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shantipriya mathur.

 air  now  returned  to  her  lungs  as  she  took  a  step  backward.  she  felt  foolish  for  the  warm  tears  that  fell  from  her  eyes  —  was  she  really  that  out  of  it  —-  that  she  needed  someone  else  to  SAVE  her  ??  she  quickly  wiped  them  away,  afraid  to  show  another  level  of  her  WEAKNESS  to  the  strange  man.  she  swallowed  the  lump  in  her  throat  and  adjusted  the  scarf  around  her  head.  shantipriya  lifted  her  chin  and  decided  to  skip  the  INTRODUCTIONS.  taking  his  hand  she  ran  towards  safety  behind  the  liquor  store  she  had  her  eye  on  before  she  was  OVERRUN  by  the  undead.  her  back  pressed  against  the  graffiti  flooded  wall.  QUIETLY  she  thanked  him;  her  hands  grasped  the  ends  of  her  scarf.  she  removed  it  from  her  head  to  allow  her  CHOCOLATE  strands  of  hair  fall  down  her  shoulders.   ❝  i-i  can’t  express  how  thankful  i  am. ❞  she  stressed,  tried  eyes  landing  in  his  direction.   ❝  my  name  is  shantipriya  and  i  PROMISE  you,  i’m  not  a  damsel  in  distress.  i  just  got  struck  with  a  bad  case  of  luck. ❞

   even before the dead began to ROAM the earth, beau dales was well accompanied with the dead. even more familiar with escapes : usually alcohol, though this was a bit more active ... he nods along, deep breaths in. ❝ nice to meet you, miss. wish it’d be under better circumstances though, ya’ know? ❞ he pays little heed to her DAMSEL IN DISTRESS comment -- he’s found woman are usually better at surviving anyway. ❝ my name is beau, ❞ he nods his head, extending a hand to shake. manners were yet to die by him.  

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Special Agent John Doggett Appreciation → 8x04 Patience

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Special Agent John Doggett Appreciation → 8x05 Roadrunners

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Special Agent John Doggett Appreciation → 8x17 Empedocles

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You’re faithful, you’re dependable. You’re without guile. You’re very comfortable to be around.

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HUNTER ANDERSEN. 

Having run into a horde on her way back to her home base, Hunter had opted to spend the night in the safety and cover of a tall, green cottonwood. The cover was sparse, but she’d been able to shimmy her way far enough up to remain undetected by several of the dead, save a couple she’d quickly dispatched with her bow. 

Despite the relative safety of the spotty canopy, Hunter had slept no more than a handful of minutes at a time–REST slipping through fingers with the hour hands of a long broken watch. When the sun had come up, she’d finally dozed off into a deeper slumber only to be disturbed by the cracking of foliage beneath the steady gait of a living person.

Not wanting to startle them nor reveal her location to a raider or someone similar while unprepared, Hunter rolled onto her belly–chest pressed tightly against the rough bark of the branch. “You lookin’ for a fight down there?” The husky tone of her voice cracking with disuse and she cleared her throat before continuing. “Or are you friendly?” It had been a long time since she’d been in a fight, but maybe longer since she’d seen a friendly face.

   beau dales is not a idle leader. he’s a man of initiative, a deep-rooted belief in leading by example : no ‘ do as i say, not as i do ’ bullshit from him. he wakes at dawn, a habit he’s yet to break  he can still remember the last time he slept in : the smell of coffee, rosaline rushing around to prepare for the BABY SHOWER ... cadet jumping up and down on the bed excitedly. his head aches from the flood of memories, a pang in his chest following suit. he’s so lost in memories he’s nearly forgotten that he’s gone for a walk. but a disembodied voice pulls him from the past : 

   he looks up, regarding the figure curiously. he’s not altogether shocked : more surprised by the woman’s dexterity.  ❝ no, ❞ he calls up, head cocked to one side. ❝ are you ? ❞ he doesn’t DOUBT her abilities but beau is generally unwilling to fight a lady. ❝ just passin’ through, ma’am. sorry to disturb ya’. ❞

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DAPHNE MONTGOMERY.

                         daphne sat alone in the hotel lobby, with her gun sitting on the coffee table and her brain P O U N D I N G inside her head. with her headache, the lights were bright and blinding, but she did her best to ignore the pain. it was one of those nights, where she’d awaken from an horrifying NIGHTMARE about her parents, usually in the middle of the night or sometimes hours after, then she wouldn’t be able to sleep because of it. ❝ hey, ❞ daphne called out as she noticed someone walk by her. ❝ i know i’m not supposed to be here at a time like this, but i had the n i g h t m a r e s again and i couldn’t… i can’t sleep. ❞ she looked down at the ground as she played with a piece of thread she tugged out from the sofa. ❝ just a random question, but, do you think we’ll ever get out of this MESS ? ❞ she asks. ❝ like, is it possible that maybe someday, someone—one of us, or anyone—is going to find some kind of C U R E ? i know it sound far-fetched, but do you think it could happen ? ❞

   it’s still new to him, still just shocking as it was four years earlier, seeing CHILDREN with GUNS. he chooses to ignore it upon hearing her words ( protection was needed at all ages, he supposes ) and sits across from the girl, elbows resting against knees. he listens carefully, considering his options before answering. he decides to go for the TRUTH. ❝ maybe ... ❞ the word is dragged out, deliberate and cautious. ❝ probably not in our lifetime, though. certainly not mine. ❞ he wishes he could lie and take her fears away but he’s never been one to sugarcoat things. 

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❪ BOBBY BELLEVUE. ❫

     ❝  ‘m ten, jus’ got that Benjamin Button disease.  ❞  Shot back rapid fire, Bobby only gives a glance before sight returns to the drawing and a hand begins it SEARCH for a new purple crayon. The suppression of a twitch is obvious at being called ‘ son ’ but he ( surprisingly ) keeps the comment in his throat.  ❝  I’d offer to let ya’ color with me but if it’s sooo clearly beneath you, I think I’ll keep tha’ crayons to m’self.  ❞ 

   ❝ ya’ don’t look like brad pitt. ❞ something akin to a SMIRK falls against his lips. he’s not entirely unused to men pretending to be boys --- half of his fleet had acted like twelve year olds at some point or another. simpler times, he supposed. ❝ aren’t those supposed to be fer ... i dunno ... kids ? ❞ he’s not seen many ‘round these parts ( it’s bittersweet ) but he figures they should be saved for someone with less responsibility to be had. 

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So how are you feeling? Really, really pissed off with this dying thing. Terribly, utterly, 100 percent pissed off. Like millions before me.

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All right, kids. If you need to hit the head, now’s the time because we’re not stopping once we hit the road.

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