Xavier; Open
"Woah, no--man, don't shoot. I'm not infected. I'm serious. Could a sick fucker recite the alphabet backwards?"
The young infected scoffed at the solo bout of verbal role playing. What a disaster. What was the point of being capable of speech if he couldn't even use it to avoid danger?
"Fuck, man. Shit, I'm so dead if I run into anyone like--ever."
He'd kicked a sizable chunk of rubble and had flinched when it'd hit a nearby car, creating a loud enough thunk that an idle and nearby Common took to sprinting towards it. This, of course, ended up with the pitiful thing to ram stupidly into the useless hunk of metal and fall down, only to get up again and shamble off.
Xavier felt that it was a situation he could laugh at, but didn't. It felt wrong. Fuck, that had been a person once. They still were, technically speaking. Most days he could distract himself from how bad things actually were, but other days he could only wander around and contemplate just how fucking horrible shit had hit the fan and how the hell he was supposed to sanely deal with it all.
