Win.

The Paradise of Thorns | Costume Design by Chayanuch Savekvattana: Thongkham Focus

But he knows what it’s like to be out there alone and afraid, and he wonders if the regret of not acting will be worse than just doing it in the end.

He listens as he goes through the items, his face void of emotion like usual. It’s just how he’s learns to be, knowing that others being able to read him is a huge mistake. Even if he’s kind, he doesn’t have to be nice. He takes a couple of the canned items and stacks them, leaving them on the floor as he kneels. So, she’s alone and vulnerable, or she’s alone and highly capable of surviving on her own. He hesitates to say anything or react, slowly looking her up and down. She doesn’t give him the vibe of being evil, but he doesn’t trust that she could be as innocent as she is. But he knows there is still innocence out there.

He knows what it had been like, in a worse way: the hospital hadn’t been safe but they’d had no other choice but to wait for his leg to heal, to fit him for something to be able to walk. They’d seen how bad and emotional things could get firsthand. People sick, children dying, patients turning quicker than most. And parents at a loss. He was only alive because someone else had taken pity on him anyway.

"both, i guess.." perhaps evelyn should have considered herself lucky that she spent all these years creating herself in the image of what the covenant asked of her, cultivate a garden and forage for food, dress and prepare livestock- and above all how to be obedient. she could live through this if she could just play her role. "i can forage food and basic medicinals, and i can help grow a garden if you give me a bit of time." a good homemaker, a good wife- a thing to keep the others around her alive. washing the wounds lashed in the name of god, praying with bruised knees to a cold, black night. please, she wants to beg before she's a pile of bones left in the forest. please let me be enough to help. "but the forests are getting more dangerous, the fields over run, and old settlements are infested everywhere i go. there's just more of them. too many to stay anywhere for too long it seems, but god's kept me safe for this long. perhaps he will a little longer."

And he had gotten lucky. It wasn’t God that had saved him, it was an overworked, burnt out nurse who didn’t want to see another child die, carrying him away from the dead. Maybe that was gods way of working but he doesn’t believe that anymore.

So he can’t help but smile from where he crouches down, trying to cover his mouth with a hand as he looks up at the girl. He shouldn’t laugh at her, but it’s a quiet snicker. He had believed in god when he had first woken up, but it had soon faded. He’d only been taught of bought gods, regardless, and his leg had been enough merit for him to make.

“Who says I’m alone?” He continues to pack things into his bag carefully, not wanting to make it too heavy in case the straps snapped. He tests it with a hand, now avoiding her gaze again. “We are never alone with God? Isn’t that what you say? Your people?” He decides to stop playing games with her, just in case she snaps and kills him. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried.

He doesn’t normally answer questions but there’s a tone to her voice that compels him to at least look her up and down. Maybe she’s the type to lure people in with her innocence and then strikes to kill but he’s not waiting around to find out. Or maybe she’s alone and utterly desperate for any help she can get. He’s taken risks on both kinds of people before and he’s lived through it, but he still doesn’t answer the question. If he’s alone, she might think it’s easier to kill him. If she’s alone, he might think it’s easier to kill her. Do any of them win?

her eyes fixated on the man before her as he leans down to the bag, watching every move of his hands with caution. "it's just me," there's hesitation in her reply, hoping it's the right thing to do- to put trust into this stranger. but evelyn was still a long way from knowing how to trust her instincts, after all her whole life had been spent swallowing her intuition until it ached her insides. even now she didn't know what really was her intuition and what was the taught voice echoing in her head. fear.

But he knows what it’s like to be out there alone and afraid, and he wonders if the regret of not acting will be worse than just doing it in the end.

He listens as he goes through the items, his face void of emotion like usual. It’s just how he’s learns to be, knowing that others being able to read him is a huge mistake. Even if he’s kind, he doesn’t have to be nice. He takes a couple of the canned items and stacks them, leaving them on the floor as he kneels. So, she’s alone and vulnerable, or she’s alone and highly capable of surviving on her own. He hesitates to say anything or react, slowly looking her up and down. She doesn’t give him the vibe of being evil, but he doesn’t trust that she could be as innocent as she is. But he knows there is still innocence out there.

