* VERSE / When You're Lost In The Darkness. ) - Tumblr Posts
❝ you have no idea what loss is. ❞ hey :)
last of us (show) starters
★ — ".... are you fucking serious?!"
A hissed whisper that slips out under his breath before Gregory can stop himself. He half expected it to set Michael off again, but the room remains eerily silent for the few seconds as the tension settles between them.
It feels like a slap in the face. Like Gregory can't breathe — like he's suddenly back in the mall where he was bit ( where this all began ) and his world is crumbling around him but he's expected to stand up and keep going like nothing is wrong. His feelings don't matter, what he wants doesn't matter, but he matters, he matters, he matters, this will all be worth something in the end and there is no choice.
"There's not a single person left who cares about me! You're all I fucking have!"
His voice raises to a shout, unable to keep the tremble out of it. Eyes are wide, filled with disbelief and hurt and glossy with the tears he refuses to let fall. He won't cry, he won't cry, not here, not in front of him, not right now. Instead, Gregory steps forward and shoves Michael as hard as he can manage. A small outlet for all the anger he feels bubbling beneath the surface.
"Don't you dare tell me I'd be safer with someone else, because we both know I'd just be more scared!"
When you’re lost in the darkness, Look for the light
❛ i did a lot wrong that i can’t make right . ❜
𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯 𝑶𝑭 𝑨𝑵 𝑶𝑷𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑻 . ( lyric starters originating from the works of grandson . mature & dark themes are present , tread with caution . )
★ — "You — you ——."
Everything Gregory could possibly say feels as if it's caught in his throat, slowly constricting until it's cutting off his ability to catch a breath. He wants to scream, wants to yell, throw a fit until his lungs hurt, lash out until Michael is far, far away from him — but he feels frozen to the spot, ice running through his veins as he stares at the man who has becomes the closest thing he's ever known to family in abject horror.
Don't lie to me. It hadn't been a request ; it had been a demand, an insistence to hear the truth he already knew deep down in his chest from Michael, who had done nothing but lie every time Gregory had pushed. He had known, instinctively, from the moment he woke up outside the hospital. He had the confirmation now, in the form of a tape recorder. He just needed to hear it from Michael. And now that's been laid out plainly ( no more lies between them ), he feels sick.
His life would have meant something. His life was supposed to mean something. The people who had died when he survived would have meant something. He shouldn't be here — not when people were still suffering, not when everything was still in ruin, not when the only hope anyone had was so quickly snuffed out.
( yet, the thought leaves a pinprick of fear panging through his heart ; he can see a cruel smile, feel a grip tighten on his wrist, just below the bite wound, keeping him in his grasp ).
He shakes the image away — something violent in the motion, his hair falling in his eyes as he pulls his arms in towards his chest, cradling the bitten arm. It shakes him out of his trance, something akin to a wail slipping past his lips. What had Michael done?
"The fireflies — they were going to fix things! We traveled all that way to fix things!"
There are tears welling in his eyes, an occasional lone teardrop slipping down his cheek. Despite his usual hesitance to cry in front of anyone, Gregory doesn't try to stop it this time. There's far too much to try and hold back.
"I had s-so many questions for them."
Words fall more towards a whisper, speaking to himself despite the way his eyes stay trained on Michael with the harshest glare he can manage. He thinks he might be trembling ; his breath coming in choppy, short bursts.
( he can see the fire surrounding them, hear a rage - filled voice telling him to come out of hiding, that his death would be far more valuable to the world than any life he could live. the ends justify the means ).
"We said — we said we'd see it through to the end. I wanted to see it through to the end."
The last of his resolved breaks, as his words tapper off from a shout into an ugly sob. Gregory wavers on his feet for a second, the tears flowing freely before he simply collapses into a crouch, curling in on himself as if trying to be as small as possible. His head buries into his knees, arms wrapping around to pull his limbs in even closer. The cries shake his body, though they fall silent, instead leaving the occasional whimper and gasp for breath to fill the air. It's as if he's trying to make himself disappear.
👀 + tlou au How do you feel about your purpose never working out? Did you REALLY want to die for the cure?
send me a “👀 + a question” and my muse has to answer honestly!
★ — "How do you think it feels?!"
