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117 bordered icons of alycia debnam carey.

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Alycia Debnam Carey as Alicia Clark

Season 2, Episode 6     “Sicut Cervus”

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Solaris (1972) dir. Andrei Tarkovsky

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adrianestrada-survives‌:

Adrian smirked over his shoulder before turning around to find Liz walking towards him. Given that he was the head farmer and she the head of supplies, she was probably one of the people Adrian saw the most of around the camp. He crossed his arms across his chest. “What is this, inventory day?” he asked, “That is the last thing I need right now.”

His eyes followed hers to the pig pen. Taking care of the crops was easy work. Taking care of the animals however, was quite difficult. When you don’t know whether you can feed your people for the next week, it’s hard to expect those very same people to give up their food for livestock. It was also the area of expertise that Adrian was most lacking. He’d grown plenty of vegetables and fruit for his own restaurant. He’d visited dozens of farms where they talked about hybrid crops and most effective ways to grow them as pure and as quickly as possible. But the animal side… Besides his pet chickens that laid eggs, he really didn’t ever deal with his livestock hands-on. There were butchers and meat markets for that. Everything he was doing for the animals was common sense and the books he’d been studying for the last few months. Winter was really proving to be a challenge though, especially with their half built shelter.

Liz’s voice pulled Adrian from his anxious thoughts. “Uh… Well, if you’re being serious, there’s a couple of things. Do you want help with the animals or the crops?” Adrian asked, “It’s between helping feed the animals or helping me find some stuff to make a scarecrow.”

    “Yep, I’m always serious. Serious’s my middle name, mister.” she was largely playing with him, as evidenced by the smile on her face.  Pressing her lips together, she delicately furrowed her eyebrows, unreadable thoughts flashing across her face as she considered his question; it wasn’t that she didn’t wanna help feed the pigs-- Liz was not scared of getting her hands dirty; she was self-reliant, strong willed; she had been on a farm before, she knew her way around a shovel-- cleaning, planting, filling in mud holes and turning the soil; she just didn’t like bonding with them because she hated the thought that they were, eventually going to be slaughtered for food; it made her sick, thinking about it-- it was ironic, really-- a bad joke, she thought; they were food for the dead, and yet, here they were, eating flesh, themselves: it just didn’t make sense to her; never had, and never would.  Then again, it’d be better to help him feed them-- give them a little love, spend a little time petting them, making sure they were clean and nice and comfortable in their pen before they grew fat enough for slaughter-- and even though the thought turned her stomach, she cared more about doing her part and offering every last ounce of help she could, both to their little community, and the animals themselves,  than herself and her own personal comfort-- she wasn’t a damn baby, she would suck it up and handle it; it was the least she could do, for them.   “I mean... we could do both...” she ultimately decided, delicately shrugging a shoulder as she reached over and swiftly snatched up his binoculars, smiling cheekily. “Unless you’re too tired to handle more than a task a day, old man.” she joked. 

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roxy-robert‌:

rat traps. roxy held in a laugh at how absurd that statement would have sounded a year ago, but now, it was the norm. winter meant safety, presumably, from the hordes that wandered beyond the confines of the encampment- their movements slowed with the chill that perforated every square inch of virginia. but, it also meant that their attempts at crops had all but frozen over every night. the nearby towns, too, were just as arable as the frosty soil–raided and emptied not only by their settlement, but by any other groups that had wandered through.

pulling up next to lis, roxy pursed her lips. “this hunt seems a little more promising than the last one,” she said hopefully. “i think.”

truth be told, roxy had cut back on her meal portions. there were others at camp that needed the sustenance more than her, but even she knew that they were struggling to find food. 

