"Whole pepper would be best- or a jug of vinegar. If we can brine or pickle the next one the meat will last us twice as long. What I would not give for time and space to properly cure jerky." It won't taste quite so good, but they could carry it without worrying as much about where they would find their next meal. After this? it is the canned vegetables and that will not hold them much longer. Heading into any kind of town is a fool's errand.
"We should check the basement again, see if we cannot cut the lock. There is bound to be something down there." The kitchen had been bare- as were most they find lately. The spices had been a blessing.
His nose wrinkles slightly at the thought of vinegar; in a world gone rank, that sort of sharp sourness might be too close to the smell of decay for his tastes. "Pretty sure I'd bust my machete on it, but if we could jus' find an axe or somethin'..."
Just another thing on the list to look out for. He looks to him after a moment, swallowing against a dull pang in his throat. Mom would've liked Zev's company, he thinks, sharing her best recipes and techniques for making preserves. Well, maybe second-best recipes. Some secrets were hers to keep.
"So where'd you learn all this?" Luke asks suddenly, feeling an urge to stray from their usual business-like discussions. It'd be nice to know something more about a guy he'd be spending an indefinite period of time with. While he can strike out on his own - and he's had to spend more than a few nights on his own, here and there, over the last two years for some reason or another - there's power in numbers and much more. He hasn't scarred over and hardened enough to be like Jane, struggling to keep all the world - the good and the bad - at arms' length.
"Bolt cutters, a file- it would take time but we might as well since we will not be moving on in this weather." Too much risk of being seen or caught unawares. For now? Remaining where they are is the better option. In the morning they would have to reevaluate but a roiling drizzle like this? Tends to linger. It makes for poor hiking, too many tracks, too many traps.
He'd have to set out snares if they remained. Hope they find something more than this.
"The cooking, the hunting, the surviving? Ah..." He tips his head to the side as he rotates the spit, eyes narrowing at the drippings. "I suppose you could say it was something like military training, yes? Not that it was anything official or even all that tied to the government but...it has helped me survive so far!"
"That it has." A mercenary, then, if he had to guess. But he doesn't feel it's his place to pry. "Well if y'don' wanna talk about it, that's fine." And he means it. He pauses, the crackle and sputtering of the fire filling the room. "S'long as we're on the same side, then I guess some a' the details don' matter all that much." The apocalypse has leveled the playing field and past lives are irrelevant; for some, this means a second chance at life, if this could be called living at all.
"It is not so pleasant a story- and a great deal of it is no longer relevant. Why or how I was trained matters little in the face of what we...face. Mmm. That sounded better in my head." As things so often do. Content, now, that the meat was cooked enough Zevran removes it from the spit and carves out a full portion for both of them. When they can eat well, it is best that they do so. "You watch my back, I watch yours, yes? It is easier to survive when one has another pair of eyes looking out for the walking dead."
He offers a faint quirk of a smile, watching as Zev serves them. It doesn't last. "It's the livin' I'm worried about." The walkers, they're predictable, mindless. They don't scheme, don't kidnap or rape or play mind games. What you see is what you get.
He sighs again, soft through his nose, a furrow etching between in his brows. "...S'hard, bein' on your own. Those who've seen groups fall apart... I can see how it might look like the better option, sometimes." A beat. But I ain't built that way. "Can't get hurt if you're keepin' far away from people." A tired shake of his head. "But that's no way to be. In the end, it'll jus'... kill you inside."
"If we are careful, we will not meet any other living peoples to be bothered by." If Zevran has his way? They'll keep a fair distance from any encampment. All there is to find in such places are resources, politics, infighting, and eventually? Death. He's seen several bases implode from a distance. It makes for fine scavenging after the fact.
"Those that live longest are pairs, perhaps trios. People that trust one another well enough and keep on the move. Attempting to recreate civilization- it seems a fine idea. Until someone wants something they are not easily given, religion comes into the game, or supplies run low. As long as you are content to travel with me? I shall be happy to do so with you. Should you ever wish to part ways? I only ask we do so amicably. You are not so terrible a man, Luke. I would hate to have to kill you." He says with a smile, as though discussing the weather.
He can understand the cynicism - and after surviving a community turned dictatorship he's surprised, sometimes, that he's still willing to risk placing his faith in people and in something bigger than himself. He has the hope in little pockets of civilization flourishing and a new world rising from the ashes, someday, for Clem and AJ. For the kids stripped of a proper childhood full of video games and scraped knees and jumping in puddles. There has to be something more to life than this - just existing.
"Wow," He says in his flatly incredulous way, "that ain't unsettlin' at all." He plucks a piece of meat and pops it into his mouth, shaking out his hand. Worth it. Very worth it. It's gamey but damn good and he can't help humming in his throat.
