Threadjack
Into view she comes. Teagan's hair is a wild mess - a tangle of braids and the wind have created something. Her eyes are lined with deep black. She'd been out riding and now she's back dusty, dirty and more than thirsty so when she sees her Strays sipping down like it's happy hour she interjects.
"Howdy boys" she's a born Texan and even if the city slicker Austinites have rejected this traditional greeting, out in the boonies it's as rampant a way to say hello than ever before. Or it had been before everyone turned into flesh eating mouths on rotten torsos.
She licks her lips, in the firelight it's hard to see how much road she's lapped up, but now there's a clean spot of pink glistening in the bonfire madness. "How 'bout a tug of that?" she's not afraid to ask. "What is it?" funny that she asks what it is, after wanting to pour whatever it is into her gob.