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Rochelle was, surprisingly, impressed. She leaned back against the doorway and whistled appreciatively, staring back towards the main room as lights blared too life. This was almost too good to be true-- and she almost felt compelled to rush and see if the air conditioner would work.

But, those were noisy. They couldn’t afford to be noisy.

But, but, but...

Ro reached out to knock back Ellis’ hat and ruffle his hair, teeth bared in a wide and cheery grin, “Looks like we got light now, bud, wanna see what else works in this house?” She asked merrily, eyes sparkling.

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Ellis ignored the call of his name. He hummed as he worked in the soft light of the backroom. He grabbed the flash light from off the table, pushing it to help light up the box he was working with. He hummed as he heard Ro finally enter the room. He turned to look at her with a grin. “Just messin’. “ He muses a moment before he’s focused back on his work. 

He’s humming to himself as he begins twisting the final wire. He grabbed the light moving to the lower box with the pluming. “I think I can get it to work” He mumbled mostly to himself. He could feel Rochelle’s eyes on him. He shook his head amused. “I think I can get it to work. I know I can. “ He said after a long moment. 

God, this would be just what they needed right now. Ellis is using the screw driver he found, to help bang against the pipe, trying to turn the tight knob. One hit, than two and he’s able to twist it with his hand. He licks his lips as he pulls back. “Wanna see a magic trick, Ro?” He asks praying to everything above that this works. Ellis pulls on the breaker box again, flipping a few switches. The house grumbles and the soft buzzing starts. A moment later the flicker of lights are seen above. 

He turns to Rochelle and beams. “ I ain’t know anythin’ about pluming. I dunno if the water will work. “ He admits. 

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Ro smiled as Ellis gave quite a few promises before skipping on out to the back of the safe house. She may be a little curious about whatever this surprise he’s thought up was, but he was right. A little faith didn’t hurt none. With no ax left to sharpen, Rochelle decided to busy herself with guns, as she normally found herself doing.

Pistols were inspected, shotguns were unloaded and cleaned. She somehow managed to snag Nick’s magnum off of him to inspect the dents in it and give it a good polishing. Her mindless business was soon distracted, however, by the sudden loud BANG of wood on metal. Ro stood up immediately, cursing under her breath as she immediately realized who the culprit was.

“Ellis!” She called, temper flaring momentarily as she stomped back towards where she remembered him running. What she found was somewhat unexpected. The young mechanic was fiddling with some sort of breaker, beaming his brains out, and she failed to find the words to describe him.

Was he an idiot? A genius? Something in between? Was this the surprise. Baffled beyond belief, Ro caught Ellis’ shoulder to get his attention and said, “What are you doing?”

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Ellis grinned as if he had been handed something made of gold. “Thanks Ro! “ It comes out quickly before he shakes his head. “Come on, ‘s a surprise “ He almost teases, but the tone in his voice makes it seem as if he means it. The safe house is dimly lit with shitty camping lights. There is a ghost of a bathroom down the hall and inside a room to the left a small box to deal with electric and pluming. Nothing had worked…. but with a little help Ellis thought he could get the damn shit open and working. 

Give everyone a little piece of heaven for all of 5 minutes. “I promise, it ain’t bad or nothin’. I dun even know if it’ll work. But I can’t get the damn thing open. I’ll bring it right back” He said making a motion of him drawing an x on his chest above his heart. “A little faith, dun hurt none” He said with a bright grin. 

It takes him all of two moments before he’s nearly running towards the back of the safe house. He uses the axe’s hand to crush the cover of the work box, hitting it more times than he can count. It finally opens and Ellis beams. Time to get to work.  

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Who’s making your decisions? You or your religion Your government, your countries You patriotic junkies

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"Are they gone?"

Rochelle held a finger to her lips, expression drawn tight and sharp as she lifted her head up from their hiding spot to inspect the room. The chattering they had been running from was far off now, distant.  They probably lost ‘em after dropping down into the basement which was, surprisingly, clear of anything dangerous. They were safe, for now.

“For now, sugar, but I’m god damn sure that won’t be the last time we see ‘em.” Ro said softly, falling back down to press her back to the downed cabinet and catch her breath. Three fucking Clickers in one god damn house-- what are the odds? She stared down at the shotgun in her lap, fingers twitching with restless energy. They had to be quiet, hmm?

Around them was a whole lot of nothing. Downed furniture, a half-open closet, and trash as far as the eye can see; nothing to help increase their chances of survival. The only obvious way out was up, either through the stairs or the massive hole they had fallen through, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any walls they could try and smash through.

“El, girl, start poking around-- see if you can find us another way out.” She said quietly, gripping her shoulder, “And keep quiet. Don’t know how close one of those plant fuckers are. Can’t chance one dropping down on us, yeah?”

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"Care for another mystery meal?"

