[ For quite a bit of the journey, Abigail didn't really know where she was going - she just kept putting one foot in front of the other, knowing she couldn't stay in her little town in Minnesota now that it was nothing more than a mausoleum and she was probably the only living person within fifty miles.
Even walking seven or eight hours a day, it takes her nearly three months to reach Flagg's city. At first it had been relatively simple, heading straight west on the highway all the way through South Dakota, covering a couple of hundred miles on a bike she could barely ride, stopping off at some of the tourist traps dotted through the plains and finding their empty silence surreal to the point of absurdity. She'd originally planned to swing south through Nebraska, figuring she'd have an easier time continuing with a flat landscape, but the closer she got to the border the more she was filled with a sense of dread, that someone or something antithetical to her very being was there, and going too close would surely mean the end of her. On through Wyoming and the Rockies it was, then - a far tougher path, especially for someone so small and slight as Abigail, but one that felt reassuring. A road that wouldn't be easy, but promised great reward at the end.
It was that first night in the mountains that she started having the dreams. She couldn't remember much when she woke, mostly a tall figure in the darkness, walking the path ahead of her in scuffed bootheels, compelling her to follow. The dreams came almost every night after that, and after yet another day on the road with her feet pounding and still feeling a million miles away from anywhere, she began to look forward to them.
One day, tripping over her own feet with how weary she is, she lets down her guard, not realising she's being followed. The three men had been travelling in the same direction anyway, perhaps pulled toward the same destination, but when they saw her trudging along, little more than a girl and all on her own, she quickly caught their attention. Cornered, she's certain there's no way out. Then, out of nowhere, a wolf leaps out of the shadows, snarling. Watching the beast tear out the men's throats is incredibly satisfying, though Abigail is sure she's next. But instead the wolf pads up to her, tugging at her sleeve and leading her to the safety of an abandoned National Parks hut, waiting nearby until she manages to fall asleep, feeling safe in its powerful presence. The dream she has that night is the most vivid one yet, and she wakes reinvigorated, knowing it's only a little longer now.
She's one of the last to arrive in Vegas, and at first she can't quite believe that there really are other people there, working together to build something new from the ruins of the old world. She's even more surprised by how friendly everyone seems, welcoming her in rather than moving her along, making it clear that there's a place for her here, if she's willing to pitch in and work. First things first, though - everyone new needs to be taken to meet the leader. And as soon as Abigail sets eyes on Flagg, she's certain he's the man she's dreamed of. ]
[ He's very tall, his smile is sharp, and there's something odd about the way the light almost seems to recoil from him, but his voice is soft and warm. He offers her a hand in greeting. ]
It must have been hard, all by yourself. [ He knows she wasn't truly alone, but his nebulous presence was only good for protection, not emotional support or companionship. Going from Minnesota to Vegas without a single friendly face alongside you was rough on anyone, let alone someone so young. ] Can I get you something to drink?
[ Abigail returns his smile, her own soft and shy and so, so grateful to him just for allowing her to be here, and takes his hand, still finding surreal to be in the company of other people after so long. ]
It was hard. [ That was an understatement. But even so, it had never felt impossible, and that probably was far more down to him than it was to her own efforts. ] But it was definitely worth it.
Thanks, but I'm not tw-- [ Not twenty-one yet, she's about to say, then realises how absurd it is to default to the arbitrary rules of a dead society. ] Actually, sure. That'd be nice, thank you.
[ He catches that little slip-up, and chuckles. ] Don't worry. Drinking age is flexible here.
[ In that, he doesn't care who drinks as long as they don't piss him off. He starts mixing up a couple margaritas (and adds a little extra tequila to his own glass, and a little less in hers because he figures she's pretty new to all this alcohol business).
His gaze flicks downward to the scar on her neck for a moment before he pushes her glass towards her. ] You were a survivor before all of this, weren't you? I like that. A lot of us here were.
[ He likes to think his people are tough and resilient as opposed to the soft-hearted people of Boulder. ]
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Even walking seven or eight hours a day, it takes her nearly three months to reach Flagg's city. At first it had been relatively simple, heading straight west on the highway all the way through South Dakota, covering a couple of hundred miles on a bike she could barely ride, stopping off at some of the tourist traps dotted through the plains and finding their empty silence surreal to the point of absurdity. She'd originally planned to swing south through Nebraska, figuring she'd have an easier time continuing with a flat landscape, but the closer she got to the border the more she was filled with a sense of dread, that someone or something antithetical to her very being was there, and going too close would surely mean the end of her. On through Wyoming and the Rockies it was, then - a far tougher path, especially for someone so small and slight as Abigail, but one that felt reassuring. A road that wouldn't be easy, but promised
great reward at the end.
It was that first night in the mountains that she started having the dreams. She couldn't remember much when she woke, mostly a tall figure in the darkness, walking the path ahead of her in scuffed bootheels, compelling her to follow. The dreams came almost every night after that, and after yet another day on the road with her feet pounding and still feeling a million miles away from anywhere, she began to look forward to them.
One day, tripping over her own feet with how weary she is, she lets down her guard, not realising she's being followed. The three men had been travelling in the same direction anyway, perhaps pulled toward the same destination, but when they saw her trudging along, little more than a girl and all on her own, she quickly caught their attention. Cornered, she's certain there's no way out. Then, out of nowhere, a wolf leaps out of the shadows, snarling. Watching the beast tear out the men's throats is incredibly satisfying, though Abigail is sure she's next. But instead the wolf pads up to her, tugging at her sleeve and leading her to the safety of an abandoned National Parks hut, waiting nearby until she manages to fall asleep, feeling safe in its powerful presence. The dream she has that night is the most vivid one yet, and she wakes reinvigorated, knowing it's only a little longer now.
She's one of the last to arrive in Vegas, and at first she can't quite believe that there really are other people there, working together to build something new from the ruins of the old world. She's even more surprised by how friendly everyone seems, welcoming her in rather than moving her along, making it clear that there's a place for her here, if she's willing to pitch in and work. First things first, though - everyone new needs to be taken to meet the leader. And as soon as Abigail sets eyes on Flagg, she's certain he's the man she's dreamed of. ]
no subject
[ He's very tall, his smile is sharp, and there's something odd about the way the light almost seems to recoil from him, but his voice is soft and warm. He offers her a hand in greeting. ]
It must have been hard, all by yourself. [ He knows she wasn't truly alone, but his nebulous presence was only good for protection, not emotional support or companionship. Going from Minnesota to Vegas without a single friendly face alongside you was rough on anyone, let alone someone so young. ] Can I get you something to drink?
no subject
It was hard. [ That was an understatement. But even so, it had never felt impossible, and that probably was far more down to him than it was to her own efforts. ] But it was definitely worth it.
Thanks, but I'm not tw-- [ Not twenty-one yet, she's about to say, then realises how absurd it is to default to the arbitrary rules of a dead society. ] Actually, sure. That'd be nice, thank you.
no subject
[ In that, he doesn't care who drinks as long as they don't piss him off. He starts mixing up a couple margaritas (and adds a little extra tequila to his own glass, and a little less in hers because he figures she's pretty new to all this alcohol business).
His gaze flicks downward to the scar on her neck for a moment before he pushes her glass towards her. ] You were a survivor before all of this, weren't you? I like that. A lot of us here were.
[ He likes to think his people are tough and resilient as opposed to the soft-hearted people of Boulder. ]