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E҉̘̩̙͢͝͡R̛̫̘̝̮̞̬͓̝̫̻̻̜̦̀ͅŖ̮̳͕̲͚͜O̷̙̖͓͙̗̰͘͟R̯̝͓̪̻̩̟̟͕̥͍̭̪͍͘:̵̛̛̝͖͓̺̥̙̝̀͜ ̧̛͙͚̱̫͇̹̙̥͎̜̖̺̻̕͠͝I͇͓̫̺͖̻͈̝͇̰͕̩̯͝͡N̶̛̪̯̤̭̻͎͚̻̟͙V̧̼͙̹͔͝A̷̸̵̧̰̱̺̗̤̤̹̙̺͕͎͇̦̫͕̣̰̪͟L͏̡͍̣̫̘̖̰̟̤̟̕I̛̜̻̖̦̥͓̟̫͡ͅD҉͏̶̴̷͔̬̗̘͖͓͚͔̗̱̝̹̻͔ ̷̢̗͉͚͓̱̫͙̱̪̥̤͢R̵̢̭͕͖̙̤̣̬̪̜͎͇̙̥̘͕̙͟͜ͅE̴̷̶͇̖̙̪̜̜̫̪̬̣̣̫̺͜F̢͏̸̳̬̟͖͉͎͉̤͉͉͎̣̲̙͉͢E͏̨̧̫̩̭̯͓̬̼̳̳̱͉̤͞R̶͉͈̪͔͈͘Ȩ̧̩͙̦̝͉͇͚̼̫̭̕͘͡N̷̡̖͇͕̻̰̯͈͕͉̯C̳̝͍̤̫̥̰͝Ȩ̴̨͡͏̥̥̯̰̭̻̳̫E҉̘̩̙͢͝͡R̛̫̘̝̮̞̬͓̝̫̻̻̜̦̀ͅŖ̮̳͕̲͚͜O̷̙̖͓͙̗̰͘͟R̯̝͓̪̻̩̟̟͕̥͍̭̪͍͘:̵̛̛̝͖͓̺̥̙̝̀͜ ̧̛͙͚̱̫͇̹̙̥͎̜̖̺̻̕͠͝I͇͓̫̺͖̻͈̝͇̰͕̩̯͝͡N̶̛̪̯̤̭̻͎͚̻̟͙V̧̼͙̹͔͝A̷̸̵̧̰̱̺̗̤̤̹̙̺͕͎͇̦̫͕̣̰̪͟L͏̡͍̣̫̘̖̰̟̤̟̕I̛̜̻̖̦̥͓̟̫͡ͅD҉͏̶̴̷͔̬̗̘͖͓͚͔̗̱̝̹̻͔ ̷̢̗͉͚͓̱̫͙̱̪̥̤͢R̵̢̭͕͖̙̤̣̬̪̜͎͇̙̥̘͕̙͟͜ͅE̴̷̶͇̖̙̪̜̜̫̪̬̣̣̫̺͜F̢͏̸̳̬̟͖͉͎͉̤͉͉͎̣̲̙͉͢E͏̨̧̫̩̭̯͓̬̼̳̳̱͉̤͞R̶͉͈̪͔͈͘Ȩ̧̩͙̦̝͉͇͚̼̫̭̕͘͡N̷̡̖͇͕̻̰̯͈͕͉̯C̳̝͍̤̫̥̰͝Ȩ̴̨͡͏̥̥̯̰̭̻̳̫E҉̘̩̙͢͝͡R̛̫̘̝̮̞̬͓̝̫̻̻̜̦̀ͅŖ̮̳͕̲͚͜O̷̙̖͓͙̗̰͘͟R̯̝͓̪̻̩̟̟͕̥͍̭̪͍͘:̵̛̛̝͖͓̺̥̙̝̀͜ ̧̛͙͚̱̫͇̹̙̥͎̜̖̺̻̕͠͝I͇͓̫̺͖̻͈̝͇̰͕̩̯͝͡N̶̛̪̯̤̭̻͎͚̻̟͙V̧̼͙̹͔͝A̷̸̵̧̰̱̺̗̤̤̹̙̺͕͎͇̦̫͕̣̰̪͟L͏̡͍̣̫̘̖̰̟̤̟̕I̛̜̻̖̦̥͓̟̫͡ͅD҉͏̶̴̷͔̬̗̘͖͓͚͔̗̱̝̹̻͔ ̷̢̗͉͚͓̱̫͙̱̪̥̤͢R̵̢̭͕͖̙̤̣̬̪̜͎͇̙̥̘͕̙͟͜ͅE̴̷̶͇̖̙̪̜̜̫̪̬̣̣̫̺͜F̢͏̸̳̬̟͖͉͎͉̤͉͉͎̣̲̙͉͢E͏̨̧̫̩̭̯͓̬̼̳̳̱͉̤͞R̶͉͈̪͔͈͘Ȩ̧̩͙̦̝͉͇͚̼̫̭̕͘͡N̷̡̖͇͕̻̰̯͈͕͉̯C̳̝͍̤̫̥̰͝Ȩ̴̨͡͏̥̥̯̰̭̻̳̫