It was time, finally to get a little loud. At least, that’s what Ro thought as Ellie lifted her own voice to announce it was time for dinner. The rest of their little hide out was silent– the ruins of an old gas station that protected them from the quiet drizzle outside. Moss and weeds climbed messily across old linoleum and plaster walls, and a rotted trunk lay haphazardly in front of the door, keeping them in for the night and the monsters out. They could afford to be a little noisy.

Rochelle laughed brightly, huddling closer to the meager fire she and Ellie had managed to scrounge together. Their rations were this: three cans of nonperishables and a few bags of something that may or may not be rotting. Every meal was a mystery meal. Still, the title of such a thing didn’t stop being funny after the second or third utterance. 

“Hit me up, young’un. I’m betting it’s Spam again.” She said, playful and light, face half illuminated by orange flames at her feet. “’M sure it’ll taste good after being cooked a bit, hmm?”

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ofsuits:

❝ Rochelle- ❞ Nick’s voice is biting, dangerously toeing the line of becoming a yell, but he has the sense to not finish that sentence. He inhales sharply, and she can probably feel his shoulders and neck tense under her well-meaning hand. It takes every ounce of his worn-thin self control not to push her away- hard.

He considers, momentarily, being honest. But what would he say? Rochelle, I mean it? Rochelle, I have absolutely nothing left to give? Rochelle, I was never supposed to be here in the first place? Rochelle, I should already be dead? And would she even care? Probably not. Who was he to ruin the last bit of obviously forced morale this woman had, anyway?

But still, her fingers on his shoulders seemed to burn. He didn’t want her help. He didn’t want to be touched, right now, else he might snap. Glare fixated on the worn red of the first-aid kit between them on the floor, he let out a long exhale.

❝ Ro. I’m gonna need you to take your hands off me. Now. ❞ His tone was notably less volatile now, but it was clear his anger was only muted for the sake of politeness. 

❝ I can patch myself up. You, start- I don’t fucking know- start picking those rotting fucks off from a window. ❞

Rochelle’s hand slips free of his shoulder easily, a flash of hurt coming and going as quickly as she realizes it exists. Fine, he can be like that. Cold and bitter and sniveling like a child. She would not let him drag her down too. With a look as frigid as the arctic itself, Ro reaches forward and hefts up the rifle sitting between them, taking post by the window.

The hoard outside seems never ending. They climb over each other, cry and scream, wailing their zombie wails. Disgusting. Rochelle starts picking them off easily, head by head, body by body. Disgusting. The explode like pinatas, like water balloons, like inflated pools. Disgusting. 

She tries not to let Nick get to her, but his words are the fire in her veins, the fight in her chest. The gun rattles off a barrage of bullets and noises, the tip turning red hot from the over use until, eventually, Rochelle is forced to reload. By that time she was flaring, growing enraged instead of depressed, until finally she pulls the gun out of the window and drops it unceremoniously onto the ground.

“Tell me what the fuck is wrong with you Nicolas.” She says, voice raising a few octaves, matching the volatile expression on her face, “Tell me what the fuck is wrong, because I know this isn’t like you.” 

Ro picks up the gun again, swinging it wildly back to the window to pick off a few more zombies, letting the bullets try and sail away her anger, and when that proved to be unsuccessful she stands and begins pacing the length of the room.

“Aren’t you the one who was actin’ oh so brave, spouting shit like ‘I didn’t come this far to die now’ or something stupid like that?” She slams the butt of her rifle into the wood, feeling her very skin begin to prickle with a want, a need to hear him agree, to perk up, to stop acting so goddamn hopeless.

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Rochelle was, honest to god, the only person in this group that could hold a conversation. Sure, Nick liked Coach enough -respected him, even- but the man wasn’t one for words if the subject wasn’t southern life, a topic that the northerner had just about been banned from discussing after one too many hillbilly jokes. And Ellis…….well. That much was self explanatory.

But there hadn’t been any conversation, not with the mood the woman had been in all day. He’d quietly busied himself for the first twenty minutes; tending to his weapons, then pacing, and then discovering the dinky radio behind the counter. He hadn’t really thought it would work, considering how useful the few others they’d come across were, but when some music station actually fizzled into existence, he was honestly surprised. He’d turned to her, triumphant and smirking, only to realize she hadn’t even noticed.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

Nick is about to rescind his waiting hand when she finally takes it, a sly grin blooming across his face as he pulls her out of the chair and immediately into a twirl. He draws her closer, careful not to transgress any boundaries- he’s trying to lighten the mood, not get shot- and places a hand respectfully on her hip.

❝You can lead if it will make you feel better, sweetheart, but I’m perfectly capable of cutting a rug.❞ He matches her tone; playfully snarky, edging on lighthearted. 

 ❝None of my other partners have ever complained about my dancing, anyway.❞

“Oh, so you’re doing this to make me feel better, fancy man?” Rochelle smiles as she teases him, falling in step with the rhythm of the oldies playing over the crackling radio. His little plan works, kind of, as the misery from before suddenly felt lighter, more manageable, as if the offer of a dance would wash her misfortune away. 

