Rochelle (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
somegrimshit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-06-03 12:33 am
somegrimshit) wrote in thearena2015-06-03 12:33 am
Entry tags:
Words Like Violence Break the Silence
Who| Rochelle and Luke, and then the rest of the Walking Dead Crew????
What| Rochelle adjusts to being alone (badly), but zombros have her covered.
Where| The Village
When| Mid Week 2
Warnings/Notes| Nothing as of right now
She's gotten used to not being around Nick and Ellis constantly at the tower, but she had always known they were around, within reach. A quick phone call and they could be summoned, or their location given, and she could go to them. Even if they weren't within touching distance, they were still there.
But that was no longer the case.
She was alone. She was completely alone.
She took some comfort in knowing that they weren't truly dead, they were waiting back in the Capitol, where they were sitting back and watching her, along with the rest of the world. That knowledge kept her from giving up entirely. Rochelle had always been honest with herself on her chances, and she knew that they were damn low. She was stuck with not a single ally to speak of in her first arena, with no idea what to expect. Things were looking pretty fucking grim for her. Ha ha, grim. Get it? Grimm? Like the fairy tales?
She decided to save that joke.
The good news was, she had managed to net a few sponsors, at least. The heat proof gloves had let her grab a mace from the blacksmith's hut (she had nearly burned herself grabbing one the first time). Nick had more sponsors, and his food was probably the reason she was still going. His last gift to her. She thanked Nick out loud occasionally, hoping that it wouldn't go to his head too much. He was watching, right? Of course he was, him and Ellis were her two cheerleaders.
She stuck in the village for the most part, but roamed around, constantly on edge. She couldn't last much longer like this, she knew. If the food didn't get her, if the horrible smell didn't get her, if every other tribute trying to kill her didn't somehow manage to end this ludicrous attempt at surviving, the lack of sleep was. She was so tired, but she was terrified of all the dangers, of being clubbed over the head while she tried to catch a little sleep, that she couldn't take more than a nap here and there, curled up behind a table or whatever she could find, her sleeping bag wrapped around her.
Right then, she was trying to think of a better place to stay. Everything seemed filled with danger--She trusted the castle as far as she could throw it, and she heard terrifying noises at night in the fields. A roof might be the ideal situation, but how to get up there? She could probably take the furniture and build a pyramid, but then everyone would know that she was there. She could try knocking it over?
Her sleep deprived mind decided it was better than nothing, and at least she'd probably be able to wake up if they tried to put the pyramid back together to get her. So she started dragging bits of furniture outside, and stacking it on top of each other in a very unsafe tower. She only needed one shot to get up there, after all, if it knocked itself down while she climbed, all the better.
What| Rochelle adjusts to being alone (badly), but zombros have her covered.
Where| The Village
When| Mid Week 2
Warnings/Notes| Nothing as of right now
She's gotten used to not being around Nick and Ellis constantly at the tower, but she had always known they were around, within reach. A quick phone call and they could be summoned, or their location given, and she could go to them. Even if they weren't within touching distance, they were still there.
But that was no longer the case.
She was alone. She was completely alone.
She took some comfort in knowing that they weren't truly dead, they were waiting back in the Capitol, where they were sitting back and watching her, along with the rest of the world. That knowledge kept her from giving up entirely. Rochelle had always been honest with herself on her chances, and she knew that they were damn low. She was stuck with not a single ally to speak of in her first arena, with no idea what to expect. Things were looking pretty fucking grim for her. Ha ha, grim. Get it? Grimm? Like the fairy tales?
She decided to save that joke.
The good news was, she had managed to net a few sponsors, at least. The heat proof gloves had let her grab a mace from the blacksmith's hut (she had nearly burned herself grabbing one the first time). Nick had more sponsors, and his food was probably the reason she was still going. His last gift to her. She thanked Nick out loud occasionally, hoping that it wouldn't go to his head too much. He was watching, right? Of course he was, him and Ellis were her two cheerleaders.
She stuck in the village for the most part, but roamed around, constantly on edge. She couldn't last much longer like this, she knew. If the food didn't get her, if the horrible smell didn't get her, if every other tribute trying to kill her didn't somehow manage to end this ludicrous attempt at surviving, the lack of sleep was. She was so tired, but she was terrified of all the dangers, of being clubbed over the head while she tried to catch a little sleep, that she couldn't take more than a nap here and there, curled up behind a table or whatever she could find, her sleeping bag wrapped around her.