E҉̘̩̙͢͝͡R̛̫̘̝̮̞̬͓̝̫̻̻̜̦̀ͅŖ̮̳͕̲͚͜O̷̙̖͓͙̗̰͘͟R̯̝͓̪̻̩̟̟͕̥͍̭̪͍͘:̵̛̛̝͖͓̺̥̙̝̀͜ ̧̛͙͚̱̫͇̹̙̥͎̜̖̺̻̕͠͝I͇͓̫̺͖̻͈̝͇̰͕̩̯͝͡N̶̛̪̯̤̭̻͎͚̻̟͙V̧̼͙̹͔͝A̷̸̵̧̰̱̺̗̤̤̹̙̺͕͎͇̦̫͕̣̰̪͟L͏̡͍̣̫̘̖̰̟̤̟̕I̛̜̻̖̦̥͓̟̫͡ͅD҉͏̶̴̷͔̬̗̘͖͓͚͔̗̱̝̹̻͔ ̷̢̗͉͚͓̱̫͙̱̪̥̤͢R̵̢̭͕͖̙̤̣̬̪̜͎͇̙̥̘͕̙͟͜ͅE̴̷̶͇̖̙̪̜̜̫̪̬̣̣̫̺͜F̢͏̸̳̬̟͖͉͎͉̤͉͉͎̣̲̙͉͢E͏̨̧̫̩̭̯͓̬̼̳̳̱͉̤͞R̶͉͈̪͔͈͘Ȩ̧̩͙̦̝͉͇͚̼̫̭̕͘͡N̷̡̖͇͕̻̰̯͈͕͉̯C̳̝͍̤̫̥̰͝Ȩ̴̨͡͏̥̥̯̰̭̻̳̫ E҉̘̩̙͢͝͡R̛̫̘̝̮̞̬͓̝̫̻̻̜̦̀ͅŖ̮̳͕̲͚͜O̷̙̖͓͙̗̰͘͟R̯̝͓̪̻̩̟̟͕̥͍̭̪͍͘:̵̛̛̝͖͓̺̥̙̝̀͜ ̧̛͙͚̱̫͇̹̙̥͎̜̖̺̻̕͠͝I͇͓̫̺͖̻͈̝͇̰͕̩̯͝͡N̶̛̪̯̤̭̻͎͚̻̟͙V̧̼͙̹͔͝A̷̸̵̧̰̱̺̗̤̤̹̙̺͕͎͇̦̫͕̣̰̪͟L͏̡͍̣̫̘̖̰̟̤̟̕I̛̜̻̖̦̥͓̟̫͡ͅD҉͏̶̴̷͔̬̗̘͖͓͚͔̗̱̝̹̻͔ ̷̢̗͉͚͓̱̫͙̱̪̥̤͢R̵̢̭͕͖̙̤̣̬̪̜͎͇̙̥̘͕̙͟͜ͅE̴̷̶͇̖̙̪̜̜̫̪̬̣̣̫̺͜F̢͏̸̳̬̟͖͉͎͉̤͉͉͎̣̲̙͉͢E͏̨̧̫̩̭̯͓̬̼̳̳̱͉̤͞R̶͉͈̪͔͈͘Ȩ̧̩͙̦̝͉͇͚̼̫̭̕͘͡N̷̡̖͇͕̻̰̯͈͕͉̯C̳̝͍̤̫̥̰͝Ȩ̴̨͡͏̥̥̯̰̭̻̳̫
E҉̨̢͎͎̗̦͈͎̘R̨̘̦̙̖̳͈͟R̢̞̺͖̩̟̻͙͕̩͜O̢̢̼͉͔̟̯̝͇̙͜͠R̴̛̗̝͕̣̘͙̪͖̀͟:̢̢͉̙̥̝͖͉̯̟͇̖̱̖͓̲̳ ͏̴͉͈͈̦̝̦͉͖̖͉̪̝̠̭I͡҉̣̼̜̩̻̜͓̻̳̼̥̭̯̭̫͉̭ͅL̶͖͖̯̝̥̬̖̤̥̹͎̟̬̻̦̜̝̻̗͟͞Ļ̸̸̸̥̺̝̜̭̘̞͈͎͚͉E̶͍͍͈̬̕͜͟G̳̬͉̙̥̩̼̭̦͔͘͜͡À̴͟҉̤͔͇̩̳͝ͅL̟͉̯̥̝̀͢͝ ͏҉͈͎͇̞̪̬͓͎̖̥̜̦̖̜O̺̹̺̜͉̠͉̠͇̭̣͔͡͞P̢͘͜҉̺̝̥͎̜Ḙ̢͔͇̰͇̯̺͇͓̜Ŗ̦̝̫̯̻̰͍͙̼̮͎̕ͅA̸̬̯͉͓̥̕͢͞ͅT̷̡͎̻̳̥Ḭ̵̡̥̭̥̀͞O̴͈̤͚͇̜͘͘͞N̢̬͕̙̫̦̳̫̭͖͙̤.̧͢͜҉̩̼̬̞̟̻͇̭͖ ̳̝̺̯̣̠̣̲͎̝̞̣̭̫͘͠S̡̧̼͈̱̳̰̰̳̻̺̫̝͈͖͎ͅH̦̖̣̦̱͓͙͓̣́͜͠͠Ù̸͎̹̼̱͈͇̼̼̕ͅͅṰ̤̝̦̞͍̮̦̞̼̪͕̹̬͈͝T͞͏̟͖͔̯̼̫̞̥̣̘͉̫̟ͅI̢͖̪̮̺̰̟͎͈͇̻͈͔͉̱̯͓̻͞N̢̨̮̱͕̣͟Ģ̸̝̟͚̩͙͖ͅ ҉̴̝̭̩̯̫̤̼̬͇͡ͅD̨͏̺͎̝̟͔͉͕̲̮͎̦͓̥͕̹͓̮̖̘̀͠Ǫ̵͍͇̝̱̖̳̦͖͡W̸̧̩͕̹̹̬̰̻̣̣͓̞̼̮̦̺͟͞͡N̡̛̫͙̠͚̠̲̙̟̤͔̦͙ͅ.҉̢̻̝̦͓̀̕͠

