Travis Corbin

36

[oftravisx]

[ charlie hunnam ] – have you heard about [ travis corbin ]? [ he/him ] lives at the qz. i think they’ve lived there for [ several hours ]. they’re [ thirty-six ] yrs old and seem very [ assertive ]. i’ve also heard they can be very [ withdrawn ] as well. they’ve been assigned as a [ cord alley smuggler ]. they often daydream about [ a white picket fence and a thanksgiving dinner, his sons first steps and a sunset over southern roads ]. i’m curious to know more. | tia. gmt +1. she/her.

BASIC INFORMATION

NAME: Travis Wayon Corbin

NICKNAMES: N/A

BIRTHDAY: April 17th

AGE: 36

HOMETOWN: QZ

BIRTHPLACE: Nashville, Tennessee

RELIGION: N/A

ETHNICITY: White

JOB: Smuggler

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

HEIGHT: 6′3

EYES: Blue

HAIR: Blonde

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Scars across his body, tattoos on his hands, back and neck

NOTABLE FEATURES: Scar on his brow

PHYSICAL DISABILITIES: N/A

ALLERGIES: N/A

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR

HOBBIES: Carving sculptures out of wood, bird watching, reading, horseback riding, playing the guitar in the evening, shooting guns in an open field

LIKES: Laying out in the sun, long meaningless walks, listening to people talk about things they’re passionate about, photographs (they remind him of a different time), positive people and laughter

DISLIKES: Politics, people who are cruel to animals, people who don’t understand nuance and are very black and white, being told what to do, grass that eats other grass, empty promises. 

POSITIVE TRAITS: Reliable, resilient, resourceful, analytical   

NEGATIVE TRAITS: impatient, hot-headed, stubborn

BIOGRAPHY

Travis was born the oldest child in a rather messy family. Both his parents cared more for their vices than they did for their kids, and it was not uncommon for the two to leave their children for days and disappear. Travis learnt from young age to look after his siblings, the household, the horses. Although his grandfather was around to help, and teach the youngsters, it was predominantly left on the oldest boy to hold things together. 

He didn’t mind. It was simply what ‘normal’ looked like to Travis. He’d go to school, get home, take care of what needed taking care of and sleep. A routine was important for him. And although his routine would get messed up every time his parents would decide to return and then up and leave again. He made it work. Up until his 13th year when the whole world took a turn. At first, the news were sporadic. And then it took over everything. 

Him and his siblings were safe at first, but he never saw his parents again. The ranch had kept them isolated long enough to avoid the major chaos at the start. But this sickness swept everything in its wake and it wasn’t too long before Travis and his younger siblings and an elderly grandfather had to rush into hiding as well. 

Except there was nowhere to hide. Nowhere was safe. Not land, not the sea. And if one did not have to fear the infected, they sure had to fear the living. 

His siblings fell off, one after the other. First his youngest brother, bitten. His sister died of the infection, the grandfather disappeared in the night, and the only sibling he had left, his brother Darren, died years later during an unfortunate set of circumstances Travis could not protect him from. 

When at his lowest, he met a woman on the road. She cared for him in more ways than one and when she got pregnant, Travis thought world was giving him another chance. A part of him which failed to protect his family before, both due to young age and paranoia and distrust, was now amped up to the max. He would not lose her, and he would not lose his son.

For years, Travis, Amelia and Jamie were on their own. They lived in the outskirts of cities. Surviving on land, hunting and good timings. When winter would come along, Travis would seek out warmth of caves for them to hide. But they could not hide forever. When Jamie was about 4, they found their first settlement in Nevada and staid there until the unrest which pushed them north. On the run, Amelia was shot and although Travis did everything humanly possible to get her to the next stop in time, it was just not fast enough. Next came years on the road: Idaho, Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa and finally Illinois. There, the boys settled for years. But the leader of a small private settlement got into some shady business with a friend of Travis’ who owed him a great deal of money. In order to make things right, Travis tried to negotiate, but his leader Roger made it clear he would have to hand in his friend or face the consequences. 

Travis refused to give in and reveal his friends location and in retaliation, Roger killed his only son. After this, Travis mostly blacked out. His body resorted to such a trauma response that he set the entire settlement on fire, killing everyone in it. He took his time with Roger though, and in the process got so beat up and messed up he was pretty much drenched in blood from head to toe when he finally emerged. 

