[center][B]Christina[/B][/center]
Chris kicked at a rock embedded in the dirt near the well. The stubborn thing held its own against her boot's tirade, only serving to strengthen her bad mood. She sat on the edge of the well, her good arm gripping the stone while the other rested in her lap. Her hand annoyed her too, a reminder of her stupidity and weakness. She avoided looking at it, instead focusing her gaze on the attic. Had Mercy left yet? 

That didn't seem to help her mood either. She rolled her shoulders, huffing at the stiffness of her joints, and got up. Exercise always helped clear her mind before the apocalypse rolled around. Chris plotted her path from the well, turning on the spot, and set off at an easy jog. As the stable neared she picked up the pace, and again as she passed it, until she was sprinting. 

The voice of her captain came back to her the more she ran, drilling the officers across the station. Memories followed; the image of the station still fresh in her thoughts as if she had been on duty yesterday. She swore she felt the weight of her gear then, and the echo of her boots on the station floor. Chris let herself become lost in the memory, vanquishing all other thought. The pain of her hand and the soreness of her knee seemed to disappear. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, and she smiled.

She ran laps of the farm until she saw someone leave the farmhouse, then began to slow. Chris came to a gradual stop outside the barn, the pain in her knee and hand returning but now only a dull ache. She hesitated to enter; at the sight of the bow and quiver she knew who it was. Scolding herself, she walked into the barn. "Mercy?" she called out softly. She found her near Bandit's stall. "I wanted to apologise. For my behaviour, earlier."


[center][B]Anthony[/B][/center]
After she had torn from the room, Tony spent a good few minutes just sitting on his designated bed and staring at their half-packed bags opposite him. He wondered if anything he said made any kind of difference to Chris' choice. He wondered a long list of things, unanswered questions like embers threatening to come alight in his mind. The longer he thought about them, and the attic and the fuel run and the state of the world as it was, the more uncomfortable he became. So he rose from the bed and slipped quietly out of the room.

He walked along the hall as if he were sneaking out; making careful heel-to-toe steps and eyeing the doors on either side. When no one seemed to be disturbed by his manoeuvres, he allowed himself to be the slightest bit less cautious. The farmer's dog and cat scurried past him then, and he turned his head forward to see what frightened them. As he rounded the corner towards the front of the house, he spotted the cause of their fear; Cat had left the attic. Tony swallowed. "Hello," he whispered, the level of his voice betraying him. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. "Are you feeling better?"