{His sadness is clear}

“I-I dropped..the bowl.”

The man gave out a soft chuckle, before dropping it back down to where it was previously. "Never took you as the farmer type," Morgan admitted, a light smile crossing his lips. "Prison wasn't too hard to find -- your boy let me in at the front gate. Hope that's alright." 

                      {He dropped the peas}

"You dropped something--" Morgan bent himself over, picking it up to examine it. "This a pea pod?" 

                The brunette couldn’t help but to slightly roll eyes at the mention of her living parent knowing what’s the best. Anyone who knew the young Grimes could say she often controverted such fact in her mind. Immediately smile crawled upon her features, nodding head in approval. ❝ Dogs are more faithful than any human. Not gonna betray you voluntarily. ❞

"Ain't that the truth," Morgan agreed. The man paused and looked over to the girl he was sitting beside. "Are you alright?" Even though living in the end of the world was worse enough, but there was something that told Morgan something else was bothering her. "How are you and your father -- seriously?" 

Angel should’ve known better than to wander away from her group, because now she was lost and was growing weary. Bow clutched in her hand and ready to fire, she stopped dead in her tracks, hearing another pair of footsteps nearby. She raised her bow, turning to stare at the one before her. A snarl left her, eyes slightly cold.

“ — State your business before I shoot you.”

Morgan was weary when others were stepping foot around the vicinity of his well, trapped establishment. When others came, they cause trouble, which makes noise, only to draw in more Walkers. Besides, most of them aren't too friendly to begin with. So keeping his weapon closed, he had followed the girl, though he wasn't attempting to sneak up on her. Once her bow was risen, Morgan aimed his weapon. 

"I don't gotta answer a goddamn thing--" He demanded from behind the protective mask he wore. All he had to do was to pull the trigger. "Why are you in my area? You're not welcomed here nor are you wanted here." 

"Listen Mister, I appreciate your concern but I don’t know you at all and we have reason to believe Eugene is right. What is Washington has a cure or knows what started this mess? We need to find out" Rosita hissed at him. She was short-tempered and hated being wrong but something about this man’s words whs staring to change what she thought about Eugene.

"If there's anyone still left, in Washington." Morgan's tone was low, his eyes deadpanned. "Thought it typically does sound like the Government, with it's typical confidential bullshit." Slowly, the man moved around, his eyes searching the shelves for anything that might have been missed by several other survivors; after all, people do miss all sort of things. "Tell you what -- whatever your name is. I am inclined to help you. I don't know why, but I am. Considering the United States current status, I firmly believe those cats up in Washington have bitten it a long time ago." Now, the man turned his attention back to Rosita. "See if you can get your hands on -- evidence. There's no reason why you should trust someone now-a-days. No reason for you to trust me, but I sure as hell ain't spewing out facts on how I know this world became shit." Eyeing the lower shelves, he knelt down, shuffling through other items of trash. "If he ain't got no note pad, no notes, no.. physical evidence. Then I'll be sure to give you a pad and pen so when you all travel up to Washington, he can get his thoughts in order before reaching your destination." Finally, there was that gem. Morgan took the can into his hand before standing back up, reading the label as he walked forward to Rosita. "May not trust me and I have no reason to care, but today, I do." And slowly he offered the single can to the woman before him. 

     Beatrice was taken aback at his stern command, she would’ve listened to him but she didn’t even know the man. How could she trust someone she hasn’t even seen before. “Sorry.” She said quietly, before holding her hands up. “I have no weapons on me, only a knife. That’s for the Walkers though.” She said before shrugging her shoulders. “The last thing I saw was about four, but one of them is my dad and I was running back to see if he was the one shot.” She said, worry filled her eyes as the thought of her father being dead crossed her mind. Of course she knew he wouldn’t be here forever and either way he would turn when he died. Which is what she was most scared of.