Right then, she was trying to think of a better place to stay. Everything seemed filled with danger--She trusted the castle as far as she could throw it, and she heard terrifying noises at night in the fields. A roof might be the ideal situation, but how to get up there? She could probably take the furniture and build a pyramid, but then everyone would know that she was there. She could try knocking it over?
Her sleep deprived mind decided it was better than nothing, and at least she'd probably be able to wake up if they tried to put the pyramid back together to get her. So she started dragging bits of furniture outside, and stacking it on top of each other in a very unsafe tower. She only needed one shot to get up there, after all, if it knocked itself down while she climbed, all the better.
no subject
It’s why he’s approaching the village alone to scavenge, a waterproof poncho and supplies stuffed into the pack slung over his shoulders – just enough stuff to stretch for a couple days if shit went south and he ended up blocked off from his people – and an axe in hand, the blade crusted with Kieren’s tar-like blood. He doesn’t look much better than his weapon, his bare arms and neck and face still smeared with last week’s soot, mascara-trails of it streaking his skin from sweat. Boiled water’s too precious to waste on washing anything other than wounds.
The closer he wanders to the village well, the thicker the sulfurous-sweetness of rot in the air becomes. Smells like home. He wrinkles his nose and pushes on, spotting the Jenga-tower of furniture as he carefully rounds a street corner. It’s a strange spectacle – and not the way he expected to meet Rochelle again.
“…Hey.” He calls, cautiously, as he comes to a stop a fair distance away, muscles coiled. It’s hard to know how she might react while at work so he keeps the axe low at his side, meaning to present himself as less of an immediate threat. "That don' look like it'll hold steady. If you’re lookin’ to get a better view from up top, there's some pretty tall trees out there."
no subject
"Not trying to get a view," She said. Was she supposed to tell him her plans? She was sure Nick was tuned to the screen, telling her to shut up and either attack or run. Ellis would be encouraging her to be friendly, just like he had been with them. She rubs an eye, trying to think. It was easy to tell she wasn't doing too well--She was fed properly, but there were circles under her eyes, and she didn't seem totally focused, even when talking. Sleep deprivation was going to get to her before any of the tributes did.
"I'm trying to get on the roof. Figure i can use my sleeping bag and poncho, set up a bit of a nest there. Knock this over, and whoever wants to come after me will either have to fly, or make a new tower. Either way, it'll be noisy enough to wake me up." It sounds like a solid plan to her, and she nods as she voices it out loud. Sounds good even explained.
...Her only real regret is that he has to see her in this ridiculous harlequin costume. She'd ditched the high heels and hat, at least.
She grounds the heel of her palm into her eye again--She really shouldn't, she's going to get plague in her eye or something, but god, with the smell and how tired she is, they burn like mad. "Why do you get to look reasonable, and I'm looking like I fell out of Lover's Lane? This is some bullshit, Luke. Gender discrimination."
no subject
He looks her up and down, giving her outfit much more consideration than he had at first glance. It’s definitely something.
“Well sure, it ain’t exactly the most functional…but, it could be worse...?” He cracks a small, rueful smile. Barely there. “…Probably.”
Neither of them are dressed properly for the possibility of cold weather. His leather apron isn’t especially good at keeping him toasty, less so without a shirt. But his stylist was convinced – and couldn’t be persuaded otherwise – that it’d be in his best interests to display his recent tattoo when he could to its fullest advantage. Winning favour couldn’t hurt.
Except some things are little more important when you’re away from camp and surrounded by a hundred possibilities of death than showing some skin and giving a winsome wink to any Capitolites watching.
His expression sobers. “…You by yourself?”
She doesn’t seem like she’s doing too well and her plan involving that rickety tower of furniture seems more or less in line with that impression. Still, for someone desperate or drop-dead tired or both, she’s managing to sound pretty calm. But the brain can go interesting places when groggy and running on fumes. He’d know.
There's no mention of her people, of building a nest for them too. And if they're gone, that could explain why she's looking like she hasn't had a night's rest in a while. Hard to when there's no one to watch your back.
no subject
Rochelle would have preferred managing without.
