hallcw

[hallcw]

"So your parents? They died before all this?" if such a question was in any way insensitive, Harper did not know. All she knew was; godparents took kids in when family was not in the picture. Or something along those lines. Hardly mattered now. Everyone had lost, well, everyone. Besides, if she did not want to answer the question, she did not have to. That was the beauty of questions and conversations; no one owed anyone a damn thing. "College, huh? Where? What'd you do?" she shifted slightly in her chair, soft smile digging into her cheeks. "You are an awfully vague person, d'you know that?" pot calling the kettle black sort of situation, but she did think on the best way to approach the question, a bit of a loaded question at that. Though she did not mind. "Military brat. Moved 'round a ton as a kid. Then the world went to shit, everyone died and I, well, here I am." brows lifted, chin pushed forward. "A pretty boring story, huh?"

               ‘   𓆰   how  could  she  explain  how  she  ended  up  across  the  ocean  when  telling  the  story  would  mean  revealing  so  much  of  herself   ?   alana  swallowed  hard,    took  a  sip  of  her  juice,    and  lowered  her  gaze.     "  i,    uhm,    yeah,    i  am.    i   . . .   came  here  to  study,  "     it  wasn’t  a  lie,    per  se,    but  it  wasn’t  the  whole  truth  either.    she  lifted  her  gaze  anyway,    looking  at  harper  in  the  eye.     "  i  lived  with  my  godmother  back  then,    and  she  got  a  job  here,    so   . . .   i  came  with  her,    and  got  a  chance  to  go  to  college.    so   . . .   yeah,    i  was  here  when—well,    when  everything  went  to  shit.  "     great,    amazing,    you  managed,    she  thought  to  herself,    alleviated.    then,    it  was  her  turn  to  ask,     "  what  about  you   ?   what’s  your  story  ?  "

[hallcw]

"Is it?" he'd felt a gentle sense of relief wash over him, as she offered out the word 'interesting'. And while he had no way of knowing if she'd truly meant it, or if she was simply being polite, he let himself enjoy it all the same. "Well uh, good. That's good." hand rubbed the nape of his neck again, a quick, nervous gesture, and eyes shifted back to her as she spoke of home. Of church. Her words carrying a touch of humour, a trace of reassurance— like a mothers would.

He laughed too, when she called him 'an intelligent young man', and again when she—at least to him—seemed to feel the need to reassure him she wasn’t about to shove a Bible passage down his throat. "Alright abuela, no need for all that." he offered his own reassurance, then shrugged casually as he put down his cup of wine. "I was baptised at six months. God and I go way back." he might not have been strictly religious—didn’t follow a specific denomination, didn’t even really call himself Christian—but he believed. In a way.

"Jokes aside, I..." Diego paused, understanding what she'd meant, even if she hadn’t said it outright. Even though he hadn’t asked. "People think science and God are uh...incompatible. But they’re not." He shook his head. "Not always."

Her reaction was not unusual. Diego often wondered what his life would have turned out like, had he been given more of a choice...had he been, different. "Yeah..." the word is somewhat dragged out, as he reached for the cup once again. "You know I used to think I was the smartest person alive, when I was fourteen." sometimes he thought most kids felt the same, in a way, except his delusions were validated, encouraged even. "I was just a kid, though, I uh..." he dismissed the rest of the sentence with a quick gesture of his hand and smiled it off. " -- I know that now."

Relishing the change of topic and a potential task, he clapped his palms together and pushed himself up. "Grenadine." he said, almost instantly. And he'd cared more to look for it than to mention shelf life was rarely over 2 years -- if stored properly. "This some...some kind of craving or?"

As Diego explained the color-changing process, they ran into the same words-with-three-syllables-or-more problem. But instead of drawing attention to it, Oona simply smiled and nodded. There were only so many times in one conversation she could point out her lack of intelligence before it really started to bum her out—a boundary she both discovered and enforced only as she got older. "Oh wow," she said simply, trying to imbue the word with the fact that she was honestly impressed, but also looking to tiptoe away from scientific talk. "That's really interesting."

No communal wine? Oona shook her head, the tip of her finger tapping a couple of times at the base of the wineglass. "We were a pretty staunch bunch of Welch's enthusiasts," she answered with some humor. She'd long ago broken away from that church, even before the Hallow, and not entirely of her own volition, but there were still a few scattered memories that could bring a smile to her face. Sweet, sticky grape juice was one of them, apparently. At his follow-up question, Oona found herself reaching up to pinch at the crucifix that hung past her collarbones. She felt her muscles tense somewhat, uncertain and definitely not looking forward to where this topic would lead.

"I... am, yes," she answered, though the truth of the matter felt more complicated than those three words. "I find a lot of comfort in it, but I totally understand if that is not your thing." He was a scientist, after all. It wouldn't surprise her. A few scientific types have taken it upon themselves to challenge her over the past decade, as well as plenty of people who were simply grief-stricken. "I am not here to judge or cast aspersions. You're a very intelligent young man." And there she went, sounding like her grandmother. Young man. Diego was probably a few years her senior. "But to answer your next question, yes. I would go back if I could. I mean, I hope to. It's definitely where I'd like for Lydia to spend the rest of her childhood."

Mexico, Florida, Stanford—to Oona, that was an exceptionally interesting life. Even in a world-ending situation, her own stayed relatively sheltered until recently. "Fourteen?" she repeated, thinking back to when she was fourteen herself. She just remembered trudging through Great Expectations in her English class and secretly watching New Girl at her friend Hunter's house. She spent time in front of the mirror in her bedroom rolling up the bottom of her t-shirts to see what wearing a crop top would look like after her parents went to bed; she certainly wasn't attending a highly competitive university. "That must've been an intense transition. I can't imagine. I was still such a kid at 14."

And then he got involved with Eden, presumably. Oona pressed her lips together, reminding herself of her own words: not here to judge or cast aspersions. What was done is done. She cleared her throat quietly. "You know, I came into his building in hopes of finding that fancy red syrup. I don't remember what it's called, but they put it in Shirley Temples." The syrup was probably long past its expiration date, but Oona was willing to hold onto this one silly little delusion for another few minutes. Silly little delusions were sort of all she had some days. "Do you want to help me poke around behind the bar?"