    Vaguely aware of someone approaching her, she looked over the peak of her shoulder at Roxy,  squinting at her through the sun in her eyes as she stepped a little closer to the truck, watching the men unload it; to her delight, there were armfuls of wild mushrooms bundled up with strips of rope, bag after bag after bag of what she bet were rabbits and squirrels and other such small game-- there was a deer, too, a small one, and she gasped as she watched one of the hunters haul it over his shoulder to carry it to the half-built shed in the corner-- she wrinkled her nose at the stench; all blood and mud and grime-- and he laughed, tossing a little smirk their way; “gotta feed them mouths somehow, princess. Fill the bellies.” he growled through his beard, rounding the truck and offering them a better look at the dead animal, making Liz startle and yelp in disgust. “doesn’t mean I have to like it!” she tossed back, turning now to look at Roxy to avoid the hunter, her face all scrunched up in horror, half annoyed, half amused at his little antics. “I hate this!    go away, Henry!” she squeaked through her little grimace, making the man laugh a little warmer at her reaction and winking at Roxy before turning away, muttering a quiet little, “damn women,”  under his breath as he walked away -- it was all in good nature, of course; they were a little family, the whole pack of them, and Henry damn well knew just how sensitive Liz could be about hunting and meat; everybody knew she had been vegetarian for years before the end of the world; she hated seeing animals die just as much as she hated seeing people die.     “god, he’s such a dick.” she exhaled, making sure he and his deer were a safe distance away from her before allowing herself to once more relax. “I mean I’m glad we’ve got food and all that but there’s no way I’m eating that deer-- the poor thing!” she declared defiantly, her nose still all scrunched up in disgust at the thought of it. 

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Supplies are growing rapidly scarcer with a growing crowd of mouths to feed, backs to clothe, and cuts and scrapes to bandage against infection, and runs go often with bigger teams desperate for bigger hauls. The team sent to locate and retrieve antibiotics and canned food from the half demolished mall about ten miles east of the tower, doesn’t come back until the next day, short one man, but they’ve got two newcomers in tow, a pair of brothers who come with a dusty black Charger hiding an impressive arsenal in the trunk.  Lancaster hands them off to their second in command for their introduction to the organization and routines of their new living situation before heading over to the main hall.  It’s raining out and the wet cold seems to seep in through all the walls of the camp.  Everyone’s pushed inside by the weather but the restlessness of the cabins is muted even though this was the second time in as many weeks Lancaster had come back from a run with more people than he’d left with.  

That night the common area off the main cabin-block is quiet, everyone strewn around the room in pairs or small groups huddled around the tables. Henry has a map and a few pens and highlighters out, grimly drawing and coloring in areas, murmuring now and then with Lancaster while he whittles the group a bunch of new arrows for hunting.  One of the hunters runs sandpaper over the newly-formed shafts after Lancaster finishes them, then hands them to Lis to attach the feather fletchings with thread-thin beads of glue.  The adrenaline and panic from earlier in the day is worn away and Lis has been left drained and exhausted but jumpy, too anxious to lay down and sleep which was how she ended up at the table, shored up between the men, frowning down at each arrow as she works, listening to them talk– about how there’ll be yet another run– how desperate the group’s for more supplies; more meds– clean water– food– something more than just stale crackers and half-expired protein bars; drawing up plans and making lists of what’ll they’ll be looking for– thinking; I should go ; I should be there,  with them– not cooped up in here waiting, letting others do my part; I know better than every last person here what we need to feed the entire group– I should go– help where I can.  The thought gnaws at her, a constant itch; and she knows; god, she knows; she has to do something; anything to keep her mind busy; contribute to their community. After the sixth arrow she sits back in her chair and rubs her hands over her face, pressing her fingertips against her chin, her mouth forming a determined little pout as she gazes over at Lancaster; the room’s quieter now; almost everyone’s slipped away to the warmth of their beds for some much needed rest, and she clears her throat, hesitating for a moment, then, says,     “That run you’re going on tomorrow morning…I’m coming with you.”

