#twl open

[jvstinames]

It had been a while since he’d done this. Last time was before anything was official, at least in his mind, back when the group were just bystanders to him, complications to how he imagined his and Eli’s reunion going. He didn’t have time to care about the group’s well-being over his own desires then, and Justin was starting to feel that disconnected again as he rifled through the group’s medical stash for purely selfish means.

They were good people, here. He could use that. No one would look twice at him because he was supposed to be part of them and no one knew how little that actually meant to Justin, honestly. They were good conversationalists. Good fighters, good in general. But it didn’t matter whose wounds might have been soothed in the future by this medicine if it meant he didn’t have to spend another painfully-dull hour sober. Only, no matter how aggressively he rifled through things, nothing good appeared that he could use. Justin clicked his tongue, irritated.

“Fucking useless,” he mumbled, furrowing his brow and starting to pick through individual pieces, trying to find something he might have missed.

[wraithofthewasteland]

It must be rude to feel so unsettled in this place. That’s Violet’s current reprimand of choice, at least, in the hopes of pulling her nerves away from the edge. The women have welcomed them all so openly. Given them food, water, even beds. They deserve better than uneasy glances and the distance she’s been keeping. If she offered help, maybe, in that garden of theirs... not that she has many supplies to spare, but maybe they could find some use for an extra set of hands.

Instead, she lingers near her truck, pacing, poking, prodding, peering needlessly beneath the open hood. Her gun feels too heavy where it’s strapped to her thigh, but the weight of the blade at her hip is comforting, and she’s long since stopped noticing the way she reaches for it every so often. As if it might just disappear if she lets it go unchecked for too long.

She’s on her fourth semi-aimless lap around the truck when her skin prickles. Head cocked, she waits for the sound of footsteps before casting one last glance over the engine and shutting the hood. “Careful where you wander.” She lifts a hand to briefly block the sun shining in her eyes, then points, leaning uneasily against the side of the truck. “There’s a whole bunch of stinging nettle that way, if you go back too far.”

[heavendestroys]

It feels almost uncomfortably obvious, the sides of the building painted a bright blue, with an obnoxious yellow sign hung on the side. Like it’s own kind of signal flare set up in the midst of a swiftly crumbling landscape, the buildings around them already starting to fall into decay.

Including the one across the street, the squat brown building that holds Zoe’s attention now. Gun always at her side, four lanes of abandoned highway and broken down cars separating them from the medical center. It seemed worth a look at least, even if she has little optimism what might be found inside at this point.

The sound of footsteps behind her draws her attention, a glance back at the approaching figure before she nods her head at the building.

“Got a gun?”

[jaemacleod]

Jae isn’t super sure what’s creepier.  Wandering into that monolith aways back, or into the church right now.  Nuns and god and all that stuff.  It was all a bit too much Exorcist and not enough Sister Act for his liking.  Sometimes he feels like he’s on some kind of invisible like -- one step in either direction and he’s dropped into hell, or flung into heaven.  He’s not sure which might be worse.  Two sides of a coin and he’s treading the edge.  But the fact remained... It was the same freaking coin.

He’s not about to poop all over anyones philosophy or beliefs.  Nor is he going to refuse the generous invitation.  But he doesn’t necessarily have to agree with them... Or particularly like it.  He kinda feels as though he’s had gooseflesh prickling his skin ever since he stepped foot in the place.  

Which is why he’s set himself to one side.  Nose to the window, looking out on the bleak landscape beyond.  And yeah, he’s fairly sure there are things moving out there.  A flicker here.  A shade there.  

“Probably the wind.”

It’s just a small mutter.  A casual musing.  As though saying it out loud might actually help him to believe his own thoughts.  

...Probably.

[lynsey-ziegler]

Lynsey hated what she was about to do. With every fiber of her being, she hated it, to the point where she actually felt some natural resistance to every step forward she took right up until she reached the doors to the monastery’s chapel. This was the room they used for morning service back when the world was whole, or so she’d been told. 