He then walked, and walked, and walked, as far as his feet would carry him and then everything went dark. 

--- After this, unbeknownst to him, he was found by an old friend and taken to QZ where his wounds have been looked after. He’s only been in QZ for about a day or so and is just now regaining consciousness. 

[oftravisx]

crypticsqz​:

just on her way to get back home after her shift ended, she was lost in her mind again. on the outside she could come off confident but mostly she was scared. she had always felt all these years were a blur. she could never look toward tomorrow since she knew for a fact it was never promised. she was coasting. trying to find more meaning to her lonely life. to interrupt these thoughts a tall man stopped her in her tracks. “what?” she asked. “no. but i’m sure we can snake you some patches.” she offered. “who the hell are you? i’ve never seen you before. have you always been here?”

-

“not the kind of solution i was after but, i’ll take it.” he doesn’t much appreciate the tone, but it was to be expected. he was a stranger, and she was alone, in a dark alley. though he was certain there were more polite ways to ask, he didn’t mean to presume nor question people’s manners. perhaps she didn’t have parents to raise her right. “name’s travis, i have been here...according to the cute doctor chick, exactly 3 days. don’t feel bad though, i was passed out for the most of it so...’less you got a special interest in passed out half-dead older dudes, i would say you probably ain’t know me.” 

[oftravisx]

nixcses​:

nix was on a mission, and that mission was to get some food in her stomach. fingers carded through her hair as she walked across the qz, her eyes taking in the environment. she hadn’t been there for too long, so there always seemed like there was something new to see. today, it happened to be travis. not a bad sight, to be honest. she stopped slowly as she heard the voice, her eyes falling on the male. she shook her head at his question. “you’re out of luck. sorry.” she responded, moving over closer. “…you okay?”

-

last thing travis wanted was to be a poor stop in someone’s way. but the softness of concern for a stranger took him by surprise. so far, this place seemed to be filled with actually decent people. something about that made him both, relieved and paranoid. “ ‘twas a long shot anyway...” he will offer a polite smile, the kind that softened his eyes, made him appear less threatening. “been better, been worse...” he has never really been worse, except maybe yesterday. “travis, so far they all just call me ‘the new guy’. i take it you don’t get newcomers that often?”

[oftravisx]

tristanshawqz​:

patrolling the quarantine zone grounds has become one of the more mundane  occurrences for tristan. although he’d usually find some sense of comfort in routine filled daily life, this walk-in-the-park was a rare exception. there was no solace in it, only rising anxiety, underlying fear that never seemed to take over. it simply continued to simmer as time went by. the mere thought of having to suppress yet another feeling was exhausting for him to say the least. tristan was aware of his unhealthy coping mechanisms, however it didn’t mean he had a solution for it. yet. well, was he even “coping” to begin with? more like brushed all of the uncomfortable sensations under the rug. that’s exactly what he was doing. but no one was stopping him now. no one a-

there it was. someone called out for him. someone was in need of help. and who was he to turn that someone down? ❝ what happened to you? ❞ all tristan had to do was take one single look at the man currently resting on bench before him to completely disregard his own question. the guy was asking for a cigarette ❝ those are not cheap. some might say they are pretty rare to come by around here… ❞ he had to stress it. normally weed was not allowed within quarantine zone, therefore it was reason enough to point it out to the stranger he had not seen around before. wouldn’t want him getting in trouble again.  ❝ look, it seems like you’ve gotten your share of trouble and if a cig can somewhat alter your condition… be my guest. ❞ with a nonchalant shrug, tristan fished out a cigarette from his jacket and approached the guy, lending him one of his small possessions. ❝ so… how did you end up here? ❞

-

travis watches the other get closer, taking in his appearance. the sharpness of his features, the mannerisms, the way in which he spoke. there was a certain confidence to him, the kind that made travis...alert, cautious. he was far too fragile, in every sense, to be confrontational, avoidant or anything besides friendly as a motherfucker, so he lets the warning slide. and the questions reach out. “revenge. it’s nasty business...” he wasn’t lying, but were details really necessary? at this point in time, it was unusual for others not to know the feeling. “noted. rare commodity, expensive. i owe you one.” he takes a hold of the cigarette, and is probably a lot more appreciative of the others kindness than he lets on. “appreciate it man, i do. and the advice.” he then leans back into the bench, back as straight as possible in line with the pain. “honestly, man? i have no clue. apparently i was dragged in by some guy i know, not seen who, not heard his name just...some guy.” he might’ve been hallucinating, although he doubted he would have been dragged in by a stranger, or on someone’s good graces. he was a stranger, and resources were scarce. “how ‘bout you? how’d you end up here?”

