Who: Pam and Felix Where: Game porch, then bug hunting When: Mid-morning
It had taken a few minutes that morning for Felix to weigh the pros and cons of bringing one of his full boxes of cereal to the house. The negatives were mostly that other people would see it, want some immediately, or head to the 7-Eleven to start taking what little stock was even there, if the people who had already gone hadn't done that already. The pros were the benefit of having actual cold milk, and not being in his room. Without a mini fridge of his own, something he'd have to fix in the future, he was dependent on the rehydrated milk kept in the fridge for the former. Room temperature milk had been disgusting the few times he'd tried in his own room, the tap in the bathroom never getting quite cold enough, and having a real bowl, with a real spoon, and as close to regular, cold milk made him feel a little more human that morning.
Not wanting to be in his room was less a problem with the room itself, and more a problem with the things that were currently in it. Or, that one thing, even if he hadn't looked at it since he'd shoved it into the drawer in his closet. He'd eyeballed the exiled sidetable when he'd gone about shoving the surprising number of fake blood jugs into the back of the closet to take down into the tunnel later, but hadn't opened it. The smaller capsules had gone into his hidey space in the corner of the room under the rug, and the movies were now piled next to his tv, untouched. He'd get Lila's cuffs to her at some point later.
So, there he was, sitting on the game porch with his bare feet propped and crossed at the ankle on the coffee table, next to his coffee and a plate of freshly cut orange to keep the scurvy away, cradling a bowl of honey nut cheerios drenched in delightfully cold milk. Oh, and sugar. Seeing that had absolutely made his morning so far, and he knew that if he dug his spoon to the bottom of the bowl it would come up with a treasure trove of sweetness. Fuck rationing it, every man for themselves. The rest of the nearly-full box, and some of the bug catching tools that had been left in the main room of the mill kept him company, though he wasn't entirely sure why he'd brought the latter. Maybe he really was just resigned in the fact that he didn't want to go back to the mill again until it was necessary, and the best way to do that was to actually help. He didn't have to help a lot. It was nice to sit on the porch and hear the sound of a few crickets for once, though he wondered which ones they were that they were singing during the day. Did crickets sing during the day? These ones did, apparently. Whatever, he wasn't a specialist, he just wanted something to do for the day.
Should have buried the stupid fucking Gameboy and been done with it. He still could if he wanted to.