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mafiosii‌:

she   had   been   dreading   this.   truly.   before   boulder   county,   there   was   cheyenne   —   and   she   had   seen   this   before.   it   took   the   last   of   her   remaining   group,   the   people   who   took   her   and   zia   eva   in   with   some   hesitation.   the   people,   the   crowds,   the   yelling   :   it’s   disorganized,   and   she   clenches   her   teeth   as   she   brings   one   foot   in   front   of   the   other   to   bring   bad   news.

“half   the   people   you   set   up   to   watch   the   perimeter   outside   have   no   idea   what   they’re   doing.”   it   isn’t   like   rory   to   go   against   the   boss   :   she   has   had   18   years   of   practice   for   that   but   the   panic   clings   to   everyone   and   it   can’t   be   helped.   "do   we   have   any   more   people?   two   or   three   snipers   isn’t   enough   to   watch   over   the   guards.   we’ll   be   overwhelmed   —"   ah,   of   course.   rory   damiani   never   forgets   to   think   about   the   worst   of   what   could   happen.   “—   i   think   we’re   making   too   much   noise.   or   at   least   everyone   else   around   us   is.”

Nia doesn’t bother trying not to show how this riles her. She bristles despite herself, despite knowing that Rory is still a child and is prone to whining like she doesn’t have the initiative to handle any of these problems herself. People would listen to her, Nia had no doubt, if she would just raise her voice confidently instead of angrily.

At the same time, she knows this is an unusual situation. She’s not comfortable herself either. “The horde comes whether we make noise or not. It will die down once everyone is settled in the job they’ve been given, give it an hour more.” She paused to think about the rest of their camp, their raiders, the few rogues they’d let in due to the mass of zombies headed their way. “As for snipers... There are a few good shots who aren’t already armed. How many do you need?”

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hattieadler‌:

        the brewery, as she knew it would, was starting to fill up. people left and right were appearing seeking out shelter and help and food and goddamn band aids. but hattie was growing ever more anxious as more fresh faces appeared. she was terrified she wouldn’t have ENOUGH medical supplies to tide them over through this mess of the dead. when the radio had crackled to life, she KNEW things would be bad. but she hadn’t expected them to be this crazy in such a short amount of time. 

       “ i … i think i should go out for a bit. find more supplies. with all the people, nia, i … i can’t keep up. we’ll have nothing LEFT by the time this is over. and … we need to be prepared for anything. i can … i can run out and be back in two hours. at the most. whether or not i find what we need. ”

Hattie was a capable young woman and Nia knew that, but in her haste to make sure they could withstand this chaos, she was being short and concise ( and very, very careful ) with everyone. This talk of leaving made her jaw tight with concern. “We need you here, Hattie,” she said warily. She was considering it, though. “And you may not even have two hours. I don’t want to lose anyone before the fucking biters even reach us.”

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Never let it be said that Antonia Campana couldn’t plan for a crisis. The Left Hand Brewery was teeming with busy people, busy raiders and busy rogues seeking shelter from the coming storm. La tormenta perfecta. Nia had given everyone a job, whether they wanted one or not; she’d tripled the number of watchers at their perimeter, whether they were sentinels or not; and she’d made sure she wasn’t idle either so that no one could say she wasn’t worth her shit.

She absolutely was. Their preparations were going to pay off and she knew it. They had guns and ammo, they had gasoline, they had plenty of eyes on the city stretching out past their territory, and plenty of ears on the radio to keep updates coming to the camp as soon as they were broadcast. But in a crisis, there was always more to do. “What is it? Spit it out,” she demanded. “We have only so much time.”

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bcdycold‌:

the smile that crept into her solemn expression was almost childlike – it was one which had grown out of a wash of relief. it wasn’t often that a life could be placed into another’s hands or at the very least, have a shoulder to lean on. rarer still were that others cared whether another lived or died. talk often centred on the brutality of raiders, the callous objectives that paid no heed. ‘ you know, nia – no, never mind. ’

perhaps it was better to save the gushy ( but genuine ) thank-you-for-saving-me-in-time spiel for later. her back teeth ground in frustration. a hot flush of embarrassment raced to her cheeks in realising her hands were empty, weaponless. she had left the mission of unfastening the gun from its holster the moment antonia’s voice slipped over her shoulder. now the pistol sat in her hands, fingernails running over the cool metal as she scoured the street corner for an opening. NOTHING.