"I find it to be best to be up front with such expectations. Especially with Americans." Not that nuance is lost on them- but being straightforward tends to be the more appreciated trait. "To be honest I do not think it will become a problem. As I said- you are not so terrible a man."
Zevran, however, is. But that goes without saying- or rather it shall continue to go without saying as there's been no real moment for either of them to need to be terrible. When that time comes, for their continued survival? Zevran is more than prepared to make the tough calls. The cold ones. Aid can be given on occasion but...limited resources, politics, the never ending shambling dead.
It pays to be polite- but only so far.
Zevran settles with his own share of dinner, sighing happily. Salt. He is so, so grateful for the salt.
He snorts wryly, shaking his head before taking another bite. "Sure know how to make a guy blush."
His being forthright isn't unappreciated; in a world full of masks and half-truths it can be hard to know who and what to believe and at this point he feels pretty safe thinking that what they have is a stable, mutually beneficial relationship. He's the last guy to want to rock the boat, unless he has to. It had been different with Carver. He couldn't sit idly and not challenge decisions that placed others at risk and outright hurt them.
Sometimes it feels like so long ago when they escaped the compound together and crept through the corpse-herd wide-eyed and smeared all over with sticky, liquefied guts, guns rattling all around them; sometimes, only yesterday. As the days blur together and summer edges closer, it seems all that remains of his family aren't the memories of their laughter and their voices and brighter days but all the what ifs and if onlys in the world.
It's a while before he picks up where they left off, sobering. "So, what's the plan? I mean, say we do end up runnin' into a settlement one a' these days, a place that's really got somethin' goin' for it... you ain't gon' give that a chance?"
"And here I am not even trying!" Another huff of laughter as he strips another bit of meat off for himself. The bones he could keep for soup for some time, or they could crack the marrow and eat it now- "Mm. What I would not give to find a cow- or proper butcher that has not been left to rot or ransacked. Alas."
Roasted beef marrow would be hearty for them both, but it does not travel well. Too bad. They shall have to make do with this and whatever else they might scavenge.
"We scout ahead for a reason, honestly. Any settlement we come about we'll have seen signs of beforehand- and long before we decide whether or not we are to make ourselves known to them I mean to make camp nearby and observe. What are the power dynamics, are they militant, do they have resources enough to bear our remaining or are they desperate? If we know the lay of the land before? We might better know what to do next. But if such a place exists? I could, perhaps, stay for a time. Not permanently."
"...Yeah, I know. Gotta scope out the place before you think about committin', if you can..." All Wellington had been was a name on the wind until he had stood at the gates, exhausted and hurting, and had a duffel bag of supplies thrown at his feet. Over capacity, the lady at the gate had said. He couldn't have known. Even Kenny, who first mentioned Wellington and sung praises about the place, hadn't known. "Ever think about buildin' somethin' yourself, someday, with people you trust? S'hell of a responsibility but..."
He shrugs, taking another bite.
It's hard to imagine feeling content or comfortable enough with a nomadic lifestyle to choose it over a stable, promising community for the long haul. But maybe this is the way it has been for Zev long before the first person-turned-lurker shambled through the streets. A lost soul drifting from place to place.
"No." It's an easy answer, something immediate. "One has to trust people to house them, to guard them. I can trust, perhaps, one or two people at a time. More than that and motivations and agendas become fickle, tricky things. Balancing them against my own desire not to die?"
Trickier still.
"Even staying in one place on my own would be foolish. There are things in having a known location to live in, to guard, to put down roots that are of great benefit- but I have not yet found somewhere that appealed to me enough to do so. Besides. It is a terribly romantic thing, is it not? Being a mysterious wanderer, living off of the land, culling the dead one zombie at a time."
Romantic. Certainly not the word that comes to mind, even jokingly. He shakes his head a little but relents, giving him a wry, purse-lipped smile. His mouth is slick with grease.
That there're more than a few compelling reasons out there to travel alone or keep few people as company is something he can't dispute. But the conversation doesn't end here. He won't let it if they ever come to that bridge.
"Right." He says, flatly, as he flicks a tiny bone into the flames. But his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. "You keep tellin' yourself that."
Zevran crackles a light laugh, pleased that his joke has been taken as such. There is too little laughter in this world- most likely because there are too few people and too little reason to laugh. The world is dark and strange and full of death- when Zevran had been among the few that knew it well? IT had been brighter.
Now everyone knows, and everyone fears. It is...an adjustment.
"I think we should head east, next. We have not headed in that direction for some time and, weather permitting? We should be able to scavenge something useful before we hit the next set of cabins."
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"We should check the basement again, see if we cannot cut the lock. There is bound to be something down there." The kitchen had been bare- as were most they find lately. The spices had been a blessing.
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Just another thing on the list to look out for. He looks to him after a moment, swallowing against a dull pang in his throat. Mom would've liked Zev's company, he thinks, sharing her best recipes and techniques for making preserves. Well, maybe second-best recipes. Some secrets were hers to keep.