The snapped response is almost immediate ; something akin to a wounded animal barring its teeth when it feels cornered. A display of outward aggression to mask the pain, to scare them off, to keep himself safe. Gregory doesn't want to answer this question. He doesn't like talking about it, even if sometimes it's all he can think about.
How is he supposed to carry on knowing so many people have died? To infection, to fear, to keep him safe. There had been hope, once — the thought that it would all be worth something, at the end of it. Now he was left with nothing but the weight of it all, threatening to pull him down until there was nothing left of him.
"I feel like I let the whole goddamn world down. It was — I was supposed to be worth something."
What good was he at the end of everything? What was so special about him that he got to live when so many others didn't? Michael would tell him it wasn't his fault, but that didn't change anything.
"No —— . No, fuck, I don't ——."
His voice cracks, a hand lifting to violently scrub at his cheek despite the fact that no tears are falling to wipe away. He's curling in on himself, a sharp pang rocketing through his chest.
' You're worth more to the world dead than you are alive. '
Can Gregory even separate the voices in his head, repeating those words to him like a curse? Are they still William's? Marlene's? His own?
"But I think it might've been better if I did."
what if fnaf x tlou 🤔
this must be hard for you. ( shakes tlou au at you :) )
RANDOM DIALOGUE PROMPTS (1/?)
★ — Gregory bites back the urge to snap in immediate response, though the tells are there ; the way his posture stiffens and his jaw clenches. Adrenaline may be fading now that they've found somewhere to rest for the night ( it's been a relatively rough day, the kind where the dangers are more human than they are infected, where the pair lays low and sneaks through the more ruined parts of a city ), but he's still on edge from it all.
In lieu of a quick answer, he rolls his eyes and pulls his knees up towards his chest. Unconsciously making himself small despite the tough attitude he usually pushes forward.
"It's fine,"
He says eventually, giving half - hearted wave of his hand. It's always been easier to brush things off, even care.
"Just the way the world is, right?" ( another pause ). "At least for now."
“ if you could do me a big solid and not do anything that would be sublime ”
sentences from the youtube series , buzzfeed unsolved . primarily taken from season 5′s supernatural investigations .
★ — "No promises,"
He's not even affording Michael the respect of looking at him when he answers, instead already half - skipping a few steps ahead to start peering around a corner, eager and curious. Everything is new, uncharted territory for the teen ; he's never been outside of the QZ before, can't help himself from wanting to look at absolutely everything.
At least this is relatively safe, a convenience store in the middle of nowhere.
"What're you looking for, anyways? Or did you just drag us into here for no reason. 'Cause, like, I get you're the one with more experience and shit — but I dunno what you're expecting to find. Place looks like looters picked it over years ago."
❝ like i told you, i’m gonna get you there safe. ❞ waaahh
resident evil: 4 remake starters
★ — Gregory knows it's meant to reassure him ( and god, Michael says it with so much conviction that it makes his chest ache ), ease his worries and make him feel safer. He doesn't need that comfort, though ; if there's one thing he's sure of at this point, it's that Michael is going to keep him safe. The man has proven that time and time again. And yet ——.
And yet Gregory can't help but avert his eyes, turning his attention to the dirt beneath them. He feels small ; he's making himself small, sinking into his shoulders, an arm wrapping loosely around his own torso while the hand that's still free scrubs harshly at his cheek. His breathing is almost shaky ( barely noticeable ), but he puts his focus into keeping the nervous edge out of it.
"What about afterwards?"
That's the question, isn't it? Everything narrows down to this one moment, but what happens after? Beyond the cure. It was almost as if life itself didn't exist beyond that.
"Do you think it's gonna hurt? Getting, uh, whatever it is that makes me immune? I mean, I got vaccinated back in the QZ, but I dunno what happens with making a vaccine."
His head lolls to the side, briefly letting his gaze flicker up to Michael. If he let himself, he'd almost think the man actually cared about him ; at least, beyond his promises. The way he constantly looks out for him, bickers playfully back and forward, tried to ease his fears. They've been traveling together for months. Gregory thinks he must, at least a little bit. But every time he pushes, he gets pushed back equally as hard.
"And after that? You're gonna — I dunno. Go somewhere else. And I'm stuck there, right. So do I just stay with the fireflies? Or am I .... on my own?"
“ i did those things to keep us alive. ” so uh 🏃♂️
* 𝐇𝐁𝐎'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒 / 𝐄𝐏 𝟔 & 𝟕.
