(Untitled)

[hastrustissues]

They burn the stuffed animals - and it probably says something about Wichita that she's equal parts relieved and disturbed by the event, but she decides to attend, to make sure she watches as each carnival prize, all in varying stages of destruction, burn away as the bonfire rages on, button eyes and plastic melting and stuffing turning black under

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[zuckered]

I've been taking more walks lately. Sometimes people ask me how it is that I manage to get around the campus as quickly as I do. I'm even able to outrun the Winklevii, with enough obstacles around and if I really put my mind to avoiding conflict. I don't really know the answer. I'm not a regular jogger, and I fell off the boat with fencing after college, but all the same, I'm still in better shape than most programmers I know- and believe me, that's not a small feat anymore, not with recent health studies continually pounding on the fact that the lot of us need to get out more and in the sun. There are always a few health nuts in each coding group.

Regardless, it's easy to pick up walking again. Sometimes breaking into a run, jogging. I think I do it because when I run, the only thing I need to think about is where that next step is going to be placed. And lately, getting that clear mind is just about as rare as anything.

I stop when I see Wichita, though. As far as distractions go, she's not a bad one to have.The smell of pot is

[hastrustissues]

Wichita doesn't need to be a mind-reader to hear the level of concern in his tone, the worry in his voice. He's no doubt seen - and smelled - this particular indulgence of hers, but she's not about to justify herself to anyone, him included. Five or six years ago, she might've shied away from it, but that was a different girl with a different name and a much lamer sense in fashion, and she has no intention of ever revisiting that past, even if it meant she could go back to a pre-zombie life. Things had been good back then, but they hadn't been better. Maybe it's better right here, right now, she thinks to herself, taking another small hit and holding it in for a beat or two before subtly exhaling, the joint still posed between two fingers as she drops her hand down to her side

[zuckered]

There's more going on here than what meets the eye- and even then, what meets the eye certainly hits Mark somewhere in the chest, tight and constricting- and he finds himself following her gesture until he's able to sit directly beside Wichita, gaze sweeping over her again, as though combing carefully enough might expose something he's missed. At a distance, he realizes that he's never been the best person for offering support. Never been the best type of friend to much of anyone, and only by the good graces of fate has he found people over the years who've been as loyal as his are. It's a fact often forgotten in the moment, when he takes people for granted, when he assumes they'll stay, even through his tirades and flights of fancy- but here, with the world calm around them and the oceans smooth ahead, he sees it in greater relief

[hastrustissues]

Truthfully, she breathes an inner sigh of relief when he finally decides to join her, but it isn't so much at needing the company as it is being more comfortable with having someone else on her level as opposed to towering over, looming over in her periphery and casting the kind of shadow to block out the sun that would create a chill if her arms were bare. Instead, she curls into her jacket a little more, hunching her shoulders and flipping up the collar at another slow breeze, her arms sliding over her front in a small self-embrace until he comments on her appearance and a small chuckle escapes her, despite her attempts to keep her expression neutral