shepherd

@upiilio

              “The ants go marching two-by-two, hurrah–hurrah.”

       The words were half sung, half sobbed as she rocked with Sydney, tears she tried desperately to keep from falling filled her eyes. Her breathes were laboured, heart racing as the toddler refused to settle. There was no screaming, yet, but Sydney was trying desperately to get out of her arms, calling for her dad. She had to keep her quiet, keep her safe. She mumbled out another two-by-two and stroked the girls hair, hoping her favourite song would comfort her. 

              “– and they all go marching down. To the g..round..”

         She was so lost in trying to keep her own shit together she hadn’t noticed that someone else had approached her, still rocking absent-mindedly. 

   LUCY HAS COME to adore Phaedra and Sydney, and Emmett too has developed a soft spot for the young woman and the girl. He’s been unable to stop himself from caring about most of the people within the newly-fallen walls of this place, but there are a few special people that sit a little deeper in his heart. 

   He is numb, or on his way there, if only because there is no alternative other than pure panic and fear. He is still aware, though, and when tensions start to rise near the door, he eyes the pair and moves over to take a seat beside them. Lucy hums the song, not quite right but somewhere close, as she turns in Emmett’s arms to face them. He starts to hum along, too, quietly and under his breath, and then he joins in with a few words. 

         “To get out, of the rain... boom, boom, boom, boom...”

       When she finally looked over at Emmett and Lucy, she gave the small girl a reassuring smile and a quick wink. Remember what I taught you. It was the first thing she said when Lucy was brought down into the bunker, relieved to see the child was safe. In all honesty, if she had to pick a favourite person, it would have been the little girl. The time they spent training together, sometimes just hanging out was her favourite part of the week. 

              “We get the children out first, obviously.”

       This was all in the worst case scenario, but this entire thing was worst case scenario. By the time she’d told him they needed a plan, she had several already running through her mind. First and foremost was getting the children out. She placed Emmett and Cal as their best bet at taking the children, there were enough of them in here that knew how to fight and use a weapon, so they’d make sure they could get out safely – if it came down to it. 

               “You should stick close to the children, I’ll keep by the door. Try to                  make sure they’re as quiet as possible. If anything goes wrong…                  I’ll make sure you can get them out.”

   THOUGH IT’S UNSAID, the message Minerva sends Lucy does not go unnoticed, by either the little girl or her father. She knows what it means; she knows she can protect herself, at least in some small way now. An hour ago she would have said she was invincible. Now, despite all the strong grown-ups nearby to protect her, she feels like they are helpless in this great stone box under the ground. But she wipes her eyes --with the shirt of her father, not that he minds or even notices at this point-- and furrows her brow in a look of determination, some silent agreement with the woman she’s since come to view as a hero in her own right; they must all stay strong. 

   Emmett nods along to her plan as she vocalizes it, though his eyes are locked on something, or nothing, across the room. He processes the information she gives him slowly, easily agreeing that the children ought to be top priority. And then it hits him that, if he’s not mistaken, it sounds like she means to sacrifice herself --or at least be willing to accept such a fate, if it comes to it-- to protect the little ones. It strikes him as wrong, something that would obviously be upsetting but turns out to unnerve him more than he expects it to. Still, he won’t be the one to take that decision away from her, if it’s one she wants to make. 

         “If you’re willing to... to do that, you’d better be right behind us.”

WHERE: Inside the Bunker WHEN: Immediately after entering  

       They’d had little time to prepare themselves or gather anything of sustenance beyond what had already awaited them in the bunker – preparation is key. It wasn’t an ideal situation, not that anything about this horrendous new world was ideal, but they were all enclosed and told to be silent. Several people were missing, so far Minerva noted that both Sam and Bobbi were missing. Her gaze travelled the crowd once more, Jeremy was absent too. It seemed almost all of the children had made it in. Whoever was left out was likely why Bobbi hadn’t made it in. 

        Despite her neutral expression, Minerva’s heart was beating against her chest. There was a silent I told you so playing through her mind, thinking back to the party and the other festivities she often complained about. There was already one person confirmed dead, now they were all sitting ducks. Her fingers absentmindedly tightened and loosened around the bow, the only thing she’d grabbed before she left her room. Viktor. He hadn’t made it in either. Inhaling deeply, forcing herself to calm down amidst the hushed chaos, Turning to the person next to her, she leaned in so that her whispered voice could still be heard.

               “We need a plan.”