★ — Something ugly twists in his gut, angry and vitriolic and entirely overwhelming. This argument keeps repeating — a ruthless cycle, Michael both apologizing yet refusing to back down, Gregory turning his anger into words that he intends to cut like knives, perfectly poised and sharpened to know exactly what will hurt the most. And Michael, somehow, never blames him, never punishes him. That makes it all the worse.
It's stupid, and destructive, but it's all too much for the teenager to bear. He hates himself for living, he hates Michael for loving him enough to keep him safe. If he's heartless enough, cruel enough, pushes far enough .... maybe he could get the man to admit it was a mistake. It would make all of this so much easier.
"You were supposed to keep me alive 'till we got to the fireflies. Not after. That wasn't your fucking job."
Words are practically spat, a hissed whisper with an accompanying glare. His arms fold over his chest, tense and frustrated and nails digging into his own forearms. He doesn't dare step any closer, a careful arms length away from the man. It's too much. It's too much.
Gregory spent months spent wishing Michael would care about him like something more than a job when all Gregory saw in him was the man that kept him safe, prioritized him over and over again. ( he'd never had a family, but that's what they do, right? ). He'd wanted to believe that he mattered beyond the potential for a cure, that beyond everything he mattered to Michael the way Michael mattered to him. And when he finally realized he did, it felt far too good to be true.
"What good am I here? Why'd we go through all of that just for it to be for nothing? There's — there's so many people that aren't alive. I could've helped them. Why do you get to decide I live and they don't?"
Heart thumps heavy in his chest at the thought. It's painful ; the memories, the knowledge. And despite it all, he knows he can't bear to not stay with Michael. This is the only family he's ever known.
It's a moment where all the pain and frustration gives way, showing the anguish beneath it all. Gregory crumbles a little, his shoulders dropping, breath beginning to waver.
"How're you living with it?"
[ JACKET ]: sender notices the receiver beginning to shake after an immensely distressing incident, and removes their own jacket to wrap it around the receiver’s shoulders.
𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.
★ — Gregory's throat feels hoarse from screaming ( feels as though he's been screaming for hours, for help, for someone to hear him, for the blind panic that felt as if there was no other outlet than to scream in anguish ; though it can't have been more than a few minutes since he escaped. since the fire started ), and yet he starts once more the moment he feels a hand on his back, desperate and tired, sure that he has no more fight left in him — if this is William crawling his way back out of the fire, then Gregory is going to die here.
He's flailing in his potential assailants arms, weakly hitting at them as his screams meld more into exhausted sobs, pleas for them to let him go when a familiar voice ( one he's long associated with safety ) cuts through the haze of panic, and for the first time since the flames started Gregory truly sees.
He sees Michael.
Michael, who he had been so certain was dead in a basement because of him, because of his inability to take care of them both. He thought he was never going to see him again.
He's holding onto him tightly, not letting the teen fight out of his grasp, but still at arms length distance so that he's not smothering Gregory, not invading his space and increasing his panic. His expression is deathly serious, full of concern — still pale, but alive, his blue hues worriedly scanning over his smaller frame. Gregory is covered in blood.
( he's not sure how much is his own, and how much is the blood of his guardian's father ).
A long moment passes as they stare at each other in similar states of disbelief. Michael is mumbling words of reassurance that Gregory doesn't hear. His shouting sobs pitter off into quiet cries as the fight leaves his body, slowly and then all at once. Pure exhaustion takes its place. Gregory's knees begin to buckle, and he falls forward onto Michael, trusting that the man will catch him. He does. Without a second thought, Gregory wraps his arms around his neck. He's trembling.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but I — I thought he'd leave me alone if he saw it. I didn't know he was looking for it. I'm sorry. I didn't know ——."
Half - babbled apologies that Gregory is hardly conscious of, just overcome by the need to make sure Michael knows he's sorry. Michael returns the embrace just as tightly, pulling Gregory in tighter as he tucks himself into the man's collarbone. He feels safe. He wants to stay here, forever.
Everything begins to blur together as the adrenaline begins to wane. Michael shifts, and Gregory allows himself to be maneuvered around easily ( not noticing that even as he's moved, michael never once lets him fully slip from his hold ), still muttering apologies under his breath that are softly forgiven and excused. Something heavy settles on his shoulders, the weight of it solid and warm ( not that it's the cold causing the teen to shake like a leaf ).