He knows what it had been like, in a worse way: the hospital hadn’t been safe but they’d had no other choice but to wait for his leg to heal, to fit him for something to be able to walk. They’d seen how bad and emotional things could get firsthand. People sick, children dying, patients turning quicker than most. And parents at a loss. He was only alive because someone else had taken pity on him anyway.

location: outside the old library

“i don’t know why i agreed to have lunch with you, what is this, a date?” kenjie asks rolling his eyes slightly at him. “or are you just doing that whole looking out for people thing? i don’t need that either.” kenjie says flatly, though he hands cato a spam and cheese sandwich, from an old spam container he found that he was surprised to still have contents in it and was probably a decade old at this point. “slim pickin’s at this point. i found some tomatoes the other day though, but i might be selfish and save those for myself. he squints at the sun shining through the clouds at cato who always appears to tower over him. “my eyes haven’t adjusted from the tunnels and the brightness of the sun yet, clearly.”

“A date? You think I’m pretty?” He jokes, flipping the ends of his hair that’s finally grown to his shoulders. He takes the food, happy to have any, knowing that it’s still an act of grace. Growing up poor, he’s had to learn to eat anything, but he pretends to has preferences. “I don’t like tomatoes anyway. Hurt my mouth. Acidic.”

Purpose: starter, closed with @hushedisasters

Having the best medical care you could possibly have at the time creates a pyramid of wait, and a certain level of need that has to be hit before anyone deemed it necessary. They didn’t tell each other that but they all often self-practiced this idea of waiting until the last possible moment. Feeling the intensity of something that might be handled on its own often pushed them to their extremes but they were hypocrites and that’s how hypocrites live so long. Cato can’t say he’s much different.

But now, he doesn’t have much of a choice. His leg is blistering and red, something like a sunburn he would get when he was younger and didn’t listen to his mother’s rules around sunblock, but he doesn’t very much see the sun these days. Here and there, he avoids it when he can, because it’s a direct line of vision for the dead— as far as their dead eyes can even see. His prosthetic hurts and it shouldn’t and even though he avoids whoever he can about it, it still leads to him getting forcibly dragged and dropped at the medic’s door after a dead end supply scavenge. He lies there for a minute and tries to decide if it’s crucial enough to be there but who else is going to make that call for him?

“hey,” she says quietly. “let’s get you inside.” she helps guide him over to the exam table, steady and unhurried, making sure he’s settled before stepping back. “you can sit. take a second.” her eyes go to his leg almost immediately, the redness hard to miss now that the light’s better.

“Yeah, no shit.” He says it without thinking about his lack of filter and looks up at her, slapping a hand over his mouth. He don’t know if she’ll react like the others but he doesn’t think so. “Sorry. Uh… it hurts when it’s on. It feels better if it’s off but then… you know.”

He knows that anyone is smart enough to reason that the leg stays on even if he’s not actively engaged in anything but he wants to keep it off for a few days. He’s not particularly used to not having it on, the weight distribution still unsettling some nights.

He shifts his wheels to get closer to the other so that he can’t walk away but also to hear him better, his long winded threats only intriguing him more. He knows there’s weight behind the ask and maybe tension from the fact he doesn’t really know, or understand, this stranger and he has no indication that they’d get along, but he’s chosen to be a pest for the rest of the night, so he sees it through.

⋆🐾⋆ could it actually be? could this actually be someone in new eden genuinely wanting to stick around oakes despite the demeanor he gives off? oakes chuckles lightly in response to cato's impression on him, ❝ who, me? i talk funny? now how do i talk funny? ❞ oakes decides to brush that question away and speak up again only this time shifting the focal point about cato.

The weather is bad: which is good. He tended to have better luck when the conditions weren’t ideal. People tended to stay in place when it was bad weather and the conditions often confused the dead. But if there was a storm, he would feel it coming. His body always ached when it did and he could smell it, used to the damp air. He tries to make it quick: shaking things into his own bag, discarding the others so he wouldn’t drag back any recognition. There’s things they need and there’s things that have no use: wrappers, garbage, all reminders of people who were loved once. Now all they need is what they can get: expired medications, food, supplies, batteries.