[hallcw]

"You're most welcome." smile dug deeper into his cheeks, and he watched as she lowered casually into the seat across from him, licking the splash of wine off her hand, cussing into her chin. The whole scene felt awfully familiar, comfortable. Perhaps it was the wine he'd already consumed that inhibited his sense of perception, or the way this room reflected eerily the time where nothing had yet gone wrong. With dimmed electric lights, dark wooden tables, clean pattern-riddled carpets. Apart from the mess he'd made himself, and the tabletops that seemed to have been abandoned in a rush, it was all...uncanny, and unsettling, but also comfortable and warm and familiar. Made it difficult to relax, but intuitive to do so. "Plants, huh? They would have burnt you at the stake for that back in 17th century." it was a joke, or an attempt at one anyway. And he let his tone suggest as much as he thought on it some more. "Why plants?" Diego had always been a bit of a plant guy himself, mostly pertaining to their biology and chemistry and sheer diversity to examine. But he found people had different reasons for enjoying the same things often times. And he'd wanted to know her reasons without diving into his own. Once she looked back at the wine, switching the questions back his way, for the first time in what felt like months, Diego did not know what to say. "Oh that -- I'm not really much of a storyteller. Well, I can, uh regurgitate stories I've read, or heard but --- 's not as easy to come up with new ones, you know?" it was that lack of creativity on his part, that stood in the way of seeing the 'bigger picture' when it came down to the cure. He was looking for new pathways, new doors to open up but, well, he'd lacked the keys. "Tell me, what kind of story do you see?"

               ‘   𓆰   "  thank  you,  "     alana  doesn’t  remember  the  last  time  she  had  seen  quality  wine  since  all  of  this  started.    probably  in  her  house,    before  the  outbreak,    before  she  ran  away.    the  thought  makes  her  swallow  thickly,    something  sour  at  the  back  of  her  throat.    luckily,    diego’s  rambling  and  endless  knowledge  is  there  to  distract  her,    and  despite  her  initial  boredom,    she’s  grateful  for  his  restless  brain  that  keeps  her  on  her  toes,    away  from  memories  that  are  as  painful  as  fruitless  these  days.      she  snorts  as  his  words,    grateful  she  hadn’t  sipped  on  her  cup  yet.     "  please,    don’t  worry,    i  bet  that’s  how  i  sound  talking  about  plants,    too,  "     even  though  she  hardly  ever  does  it,    hardly  ever  shares  her  knowledge  unprompted.    if  she  did,    though,    she’s  quiet  sure  she  would  put  her  receiver  to  sleep  in  a  heartbeat.    she  follows  diego  to  the  couch  then,    flops  on  it  unceremoniously  and  curses  when  some  of  the  wine  spills  onto  her  hand.    she  licks  it  off  of  it  casually  and  takes  a  sip,    humming  at  the  acidity  hitting  her  tastebuds,    snorts  again  at  the  question  —  everything  she  does  these  days  is  so  unladylike,    she  can  almost  see  her  father’s  eyes  hardening  in  front  of  her.    almost.     "  right  now  ?  this  grapevine’s  story,  "     she  answers  nonchalantly,    eyes  fixed  on  the  liquid  in  her  hand.    "  i’ve  never  been  a  fan  of  californian  wines,    but  i  remember  the  sights  there  were  breathtaking.    i—i  wonder—  "  she  pauses  there,    her  eyebrows  furrow,    her  jaw  clenches,    and  she  decides  to  take  the  focus  of  this  conversation  away  from  her.     "  i  don’t  know.    if  you  could  give  this  wine  a  story,    what  would  it  be  ?  "

[hallcw]

"There are faster ways to get the job done." if by 'the job' he'd meant getting drunk stupid and dozing off into a quiet dreamless sleep. Diego was no stranger to that kind of 'work'. It was most fortunate that the booze was hard to come by. Else he risked having to admit he may actually have had somewhat of a problem. "Guess you're right." he'd felt tempted to dive into details on the moonshine but refrained. Sometimes, it was difficult for him to understand the very nature of a conversation. What worked, what didn't. People came with variables too complex for him to establish any sort of pattern that worked across the board. At least when it came to more than basic run-of-the-mill small talk. And he did not enjoy those rehearsed script-like conversations where nothing real was ever revealed and it's entire purpose was to fill the silence. But people did that, they did that a lot -- and he did not fully understand why. "If it will put your mind at ease, I've had my fill of canned food and two glasses of wine and I'm still standing. So, gift or no, we ought to enjoy the smoke and mirrors before the...other shoe drops? That what they say?" he smiled, both nervous and self-assured at the same time, and hoped the other would take the opportunity with a grain of salt. If they had to set off on a run, if things truly did go south, would be best if everyone had replenished their energy by that time. Had a bit to eat, some shut-eye. "In an' out."

luke listened as diego explained how wine was made and changed the flavors. he always had a way of explaining things when no one really asked. he was clearly very smart but luke just wanted to drink, not learn about the fermentation process of what was in his glass. "as long as it gets the job done, i don't care how it tastes," he says simply, taking another swig as if to prove his point. "better than the piss moonshine you find these days." god what he would give to have real, ice cold beer. not some warm skunky can that went bad years ago.

he wondered why diego would want nirvana to come see him, but he doesn't ask why, it wasn't his business. instead, he just nods his head in understanding before setting his cup down on the table and wrapped his hands around it, thumbs tapping against the sides. he wished diego had given him something more than that. any other time, the man would talk so much that luke forgot what they were talking about, but now he just gives him an old saying his mother had said many times in his childhood. "aren't many gifts these days, i'm not sure if we should trust it." though, why was he complaining? there was alcohol, probably food, and they could sleep in beds for once. he should be happy. maybe he just wanted to keep moving, he didn't want to stay here long. "in and out," he repeated in english, hoping that was all it would be.

