charlie west, also known as 'cactus the angry elf' (littledeadly) wrote in immune_ic,
Charlie & Open
Looking back, Charlie wasn't sure why she'd made the decision to come to the party. It certainly wasn't to "socialize" or whatever the hell people did, because she could barely remember meeting people without shooting or running or some other sort of zombie-related violence involved. The music here sucked, in her opinion, and the guests weren't much better. There were too many people dresses and heels and other impractical items of clothing. If there were an attack, she mused, half these people would be dead just because they couldn't run in what they were wearing. Charlie had spruced herself up a little after making her way to Madison Square from the firehouse- she'd even thrown on some eyeliner, just to prove she was trying- but she was still sure she could run and fight in her clothing. And she was still armed to the teeth, of course. If there weren't at least two firearms in her reach, she was distinctly uncomfortable.
Maybe it was because holidays always reminded her of her brother. Robert had been far more sentimental than she was and always managed to make his reluctant sister feel like there was a reason for celebrating. There barely seemed to be a reason for living, nowadays, let alone celebrating, and doing nothing always seemed to cloud her thoughts with memories. It felt like, without anything to focus on, all she saw when she closed her eyes was that last time she saw her brother, all blood and gray skin and mindless rage. At least the loud, pounding music mixed with the bottle of vodka she was sipping from made it difficult to think about much of anything.
"Shit," she grumbled to no one in particular, leaning against the wall and taking a long swig of the burning liquid. The drunker she was, the better off she'd be.