‘ loaded gun. ’

[trcmblings-blog]

hi he probably won’t be a SUPER ACTIVE FIXTURE but for occasional appearances by your local serial killer please proceed to missedtrains

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

                   surprisingly, her hand doesn’t wander. instead, it finds satisfaction in curling around his elbow, fingertips gently tending to the soft skin there that is rarity in a such a hard man. ‘ the what in the nineties? ’ consider that reference gone way over her head, so far up that it may as well not be in the same plane of dimension ‘ you’d be a way better leader if you got more sleep. ’ shifts onto her hip, having grown restless and energetic in an inexplicable turn. ‘ if y’think about it, you’re actually hurtin’ the camp by not sleeping. i bet it’s affecting all kinds of your judgements. ’

     “ the ritz. ”  he offers something of a tired little hum of a yawn, jaw tight in a vain effort at containing it.  ” it’s a hotel  ––––  was a hotel. a damn nice one, too. ”  oh, what he would have given for a down pillow or a duvet; luxuries lost to matters far beyond the reach of his hands, powerful though they might have been now within the borders of the commune within which they resided now.  “ my judgement doesn’t need your approval, turns out, and it’s actually sounder than yours by the looks of it, so what do you think that says? ”

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

                   ‘ yes. ’ that, or release a high-pitched scream designed to draw the attention of someone far more caring and understanding than the likes of wyatt booker and his penchant for authority without remorse. the slope of her nape leans back in the dip between his shoulder and neck to try and ease the strain of his knuckles tightening. she reaches into her pocket, withdrawing a peanut butter bar that she’s almost hoping will make up for all of it; her hand is trembling but it’s an earnest offer, teetering on a wobbly voice. ‘ are you hungry? ’

    let her scream. there were few who would have been quite so forgiving as wyatt booker given that it was she, not he, who hoarded peanut butter bars in the pockets of her jacket and she, not he, who had something to prove within the caste system of their commune. draw a ladder  ––––  lydia’s at the bottom of it.  “ sure. ”  he shrugs, taking the offering of food from her and tossing it back within the stores from which it had been robbed.  “ WE ALL ARE. that’s something that you’re gonna have to get used to. ” 

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

                   she would have loved to hear that laugh at any other moment and on any other day, but perhaps it was reserved for moments like these; the cruel ones, where time stood still and the only subsequent sound was the beat, beat, beat of her heart. ‘ can you let go? we can talk about it. you gotta’ trust me— ’ the blood is rushing in her ears and the fragility of her life hangs in the balance, delicate, weightless. it’s a bit more forceful, then, what she says to him next, high-pitched babied voice trying to stand firm. ‘ wyatt, let go. don’t make me make you. ’

    “ no. ”  refusal  ( or, perhaps, denial, depending on how you wanted to look at it )  came swiftly and wyatt’s grip on her jacket remained firm as ever, his expression hardly wavering from the fixed look of INDIFFERENCE that so often dominated his features. still, he laughs again, this time a far sharper sound. it occurs to him that she should be thankful  ––––  that so many of his equals would have killed her already without bothering with the pretence of a conversation.  “ what are you gonna do? kill me? ”

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

                   define well. hm. it was harder nowadays than it used to be— nightmares were more common, those of the living dead and being torn into bits by the grinds and churns of powerful rotted teeth. her hand, light as can be, moves to rest on his elbow; you’re not supposed to feel anything on the elbow, right? that’s not particularly true but she can bank false hope on it anyway. ‘ well… d’you, you know, get sleep? at least seven hours a night? you need more than that, probably, considerin’ how stressful your every day is. ’

    if you’re not supposed to feel anything on the elbow then consider him defective because he feels every inch of her skin grazing his and it is just as unwelcome a sensation as he had expected it to be. there were stories that got passed around of commune leaders hoarding wives like livestock and wyatt seemed to blanch at them; seemed to physically recoil at the implications and the work that he assumed to be involved in juggling that many women.  “ nobody gets seven hours of sleep anymore, lydia. this isn’t the ritz in the 90′s. ”