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For the second evening in a row, before the sun had set, Clementine was heading back inside the house she'd woken up in. She'd walked south this time, though not too far, stopping only to search through anything that looked interesting. Finding another place to sleep had crossed her mind, but this house was fairly comfortable - more comfortable than anywhere she'd stayed at for a long time. And miraculously there were no walkers about. She didn't want to push her luck for too long, but for now it seemed like a good place for rest.

It wasn't long after she'd gotten back inside the house though, that Clementine realised something wasn't quite right. Footprints from the snow that weren't her own, and the sound of someone moving from further inside the house. She halted, frowning and listening intently for a few moments.

"Is someone here?" she called eventually.

Clementine longed for her gun. But not having something to hurt this stranger - or walker - with, she was quick and knew how to use her surroundings to her advantage. It was for that reason she didn't immediately turn around. Besides which, there was a chance there was someone friendly inside, someone who had supplies. Clementine couldn't miss that chance.

George liked this house better than the one he'd found earlier. The cut up pieces of clothes were beyond creepy, and although he had found a few things of use, he didn't relish the idea of staying somewhere like that. This house was a little nicer, if off. He flipped through an astronomy journal without paying it much heed. He recognized some of the constellations from his many years on the road up and down California farm country. Beyond that, he saw no value in it, so he set it aside.

He was in the process of deciding which room might be warmest (and also least likely to let night visitors sneak up on him) when he heard a distinctly child-like voice calling out from the front door. His first thought was of that kid he had spoken to when he first started using the tablet, Alphonse. The voice didn't sound quite right.

He cautiously retraced his steps toward the front door and froze when he saw a little girl. Well. Shit.

"Hey," he said. He pushed the brim of his hat up and back to reveal more of his face, his features sharp but his expression not unkind, just wary. "Please tell me you ain't by yourself." Maybe that was a foolish hope. If she was with an adult, they'd be twice as wary of him if they felt invested in protecting the kid. He scanned behind her and everywhere else in the house in his immediate line of sight without seeing movement.

The place felt bad somehow. Unwelcoming. The longer he had lingered here, the worse he felt it. He wondered if the kid could feel it, too. He took another step forward, trying not to look menacing. He was a small man, slightly built, so he had that much going for him. "Name's George. You?"

Her eyes ran over George. It was true; he didn't look immediately threatening. But she'd had plenty of experience with people who had played nice before trying to kidnap, kill or eat her. She wasn't about to give anyone the benefit of the doubt while there was a risk. Not in a place like this. He was the one that had brought her here for all she knew. She stayed near the door, ready to run if she had to - despite the warning that weird phone had given her about staying outdoors after dark.