[hallcw]

"No, no I know." she nodded in agreement, even if she did shrug simultaneously. It was strange; the way Beck spoke so little and used such few words, and still got her thinking more than she was prepared to do. For the most part, Harper existed in a state of mindlessness -- and preferred it that way. Survival was easier that way. Less...complicated. "Is there a difference? D'you think? Between living and...being alive?" Soft chuckle escaped her lips, eyes narrowing. "Hard on myself?" she shifted slightly, as if moving back would give her a better look while they spoke. "No, I don't know that I am." smile remained etched into her cheeks, washing away the rotten and tangled truth of how much harder on herself she likely should have been. "You know, even if this cure works, it will only cure this...this parasite. Everything else will stay broken and sick...and just, exactly as it is. Could take, I don't know, decades? Maybe more? To...to rebuild. And then what? We just, what? Move on? Get jobs? I know there are people who'd want that, that kind of life back but I --" too much, too far, too negative. But it was the truth, the kind of truth that snuck up on her, here and there. More often now, that this 'cure' seemed like a genuine possibility. "I don't know, may sound messed up an' all but...after everything we've seen, everything I --" have done. "Shit, yeah, whatever." She let the air calm her, for a moment, as those thoughts settled. And while she saw no real future, either which way, she supposed it was still worth fighting for a better one. For Lydia. For whatever poor souls are yet to come into this world to find it so utterly fucked. With the Hallow gone, with the parasite gone, it would be one less thing to fear. She'd thought more of Beck's plan, of seeing the 'cure through', establishing 'international communication'. "That's a lot of words just to say you'd try to get home." she couldn't really imagine what that must've felt like; being so far from home. Not knowing if their family was dead, or alive, missing them, mourning them. Not knowing if their 'home' still existed. "Your family, are they all...back home?"

Harper's words caused the corners of their lips to lift a little. Though they knew she was saying the danger of wanting was a bad thing, Beck felt a sort of excitement when they thought about it. " For sure, dangerous. " They repeated, a certain flicker of mischievousness coming with it as they were unable to shift the little grin from their features as they said it. " But that's life. " They would have left it at that, but the particular context surrounding Harper's words, surrounding what Beck knew of Harper in general, they added on, " That's living. "

Beck easily fell into silence while Harper spoke, nursing the beer they'd been handed. Cool glass soothing against their calloused hands, comforting in a way where Harper's story was not especially comforting. It was a sweet story. Beck's parents were much the same way, especially after their dad remarried. An attempt to keep things fair between Beck and Laura, give them no additional reason to fight in those early years. But Harper's take away was honestly a little surprising to them. Not that as a child she'd wished she never got what she wanted, but that the lesson to be learned was to never want at all. " Kinda harsh on yourself, " They said, having at some point shifted a little so they were more facing her. An elbow resting against the back of the chair. " You know that? " She must, right?

" 'Course, " They answer, but there's more to come. Of course, they had thought about what they'd do, where they'd go. Only there was no way of really formulating any solid plan until they got through this. The cure. " Some people are just in it for the destination, so they'll probably leave pretty early on, " A couple came to mind. They knew Oona was hoping to reconnect with family members, for Lydia to be able to meet them. Luke hadn't said as much but anyone could guess he'd go south for similar reasons. But what would Beck do? " I imagine I'll probably stick around, see the cure through. Then, " They hesitated briefly, looking down at the bottle in their hands, picking at the label even if it's flakiness was completely unsatisfying. They took a small breath and continued, " Then see if any resources can be put towards international communication, spread the cure further. " They tried to make it sound more noble than it was. They did want what they said, but they wanted to know if their family survived more. They didn't let that sit long enough to settle, instead speaking again quickly as they looked to her again. " What about you? "

[hallcw]

"I mean, you hunt down my food, I reckon 'cool' barely covers that." if it were down to Diego's hunting skills, half the group would have starved by now. It's true that he knew how to do it, theoretically, but to aim a weapon in reality required more than just the knowledge. Practice, muscle memory, alertness. His mind was too consumed by matters outside of survival that he could barely shoot a still target. And it served as continuous reminder that he - much like everybody else - needed people. When Beck mentioned their spidey-senses kicking in, he gave the whole place a quick look and nodded. They were't the only one to have brought forth such notions. "Yeah, someone lives here. And they will be back." at first he'd thought maybe the place got overrun. Maybe the people had simply left. But those thoughts were quickly disproved. "I mean, it doesn't seem like whoever lived here's left in a rush, does it? And there would be a whole lot more to clean up if they got overrun by the Hallow." it was a trap of some sort. It had to have been. It was the only thing that made any sort of sense. "But we'll be alright." He finished the cup of wine and set it aside, then dismissed their request with a gesture of his hand and a gentle laugh. "Let me not risk boring you to death. But yes, '97 was a good year." fingers intertwined over his chest as he leaned back into his seat and his eyes remained on them. "That when you were born?"

Their brow raised at his question, amused immediately. " Oh, I'm the cool kid? " They asked, a jest more than a genuine question. " Shit, the pressure, " They sucked in a breath as they stood a little straighter for a moment, grin lingering on their lips. Truthfully, they didn't know. They were never cool kid, but they suspected Diego never was either. " How about this, do you have a weird, off, spidey-sense feeling about this place too, or is that just me? " They asked, a natural lightness staying in their voice despite the nature of their question. They'd been trying to avoid voicing that caution they felt out loud, they didn't want to start anything if it was just paranoia from the state of the world. But they trusted his input, his thoughts on it. If he said he didn't think there was anything to it, they'd be like to believe it.

