"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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no subject
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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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."
no subject
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 subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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."