   EMMET HOLDS LUCY tightly in his arms, strong oak-like things cradling her like she might be years younger. Despite being nearly eight years old, she is so tiny, so fragile... All he wants is to hold her there forever, to wipe away her tears and whisper sweet tales of better days yet to come. She is quiet, at least. That’s all he can ask for, and more than can be said for the other children. Some of their parents haven’t made it inside, and they sit near him and others with tears in their eyes, not understanding what’s happening but knowing enough to be terrified. 

   His eyes are closed, jaw clenched tight as teeth grind and his head pounds. When Minerva speaks to him, he jumps and his eyes pop open. Lucy squirms a little, but holds onto a fistful of his shirt as she snuggles into him. He takes a deep breath, and whispers back low enough that he hopes not even Lucy can hear, only Minerva. 

         “You’re right... I don’t even know where to start.”

Autumn was cold but determined. Her fingers felt frozen but the blood pumping in her ears kept her focused on the task at hand. She needed this wall to be fixed because there was no way she was about to let infected take their homes from them when so many of the people in this community had lost so much already. Instead of fear, she felt renewed with energy; and although everything already was beginning to ache from the hour or so she had been helping nail new material to the wall, she ignored it. 

The people here deserved a strong home, and the infected tearing down part of the wall had infuriated her. Using that fuel, she bent down to grab a piece of wood, not quite anticipating that it would be as awkward and heavy as it was. Struggling for a moment, she looked around her to see if anyone could help her place it. “Ah, excuse me? Can you help me lift this?” She felt a bit ridiculous for thinking she was strong enough to lift a 2x8 beam on her own.

@upiilio

   EMMETT HAS BEEN working at the rebuild since he had determined where to find a place for Lucy --it had, of course, inevitably been with Bobbi. He doesn’t know why it took him so long to make what should have been such an easy decision, but he still feels something sitting wrong in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t have eyes on his little girl, and he can’t relax. Instead of letting it eat at him, he’s pouring his unrest into the construction. With the cold turning from unbearable to just uncomfortable, he no longer fears the freezing sweat that comes from over-exertion in the cold, and he’s working as hard as he’s able to maintain. 

   He spots a young woman he recognizes, though he can’t determine whether it’s from within Sanctuary’s walls or not. Regardless, she seems to be struggling with a beam, and he’s on his way towards her to help, even before she’s asked for it --it might be presumptuous, but he can hardly help it. When he reaches her, he props his hands beneath the beam and gives her a count to three, ensuring that she’s ready to put her back into it --it doesn’t matter whether or not he could do it on his own, she clearly wants to help and he won’t be the one to take that away from her. She’s doing more than many are able, and that’s worth a lot in his eyes. 

         “Not so bad with a second pair of hands, huh?”

              “You will not kill anyone with a bat!”

       Phaedra hadn’t been aware just how well her voice had carried or how hard she’d been tugging against the long piece of wood that served as the bat she was shouting speaking about. River had made the terrible decision of living Phaedra, all 110lbs-soaking-wet of her, in charge of the girls once the wall had started crumbling. He insisted on going to help fix the wall – as if that would be better than staying with his children and protecting them. It was the reason she was now fighting with a teenager that was almost the exact same height as she was, but with a little more weight to her. Still, it didn’t stop Phaedra from trying to wrestle the wood away from the girl.

       She thought it was necessary, now that they weren’t as safe as originally thought, to try and protect her group despite Phaedra’s constant reminding that she was still only a child and there were lots of other, bigger, people that would protect them. How hilarious they must have looked to the poor person who had approached them, two tiny people struggling over a piece of wood almost the same size as them while a toddler played with a stuffed animal off the side. At least, funny until Phaedra managed to get the wood from Lyndsey’s grasp, the sheer force of her own tug sending her and the wood spinning directly at the person approaching.

   EMMETT KNOWS WHERE he is best serving the community, and that is not tending for his daughter. Not directly, anyway. He would be best suited to re-building the wall after the chaos that has so recently ensued, and continues to threaten their safe place. Ultimately, he would be doing the best thing he could for Lucy, and for everyone else, by helping to get that wall back up as soon as possible. Still... it’s a hard task, letting go of her, even if only for a while. He’s taking stock of what the rest of the young ones of Sanctuary are doing, where and how they’re holding up, before he decides what to do with her. 

   When he approaches Phaedra and her group, he sees a mess waiting to happen, and he’s ready. Holding Lucy’s hand, he makes sure she walks behind him --and then the bat comes his way. His hand is extended, palm towards the oncoming wooden rod, before it’s even been pulled from the other’s grip. He catches it in a calloused hand, but lets go when it’s stopped swinging his way. 

