Re: TWD, Cell: Shane and Clem (+ Graham)
He didn't mind her being on his bunk. Shane was particular about his spaceāin a sense, but not here. Here there was no room for it. You couldn't so much as go take a piss without walking into a couple people, live or dead. It made a man yearn for the fucking quiet company of his cat, but he'd adapted well enough. There was a time and a place, and Shane was a big boy, yeah? She could sit on his bed. With two flat steps backward, he moved toward the bunk, leaning the anchor of his spine into the steel teeth of the hanging cot.
The scissors made quiet sounds in his ears and he watched the snowfall of his hair with his head tipped forward, compliant for the newly acquired barber. Red heels hung on either sides of him, one by that shoulder, another by the other, and he just didn't fucking look at them, like a bone-tired bull in the pen, who just couldn't take another wave of that goddamn red flag.
"We can find that infirmary, yeah. Shouldn't be too far in the tombs of this place. That and the fucking cafeteria are the most important goals." He heard the ring of worry in Peaches' honeyed voice, a squeeze of lemon in the sweet tea. They were low on medical supplies and food, and those two things, just after water, were priority. So far, they'd made it without losing anyone, but there had been enough close calls that gauze, painkillers, and disinfectants would be real fucking useful right about now.
He and Graham had swept the basements of the prison a handful of times since their arrival, to make sure they had a perimeter they could secure, but they hadn't moved in too deep, and a lot laid in darkness down there. But Shane didn't intend to go far, not with Clem. Just far enough that they could scout out the areas, maybe find the room with the white cross on the door in a red square, so they'd know where to go next time.