Re: TWD, Cell: Shane and Clem (+ Graham)
Whatever character traits she extrapolated from his choice of cheap, mostly-ammonia food choice, Shane didn't know and he didn't bother to ask. He just watched the contraction of her body when his boot licked at those devil's heels, his own surprise apparent on the planes of his face. Physicality was in the gutter blood of the Alexanders—they spoke in spiny curse words and barbed compliments, but at least half of their conversations took place in body language, in the connection of fist to gut or palm to palm. They were as rough as they were loving, when it came down to it. Oh. Yeah. And they were all really fucking pushy.
But, as Shane was learning, that wasn't how the Murphys or whoever the fuck handled things.
He gave her his palms raised in surrender. She was blocking his access to his own jumbled pile of clothing, so he was still shirtless, but he could wait. What was more interesting and fucked up was that Clementine didn't seem to understand his protest for what it was.
"You borrow his shit, you better fucking have something else on when you come to bring it back, yeah? That shit is the last thing we need." Shane huffed.