When he asks, the smile falls, as she glances away, her lips a thin line on her face (the make up she had on had worn away long ago). By herself. That wasn't a word that she'd used to describe herself in a long time. She'd always had the others there, ever since this started. Always had their support, from Nick's grousing to Ellis' enthusiasm, Coach's guffaws and back thumps that nearly sent her stumbling. She hadn't been alone in a long time.
"Yeah. Ellis got caught in the Cornucopia. Nick...Didn't make it much further." She bites her lip, then gives a laugh, a tired, rugged laugh, as weary as she was. "First fucking arena and the only people I know are gone by the end of the first week." Her hand slides up, untangling her pigtailed cornrows. "Maybe it's a good thing they got me dressed like this, because I'm ten kinds of fucked."
She turned to him, rubbing her neck. When she speaks, despite the words, the tone is utterly matter-of-fact. "I guess I shouldn't have told you that. Yeah, I'm alone and I have no fucking idea what I'm doing, and I'm goddamn canonfodder waiting for whatever is going to kill me." Either from the tiredness, or just her normal practicality, she doesn't sound as upset as she should--A little angry, maybe, at the powerlessness she feels, waiting for something bigger and stronger to come after her while she's half asleep. She looks Luke over, and stares at the axe in his hand. Is that blood?
"If you're going to come after me, go ahead." She told him with a shrug. "No hard feelings. I mean, I'll still fight you, but I won't be sore about it. I just straight up told you that I'm an easy target, it's not like I can blame you for acting on that."
no subject
With him out of the picture there was one less threat to worry about.
"Jus’ ‘cause I could don’ mean that's the way it has to be. Not when I still have a choice. ...'sides, it'd be pretty fucked up if I met you for drinks after somethin' like that."
He glances aside a moment, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, considering. "Look, my people've set up camp a little ways north from here. If you want, you can stay with us, rest up, an' figure out what’s what in the mornin'. Now I'll be honest..." A soft sigh escapes him. "I ain't too sure how some a' them'll feel 'bout takin' in a friend a' Nick's after he killed two of us."
There's no mincing of words, the firm set of his jaw making his stance clear on the ruthlessness that makes killing a harmless kid possible, even justifiable. Not just killing. It had been fucking twisted from what he had seen, like strangling a puppy you've pet and cooed at and lulled into a sense of security first.
"But we can talk about it when we get there. ... If you're thinkin' 'bout comin' with."
no subject
She's getting familiar with that look when she mentions Nick. And sometimes, she feels like she can't really blame them. They don't understand him, they haven't lived with him at her side like she has. The way he laughs despite himself when you manage a good joke, and the way he leaps to save someone he cares about.
But that list is awfully short these days, and it's hard to tell someone that Nick can be good when he doesn't feel interested in showing that side of him. And that doesn't make it easy for her.
She listens to Luke as he speaks, her eyes slowly widen, but she stops when he mentions Nick himself. Of course it was too good to be true. She gives a slow sigh, rubbing the side of her neck as she thinks. She wants to snap at him, tell him that she doesn't have to justify her friendships, that she's not going to apologize or take responsibility for what those friends do. But you have to be practical.
She can all but hear Nick hissing to walk away, at the same time as Ellis yells to go with him. It's so hard to concentrate, and she has to think about surviving. That's what she does, isn't it? And the more she thinks about it, the more she's sure that Luke and his group offer the best chance--But there's also a good chance she would have to throw Nick under a bus to get in with them. She was willing to do, and she had done, a lot of shit to survive this far. But she'd always stood by her friends.
In the end, that weight behind her eyes and the way the world doesn't want to stay as still as it should wins out, and she nods. "I guess we'll see. I'd be pretty grateful just to get some sleep, even if you guys don't let me stay after." It was more than what she'd had a few minutes ago. Getting a good rest could make a lot of difference.
She reaches down and grabs the mace, and the rest of her pack, adjusting it. Glancing at Luke, she gestures to her weapon. "Don't touch this unless you got gloves like I do, by the way. Don't even get too close to it. It'll burn your hands bad." With that warning, she drifted to his side, trying to suppress a yawn. "I'll owe you for helping either way, Luke. Looks like I'll have to pay for those drinks."
no subject
“S’hard these days findin’ people you can trust. But when you do, that there's worth helluva lot more than a couple drinks. Even if they’re real good ones.” After another glance left and right he sets a purposeful pace, keeping a safe distance from the metal knowing all about the heat rolling off them. The skin along his arm prickles with it.