[oftravisx]

knowend​:

While Travis was somewhat of an expert in the art of reading people, Sarah was not. Most of her presumptions about others were widely inaccurate and she had her proclivity for pessimism to blame. Perhaps it was just in her nature to assume the worst, even now as a subtle smile graces her tired expression. But she can picture it so clearly, this man before her betraying her in every possible way. Still, she does what she can to remain steady in conversation, keeping her back straight and her face neutral. But maybe he could still sense it on her like a foul smell. The thought alone makes her feel embarrassed, exposed. She does what she can to relax a little, releasing a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Another laugh escapes her, the sound bittersweet. “If you can believe it, this is me being nice.” The woman replies with an arch of her brow. Thank God for your beauty because you got your father’s distaste for everything, her mother used to say. And what Sarah had hated most was that she was right. Sarah clears her throat once more, reaching for the bottle that’s been offered to her. She carefully wipes the lid to rid of spare germs before lifting it to her lips. Her face scrunches once the liquor is swallowed. Sarah leans back, making herself comfortable. One of her knees is now pressed to her chest, her arms wrapping around that same leg. She takes one more quick swig before resting the bottle of whiskey between them just as before. 

“Maybe I can try to guess.” She quips, her head canting to the side. Her dark eyes wander in mock-thought, trying to picture what might’ve happened to him. “After so many years, most people’s stories of battle start to blur. It’s like we’re all living the same life.” She muses, “You obviously got yourself into some trouble. Maybe with a group? You seem like the type that’s able to handle biters. So, my guess is you got into some shit with someone that you didn’t agree with and now you’re here.”

-

Travis was grateful for his tiredness, for the way that the liquor buzzed through his body pushing ever nerve into a state of relaxation and his mind into numbness. He was starting to relax, his shoulders falling slightly, releasing the tension he must have carried for a while. He normally handled his liquor pretty well, but he’d not had a drop in months, and with the amount of trauma, lack of food and general distress his body has been put through in the last couple of weeks -- it was no surprise a few sips would be, well, felt. He smiles to that, like a boy would, feeling as if he’d tricked life somehow and for the first time since his sons death, he feels...almost okay.

His eyes are looking ahead, at the open dark alley. Nothing is moving, it’s quiet and unassuming. But his mind, his ears, his attention remains with her and he’ll join in her laughter with a nod of understanding. “You been nothin’ but nice since I met you, it’s easier to believe than you might think...” it’s a compliment. An observation, granted, but a compliment nonetheless. And his eyes will shift to her slightly and then back at the road. “Are you not usually nice?” he’d rather talk about her, explore the corners of her mind, than dive into his own. Existing was excruciating. But it was, for now, better than the alternative. “What is Sarah usually like?”

Talking in third person often helped. It created a distance. -- He extends his hand for more booze, almost finishing up with the cigarette but not allowing a single hit to go unconsumed. Smoke flies in the air, and the feeling is familiar. Even more so as he listens to a painfully accurate guess the other had painted for him in only a few sentences. He laughs now, a proper loud laugh and it hurts his bones. “Fuck...” he’ll whisper, holding onto his ribs and then his eyes will find her and he’ll nod, a smile still holding onto his features. “You should’ve put money on that.” he says, and then laughs a bit more. “Wasn’t a group, just one man.” sort of, the group was there, many were over the years, but the latest of the fuckery was just...one. “Crazy, isn’t it? How one person can single-fucking-handedly fuck up your whole life? Turn you into someone-- something different. Some shit you don’t recognise.” maybe that was the real tragedy, looking in the mirror, finding your reflection strange. “But here we are. Time only moves forward. No justice in that...” 

