had him raising his gun, pointed in the direction of the entryway. His first thought was a clicker or something of that sort; it more than often was just one that had wandered a little too close to their borders, maybe attracted by the noise of the group. But the figure in the distance walked with some authority, clear cognitive thought. Not infected. He squinted, barrel of his weapon trained on the approaching person.

“Identify yourself. Now.” 

six-word sentences.

                         “Fine t’en PRINCESS ‘ave it yer fuckin’ way--”

Lance scoffed, brows knitted together as he threw his pack overhis shoulder and secured it there, mumbling in some languagemost likely Gaelic about how this young woman was beyond juststubborn and annoying but how he’d like to just throw her over his shoulder and get them back to where they were supposed tobe. But no, he’d be a bloody fuckin’ gentleman and let her sit on her fine little ass and do whatever the fuck she wanted. 

Stubborn-- he was just that in his own right but when he hit headswith someone else who was equal parts as stubborn as he, the Irishman’s face seemed to scrunch up and turn a shade of red mostly out of his frustration but not everyone took it that way. Hewas, after all, known for his talent with his fists and everyone tendedto assume he was quick to rage. Which was quite the opposite.

Lance grew up with a man who was more than quick to anger anddespite his previous profession, Lance never wanted to be like thatman--- never wanted to mirror the scars that he had on his persononto someone else. He was a gentle man who had been forged ina world of violence, it was the only thing he understood or knew forthat matter. If it hadn’t been for his mother Lance might not have even knew how to be caring towards other people. Still, Frankie’sstubborn streak wasn’t getting him anywhere closer to getting homeand getting some sleep-- that and a shot of the whiskey he’d found.

                     “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, get off yer arse an’ move,                        I wanna get back before t’e light is completely                        gone an’ I ‘ave no problem leavin’ ye right t’e                       fuck ‘ere-- now let’s go.”

It was a last ditch effort to get her to go or even move half an inch. Lance really didn’t want to stay where they were but he wasn’treally going to leave her there. But he did make well on moving away and out of sight, if she decided to stay even still then it wasn’this fault. He’d just have to explain to her brother, who would likelywant to kill Lance if he didn’t return with Frankie, that she was a stubborn little shit and it had taken everything in the Irishman notto tie her up and haul her away. Free will, yeah, that was importantto Lance. He’d never make someone do something they didn’t want.Even if it meant leaving Frankie’s ass in the middle of some desolatebuilding because she didn’t want to ‘go’.

♛ – sharing a dessert

“Holy shit, a Twinkie.”

Before the apocalypse, there had been jokes about this sort of thing happening. Internet archives had been filled with speculation about the longest lasting foodstuffs, and practically every one of them had mentioned Twinkies in one form or another. But now Savannah could say for certain (though she didn’t know who she would say it to) that these little dessert cakes had survived the fall of civilization.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d eaten a Twinkie. Reverently, she lifted the sweet, still in its plastic wrapper, from the shelf. It was intact—maybe a little squished—but it definitely hadn’t been open, and therefore, it wasn’t infected. She turned to motion to her scouting partner. A quick wave of Savannah’s hand, and Frankie was with her.

“Look at this,” she said. “It’s untouched.”

Twinkies had little to no nutritional value. And this one was unlikely to survive a trip in her backpack back to the food center without being crushed. It wouldn’t hurt to just... eat it here, right? Cautiously, Savannah unwrapped the dessert. She split it in half as best as she could, offering one half to Frankie.

Savannah had never been a great fan of artificially sugary things, but this--this tasted like heaven. It tasted like being eleven and presenting her paper mache model of a human cell at her school’s science fair. It tasted like being nineteen and so unsure of herself, of spending late nights studying in her dorm room. It tasted like fireworks on the fourth of July over the skyline. Like her parents welcoming her home, like Nina laughing at her from beneath the covers, like a patient giving her a tired but satisfied smile. It tasted like the past, the rapidly vanishing memories of a world now forever changed. She felt like crying.

He could write novels with the words he would never say; the way they intertwined themselves around his beating heart and tightened as if they were nothing far from a noose. It was as if no matter how far his stilted legs could carry him; no matter how much alcohol his burdens may drown under; there was always a single lingering thought: 

“How can you still want someone; when all you were was a train wreck?”