     She took a look at the older man, wanting to ask where and how he found this area. She wanted to know a lot of things, but she was to ‘young’ to understand. Beatrice finally spoke up again the silence bothering her. “Who are you?” She said in a whisper. “I promise I’m not a threat.” She said her hands still up, “You can trust me, just please help me find my dad.” By now her eyes were growing tired and saddened, “I need to know that he’s okay.”

Your father is dead by now, Morgan thought to himself when he looked to the young girl, dread and fear riddled her eyes, and suddenly he felt an immense weight being laid down onto his chest. Then, he thought of Duane. The mere thought of Duane being alive, and having to worry if his father was alive or not was eating at him. "Okay -- put your hands down. I need you to listen to me." Morgan whispered to Beatrice. "My name is Morgan. The sound of the gunfire attracted me attention. It's the reason why I am here. I need you to tell me what your father looks like. Quickly. Important details that make him unique from the others. If he's alive, I ain't going to be the one making a mistake." 

He wanted nothing more but to reassure the young girl that everything will be fine, but that would be a damn dirty lie. It would be unfair for her to have that hope. 

i was going to reblog that sucks at rping but does it anyway post but you know fuck that 

i’m good at roleplaying, i do it because i enjoy it and yeah i believe that i am damn good at it. like i wish all of these lovely roleplayers would see how fucking amazing they are, that they took the time to create an account and just are here to have fun. damn its not even relevant if you’re good or bad in fact there is no good or bad because we’re all here to have fun and explore our characters in whatever way we feel necessary and that should make us happy

it’s ok to feel inadequate to doubt yourselves its completely normal and sometimes necessary! i have days like that too, but you are good at doing something you enjoy otherwise you wouldnt be doing it at all. you’re all so lovely and amazing ok dont forget that. 

IF YOU DON’T SHIP MY OTP YOU CAN JUST GO about your day because i respect your choices and you are a nice person.

Erin evaluated the man as they stood their quietly. He had a strange demeanour about him, or perhaps she was the one with the strange way about her. The world had changed everyone and she’d lost all sense of any baseline of ‘normal’. She could tell he was still on edge, and she couldn’t blame him. Perhaps she could use a little more of that around other survivors. It certainly would have helped keeping her out of the situation she’d found herself in just moments before.

“I hope you’re right.” Erin said, turning to glance back at the general direction that the second man had run off towards. The coast was clear and she was mostly happy about that though she wouldn’t have minded much if Morgan had finished him off as well. It would be one less threat to worry about.  

“It’s good to meet you Morgan.” Erin said quietly when he finally answered her.

“People like me?” Erin winced slightly at his comment. It hurt, but only because it was truthful. It had been too long since she’d seen the living and she’d let her guard down, gotten sloppy. It was a harsh learning lesson but one she would take seriously and reevaluate her current behaviours. “I don’t have a group anymore.” She finally said quietly, there was no use in hiding her solo status. “Not long after all this started they acting like them.” She motioned down to the dead man. “So I left.” 

All of the stories started out like all the others. Either the group they once had was destroyed by bitters or bullets, or they went... the other way. Becoming a danger to other loner survivors out in the world. They murder in cold blood, reaping all their possessions, leave none to live; they're merciless bastards. Morgan has had his confrontation with a hand full before, including the two he hunted tonight, despite one of them fleeing. These people worked selfishly and when you operate that way, it gets your killed. 

"They won't live long," Morgan stated, "they'll die. Just like this one," he then pointed his barrel to the body that had a chunk of his face missing, "And all the rest who only kill for greed. Surviving on the supplies others fought so hard to obtain." Shaking his head some, the man exhaled out of exhaustion. 

"They were following you for most of the day, you know." He felt like she should have known, something that'll remind her next time when's alone. "I, too, was keeping a close eye on them. A very close eye. It wasn't until just now when I saw them going after you."

