josie jones

Cian smirked and nodded in approval that he was sure she didn’t need. “My kinda woman.” he said, reaching inside of his coat and pulling out the stub of a half-smoked cigarette. Now that his hands were slightly less numb, he was able to strike the matches he had and light up. It wasn’t a good habit, and one that was hard to keep up with what with the world in such a state, but it curbed his hunger. Best to do it before he ate, that one one small can would feel like an actual meal, and not just a small bit of something teasing his empty stomach.

At her litany of names he just smiled and nodded. “Josie, then.” he said with a nod. “Feel like we’d need to get ‘better acquainted’ before I called ye’ a psycho bitch.” he told her with a cheeky wink. For some reason that he didn’t bother to suss out, not even the end of the fucking world could stop him from trying to charm beautiful women. If it was a flaw, it was one he was pretty damn proud of. He laughed at himself, making it clear he wasn’t serious. Women weren’t always thrilled at jokes like that, and if there was ever going to be a woman to punch him in the face, he had a feeling this one would be more than happy to take that on.

“Wouldn’t ya’ like to come with me? Keep an eye on me, as it were.” he asked, and it his words betray how deeply lonely he had been, it was nothing he would apologize for. Some people were made to be alone, and although Cian could survive without others, he didn’t much want to. Being the last man on earth sounded unbearable to him. “C’mon, Josie girl. I’m great company. I’m sure I could even tell ye’ a story or two that might actually make ye’ crack a smile.” he offered, exhaling a plume of smoke and waiting for her response.

Originally posted by hotmessfassy

The remark doesn’t earn a single twitch in her expression. Perhaps it should but she thinks all it truly says about him is that he might recognize she isn’t one to be messed with, that she’ll blind him without a second thought. Josie’s also too preoccupied with his movements, fingers tightening on her weapon when he reaches inside his coat for something she can’t see. The Irish man doesn’t strike her as a fool, but he could surprise her. People are full of surprises when they want to be. But all the man is searching for is a smoke and that is something she can’t fault him for, something she also might partake in once she dumps this stranger on someone else’s shoulders. The tension in her shoulders eases and she holsters her weapon then - hands now free but that doesn’t make her any less deadly.

If the weather was warmer, she might’ve smirked at the idea he needed to know her better to refer to her as a ‘psycho bitch’. Most never take the time but that isn’t their fault. She’s aware she comes off standoffish on her best days. It’s never been a thing she’s minded when the human race does more to annoy her than satisfy her. And maybe they’ve earned her respect, the ones who crown her with such a title, for listening to their gut instincts. Because it isn’t wrong.

But before she can deny him his request for companionship and the chance to gift her the title of a psycho bitch, Cian claims his own nickname for her, one that causes a reaction. Blue eyes narrow, a stare that had been icy from the start. And if the words that jab past her lips could be seen as teasing and even humorous, there’s a dryness to her tone that colors her annoyance in more vibrant shades. “Not on the approved list of names. Lose it or you’ll lose your tongue.”

Josie nods towards the hall where the more social individuals of the group are gathered. “Ya want friends? Talk to someone who gives a fuck.”

Cian lowers his hands slow, giving her time to change her mind before nodding and heading inside. “Appreciate it, love.” he tells her, and he means it. Walking inside, the place isn’t necessarily warmer, but it’s blocking the bone chilling wind and that already creates a huge difference. Cian cups his hands in front of his mouth, blowing air onto them and rubbing them. It’s mostly a futile gesture, but even the brief moment of warm air on his hands is a relief. He looks behind him at the woman and gives her a small smile. “Not sure how you made a kindness sound like an insult, but looks to me like you might be the type to do that a lot.” he says before gesturing to the bruise around her eye. “Person who did that to ya’ still alive?”

Cian wasn’t going to lie to himself, he really hoped the answer was no. There was no excuse to hit a woman. No doubt the tiny, ballsy blonde had probably held her own- she seemed scrappy and capable. Still, you don’t hit women… and if that was the kind of people she was here with, he wasn’t sure he could assure anyone that he would be peaceful for all that long.

“D’ya got a name then?” Cian asks, looking around the office building. He could hear chatter further in the distance but saw no one. That didn’t bother him, so long as the blonde had the authority to bring him in. He tried to only be held at gunpoint once a day. “Or a sandwich works too, if you don’t feel like bein’ friendly. Talking distracts me from bein’ hungry. Eating distracts me from talkin’.” he says with a shrug. Cian thought he would honestly happy with either option.

