London, England

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Listening to the two women as they conversed, Sam knelt down to get a better view of the bloody finger. The blood was beginning to dry up and it was too hard to tell where the cut stopped and where the decent flesh still was. It was also a bit obvious that the yanking action that removed the ring did a little more harm than good. Sam didn't need a doctor to know that much. Years inspecting different meats and various other foods taught him a little bit in terms of what to look for. Not to mention dealing with accident-prone teenage siblings as well...

Pulling out one of his only t-shirts he had boiled only a day ago, it was the only thing he was sure would be clean enough, he tore off two decent strips of the black material and poured the clean water onto it a bit. Dabbing it onto the blood-soaked finger, he began to see the extent of the damage and was relieved to see it looked worse than it really was. He pulled out the small needle he used to mend tears in his clothes and his tiny pack of matches. Two left... he thought. And now one... He struck the match and ran it over the needle, unable to do anything else without any alcohol. Hopefully it would be good enough. Using the t-shirt strip, he cleaned the finger as much as possible and folded the skin back in place before pushing the needle into the woman's skin.

Pausing, he looked up to watch her face as the needle slid through, pulling the string behind. Sam's brow furrowed at the absent Ow! that should have followed. Jesus...she must be tough as nails... Working semi-quickly, Sam closed everything up as best he could, imagining it was a piece of his sister's old clothing and not a person's finger. Happy with his handiwork, he wrapped the stitch with the remaining t-shirt strip and tied the ends. "Done," he said aloud. "That should do for now. Might want to find some antibiotics or whatever here soon though."

He stood and brushed himself off before stashing away his stuff back in his pack and leaning it against the wall. Crossing his arms and leaning against the wall himself, Sam addressed the others. "I just recently came back to the city. Was running out of supplies at a place I was shacked up in for a while. Was in the warehouse enjoying supper when I saw her I'm guessing," he nodded his head to the girl a bit away who had yet to join the conversation. "I guess it takes a little time to warm up to me. Sunshine here wanted to shoot me when I walked through those doors." Sam inclined his head at Kenleigh and grinned. The girl seemed to be quite interested in weapons, and Sam wouldn't put it past her to still contemplate shooting him. But please don't...

Fuck, fuck!

How long had he been running now? Hiding from these... things, that were everywhere. Chaos had broken out days ago at the safehouse he and the others from Nailsworth had been holed up in. The infected had found them and somehow managed to get inside. The only natural reaction as people were torn to shreds was for people to fly into a panic.

Xavier had been one of those that fled, he'd somehow managed to get out of the building in one piece. The youth had run down the streets, which were quiet..ish due to the massive attack on their 'safehouse'. There had been bodies littering the street, some infected, some non infected. It was like a scene from a horror movie.

He still had his bow and what few arrow in the handmade leather quiver that was slung across his back. Right now, he was thankful that his father had taken him out camping as he was growing up. At least he had... some idea of how to survive out here. The banged up flask at his side was almost empty, and he was so thirsty... but there was nowhere to fill it up right now. His chest and legs were burning, but he couldn't stop here. No. No. It wasn't safe. Even if it was, no doubt it wouldn't be long before they found him.

Avie Trebold

Rattle rattle rattle shake.
Locked.
Rattle rattle rattle shake.
Locked.

Still that whistle kept on, only now she blew to the best of Nora Jones.

The hollow sound echoing done those long narrow paths.

"Kick your shoes off don't you fear, bring that bottle over here cause ill be your baby tonight." Her voice broke through and as the sound broke off the high stone walls. She wasn't a talented singer by any means, no applause deserved, but in this world who cared, it was a voice none the less, even if it was her own it brought a comfort to ring along with the pit patter of arsenal rain.

Rattle rattle rattle shake.
Locked.

The beads of rain drizzled down the deep bends and curves of her face, slithered down the plains of the leather jacket, and pooled at the sole of her combat boots.

Rattle rattle.... "What the fuck was that?"
We heard a scattering, then a voice, more than one voice. With her hand still on the handle she let eyes scan that long and dark alley. No animals, no people. With brows furrowed she pushed a ear the the door she tried to open, listening.

There it was again.

The door was obviously locked but the window right to the right was already smashed, small chunks of glass scattered, glistening in that black rain.

With a hump over the sill, those damn boots crunched at the sand made glass.

One slow step after another, lips no longer giving music to the air of doom and gloom, both hands holding tight to the baseball bat that was propped over her shoulders, deep brown eyes framed by thick black water dripping lashed peered out the wide open door, she could see the standing and shadow made Der - but where was that second voice coming from.

Yes Avie, one slow step after the other, one sight on the figure, the other sight searching for the second.

Watching, seeking.
Watching, seeking.

She approached the frame of the back door, standing silently, waiting.