"If you feel as if you're being followed, duck down, and hide real good. Eventually they'll catch up with you, once they do, they'll be where you once were. But of course now, your eyes are on them instead." Advice to survive. Everyone could use some. Slowly, Morgan made his way to the body as he knelt down beside it, searching his pockets for anything that could be useful. 

Nothing. 

With a sigh, Morgan took the body by it's arm once he stood back up, looking over at Erin. "If you want a place to stay, with food to eat, follow me. But you will abide by my rules. If not, you're back on your own." And with that, Morgan started to drag the corpse along, beginning to make his way back to the inside of the town. 

Rosita gave him a glare and raised a brow. “No he claims their classified, but he’s got the walkie talkie which he talks to the damn government or some shit.” She replied in a harsh tone, she hated being proven wrong, be god damn if Eugene was a fluke she’d kill him.

Morgan's eyes had narrow some. Of course he would claim it's classified. "I'm assuming he only talks to them, not you, or anyone else for that matter. Are you telling me you are risking your goddamn lives for -- for something you don't even know. For something that hasn't shown you no tangible evidence?" Morgan was never fond of survivors, nor did he want to get too close, because everything ends up dies in the end. But knowing these people, these seemingly good people were risking their lives for something that was unknown, somewhat bothered him. He didn't want to know that these people could be traveling to their deaths of uncertainty. "It's not that I don't believe you, it's that I don't believe him..." The man almost seemed bitter. If this was true, what sort of life what he have without Jenny and Duane? 

Erin managed to pull herself to her feet, sliding her knife back into its holster on her leg. It had been too easy to drop when tackled and she was already considering a way to attach it to her wrist. She looked at him, panting slightly from the effort and brief lack of air while the adrenaline made her shake slightly.  “Good shooting.” Erin admitted as she looked down at her attacker. It had been a brilliant headshot so he certainly wasn’t about to turn.

She kicked the corpse next to her hard in the side. “Asshole.” She said under her breath at the dead man, mostly angry at herself for allowing someone to get the drop on her. “Sorry—” She said turning her attention back to her saviour. He didn’t seem to want to accept her appreciation for saving her life but she just shook her head. She knew what would have happened to her had he not intervened and she would be forever grateful. “Maybe you’re right. Still, you don’t know me. You didn’t have to help me. I appreciate you wasting a good bullet on him to help me out.”

She looked around the area, trying to figure out where he had come from before looking back at him. Maybe Erin was losing her touch, she hadn’t seen either of the two men and she certainly hadn’t seen him. She could win against the infected but she needed to step up her game when it came to surviving against the living.

“I’m Erin.” She said giving him a small smile, the only one she could manage in her current state. 

Morgan kept his sights on the woman before him, to make sure she wasn't going to do anything herself. One can never be too careful anymore. For all he knew, this was just a diversion, to have others start appearing from the surrounding him, holding Morgan up and taking what he had on him. Not like it mattered, the man had ammunition and weaponry for weeks. But it would be completely different if they decided to kill him outright for his possessions. People murder for anything they can get their hands on. No discussion. Just a hail of bullets hitting your body before you can every react. 

"The other man -- he won't be back. Not anytime soon." This was something Morgan was almost sure of. The look the stranger had was something that'll haunt him for the rest of his days. A dangerous mistake almost cost him his life. Although men like that don't change, they only get meaner. Their bark gets louder but their bite ceases to exist. Nothing intimated Morgan anymore. 

When the woman mentioned her name, he stayed silent for the time being, reserving himself in keeping his guard up. "Morgan. My name's Morgan." And the first time, in a very long time, he had finally said and heard his name. It seemed alien to him, as if his identity wasn't apart of him anymore. 

"What were you doing out here, alone? Don't people like you belong in groups?" Morgan only suspected her of belonging to one because the lack of awareness she had to the two other fellows. People who have stronghold, surviving, attempting to rebuild civilization, tend to forget what it takes to survive out here. To survive by yourself.