It feels safe. Michael is safe.
An arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him in close to Michael's side and Gregory goes without resistance — burying himself into his guardian's side, leaning his weight into him ( something in the back of his mind reminds him that michael isn't fully healed yet, he shouldn't be relying so heavily on him, but it's not enough for him to take back control of his body from moving on autopilot ) as the man begins to steer him away. Gregory stumbles as he moves.
The crackling of flames continues behind them, though neither looks back.
❛ home isn't always a place, is it? ❜
the boy, the mole, the fox and the horse.
★ — Gregory shrugs.
It's not like he has much experience with the concept of home. For so long, home wasn't a place he was happy ; home was the FEDRA dorms, strict and heartless, a place where he was just a name and number in a long list of orphans in the apocalypse. Devoid of any warmth. But at least they kept him fed and housed.
( for a brief, flickering moment of hope it had seemed like tony ... maybe tony, gregory could have gone anywhere with tony and been happy so long as they stayed together. but that came crashing down around him as soon as the thought had formed ).
They're at the commune. A few months after everything, since Gregory and Michael both returned. They're settling. Except — except Gregory doesn't know how to settle into this.
It's supposed to be home, but it doesn't feel like a home. It's far too unfamiliar for that. A sense of peace Gregory's never known, slow and easy and he cannot bend himself to it. The thought of it makes him anxious ; certain he sticks out like a sore thumb, that somehow all the others ( who were already there, long before he was ) know he doesn't belong. That they somehow know he will never be able to adjust, that he will always be an outsider.
So he's been sticking close to Michael, the only sense of familiarity he has here.
He must not have been as subtle as he thought he was being. Wasn't long before one of their late night conversations ( sleep never came easy to either of them, finding it far more comfortable to spent the long nights together ) turned to the subject of their new home, and Gregory's seeming discomfort. So he's honest.
Space between them falls silent for a long moment after Michael answers, Gregory's brown hues flickering from the space between them up to his guardian. Nervous.
"If it's not a place, then, uh — ... could we be home? The two of us, together?"
"I will keep you safe." tlou au
THE NINTH HOUR SENTENCE STARTERS / i think this is part 1 ( lune says stream the ninth hour on spotify )
★ — The declaration is nearly startling.
Gregory feels everything in him pause, his own thoughts silent for once as his attention flickers wide - eyed towards Michael. It's not that he doesn't believe him ( if anything, the one thing about the man Gregory is sure of is that as long as he feels it's his job to do so, he will keep him safe ), but rather the conviction with which he speaks that catches him so off guard. In the short time they've known each other, Michael hadn't seemed like the type to hand out reassurances. At least not to him. He was a mission to be fulfilled, after all. A package to be delivered.
Briefly, unwillingly, Gregory's mind flickers back to the capital building and Jeremy — the desperation in the man's voice as he spoke to Michael, the defeated determination in both their eyes before the latter had physically dragged Gregory from the ruins.
His throat feels tight.
"Right. Yeah."
The younger boy nods, a definitive action despite the slight waver in his voice. Michael will keep him safe. And in the end, all this suffering will be worth something. No more people will have to die.
"I trust you."
I know you wanna protect me. You have. And when we’re done, we’ll go wherever you want. Tommy’s, sheep ranch… the moon.
❛ If you wanted to be babied, you should’ve asked michael. ❜
[ chucks a tlou william at tlou gregory for these next few asks and runs . sorry for jumping on your and ash's verse i just love it so much :sobs: ]
CATCHING FIRE (2013) SENTENCE STARTERS
★ — Gregory never should have trusted him.
The weight of his mistake sits heavy in the pit of his stomach, akin to an anchor dropped amid a sea of shame that washes over him in steady waves. He can hardly breathe around it — every inhale feeling as though it has to move around the weight, every shift making him acutely aware of it all. The shame, the fear. Gregory fears he might drown in it, despite the way the cold air surrounding them dries his throat and makes it burn.
William's gaze feels far too piercing, far too knowing. Gregory hates that he'd fallen for his act, hates that the moment someone had shown him some kindness in the short time he'd been left to fend for himself he'd bended, turning towards it like a sunflower until he'd been ensnared.
He had been right — he can't fucking do this without Michael.