" It's more complicated than yes or no? " They replied, already mentally scratching out whatever joke they were going to make about the best things coming from 1997, namely themselves. " Sure, go on. " They encouraged. Playful as they were, they enjoyed listening to Diego. " Maybe I'll need to impress a sommelier one day. "

[hallcw]

"I agree." she replied simply, then put the gas stove on to heat up the beans. "It's why we need to plan out an exit strategy. 'Case things go wrong." it was a subtle way of saying she had no intention of parting with him, so long as they were here. And an even more subtle way of implying she had no issues leaving everyone else behind. Well, sort of. "Which they will. They always fuckin' do." not only was Ian right about this place being so picture perfect it was unsettling, but Harper found that the blatant display of food, water and other resources was very much on the nose. Like being lured onto a hook with a promise of a delicious worm. When the beans started boiling, she removed them off the oven top and her brows rose to his question. "What d'you think this is? A three course two star Michelin meal? Would you like your desert sweet or savoury?" sarcasm was rare with her, but it flowed easy when she was on edge. And in spite her words, she turned back to the kitchen in search for a potential side dish. "Alright, sit down." the counter had cans of corn, jars of pickles, a bag with three sprouting potatoes that could yet be salvaged. There was a basket too, filled with carrots and rotting tomatoes and onions. She put water to a boil, mixed the pickles and corn and some onion in a glass bowl then added a touch of vinegar which she would later transfer from its posh glass container into a plastic bottle and take with her once they set off. When she was finished with the bowl, but still waiting for the water to boil, she placed the mix on the table and pulled out a chair, then dug into beans and 'salad' herself. "You know, two years ago I almost died because a man promised me a fried chicken burger with a side of fries." almost being the keyword there. "If you could eat anything right now, what would you ask for? I mean anything..."

Ian had done his due diligence. Scoped the perimeter. A check of every home and building. It was — not to use a big word — but mind-boggling to him how eerily ideal this place was. Untouched. Well-stocked. Not a single dead body or Hallow. Unease lingered just beneath his skin but he was doing his best not to be obvious about it. He didn't think his suspicion (bordering paranoia) would be well-received. Everyone was exhausted after all. The idea of a hot shower and a proper bed would have anyone throwing caution to the wind.

A sigh pushed out of his mouth. "I don't know," he answered Harper, eyeing her as she prepared something to cook. "I don't trust it though." He tested the waters. He figured Harper would be the safest to air his suspicions too. She tended to hold a similar distrust for things as he did. "It's all a little too... picture perfect to make me feel comfortable," he said casually, shrugging off his jacket.

Maybe he's just been alive too long. Post-apocalyptic life tended to do that to you — instill a cynicism that was hard to shake.

"Noted," he acknowledged. Something a pre-apocalypse him would have laughed in his face for saying. Hey, it was practical and professional. It's not like people had the privilege to exist as regular human beings these days. They were survivors before they were anything else. It was just easier.

"You find anything good to go with those beans?"

[hallcw]

Ian couldn't care less about his parasite breakdown. He could tell based on the way his eyes glazed over and he nodded at the wrong times. Maybe he'd find a way to boil the whole thing down even further for the next available victim of his pathetic ramblings. It was tough, getting a fresh perspective these days -- next to Whit and occasionally Aspen, people weren't even trying. So he let it go, as easily as he'd indulged it, and shifted instead to the topic of wine. "You're missing out man. This bottle would come up to some $3,000 for 200ml. Right up there with brick-aged Chardonnay. Same year." it was a luxury drink, or would have been. "Damn, I actually can't tell if the fall of civilisation makes it more or less valuable." something to think about, as he reached for the options that 'wouldn't be served at a fancy dinner'. "Half a bottle of Jack, some kind of --" he gave the bottle a better look. "-- fruit brandy. And uh, there's tequila and a couple beers at the front so, guess it depends on what sort of 'fucked up' you're looking for."

Ian wouldn't consider himself 'smart' by any measure. If the end of the world didn't rock up, he wasn't even sure if he'd have graduated high school. So when Mr. Scientist Man started dropping words with lots of Z's in them, his brain was almost too quick to dissociate. Of course, he wasn't a teenager anymore. He at least pretended to look like he gave a fuck, giving a few nods here and there as proof of his 'attention' as the other spoke.

"Yeah, I'm not really a wine person, man, so... that's all you," he politely declined when Diego presented a bottle to split, accompanying the words with a nod of his head.

He had wandered into this room in hopes of finding unopened hard liquor. Proof so high, a whiff of it would make your eyes water.

"See anything that wouldn't be served at a fancy dinner in here?"

[hallcw]

In his rush to release a build-up of thoughts, he missed the quiet way Jayesh searched the room. "What are you looking for?" his brows rose in question, and hands folded over his chest as he tried to figure it out based solely on the papers that were now scattered around. Jayesh's question sent a gentle shrug up his shoulders and he shook his head as he spoke. "We can't kill the parasite directly...too resistant." he replied simply, avoiding the details, avoiding approaching the topic too closely. "But there might be a way to help the body do it for us. We'll see." he knew it would come off strange, crossing the country for a 'we'll see', but it really wasn't that far removed from the truth. End of the day, even if they got the cure, even if it worked -- the application and distribution and everything that is meant to ensue, well, it would take a lifetime to fix what they broke in little over a decade. He did not want to dwell further on that. And for that reason alone, he was glad of the question at hand. "Usually I'd advise on the side of caution but --" today he did not give a shit. Instead, he walked over to the nearby sofa and sunk into it with a tired groan, taking another drag of wine straight from the bottle. "Think this some kind of trap?"

jayesh was on the hunt for information. there was something strange about this town. why was there an old world style bar in a town surrounded by an iron gate like a fortress? jayesh's compound didn't have a strong defensive structure like that. their defences were made of wood and chicken wire. why hadn't he found any signs of a scramble to leave the abandoned town? he had entered the back room hoping to find a paper trail that revealed who owned the bar and how long it had been there.

his search for documents was interrupted by diego's rambling. he nodded along. he was nowhere near as intelligent as the scientist but jayesh got the gist of what diego was saying. he assumed the medications that didn't make his eyes light up with recognition were toxic to horses. that's why he left medical care to the medics unless there was an emergency ; most of his knowledge wasn't transferable. " i'm sorry to ask this but if the basic dewormers can't cure the infection what will?" he hoped his question didn't come across as confrontational. he said it quitely like a desperate prayer. it was the question he had been avoiding for a month. he was terrified to know the answer. he only asked because was no-one else around and diego was alrambling about how hopeless the situation was. he furrowed his eyebrows and folded his arms together on instinct. "are you sure it's safe to drink that yet? i don't want to let my defence down ; this whole situation seems fishy."

