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 a new command I give you
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❪ 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐘 ❫᠂ ⭒𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝟽𝟷 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺☆ ❝ don't do this to us ❞ : ˖ ۫ ★ ៸
AGAIN, Presley has no idea what she has to say to these people that will get the message through to them that she doesn't like eggs. No matter how many chickens the Greene family has, they don't have to stoop to such levels just because the world ended. Only eggs, too. She was forced to sit there with a plate of wet eggs that have never been in the same room as a little bit of salt and pepper, and no bacon.
She'd rather die of starvation. They couldn't make her eat it — they should give it to Max, who was shoveling the shit into her mouth like she'd never eat again.
Breakfast was always an awkward affair in this little camp, as no one spoke. This was extremely unusual for Presley, but she honestly couldn't decide if it was an upgrade from her families morning breakfast that consisted of her father talking and talking.
No one around that camp fire pit wanted to be awake. All their eyes were droopy, and the look of coffee addicted adults with no coffee filled all of their miserable faces. The sound of Andrea sharpening her knife with a cheese grater — first off what the fuck, Presley was not about to get into that — filled the damp air. Presley kept finding herself glancing at Glenn, who was sharing weird looks with Maggie who stood menacingly from her front porch.
She was back in the broken red camping chair, which sucked, and was uncomfortable. There was some medal rod stabbing her in her spine, where it came from? Presley did not know, all she knew is no matter what way she sat, it would constantly be poking her.
Daryl was fine. His injury's had easily healed, and he no longer had a dirty bandage wrapped around his head. The man was also, happily eating his eggs with as much enthusiasm as a turtle with a banana, which was quite a lot for the man.
Presley wanted to go back to bed.
With a slow shuffle, Glenn stood. Presley flicked her eyes towards Maggie, but the girl had turned and was in the middle of storming her way into the house. Presley hummed a bit, wondering what that was about as she placed her plate of eggs down on the ground, and began picking at her fingernails.
"Um, guys?" Glenn's nervous words had Presley, along with most everyone in the group, look up past their eyelashes at the young man. He shifted on his feet as he rubbed the back of his neck. "So . . . the barns full of Walkers."
Oh. Well, Presley knew that. She wasted really no time nodding a bit and looking back at her fingers. They were getting to long for the end of the world, and to long for her liking, too. The sound of people choking on their eggs had her looking back up.