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

                   in truth she had nothing to ask when she walked in, but now that her plan’s worked she can improvise something if only to prolong the small gift of his attention that he has granted her. eyes tracing the muscles in his arm, she pauses, placing both of her hands flat on the mattress in the little space that is unoccupied by him. ‘ —somebody told me you don’t sleep well. is that true? ’ 

     he allowed something of a huff to escape and finally his eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly against the low light in the room, although he makes no move to face her nor to allow his line of sight to wander in her direction. there is not shame that settles across his shoulders at her question but there is certainly displeasure and it’s a tricky topic to navigate for a man so independent.  “ define ‘well’. ”

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

                   ‘ not really. ’ she’s barely gotten the words out when he hurls a threat at her that makes her blood run cold, a rarity for the ball of heat and intensity. she spares a glance down to the laces of her converse that have turned a muddy brown over the months, and, panicky— ‘ i didn’t take anything important, i promise. you can check. ’

     “ important? ”  at that she earns a laugh that sounds far too jovial for the matter at hand, his head dipping back as it bubbles up out of his throat and past lips that have grown pale from the cold outside.  “ really don’t think i need to be the one to tell you that you shouldn’t have been taking anything. this is a COMMUNITY, lydia. you wanna go play every man for himself you can do it outside. ”

[trcmblings-blog]

rosecrime:

                   the worst way to convince someone that you’re asleep is by answering them loud and clear. he should have known better. there’s an almost shy fashion to her swaying before she finally has the courage to step into the dirtied office, settling herself so delicately on the edge of his bed that she might as well be falling off. ‘ i wanted to ask you about somethin’. ’

     still, even as the bed’s edge dips ever so slightly under the tentative placement of her weight, wyatt does not roll over to face her nor do his eyes flutter open. his arms remain crossed stiffly against his chest, perpetually frozen fingertips buried beneath his biceps, and there is something of a sigh released before he sees fit to offer a verbal reply.  “ what do you want, lydia? ”

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

                  balance is not her forte, to say the least, and she stumbles back into him as the dark reds and greens of her jacket starts to feel like a prison cell. she doesn’t turn around. she thinks seeing his face and the evidence of her mistake might make it real, and she can’t afford reality for much longer. truthfully— TRUTHFULLY?— ‘ not really … ’

      NOT REALLY?  “ not really, ”  he repeats. there is a slow nod that accompanies his reply although he does not release his grip on her jacket, knuckles white against the nape of her neck.  “ how about you tell me what you think you’re doing and i won’t drag you out to the yard and have you shot? ”

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

               her hands are a shaking and fumbling mess and she knows she doesn’t have a lot of time, kneeling close to the pile of food rations that dwindles day by day and stuffing whatever she can into the pockets of her flannel jacket. she didn’t use to be a stealer, but people change. she didn’t use to be so easily startled, but times change. she will never forget the sound of wyatt’s footsteps behind her, returning far earlier than she’d anticipated. she doesn’t dare turn to him.

                     ‘ you’re back early. ’ and her voice is something strangled. [ @trcmblings ]

     TRUTHFULLY, he’d expected nothing less. trust did not come easily to wyatt and lydia had done nothing to earn it; her preoccupation with the armoury had done little to instil any shred of confidence in the girl’s motivations for infiltrating the camp and as wyatt happens upon her now his prevailing thought is that he should have known better. his grip on the back of her jacket is vice-like, fingers curling around the collar and HOISTING her up to her feet.  “ care to explain? ”

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

               it’s not a bad place to make his bed. she’s actually not surprised that he’d claimed the nurse’s office for himself— it’s the only place in the high school where there’s an actual bed, with the cot and the mattress and the sheets still intact after all this time. from what she’d seen the rest of the compound had to make do with sleeping bags, coddling each other for warmth, and using whatever supplies they scavenged to make their resting places feel a little more like home. the knock she sounds against his doorframe is light, taptaptap. ‘ are you asleep? ’ [ @trcmblings ]

     he hadn’t shown her his bed on purpose. lydia was NEEDY and wyatt hadn’t quite decided how he felt about that yet; it would be useful, certainly, but she also stood to get in the way and the last thing that he had time or patience for was her bright eyed suggestions, tone equal parts light and presumptuous as she told him how to do his job. no, she was better kept at arms length  ––––  certainly where sleep was concerned. he lay, back to the door, spine stiffening at the intrusion despite his best attempts at laying still.  “ YES. ”