‘ they’re getting closer. don’t think i can double back, either. what are we gonna do now? ’

Nia was desperate, truly desperate, to hear what Martine thought better of saying. Her favorite kind of outbursts were those punctuated by immediate regret. Nia had learned to curb her tongue — well, no, more like use her words carefully — from a young age, with three older brothers to boss her around. When she insulted, it stung. When she praised, you could fly. She knew her strengths.

Her face was red, embarrassment mostly, Nia assumed. But they didn’t have time for that now. Those corpses would catch a glimpse or a cent or the smallest sound any moment and they’d be... Well, trapped. Nia rubbed her thumb along the hilt of her gun in its holster, turning slowly in a circle to survey the alleyway they’d found themselves in. “We are going to quietly, slowly, go through that broken window. Step one,” she said, nodding toward the window. “Come.”

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girlablaze‌:

                YOU THINK WRONG. briar scoffs at that  ,  eyes darting away from the woman  &  across the views of this church in vexation  ;  briar sinclair is never wrong  ,  just simply opinionated  –  or sparking the flames of an argument that could have been avoided.  (  she does love a good DEBATE  ,  especially when faced with leadership.  briar has never been one to be told what to do.  )  

            ❛  clever  ,  but you don’t think your god has discovered that blind spot by now? ❜   she doesn’t feel uncomfortable here like many would  ,  a face staring back at her with a JUDGMENT she doesn’t seem to feel  ;  she has plenty of deeds to be ‘confessed ’  ,  to be judged for accordingly  ,  but god isn’t one she should be asking forgiveness from.  it’s from others  ,  it’s from herself  —-  the presence of religion is lost on her  ,  long washed away with blood  &  grief.    ❛  or maybe the gods aren’t even listening anymore  &  you’re wasting your time. ❜   maybe the gods are all DEAD  ,  gone  ,  and a prayer is nothing more than your voice drifting through the winds  —  a broken down payphone with nothing but a dead line  ;  that’s what she believes. briar’s shoulders lift into a shrug.  ❛  global domination  ,  i suppose  —  or maybe just boulder county domination  ,  who knows.  ❜  

Clearly, Briar didn’t like that answer very much. More so, Nia didn’t care. She thought it was funny, even, that she thought she could argue with hostages. That’s what God really had over her — her family. Dead and gone and held by God. One day, she’d get them back, but she hoped it wouldn’t be soon.

“Maybe,” she says with a shrug. She lets Briar continue, just watching her think and contemplate and wonder why the hell one might still pray after the dead claw their way up from hell. And she actually laughs, thinking about Boulder County domination. “Who knows, hm? You’re right about that. I might want more. What would you pray for, if you believed?”

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shcperd‌:

❝ being LIKED isn’t exactly on my agenda, ❞ he informs her, hands trying to see for any hidden nooks and crannies where these priests or w h a t e v e r could’ve hidden something good. he doesn’t think them INCAPABLE of doing so – the church had plenty of demons within its walls; he hardly believes hell was the problem. ❝ finding a drink, however – now that’s something i’m interested in. you wouldn’t know where they kept those things, would you ? ❞ elijah works his way behind the altar. a liquor store would’ve been a better option but if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that things are found in UNEXPECTED places. a liquor store ? too obvious and likely empty at this point. the apocalypse made alcoholics out of all of them. her reply has him turning – the echo of this s a c r e d temple is starting to grind on his nerves and he might kick the altar down any second. he doesn’t think she would APPRECIATE that and he’s not inclined to shatter the tiny trust they’ve built here, albeit momentarily and frail. he struts down the steps to where antonia had stayed to finish her prayers. or try to, anyway. ❝ oh ? so you think humans did this ? are humans more powerful than god ? ❞ so he IS making fun of her – can anyone blame him ? the idea of faith seems ludicrous and pointless in their world. plus, he’s bored out of his mind. ❝ how does GOD answer them ? ❞

She sucked on her teeth, eyes narrowed, suspicion growing at every further sentence he uttered. Sneaking around in a church, stealing from people who dedicated their lives to helping others, helping everyone who needed it. Nia had been on the receiving end many, many times. But there was no one here now... All those who dedicated their lives... Those lives were over.

