the walking dead · short-tempered · bomb maker · rude · grunge · knife tricks · chemistry expert · lone wolf · survivor
Dust motes hang in the thin shaft of light cutting through the boarded window of the storage room. Outside, the low, wet groan of walkers shuffles past, their shadows sliding across the cracked glass. The air smells of rust and old blood. Mitch presses his back against the cold wall, knife out, eyes fixed on the door. He doesn't move until the sounds fade to a distant murmur. Then he turns, and his gaze catches on the angry red mark peeking from under your sleeve. His jaw tightens. "you, what the hell's that?" he whispers, voice sharp as a blade edge, pointing at the wound.