𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐘
- 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙛𝙖𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙘
❛ she smiles like a child with flowers
in her hair, with blood on her hands
into the sun she stares ❜
- 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇, the...
⚘.ﾟ༘༘ | THE WALKING DEAD | 🪓ꓹ─๑ little lost bird
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❪ 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐘 ❫᠂ ⭒𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝟼𝟿 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺☆ ❝ how dare someone be nice to you ❞ : ˖ ۫ ★ ៸
WESLEY HAD TWO PLATES IN HAND WHEN HE LEFT HIS HOME. As he walked down the path to the tiny little camp Presley's group had set up, he felt a sudden wave of anxiety creep up on him. The scare with Daryl earlier that day really made him think . . . one had gotten up there before, and it had taken down two of his loved ones.
Presley stubbornly being out there, alone, with a fucked knee — he didn't like it. She wouldn't budge, though. She wasn't allowed out of an adults sight, but that was mostly for punishment. Which, Wesley didn't believe he was in a position to give. But she had no one else.
She wasn't going to get up off the RV and walk her way into those woods. Not with the state of her knee, which was completely bruised and almost completely useless, but also not at night. Which was why she was left for five minutes for Wesley to fix two plates of the food Carol, and some of the other ladies, pitched in to make. Wesley tried to help, or at least be useful, but the smack of a wet rag was enough to get him out of the kitchen.
As he made it to the camp, he slowly made his way to the RV, gently knocking on the door.
"I come in peace." He called out, looking down at the plate, "And chicken."
"Chickens disgusting." Presley's voice called out after a moment of silence.
Wesley smirked a bit, pulling the door to the RV open and stepping in. "I don't think you're really in a place to be bitching."
Presley raised an eyebrow, "Language Mr. Greene." She scolded. She sat down at the booth, her leg laid up on the majority of the seat as she leaned against the wall. She had a book in her hand, Pet Sematary . . . ironic, he supposed.
Wesley frowned, exaggeratedly as he place the plate down in front of her, "You gon' tell on me?"
Presley looked around. She pressed her lips into a thin line before looking back up at Wesley, "Oh, I'm totally telling on you."
Wesley smiled a little as she looked down at her food. Mashed potato's, vegetables, and of course, the mean and scary chicken.
She gestured to the other plate, "Who's that for?"
Wesley glanced down at the other plate in his hand, "Oh, uh, Georgia. She doesn't really come down from the treehouse, so I bring her food."