[hallcw]

"Yeah no, it's...it's a common misconception." he smiled, hoping those words provided some sort of reassurance. Diego often feared being perceived as odd, or dull, or intimidating. Feared his company might be feeling uncomfortable or, out of place. So when Oona asked him a follow-up question that could well open the floodgates of information, he was very evidently gladdened. It showed, in the way he shifted excitedly in his seat, and the way his smile was less controlled and somewhat uneven. "Okay so uh, colour." now there was a challenge of putting things in a way that did not sound like spewing out a textbook, so he leaned just slightly forward and cleared his throat. "In red wines there are these pigments called the anthocyanins, they're found in grape skin and they give it that original purple-red colour. These pigments as they age, and...well the nature of ageing itself is a contributor, but these pigments they polymerise which uh, forms larger molecules that reflect light differently. The pigments also oxidise, this shifts the colour from purple to...ruby, to garnet and sometimes brick --" he lifts his cup then, a perfect example. "and brown. Brown is a rare find." he reached for the wine cork, placing it upright between his thumb and his index. "Cork, like this one, creates small and controlled oxygen exposure. When done right it leads to this...gradual change in colour and flavour." he let go of the cork then, and with a swift movement of his hand he dismissed the rest of the factors pertaining to phenolic compounds and tannins and changes in white wine. "That's the gist of it really. Storage conditions and grape variety are contributors too but...we don't need to get into all of that."

He may have put her on the spot there, so he nodded encouragingly as she provided feedback. "Rich and sweet. Well, I'm glad we can agree." a laugh followed his words and he did not take the opportunity to dive into particular vanilla notes provided by the oak barrel storage. Instead he welcomed the change of topic and left it at that. "I see." she'd not exposed much, so he'd started putting together bits and pieces on his own. "Your church, no communal wine?" Diego knew Methodists, Baptists and the Seventh-day Adventists replaced the communal wine with grape juice, but exceptions were made across different churches depending entirely on agreed-upon preferences. There was no way of knowing for certain. Besides asking, that is. "Are you a religious person, Oona?" Diego leaned back into his chair, sinking deeper into it's comfort. His fingers lightly tapped the wine glass, which rested effortlessly above the armrest where his hand had settled. Eyes remained on her, as she spoke of the ranch, as her eyes glistened with memory of what must've been 'the most beautiful place this side of heaven'. Unbeknownst to her, there was something about those words which deepened his resolve. A lot depended on this cure, a lot could yet be restored. "Is that where you'd go? If you could? Back to Colorado?" Her questions were delivered with a coat of amusement and he had to laugh. "No, no you did not forget." Another sip of wine graced his lips before he attempted a response. Times like these Diego wished he'd lived a more...interesting life. "Well uh, before my fancy-pants school I was an infant so, Mexico?" eyes narrowed above a smile. For all the many things he could recall, he never could quite remember a time when he wasn't being taught something. From the moment he was sentient enough to truly grasp the world around him, he was already in school. His parents made sure not a single drop of potential was ever wasted. Yet it didn't exactly make for a good story, in the end. "Parents moved to Florida when I was one. I started school at four, moved to Stanford at fourteen then..." Elliot came, and he'd become a part of something he'd never really got a say in. And was stuck in it's vicious and unpredictable unravelling ever since. But again, it did not make for a good story. "I guess here I am. Here we are." part of him was itching to ask, to see what she thought of that -- of him, of Eden, of his contribution to how utterly fucked the world had become. But the other half, was stronger, and it had kept him quiet, reaching for another sip of that wine.

"Oh?" Oona's mouth caught in a small o-shape as he continued. "I don't know if I came by that belief through books or TV, but I guess I always thought it was like -- the dustier the bottle, the better." She smiled lightly, humming slightly in acknowledgment as he pushed a glass towards her. She didn't drink much, but she remembered how her mom's cheeks would grow darker when she had her allotted glass of wine at Christmas dinner. The memory caused a little stab at Oona's heart as she picked up the glass, observing the liquid through the light that shone from a small window. "What makes it change color?" She figured, for the sake of being polite, she'd at least have to take a small drink.

"Cheers," she echoed, then took the teeniest sip that would still allow her to report back on its taste. The last time she had wine, it was -- gosh, it must've been two years ago, she thought. It had been something sickeningly sweet and pink with little flowers and strawberries on the label. She had giggled a whole lot, and when she went to check on Lydia where she slept, she ended up falling asleep curled around her. As she tried to think of what to tell Diego, her eyes caught on the duck on the '97 Decoy, and she smiled to herself again. "It's good," she started. "Very... rich. Fruity, but not super sweet." Her expression turned a little rueful. "Now this is where you tell me what notes I should be picking up."

Wiping the pad of her thumb across her mouth, Oona nodded and placed the glass back down between them. "I did, yeah," she confirmed. Her parents had their own property -- horses, mainly. Her daddy was in the business of breeding when he wasn't in the business of lay ministry. Where she'd primarily been living before the world fell apart was at her grandparents' ranch, Sagebrush Ridge, which was larger and older and passed through generations. She preferred to talk about that one and let out a soft, short laugh at Diego's next question. "But no wine cellar. My pawpaw was a teetotaler. Besides, our church mostly encouraged prohibition. Any intoxicants were pretty much a no-go."

His next questions had her at a brief loss for words. They were big ones, and she had big answers, but she wasn't sure how to articulate them. What was it like? "Wow. I don't... I don't know where to start," Oona said after a moment, touched that he even remembered. "Um. I loved the ranch -- I do love it. It's still there, in Colorado. Two hours north of Denver." She stopped, made a face, then shook her head. "Well, that's by car. By foot or horse, it's about a week out," she continued, illustrating the point by drawing a small line in the air that approximated the route. Oona took a deep breath as she remembered the blue sky, the tall trees, the lake, and the mountains. She released it heavily. "It's just about the most beautiful place this side of heaven, but that's just one woman's humble opinion."