[oftravisx]

everlaesting​:

           ❛ of course !  please ,  help yourself . ❜  the  brunette  promptly  offers  the  piece  of  gum  to  the  man ,  smiling  brightly  at  the  thought  that  she  might've  been  able  to  help  even  if  by  doing  something  so  trivial .  even  silly  things  could  have  massive  value  in  the  conditions  they  lived  in .  ❛ okay ,  travis .  pleased  to  meet  you ,  i'm  love , ❜  she  introduced  herself  with  a  curt  nod ,  proceeding  to  take  a  seat  by  the  stranger .  funnily  enough ,  love  couldn't  recall  that  name ,  yet  there  was  something  familiar  about  him .  a  tiny  grin  tugs  at  the  corner  of  her  lips ;   he  was  right ,  ’ alive ‘  and  ’ okay '  were  more  like  synonyms  these  days .  at  least  in  her  experience .  ❛  good ,  good …  wait ,  banged  up ?!  oh ,  you're  the  new  guy ,  aren't  you ?!  i - i  am  so  sorry ,  i  did  hear  we  had  a  new  arrival  but  it  wasn't  my  shift !  this  is  why  i  hate  days  off , ❜  love  muttered  to  herself ,  as  if  it  was  her  fault  for  not  knowing  about  the  new  guy  in  the  qz .  his  question ,  however ,  brought  her  down  again .  ❛ oh ,  uh …  it's  definitely  a  place ,  yes . ❜  a  chuckle ,  gaze  falling  to  her  lap .  ❛ i …  i  haven't  left  since  the  day  i  got  here  as  a  little  kid ,  so  i  can't  really  compare  to  anywhere  else .  my  memories  are  hazy .  how- …  how  is  it  out  there ? ❜

-

he takes the centuries old gum and throws it in his mouth. a smile is gentle on his lips, though it was more about the act of kindness than the gum itself. after so long, travis held on to any specs of kindness he could find. genuine or otherwise. “love...that’s...well, it’s a beautiful name.” he was sure she got that a lot. he’d known love before, it was usually in a person. not a person itself. -- when she expresses regret over not being at the medical tent, as if seeing him comatose would have made much of a difference, he’ll chuckle. “i’m not holdin’ it against you, you shouldn’t either. don’t remember much of being brought in anyway and...if i were to trust the word around these corners, i’d believe it’s likely better that way.” he doesn’t get much of a reply regarding the qz. it seemed people were reluctant to talk about this place. to reveal too much too soon. as if here could somehow be worse than there, or anywhere. “out there?” he’ll massage his brow, wishing he had had a cigarette, but a shrug will pass his shoulders. out there, the world or whatever was left of it, it was not a secret. and better she hears stories than experiences the reality for herself. “out there is...recovering. from us, from people. the green is taking over the roads, there’s life, there’s...death. i mean, yeah there’s still too many of us left. too many infected, too many...alive. but, all in due time as my father used to say. the nature will take over eventually, it is arrogant of us as humans to assume otherwise.”

[oftravisx]

knowend​:

Dark eyes survey his expression, watching as a subtle smile graces his mouth. She thinks to look away and save herself the trouble of forcing a smile back. But she remains transfixed, her reluctance continuing to melt away as the corners of her lips turn upwards just slightly. Perhaps she had her tiredness to blame after a long shift of staring out into the vast, overgrown outside world, nothing to note, no threats to handle.

After he speaks, a hum sounds from her throat, a nod of her head following the sound. “Oh, us Americans will never let go of our greed, it’s a part of our system. The end of the world won’t even stop that. In fact, it might even make it worse.” The woman jokes in return, a breathy laugh weaving through her words. When he’s repeating her name back to her, Sarah can’t help the way her eyes narrow, a sort of misplaced defense mechanism. It was evident that she was someone who more often than not assumed that most people were the worst. So, she assumes he’s sizing her up, determining whether or not she was welcomed company or a threat to his already fragile state. And with that, she stares back, getting a good look at his beaten-up demeanor. 

