#thrillor

moonlight guides him down into into the familiar underground hideout, peering into the darkness with one hand that grips tightly onto the railing until he's made it to the ground floor. it's almost exactly how michael remembers it: intense. quiet, which makes it even more apparent to michael how hard his heart beats inside his chest. he doesn't really know why he's here, after everything that happened.

an ornate wine bottle left out on the coffee table catches michael's eye, and he freezes. he hesitates, but slowly approaches and when he does-- he hears them. distant, faded chants, echoing throughout the cavernous space. join us, join us, join us. he blinks and all of a sudden, he's standing beside the worn leather couch, his hand reaching out towards the bottle. he shakes his head, an attempt to rid himself of old, pointless memories when he thinks he sees blonde hair out of the corner of his eye.

@thrillor said: “thanks for having my back.”

she's here on business. she must remind herself that the past is the past, and the present is all she has. ( there's complicated feelings when it comes to nessa -- she wonders if the girl resents her for what she did. though glinda can't be blamed for the way the world is treating her, she's not doing much to prevent it. )

so, she tries to be professional. she tries to show decorum as she approaches the house. softly, she taps her knuckles against the door, free hand holding her new wand tightly to her side. when the door swings open, her smile is encouraging, though it doesn't reach her eyes.

"now why would i do that?" her voice is teasing, a lightness to it. that was their dynamic anyways - their love language. it had worked the best for them for their whole relationship. carol was the downer, someone full of sarcasm and doom, while helen was someone who could deal with that energy. who could bring carol back to earth when she needed to be humbled or needed to be better.

"I DUNNO. I THINK MAYBE I WORRY TOO MUCH. was i - hm... i dunno..." soft sigh, voice still a bit heavy with sleep. she knows she talks in her sleep, though solveig supposes ben's murmurings against her neck confirms it. maybe she should be more concerned - her intuition, if you can call whatever she mumbled in her dreams that, has always been good. can feel doom and worry in a way that would make someone that doesn't know any better believe they have a cassandra complex, or something along those lines.

but solveig knows better. and ben listens to her worries, even when they're brought forth in dreams that she doesn't remember, or when they're about her fretting over his chest to the point she works herself up into tears for, if she's being honest, NO GOOD REASON. so she's not suffering from a cassandra complex - and even if she was, she wouldn't be able to bring herself to care. she's so warm, her back to his chest, his breaths tickling against her skin and curls. soothing her into being half asleep again.

she finds herself more concerned about kissing him in this moment -- worries, perhaps a bit silly but honest, about kissing him. what if her morning breath is terrible and he decides never to kiss her EVER again? she'd surely cry, flood the apartment with her tears and wash him away into the street. or what if - oh, and she could never show her face to him ever again - her retainer slips when she kisses him, and he laughs at her! sol's thoughts are soothed when she feels the press of his thumb between her brows, soothing away the worry she's sure he knew would be there.

Russell stepped back from the burning embers, bright hues looking over the unmoving forms that were lit. They'd just finished fighting off what felt like too many walkers to be considered a normal movement, but no one was saying that out loud. Their small little encampment was usually safe, but this morning they'd woken to the sounds of one of their fences breaking open-- the metal wire snapping under the weight of how many walkers there were. The group had managed to fight them back and a few people were already fixing the fence, but something about all of it felt off. Where had they come from? How had the fence not held? Sure there were plenty pressing at it, but it should've held longer or even better...

His nose wrinkled at the smell of burning decayed flesh and he turned away from the sight, moving towards where @thrillor was stood looking towards the fence that was being repaired. The other man came to a stop next to Nick and he folded his arms across his chest, frown worming its way to his lips. He was trying not to think too much on it, but it felt like he had to. Someone had to. He knew he'd go to Lucille at some point with his concerns, but she was busy helping others calm themselves from what could've been an onslaught of hell. For now he had to relay his thoughts elsewhere and Nick felt like the right choice.

"It feels off," Russell began, voice low and head turning to look at Nick, "Whatever this was... I know these fuckers ain't coordinated, but something about this felt planned."

no force did this, seen or unseen. no eldritch monsters or shapeshifting husbands, only the panic of a creeping black shadow clawing its way into her chest until she realizes it was only headlights. only a distortion of what was already there, gone as quickly as it came. the panic still wells, brief and insistent, her eyes still stinging from tears cried in not so distant memory. hands shaking, she reaches for her phone, it takes her more time than she would like to admit to compose anything that classifies as something both coherent and that she's willing to send. [ ( @thrillor ) txt: lex foster ; 10:03 PM ( DRAFT ) ] : i'm sorry, lex, for everything. [ txt: lex foster ; 10:04 PM ( DRAFT ) ]: i never meant to hurt you. [ txt: lex foster ; 10:04 PM ( DRAFT ) ]: do you ever wonder if you can still trust me?