[b]Rudy - Outpost/Cafeteria - Matt[/b]

Rudy nodded. "She sure has a way with words." The clerk then handed the pair their food. They soon found a place to sit down and Rudy dug into his meal eagerly. "Reggie wants us to head up closer to New Orleans," he said between bites. "I don't want anything to do with cities. Last city I tried to travel through ended up fucking me over royally. The biters are more concentrated in those areas and you get a shitton of bandit groups hoping to live off the scraps the dead left behind. But now that we're looking to expand, Reggie is desperate for new people and some fresh supplies. I know it isn't Myriah's stupid plan, 'cause she would agree with me."

Rudy paused and stared at his food. He shook his head. "Just between me and you, it hasn't been the same around here since we elected the council. We're all over the fucking place now. Efficiency around here has turned to shit. Soon, everyone will be looking to Reggie because he seems to be the only one with a goal in mind." Rudy shrugged. "Whatever that goal may be."

---

[b]Bex - Outpost/Cabin - Enrique[/b]

"Damn," Bex said when he saw the state of Enrique.

Tyler grinned at the man. "Holy hell, look at you go, Enrique." He walked over to the man and gave him a pat on the back. "You think they'll be mad about the chair?" Tyler broke into laughter at his own joke and led Enrique back inside. "Let's get cleaned up. Killing some of those damn walkers has earned us a little reward."

Twenty minutes later, they sat around the fireplace again, but this time Tyler had poured them some wine. "Been saving this lovely stuff for the right moment," he said, pouring a glass for himself. "Soon we'll be entering Outpost and living a better life, boys." Tyler then clinked glasses with Enrique, but Bex hadn't bothered to pick up his own glass yet. "Not drinking?" Tyler asked, but Bex barely heard him. He was staring into the wine bottle, watching the cool red liquid inside.

Back at the hideout, Bex had broken his eight years of sobriety the night of the raid. He hadn't been drinking long enough to get much drunk, but the next day Bex had found himself feeling like a total asshole. He staved off the guilt by telling himself that [i]Beckett[/i] was the one who was an alcoholic. [i]Beckett[/i] was the one who promised his wife that he would never touch alcohol again. [i]Beckett[/i] had made that promise thinking that he had a future with his wife and eventual child.

Bex had none of this. Bex had promised none of this.

But now, confronted with a drink, Bex found himself feeling conflicted. On one hand, what harm would it do? It was just a glass of wine, and it wasn't like a good drink was easy to get your hands on anymore. Yet, didn't that eight years mean anything?

Bex looked up at Tyler, who looked understandably confused. He opened his mouth to speak, but Bex interrupted him. "Thank you," he said, and he started to drink.