#twl open

They were good people, here. He could use that. No one would look twice at him because he was supposed to be part of them and no one knew how little that actually meant to Justin, honestly. They were good conversationalists. Good fighters, good in general. But it didn’t matter whose wounds might have been soothed in the future by this medicine if it meant he didn’t have to spend another painfully-dull hour sober. Only, no matter how aggressively he rifled through things, nothing good appeared that he could use. Justin clicked his tongue, irritated.

“Fucking useless,” he mumbled, furrowing his brow and starting to pick through individual pieces, trying to find something he might have missed.

Instead, she lingers near her truck, pacing, poking, prodding, peering needlessly beneath the open hood. Her gun feels too heavy where it’s strapped to her thigh, but the weight of the blade at her hip is comforting, and she’s long since stopped noticing the way she reaches for it every so often. As if it might just disappear if she lets it go unchecked for too long.

She’s on her fourth semi-aimless lap around the truck when her skin prickles. Head cocked, she waits for the sound of footsteps before casting one last glance over the engine and shutting the hood. “Careful where you wander.” She lifts a hand to briefly block the sun shining in her eyes, then points, leaning uneasily against the side of the truck. “There’s a whole bunch of stinging nettle that way, if you go back too far.”

Including the one across the street, the squat brown building that holds Zoe’s attention now. Gun always at her side, four lanes of abandoned highway and broken down cars separating them from the medical center. It seemed worth a look at least, even if she has little optimism what might be found inside at this point.

The sound of footsteps behind her draws her attention, a glance back at the approaching figure before she nods her head at the building.

“Got a gun?”

He’s not about to poop all over anyones philosophy or beliefs.  Nor is he going to refuse the generous invitation.  But he doesn’t necessarily have to agree with them... Or particularly like it.  He kinda feels as though he’s had gooseflesh prickling his skin ever since he stepped foot in the place.  

Which is why he’s set himself to one side.  Nose to the window, looking out on the bleak landscape beyond.  And yeah, he’s fairly sure there are things moving out there.  A flicker here.  A shade there.  

“Probably the wind.”

It’s just a small mutter.  A casual musing.  As though saying it out loud might actually help him to believe his own thoughts.  

...Probably.

His legs are out and he’s grateful it’s warm. If he were younger or the world circumstances different, he’d be shy about sitting in just his boxers but his self-consciousness had died a while ago. The worst of his scars are out of sight, anyhow, nothing but a few long scratches and bullet wounds from good old dad. It was the arms ( and face ) that took the brunt of them.

Vaguely he’s aware of someone hovering nearby, Kane sees enough in his peripheral to know they’ve stopped because of him or his terrible taste in tunes. “Get your free looks in now,” he deadpans out, not looking away from his sewing, “Stick around too long and I’ll have to start charging.”

As the sun started to dim and sink below the horizon, he stood and went to the edge of the building, looking down at the parking lot and the buildings close by. This wasn’t some impregnable fortress, this wasn’t like the base he’d left to come with this group. This place was vulnerable and while they had patrol schedules to keep the group safe, he didn’t know how much trust to put in those who were wandering around the building watching for signs of danger. 

A creak of the door behind him had him glancing back to see who was coming up here to disturb him. He saw who it was and gave a puff of his cigarette in their direction before looking back out over the view. 

“What do you want?” he asked, not exactly inviting, but amicable enough to allow them to stay if they wanted. 

It felt terrible. Waiting around for something to happen. Someone to confront him. Instead, he’s just waiting for nothing and burning through too many smokes. Making up for lost time. He’d been told to not bother helping with the patrol. That he could look for supplies later. He felt like a child or a sick person. Relegated to getting ‘rest’ and a ‘break’. 

Worst of all: they were right. He’s sat on the back of the RV, perched on a little step as he’s attempting to light another cigarette. He’d wasted most of it, clicking and clicking, watching the little spark and the tiny bit of fuel left. A click. A spark. Nothing. A click. A spark.  Nothing. Click. No spark.

“Fuck you!” he shouts still holding the smoke between his lips. Flinging the lighter. And... it hits someone. Nothing that’ll hurt but... it’s shitty timing. 

They kept her alive. It wasn’t the other way around.

Charlie sits on the cold ground, repacking her backpack now that the heat is beginning to melt the snow. Spring has finally sprung and she prays it isn’t a fluke that grants them a weekend of sunshine before plunging the east coast back into the cruel grasps of Winter. The sound of foot steps catches her attention as she rolls up the heavy coat, too big to fit in her bag without taking up the majority of the space. “What would you do with this?” she asks, gesturing to the bundle that used to be her second skin against the chill.