“Look…” He begins softly after a while. “I know what it sounds like.”
Probably that they’re testing her loyalty and forcing her to choose between their generosity and her people, if the play of emotion across her face was any indication. That he might bring her to them only to be judged and cast aside. He thinks of Kenny, of Clementine’s unwavering loyalty to an old friend with a fierce sense of vengefulness and a pointer finger made for casting blame, and he frowns thoughtfully, gaze panning across the horizon.
“But I ain’t takin’ you there to grill you or put you on trial or to ask you to answer for anybody. One way or another you’re gettin’ some rest back at camp, an’ I’ll make sure a’ that whether or not somebody has a problem with it. I don’ think it’s gon’ be a big deal, if anythin’ happens. But m’givin’ you a heads up.”
He lets that hang in the air a moment.
“I jus’ think you should tell ‘em who your friends are, like y’told me, if they don’ already know. ‘cause otherwise? It might look like you’re hidin’ somethin’ from us when they figure things out.”
He regards her sympathetically, considering, seeking peace - if not an alliance - between two groups in a place pushing them to tear out each others' throats for sport. But things rarely go as one hopes they might. "…They’re good people. They jus’ might be a li’l on edge after we…” Breaking off, he lets out a sigh weighing heavy in his chest. “…lost one a’ our own last week. Don’ hold it against ‘em.”
no subject
But his offer is kind, and she shoots him a small, tired smile. "Thank you, Luke. It's real nice of you to do this, no matter what happens. I'll remember that." He's confident that they'll let her rest, at least, and that's more than she had before. Hopefully, his confidence wasn't him just blowing smoke about his own sway with the group.
"Eh...The thought occurred to me. I haven't been totally open about it at the tower. Ellis said he got some hassle because of it before, so." She sighed, rubbing her eyes with a wrist. "...S'why I didn't tell you I was friends with Nick when we first met." And the only reason it'd slipped out was that she was so tired and single-mindedly focused that it hadn't occurred to her to keep quiet on it. "I know what Nick's like. I want people to see me when they look at me. Not him. But if you figure that's the best thing to do, I'll trust you."
Trust was a weird thing. It was a weird thing in both of their worlds, after the zombies. And it was weird here, in the arena. It was a risk. And each step Rochelle took after Luke, and agreed with what he told her, was another risk that she took, depending on him. But Luke seemed like someone who would make the odds of that risk pretty good. Like he really would try to help her.
"Yeah. I know on edge." She scoffed, shaking her head. "I know all about being on edge, trust me. I lost two people. But yeah. I'll keep it in mind." She glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. "I guess I'll just have to be charming. What do you think? Reckon I can be charming enough for them, even when I'm a hot mess?"
no subject
“Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” He snorts. “I mean, I reckon jus’ about everyone in this place is either a mess or well on their way to becomin’ one. An’ anyone who ain’t might be more dangerous than the rest.”
This is a gamble on both sides, his belly a seething mass of nerves and his grip around the axe-hilt damper with sweat than he’d readily admit. But the circumstances are in his favour by far - and as he considers her non-aggression from the start, her willingness to talk and to warn him of her mace’s glowing heat, and her choice to venture into a den of likely-armed strangers on his word alone, he’s sure enough that this won’t be an act of kindness that gets him killed. That tenuous trust she’s saying she places in him is not only something he believes in, but that he has no desire to betray. If he’s right, he’d only be shooting himself and his friends in the foot otherwise. And he knows to his bones how glass-like and precious faith can be in a dying world.
He’s quiet for a while until they find themselves on the outskirts of the village and at the edge of the woods. No traps yet, no packs of tributes lying in wait. So far, so good.
“I don' blame you, for not bein’ forthright about it from the start.”
He’s been there before, fearing so deeply for Nick’s safety, for the safety of them all back at the ski lodge. How can you break it to someone you’ve only just met and know nothing about, someone who has taken a great risk welcoming your people for dinner and rest, that one of your own gunned down his partner?
You don’t.
It’s a fucked up thing to have to do, biting back the truth that was deserved. Few days pass when he doesn’t think about it, doesn’t question his pragmatic tendencies and what lengths he’d go to try and keep others safe. The past is never too far away.
