what if ● the last of us
Johanna still couldn’t believe that southern man who carried himself in an air of respect and strength fear her bike -- but amidst everything, she had managed to find herself a smile, that stretched onto her lips as she led the way among the torn down, abandoned junk yard. It was the best way to actually hide working care - a place that has been raided over and over so many times no man would actually bother with it. Honestly, if Johanna didn’t know what treasures were in that junk yard, just the mere site of it would require her to dose herself up with anit-depression medication to find her spirit again.
She stood in silence, arms crossed over her chest as she tapped her withered combat boot against the ground as he evaluated the car. Johanna stood taller when he eventually decided it’d be a good fit. “Good, then.” She breathed out, brushing a loose tendril of her hair back, “Now that you’re all set here, you better return this car.” She warned him, “Or I’ll come back for you. I know how to find you. I don’t need your name.” Then the warnings faded off her lips, replaced by a brief, appreciative smile. He did after all, save her life, “Don’t follow me.”
That was all she could offer him as she turned on her heels to leave.