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roxy-robert‌:

hearing the subtle choke in liz’s voice, roxy gives a subtle nod. her head drops, taking an interest in the displaced pebbles near the other woman’s feet. in the cold, roxy’s face was awash in a porcelain white, her skin chapped and dry from the chill that had settled over the east coast. roxy felt the ache in liz’s voice–it reverberated through the air and settled into roxy’s chest as well.

within the walls of the camp, it’s easy to forget that everyone had something –or someone– that they had lost. and some of those people were lost forever. liz was often quiet, but her words were always chosen carefully. but this time, roxy was taken aback at the other woman’s inability to articulate her thoughts. the two of them had started down a slipperly slope together.

“HOW DO YOU CARRY ON?” roxy asks softly, just above a whisper. it was rhetorical, the answer was easy. you just do, she chanted in her head. you pick up your guns, your knives, your books, and you just fuckin’ do it. you ration your bullets and your food and your cigarettes and you just do it.

a sniffle. roxy’s nose is dripping, and she realizes that she, too, has found herself on the brink of tears. stepping out so her back loses contact with the fence, roxy takes a seat next to liz, far enough that they don’t touch, but close enough that she can feel the other survivor’s heat radiating off her petite body. roxy is silent for a moment, and then, without thinking, her lips form words and her throat utters a memory. “SHE HATED CHRISTMAS,” roxy says through a nostalgic chuckle. closing her eyes, she could remember the christmas mornings with paul and gina.

            She feels a jagged rock of emotion in her throat, a clenching around her heart so tight and present, it feels like a fist, and the feeling turns to a lead weight hooked into her heart and dragging down into her gut relentlessly.    “you just find a way to keep going- you just have to.” she whispers through her teeth, her voice wet and tight with the pain of it--- of everything she’s lost-- her mom; her brother; everything she ever thought she was gonna be-- a whole life mapped out-- how she was gonna graduate, be a nurse, and help people--- how she was gonna travel to far away places, Africa, Eastern Europe-- volunteer--    do anything within her power to make her mom happy and proud--   now: all those dreams gone and shattered, forever; mom, dead and rotting, unburied, half eaten, miles away from home-- her brother, all alone out there, not knowing where she is; not knowing, how she had had to put a bullet through their mother’s head; how she had not been brave enough to go back and find her; bury her.    “for those that couldn’t.”  she swallows through the ache in her throat and shivers at the chill of the metal at their backs, pulls her cardigan tighter around her delicate shoulders. Roxy’s warm at her side; she’s real-- her voice, too, is raw, trembling; she sinks her teeth into her lower lip, trying not to cry, but she can’t help the way her eyes round in grief and desperation at the sound of the other girl sniffling, how fragile she grows in the moments that follow. 

She blinks dizzily, resting her chin on top of her knees as she looks over at Roxy, feeling her heart break at the sight of her all choked up and shaking-- she, too, appears smaller, now, vulnerable; her hands are curled into little fists, gripping at her jacket, as though it’ll somehow shield her from the flood of emotion that surges through her chest--  a fragile, delicate thing.                      “who did?” she whispers hoarsely, not wanting to pry. 

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xnicholaslancaster‌:

—rolling his eyes at her, he pulled out a cookie, broke a small piece off it and tossed it in his mouth. it tasted better than he had expected. not as good as it should have or as he remembered, but better. “it’s not that bad,” he responded with a faint shrug. “it’s not like I made a mess or anything…” the former SEAL added a second later, looking over at the cupboards one more time. yeah, well, he had moved the stuff around a little, but he could hardly see a mess in there. he liked things being in order as much as she did and that applied to all things in life, so he knew she was in a sour mood and exaggerating. taking a step back, he watched her move the stuff around and put everything in place, simply remaining quiet. eating another cookie, taking a long sip of his coffee. and though he should have left, ready to go back to planning the next run he had in mind; this time going out much, much further and coming back with things they could use, he hesitated. taking another look at her, he leaned against the counter, eyes watching her. “I meant you just seem to be a little…” he searched for the right choice of word in his mind, but would he really be considered disrespectful if he was to simply state what he was seeing? “…sad,” he eventually added a moment later, after a short period of silence. it was not his place to question her about it, by any means, and he did not need to find out what was wrong if she did not wish to share it with him, however, he felt the need to make sure that she was somewhat okay, at least. or better yet, that she knew that she could talk to him if she needed to get something off her chest. where would be the shame, after all? they all had their demons and burdens, some greater than others. even if he wanted to let it go, drop it, he simply couldn’t. he would blame it on being a team player, always watching out for his people. but he cared, too, about her being well. specifically. “so, you sure you are okay, Paris?” and it was by no means an attempt to pressure her, though there was a chance she could get snappy with him about it.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the little dismissal as she neatly put everything back to its place, shooting a little half glare at him over the peak of her shoulder when he called her “Paris”– it wasn’t that she hated the little nickname he had been calling her for what felt to Lis– a long while now– if anything, she liked it:  it was…sweet, in some way; intimate; it made her feel like a real person– that someone would have a sort of pet name for her; not that she would admit it, but part of her liked it, for whatever reason– it made some place deep within the cavity of her chest overfill with warmth; it was just that she was completely drained, today; she felt like she had been all over the place the entire morning; her chest actually ached from the amount of stress and anxiety set deeply along every last inch of her body; she was itching to get out of the camp; do something, anything, to let some steam off and take her mind off things— but no matter what she had tried to do, had not seemed to help.  "Yeah, sorry we can’t all be out there slaying dead all day,  Big Guy. Some of us normal folk have to deal with the less exciting stuff, you know. Like organizing the pantry.” she trilled moodily and blew a brown curl off her cheek, pouting miserably as she made a (somewhat over-dramatic) point of putting the cookies and the jar of coffee grounds back on the shelf and slamming the door shut. But no matter how irritated she was; no matter how his little attitude was grating on her nerves, she could not help but feel her heart soften a little at the question, something about the tone of his voice making her sigh– because; God, no, she was not okay; far from it– she was a fucking mess; she felt like she had not been okay since when she had shot her mother dead– and fuck, the thought of it– made her stomach churn; her skin crawling with a numbing sensation that she could not shake off– no matter how hard she tried.  “No. It’s fine. Really. I’m- don’t worry about it,” she waved her hand nonsensically, doing what she could to smile a little as she moved to pick up the little laundry basket, setting it atop the table to sort through the new pairs of socks brought in from a run half a week ago. “I’m just in a mood, or something. I don’t know…” she trailed off softly,  shrugging a shoulder, not wanting him to think she could not handle whatever it was that had obviously been eating at her today.  “how are things out there?” she asked then, and cleared her throat a little, wanting to deflect.

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adrianestrada-survives‌:

“Fucking goddamn birds,” Adrian cursed under his breath, face pressed into his binoculars some of the he’d gotten from the hunters on their last supply run. “I thought these things flew south for the winter.” 

With the winter season came a low amount of crops. This was the most downtime Adrian would ever have, but it was also the most crucial time. He knew that root vegetables grew well in the winter and had planted potatoes, turnips, radishes, and also was trying out the hardy cauliflower, but given so much time, he was watching over the things like a helicopter parent over their firstborn. The man watched as birds flew overhead, no doubt wanting to eat his hard work and tear it apart with their claws and beaks. 

Sensing someone’s eyes on him, Adrian dropped the binoculars to hang around his neck and turned to give the person an exasperated sigh. “Ay dios mios… Either we take from our clothes supplies and make a few more scarecrows, or I’m going to have to go out there and wave my arms around like a lunatic.” 