But not theirs. Nia watched as he bent to search through the altar cupboards. Catholics didn’t have that. These Presbyterians, or whatever they were, they skimped on everything. “Tacaños,” she murmured under her breath. He stepped down toward her and she wished she’d made the first move instead, so she could stand over him for just a moment and be taller. Pero ay... she’d missed her chance.

“I’m a Catholic,” she admits, stepping forward to meet him. “So anything good is manmade, anything bad...” He’s getting on her nerves, but Nia’s smart enough to know he’s doing it on purpose. So she paints a little smirk on her lips and doesn’t give him the satisfaction. “He answers in little gifts if you can see them. We give our guilt to God. He gave me... tools. To save my home in México. He gave me a new home, here.”

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mafiosii‌:

she   finds   herself   smiling   at   the   thought   of   it.   rory   damiani   has   relied   on   violence   her   entire   life,   so   she   knows   this   one   by   heart   :   nia   doesn’t   have   to   tell   her   twice.   though,   it’s   nice   to   have   PERMISSION   —   her   days   as   the   eccentric   passerotta   of   her   neighbourhood   never   saw   those.   the   brewery’s   suggestion   fills   rory   with   …   excitement   that   she   buzzes   with   it.  

“that’s   fine,   i   guess.”   she   crosses   over   to   sit   beside   her,   resting   her   feet   on   the   next   pew   in   front   of   them.   “i   could   always   just   beat   them.   or   –”   her   eyes   widen   slightly   as   an   idea   passes   through   her   train   of   thoughts.   “–   you   know   what?   i   could   start   a   fight   club.”   it’s   a   nice   thought,   isn’t   it?   the   mob   has   no   such   thing.   it’s   far   too   unruly,   disorderly   —   but   rory   is   all   kinds   of   violence,   she   wouldn’t   mind   trying   it.   “we   could   make   a   whole   business   out   of   it,   if   we’re   smart   enough.”

Nia likes that little smile on her face. She’s mischievous. She’s smart. Everything that had enticed Nia in the first place, made her want to take Rory into the brewery and give her a useful job and some... Moderate perks.

“A fight club?” she questioned, intrigued. She’d seen the movie, obviously, but she wasn’t sure what Rory was plotting. She was still trying to figure out if she could trust Rory with those perks. “What kind of business, at the end of civilization?”

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hattieadler‌:

she’s quick to nod and offer the other a quick smile; straightening her backpack. she’s thankful it isn’t a stranger. conversing with ANYONE was difficult for her most days. she preferred to keep quiet. but conversing with people she knew was slightly less exhausting. a nap would still be in order later. as long as no one needed anything from her. hattie was always eager to help over anything else. even if she was DYING for a chance to be alone for awhile. to rest her tired bones. 

“ yeah! i’m fine. i was just … trying to find a way into this pharmacy. the front is padlocked which … i mean it might be stocked full of supplies in there. ” she was itching to find out. she wouldn’t take ALL of it, of course. she would leave stuff for others. but she was eager to gather what they could. to keep their own stock healthy. “ can you help me find the backdoor? and maybe help me break in. ” she wasn’t overly good at breaking into anything. but she did her BEST. 

Nia caught the brunette’s nod and watched her posture carefully. She’d noticed Hattie was quiet, didn’t often opt to say very much, but her posture called attention to her attitude far more. And when she did speak, it was with that bright, happy tone that Nia seldom heard around here.

“Or it might be already ransacked,” she reminded her, seeing her excitement at the prospect. “But it’s still worth a look.” Getting in would probably prove easier — or, at least, safer — than getting back out. But Nia had come prepared. Any free pocket was filled with a weapon. As usual. “I think I saw I door around this side,” she said, leading Hattie toward the back of the building.

