Teddy thinks that's a fair enough way to put it. It's creeping steadily on toward Christmas; there's a part of her that still half-expects every morning to wake up at home, just in time to tell everyone about the dream she had, full on Wizard of Oz style. (Only, with no and you were there! and you! -- some bizarro-land this is, doesn't even have her parents playing eerily cheery neighbors.)
She reckons if she was about to wake up, she wouldn't know several more signs than she did when she got here, including the one for food, which is what she's doing right now. Well. Sort of. Prepping things because she's not keen on spending two hours doing it later.
Something moves in the window and she freezes, on edge ever since -- well, ever since she arrived in a goddamn house with clothes that fit her exactly but aren't hers, a wedding ring slipped on her finger and a neighborhood who waves and smiles to Mrs. Smith -- but ever since the salesman, really. Moreso since the air raid. The gnawing doubt of knowing the US was never actually in danger from nuclear anything and the acid disbelief of what if -- that apparently sits somewhere in the back of her throat anyway; the sharp no-questions-asked directives in the shelter.
What is this place. Why do they want her, or Wrench, or any of the others (if they do, and he's not -- but Teddy doesn't think that, really; not because she trusts herself, but because she trusts Scout) --
Scout, true to her name, huffs a bark, letting out a low, questioning sort of growl: it makes Teddy a little more confident that she has in fact seen something, though it's not the sort of growl that makes her look to where she's been keeping her rifle ever since the other day. If they were at home, she'd write it off as a rabbit or something her girl wanted to chase. She rocks forward on her toes to glance out the window, still scrubbing potatoes so she can excuse it.
A man, dark-haired, dark-coated, held still like he's holding his breath. His eyes flicker toward the window and she glances down, keeping an eye on him obliquely. He shuffles sideways toward the tree and she can't help repressing a small smirk, though she's still suspicious. It can't be someone who's hired to get intel on them -- if it is, she might have to worry less about this place.
It's got to be one of them, or one of the townsfolk: just standing looking at the windows. Who -- Teddy tilts her head and glances around to see if Wrench is within waving distance. She might have a theory who would just show up in their backyard, but she's told Wrench about twice what he's gotten away with sharing with her. And anyway, she doesn't know shit about this town except it's fully fucked up.
She dries off her hands on the tea towel and opens the back door a crack, unnecessarily letting Scout get her head out. "You fixin to come to the door and introduce yourself, or you okay for now in the stalkers-and-exes parking?" she calls, just loud enough to carry.
no subject
Teddy thinks that's a fair enough way to put it. It's creeping steadily on toward Christmas; there's a part of her that still half-expects every morning to wake up at home, just in time to tell everyone about the dream she had, full on Wizard of Oz style. (Only, with no and you were there! and you! -- some bizarro-land this is, doesn't even have her parents playing eerily cheery neighbors.)
She reckons if she was about to wake up, she wouldn't know several more signs than she did when she got here, including the one for food, which is what she's doing right now. Well. Sort of. Prepping things because she's not keen on spending two hours doing it later.
Something moves in the window and she freezes, on edge ever since -- well, ever since she arrived in a goddamn house with clothes that fit her exactly but aren't hers, a wedding ring slipped on her finger and a neighborhood who waves and smiles to Mrs. Smith -- but ever since the salesman, really. Moreso since the air raid. The gnawing doubt of knowing the US was never actually in danger from nuclear anything and the acid disbelief of what if -- that apparently sits somewhere in the back of her throat anyway; the sharp no-questions-asked directives in the shelter.
What is this place. Why do they want her, or Wrench, or any of the others (if they do, and he's not -- but Teddy doesn't think that, really; not because she trusts herself, but because she trusts Scout) --
Scout, true to her name, huffs a bark, letting out a low, questioning sort of growl: it makes Teddy a little more confident that she has in fact seen something, though it's not the sort of growl that makes her look to where she's been keeping her rifle ever since the other day. If they were at home, she'd write it off as a rabbit or something her girl wanted to chase. She rocks forward on her toes to glance out the window, still scrubbing potatoes so she can excuse it.
A man, dark-haired, dark-coated, held still like he's holding his breath. His eyes flicker toward the window and she glances down, keeping an eye on him obliquely. He shuffles sideways toward the tree and she can't help repressing a small smirk, though she's still suspicious. It can't be someone who's hired to get intel on them -- if it is, she might have to worry less about this place.
It's got to be one of them, or one of the townsfolk: just standing looking at the windows. Who -- Teddy tilts her head and glances around to see if Wrench is within waving distance. She might have a theory who would just show up in their backyard, but she's told Wrench about twice what he's gotten away with sharing with her. And anyway, she doesn't know shit about this town except it's fully fucked up.
She dries off her hands on the tea towel and opens the back door a crack, unnecessarily letting Scout get her head out. "You fixin to come to the door and introduce yourself, or you okay for now in the stalkers-and-exes parking?" she calls, just loud enough to carry.