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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷the wider city of boston
THE GENTLE ILLUMINANCE OF A HOPEFUL MORNING LIGHT GLEAMS DOWN UPON ELLIE. The youthful girl's body is curled up on a bed of lucious overgrowth, a peaceful sleep descending over her troubled mind. Her features are freed from the weight of struggle as she's held within the warm embrace of restless slumber, appearing untroubled despite the cruelty of the world she'd been born into.
A gaping distance wedges itself between the young girl, and the pair of calloused smugglers. A corruptive shadow shrouds the weary forms of Joel and Tess, neither daring shut their eyes in the wake of their harrowing revelation. Clutched within their stony grass are their loaded weapons, ready to strike out at the first sign of danger. With a sharpness swimming within their stares, they scrutinise the sleeping, auburn-haired girl, both simply waiting until the ticking time bomb of her infection explodes.
Somewhere in between, Cassie had found herself — tiptoeing the blurred line between the warmth of light, and the glacial darkness. An instinct buried deep within herself had gripped upon her mind, whispering to her that Ellie was of no danger to them. Still, she'd chosen to tread upon the side of caution, keeping her revolver unsheathed upon her lap. Her gaze, alike to the smugglers, had been unmoving from the young girl since the moment she'd fallen asleep, but, while her companion's eyes held only distrust, Cassie's glint with the vivid light of curiosity.
Through the rigid silence that'd long suffocated the building, the dreary tapping of a boot upon the creaky floor echoes. Offering little thought to the noise, Cassie merely tunes it out. But, as the jagged sound continues, like a broken record set on repeat, a twinge of irritation spikes within her. Seeking out the source of her annoyance, Cassie's gaze wanders upon Joel.
Allowing herself a moment to observe the man, Cassie's swift to notice the how, every so often, his dark eyes would flicker away from Ellie, and down upon his bloodied hands. A furious crimson coats his raw, split-open knuckles, and his hand flexes in a futile attempt to ease the jabs of pain sprouting from the wounds.
With vague agitation, toward his incessant tapping, and, more so, his disregard toward taking care of himself, Cassie delves a hand into the contents of her worn-down back-pack. Retrieving off-white bandages from the med-kit she'd carefully packed, she wordlessly rises to her feet, crossing the divide between herself and Joel, and crouching down before him.
A crease forms between the furrowed brows of Joel as his scrutinising gaze shifts away from Ellie, and instead befalls Cassie. Deep within the darkness of his eyes, an edge of softness, though barely visible, arises within his otherwise calloused stare. But the rare emergence of light within the man's eyes is missed, for Cassie's focus upon unravelling bandages deems her ignorant of it. Cassie reaches out to the trembling, bloodied hands of Joel, but, he flinches away, muttering, "I don't-"