         “Careful with that thing. Could be deadly.”

starter - @upiilio

it was like a gut punch, seeing the few children in sanctuary running around. several of them were the age logan was when she had last seen him- and a few others were the age he would be now. a cold clawing ache in her heart had her pausing in her step, a hand reaching up to clutch the fabric of her sweater. she missed her son so incredibly much- enough so to have crossed through hell to find him again. only to have the hope that she would ever see him again ripped from beneath her.

a sharp cry from the children playing brought her out of her miserable musings, and phoebe watched as a tall man ran forwards to the small girl who had taken a tumble. she could feel tear prickling her eyes, a by product of the ugly mass of jealousy she was sporting for the man who was very obviously the girl’s father. but she swallowed down her anger, and began to walk over. no time like the present to ingratiate herself with the parents of children who might would become her sons playmates one day.

“hello, are you alright little one?”

   LUCY FALLS, AND in a second Emmett is by her side. He has his eyes glued to his little girl, and before she’s taken her tumble he sees it coming. She’s only on the ground for a moment before he stands her up, and only there a moment longer before another woman approaches them. His eyes move between Lucy and the newcomer, and he offers her a hesitant smile. Lucy, on the other hand, wipes away a tear and positively beams at her. ‘ I’m okay, ‘ she says. ‘ I’m a BIG girl. ‘ 

   Emmett chuckles under his breath and pulls her coat tighter around her, nodding in agreement. He knows she would have milked the moment to gain some extra attention from him --not that he lacked in giving it to her, in the first place-- had this woman not appeared. But for her, Lucy has to have a stiff upper lip. 

         “She’sa tough one. No denying that.”

Sitting tucked away in one of the corners of the mess hall, Sam had found himself quickly shovelling down his food as he poured all of his energy and focus into a small bundle of maps and hand written notes he had received from the last team of scouts. Sam would of been there all night if he hadn’t of been interrupted by Emmet. 

Looking up from his notes as the others voice broke his concentration, Sam took a moment to realize who was speaking to him, before giving Emmet a friendly smile.  

“Oh, no I’m fine. I can take it up, just got a little distracted with work” he said, as he took a quick glance back down at the maps and notes before looking back up to Emmet. 

“Everything alright?”

   HE KNOWS WELL enough that resources are slim, but his plans for a greenhouse would lead Sanctuary to have more food, especially come next winter. This awful pattern of weather will surely continue, that winter will only get longer and harsher and if --or when-- a blizzard comes across their little town any worse than the last, he doubts they’ll all make it. 

         “It’s fine. Good, I guess, all things considered.” 

   He is hesitant. Emmett doesn’t like asking things of people, and he’s been doing a lot of it lately. It hasn’t become any easier, though, so he pushes on, delaying the inevitable through he realizes Sam looks to be caught up in something. 

         “---How about on your end?”

            “– thanks.”

       Minerva looked into the crate, grinning at the sight. It had been awhile since she’d had any type of preserves – or fruit for that matter. Her diet had been a ridiculous amount of carbs and whatever protein was available; it made training hard, but she adapted. Glancing up from the crate, she watched Emmett for a minute, giving him the chance to finish what he’d started talking about before.

              “If you want me to kill anyone, I’m afraid Samuel has already                 told me no.”

       When he didn’t immediately respond, she interjected with another attempt at humour, however flat it was delivered.

   IT TAKES HIM a moment to realize she’s joking --but of course she is. His smile widens, and he nods, somehow making the motion a regretful one.

         “I suppose there’s someone else who would be willing, in this place.” 

   Emmett takes the initiative to set the box down on the nearest counter, and rubs his hands together to warm them from the journey over. Before he speaks again, he shoves them into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, perhaps a little nervously. 

       Minerva had heard the knock, but did her best to ignore it – assuming someone else would have gotten the door. It had been a few minutes before she ventured from her room, realizing no one else had gone to get the door, whether they were gone or also trying to ignore it. Twisting the lock, she pulled back ready to give the approacher a piece of her mind, only to be greeted by the rather nervous looking farmer.

              “– sup, Old MacDonald?”

       Her gaze moved from his nervous features to the crate in his hands, arching a brow. Had he come to try and sell his wares? He was certainly at the wrong house, but she took a step back and opened the door further, allowing him the space to actually come in.

