i_swear: (There's frost at my door)
Joel ([personal profile] i_swear) wrote in [community profile] featherbed 2013-07-04 01:18 am (UTC)

It goes on for that like a while. Whether he wants to say anything or not, finding the right words are too hard when he's already spent about as much effort as he's got in him to give. A pack of bandits got shot down a few days ago, dropped a nice load of supplies-- even a few packets of pain medication. He'd turned down the offer of taking them (for a man his age he's as fit as a horse, figures someone else might need the things more) but Maria's a sharp one; she dropped them off anyway.

And the image of those packets settled down at the edge of the kitchen counter is stuck firmly in the forefront of his mind for the majority of their walk home.

"--He tries to hold your hand?" Joel asks abruptly, when they're crossing into the heart of the neighborhood closest to his house. Maybe pills aren't the only thing on his mind.

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