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mafiosii‌:

faith.   what   has   that   ever   done   for   anyone?   rory   has   uttered   these   thoughts   out   loud   before   in   the   presence   of   her   nonna,   and   it   is   a   memory   that   rory   could   do   without.   how   angry   she   was,   how   disrespected   she   felt   —   perhaps,   faith   did   her   good   and   that   is   why   she’s   on   its   side.   all   faith   ever   did   rory   was   dirty.   does   she   still   believe   in   god?   of   course,   but   being   the   creator   of   man   doesn’t   exempt   him   from   the   resentment   that   fills   her   heart   until   it   overflows,   and   she   is   forced   to   destroy   herself   and   others   with   it.

she   refrains   from   rolling   her   eyes,   from   scoffing.   in   retrospect,   nia   reminds   rory   of   a   grandmother   …   not   the   harsh   and   brute   sicilian   woman   who   will   carry   her   husband’s   entire   establishment   in   his   stead   (   —   not   yet   )   but   the   kind   who   will   turn   every   and   any   joke   into   a   lecture.   “sure,”   the   young   woman   sighs.   “sure.   i   can   put   more   faith   in   them   if   they   stopped   stealing   my   rations,   how   about   that?   you   know,   one   of   them   had   the   audacity   to   bribe   me   —   and   it   wasn’t   even   a   good   trade.”   rory   wrinkles   her   nose   at   the   memory.   “and   it’s   like   we   get   good   stuff   everyday,   too.”   she’ll   spend   the   rest   of   this   conversation   complaining   …   after   all,   it   seems   warranted.   “i   could   write   all   these   in   a   suggestion   box   but   …   i   don’t   think   you   have   a   suggestion   box.”  

It’s not hard to read Rory’s thoughts on her face. She shows them off — even if she doesn’t mean to — with flourish and fury. It was juvenile and Nia remembered times when she, too, presented every word with a huff and a glare. But she had had her father to deal with it, to pour in tenacity in place of impulsivity. Rory didn’t have that. She was still young, and her family was... Dead, in all likelihood. Unless God decided to enact some miracle.

Nia shrugged off her explanation easily. It didn’t concern her. People stole, people bartered, people cheated. You had to protect yourself. “Show them the back end of that rifle,” she suggested, waving a languid hand. “You could beat faith right into them.”

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tarrcntino‌:

italia  found  it  laughable  .  faith  ,  in  these  times  .  as  people  died  in  the  most  inhumane  ways  .  where  as  one  would  die  every  second  in  the  old  world                here  !  you  blink  ,  and  ten  would  die  .  the  undead  would  grow  ,  replacing  them  .  there  was  no  God  .  but  that  was  her  choice  .  to  believe  .  maybe  it  helped  her  sleep  better  at  night  .  to  the  tarrentino  ,  anything  that  didn’t  guarantee  another  day  was  useless  .

she  had  had  enough  of  their  talking  .  moving  as  the  gun  was  lowered  ,  she  put  a  knee  to  the  floor  ,  searching  in  between  the  seats  .  moving  the  bibles  away  .  ❝  if  you  think  every  one  who  attended  C  H  U  R  C  H  had  nothing  to  leave  behind  ,  ❞  bingo  ,  she  thinks  ,  as  she  pulls  out  a  stick  of  gum  from  in  between  two  pages  ,  ❝  you  haven’t  been  looking  hard  enough  .  ❞

Nia watched as she knelt between the pews, rifling through Bibles and hymnals. She took those words with quite a few grains of salt, more annoyed every passing moment. “I don’t do much looking in churches.”

Lips pursed, she kept her eyes carefully trained on the top of her head. It wasn’t like she was stealing from Antonia. They weren’t even in the brewery, so she wasn’t stealing from her new home. Somehow, though, she felt rather protective. She knew it wasn’t the building that brought God to her, it was the faith. But this was her place. “What do you think you’re going to find?”

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girlablaze‌:

                ask briar’s opinion about THE ALMIGHTY and you won’t get much more than a scoff or a roll of her eyes as your answer  (  perhaps  ,  a deriving comment about his usefulness.  )  she’s not a FAN  ,  not one to fall to her knees at his alter  &  pray or beg for something more than she had now  —  for safety  ,  shelter  ,  protection  ,  hope  —  please. if you wanted those things  ,  best not waste your time asking HIM  &  go out and get it yourself  ;  but she wasn’t always one to scowl upon the holy name.  the sinclair’s were the church on sundays  ,  give thanks  &  pray type too once  ;  before that family DIED  &  whatever respect briar had for the faith along with it. 