   HE LAUGHS AT the joke, mild and polite, though still reflecting genuine amusement. It’s not the first time he’s heard it, but when it doesn’t come from a place of malice, Emmett doesn’t mind the name at all. When she steps aside, he lets himself in and nods a thanks in her direction. 

         “I, er, I have a request for you, actually. It might be asking a lot,           but-- well, I’ll... let you decide that yourself.” 

   He takes the rag off the top of the box, revealig its contents clear as the morning sun shining through the windows. Though he’s yet to actually ask the question, he smiles at her hopefully.

         “It’s peaches and pears, and some cherries. From the garden.           Harvested and canned just before the first frost.”

   EMMETT OFTEN VOLUNTEERS to stay after the communal dinners and help tidy up, but today he’s done so with an agenda. It’s an agenda that would, if successful, serve all the current and future residents of sanctuary. He plans to take it slow, though, only planting the seed of an idea in Sam’s head for the time being. He doesn’t want to push his luck, knowing very well their resources are limited this winter especially. He’s collecting plates to take to the kitchen to wash up, people still finishing up their drinks and taking part in casual conversation, when he spots Sam. He makes his way over and smiles at the man with so much weight on his shoulders. 

         “---Sorry to interrupt. Can I take your plates for you?”

   EMMETT KNOCKS AT the door of Minerva’s shared house, toting a wooden crate covered in muslin cloth. It’s filled with a few jars of fruit preserves --peaches, pears, and cherries-- that he canned himself when the weather began to turn. They have Minerva’s name on them; whether she wants to keep them or trade them for something she’d like better, they hold a decent value around here, epecially in the colder months when fruit is nearly impossible to come by. Before the outbreak, winters were manageable. Pears and apricots used to be viable winter crop, but now the length and severity of their blizzards gave the trees frostbite, and there was no way to transfer them to planters and keep inside. 

   He’s there with a request, and so he has, as per his upbringing, not come empty-handed. Even if she refuses, he’ll leave them with her as a gesture of good faith. As he waits, he ponders the intelligence of what he’s about to ask, knowing well enough that Minerva isn’t a fan of children. Still, he needs this for his daughter. He’s thought about it for a long time, and knows he doesn’t have half the skill to teach her anything useful. Minerva has a good heart, he can see that. She’s important to the community, and she has the know-how Lucy needs to survive in this world. 

   He hears the lock click on the other side of the door, and swallows past the lump in his throat.

   HE STANDS IN the sunshine blazing down through the roof, eyes closed as he basks in the rarity of its warmth. The building is small, merely shed-sized, made out of wooden planks and tarps, a sheet of plastic stretched out in the middle to let in copious amounts of sunlight. It is an experiment, one Emmett has taken on in the hopes of finding a solution to their dwindling resources. 

   He tends to the seedlings, holding Lucy on his hip so he can point out the tiny green shoots sprouting up from the soil. It’s cold, but he’s accounted for it and the greenhouse seems to retain just enough heat to make something happen. He’s thrilled, and Lucy is grinning ear to ear when they’re interrupted by the sound of someone pulling at the tarp. 

     Minerva wasn’t shocked to hear that the crops didn’t make out so well, she was honestly surprised half of the people made out well, but they always managed to surprise her. Grabbing herself a plate as they arrived at the snack table, she gave Emmett a soft smile and accepts the unspoken offer for the mystery pie.

               “– and they can be quite filling.”

     She laughed a little at his remark about the many ways to cook potatoes and nodded. They were actually a staple in many of her meals when she was trying help her clients bulk, though she often opted for sweet potatoes. If she had to pick only one thing she missed about the world before, it might very well have been the food. Meal prepping was one of her favourite hobbies even if many considered it a chore. Grabbing a few more of the odd assortments of snacks, she piled them onto her plate and leaned against the table.

              “Maybe I’ll see if anything good survived on my next run.” 

   HE LIFTS A slice with the knife left for this exact purpose, and plops it down upon her plate, moving then to serve himself only after she was taken care of. He still holds onto many of the practices he’d learned growing up on a farm ---his mother, who always cooked, got to eat first, his sisters next, and him only second last to his father. With guests it would forever be practice to serve them before himself, and he’s yet to give up the arguably tedious sense of chivalry he’s inherited from his father. 

         “You’d do that?” 

   The question is asked casually enough, but should she follow through, he’ll be thrilled. More often than not, he is one of few farmers willing --though technically, he’s obligated-- to check on the state of the crops in the fields farther away from the cente of their little town. He lowers his voice when he speaks next, so that no one else, parhaps someone with a less level head than Minerva, can overhear. 

