if riley was anything, it was a lethal combination of reckless and stubborn. she was supposed to be the maybach sister who actually had a shot at turning out normal, but somehow her dad’s genes had presented even stronger in her, and she was just as much of an adrenaline junkie as he had been in his younger years. it’s a blessing and a curse — her fearlessness. it’s saved her life many times, yet it’s usually the thing that puts her in the situations where she’s needed saving in the first place. but she’s self-sufficient — and she prides herself on that. she knows she can’t trust anyone besides herself, not ever. not even cami. yet, somehow, without even realizing it, cami still forces her into a different headspace. for one, riley actually has to consider someone else’s safety, now that they’re inevitably stuck together until the horde passes them by. but, on a deeper level, there’s something about cami that seems to make time slow down around them. it’s what had attracted riley to her in the first place. she’d wanted to try and rile up the smaller girl, drawn to the challenge of getting a reaction out of her. that’s how riley typically was in relationships — attracted to the novelty, present when things were exciting and new at first, though she’d quickly become bored and see her way out once the initial excitement died. she and cami had lasted longer than average, though — something about the way cami could calm her down in a way no one else could. it hadn’t been riley’s boredom that had caused the cataclysmic end to their relationship, but instead her own carelessness — the reckless side of her that eventually dragged cami through one-too-many altercations for her own good. when the arguing had started, riley leaned into it, figuring any emotional reaction from cami ( even negative ) meant that the other girl still cared. but from there, it became almost like a game — making each other jealous, possessive, to the point that even riley began to get exhausted. after their final fight — the tornado of an altercation that led to their break up — riley figured she’d fucked things up beyond repair. the words passed between them had seemed unforgivable. so, truthfully, she’d never expected to see cami again. but now it was like they were the last two people on earth, and riley couldn’t help but see the irony in the situation. “i told you, i didn’t set it off,” she mutters through gritted teeth. her eyes aren’t on cami, instead they’re on the gash on her arm, her lithe fingers prying the small pieces of glass from the open wound, barely even flinching at the pain. she’s almost confused when cami begins to tend to her arm — but then she chides her for not being careful and riley easily falls back into an eye roll. “i survived this far, didn’t i?” she quips back. and she has a point. making it this far into the apocalypse is a feat, especially on her own. “if it spread through shit like this, i’d be dead by now. i’ve had worse, anyhow.” she thinks back to the broken ankle she’d nursed on her own in the dead of winter — the closest she thinks she’s ever come to death, struggling to keep herself from freezing to death when she could barely walk. let alone the hunger, she’s half focused on the stinging pain in her arm as the other girl makes quick work of wrapping it, but she listens curiously as she offers up information about her life — hating the fact that she’s relieved that cami’s found a group for herself. riley wouldn’t wish the mind-numbing pain of being alone on anyone, even if her own solitude is a life she’s chosen for herself. “there’s an infirmary?” it’s the first question out of her mouth and she feels a bit jarred by the idea that there’s any sort of actual civilization amongst all the ruin. she’s almost forgotten how society was before all of this. “if you’re looking for pharmaceuticals, there’s a safe in the drug store a few blocks over. i know how to get in.” she offers up the information without even thinking — but it’s not like she needs all the medication for herself. she’s only one person. “most of the city is picked clean, though. if you’re looking for food, you’re not gonna find it here.” once her arm is properly dressed, she paces the small room, needing to put some distance between herself and the other girl. it’s almost weird hearing the sound of her own voice after being alone for so long. she can’t remember the last time she’s had an actual conversation. she doesn’t like to think about the fact that she might miss it. “i work alone,” she says bluntly, barely even registering the fact that cami was joking. she sits on an overturned crate, holding out her arm in front of her and bending it back and forth a few times to test the bandage, despite the sting. “honestly, i would’ve figured you as good as dead by now,” she admits, tongue tracing over her teeth as she eyed the other girl up and down. “i circled by your place a few times when this shit started, but y’weren’t there.” at the mention of her family, she simply shrugs. “they were on a ski trip in colorado when this all went to shit. they’ve got to be dead.” she talks about it casually, so detached from it at this point. for a moment, she wonders if she’s made a mistake by letting cami know she’s on her own — knowing it could easily make her a target for whatever “group” she’s working for. but she figures it’s too late for that, so she just shakes her head. “just me. s’all i need, really. other people just slow me down.” outside, she can hear the horde slowly approaching, barely phased by the sound of bodies scraping by against the metal garage door. “how long do you think we’re stuck in here for?” she speaks up, eyebrows raised at the other girl. and then, just to see if she could get a reaction out of her: “you ever killed anyone?”