She was cautious, and avoided both his questions, choosing to ask her own instead. "What are you doing here?" She didn't exactly own this place, no, but it had been her (creepy, too big and open) "home" over the past thirty-six hours or so.

He noticed the avoidance of whether she was alone or not and decided not to press the issue. Either she was being smart about it because she was, or she was stalling to let someone else have time to get there. He'd stay wary until he knew more. "I reckon I'm doin' the same thing you are. Lookin' for stuff ta use or eat an' tryin' ta find a place to hole up for the night."

He didn't get any closer. He didn't want to spook her. "I did find another house. Gotta tell ya, I really don't wanna stay there. Some wack cut up a buncha clothes into little pieces and left 'em all over the house, 'specially on the stairs."

He frowned and shifted his stance, lifting one hand to hook in the strap of his bindle. "It's gettin' late. I could prob'ly get there if I hoofed it. I ain't here to take nothin' from you or hurt you. I'm gonna let you decide. We can be peaceable here tonight together, or you can send me packin'. Make it quick, though. I ain't got much time."

"Cut up clothes scare you?" Despite the raised eyebrow there, she did understand getting spooked in a place that. Even this house, with all its luxuries like actual beds and water, it still felt somehow... off. She knew she didn't belong her.

After a pause as she listened closely, Clementine sighed and turned for the door - closing it firmly. She wasn't sure if she entirely believed her phone thing with that warning about finding shelter, but she knew it was probably more likely to freeze to death after sunset. Who knew if he'd find decent shelter for the night before then. She didn't want that blood on her hands.

"I'm Clementine," she said after a moment. Clementine still wasn't sure about this, and it probably showed. But he was the first person she'd seen that wasn't through a screen in days. She'd take the risk. "Just... don't try any shit, okay?"

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Naw, it's not the da-- dang clothes that scared me. It's what kind a' screwy mind it'd take to cut up that much of it into the same sized pieces an' then jes' leave 'em all over the place like demented confetti. If you seen it, you'd know 'xactly what I mean."

He relaxed a little internally when she turned to shut the door. He hadn't relished the idea of running back to the crazy house, although he'd have done it. He was a man of his word.

He let out a bark of a sound that was about as close to laughter as he had come in a couple of days. "Got a mouth on you, don't ya? Awwright. No shit. Got my word on that." He looked around what he could see of the house again, thinking of the parts he had already explored. He rubbed his hand down a whiskery cheek and frowned thoughtfully.

"Don't know if it happened to you or not last night, but where I was stayin', I heard footsteps some time durin' the night. Thinkin' maybe we oughtta set a watch. Sleep in shifts. How does that sound ta you?"

"I don't think I heard footsteps here..." Although she did hear something she couldn't quite put her finger on, which was seriously unnerving... It was becoming a little more obvious to her that she'd made the right choice in letting George stay when he made the suggestion to sleep in shifts. He was smart; in a place like this - and where she was from - that was good. She was also glad he wasn't treating her like a little kid, something some people were sometimes prone to do when they saw how young she was.

"But that's a good idea," she agreed, walking a little further into the house. "Do you have any weapons?" If she was lucky, he'd have something like a knife or a hammer to keep guard with.

Edited (misread the ooc post oops) 2015-06-08 20:52 (UTC)

He shook his head, his exasperation showing. "Naw. Whoever done this to us even took my pocket knife. All I got are a couple'a boards." He had been intending to use them for fuel in a pinch. He supposed they could serve as make-shift weapons until that time.

He squatted and laid his bindle down next to him. Digging in the folds of it, he pulled out half a board to offer to her and another longer one for himself. "I imagine I don't need to tell you how ta swing one a' these things. If something does come for us on your watch, holler. I ain't a heavy sleeper."

He straightened again and settled the strap back across his shoulder. "Let's find us a room with jes' one window and a door, tuck in a little grub, and set up our watch." He didn't want to be trapped if anything more than they could handle came for them in the night. He'd sooner take his chances outside than get completely cornered. He didn't yet know that he wouldn't be able to break a window if he tried.

"Maybe we can prop a chair under the knob, too, a little somethin' extra between us and whoever else might be out and about when we ain't."

"Yeah, they took my gun too." Clementine looked over the makeshift weapon for a moment. She'd used things like that before, so it wasn't new to her. "Pretty useful. I know how to use it."