Perhaps the whiskey had consumed the devil within him; clawed at the base of each foot and lured him like prey to trap; but he walked nonetheless. He walked with the prowess only the inebriated possessed; without fear of the world - without fear of the consequences.

May he be over his head; a victim to naivety and the plagued soul of a man with a broken heart; the outcome his own personal downfall. However, despite the surging desire to make sense of the situation, there was only one thing on his mind: ever since he’d arrived to this damned place, the haunting features of a brunette woman consumed a temptress gaze, displaying nothing other than an inner battle of wrong and right. How the pair confessed sins in the midst of the night, yet allowed their days to dwindle by; reluctant in conversing, nor passing one another upon the dusted streets.

The woman who knew him better than most, no longer wished to know him anymore.

It scratched at the surface of his disguised his insanity.

As he faced the painted door of the building she resided in, his drunken legs stumbled against steps as hands lurched out for any support; and then his tightened knuckles rasped against the glass - a silent prayer no one would answer. God forbid they did; god forbid he awoke in the following hours and reveled in the distraught of knowing his intoxicated words had fueled the honesty he tried so hard to conceal.

Eventually, his dark hues confirmed the sight of the very woman he was unable to shift, her exhausted expression peeking an irritation he could only assume was caused by the late hours he decided to wake her from; but here he was, baring all and reveling in the idiotic nature a drunk would possess. 

Her features chewing him up and spitting him out once more.

The soft breeze that rustled the trees above the grave would have kissed Dahlia’s cheeks or swayed her blonde locks. It would have done the simplest of things to her, things she never gave a second thought to, had she been corporeal.

Her heart, which no longer beat, no longer told her that she was alive or afraid, ached as the words came out. Sorrowful eyes looked at her friend and Dahlia longed to comfort Frankie. As she stood behind the cross made from two skinny planks of wood, Dahlia hesitantly reached out. To touch Frankie would have been futile. She’d tried, many times she had tried. Each time, much to her dismay, her hand had gone through Frankie. Still, she wished to comfort her friend as she had before. 

Dahlia’s hand stopped, hovering a couple of inches above Frankie’s shoulder. She let all of her energy focus on that space, the space that separated the two. She wasn’t sure what it would accomplish, but she hoped it would accomplish something, that Frankie would feel her presence. She stared intently at the space, producing an energy that said, ‘I’m here and I miss you too’. 

Generated: 15

Axel hadn’t stopped pacing for days. Not since Frankie went out with the hunting party. He had hidden away in the lookout tower with eyes on the horizon for endless hours. No movement, no return - they were overdue now…

He should have been there with her, protecting her. If he had known he would have stopped her or made her take him along. 

                   — And of course, that was the reason she hadn’t told him she was going in the first place.

It was just before dawn when there was a shift on the horizon, a movement of four or five spilling out from the woods. Through the scope he saw the familiar faces of languid figures making their way back towards the camp. Four or five - that had been how many had left, right? Four or five? 

They weren’t short one, were they? He couldn’t see her. He didn’t see her among the group - where was she? 

In an instant he had dropped down from his post, slipping down the ladder in seconds and dropping to the ground. Then he was pulling the gate open, surveying the tired but victorious faces of his fellow survivors as they piled in…

“Frankie? Where’s Frankie?” One of the guys gave a jerk of the thumb behind him and then - there she was, bringing up the rear… 

“Thank fuck -” Axel mumbled before approaching the other and cupping her face in his hands. “Why did you leave?” He demanded, though his tone was more laced with concern, worry, elation than anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

She brushed off his concern, pushed his arms out of the way and slipped hers around his frame, tugging him into a hug and resting her cheek against his chest. “’Cause you’re an idiot and would throw a fit if I had said anything. I’m fine, Ax.” 

The only working stereo in Fall City was coveted, to say the least. Most of the town’s residents, not quite thinking about their post-apocalyptic playlist, stuck to playing whatever CD’s they’d found while out on the road or whatever had been found scavenging. The selection varied widely, but there seemed to be something for everyone. And, as a song that was all to familiar to Dahlia, a guilty pleasure, began to sound, the blonde began to bob her head to the music.