[zexxou]

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

               there has to be a sort of irony in that lydia is lying to him about something and that it has nothing to do with the walker encounter he now believes she’s misled him about. doesn’t he see, though, that it wouldn’t be in her best interest to lie about walkers drawing near the camp that she’s now a part of? breathing feels dangerous and he is so close that her mouth trembles. ‘ i’m sorry that i don’t remember. tomorrow i’ll go an’ see if i can map it out better. i’m sorry. ’

    his gaze flickers unforgivably to her mouth  ––––  to that trembling of her roseate mouth that he has coaxed out of her with an uncharacteristic aggression. wyatt is not known for showings of violence; he is all unsettling smiles and a gentle formality that contrasts sharply with what the threat of his capabilities suggests.  “ good. better. ”  a nod, then, and he’s pushing off of her and turning to continue his retreat to the doors.  “ in the morning. ”

[trcmblings-blog]

rosecrime:

                when he pulls away, her lungs stretch for air. it was not unthinkable that he might have snapped her neck there and then, given what she’d heard of crawford. their reputation— his reputation— preceded all other compounds. there is panic, and it zaps like electricity. ‘ wait— ’ there’s a little run, her legs so much shorter than his, and her hand pressing at his arm firmer than the time it did before. ‘ wyatt, look at me. ’

    presumptuous little thing, isn’t she? wyatt wheels around so quick he has her pinned back against a locker before she can possibly hope to fend him off, a forearm pressed firm against her collarbone. he draws close with a menacingly indifferent expression, the tip of his nose brushing against hers as blue eyes search through the mossy forests that littered hers.  “ i’m looking at you. was this what you wanted, lydia? ”

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

                 she has no idea. none. it could’ve been hours out, five minutes out, or none at all. she has no concept of time anymore. she doesn’t know what month it is, and sometimes she even doubts the yard. she didn’t celebrate her nineteenth birthday. ‘ fifteen minutes. ’ she blurts it out and avoids it eyes and she has never been a good liar, and working even more against her is wyatt booker and his perceptive eye. for me, i mean, not for them, ‘cause they’re a lot slower. ’

     “ right. ”  and as far as wyatt is concerned that is all that needs to be said. her dishonesty sits between them loudly and if she had been hoping to earn his trust this was not the way to go about it; worse yet than how poor of a liar she was was the fact that she had seen fit to mislead him this early on. without another word, he straightened up and turned away from her to start back down the hall the way that they had come.

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

                 ‘ wyatt. ’ she swallows thick, racking her mind for an answer— but it’s georgia, and everything looks exactly the same all-around when you get to parts of the woods, and the woods are too endless and vast to give him a pinpointed location. saying that she’d surrounded by trees and used their trunks as cover would give him absolutely nothing to work with. her eyes drop to the dip above the cupid’s bow his mouth. ‘ you’re hurting me. ’

     GOOD, he wants to say. GOOD, it should hurt. GOOD, maybe that will motivate you to tell the truth  –––  to give him something to work with  –––  to help the group that she had gotten on her knees to try and be a part of.  “ i don’t care. ”  and, unfortunately for lydia, that was the honest truth, although wyatt released his grip on her, posture straightening and the hand that had been settled on her hip sinking into the pocket of his jeans.  “ tell me how far out they were. ”

[trcmblings-blog]

LYDIA.

                  the mood shift makes her regret saying anything at all. it’s abrupt, and suddenly wyatt is serious in urgent and his hold on her face is uncomfortable, especially when lydia doesn’t have a memory to boast about. ‘ i— i don’t remember. ’ her eyes flash with an apology, heart-shaped lips drooping. ‘ i didn’t— a lot. i caught the back-end of a horde, there must’ve been thirty or forty. ’

     blue search green for dishonesty or hyperbole, his posture suddenly and irrevocably tense. thirty or forty did not bode well not the commune if they managed to get close and barriers would need to be checked and patrolled and the sharp line of his jaw betrays the plans and lists taking form in his mind as he regards her. his grip is unrelenting.  “ where? ”