        so no  ,  she’s not here to do what her leader was doing at the foot of the cross  ;  she’s here out of  .  .  .  curiosity to what nia was up to  ,  so far from the brewery’s walls  —  it’s safe to presume briar still carries a wariness for her camp  ,  including those that hold the reins.  TRUST  ,  she’s learnt  ,  is something you give out sparingly  ;  and not to those that were once enemy.  but they’re not anymore  ,  are they?  ❛  could ask the same of you  ,  didn’t think anyone is the praying type anymore.  ❜   no  ,  what she means to say is she doesn’t think anyone from the raider side of town was the praying type  –  nor carried the same merciful tendencies that GOD is supposed to share.  heaven  ,  hell  ;  briar knew which ones they were all in for  &  it wasn’t a paradise.   ❛  be careful  ,  this place won’t save anyone from a good lightning bolt  ,  especially one who curses in the house of the lord. ❜   lips quirk as she speaks  ,  fingertips coming to tap against the wooden pews.   ❛  so  ,  what are you praying for?  ❜

Nia’s hand found her hip as she waited for a response, expectant and unimpressed. Briar was rather new at the brewery, compared to Nia herself and some of the others, and besides that, Nia only trusted most people as far as she could spit. “You think wrong,” she said simply.

Her mouth twisted into half a smile, imagining what she’d have to do to God if he tried to strike her down. “I curse in English because my God speaks Spanish,” she explained, turning back to face the altar. “I’m praying for myself, claro que sí. What else?” It was a lie. A simple one, a little one, but a lie nonetheless. She prayed for her family. Her parents, mostly, and some of the brothers she’d lost before this all began. But they were all dead now and God had taken up their souls to one kingdom or another. And wherever they were, she prayed for them.

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Mr. Bartholomew: Mrs. Lampert, do you know what C.I.A. is? Regina Lampert: I don’t suppose it’s an airline, is it?

Charade (1963) dir. Stanley Donen

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mafiosii‌:

“most   people   aren’t   me.”   rory   retorts   with   a   cheshire-like   grin,   a   shrug   of   her   shoulder   before   she   rests   the   sniper   rifle   on   one   of   the   empty   pews   of   this   strange   …   church,   of   sorts.   it   feels   wrong   to   be   here   —   just   as   it   feels   wrong   to   be   outside   of   these   walls,   out   there   in   the   unrelenting   and   smothering   silence.   the   leader’s   remarks   cause   a   scowl   to   cross   her   features,   and   rory   is   SKEPTICAL   …   what   is   she   implying?   whatever   it   is,   the   young   woman   is   displeased.  

“no   shit.   what   i   mean   is…   it’s   literally   the   beginnings   of   a   creepypasta   out   there,   i’m   telling   you.”   though   she’s   not   sure   how   to   describe   it.   rory   rolls   her   eyes   and   speaks   through   slightly   gritted   teeth,   “but   whatever.   you’re   probably   too   old   to   get   what   that   means.”   she   sighs,   “if   you’re   trying   to   say   that   i’m   not   doing   my   job,   let   me   remind   you   who   keeps   watch   of   your   camp   day   and   night   even   when   your   sentinels   are   constantly   pussy-ing   out.”

Nia is glad enough when the girl puts down her rifle, even just so that she can holster her own weapon. It feels wrong to her to hold it in this place, despite her true faith that God understood extenuating circumstances. Violence has been done in many churches... Nia had seen it done herself, though she hadn’t participated. And didn’t plan to. Rory’s little scowl is almost laughable compared to the memories flickering off and on in Nia’s head.

Ignoring her anger, she only tilts her head when the girl starts going on about pasta. She’s not wrong — Nia has no idea what she’s talking about until she returns to the important thing, the sniper versus the sentinels. “Serenidad ahora,” she muttered under her breath, looking up at Jesus crucified on the wall. She crossed herself with finality, an end to her first prayer, and turned back to Rory. “Yes, while you are safe up on the roof, they see the dead coming at them in all their rotting hunger. They have reason to be scared, though I wish we could put more faith in them.”

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Anastasia (1997) dir. Don Bluth and Gary Goldman

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Fuck apologies, I’m not sorry for anything.

Aries, Scorpio, Sagittarius,Aquarius and Geminis. (via zodiacismylife)