Post by Haley Cameron on Jan 15, 2018 18:57:15 GMT -5
Fighting the dead was so much easier than fighting the living. With the dead, it didn't matter. You didn't have to think about it. You didn't have the death of a human life on your conscience as you pulled the trigger. Haley sat in the truck, trying to occupy her mind on something, anything, that wasn't just simply death. The faces of the people she put bullets through, sticking firm in her head. She had no other option, right? They were trying to hurt her. Hurt her friends. It was her or them. Even those justifications were falling flat for her right now as she looked at herself in a small mirror that was laying on the floor. Likely a spare for the rear-view just strewn haphazardly in the rear passenger seat footwell.
Her face was still smeared with engine oil, her hair still held back in a now very loose and messy ponytail still with a few defiant chunks of safety glass in it, her face with a few new cuts and bruises, not to mention the rest of her. She hadn't had a chance to clean herself u properly since the firefight against the Scientologists what with the constant combat and the need to save what little water they had while travelling through the harshness of the desert. She sighed deeply, softly tossing the mirror back onto the floor amongst the other debris.
Over the journey here she handled herself well, working to fend off bandits and walkers both with a competency and aim solid enough to keep pace with the rest of the team. Despite the harshness of the terrain, despite the baking heat and dryness, she kept on going even when she felt like her body was simply going to give out from underneath her.
Despite her making it this far though, she wanted to just stop. To just break down and cry right then and there, but, somehow she was scraping at the bottom of the barrel of her strength and will to carry on that even she didn't know she still had left, looking up at Bam and not noticing the tear running down her otherwise expressionless face as Bam went through the list of people, telling them what to do before looking to both her and Logan. She made her weapon safe, ejecting the magazine, checking the chamber was clear and flicking the safety on in rather quick and precise motions before giving it a quick visual run over. "I-I'm okay. Running low on bullets though. W-what's the plan?"
Her face was still smeared with engine oil, her hair still held back in a now very loose and messy ponytail still with a few defiant chunks of safety glass in it, her face with a few new cuts and bruises, not to mention the rest of her. She hadn't had a chance to clean herself u properly since the firefight against the Scientologists what with the constant combat and the need to save what little water they had while travelling through the harshness of the desert. She sighed deeply, softly tossing the mirror back onto the floor amongst the other debris.
Over the journey here she handled herself well, working to fend off bandits and walkers both with a competency and aim solid enough to keep pace with the rest of the team. Despite the harshness of the terrain, despite the baking heat and dryness, she kept on going even when she felt like her body was simply going to give out from underneath her.
Despite her making it this far though, she wanted to just stop. To just break down and cry right then and there, but, somehow she was scraping at the bottom of the barrel of her strength and will to carry on that even she didn't know she still had left, looking up at Bam and not noticing the tear running down her otherwise expressionless face as Bam went through the list of people, telling them what to do before looking to both her and Logan. She made her weapon safe, ejecting the magazine, checking the chamber was clear and flicking the safety on in rather quick and precise motions before giving it a quick visual run over. "I-I'm okay. Running low on bullets though. W-what's the plan?"