“Travis. Nice to meet you.” She replies plainly before moving to stand, removing her bag from her shoulders. She places it onto the ground before plucking out one of her water bottles. She sets both of them near Travis before taking a seat beside him once more. “One’s water and the other’s whiskey. You can pick which one you’d like.” Another laugh sounds from her, her smile finally returning after a stint of protectiveness. “Trust me, I believe you. When you’re out there on your own, you see some messed up shit.” Sarah shrugs after speaking before allowing her gaze to avert towards Travis again. “So, what’s the story? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

-

Travis had always been decent at reading people. Not at all shy to take a moment to size them up, soak in their domineer. He paid attention to the smallest of things. The soft move of their brows, narrowing of eyes, pursing of lips. He tuned in for the sound of their voice, their tone, how it changed as they spoke. The way they moved, coughed, shifted in their seat, or the spot. He learnt to watch out for the signs of weakness, signs of threat, signs of worry, stress, anxiety, fear. 

But right now, he was beat up. He was drained, and tired and all he could do was - for once - just fucking exist. He notices things still, minor things, like the half-forced smile crafted to indulge him. And a reply which caused some strange sort of relief. “If greed is integral to our existence --- glad to see you’re keepin’ the culture alive Sarah...” he takes in the hit of the cigarette and the rush of nicotine passes his body like holy water. Baptised in debt and gratitude. “Shits’ good...” was a Travis way to express that gratitude, and he’s impressed with the others ability to hold eye contact. To give what she got. He doesn’t say anything though, but he does acknowledge it with a grin of sorts, and a shake of his head before placing the cigarette between his lips once more. 

When she gets up, a momentary confusion causes his eyes to follow every move. He watches as the bag drops to the floor, as she takes hold of the bottles, placing them on the floor before joining in the seat once more. -- He was gonna like this place, or he was gonna like Sarah. Maybe both. “Can’t tell if you’re being nice, or if I’m about to get myself into more debt than I probably should...” there’s a smile there, temptation. He knew he was weak, he knew his body was in recovery and he should try his fucking best to abstain. But what the fuck was the point? Here stood perfectly fine company, with a perfectly fine balance of booze and hydration. And after the week he’d had, he could really use a damn drink. --- Then her words broke the silence caused by an inner debate and he reached for the Whiskey, a grunt of pain following his movement as he took hold of the bottle. “Fuck it, put it on the tab...” -- he flicks open the top. “-- gonna need some to tell that story.” he indulges, allowing the burn of it to pass through with eyes shut close and he’ll clear his throat, pulling in another smoke. The heavenly combo. -- He then passes the bottle, without putting it down or closing it up. “Gonna need some to hear that story too..”

[oftravisx]

vashakeevrichz​:

her composure is less intimated now, a little softer around the shoulders. she can feel the guilt, like it’s radiating off him, can see it in his eyes- where she holds his gaze for a bit longer than she should have, as he spoke. “you didn’t just-” she shrugs. “the jump surprised me. and we didn’t know anything about you- when you came in so..” she’ll side glance back at where she’d left the scalpel, and ten back to him. “better safe.” and then she’ll nod, the hint of a smile touching the corners of her words. “it’s kind of my job but..” — “you’re welcome.” he was far more attractive awake, which was entirely unfair to just about everyone with eyes. tongue clicks to the roof of her mouth, sucking in a breath. “oh um, i’m vash. resident nurse, doctor, and.. night owl.” hence why she was here now, after curfew for most. she’s trying to lighten the mood, her tone a bit more inviting than before. brows furrowed for a second. “the qz, it’s a camp.” 

“there’s food.. water.. people– you work for your rations, but i’m sure that they’ll find somewhere for you once you’ve rested a couple more days.” she’s inching closer at the request, not immediately obliging, as she’s spreading fingertips over the curve of the ribs that bandaged. she’ll peak under the tape and gauze, before putting it back into place with a smoothing of her palm. “it’s not bad.” she finally comments, and hooks his arm over her shoulder. the man was worn and torn- practically all muscle, would have been impossible to carry on her own, if he would to pass out right now. “on two-” she pauses and shakes her head. “three is bad luck.” he didn’t ask, why was she explaining– it’s something tony used to say. using the back wall, she’s pushing up and using his strength to tug him along with her. “i’m sorry-” rapid fired, because vash knew it would hurt like a bitch, after the adrenaline was starting to wear off. “over there-” where the beds were, and she’s helping him back onto the edge of it. turning, and grabbing the supplies she’d need, she’s tossing them in a pile next to him, and sitting on the side of the bed where she can best reach the tape. doesn’t warn him, as she’s lifting the hem of the shirt upwards, and untaping the used gauze, tossing it. “yeah, it’s not everyday someone looks death in the face and tells him to fuck off..” mumbled a bit under the breath. “let me know if it hurts, okay?” 

