@fiddlersgreenstarters
it had been a long time since neve had really taken the opportunity for any sort of leisure. work at the eastern oregon outpost had become more arduous as their numbers dwindled--specifically for medical staff--and then she’d been on her own. after being inside the golden triangle for the last six months, she’d been eager to prove she was worth the invitation. the den’s offer of festivities seemed like as good an opportunity as any to finally let herself relax.
several drinks lit a gentle fire in her belly, relaxed in a way that felt so old and faraway from her day-to-day. robocop, with his inky black fur, hung close to her calf--largely unimpressed with the antics of their fellow survivors. he had once been more inclined to react to the living, but after such a long time on the road, he was largely unimpressed with people.
for the most part, so was neve.
it was a common thing among people in the medical field. especially in smaller communities like this. it wasn’t like portland, before the outbreak, where most of the people she saw were bland and forgettable--lost in the school of fish that commuted by the max or carpooled from bedroom communities. no, in the golden triangle, people usually knew if you were medical. and if folks recognized you, well, they were bound to treat you like you were always on the clock. and here comes one now, neve thought sharply, as dan johnson headed her way--no doubt hoping to ask her about some rash, minor scratch, or other asinine thing she was not in the mood to assess. turning to her neighbor at the bar, she brandished a hopeful smile, mind still humming from a few drinks. “if you can save me from having to look at dan’s mole, i'll get your next drink.” if they weren’t interested, well, dan was making good time on his beeline towards the both of them. they’d both be trapped in conversation.