[ by the latter half of second day, it'd become weird not to hear from him at all, and though she'd hardly categorize herself as the clingy type, she knows in a place like this, it's a good idea to take precautions in making sure people are still breathing. after stopping by the junkyard first and hearing that he hadn't been there for a few days, she heads to his apartment, knocking several times to no answer.
pulling out a hair pin to begin fidgeting at his lock, she mutters to herself first about how crazy it is to do this outside of the apocalypse, but she also affirms that she could apologize later for the crazy of it. because right now, making sure he wasn't dead was the priority.
to her relief, he isn't dead; to her horror, it could be something worse.
she knows the vein-covered skin-like material that coats his body, knows it because she'd found remnants of the same thing when she'd woken back up in deerington after three years gone. whatever the hell it is, she knows what it means, and while she can see him lying right there, he isn't there at all — he's back in his world.
however long that's meant for, she assumes that since his body is there, he will come back, though the timeline of it is a mystery itself, since she'd been gone two weeks from this world before she'd settled back in. for now, the least she can do is make sure he's safe, make sure nothing happens to his body in the meanwhile. trying not to think of the circumstances, of what it means for him to be gone now, or what anything will mean when he does come back, she focuses on the now as she always does, feeding audrey some water and keeping him safe.
eventually, though, when she makes her rounds again back to his apartment, he isn't there, evidence of that vein material on the floor hinting of his wake. swearing under her breath, she races out, hoping he hasn't gone too far, that he isn't so completely out of his realm to wake up to all of this alone.
what she finds, though, is a sight all too familiar, something she'd hoped they'd put behind them, crazed eyes and a gun tight in his grip, ready to shoot if someone makes the wrong move. ]
Am— [ before she can get the word out, he's already swinging, gun smacking hard against her shoulder, drawing out a pained grunt before she sees it held unsteady, ready to shoot in her direction. ] Amos, stop! It's me!
slaps your sorrys right back
pulling out a hair pin to begin fidgeting at his lock, she mutters to herself first about how crazy it is to do this outside of the apocalypse, but she also affirms that she could apologize later for the crazy of it. because right now, making sure he wasn't dead was the priority.
to her relief, he isn't dead; to her horror, it could be something worse.
she knows the vein-covered skin-like material that coats his body, knows it because she'd found remnants of the same thing when she'd woken back up in deerington after three years gone. whatever the hell it is, she knows what it means, and while she can see him lying right there, he isn't there at all — he's back in his world.
however long that's meant for, she assumes that since his body is there, he will come back, though the timeline of it is a mystery itself, since she'd been gone two weeks from this world before she'd settled back in. for now, the least she can do is make sure he's safe, make sure nothing happens to his body in the meanwhile. trying not to think of the circumstances, of what it means for him to be gone now, or what anything will mean when he does come back, she focuses on the now as she always does, feeding audrey some water and keeping him safe.
eventually, though, when she makes her rounds again back to his apartment, he isn't there, evidence of that vein material on the floor hinting of his wake. swearing under her breath, she races out, hoping he hasn't gone too far, that he isn't so completely out of his realm to wake up to all of this alone.
what she finds, though, is a sight all too familiar, something she'd hoped they'd put behind them, crazed eyes and a gun tight in his grip, ready to shoot if someone makes the wrong move. ]
Am— [ before she can get the word out, he's already swinging, gun smacking hard against her shoulder, drawing out a pained grunt before she sees it held unsteady, ready to shoot in her direction. ] Amos, stop! It's me!