"What about you? Where were you before your fancy-pants school, where you learned your fancy-pants words?" Oona asked, then immediately flushed. Her expression scrunched up in chagrin. Voice low, she continued: "Oh gosh. Did I forget? Did you already tell me?"

[hallcw]

"Yes well, I still think all these notes are a waste of time. Come --" he stood up from the seat he'd only just taken, and offered out his hand for her where she floated amid scattered notes, loose pages, and the newest fragment of his hieroglyphic puzzle. "We're not drinkin' anything until you've had some food. And uh," he rubbed the back of his neck quickly, shifting from one foot to the other as he scouted the papers once again. "-- pretty sure you've better luck deciphering those than I do." Diego was not exactly known for keeping notes of his own, best he could do was scrabble some notable observations for the sake of fluidity. Though, he supposed, it would not hurt to make a habit of it now -- he could be gone tomorrow, along with every bit of important research stuck in his mind. And unlike the cure, that shit could not be extracted from a dead brain either. "Okay let's go." he more or less rushed her out the door and tossed his arm over her shoulders as they'd walked ahead. Out of his pocket, he pulled out a bag of peanuts and angled some in his mouth before passing the rest her way. "So? You missing the labs yet Livs?"

the  sound  of  his  voice  is  half  apology,   half  afterthought.     it  tears  through  the  quiet  she’s  surrounded  herself  with,   in  a  way  she  is  more  than  familiar  with,   perhaps  comfortingly  so.     eyes  lift  from  the  journal  she’d  been  completing:     the  sun  has  long  set,   and  in  this  ghost  town,   she  had  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  group,   finding  a  corner  she  could  call  her  own.     a  space  where  she  could  avoid  the  guilt  and  the  sorrow  that  fills  her  every  time  she  hears  the  clones  talk.     ❝      i’m  busy  writing  my  own  notes,   you  know?      ❞      livia  asks,   but  there  is  no  venom  in  her  words,   only  soft  exasperation.     features  shift  into  the  look     —     the  one  with  a  raised  brow  and  a  tired  gaze  and  a  sigh  that  barely  abandons  her  throat.     still,   she  accepts  the  papers  without  further  complaints,   flipping  through  the  pages,   unimpressed.     at  the  mention  of  food,   her  stomach  twists.     of  course  she’d  forgotten  to  eat  again.      sometimes  it  was  too  easy  to  get  lost  in  the  memories  and  writings,   days  blurring  into  nights,   minutes  blurring  into  hours.      ❝      alright,      ❞      she  finally says,   nodding  once.      ❝      but  if  i’m  drinking  with  you,   you’re  translating  every  single  one  of  these  hieroglyphics.      ❞ 

[hallcw]

Harper made mental notes of things. She knew she was not the warmest company, or the funniest or the wisest. She knew she gave out shit advice, said all the wrong things at the worst possible times. She knew she was not a company people necessarily liked. So she had to give people a good enough reason to keep her around. And that extended beyond just hunting down a few rabbits and cutting down the hallow. Whenever someone mentioned wanting something, lacking something -- from medicines, to alcohol, to clothes or toiletries, specific kinds of food; she made a note of it, and more often than not, she delivered. They didn't even have to specifically ask either, just a mention in passing was enough. "I'll keep an eye out." Her brows then furrowed in thought. 'Gotta want, to be grateful' Beck said, and she wasn't sure she agreed. "Maybe." her mind set into a race, searching quickly for the many wants she'd had in the past, that she harboured still...deep down, hidden and protected from this angry and fucked up universe. "Dangerous too. Wanting things." Harper looked at them then, calm and relaxed even as that thought lingered and raised a gentle flow of anxiety from the pit in her stomach. Everything she ever wanted was greedy, and impossible. And everything she ever got was, eventually, lost. So she'd learnt, perhaps a little too late, that it was safer not to want at all. And easier not to have a damn thing. "Y'know when I was seven, I really wanted this uh, this doll." she'd chuckled, it's been a long time since she'd thought of them...of dolls and toys and childhood wants. "Holiday Barbie, she had this like...this beautiful purple gown, and a little purse to match it and a diamond necklace. And her hair was in that...that half-pony, you know? Half up and half down? Stunning." smile did not leave her face as she went on, memory as clear as could be for someone who couldn't necessarily 'see' pictures in their mind. "I wanted her for months but, my parents they had this thing with discipline and whatever, didn't want us to be spoiled so they only got us things on...special occasions like, like birthdays and Christmas and that sort o' thing." she looked at them, back at the garden, back at them again. Her hands moved along with her words, subconsciously. "When I finally got her, damn...lemme tell you that was...I was so happy man, I did not part with that bitch not for a minute." her smile eased off, a gentle shrug passing her shoulders. "But then I got into an argument with my brother, and he took my holiday Barbie and he ripped her head off and ruined her dress and I just -- I couldn't do anything. I was so mad." it was then she realised she wasn't entirely sure why she was saying all this. "I just, I just remember thinking how I wish I never got her in the first place, you know?" she smiled, and suddenly that weird and icky feeling snuck up on her, the kind that woke every time she felt she'd been oversharing, talking too much . So she pulled at the rubber on her wrist, nervously. "I don't know uh, whatever..." A bit of silence which followed eased her deeper into the pillows once again. She sipped on the disgusting beer sporadically, and nodded when Beck asked what she'd meant. "Yeah like, the group." she confirmed, but it was more than that too. "I mean, once we're there they'll no longer have any need for us. And if they get this...this cure..." what happens then? What happens if the world goes back to how it once was? "Ever think about, what you'd do? Where you'd go? If there was a cure?"

