;✖️conversations (elliot.) - Blog Posts

Quinn had never been great at sleeping and solitary confinement for six years didn’t help. He often found himself wandering or maybe searching for something at the most obscure hours. Without the steady rise and fall of his fellow survivors chest, Quinn would have swore it was a corpse he was staring at. His voice didn’t have any impact so he opted for the slightly more physical approach of kicking at the sole of her foot. His eyes flickered towards the bottle then back to it’s owner, head titled every so slightly as his arms folded across his chest. His seemingly defensive body language didn’t correlate with the amused half smile playing on his lips as his shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Wakey wakey wasn’t doin’ much, I felt creepy just standin’ around so that was my next best idea.”

Elliot slept like the dead. The actual dead, not the undead which clearly had a difficult time staying asleep. The only thing that deepened her sleep was a night infused with alcohol and the night before had required it. One shot to keep warm, two shots to keep warmer, three shots to feel cozy. And then so on and so forth until she’d built up a hazy home around herself with the crackling fire to keep her company. Four hours of solid sleep, no dreams, just pitch darkness and momentary solace. But in a world so disrupted everything ended all too quickly, life and sleep alike. She sat bolt upright, eyes still closed, the empty clink of a warm bottle run cold as it fell from her lap with the disturbance.“That was fuckin’ offensive.” Elliot announced as she rubbed her eyes, trying to steady herself from being roused too early.