Peyton King (nogeorgiapeach) wrote in undeadsiegeic, @ 2015-01-29 23:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | christien, peyton |
WHO: Christien and Peyton
WHEN: January 29, 2015; mid-day
WHERE: The stables
WHAT: Long songs and sisterly talks.
January was quickly rolling into February, and Peyton had entrenched herself into the rhythms of the animals and the pasture upkeep. At least if she could live in the routine of stable life, she could forget the little things, like the number of undead on the island and how it kept rising even though she thought it should be doing the opposite. Or how she’d lost one of her stable hands to a zombie attack in the middle of the month. They hadn’t been close, but he had been one of the few that had stayed to help Peyton with the horses and the other menagerie of creatures that had trickled in over the last handful of months.
The weather for a January day was almost uncommonly nice. Overcast, but not drizzly like she’d come to expect Kamong to be. If she didn’t have numbers to crunch she wouldn’t have been holed up in her office, but supply inventory wasn’t going to finish itself and she couldn’t hand it off and feel right about it later. Maybe that was a little controlling, but the barn was her responsibility and if something went wrong she wanted it to be on her and not any of her staff or the volunteers. Some silly saying about captains and ships always floated through her brain in moments like that, and she had to laugh softly at herself.
Her vision was going a little cross-eyed, and she’d been so caught up that she hadn’t noticed the ambient noise in the barn. Not until she had pulled herself out of her task with her own silly thought. But her ears had caught something, and thankfully not the rustling of undead bodies outside the windows. Peyton did her best to make sure the stable area stayed mostly clear, but she couldn’t control everything.
Kicking her boots off the top of her desk, she stood and stretched, her back cracking with the gesture, before she padded out from the relative isolation of her office to the main aisle of the barn. It was music, now that sound echoed off the wood of the stalls. Not a radio either. She followed down to the far end, where there was a cluster of cleared out stalls. One door on the end was propped, and Peyton had an inkling who might’ve taken up residence.
She cleared the distance to the door on mostly silent feet, her boots only made the faintest of noise as she settled against the door frame, a quirked smile appeared at the confirmation of who she’d thought was there.
Clearing her throat so she wouldn’t startle Christien too much, she greeted with, “I know you’re not singing love songs to my horses.” She stepped into the stall and leaned against the slats of the wall.