Re: The prison, an adventure: Amelia T (+Joshua)/Shane A
[Fear isn't fucking shameful. It's fucking annoying, but it's not shameful. Shane watches Amelia closely, trying to foresee signs of another imminent collapse, and when he feels her hand shaking in his own, he chews on the inside of his lip, like his making a decision about something. The hand squeeze doesn't seem to faze him and in two seconds he drops the contact. He's absolutely disgusting right then–all gore and brain matter and bits of skull here and there on his ratty, ugly tank top like fucking stains from dinner. But fuck it, yeah? He wipes the sweat off of his dirt-grimed palm on the back of his jeans before he stoops a bit.
He's right next to Amelia, her kid clinging to her fucking leg. He still doesn't answer anything. He's pretty much fucking ignoring her, honestly. In that smoke-raspy voice of his, low and tarry, he says and nods her closer:] C'mere. [Like it's the last thing he wants to do, he wraps a ropy arm around Amelia's waist. He's hot, all blood and chemicals under thick skin, and he probably mucks up her nice clothes.] Don't need you fucking falling again. Inside, then we'll talk, yeah? Get the kid some fucking spaghettiOs.
[Shane looks at Joshua with a quirk of eyebrows. They disappear behind the greasy sweep of his bangs. If he smiles, it's small and gray in the dying light of the day.] Come on, kid. Help your mom walk to the door up there.