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Sometimes, you just take what you need.
Sep. 3rd, 2013 04:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
last_ofusThey'd been here for days. Days, and it seemed like the people down here had no idea how to actually prepare themselves for what might come. It was like home - or some facsimile, when there were the few who weren't scrounging for everything they had in the Quarantine Zone, and still others who lived outside.
Joel had always been a survivor, no matter where he was. It was simple; vials in the medlab that were labeled with a neat hand; tools, also from the lab. Forceps, and pieces of something that'd been probably been a bunsen burner at some point although it seemed like it'd partially melted. Scalpels, more than he'd ever found upstairs.
And one god-fucking awful monstrous rat thing.
He shook his head as he thought about it, even as he went through the kitchen, pulling open drawers and cabinets, sliding them closed when they revealed anything except what he was looking for. He had a worn backpack hanging over one shoulder, and he slipped the 1930s churchkey he'd found into it, before he found a stereotypical junk drawer.
"Jackpot," he murmured, and it's only a matter of second before he's shifting the coffeecan full of screws and nails and god knows whatever else into a bag, so he can go through it later - that is, until he hears someone coming.
Joel moves quickly, sliding the drawer shut and setting down the can - he feels like it's obvious what he's doing, but while he's not apologetic he doesn't want to deal with somebody squalling in alarm. "Hey," he says, raising his chin in greeting. "You need somethin'?"
Joel had always been a survivor, no matter where he was. It was simple; vials in the medlab that were labeled with a neat hand; tools, also from the lab. Forceps, and pieces of something that'd been probably been a bunsen burner at some point although it seemed like it'd partially melted. Scalpels, more than he'd ever found upstairs.
And one god-fucking awful monstrous rat thing.
He shook his head as he thought about it, even as he went through the kitchen, pulling open drawers and cabinets, sliding them closed when they revealed anything except what he was looking for. He had a worn backpack hanging over one shoulder, and he slipped the 1930s churchkey he'd found into it, before he found a stereotypical junk drawer.
"Jackpot," he murmured, and it's only a matter of second before he's shifting the coffeecan full of screws and nails and god knows whatever else into a bag, so he can go through it later - that is, until he hears someone coming.
Joel moves quickly, sliding the drawer shut and setting down the can - he feels like it's obvious what he's doing, but while he's not apologetic he doesn't want to deal with somebody squalling in alarm. "Hey," he says, raising his chin in greeting. "You need somethin'?"