"So where'd you learn all this?" Luke asks suddenly, feeling an urge to stray from their usual business-like discussions. It'd be nice to know something more about a guy he'd be spending an indefinite period of time with. While he can strike out on his own - and he's had to spend more than a few nights on his own, here and there, over the last two years for some reason or another - there's power in numbers and much more. He hasn't scarred over and hardened enough to be like Jane, struggling to keep all the world - the good and the bad - at arms' length.
"If... you don' mind me askin'."
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He'd have to set out snares if they remained. Hope they find something more than this.
"The cooking, the hunting, the surviving? Ah..." He tips his head to the side as he rotates the spit, eyes narrowing at the drippings. "I suppose you could say it was something like military training, yes? Not that it was anything official or even all that tied to the government but...it has helped me survive so far!"
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He sighs again, soft through his nose, a furrow etching between in his brows. "...S'hard, bein' on your own. Those who've seen groups fall apart... I can see how it might look like the better option, sometimes." A beat. But I ain't built that way. "Can't get hurt if you're keepin' far away from people." A tired shake of his head. "But that's no way to be. In the end, it'll jus'... kill you inside."
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"Those that live longest are pairs, perhaps trios. People that trust one another well enough and keep on the move. Attempting to recreate civilization- it seems a fine idea. Until someone wants something they are not easily given, religion comes into the game, or supplies run low. As long as you are content to travel with me? I shall be happy to do so with you. Should you ever wish to part ways? I only ask we do so amicably. You are not so terrible a man, Luke. I would hate to have to kill you." He says with a smile, as though discussing the weather.
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"Wow," He says in his flatly incredulous way, "that ain't unsettlin' at all." He plucks a piece of meat and pops it into his mouth, shaking out his hand. Worth it. Very worth it. It's gamey but damn good and he can't help humming in his throat.
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Zevran, however, is. But that goes without saying- or rather it shall continue to go without saying as there's been no real moment for either of them to need to be terrible. When that time comes, for their continued survival? Zevran is more than prepared to make the tough calls. The cold ones. Aid can be given on occasion but...limited resources, politics, the never ending shambling dead.
It pays to be polite- but only so far.
Zevran settles with his own share of dinner, sighing happily. Salt. He is so, so grateful for the salt.
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His being forthright isn't unappreciated; in a world full of masks and half-truths it can be hard to know who and what to believe and at this point he feels pretty safe thinking that what they have is a stable, mutually beneficial relationship. He's the last guy to want to rock the boat, unless he has to. It had been different with Carver. He couldn't sit idly and not challenge decisions that placed others at risk and outright hurt them.
Sometimes it feels like so long ago when they escaped the compound together and crept through the corpse-herd wide-eyed and smeared all over with sticky, liquefied guts, guns rattling all around them; sometimes, only yesterday. As the days blur together and summer edges closer, it seems all that remains of his family aren't the memories of their laughter and their voices and brighter days but all the what ifs and if onlys in the world.
It's a while before he picks up where they left off, sobering. "So, what's the plan? I mean, say we do end up runnin' into a settlement one a' these days, a place that's really got somethin' goin' for it... you ain't gon' give that a chance?"
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Roasted beef marrow would be hearty for them both, but it does not travel well. Too bad. They shall have to make do with this and whatever else they might scavenge.
"We scout ahead for a reason, honestly. Any settlement we come about we'll have seen signs of beforehand- and long before we decide whether or not we are to make ourselves known to them I mean to make camp nearby and observe. What are the power dynamics, are they militant, do they have resources enough to bear our remaining or are they desperate? If we know the lay of the land before? We might better know what to do next. But if such a place exists? I could, perhaps, stay for a time. Not permanently."
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He shrugs, taking another bite.
It's hard to imagine feeling content or comfortable enough with a nomadic lifestyle to choose it over a stable, promising community for the long haul. But maybe this is the way it has been for Zev long before the first person-turned-lurker shambled through the streets. A lost soul drifting from place to place.
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Trickier still.
"Even staying in one place on my own would be foolish. There are things in having a known location to live in, to guard, to put down roots that are of great benefit- but I have not yet found somewhere that appealed to me enough to do so. Besides. It is a terribly romantic thing, is it not? Being a mysterious wanderer, living off of the land, culling the dead one zombie at a time."
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That there're more than a few compelling reasons out there to travel alone or keep few people as company is something he can't dispute. But the conversation doesn't end here. He won't let it if they ever come to that bridge.
"Right." He says, flatly, as he flicks a tiny bone into the flames. But his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. "You keep tellin' yourself that."
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Now everyone knows, and everyone fears. It is...an adjustment.
"I think we should head east, next. We have not headed in that direction for some time and, weather permitting? We should be able to scavenge something useful before we hit the next set of cabins."