With all the things that had been happening this month, Silas had almost forgotten that early August had marked the fourth year since he’d been bit. How easily that had slipped his mind, but it wasn’t exactly an abnormal occurrence. People were attacked and proven to be immune (or non-immune) all the time. To him, his bite scar wasn’t a big deal. Nothing worth celebrating or even mentioning, really.
Besides that, he had other things on his mind. The awkwardness with Rae, of course, held a lot of his attention, but he didn’t particularly want to think about that, either. It would only make him angrier at himself for being too… puppy-dogish? Stalkery? Whatever it was he’d done to make her think that kissing him was a good idea so early in what was supposed to be a friendship.
There was also the matter of the application for the security position he was being roped into. He was almost finished with it. Finding a pen that worked had been the hardest part. He eventually managed to find an orange highlighter that still had writable ink in it. The color was blinding, but it was legible. And perhaps he also chose to use the bright orange as a means of spiting O’Brien… Which, considering the head of security was blind now, Silas’ plan to piss the older man off was null.
He made his way carefully across the prison yard to the guard tower, eager for a fun distraction from his otherwise negative thoughts. The steps leading up to the tower were steep and by the time he reached the top he was panting somewhat, however, his leg barely had any ache in it. He took that as a good sign that his leg was getting stronger and he wouldn’t need to rely on the cane as much.
Setting his bag of fun explosive stuff next to the wall just inside the tower, he stepped outside and peered over the railing at the zombies Brandon was taking down. “You got the aim of a three-year-old,” he jibed, laughing.