Poisoned Waters | ✓

|𝟎𝟕| "𝐫𝐡𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐬"

𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒 moulded the atmosphere that immersed Noah solely in his painting. The record player spun the track of an old classic, that piqued every bit of creativity he had.

   It was a three days after the Underground operation and Noah tried his best to put most of the tasks on hold just so that he could do whatever he wanted for a few hours.

He gently stroked paint into the crevices of the canvas that took him weeks to find, as he sipped Jack Daniels from his favourite glass—the one with the floral indents across the bottom. It's uniqueness made it the only glass he drank from.

The wooden ladder creaked a little, as Zara slowly made her way up into the loft of Noah's house. She was greeted by his square butt. She groaned.

"I don't see the point of painting with your cheeks out, Reid, no one wants to see," Zara's eyes scanned his broad shoulders when he turned, down his scarred torso, and halted at his just about covered genitalia.

Breaking his concentration, he tilted his head to her, "No one is seeing. What're you sayin'?" he asked, to which she tutted.

"You always say that like I even know how fucking reply to that," he chuckled softly to himself and returned his attention to his painting.

"Okay, then what do you need? You're never usually here if you don't need something." Zara huffed, as she flipped her short, black hair. She didn't like that he thought of her presence in that way, even though it was true.

   "I can't come and say hi to my guy no more?"

   "You have never just said hi. Ever." Noah peered at her sideways for a moment, causing her to groan.

   "I just need your approval on something, um... Mack said I can't take the children out without your approval. I said I'd speak to you about it."

"Take them out to do what?" he pulled a face.

"Fuck all," she replied sarcastically, he furrowed his brows seriously, "train them at nearby walker sites, these man have grown up through the six years since this virus hit, they haven't seen what's out there, how do you think they're ever going to last on their own?" she explained. "They've all passed the age of ten, they have some common sense, bruv,"

   Noah gulped the last of his whiskey, licked his lips and sighed, as he fully faced Zara, she glanced over the contrast of his tattooed left half and his charred right. "No."

   She scoffed, "Come on, you know I'm making a good point. You even said once that it wouldn't be safe for them to not know how to defend themselves."

   "You're not gonna take them out and put them in line of danger like that, especially with Angelo's Alpacas, or whatever the fuck he called them,"

   "Ascots,"

   "I don't care, they're not going out."

   "The word 'nearby' and West London don't correlate, Reid,"

   "Don't be smart, Zara. Having them see a walker may expose them, but they'll scared, they're still children. Let's just wait a little longer, there are other ways to mature these kids for this world. You all know how to work a gun, teach them that." he advised, she stared at him longingly and then finally sighed.

   "I can't take you seriously at all, with you standing there butt naked," He rolled his eyes.

   "I'm being real with you, don't take them out." He wasn't amused at all, and it was enough to cut Zara's laughter short. She sighed and nodded, annoyed but she loyally abided.