-

it felt like she was more at ease now, and in return it put him at ease. the pain he was about to feel by getting up was nothing new, he knew what to expect, but her words did leave him curious. “three is bad luck?” he’ll raise a brow, the one split by a scar, and his eyes will linger on her again slightly too long. “on two then...” with one hand over her shoulders, and the other pushing him up and then holding against the wall, he manages to get up relatively quickly. once on the bed, it’s surprising how quickly the other appears with a myriad of equipment now ready to patch him up yet again. --- theres still guilt there, guilt attached to survival. to receiving this sort of care. any care. but he’s a little better now at not allowing himself to follow those dark thoughts. nor the feelings. for better or worse, what was done was done. and he had to shut it all out. for now. 

so he focuses on her instead. on her movement, her words, the way she heads straight for the shirt without so much as blinking. there’s a smirk there. it wasn’t often he got undressed so casually with so much confidence. it amuses him. and he’d offer a sly remark of some sort, on any other day, but right now his eyes were most likely sly enough. he doesn’t look away, he doesn’t give a fuck that his thoughts read more easily than a children's book, splattered over his face. -- her words snapped him out of thought. 

“death came and found nothing left to take...” there was weight to that remark. conviction. he was a body left with no heart, no soul. just hardened tissue of decades worth of scares left behind. and now, he had nothing left. nothing to live for, hope for, fight for, die for. even death took pity, even death found him worthless. found him dead already. -- he couldn’t feel sorry for himself though, there was nothing to feel sorry for. 

when the alcohol touches his skin, he flinches, but he doesn’t let her know it hurts. pain was welcome, physical pain was distracting. it was better than thinking. -- he tries to process her explanation. qz, a safe zone. work, medicine, people. her name. he settles on her name. “vash, huh?” he moves stray hair out of her face, he assumed she didn’t notice it, or wasn’t bothered by it. but it was in the way, and he wanted to see her. “i’m travis.” he bites the inside of his cheeks, grunting slightly at the pain of whatever the hell she was doing. “-- and how long has this place been around for, vash? how big is the settlement? most importantly -- ” he leans in now, close enough for his gaze to demand for hers “is there a bar?”

[oftravisx]

vashakeevrichz​:

when he’d been brought in, she wasn’t sure he was even going to make it through the night. it was the same week that barlowe had gotten shot, and she’d lost him due to the blood loss. she’d been preoccupied with other people, patients, despite checking on him and changing his bandages every few days. his heart was faint, but still beating and that was the only thing that mattered today. she’d been given access to check his wounds, and there was a lot of them. she’d search his body, under what he’d been wearing when he’d come in- soaked in blood and ash, most of which she couldn’t tell if it was all his, or someone else’s. the same clothes had been cut through, burnt- and the others helped clean him off- despite his lack of consciousness after he’d been bandaged.  she’d been up late, working graveyards lately was what she preferred anyway, if she had a choice. however, what she didn’t expect, was for him to wake up as she was changing the wrap on his chest- the jolt upwards causing her to react. she’ll spring back, and he pushes her- but only barely, before she’d faltered on her own, grabbing a surgical knife and clutching it in her fist. she didn’t expect to use it on him- but you could never be too careful. this man had been asleep for days, nobody knew what happened, she certainly didn’t know if he was dangerous- not at first. the heart beating in her chest quickens, when he’s stumbling backwards, and her gaze is pointed, strategical, watching him closely as she was the only one on staff tonight. if she were to scream, elijah and the others would have bolted in, but she doesn’t. 

there’s a familiar expression, one she can see through enough, as his back slides down against the wall. “i don’t know what happened.” it’s finally answered, her voice was a little startled, but only just slightly as the nerves started to calm. she glances at him, when he stutters, and she assumes on her own. “it’s okay-” the pitch in her tone softer now. “i’m fine.” slowly, she’ll set the knife down, and take a few inches forward. “they brought you in a few days ago.. you were asleep- i took care of you.. i mean, a lot of us did but–” she was the one who was here when they’d brought him. just as carefully, she’ll lower herself down in front of him. “you ripped open your stitches..” she can tell, by the fresh blood soaking the bandage taped beneath his ribs. 

