The woman’s voice had a rougher entendre than her own, but Arden found it appealing. It added a certain allure to the earthy beauty. She could admire her for it. Holding the bags in her hand, she half-expected the biker to go on her way now that the trade had been made. But, to her quiet delight, she turned back around to face her. Her smile only grew as she regarded her. It certainly had been a while since she'd last conversed with someone who was not a man.
She wasn’t one to make baseless assumptions but she had a feeling the blonde was a raider. Not many civilians in the shelters rode motorbikes no less bring along two additional companions for a simple exchange. It meant she was cautious. Unsurprising. Trust was low everywhere. But she must have been a part of the infamous Hellhounds. It was a gander. It might not be true, but Arden secretly hoped it was. She had been curious about them ever since she’d first heard the group’s moniker.
Likewise, it was why she had concealed her choice of residence. Ghouls were not well-received by people in general. They were far less welcomed by Hellhounds who were an evident opposition to them – a violent opposition to them. Arden did not consider herself a Ghoul. The subway station was just the most viable option for her in comparison to the other locales. But she was not naïve enough to think anyone would care about the discernment, especially since she wouldn’t.
Folding her arms behind her back, she gave a little shake of her head in response to the woman’s question. “I am not staying at a shelter,” she explained, her expression taking a more subdued turn, “You see, I do not have the, ah... the government card. I am from Italia.” She gave a helpless shrug of her shoulders. “I came to America to vacation, but then zombies overran my hotel. I have lost my passport, everything.” Pointing towards the direction further into the downtown area, Arden concluded softly, “So, I have found places to sleep in for now until I can figure out where to go next, where is safest.”