for: @xanwritesx who: ray and fletcher verse: tlou/lwd au
It’s a rainy day in the Atlanta quarantine zone. Ray wakes before the sun can climb into the sky to the soft pattering of thick raindrops against his apartment window. He tosses onto his side, looking out the dark window at the stars in the sky. Say what you will about the apocalypse, but one of the best things about it is how clear the night sky always is. Gone are the giant billboards, hustling lights and harsh fluorescents of a big city. In its wake is nature reclaiming the Earth, growing over lampposts and burying cars in vines. The stars twinkle in the sky behind the soft clouds, and Ray lets out a soft sigh of contentment.
Then reality sets in. Ray climbs out of bed and shrugs on his favorite t-shirt and a pair of jeans so far stained you can barely tell what color they are. The word on the street is that a new group of survivors is arriving this morning, and Ray wants to see if it’s true. Tensions around the QZ have been high, with their food sources limited and overcrowding starting to set in. The military doesn’t have answers. Ray can’t blame them, of course, but it does nothing to make the QZ a happier place.
He pulls up to his favorite chair at the main mess hall, his back to the kitchen line so he can observe any new folks walking in. There are a stack of ration cards on his right hip, the luxury of owning one of the only successful businesses in the zone, and all of the kitchen staff know him from his weekly trade with them. Simple conversation over fruit juice for the last year and a half has made Ray a staple in the kitchen, and around the zone in general. Even the military officers come to Ray’s Place to escape life for a drink or two, nestled in the definitely illegal but allowed black market.
A small group of people come through the door. Ray recognizes one of his runners, Kat, immediately and gives her a smile and waggle of his fingers. She grins back at him before heading to the food line. Behind her are new faces, or at least faces that Ray doesn’t recognize. He scrambles to his feet to walk up to them, hooking a finger through his worn belt loop as he comes to a stop. He fiddles with the belt buckle next to his thumb.
“Hey there, welcome to the ‘zone. My name’s Ray, I run the bar ‘round here. Let me get y’all some breakfast as a welcome.” One of them is an older woman who looks tough at nails. She ignores him and walks right past him and to the food line. Ray’s brow furrows at her rudeness, but, well, it is the end of the world. A lot of people don’t care for pleasantries. The younger man seems less rude though, and Ray offers out a hand to shake, a hopeful glint in his eyes that it’ll be reciprocated.