The music might have been helping too. It’s definitely no broadcast-- she can only assume this diner was corny enough to carry around cassettes, but the song is clear enough and it’s familiar, slow. Nice and simple, just like the dancing.

Nick is fairly decent, surprisingly. Rochelle was half expecting him to be unable to keep any sort of beat, but he was right. He is perfectly capable of cutting a rug. She moves slow and easy, keeping her hands loosely around his neck as they dance across the empty dining hall like it’s some majestic ballroom. Perhaps, once upon a time, it could’ve been.

But she’s not really the princess type, now, is she?

Rochelle prances them back towards the tinny-sounded radio, keeping her hands locked around his neck as she tilts and, suddenly, kicks her heel into the side of the radio. The track pauses, buzzes, and then jumps to something quicker and jazzier. A miracle in action.

“Hell, I didn’t think that’d work!” Rochelle says with a triumphant laugh, the first of the day, and she pulls back just enough to link her hands with Nick’s, “You into swing dancing, oldie?”

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“AX-tremely so! Bring it on, sister. I can go all night.”

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“Honey, that is AX-actly what I wanted to hear from you!”

“So would you say you’re… AX-cited to hear it?”

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“Honey, that is AX-actly what I wanted to hear from you!”

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“-You want me to… AXE you a question?”

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“Alright, sugar, calm your ass.” Rochelle snorted, handing over the ax as simple as can be. She really had no attachment to the weapon; it was just an old, rusty thing she picked up almost three miles back and never really used. Sharpening the dull edge made it seem a bit more palatable a hobby of slicing and dicing, but it lacked the familiar punch guns usually offered and merely for that Ro wasn’t too interested in using it.

“You can keep it, baby, just let me know why exactly you need to borrow it right now.” It’d be stupid of Ellis to not assume Rochelle was curious-- but, then again, stupid and Ellis were practically synonyms. Still, she lifted her chin, eyeing his disposition with what she hoped to be the stern gaze of a mother.

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Continued from here XXX

Ooookay so he knew she had an axe when he asked but Ro could have cut him a break! He just needed to borrow it. Nothing too bad, nothing aweful. He’d ugh totally give it back….. maybe… sure? 

Ellis nearly pouted at the woman. “I just need to borrow it! “ He clarified, trying not to give away his plan too soon. Rochelle would say he was crazy if Ellis did. He got enough of that from Nick and Coach. Someone had to be on his side! 

“Just for like five whole minutes–er…” He scratched the back of his head. “Okay, maybe six” Ellis said with a bright sheepish grin. He held out his hand, hoping Rochelle would offer him a land line. Just give me the axe and I can totally get us out of this mess– It’s what Ellis wants to say. But, doesn’t. He looks more like a child grabbing for a toy than an adult at that moment. 

“Come on, Ro!” He lets out a loud whine

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♦

Rochelle is having a pretty bad day, all things considered. Her watch in the safe room this morning ended swiftly when a jockey had decided to slip in through the broken siding, giving the other three men a rude awakening and Rochelle a cut on her arm that hurt like hell. Then, later that day, she tripped and ended up with a face full of gore and mud while on the run from a wandering hoard. The rain had managed to clean her off sufficiently, but it also worked to soak her to the bone and give her a chill that lasted up until this very moment. It wasn’t a good day, and, knowing their luck, it could only get worse.

Now, in their second safe house of the day, a swanky, run-down diner number, Rochelle plucks at the old upholstery in one of the many booths, quiet and fuming in her own stew of unlucky misery. Ellis and Coach had gone off to find some dinner at a nearby grocer, and Rochelle was only thankful that Nick was the sort to mind his own business half the time.

And so, of course, the old, old, slow-ass pop music was unexpected to say the very least. Nick appearing and offering his hand was an ever bigger surprise, and Rochelle nearly slips off the seat as she realizes what hes trying to do.

“Are you kidding me, suit?” She tries to be angry, tries her damnedest actually, but the music was just the right amount of awful, and there was something so goddamned funny at the image of Nick offering her a dance right here in the middle of a wrecked city. A smile cracks her mask, small and pleasantly simple, and she carefully takes his hand into her own. 

“I should let you know, I was the ballroom dance champion back in the sixth grade.” She says, voice just on the edge of warming, “I won’t mind if you have to let me take the lead.”

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Nonsexual acts of Intimacy - Select from the following for my muse to respond to...

♔ : Finding your muse wearing their clothes

♕: Holding hands

♖: Having their hair washed by your muse

♗: Your muse falling asleep with their head in my muse's lap.

♘: Cuddling in a blanket fort

♙: Sharing a bed

♚: Head scratches

♛: Sharing a dessert

♜: Shoulder rubs

♝: Reading a book together

♞: Caring for each other while ill (specify which party is which)

♟: Patching up a wound

♤: Taking a bath together

♧: Your muse playing with their hair

♡: Accidentally falling asleep together

♢: Forehead or cheek kisses

♠: Your muse adjusting their jewelry/neck tie/ etc.

♣: Back scratches

♥: Your muse crying about something

♦: Slow dancing