Harper's observant nature was often a huge benefit to them. To know she was perceptive and trust her to see things they might not was something that made Beck really like working with her. But having that turned on them, and spoken on, even though it was small, was new. Not bad, not good - new. Their nose crinkled and they looked down, turning they arm over a little as they looked at the freckles that dotted the skin. " Yeah, maybe. " They said, before the looked back up again. " Hey let me know if you find any sunscreen, yeah? " It's not like they expected skin cancer to be the thing that killed them but, they didn't think it would be unwise to try and avoid it either.

Her reaction to their words told them immediately they had been worth saying, small smile tugging at the corners of their lips as they easily allowed themselves to lean back from the nudge. When she said they were trapped too, they thought immediately that there were worse places to be trapped. Especially as Harper continued, painting a picture of a truly idealistic life. A soft chuckle coming to their lips when that life somehow included Beck plucking away at a guitar. Though their vision lingered on the grass. Cut short. Like every other lawn they could see from their point on the porch. They pushed suspicions down, maybe rich people had weirdo fake grass that never grew but still looked real. They focused instead on what Harper said next. " Wanting for stuff isn't a bad thing. " They said, sympathetic. " Gotta want, to be grateful, I think. " Whether or not their words were reassuring, they didn't know, but maybe the words at least said that Beck wasn't going to hold Harper's daydream against her the next time there was a bad day. " Besides, this many houses, " They nodded out towards the streets their group now occupied, " I reckon there's a grill in at least one of them. "

When she moved, Beck instinctively sat up straighter. Though they didn't make it all the way to their feet. Simply perched on the seating, head craning to watch as she walked, limped, off without a word. They listened to her movements when they could no longer see her, just to know that they hadn't been left alone. So her returned was expected, but they still didn't know what she'd left for. But that question was swiftly answered. " Pretty sure the last remaining carbonation died, like, years ago. " They mused with a smile as they accepted the bottle offered to them.

The taste made them cringe, but they drank all the same. A reasonable first sip from the bottle. At some point they'd decided they wouldn't drink to cope. They didn't remember what exactly had made them make that decision, but they'd witnessed reason to keep it up many times over the year. Not with judgement, more like empathy. But, today was good. There was plenty of resources, they were able to clean up, and they could rest for the night. That could be a celebration, a small one. They had two answers to Harper's question that sprang to mind. The first, a secret they didn't really intend to speak on. The second, a truly desperate want they had. A hope. " What d'ya mean? " They ask, looking to her as they took another sip from the bottle. " Like to the group? "

[hallcw]

"Yeah I mean, literal or not it’s just gotta be funny right?" Harper lived under the impression that she was a funny person. That she could pick up humour easily, and tell a nice joke. But whoever didn't have a wrong image of themselves every now and again? She used to make people laugh. Unintentionally, before the world went to shit. Her brother used to say she 'cracked him up' and her mother would greet her with an occasional 'ha-ha clever', both of which seemed to be evidence enough that she could make for an amusing company. Once. "Yeah, shouldn't be any different than camping out in the woods. We just gotta stick to our usual 'secure the parameter, plan out the exit strategy and rotate people on the lookout'. We'll be fine." she knew she'd be fine. Even if push came to shove, she had an exit strategy of her own. It's how she made it this far. It's how she'd make it further still. If it came to it. Harper hoped her words resonated. There was something about Aspen, and the way she kept to herself while simultaneously looking out for the rest of them, that just rubbed her off the wrong way. She was like a reminder, a living and breathing reminder that even those who'd made selfless choices could make it this far. She was proof, that there were 'alternative' ways to survive, to go about life, to exist. And for someone who did not believe in mercy, or kindness, or compassion -- who believed those things died out with the rest of the world well, it birthed a sense of resentment. And insecurity. But it also gave way for admiration, for a desire to protect her, to look after her. "You know, you’re so busy lookin’ out for everyone else, someday you’ll have to let someone look out for you." it was simply a matter of time, either she would have to stop being a giver and resort to a level of selfishness and self preservation most of them have now embraced, or she'd have to accept that she cannot walk through this world without a helping hand. "Ain’t nothing wrong with that either." At first she refused to touch anything, she didn’t know what any of the bottles were for, what any of the words meant. Then she spotted a sunblock and pocketed it quick to pass on to Beck later. She found an expired toothpaste, comedically large bottle of shampoo, three blocks of soap, a nail clipper which felt like winning some sort of lottery. As she scanned the shelves further, she started thinking less and grabbing anything and everything that seemed remotely useful. At some point she ended up holding two packs of pet dewormer and decided she’d gone too far. "Shower first, got it." with all the new and fresh finds she could hardly wait to shed off a layer of dirt and dried up blood off her skin and hair. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like, to be that level of clean. Another joke came her way and she gave it a curtesy of a smile. "Yes, I am living the dream."

she thought about it for a second, and harper was right, the hallows weren't exactly zombies, at least not in the undead sense. but that wasn't really the joke she was making. harper wasn't the joking type, she picked up on that very early. they were quite opposite really, but aspen didn't mind. she's met so many different types of people over the years, she was used to it. "yeah, i guess you're right," she says with a shrug. "but yeah, i wasn't being literal," she laughs. "jokes don't need to be literal." her voice was light, not making fun of or scolding harper for not going along with her joke.

"that's good, better safe than sorry, especially when we have no idea what this place is." the last thing they needed was to let their guard down and then some crazy assholes came out in the middle of the night to see who broke into their perfect little village.

aspen looked down at the ground as harper spoke. the truth was, she didn't like to be a burden. she barely knew these people, she wanted to be seen as useful and not someone to worry about slowing them down. if everything was to believed, their group was probably the most important people in the world, she didn't want to mess anything up. "yeah, you're probably right," is all she says, not wanting to voice her thoughts out loud. she barely knew harper and half the time she felt like the girl hated her.

stepping inside, she wished there was air conditioning like there would have been years ago, but at least it was cooler than out in the hot, spring sun. her eyes scanned the isles, grabbing a few things she knew would be useful as they went when harper spoke again. "shower first, clean water will do wonders. keep an eye out for anything that says antibacterial and i'll wrap it up for you later." she turned the corner to find an almost cleaned out shelf of bandages but with a few still sitting on the shelve. "bingo," she said mostly to herself before dropping down to her knees and pulling open her back pack to drop as many packages inside as she could. "looks like you'll get a real dressing instead of a ripped up shirt this time," she says with a laugh, standing up again.