       “hey, there cowboy, you keep away from my clothes supplies! we barely have enough to get through the winter as it is, you know...” she warned playfully as she made her way toward him through the fields, smiling softly; the weather had been unexpectedly better today; not that it had gotten any warmer-- it just wasn’t storming, for a change, and it had helped a little, being able to step out into the fresh air and sunlight for more than half an hour and actually breathe; it had been driving her crazy, being all cooped up in her cabin or the main hall, sorting through supplies and cataloging every last item brought in from the supply run Nic and the hunters had gone on half a week ago --  her walk to him now was leisurely, slow, until she was finally directly next to him with her fingers curled lackadaisically at her sides.  She stared out ahead at the fields, the crops all slick and heavy with rainwater and the pigs all flopped out in their mud bath in a corner of the pen napping, the half-finished shed dark and grey against the late evening sun; soon, they would be needing more firewood to keep warm; there wouldn’t be enough wood left to finish the shed, not if they didn’t set out to gather more of it within the week-- and with the way the weather had been for weeks now, she truly didn’t think they’d be able to head out before the end of the month-- the shed would have to wait-- but then; where were they gonna be storing their crops? She sighed, before wiping her hands on her ripped jeans and reaching out to absentmindedly poke at a radish, wrinkling her nose a little at the smudge of mud it left across her fingers.     “do you want me to help with.. anything?” she offered then, looking up at him. 

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Lis shakes her head and opens her mouth to speak but pauses.    “no, I didn’t mean it like–I just…” she trails off, trying to gather her thoughts; it’s cold outside, the air all dark and grey and heavy with the promise of rain, but the thought of going back to her cabin, all alone with nothing to do but wallow in her thoughts– is worse than anything else.        “it’s okay to cry…you know.” she says finally.  “It’s gotta come out some way.  Cryin’ doesn’t hurt anything.”  She sits cross-legged against the fence and nudges a few pea-sized pebbles around on the ground in front of her.  She feels it when Roxy looks over at her, her question making her stomach drop– because, fuck– she doesn’t want to talk about it; she hasn’t talked about it in months– if ever– because somehow, she believes that not talking about it, will make it hurt less– so she buries herself in her daily duties at the camp and buries all that pain and grief that threaten to choke her up every time the thought of her mother or brother cross her mind; because pretending to be okay makes it, somehow, easier– like it’s not real– like her mother’s still out there, alive; and not dead and rotting on a farm half a hundred miles away from here. She feels herself tremble a little with the force to keep it together and exhales through her nose, half frustrated, half numb, throat wet and tight as she swallows around the little lump that’s formed in the back of her throat; when she speaks, her voice, too, is a little more breathless, thinner than before; she’s choking up for how bad it hurts, trying to talk about it; but there’s something about the vulnerability of the moment that urges her to talk– to get it off her chest. “I don’t know…” she whispers, her voice a little choked, “I guess…. everything that…I was, you know….” she shrugs softly,

           “before…”

but it’s more than just that, and she knows it; god- she does–it’s so much more than just missing the part of herself that she’s lost: it’s that, and the unfairness of it all, that empty, hollow space inside of her– aching for everything that she has lost and not knowing what to do with it; with all that pain and grief and misery that eat her from the inside out. 

“don’t think about that.”

“if only it was that easy,” roxy said, voice uncharacteristically somber. “it’s just the human condition though, right?… we all have someone we miss.” so why am i crying about it? she wondered to herself. why can’t i hold it in like everyone else?

the two women were posted near the camp’s perimeter, and roxy had her back against the grainy wood of the fence, staring blankly out into the camp. while revising the christmas play, she had been struck by an unexplained wave of bitterness–a tidal wave of contempt that had been building up. the so-called christmas spirit didn’t help, either–roxy was envious of the families that had managed to stay together, and though they hadn’t had much to give, at least they still had eachother.

“who do you not want to think about, liz?“ asked the camp’s de facto school teacher. “now that we’re on the topic anyway,” roxy added with a shrug. this was the most she’d spoken to the head of supply in awhile; while everyone at camp was preparing for the winter, roxy was preparing bootleg lesson plans from books and whatever knowledge she could scrape out of her head. very rarely did roxy cross paths with anyone that wasn’t under 4 and a half feet tall.