-

he barely notices the knife clutched tight in her hand, but once he does, a wave of guilt passes through him and he cannot stand to look back at it again. he doesn’t know if she let it go, only that after a few moments had passed she felt secure enough to speak up. ‘i don’t know what happened’ -- and he was glad she didn’t. the flashbacks came rushing now, in vivid movement, and he recalled his sons dead body dropping to the floor. the feeling of hopelessness, the feeling of helplessness, regret, rage. and then there was nothing, once he did what had to be done, there was nothing left. nothing but raw, excruciating pain. tears come rushing to his eyes but he doesn’t cry out, he wipes them away. it was not for grown men to cry. the end of the world was never meant to be kind.

he doesn’t hear what she’s saying, not a word, only now she was stood beside him and he can see her more clearly. the soft glow of the olive skin, even under the fluorescent lights. the chestnut shade of the hair swept neat behind her ear. long lashes, soft lips, smell of jasmine. an angel, just like before, and he’s reluctant to catch her gaze, but he does so anyway. and then he follows it, down to the piercing red spreading over white fabric of a shirt which was not his. he wonders who had put it on. how much resources saving him must have drained. he wished they would have left him there to die, amidst the ashes and the flames. covered in blood of his sons executioner. death appeared to be everywhere, except where it should have been. 

but he learnt to accept his fate, by now, he learnt not to test it. not to play with it, and with her gaze almost begging to allow her to reach for those stitches, he sighs softly, reaching out slowly. “help me up...” it’s not so much of a command as a request, but he didn’t often know how to pick his words carefully. he tries to recall now some of what she had said. “you said, few days? i been out?” although he knew most of what had happened, confusion was still somewhat prevalent. pieces were still missing. “-- thanks, thank you...w-what is it you said your name was?” she didn’t, but he felt she may have. “i’m sorry if i...if i frightened you, i’m uh, i had a bit of a week.” that hurt, that poor fucked up attempt at lighting the mood, it actually fucking hurt and the smile faded just as quick as it appeared but, at least he tried. to put her at ease, he tried. “what is this place?”

[oftravisx]

knowend​:

Newcomers were always a hard thing to gage. To begin with, Sarah was already a rather guarded being, so the prospect of digesting someone new in the realm of her living space was enough to cause a sense of nervousness. Still, she attempts to remain semi-rational, taking a trip down to the medicine tent after her shift at the QZ’s lookout post. Really, she had come just to scope out the scene. The last thing she expected was to be spoken to. Her eyebrows furrow slightly, a hitch of her breath following soon after. The man looked less than okay, obviously enduring an abundance of pain. With a hint of reluctance, Sarah stops in her tracks and turns to approach him, taking a careful seat beside him. 

“Yeah,” The brunette begins, digging into her coat jacket to pluck out her beat up pack of cigarettes. “But you owe me, blondie.” She continues, a kind of half-joke that probably doesn’t land in this situation. Sarah then clears her throat, holding out the cigarette to him. She mentally takes note of the scar through his eyebrow, then the tattoos on his hand and neck before speaking again. “I’m Sarah. I’d ask how you’re doing but I guess I already know the answer to that.”

-

He can sense her reluctance, and it pleases him to see she trusted herself enough to move past it. Perhaps she could sense his weakness, that if she as much as poked him he’d come crushing down like a poorly constructed jenga tower. The thought of that amuses him, pushing the corner of his lips into a soft smile. “Starting off my new life with fresh debt. How very...American of me...” Travis was good at putting up a front, at hiding behind words. He didn’t only hide from others, most often he did it to hide from himself. So he welcomed the cheap joke, the little ‘in’ and he placed a cigarette between his lips awaiting fire like a child did fireworks on the 4th of July. He’d craved a smoke pretty bad, and he sure as fuck did owe her for that. “Sarah.” he repeats her name, lets it hand there in the air for a minute as the smoke fills his lungs. He’ll then look at her, really look, put the name to a face. He made it a point never to forget a face. --- With a shaky hand stretched forward, and a strong attempt not to show the sheer amount of pain such a notion granted him, he’ll smile. “It’s nice to meet you Sarah -- Travis.” with her observation pretty spot on, he nods. “Don’t need to say I been better but, would you believe if I told you I been worse?”