His lips part and then press together just as soon.
no subject
Rochelle wasn't there yet. She understood it, she could comprehend the thought process. She knew why Nick did what he did, and it didn't ruffle her feathers quite as badly as it did for others. But she couldn't bring herself to it yet. Not yet. But she knew she was a lot closer than she would want to admit. Or maybe she was further away, because she could understand, and chose not to? She was too fucking tired to contemplate this bullshit.
She glanced at him, when he said that he didn't blame her, and gave another nod, and a brief smile. "Thanks for not being sore about it. It's so frustrating, really--I'm finally in a place where I can talk to people outside my group, where I don't have to worry about food constantly, or dying, or whatever. Well...When I'm not in here at least." She rubs her face, stifling a yawn.
"I hope this works out. Not just for sleep--Just for. Getting to talk to people. I guess I should have talked to more people at the tower. Figures it takes getting dragged in here to make me socialize." She waved her hand around. "I don't know how long I've got until something or another kills me, but I don't want to spend the next week or more alone. Might start getting chummy with a volleyball, name it Wilson."
no subject
He lets the subject go without comment though it sticks in his brain like a splinter until she thanks him again, her words softening the furrows etched into his brow. He doesn’t envy the position she’s in, having been deprived so long of interaction with people outside her circle of friends and now being glowered at by association, Nick’s reputation shadowing her like a curse. It’s unfair -- but a situation he can see from both sides of the fence. The past and peoples’ memories – that fear and anger born of losing loved ones - can’t be changed. Life might go on when a victor emerges from an arena, but nothing ends there.
“I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t sore over what happened.” A shake of his head. “…But that ain’t on you. You weren’t pointin’ that gun an’ pullin’ the trigger… an’ that you ain’t tryin’ to justify the whole thing helps."
no subject
Oh, well. She'll figure a way around this. She'll survive. That seems to be her best skill.
"Let's stop talking about Nick for a bit." She said, looking up at the trees as they approached the forest. "It's ruining the mood. What do you think of this arena, huh? I've never seen anything like this before. I don't know if the world I left behind was better, or not. I mean, there weren't as many rats. Didn't even smell as bad."
Pause.
"Not that talking about rats and rotting corpses is a good mood setter, either. But. Whatever."
no subject
She has a point about the mood. Though not much can lift it here, dwelling on Nick isn’t helping. He pans his gaze across the woods as if it’s his first glimpse of their surroundings.
“It didn’t? Wow, that’s... that's somethin’.” Lucky. Well, relatively-speaking. Stench or no stench, no survivor is much luckier than anyone else after going through the wringer. After loss and hunger and loneliness, after nearly all the world’s been consumed by the dead. “…Let’s jus’ say the, uh, ‘novelty’ of all this wore off about five seconds into my first arena.” He huffs humourlessly. “Guess I like that it ain’t cold as balls. Not yet, anyway. After that last one, I think I’m about done with snow.”
And ice. He pauses a beat, regretting making that known. Watch, just watch a heap of snow drop over his head. "You... wanna talk about somethin' that ain't about corpses?"
no subject
"I saw a bit of the last arena. I'm pretty sure if I were dressed like this here, I'd have died of frostbite by now," She laughed, shaking her head. She could only imagine, watching the video tapes, how the people there had felt. This arena seemed pretty shitty, but at least she wasn't freezing to death.
"I would like that a lot, actually." She replied, giving him a wry smile. "How has your group been doing? I mean--" They'd lost one, he'd said. Which was probably related to corpses, or close enough. Could she ever talk about cheerful things around Luke? He was going to think her mind was nothing but dead things. "What kind of set up you got? Pulling a camping trip here, or something...?"
Probably better than trying to sleep on top of a roof.
no subject
They hadn’t wanted to be tucked too deep into the woods, liking the idea of having a good vantage point of the village and the castle from up on a tree. But they couldn’t get too attached to the place; the last time they had gotten almost comfortable with their settlement, riding out heavy storms deep in their caves, an avalanche had blocked off the entrances and access to some of their supplies while they were out and pushed them onwards, an all too familiar reminder that safety, like luck, is very temporary. They’d have to keep fluid to survive.
For now, what they have is a rudimentary tent-like structure under a tree formed of forked branches locked together and roofed by some thick, needled branches. Not entirely waterproof and a constant work in progress, but it’s holding up. Though there’s barely the room for two people to get comfortable, never mind four.
no subject
The shelter itself looks too small for all of them, but she figures that they'll have shifts going, so there's no need. Shifts are exactly why she hasn't been able to sleep.
