Don't worry, Chris. Either alcohol will be found eventually, or Moira will force those feelings out of you in a pseudo-therapy session that neither will probably want, but will end up being necessary for both of their sanities anyway. Sharing is caring, after all.
"Thanks," she says drily, though doesn't deny it. There's a reason why she said she needed new clothes, after all. Despite the quick washes she had done in any clean water she could find, she's still been wearing these clothes for six months, and that's way too long a time to have been wearing one thing. She's felt itchy for five months and three weeks even with the quick cleaning and constant threat of zombies, and any chance at getting some new clothes would be a blessing.
With a quick "Thanks," she lays her crowbar on the table and flash light next to it, she pulls two of the stools next to it, sitting on one and leaving the other for Chris to do with as he pleases. Even trying to predict what he wants to do would be useless, and she's never been that great at reading people anyway, even when it only comes down to whether or not they'll sit down.
"No fuckin' clue, and yeah," is the bitter reply, Moira leaning her elbow on the table and cheek on her palm smoothly. "I wake up with a shitty, used camera and pictures of some weird bear thing under my bed after fucking ages of fighting infected with Claire and-- and a friend, and now I'm even more lost than I was before." At least back at the island, she knew what had been going on, what the cause of it was.
Now, though? Now she just wants to bash her head against a wall in her confusion and fear.
"What about you? Any ideas and any friends with you, by any chance?"
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"Thanks," she says drily, though doesn't deny it. There's a reason why she said she needed new clothes, after all. Despite the quick washes she had done in any clean water she could find, she's still been wearing these clothes for six months, and that's way too long a time to have been wearing one thing. She's felt itchy for five months and three weeks even with the quick cleaning and constant threat of zombies, and any chance at getting some new clothes would be a blessing.
With a quick "Thanks," she lays her crowbar on the table and flash light next to it, she pulls two of the stools next to it, sitting on one and leaving the other for Chris to do with as he pleases. Even trying to predict what he wants to do would be useless, and she's never been that great at reading people anyway, even when it only comes down to whether or not they'll sit down.
"No fuckin' clue, and yeah," is the bitter reply, Moira leaning her elbow on the table and cheek on her palm smoothly. "I wake up with a shitty, used camera and pictures of some weird bear thing under my bed after fucking ages of fighting infected with Claire and-- and a friend, and now I'm even more lost than I was before." At least back at the island, she knew what had been going on, what the cause of it was.
Now, though? Now she just wants to bash her head against a wall in her confusion and fear.
"What about you? Any ideas and any friends with you, by any chance?"