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xnicholaslancaster‌:

—there were days that he did not mind slow and uneventful all that much; sure, he needed his fair dose of adrenaline rush and action, blow off some steam and kill off some walking corpses, but that had been such a day to day happening that it was more normal than to just be able to sit about and relax. if he needed time to be calmer, he would go up to the look out posts, much as he had done today. it was late at noon when he finally left the job to the one that was assigned to it and headed to the supplies pantry to get some black coffee, and anything else he could find of worth.

gathering whatever he needed, he set to make a good ole plain black coffee, military-style. he shot a side glance at Dufort as she quietly worked over some fruit. once his coffee was all ready, he picked about in the pantry to find something to go with it…a cookie, maybe? or better some kind of mixed nuts and farmers trail. anything really. when she did not say a word, for she usually was quite particular with the way she had things set up and people picking through the stuff, he turned to look at her. an open packet of chocolate chip cookies in his hands. “everything alright, Dufort?” he asked. and though he tried to play it off as nonchalant, there was a certain hint of concern lacing through his tone.

Surprise and bewilderment weighed down her delicate brow at the sudden appearance in the room. She had been entirely absorbed in her own thoughts, numbly sorting through a basket of fruit when he joined her at the counter– to say that she was taken aback, would be an understatement. “Jesus–,” she breathed out with her left hand softly palming at her chest, clearly finding his appearance unexpected (especially given the fact that she hadn’t seen him in like, a week, what with the never-ending streak of supply runs and hunts they had been going on). It irritated her, how he had managed to creep up on her– how she had let her guard down: even in here, she should have known better than entirely losing focus of her surroundings; what if it had been a walker? What if somebody –anybody– had tried to hurt her? How many times before had it happened to her, even in places that had been supposed to be safe. Swallowing softly, she bit her lower lip, trying not to let herself get too worked up over it; how stupid– she thought, bitterly; stop overthinking, stop crucifying yourself over every little thing; stop–just stop– she thought forcefully, exhaling sharply through her nose; Lancaster always had a way to sneak up on people anyway, and he always would. Super special Navy Seal powers or whatever. It wasn’t just her, she reminded herself. It was just him.  The thought made her smile a little, in spite of herself. She shook her head a little, shaking off the mood with it, and looked over her shoulder at him, shrugging.  “If by alright you mean, out of trouble’s way and still alive, then, I guess…” she retorted, tossing a half rotten banana into the sink and wrinkling her nose at the squelch it made. She numbly watched him dig through the cupboards, messing up the neat piles and stacks of various foods and packets she had meticulously organized earlier in the morning, and a little spike of irritation flared through her, making her roll her eyes. “Stoooop!” she half whined, half squealed in annoyance, reaching out to put everything back in its place. “wouldn’t hurt you to be a little careful with…that, you know.” she vaguely motioned toward the food, frowning at the mess in disapproval.

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FEAR THE WALKING DEAD deleted scene | 2x05 “Captive”

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“hey–   catch anything in the rat traps?” she quipped as she ventured a little closer to the group, a half-eaten apple in her left hand.  Their men and women, they were capable– strong; they were good hunters, and Lancaster’s snares had been a fairly steady source of small game, but the weather had been harsh for days now, if not weeks, and the food sparse; everyone had been on edge, impatient, hoping for a better hunt today, what with the weather taking an unexpected (yet much wished for) turn for the better, if only for a few hours. Squinting softly against the glare of the sun now, she took another small bite of her fruit, and smiled a little, watching them unload the truck.

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It’s her default again– melancholia. More often than not, she’s quiet, withdrawn and reserved. Today’s no different as she ghosts through the main common area and the kitchens, cleaning and working on some laundry, then busying herself with sorting through the pantry, saving what little she can from the half-rotten fruit the men had brought in from a quick run earlier that morning. Her day has hardly been what she’d hoped for. She’s been miserable, her mind once again plagued by that familiar aching— that longing for something long gone bearing down on her, making her chest feel all tight and swollen with all that buried grief that threatens to spill over.

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#looking good, babe.