         “I mean, I... Don’t really think you’d come back with good            news, Minerva. I’d be shocked if anything out there made           it through that blizzard.”

It’s subtle, a blink-and-you’ll miss it sort of gesture, but Charlene shifts her sloppy weight and dips her head as invitation for Emmett to join. She didn’t know him well, had only seen him in passing, but as she focused- really focused, his face apparated into familiarity. The farmer man, her brain supplied. Charlene’s lip quirked. Her heart did a victory dance at having achieved the task of recognition. And another time, perhaps she would have felt shameful, embarrassed for her drunkenness in front of an acquaintance, and shit- wasn’t he a father too? The moonshine dulled her senses, and she was grateful for it now.

“The runs,” Charlene parrotted dumbly. She took a breath and tried to steady her swimming head. At the moment, the countertop was rushing up to meet her. But she had been through worse, goddamnit, she could handle a bit of liquor. She swallowed, hard, and motioned for the bartender to pour her some water. 

“I-,” and she didn’t know how she was forming words but- but she sure was alright, “Yes. Yes, of course. It’s human nature to seek normalcy, and everyone knows how unnatural this whole thing is. But not everyone needs this.” She gestures to her cup, then repeats the word with a disgusted scoff. “Need,” and makes a face. “What an indelicate, presumptuous concept. Do any of us need anything? Air, yes. Food. Water. But this? This attempt at fostering camaraderie. Look, farmer man. I know what it’s like to go without routine, and love, and celebration. The world doesn’t end. You don’t die without it.” 

When the bartender sets down a glass for her, she seizes it gratefully and takes a huge gulp of the clear liquid. Her stomach is assaulted with fire. What kind of stupid goddamn sunovabitch asshole would pour her more moonshine? Charlene winces with her whole body, squeezes her eyes shut, and pushes away the deceitful glass.

   THE MAN SITS down, and gives the other a nod in thanks a he does so. He is content to keep up with the smalltalk and mostly just enjoy his drink in peace, keeping a watchful eye on his daughter playing across the room as he attends his perch. However, his eyes cast upon Charlene and his brows raise without his permission. They only give away his shock at her tangent for a moment, carefully being pulled back down into an expression more closely aligned with attentive interest. 

   He wonders then, how to go about his next words without prompting more upset out of his new drinking partner --who seems, in all fairness, a good bit ahead of him. He would like to comment on how it is something necessary to maintain one’s sanity, one’s will to live. Though it might not be the sort of thing your body needs to survive, it is entirely necessary for the mind, at least for most people he’s come across, no matter how hardened they may seem. He rethinks it, however, considering that she might take it as a slight to her own mental stability, and he offers a small smile, and concedes. 

         “I, uh, I guess you’re right. We don’t need a lot of things we act           like we do, but... It’s still nice, I think. Especially for the kids, and--” 

   Emmett stops as he notices that she’s been served not water, but some of the moonshine one of his fellow farmers has supplied. He shoots a disapproving look at the person who’s taken on the role of bartender for the evening, and nods his head away from them in a clear signal that he ought to make himself scarce. He gets up and moves around the bar, telling the man to take five, and pours Charlene a glass of water himself, setting it down in front of her without a word, his eyes cast back to Lucy absentmindedly. 

grateful for the distraction, bobbi smiled a gentler smile than the manic grin she’d been sporting for most of the night. if there was ever one topic that would cheer her up, it was her kids. 

“we’re going to be making a brochure for a sanctuary in the future. i want to get the kids looking at what we have, and how we could make it better.”

   IT SEEMS AS if she’s sobered up in a mere instant, at the mention of the kids. He supposes that’s fair; that if anything were to take him out of a stupor, it would be the thought of the children in this place. 

         “You’re doing a really amazing thing Bobbi, you know that, right?           These kids need as much normalcy as they can get, while they           can get it. I don’t think they’d have it without you.”

“god that makes so much sense.” bobbi snickered, thinking of the hours chris had spent at the gym. he’d come back to their apartment sweaty after running miles, and bobbi sneered into her glass. all that running hadn’t helped him one bit when shit hit the fan. falling silent, she frowned and kicked the rest of her drink back. “yeah.”

   HE SEES THE fall in her face, and he allows a moment of silence filled with a sip of his drink before he says anything else. It feels... respectful, whether or not such a thing is deserved for the dead in question. 

         “---Lucy’s excited for class, Monday. She says you’re doing some...           well, I don’t know what it is, I guess. Should I expect something new           for the wall when she comes home?”