SHE ROLLS CHOCOLATE HUES, exasperation chiming at her expression as she drops her fumbling hand lank to her side. camellia bites, “then who DID set the alarm off? let me guess — it’s the zombies fault, suddenly intellectual and in t y p i c a l riley fashion, they’re people too! riley the righteous, as inquisitive as ever, believes they must have kept SOMETHING human inside them, TICKING like a brain bomb. just tryna’ drive themselves home, huh?” her words soften toward the end of her theatrical rampage ( animated arm gestures and all ), soon realising how ridiculous she sounds. “i’m messing with you, by the way.” kind of. regardless, her face was glossed over with irate disbelief and a sense of entertainment, lips pursed and her tongue pressing to the roof of her mouth as she slumps down onto the dusty concrete; equipping her bag as a rather uncomfortable pillow. she was certain, knowing riley, that her residual carelessness had ensued and triggered that alarm, the reverberate continuously drawing more of the undead to the city street ( and to the shutter door of the garage ). her ears perk up and force against the incoming hoard. perhaps it were a good sign, after all. “well, WHOEVER it was —..,” she retorts mockingly, “may have hindered me — or US — before, but they might’ve just helped us out now. the lame brains will get bored of bothering us eventually and be drawn back out toward the car, along with however many others." cami asserts the situation ( as always ) with her apocalypse induced wisdom. there’s a sense of vice to her words, enthused sarcasm dripping from her tone. she’d have hoped to be back at camp by dawn, yet a chance encounter led by riley’s foolishness had hindered this plan. she exhales a sigh and soon shrinks back into her usual pattern of passive empathy. as frustrated as she were that the girl may have put the lives of others at risk ( hers as well as the little kid in the infirmary that she’d been sent to scout penicillin for, namely ), camellia knew the struggle of being alone; had been before. when you’re alone, you’re alone — you forget, especially in this wreckage. you forget about other people and you forget that they matter, usually because when you’re by yourself, they don’t. none of this really does; hence why camellia doesn’t jibe much further. “besides,” she murmurs, “i don’t believe it works like that. i helped treat a guy who i saw get hurt — caught himself on a screw — with no creepy walkies in sight. the infection set in quick —... TOO quick. checked him for bites, when he..,” she whistles ( a little distastefully ), immediately regretful. “y’know. there was none whatsoever — not even a tooth mark or a scratch. you can treat general infection but i mean INFECTION. must’ve got some zombie guts in the cut, or had somethin’ else going on that herbs and the basic pharmaceuticals couldn’t soothe.” the ravenette lifts her gaze for less than a second, wonders whether to patronise her with the notion of luck, instead opting for, “can never be too careful, ri — never too late to learn that.” camellia forgets that for some, civilisation no longer exists — it’s just rubble, broken glass, abandoned urbanity and blood ( so much blood ) — hence why a lone brow is quipped, a sad smile tugging at her lips. she’d love to tell riley all about the infirmary, the plants they’re considering growing ( plant some hope into the femme stood before her, maybe ); knows better than to elaborate any further, having fallen once for a friendly face who’d claimed to be ‘alone’, soon before a strike of a weapon and a demand to be led to her settlement. they called it an exchange, her life for supplies, neither of which they managed to claim. she combs subconscious digits against a scar on her neck from the blade that just about broke skin, a painless reminder of a painful event. could she trust riley? it seemed like a lifetime ago, stung like it was yesterday; wounds scarcely healed in this world, yet also seemed nonexistent. camellia often felt everything, or nothing — mind focused on survive, survive, survive. the mention of a safe sparks her interest, her features bewildered and quizzical. “so, you’d be willing to show me this supply jackpot? like —... a d a t e?” a playful simper curls at one corner of her mouth and she snuffs a chuckle, lolling into the ground as her knee arches upward. “but seriously — y’think i don’t already know the city’s picked clean? been here time after time, poking at its bones.” heavy eyes trace patterns into the cracked plaster of the ceiling, humming outward in thought. “reminds me; d’you remember fried chicken?” cami grins, lazy and childlike, somewhat convinced she’d made the delicacy up in a fever dream. she eyes riley as she paces to and fro, her amusement simmering down as quickly as it’d came only to be replaced by a warm sadness. what with the way they’d ended and the way things had been, her heart aches at the idea of riley looking out for her like that; wandering aimlessly for a hint of her existence, despite giving up on the idea much like every other. “the world was ending as we knew it and you came to MY house? what about that girl you cheated on me with? you check up on her too, or am i just special?” there’s a fondness in her vocals but she’s being ironic, a meaningless joke gesturing to the past — she recalls the years where her concerns lay only with infidelity and money; how silly that seems now. she doesn’t care anymore. none of that matters. as unsurprised by riley’s nonchalant remark about her own family ( they’d all lost somebody, or too many a somebody ) as camellia is, she’s jilted by her follow up remarks. “i say we stay for a few hours, maybe.” hairs on end and a lump in her throat, she solemnly adds, “and yes.” the new world worked in a funny way. you didn’t ask someone how they were or what their favourite colour was ( was there even colour anymore? ). you asked if they’d ever killed someone — were they undead or alive? her mom was the first, but camellia wouldn’t admit which she had been. wavering frays of breath catch in her throat and she stares ahead, glassed orbs squeezing shut before they snap straight back open again; she didn’t want to replay that memory behind the darkness of her eyes. it’s obvious, but she returns the query. “what about you?”