Still, he can't help but scoff at the man's words ; refuses to cower despite the way his hands shake ( he can blame it on the cold ), despite the way he refuses to look him in the eyes. Head tilted, eyes askew, glaring at the space between them. He's put as much space as possible between them, his back pressed against a wall and knees pulled in towards his chest. Jacket sleeve still remains firmly tugged over the evidence of his immunity. Gregory fiddles with the fabric, absentmindedly. Nervously. A foot taps.
"Man, you're crazier than I thought if you think Michael's ever babied me. Dude has like, the biggest stick up his ass."
A pause, briefly letting his glare flicker towards William himself. It's almost a challenge, the way his jaw sets and eyes narrow.
"Guess I'm startin' to see why, though, if you're really his dad."
★ — Gregory feels like a fucking cornered animal — with nothing more to do than warily watch as William stalks around him ( a predator sizing up its prey, ready to strike at any moment, bigger and stronger and overwhelming ) with his back up against a wall and teeth practically bared, ready to snap should the man's path stray a little too close to Gregory. He rolls his eyes ; impertinence a shield in its own right.
"Michael didn't mention you. Ever. So, yeah. You could be lying t'me."
Response is sneered, his upper lip curling ever so slightly. Attempt at a blow to William's ego — the son he'd been chasing hadn't even bothered to mention him to the boy he was looking after. ( not that michael often talked about himself ). Gregory tries not to think about their resemblance, now that he knows the truth of their connection. That similarities between father and son had subconsciously put him at ease enough to trust William ... to get him into this mess in the first place.
A hand curls over the wrist of his shirt, pressing the fabric down against his skin, absent - mindlessly covering the healed wound. Elbows rest against the top of his knees. Trying to look nonchalant ( like he isn't scared ) despite the obvious tension in the way he's holding himself. He flinches as the jacket is tossed his way, caught off guard as the garment lands haphazardly across his form. Raises a brow in response — questioning, but not enough to argue back. The cold is biting, and after a quick moment of hesitation he pulls the coat around his shoulders completely unaware of it's origin.
"Jeez, thanks." ( sarcastic edge ). "You gonna tell me what you want now? Why you're even bothering with me?"
HAND TWITCHES AT HIS SIDE, A JERKY LITTLE MOVEMENT LIKE HE’S GOING TO SLAP THE KID. He won’t, of course, he won’t — he’s not a monster — but it’s a close call. Adjusts his glasses nonchalantly instead of reacting to the insult, smile lingering in the well-worn smug lines of his eyes and lips. There’s space between them, sure, but considering how hard William has been trying to close the distance for weeks now, tracking his son, tracking this brat…. Well, the gap between them now is child’s play. Literally. Fragile. Broken at any minute. He’ll indulge Gregory his space because really, really, he’s already got him exactly where he wants him.
The silence has lingered too long. William breaks it and his reverie with a short chuckle, a shorter exhale. Goes back to pacing up and down, eyeing Gregory from every angle. The kid clearly isn’t any sort of a threat, not to William, anyway. “If I’m really his dad,” he parrots, amused, “why, did you think he was lying to you? Or perhaps you think I think you’re worth lying to.” Like he’s not a means to an end. Although, the boy is roughly the same age as Evan would have, should have, been. The idea of reuniting his whole family is tempting. Given enough time, he’s certain he could convince Gregory to shelter under his wing. It’s worth considering, and William stores the idea in the back of his mind.
It’s Evan’s coat he tosses at Gregory now, old but well-kept, warm and cosy in the harsh winter. “I had food for you too, you know. But if you’re hungry, I suggest you stop insulting me.” And the smile is gone, icy frost dripping in his glacier features instead. As quick as it had disappeared, William shoots Gregory another amused grin. “And then we’ll have a little talk. Wrap up. It’s a cold winter, after all.”
❝ who did you insult this time ? ❞ tlou au
CATCHING FIRE (2013) SENTENCE STARTERS ( I think? )
★ — "Who said I insulted someone? Was it Liz?"
Doesn't come across as the denial that Gregory intends it to be — instead a quick shift of the blame, changing the subject and pointing a finger in another direction as if he'll have the guts to call Elizabeth out for being a snitch even if it was her. His brows are furrowed, nose beginning to scrunch up in some show of distaste and yet he won't make eye contact with Michael as he pulls his shoes off and swings his bags down.