"Not bad," She said, nodding in approval. "You guys are genuine scouts, huh?" She gave Luke a little nudge, grinning as she stepped forward. "Too bad only the kids get badges."
But now the hard part. Luke seemed to want to get along with her. He was easy to like, easy to speak to. She had no idea who was here, and what they would be like. How she could impress them. She straightened her back, trying to look professional, remember that woman who had been a reporter, meeting and greeting various people. She could be her again. She could be charming.
She'd have to be.
"Hello...?" Rochelle glanced cautiously around.
oh god, please tell me if this needs editing.
They've been here long enough to realize how little there is to hunt. Her snares have been mostly unsuccessful, and she abandoned them completely after discovering someone else had found them. The mounting likelihood of starving again won't let her sleep at night. Their position in this arena is so much more nerve-wracking than the last. The way things are, they need to lay low, but if they wait too long, they'll never get back up.
Hearing from Nick was a break they had all desperately needed, and one they actually got for once. More than anything, the gifts soothed a fear all of them could admit to harboring: Nick was still with them, not gone with no explanation, like so many other fallen Tributes.
With their cache of supplies not looking so dire for the moment, it's time for one of them to roll the dice and set out. It ends up being Luke who goes, and Jane stays behind with Clem, their shelter, and a short stack of the latest edition of Celebrus, which she has plans for.
Jane goes leafing for information that might be helpful before she gets to work repurposing the special delivery, dipping the glossy pages in mud so she can use them to insulate the walls and roof of their shelter. Who knew getting to make paper mache in kindergarten would pay off someday?
Hell, if someone got her twigs for a frame, she could have a piñata ready by tomorrow. They could fill it with rat turds, turn this shitpit into a real party.
When she hears Luke and Rochelle coming, Jane is on her feet in an instant. Still muddy to her elbows, she steps out from inside of their shelter with her folding knife drawn. Her look of surprise quickly becomes hard and questioning, flitting between Luke and Rochelle before finally settling on the unfamiliar face. Her knife comes down, though she doesn't sheath it.
"Who're you?"
no subject
She scoots closer to Luke, looking at him nervously. But the knife goes down, and Rochelle relaxes. Maybe things weren't as bad as she thought they were. She doesn't let go of her mace, though. She's not fool enough to unarm herself until she's sure that they won't be trying to get their murder on.
Sticking close to Luke, she raises one hand, giving Jane a tense smile. Christ, she wants this to work out, but both sides are going to be suspicious at first. It's only normal.
"Name's Rochelle. District 3. Nice to meet you." She spoke as smoothly as if they were meeting in the street--In a perfectly normal street without any zombies. She wasn't sure when would be a good time to bring up Nick. Lord, she didn't want to. She'd just prefer that entire thing was skipped over smoothly. It was only mentioned to Luke because the woman was running on empty, and not even bothering to think. She was still running on empty, but she was forcing her braincells into working for this last effort.
no subject
He looks to Clem first and then Jane again, meeting her sharp, wary look - the sort of look that is in itself an entire conversation - and holding it steady. She's not unlike a predator crouched in the grass, muscles coiled tightly and eyes locked while assessing a new threat, and he knows well that in her position he'd have felt the same. They hadn’t expected to suffer a gutting loss so early in the game – and with them still so raw, he's all too aware of how the mere idea of introducing someone to their circle, even briefly, is more likely than ever to come off as a violation of what little sense of security they had.
But he’s hopeful. Not just of their capacity to trust his judgment but their strength to place their faith in someone new. They’re not so far gone.
He feels a trickle of relief when Jane’s knife lowers. But things are everything but settled and he senses Rochelle shifting slightly at his side. He lets her introduce herself, noting how well she keeps a level head under pressure and similarly adopting a calm, authoritative voice to assure both parties that an alliance is possible.
“We’ve met before, back at the training centre. She’s like us. A survivor.” He glances between Clem and Jane. “She’s lost her people… an’ right now she jus’ needs a place to rest for a while. I know… m'probably askin' a lot here, after what we been through… but gut’s tellin’ me I can trust her.”
Pausing, he looks to Rochelle expectantly, encouraging her to reveal her connections to Ellis and Nick. It’s not his place to lay it on the table for her.