"it's yours," the words softer than she intended, not daring to look away from the stranger. "just please let me walk away without harm." fear almost gripping the words in her throat, but she manages them this time. she manages her plea. what a dangerous thing to ask from a stranger though, putting your life in the hands of a stranger. to trust that it would suffice if she simply walked away and let them keep it to themselves. but she was tired, and hungry, and knew that whatever was in that bag was never going to be worth her own life.

He doesn’t normally answer questions but there’s a tone to her voice that compels him to at least look her up and down. Maybe she’s the type to lure people in with her innocence and then strikes to kill but he’s not waiting around to find out. Or maybe she’s alone and utterly desperate for any help she can get. He’s taken risks on both kinds of people before and he’s lived through it, but he still doesn’t answer the question. If he’s alone, she might think it’s easier to kill him. If she’s alone, he might think it’s easier to kill her. Do any of them win?

Location: nothside, old city hall

Purpose: event 001, open starter to all

Usually, noise made him nervous— there was safety in the quiet, in the absolute knowledge that quiet served a purpose. Even if it wasn’t extensively loud, he tries to kick the jitters and the feeling of jinxing safety by engaging in vulnerability, like the rest of them. Is it vulnerable to come as you are? When there’s safety in numbers, he doesn’t think there’s any other way. The overlook is what he’s used to; eyes keen on always finding something but there’s nothing here but bodies. Alive, joyous, celebratory. The best he can do is not add to the anxiety of everyone else, too used to trauma to hang onto the idea of hope. But there’s a small part of him that’s happy about it. Fifteen years is a long time. And as they pass by, they blend together, and a part of him still feels like time hasn’t passed. He might be the only one.

He decides that if the others are going to take the night off, he can at least try and follow by example. For the first time in forever, he removes his blade and sticks to a wheelchair, the prosthetic slung over the back of the chair. Can never be too careful. He’s never been to a party before and he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do: talk to people, sit in the corner and drink? Alcohol has never been something he thinks highly of, given the situation— but he decides he can do anything else.

He busies himself by wheeling back and forth or in circles, either easing the tension of his companions or adding to their confusion: either way, he hopes it’s a welcome distraction. He nudges the reader with his good leg, prodding at their calf with his boot.

sunbleach's  set  had  just  ended.  a  folk  band  blue  couldn’t  remember  the  name  of  had  been  playing  after  them.  if  blue  was  being  brutally  honest,  he  didn’t  give  a  shit  about  this  gathering.  he  only  had  interest  in  playing  the  set  he  was  meant  to  do,  pocketing  the  tips,  and  going  to  the  red  light.

not  before  a  cigarette,  though.

with  his  beaten-up  guitar  case  next  to  his  feet,  blue  leaned  against  the  city  hall's  brick  wall,  shaking  his  lighter  to  get  the  last  of  his  lighter  fluid  to  work.  he  looked  up  at  the  string  lights  hung  across  the  buildings.  it  was  cute,  blue  thought  as  his  thumb  blindly  worked  at  the  flint  wheel,  hearing  three  empty  clicks  before  finally  a  flame  lit.  he  sighed  in  relief,  working  quickly  to  light  the  hand-rolled  cigarette  and  placing  it  between  his  lips.

“i'll  let  you  bum  one  if  you  buy  me  a  drink  at  redlight  later,”  blue  said  when  he  felt  a  presence  approach  him,  though  he  kept  his  gaze  forward,  inhaling  the  smoke  through  his  teeth  then  blowing.  the  tobacco  smell  hit  him  almost  instantly,  making  his  face  pinch  slightly.  it  was  such  a  nasty  habit,  he  thought.  “or  are  you  here  to  tell  me  what  an  amazing  job  sunblech  did  tonight.  i  know.  we're  amazing."  his  dry  tone  left  it  up  in  the  air  whether  he  was  joking  or  not.

that  seemed  to  be  a  recurring  theme  with  blue.