[hallcw]

alana. || @decad3nce

"So, how did you end up here?" Harper asked, absentmindedly. She'd yet to speak to Alana properly. Something about the woman was intimidating enough for Harper to feel a sense of reluctancy when it came to kickstarting a conversation. But now, with silence shrouding the room, and a plate of warm food, well -- what else was there to do? "I mean you're, you're English right?"

[hallcw]

ian. || @ianchos

Before the world went to shit, Harper was a creature of habit. Routine. With her life continuously uprooted and relocated, she craved nothing more than familiarity, and normalcy, and control. So no matter where, or how often they moved, how often her schedule depended on that of her father, her mother, and even her brother later on; she found time for morning coffee. And she took her daily run. She always used the same shower gel, and spent an hour before bed playing games on this device or the other. She found things to do, for herself. And now, eleven years since she last ran for fun, she'd had Ian. Harper would deny attachment, of course. But she camped where he camped, and she looked over her shoulder to make sure he was alright whenever they got set on a run. And now that they were stuck here, in this shitty and creepy little ghost town, she followed him into a house he'd chosen and set her shit right beside his. Then she proceeded to the kitchen, loaded with so much stuff she'd wished they had a cart with two strong horses to carry everything with them straight to California. "Man how the actual fuck is all this stuff still here?" she reached for the can of beans, cracked it open and gave it a quick smell check. "It's so well-preserved." brows knitted and she emptied the can into her own portable pan and set it aside as she focused on the oven. "D'you think we might find coffee layin' around? Yeah, yeah that reminds me--" she'd turned to face him. "We're on first watch. Tonight. Up in one of those high buildings. Might wanna get some food an' shut-eye before then."

[hallcw]

— Richard Siken, Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[hallcw]

Harper rarely looked people in the eyes. It wasn't something she did consciously, really, she still looked at their faces, followed their lips as they spoke, their gestures. She paid attention, she just couldn't hold their gaze. So yes, she'd noticed the freckles, even as they mixed with the dirt. And she didn't get the joke, not really. "I could've told you that." she replied, eyes passing over them as she realised this was the first time to see them quite so clearly. "They grew more vibrant with the sun, I think." She knew they were a curtesy, Beck's words, but they softened her anyway. And she didn't really know how to take them, so she shied away. At least her eyes did, as a smile persisted and rolled her eyes jokingly. "Yeah yeah, I'm hot shit..." she said, nudging them gently with a shoulder before pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her hands right over. Silence filled the space between them, for a moment, and it felt pretty good. And comfortable. And she'd not had the need to break free of it for a change. When they spoke again, she nodded. "See? Now you're trapped too." after weeks of sleeping bags and rough terrain, padded seating felt almost heavenly. "I'd do anything for a cup of iced tea. Peach, with mint. And like...you and a guitar and...maybe a lil grill right there too --" she pointed ahead, to the freshly mowed yard. "God I hate towns like this." she looked at them, briefly. "There's too much time to want things. Makes it easy to forget, y'know, to be...I don't know, grateful?" it's how people used to live, she remembered, in a constant state of want. It was shocking really, that the world lasted as long as it did. But not shocking at all, that it ultimately crushed beneath someones 'wants'. Harper got up then, with comical amount of effort, and she limped to the door pretending her muscles did not actually ache as much as they did. Beck was right, people needed rest. She needed rest. And California was entirely too fucking far, and it was unlikely they were actually making it there. But she did not let that thought simmer, not as she reached the kitchen and took a hold of two warm beers before limping right back. "Bet it's flat as fuck." she said still, lowering back into the space beside them. She cracked each bottle open with her teeth, then let Beck have theirs. To see them better, she folded one of her legs beneath the other, and leaned into her hand as the elbow rested over the backrest of the chair. The beer was disgusting. Her face sure gave it away as it grimaced following the first sip. And then she took another for good measure and her eyes found Becks, just for a second, enough to rattle her into speaking up again. "What d'you think happens when we get there? To California?"

There was something familiar about walking through the streets of the empty ghost town. Distant, but familiar. But maybe that was their own mind trying to make peace with the place, reaching for something comforting so they didn't feel either paranoid or selfish for indulging the luxuries. When they spotted Harper on a porch, they couldn't help but approach. And though they tried to keep their steps quiet as to not disturb her, they were not surprised that Harper heard them all the same.

" Hey, " They returned her greeting with a small smile, quick to take up the space offered to them. Her compliment, or observation more accurately, caused them to glance down at themselves briefly. Weird thing about the apocalypse was looks very rarely being on their mind. " Freckles, not dirt, who would'a thought? " They said, waving off self consciousness that threatened the edge of their mind with a light joke. " You don't pull up half bad yourself. " They returned, but their words certainly were a compliment. Even a smidge of peacefulness was nice to see on Harper. She certainly earned it.

They nodded in understanding that a comfortable chair had captured her. It's not like Beck had been up to much productive anyway. They'd raided a couple houses, showered, and spent a solid amount of time with Lydia on a tyre swing that had held up over the years. " Totally get it, this is nice, " They mused, leaning back a little, looking out to the street. For a moment they wonder if the previous occupants would have sat on their porch like this. But they pull their mind from it before it can get depressing, looking to Harper once more. They nodded again, this time in agreement though they didn't rush to stand. Harper didn't appear to be hurrying to find the ammo she spoke of, so neither did Beck. Just enjoying the calm moment while it lasted.

Her next words, however, catch them a little. It was a thought they'd also had, and it was no shock to hear it from Harper but they weren't certain they wanted to encourage conspiracy about this place while they used it. They hummed a small note of agreement, but didn't reply straight away. Thinking on their words for that second longer. " We won't stay long, " Was what they landed on, hoping there would be some reassurance in knowing this was merely a pit stop on the way to their destination. " Just a second to recharge. California's still a long way away. "