[oftravisx]

everlaesting​:

          even on what was meant to be  her  day  off ,  love  still  found  herself  marching  towards  the  medical  tent ,  ready  to  make  herself  available  should  the  others  need  a  hand  or  two .  perhaps  she'd  gotten  too  used  to  the  routine ;  it  wasn't  perfect ,  nothing  was  in  this  world ,  but  it  was  still  a  way  to  live .  she  was  thankful  for  it .  the  unfamiliar  voice  caused  the  woman  to  look  up  from  her  book .   it  must  have  been  her  fifth  time  reading  it .   ❛ hm ?  oh ,  no ,  sorry …  but  i  do  have  a  piece  of  gum ,  if  you're  feeling  anxious . ❜  she  told  the  man  earnestly ,  already  closing  the  novel  and  reaching  inside  her  messenger  bag .  ❛ don't  worry ,  it  hasn't  been  chewed  or  anything .  are  you  okay ,  sir ? ❜

-

it hasn’t been chewed or anything. those words make him chuckle and it’s a harsh reminder of the pain that had yet to subside. the girl was sweet, her words an instant reminder of a world he had long forgotten. world that no longer existed. -- it was a welcome interaction. “i’ll take a gum...if i may...” nice choice of words trav, he thinks to himself and then leans forward slightly to relax the bruised back. “sir? ‘is no need for that, you can call me travis...” he looks over at the seat beside him, indicating to the other it was both safe and welcome to join. “i’m alive, pretty sure that’s uh, a weird sort of equivalent of ‘okay’ these days, huh? got banged up pretty good though can’t lie...” he looks around now, sweetness of the gum felt pleasing and he was more grateful than he might have appeared. “how’d you like this place?”

[oftravisx]

@vashakeevrichz​ closed.

travis was in and out of consciousness as he was being dragged through the mud all the way to this newest safe haven. it felt like an eternity, and at some point, with the light beaming bright a face of an angel shining through, he thought he might actually have died. ‘hold on’ she said, ‘hold on’. but hold on to what? what was there left to hold on to apart from those two sad little words? he didn’t want to disappoint her though, he didn’t want to let go. so he held on. whatever the hell that meant. 

and when his eyes opened again, his mind was still somewhere between here and there. the fire, the screams, the blood covering his face, taste of iron on his lips. the pain rushed through him like a collapsed dam, flooding every nerve, pushing him to jump up and off the bed and attempt, in such a weak and pathetic human way, to escape his own body. his feet gave way, he pushed whatever was in his wake until he’d seen the eyes that held him on and he hoped he didn’t hurt her in the process as well. “i’m sorry...” he says, but it’s like a whisper as he attempts yet again to figure out where he was, why he was, who he was. “i’m sorry, i -- did i --?” his breath is heavy, he steps back from the girl, his back to the wall, like he could not trust himself - even in a state like this - not to cause more pain. 

“what happened?” he asks eventually, he’s sat on the floor now, against the wall. he brushes his face with the palms of his hands, and it was clean. no blood left, nothing but the scars he had known, and the beard that had gotten too long. he could use a trim. what a ridiculous thought to have. all things considered. “what is this place?”

[oftravisx]

where: in front of the medicine tent when: evening open. 

he woke up bruised, patched up and in incredible amount of pain. it took hours for his mind to settle. for him to realise where he was, how he got here, what had happened. he still couldn’t quite put all the pieces together. -- he did remember jamie though. he remembered his son was now gone. he remembered the smell of smoke and fire in the air, and the sting of heat against his skin as he walked through. he couldn’t breathe, not then, not now and so he forced himself up and out of the medical tent and welcomed the fresh air. -- his body was still aching, but it was nothing compared to the war inside his head. he needed a distraction. to calm down, to do...anything. “hey...” he’ll call out to the first passerby, as he’s sat on the bench his elbows on his knees, nausea brewing. “-- you got a cigarette?”