his map of the city is covered in pencil marks: adrian's careful, organized shorthand that must seem incomprehensible to anyone else. the perfect circles indicate stores already ransacked, void of anything valuable; triangles denote the dwellings bleeders seem inexplicably drawn to day after day, small, filthy places that adrian has taken to calling hives. the clinical rectangles represent his various hiding places scattered across the city, for the days and nights he's either too far from weston-rhodes, or simply does not wish to return — comfortable enough for what they are, but they're far from the home the campus is.
those are only some of the explanations for the lines and drawings that he consults now, nodding curtly to himself before practiced hands fold the guide back to pocket-size, tucked back into its position in the interior of his jacket — rising from his crouch, he gestures with an extended neck towards the north, stepping further onto the balcony they've temporarily laid claim to.
“we can go up another floor in this building, make a small jump from an apartment window there to the neighboring building — best way to avoid the bleeders. then there's only one more street left.”
he beams at alden, obviously proud of himself, grateful for whatever subconscious urge told him to mark the location of the art studio. “told you i'd remember my way. and trust me, the place is untouched. tons of scrap metal for you. other supplies, too, if you want 'em.” @doomdays