harliquinn:
She stood before him with the soap soaked sponge, more than ready to pounce on him herself if she had to. She blew out yet another sigh and rolled her eyes– who was the real drama queen here? It certainly wasn’t her.
“Ya wanna know somethin’? Ya don’t notice the smell ‘cuz yer used ta it but trust me when I say hobos smell better than you, I mean it. Hell, Croc smells better than you and he lives in a freakin’ sewer!”
This was getting her absolutely nowhere. If he didn’t agree to her next idea then she really was going to use that sponge and he wasn’t going to like it.
“There’s nothin’ in yer shower, I told ya that before! I’ll even check for ya if ya want… how ‘bout that?”
Maybe she failed to realize, but he’d lived as a literal hobo for years. Stench was the last thing on his mind. If anything, it helped him avoid social contact or detection by Walkers. And honestly, when every day was a fight for survival for himself and his dog, the last thing on his mind was how he smelled.
“Put the sponge down an’ maybe we can talk.” He teased, motioning with a hand as if he were swatting away the dreaded suds. “It ain’t what’s in the shower, it’s what’s around it. You ain’t got a clue how many people...” He trailed off, nostalgic depression getting the best of him momentarily. “I ain’t gettin’ comfy for no damn prissy shower is all. You wanna stand guard, that might be a different story.”