The first sign might be that he's home late from the school building. Gregory was usually quick to head home after ( what felt like, at least ) mandatory socialization. He made it no secret that he preferred to be in the company of his guardian as opposed to literally anyone else. The second might be the mud on his shoes ; the kind that only really stuck around by the front gate of the commune at this time of year.
Doesn't help that word travels fast in a community this small ; gossip was entertainment, and who better to gossip about than the newcomers who didn't fit in.
"I didn't — I was just saying I could help. Y'know, with patrols. S'probably a better use of my time than school."
A huff. He's scowling now, still not making eye contact. It's been —— not an argument between him and Michael, but a source of disagreement. And Gregory is essentially admitting to going behind his back regarding it. He shrugs. As if it's no big deal.
" .... and they told me no. So I said they were stupid, 'cause they are. I mean, they let Oswald go out, and the only reason that guy hasn't shot someone on accident is pure luck."
❛ You’re okay. You’ve just been asleep for a few days. ❜
CATCHING FIRE (2013) SENTENCE STARTERS
★ — For lack of a better term, Gregory wakes up feeling like shit.
Every inch of his body aches. Limbs feel as if they're made out of lead, heavy and bearing him down into the cushion he's only vaguely aware he's laying on top of. Every breath is conscious, a battle against the weight pressing down on his chest. It's a monumental amount of effort just for him to lift his head, trying to look in the direction of Michael's voice. The movement makes his stomach churn.
Gregory whines in lieu of a real response. It sounds pitiful.
Saying he feels like he was hit by a bus might be an understatement. And not horribly far from the truth of the matter, considering the last thing he remembers — the soft clack of something hitting the dirt behind them, both of them turning and just as quickly Michael pushing him towards the ground and covering him with his own body before the grenade exploded.
The memory momentarily makes Gregory panic ; with some hassle ( the movement almost frantic ), he rolls to face the other direction ( towards where he assumes Michael is ), where he sees a familiar head of dark hair sitting just in front of him.
"What ... happened?"
Voice is scratchy from disuse, and he's squinting against the sunlight streaming in through the windows. Windows. He can barely see a flash of blue glancing at him in a mirror. The cushion underneath him. The soft rumble ringing in his ear, shaking his makeshift bed. This is a car .... how'd they get a car?
" ... where?"
They'd been so close — they shouldn't have needed a car. Gregory tries to sit up, rolling his knees up and under his torso, but a wave of nausea overtakes him and he presses his face into the seat with a groan instead. His mind is foggy, bits and pieces missing, faces of people talking to him but he just can't reach out and understand what they had been saying. He just remembers being scared.
....
.... not for himself. He'd been scared for Michael.
"The fireflies, they .... they were there."
( that's who had thrown the grenade. he remembers, the symbol on their uniform ).
"Where —— where're they? .... Where ar'we?"
He gives up on trying to sit up. Instead, flops back down onto the seat, lets himself roll into the corner. Stares at Michael as he drives, his own breathing heavy as he starts to fully come to.
" .... what'd'you mean a few days?"
❛ The most important thing here is we need to stay together. ❜ @jeremangled
THE WALKING DEAD SEASON ONE SENTENCE STARTERS
★ — Gregory's never been outside the wall before.
The thought sits heavy in his chest— this is all completely new to him— a constant weight, a steady, thrumming fear. He has no clue what to do, how to maneuver this terrain, how to get where they're supposed to be going. Michael and Jeremy navigate like its second nature to the pair, and Gregory is acutely aware that he may as well be dead weight.
He sticks closer to Jeremy for the simple fact that the man makes him feel less terrible about that than Michael does.
Gregory hears ( more than he sees, eyes practically glued to the ground as if he can will the rocks and rubble to not shift under his feet and cause him to stumble as he walks ) Jeremy come to a stop and shuffles his feet to mimic the abrupt stop. Blinks in response, a little confused.
"Um — 'kay."
He lifts his eyes to nod in agreement, taken aback by the seriousness in his tone. A beat of silence passes. Gregory opens his mouth to ask a question— promptly closes it. He'll just annoy them. Jeremy turns to lead the trio once again, and nearly as soon as they take their first steps onward once more —— yeah, he can't help it.
"Why? Where are we going? Is there gonna be infected? Or is it more FEDRA patrols? Does FEDRA patrol this far out? Do you guys see fireflies when you come this far out?"