He observes like he usually does before interacting, inching closer to the smell of nicotine, a rare occurrence in their daily lives but everyone seemed to indulge when they could. He wasn’t a big smoker because he knew what it could lead to but living life without a promised future meant he was always getting into something, and there was nothing more sure than the moments that came in between small social moments like this one. He carries his own lighter, stealing as many as he can find from the outside. Sometimes they worked, sometimes they didn’t, but he fiddles with his own as he sneaks his fingers into Blue’s pocket without asking to steal a cigarette.

“I came for this. Your music is good, all music is good. But this is better.” He twirls it between his fingers. “You don’t look like a drinker. Are you sure this is an equal trade?”

Location: nothside, old city hall

Purpose: event 001, open starter to all

Usually, noise made him nervous— there was safety in the quiet, in the absolute knowledge that quiet served a purpose. Even if it wasn’t extensively loud, he tries to kick the jitters and the feeling of jinxing safety by engaging in vulnerability, like the rest of them. Is it vulnerable to come as you are? When there’s safety in numbers, he doesn’t think there’s any other way. The overlook is what he’s used to; eyes keen on always finding something but there’s nothing here but bodies. Alive, joyous, celebratory. The best he can do is not add to the anxiety of everyone else, too used to trauma to hang onto the idea of hope. But there’s a small part of him that’s happy about it. Fifteen years is a long time. And as they pass by, they blend together, and a part of him still feels like time hasn’t passed. He might be the only one.

He decides that if the others are going to take the night off, he can at least try and follow by example. For the first time in forever, he removes his blade and sticks to a wheelchair, the prosthetic slung over the back of the chair. Can never be too careful. He’s never been to a party before and he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do: talk to people, sit in the corner and drink? Alcohol has never been something he thinks highly of, given the situation— but he decides he can do anything else.

He busies himself by wheeling back and forth or in circles, either easing the tension of his companions or adding to their confusion: either way, he hopes it’s a welcome distraction. He nudges the reader with his good leg, prodding at their calf with his boot.

⋆🐾⋆ oakes could be the odd guy to exaggerate in showing off his dance moves in this occasion if he wanted to, but today he felt like babysitting his drinks and watching everyone else try to outshine him. this would be his courtesy move in response to the people in new eden saying he does too much, he'd be on his best behavior, only for today. that's all they would get it. but to oakes surprise, someone had nudged him to dance. he knew that cato was obviously directing this request to him, and yet the asshole in him glances behind before he glances back at cato.

He shifts his wheels to get closer to the other so that he can’t walk away but also to hear him better, his long winded threats only intriguing him more. He knows there’s weight behind the ask and maybe tension from the fact he doesn’t really know, or understand, this stranger and he has no indication that they’d get along, but he’s chosen to be a pest for the rest of the night, so he sees it through.

dreary was the overhead sky, dark clouds cloaking the late afternoon sun and all that could be heard was the gradual gusts of wind that disturbed nearby trees. evelyn carefully tracked through the long abandoned settlement, but just because there wasn't a soul in sight didn't mean she could feel at ease. it had felt like weeks now, walking through these desolate locations, one slow step in front of the other- she was running low on water, and her stomach had been aching for days, but there wasn't a choice. it was foolish to stay in one place too long, she'd seen the way the undead would always find these bunkers. that was if they hadn't destroyed themselves from the inside out first. and a place like this, already rummaged and ransacked, she knew she never could be truly alone here.

so each step over broken glass was cautious, and she did her best to remain vigilant searching for what she needed before she moved on again. it felt so out of place when she finally saw it, a bag thrown to the ground, items half scattered outside of it. thrown away in some last last-ditch effort. evelyn starts rushing towards it, impatient to find what contents were inside, but she should have known better. she stopped herself too late, out in the open, staring at another survivor. her heart raced, you never knew who you were coming across, and you didn't know what they'd do for another last chance at survival.

The weather is bad: which is good. He tended to have better luck when the conditions weren’t ideal. People tended to stay in place when it was bad weather and the conditions often confused the dead. But if there was a storm, he would feel it coming. His body always ached when it did and he could smell it, used to the damp air. He tries to make it quick: shaking things into his own bag, discarding the others so he wouldn’t drag back any recognition. There’s things they need and there’s things that have no use: wrappers, garbage, all reminders of people who were loved once. Now all they need is what they can get: expired medications, food, supplies, batteries.