Motioning forward, she then led him over to one of the downstairs bedrooms, where yesterday she had also brought down the comforter from upstairs. "I slept in here last night. It could work, right?" she said, glancing up at him. "There's a lot of boxes and trunks in here to put in the way." She thinking of how easily a hoard of walkers would be able to push open a door with only a chair in the way. True, she hadn't seen any yet, and the cold would probably slow them down anyway, but she still couldn't put the risk aside. "And we could get something like a dresser too, for extra security."

George bit back his consternation at a kid having a gun. Considering what sort of situation he just came out of, guns were the last thing he wanted to talk about. He simply nodded and left her in custody of the smaller board.

He headed to the bedroom with her, taking in the sight of the clutter and bent to set his bindle aside out of the way for now. "Yeah. Yeah, this should be plenty good. Ain't no way anybody could make it through all a' this without kickin' up a helluva ruckus. And if they do? We whack 'em hard."

He went about the business of getting heavier furniture to block off the door. It worked up a bit of a sweat, not unwelcome in the cold, and once he had the door blocked, he also situated a couple of the trunks to help them hold in body heat with the blanket she had found and his own bedroll. By this time, the light in the room was dim, going toward sun down outside.

"Why don't we split one a' these rations? Neither one of us is all that big. Don't need to eat too much, right?" He was used to doing with little or even going without. It wasn't an unusual hardship to him. "Get it down before it's dark then settle in an' catch some shut-eye. I don't mind takin' first watch." He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep much, regardless.

Clemenetine offered a smile, the first time she'd smiled in a while. "Whack them hard," she agreed, and went quickly forward to help him shove things in front of the door. She might not look it, but Clementine was pretty strong, used to doing stuff like this more often than she'd like.

"Sure, sounds good." Clementine sat down on the comforter she'd brought down a few days before. She was more than used to not eating much - she could go days without food, even if she would prefer not to. She hadn't eaten much of her rations yet; with any luck they would last almost two weeks.

"Just wake me after a few hours," she added after he mentioned taking first watch.

George settled down on his bedroll and dug one of his rations out of his pack. Like hell was he going to be taking food off of the kid, not when he still had enough for a little while. He split it fairly and ate with the quick, no nonsense attitude of a person used to not having much. He nodded agreement about awakening her in a few hours. He knew he'd need to try to get a little sleep sooner or later. He'd wait until he was tired and hoped it would give him a better chance of actually doing it and not awakening in a cold sweat to the sound of phantom gunfire. He wasn't much for small talk, not when they were chasing sundown.

After he ate and wiped his hands on his trousers, he got up and moved to take a seat on one of the trunks closer to the door, where he could angle toward the door and the window at the same time. "I'll wake you earlier if anything happens. It'll be all right. I got good ears." He rested the board across his knees and settled in for a long spell of what he hoped would just be darkness and quiet.

He still hadn't gotten over the feeling they were intruding. Despite not being superstitious, he had a hard time shaking it. He might not have chosen to have a kid to look after. Now that he did, he was going to do his best to make sure nothing happened to her. To his way of thinking there was no acceptable alternative.

It was several hours of unease and a few stealthy sounds he couldn't quite put a finger on as to the cause before he awoke her as promised. He gripped her shoulder lightly and shook without much force, leaning down to murmur, "Been hearin' a few things. Not sure what, exactly. Thought maybe at one point I even heard a voice. Ain't nobody been near the door or the window. I think if we keep quiet back here, we'll be OK. You wake me up quick if we ain't." He lay down and rolled up in his bedroll against the cold. He had slept on the hard ground plenty. It wasn't that keeping him awake for a while. When he finally did drift off, it was a restless sleep.

Clementine didn't have too much trouble with sleep; she was a very light sleeper, yes, but the rest she did get was always enough. She'd had years of practise in shutting her mind down just enough to rest, while still being somewhat alert to movements around her. She was also used to resting in pretty awful places so this wasn't too bad, all considering. The only thing she wasn't too keen on was the lack of a gun, which she usually kept next to her hand while she slept. Still, the small board George had given her would have to do for now.

Her hand instinctively shifted toward her weapon when George woke her, though she soon relaxed again after recognising her surroundings. She nodded at him, taking her board over to sit where George had been keeping watch.

Clementine waited out the few hours until the sun came up. She heard things, things like George had mentioned. But nothing enough to make her wake him up, or even stand from where she sat on the trunk.

Eventually, as the light from the window got brighter, she went over to nudge George gently. "Hey. It's morning, I think. I heard some stuff too, outside. I don't think it was really close though." Not close enough for it to appear like anyone would try to come in anyway. She glanced at the window, then back at George. She'd spent a lot of last night wondering the pros and cons of travelling with George. He had proved trustworthy so far.

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