WHO: Roscoe and Roxy WHEN: Sometime in April after settling in WHERE: What will be henceforth known as The Garden SUMMARY: Quality father-daughter time that will benefit everyone STATUS: In progress WARNINGS: None
On days like this, Roscoe longed for their ranch back in Texas. If he were home, he would’ve risen with the sun to tend the stables, knowing that his Roxy would’ve joined him not too long after that. She may have been a girly girl down to her bones, but she was also a Davis, a true blue daddy’s girl and she’d never been afraid to get her hands dirty. It was why they were doing what they were doing today.
This new life wasn’t all that different from life before, if Roscoe really sat back to think about it: ranchers didn’t have safe spaces and neither does anyone else in this new ’the dead are walking’ world; the days can be exhausting – filled with issues demanding attention and resolution – but the rewards always outweighed the difficulties and, Roz thought, survival was a lot like that now. Every new day outweighed whatever bad shit happened the day before because it meant that you were still kickin’.
Beaming with the kind of pride and joy that came from being a father, Roscoe helped Roxy to carefully pack up her seedlings into the cardboard boxes they’d found in one of the empty storage closets to take outside. Roxy had found a plot across the street from the General Store that was near a main water line and had decided it would be the perfect location to start a garden — especially when she already had seeds to transfer and plant now that they had a more stable location to settle down in.
Truthfully, Roscoe was a little apprehensive about this place and wasn’t sure if this would be a permanent home or not. They’d had to move around so often since this whole thing started, it was ingrained in him to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice or after a few days when the resources had dried up. He wanted this to work out, though, at least for Roxy’s sake: she didn’t deserve to grow up on the run from those infected. She needed a place that could give her hope, and Roz liked to think she’d be planting those metaphorical seeds the same way she would the physical ones.