Originally posted by haedall

The man is appreciative or so it seems, and added little dose of a pet name that perhaps only earns him a crinkle in her brow instead of a fired bullet because it suits his accent - like Josie had seen TV shows in the past where the word ‘love’ tripped off their tongues as much as ‘fuck’ stumbled out of hers. An ideal shelter should be better than what they have available, the building too spacious to trap any atom of heat. It creaks and groans upon its foundation, tensing shoulders every forty-five minutes with each noise to keep its inhabitants alert. But it works. And now it’s hosting another living being.

Lowering the gun, the blonde does holster her weapon. The echo of a bullet firing would irritate her ear drums but it’d be worth her life if this man decided to pounce. But he most likely didn’t enjoy a gun trained on him by a small blonde with trust issues. But her grip doesn’t slacken on the weapon. Her first goal is to keep herself alive. Her second goal can be anyone else in this building, but they are never her primary concern. It just happened that her life usually meant the rest of them lived another day too.

Her eyes keep on him when he asks about the shiner, little reaction playing across her features to dictate how she felt about it. Truth is, she doesn’t much care. It’s a thing of the past and maybe it’d sting like a failure if she thought of it more as a testament to her lack of a prize. But there’s a chance the shotgun isn’t with its original owner - the chances too high that the man didn’t live. “Don’t know,” she offers with an unchanged tone, “Didn’t check to see if he was still breathin’.”

Introductions are supposed to ease discomfort and if it isn’t something she makes a habit of, it slackens the grip on the gun ever so slightly. “Josie Jones. Usually Jojo, sometimes JJ. Occasionally Josie J. And frequently ‘that psycho bitch over there’.” It’s the only time her features shift, a small smirk tugging at her lips as though there’s pride in the last one. “No sandwiches. But they got some cans. Free to help yourself.”

Cian stopped moving and sighed. Of course she didn’t care about his name, but he did. He cared that he still remembered his name and his history. He knew who he was and what he came from, and that was something, quite possibly the only thing, that hadn’t been completely taken from him. The bossy, uncompromising tone of her voice was a searing reminder of the things he had lost… the person. She would have smacked him in the head, said ‘Damn it, Cian. It takes nothing to squeeze your finger and kill someone, d’ya have a fuckin’ deathwish?”. But she wasn’t here. The only sound for the moment was the wind, growing stronger and whipping around the leftover snow with a fierceness that dared him to spend another night in that van.

“Are ya’ asking if I have them, or tellin’ me ya’ want ‘em?” Cian makes a face and mentally goes over everything in his head. No point leaving anything out. None of it was irreplaceable, “Let’s see, there’s a grenade in my pocket, gun in my waistband towards the back, bullets all over me, knife in my boot and another in my other pocket. Wire wrapped around this wrist.” he said, shaking one hand as it remained aloft. “Good for garroting. If there’s only one of those things and I need to keep quiet, it’s the best way. They’re so decomposed it slices their heads clean off.” he says with a cool detachment, as if he’s reading off his grocery list. “That’s all I have on me right now.” Of course there was more in the car he’d been staying in, but that hardly seemed relevant as neither of them could access it.

Cian shivered as the cold intensified and coughed as his lungs seized in an effort to trap what little heat there was in his body. “Look sweetheart, it’s fuckin’ freezin’ out here. I’ve no problem doin’ this your way, but if all you’re gonna do is have me stand here like a frozen statue, I’d rather leave and try my luck elsewhere. When I said I could make a deal I meant it. You can have all the weapons I just named in exchange for shelter and a bit of conversation. Not to be rude, but shelter was the primary trading chip.” he told her with a little look. “So if ya’ want em’ you’re welcomed to relieve me of em’ yourself or I can very slowly toss them over at your feet. Choice is yours, darlin’.”

Originally posted by mcavoy

Without clarification, the stranger, whose name she’s already forgotten despite being told moments before, begins listing off the weapons he has on his person. A considerable amount, but it doesn’t surprise her. Means he’s a survivor and she’d been right to question that friendlier disposition he carried, curious as to whether or not that was something forced to save his own hide. She couldn’t blame him if it were. Maybe it might actually garner a bit of respect. It absolutely earns him her suspicion however. Because if there isn’t any reason to deny him shelter, no formidable threat he’s posing when he’s outnumbered, she thinks she won’t sleep tonight knowing there’s a possible wolf in the hen house.

He would just need reminding that there’s already a guard dog.

