[ He should have left by now, he'd planned on it from the start. She'd stuck her neck out for him — her blade, more like — kept him two inches from death when that walker snuck up on him. But that should've been it — she saved his life, thanks for all that, have a nice life, kumbaya. Thing is, he'd found some people he could trust a bit back — no small thing at the end of the world. They did everything right, had each other's backs, they were gonna fucking make it, and then.
What happened is what's been happening from the start of this whole shitshow: one small thing, and it's over. One mistake on patrol. It was already bad by the time he knew anything was happening at all, and then it was just him. Just him for a long time. Long enough, it started to feel like he might be the only one left with the dead these days, everyone else gone.
He'd stumbled on a town a few months ago, holed up in what used to be the library. Once he'd fortified it, it was easy enough moving back and forth from there to the edges, where some of the stores hadn't been completely gutted yet. He can't say he had much of a plan beyond just surviving there as long as he could, until the veritable well ran dry, and he'd be on to the next place, and the next. He was careful, always so careful, and he was gonna keep going as long as he could. It snuck up on him, is the thing. He'd cleared the place, front to back; absolutely cleared it. Knew every corner, every exit. But that fucker got the jump on him. Almost.
He'd barely managed to swear under his breath before the sharp edge of her katana caught some kinda light from the full moon, and he saw that flash of glistening metal slice that thing's head clean off. There should have been fear, probably. That close to oblivion — if there was a time to be afraid, it would've been then, but she sliced its head off and he could only make room for being impressed and grateful. They could've moved on from each other right then. He had no need for company, she had her own people. But she came back through town a few more times, one of those with a kid, and he figured — maybe he'd keep an eye on her. Because you think you got a corner covered, and then you don't. He sure as fuck knows from experience. So he watches, observes, sticks close when they're around. Maybe he doesn't need so many cans of creamed corn. Maybe the kid wants that shitty chocolate bar under the shelf of the drugstore. It starts with an exchange of goods, little nods, and then one thing leads to another and he's leaving town now, leaving with her.
That was months ago, and he's some kind of settled. The kind of settled, though, that never really is. Can't be. Settled means being able to count on something, anything. Only thing to count on in this world is the sun keeps rising.
It isn't his place, this isn't home, but these are his people, long as he's here, long as they're here. And he doesn't make a habit of throwing his opinions around much when he isn't asked, when the stakes are low. But something's off when Michonne's old friend comes wandering through. Off enough that he makes it his business to say something when they're coming back from checking the perimeter that night. ]
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— michonne.
What happened is what's been happening from the start of this whole shitshow: one small thing, and it's over. One mistake on patrol. It was already bad by the time he knew anything was happening at all, and then it was just him. Just him for a long time. Long enough, it started to feel like he might be the only one left with the dead these days, everyone else gone.
He'd stumbled on a town a few months ago, holed up in what used to be the library. Once he'd fortified it, it was easy enough moving back and forth from there to the edges, where some of the stores hadn't been completely gutted yet. He can't say he had much of a plan beyond just surviving there as long as he could, until the veritable well ran dry, and he'd be on to the next place, and the next. He was careful, always so careful, and he was gonna keep going as long as he could. It snuck up on him, is the thing. He'd cleared the place, front to back; absolutely cleared it. Knew every corner, every exit. But that fucker got the jump on him. Almost.
He'd barely managed to swear under his breath before the sharp edge of her katana caught some kinda light from the full moon, and he saw that flash of glistening metal slice that thing's head clean off. There should have been fear, probably. That close to oblivion — if there was a time to be afraid, it would've been then, but she sliced its head off and he could only make room for being impressed and grateful. They could've moved on from each other right then. He had no need for company, she had her own people. But she came back through town a few more times, one of those with a kid, and he figured — maybe he'd keep an eye on her. Because you think you got a corner covered, and then you don't. He sure as fuck knows from experience. So he watches, observes, sticks close when they're around. Maybe he doesn't need so many cans of creamed corn. Maybe the kid wants that shitty chocolate bar under the shelf of the drugstore. It starts with an exchange of goods, little nods, and then one thing leads to another and he's leaving town now, leaving with her.
That was months ago, and he's some kind of settled. The kind of settled, though, that never really is. Can't be. Settled means being able to count on something, anything. Only thing to count on in this world is the sun keeps rising.
It isn't his place, this isn't home, but these are his people, long as he's here, long as they're here. And he doesn't make a habit of throwing his opinions around much when he isn't asked, when the stakes are low. But something's off when Michonne's old friend comes wandering through. Off enough that he makes it his business to say something when they're coming back from checking the perimeter that night. ]
How long since you saw her last?
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