She says she gets it. R isn’t so sure she does, but he also wants to take her word for it at the same time. The name of the game is trust. What kind of relationship can they have without it? Can they even have a relationship? Is that what this thing is between them?
R decides right now it’s probably easiest to keep his mouth shut, stare at Julie and let her get it out of her system because he’s pretty sure she isn’t done talking. It’s not like a conversation with another Dead, where a word or two is already considered as hitting it off. And then…she tells him about more of her life. R’s able to cheat with what he stole from Perry, yeah, but it’s not the same as hearing it in Julie’s words, from her throat, and anyway, Perry doesn’t – didn’t - know everything. There are plenty of holes that Julie herself would have to fill in. Even the scraps, little tidbits of information, feel important.
Dog-eat-dog. Yeah, he’s seen enough of General Grigio through Perry to get an impression. Not a positive thinker is the extra-polite way of putting it. The man lives and breathes the apocalypse almost as much as any zombie R’s ever seen back home.
Julie grabbing his hand in hers, all on her own, makes R brave. It jolts through him….and he doesn’t think it’s just because of his leg stumbling up against rubble. It’s her. “Make…it work. Other Trib...others…avoid dark….places. Ambush. Tog...ether.”
It’s a plan if you look at it sideways and bonus, it doesn’t involve Julie hiding in a slimy pipe until it all blows over. Instead he’s trying to offer her the other option. The one where they’re in this together, equally. He wishes he didn’t have to throw Julie into the middle of a coming bloodbath. The idea of it terrifies him, which is surprising when he’s used to being flatlined up until now, not feeling terror, not feeling much of anything but boredom and hunger. It’s almost dizzying. R carefully squeezes Julie’s hand back, leeching some of that Living warmth away from her.
He isn't sure if she understands. Down it is. The zombie starts to lurch toward that broken escalator until they're right at the edge, peering down into the darkness. No screams from this end. No scrapping sounds or scuffles, either. Quiet as a grave.
no subject
R decides right now it’s probably easiest to keep his mouth shut, stare at Julie and let her get it out of her system because he’s pretty sure she isn’t done talking. It’s not like a conversation with another Dead, where a word or two is already considered as hitting it off. And then…she tells him about more of her life. R’s able to cheat with what he stole from Perry, yeah, but it’s not the same as hearing it in Julie’s words, from her throat, and anyway, Perry doesn’t – didn’t - know everything. There are plenty of holes that Julie herself would have to fill in. Even the scraps, little tidbits of information, feel important.
Dog-eat-dog. Yeah, he’s seen enough of General Grigio through Perry to get an impression. Not a positive thinker is the extra-polite way of putting it. The man lives and breathes the apocalypse almost as much as any zombie R’s ever seen back home.
Julie grabbing his hand in hers, all on her own, makes R brave. It jolts through him….and he doesn’t think it’s just because of his leg stumbling up against rubble. It’s her. “Make…it work. Other Trib...others…avoid dark….places. Ambush. Tog...ether.”
It’s a plan if you look at it sideways and bonus, it doesn’t involve Julie hiding in a slimy pipe until it all blows over. Instead he’s trying to offer her the other option. The one where they’re in this together, equally. He wishes he didn’t have to throw Julie into the middle of a coming bloodbath. The idea of it terrifies him, which is surprising when he’s used to being flatlined up until now, not feeling terror, not feeling much of anything but boredom and hunger. It’s almost dizzying. R carefully squeezes Julie’s hand back, leeching some of that Living warmth away from her.
He isn't sure if she understands. Down it is. The zombie starts to lurch toward that broken escalator until they're right at the edge, peering down into the darkness. No screams from this end. No scrapping sounds or scuffles, either. Quiet as a grave.