Stripping him of any of his weapons hadn’t been the first thing on her mind. She’s got her own knives and a handgun, arsenal still missing that shotgun she desperately craved. However, more is more and her curiosity spikes at the mention of a grenade. Josie could feel her ears twitch, like a cat catching the sound of prey - eye blown black with the thrill of fresh blood. Her fingertips itch with the urge to snatch that for herself. She could make her own explosives, spent what seems like a different lifetime training herself for this world with all things that go boom. But it would be nice to have something instant and effective at her fingertips.

But the last time she had been to eager to swipe something valuable off another, she earned a black eye. The bruise doesn’t bother her, sporting it like a badge when it keeps most of this group at bay from conversing with her. But the discomfort reminds her she might have to patient for a grab-bag like a grenade. Her head tips to the side as she nods back towards the building the minuscule group is huddled in. “Nah,” she states calmly, lips tipping into an echo of a smirk as she keeps the gun trained on him, “Sure you’re not too much of a threat.”

Cian turned to look at the source of the voice. The gun in her hand and tone of her voice were the only things to give evidence to any grit she had. Christ, even in that winter coat she was a tiny thing, slight enough that if the world still allowed for manners he’d have held the door open so she didn’t have to hold it open herself. The gun in the face didn’t frighten him, but he was very aware of it. It was the new way to say hello for most people, and he was sure this wouldn’t be the last time… unless she was a kill-happy bitch. Cian blinked at her for a moment before slowly and somewhat reluctantly raising his hands.

“Don’t mean ya’ any harm, darlin’.” he said, though anyone with air left in their lungs knew how empty those words were, so he didn’t bother acting like they mattered much. It was more a statement of fact than anything else. “I saw a fire…” he said, nodding his head towards the building. For a moment the wind kicked up, blowing snow into his eyes and making him brace against it. “I was starting to think I was the last man on earth.” he admitted, still keeping his ground, but despite the cold and the gun and the miserable look on this woman’s face, a wide grin took over Cian’s mouth and a small happy laugh bubbled forth. “Christ, woman. You might be the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

Cian licked his lips and took a breath. He wanted to ask if she was alone or with a group, but if she was smart she would lie anyway. He wanted to ask if he could come inside, but if she were cautious she would probably say no. Survivors were rarely humanitarians. Cian looked at the gun in her hand and cocked his head to the side. “Whattya’ say we make a deal?” he asked and then realizing what that sounded like shook his head and laughed. “And don’t worry, I’m not interested in anything… immaterial. I’m just lookin’n for a place to stay, maybe a bit of conversation.”

Cian nudged a foot forward and raised his hands a bit higher, locking his eyes with hers and moving slow so as not to get shot. Still keeping some distance he held out a hand. “I’m Cian O’Connell.”

The fire.

Josie could roll her eyes. She told that stupid kid to knock it off. The smoke would alert people to their location but she’s too new to this small group to put that one in his place. He’s a crier, still harping on the woe he clings to like a safety blanket, swearing the world is just a tad crueler to him than the rest of the human race that’s swiftly dwindling in population. She’ll smack some sense into that one one day. When she’s certain he’s too terrified of her to run at his mouth. Or when he might just wind up “conveniently” lost along the road.

At least she could rub into his face that she was right. Someone saw the fire and came running.

The question remained on whether or not this man is a danger and it’s difficult to say by just a quick glance at him. Winter makes it difficult to pinpoint the structure of the muscles under his skin - whether he’s been bred for war or for peace. He isn’t pointing a gun at her but it’s foolish to assume he doesn’t come with any weapons. Because he wouldn’t be a solo standing man if he didn’t have at least a knife. But he’s friendly. And Josie knows it’s the friendly ones that always need to be kept a careful eye on. The ones not to be trusted.

There isn’t a shift in her expression when he tells her she might be the best damn thing she’s ever seen. Perhaps she’s heard that before, an echo of a memory of men not so kind in bars and on dark streets. They never got what they wanted. Josie never allowed herself to be a simple target. And when this stranger offers her a deal, she’s ready to expect perhaps he’ll want the same. Only he jokes about the more sexual nature of his request and switches to asking for shelter.

Is it her duty to provide that? She couldn’t say what the man drag this tired group along would want. But they brought her in and she hadn’t been so friendly.

“Don’t care about your name,” she informs him coolly, gun still aimed for a killing shot, “Take one more step and it’ll only be a memory. You don’t move until I say you can. Weapons?”