Little pews sat in rows in front of a small, empty podium. There was a large, adorned cross on the wall behind it, as well as scattered around the other walls and windows here. It was a small space but far from private, each wall mostly made up of large windows that looked out into the garden. But there was no one she could see outside. So, after a moment of looking around, she stepped forward and took a seat in one of the front-most pews, staring at the cross on the wall with heavy focus, playing with her own fingers above her knees.

“...’you there, mom? Dad,” she added him in seconds later. She thought about asking after her siblings as well, but didn’t quite have the energy (or the stomach) to name each one of them individually. Only Sadie, the only one of them who reveled in the conservatism of their upbringing. For a while, Lynsey’s quiet. This feels like a joke, but one she has to go through with anyway. How much longer could she leave it, knowing she’s probably never see them again, living or dead?

“Can you see me?”

Whatever she was trying to do was interrupted by the sound of the door pushing back open behind her. Lynsey looked to it with a start but forced herself to relax moments later, unsure whether she was annoyed or grateful to have been interrupted. 

[kane-e]

Kane’s perched on top of his van, Kidz Bop classics playing from inside the van, trousers off and in hand, sewing up a hole that was starting to grow. Who knew sitting down would be worse for making holes in his jeans opposed to constantly walking around? Either way, he’d worn a hole into them and he’s busy with a thread and needle, carefully stitching it up in the waning daylight.

His legs are out and he’s grateful it’s warm. If he were younger or the world circumstances different, he’d be shy about sitting in just his boxers but his self-consciousness had died a while ago. The worst of his scars are out of sight, anyhow, nothing but a few long scratches and bullet wounds from good old dad. It was the arms ( and face ) that took the brunt of them.

Vaguely he’s aware of someone hovering nearby, Kane sees enough in his peripheral to know they’ve stopped because of him or his terrible taste in tunes. “Get your free looks in now,” he deadpans out, not looking away from his sewing, “Stick around too long and I’ll have to start charging.”

[ladislav-jankovic]

The access to the roof had been easy enough to find. It had been a matter of breaking a lock to get up there, but once he was, he was glad he’d done so. A few hours of sitting silently on the concrete had gotten him to go back down the ladder to claim a chair and some pillows, some other amenities so he could set up a little place up there on the roof where he could sit and overlook the city around them. Smoke a little, think about things and keep an eye on the horizon for a sister who was still missing. 

As the sun started to dim and sink below the horizon, he stood and went to the edge of the building, looking down at the parking lot and the buildings close by. This wasn’t some impregnable fortress, this wasn’t like the base he’d left to come with this group. This place was vulnerable and while they had patrol schedules to keep the group safe, he didn’t know how much trust to put in those who were wandering around the building watching for signs of danger. 

A creak of the door behind him had him glancing back to see who was coming up here to disturb him. He saw who it was and gave a puff of his cigarette in their direction before looking back out over the view. 

“What do you want?” he asked, not exactly inviting, but amicable enough to allow them to stay if they wanted. 

[ezra-b-a]

He’d spent the entire trip tense in the passenger seat. It was quiet spare a few words shared between himself and Daniel. He was either smoking or sleeping and trying to listen out for any conversation from the other four in the back of the vehicle. Ez hadn’t dared to step out too far from the RV. Hadn’t dared to really speak to anyone else traveling with them besides Danny. 

It felt terrible. Waiting around for something to happen. Someone to confront him. Instead, he’s just waiting for nothing and burning through too many smokes. Making up for lost time. He’d been told to not bother helping with the patrol. That he could look for supplies later. He felt like a child or a sick person. Relegated to getting ‘rest’ and a ‘break’. 

Worst of all: they were right. He’s sat on the back of the RV, perched on a little step as he’s attempting to light another cigarette. He’d wasted most of it, clicking and clicking, watching the little spark and the tiny bit of fuel left. A click. A spark. Nothing. A click. A spark.  Nothing. Click. No spark.

“Fuck you!” he shouts still holding the smoke between his lips. Flinging the lighter. And... it hits someone. Nothing that’ll hurt but... it’s shitty timing. 

“Oh -- not you.” Ezra stumbles out, looking down embarrassed, “Fuck the light I just threw at you. Not you personally.”