Zombie Apocalypse (pt13)

Tim quickly tried to salvage her perspective on the matter and what all tabs he did still keep on his father. “The seminar was still in town though. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t be at home right now. As soon as he wakes up, he’ll get it. It’s just…”

“Tired after a full day? He’ll wake up when his alarm gets him ready for the last day of the seminar. Which might be a little late for him then to drop everything to drive over here.”

Tim chuckled. “Well, yeah. It’s why I’m up in the middle of the night trying to get someone to do something.”

“And you can’t do something?”

“Again. What? What I can do is try to convince Heherson to stop, right? So I went to get the person I thought could best accomplish that. I’m not trying to make your life more difficult, Irish. I’m trying to make sure you can even have that meeting of yours tomorrow.”

Irish bit her lower lip. “Oh, fine. I will talk to him about it.”

Neither of them moved. She messed with his button some more, obviously wanting to grab a needle and get to work on it, but there was no longer time for that. Tim sipped the rest of his chocolate down. “Thanks.”

“Promise me?”

“Hm?”

Irish finally looked back at him, scowling once more. “To come with me. I’ll talk to him, but I’m not going over to his place alone. Come on Tim, the man has started to summon a horde of the dead! Why would I go alone?”

“Eh.” Tim shrugged. “Well, you’re the one with a car. Leave the button be for now, Irish. Go get dressed.”

With a sigh, she left his coat on the table and returned to her bedroom. Tim stood back up and washed out his mug. Well, this had gone as well as he could have expected it too. With the pressure mainly off of him, Tim felt much more confident that the next day would have significantly less zombies in it than it had the potential earlier this evening to have. With that load off his mind, he waited patiently for Irish to get dressed. They got into her car and she drove them both to Heherson’s house.

whoops

She had accidentally proposed to the wrong person.

I know the difference between Tom and Mark,​ she thought. Just as she knew it was Tom in front of her and not Mark. Tom stared at her blankly.

She cleared her throat. “I… from behind… why are you wearing Mark’s coat?”

“Why are you proposing to my brother?” asked Tom.

“That’s not an appropriate response.” She frowned, embarrassment gone. “Why are you wearing Mark’s coat? You ruined my surprise!”

“You proposed to him with his back turned to you?”

Yep, all embarrassment was gone. “It was a surprise! And none of your business how I do it!”

“Shouldn’t he be proposing to you?”

That was it. She scowled. “Why can’t I?”

Tom tapped a finger against his chin. “Because-”

Mark entered the room. “Tom, why are you wearing my shirt?”

It was time to figure out a way to keep Tom quiet.

In reach

Saoirse didn’t care so much about clothes, except that they be serviceable enough to get her through what she needed to get through. Warm for those terrible cold winds, airy enough for the harsh sun – whatever she needed.

Catching Toiréasa in something different than what was usually considered good for travelling… Well, that was a different matter entirely. It reminded her of those days, right when the world was turning on its head, when she would catch a glimpse of the fire from the top of the craeg. Before the outfits became more and more suited for usage of the sword.

Saoirse was certain she preferred those outfits. The ones best suited for Toiréasa to wield her blade. However, there was something to be said for those skirts catching in low breezes, shoes that would have worn through if they had been worn through any length of their current journey.

There was something to be said for a dress, because it reminded Saoirse that she wanted that house up on top and the girl that had always been beyond her reach.

The house might still be, but the girl was right here.

MOTHS

She opened the front door and before she could say anything, the request was made.

“Can I borrow your wardrobe?”

She looked at her friend, standing right outside her house. “My… entire wardrobe? As in my closet space or the clothes in it?”

“The clothes.”

“What? Why do you need my clothes?”

“We are about the same size, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s say my room has had a moth infestation while I was on vacation.”

She grimaced. “Yeah, come on in.”

Why does anyone wear white?

There was a pink sweater on the side of the road. It hadn’t always been pink. It had, shortly before, been white. Before the fruit punch had soaked through it. “Whoops,” he said, staring down at it.

His friend sighed, a long suffering sigh that came from being his friend. “Another one?”

“That’s the problem with wearing white, man.”

“Then why do you always wear white?”

He thought about that. “Maybe I just like buying new clothes?”

“But you don’t.”

He sighed, putting his hands in his pockets as he continued to look down as his sweater. “If I did though, that would be convenient.”

“We’re getting you something less… stainable.”

He smirked. “Look who’s talking.” He sipped at the rest of his fruit punch and ignored how a drip fell down the side and landed on his shirt.