[center][b]Tony[/b][/center]

Tony clamped his mouth shut to keep from squeaking when the puppy twin pounced on him. His arms trapped, he could do nothing but submit to the gratuitous cuddling. As the twin snuggled into him, he started to feel almost... comfortable. When did he last hug anyone? Long before the infection broke out – he could be very selective about who touched him, sometimes – and Chris kept herself so occupied ensuring their survival she never considered how comforting a simple hug could be. But the very moment Tony became used to the hug, it was over and Dog bounced away, closing the door on the way out of the attic.

Alone with the quieter, far more terrifying twin, Tony looked everywhere but directly at him. Suddenly the floorboards were of great interest to him. In short time, "Cat" began to deliver disused electronic equipment exactly suited to Tony's needs; cables wrapped in yellow, white and orange rubber and a computer from the late nineties. The similarity to a house cat presenting its family with dead birds and mice wasn't lost on him. Still avoiding the man's gaze, Tony went to his knees by the box and carefully rifled through the cables. [i]I need tools... wire strippers, screwdrivers... a soldering iron. That's not likely.[/i]

He was acutely aware of the unwavering stare of the man towering over him; the height difference made even more obvious when Tony knelt on the floor. He tried to keep his mind on the task, and not dwell on the many hundreds of ways this man could torture him. Summoning all the courage he possessed, Tony lifted his head to ask for the man's help once more, and instead froze again when Cat moved, raising his right hand and revealing an iPod.

[i]I'm going to need more screwdrivers.[/i] Slowly, Tony lifted his hand and, being careful not to make any sudden movements, picked the iPod out of Cat's palm. “Thank you,” he said quietly, but clear enough for Cat to hear. “This is, um... very helpful.” He held the device lightly so it was easy enough for the other man to snatch it back if he didn't want Tony to have it. “Do you know if there are tools up here?”

---

[center][b]Chris[/b][/center]

“Yeah, maybe,” Chris replied, cautiously poking a finger in through the mesh and stroking the neck feathers of a particularly friendly hen. Another came along soon enough to nip at her finger, mistaking it for food, and she pulled her hand out of the mesh quick. A small cut, almost a pinprick, bled at the tip of her finger; she sucked it into her mouth before the blood could drop and cause concern. She gave Mercy a sheepish, [i]that-was-my-fault[/i] look.

Mercy's restless steps struck her as odd, but only when the other woman asked Chris to feed the chickens while she snuck into the hen house did Chris understand what the problem was. She considered asking outright, [i]“are you afraid of chickens?”[/i] but decided that might be a tad nosy. Instead she opted to express her understanding with action. “I'll do both, if you like. Feed them and get the eggs.” [i]You don't have to do it if you don't want to[/i], her tone implied.

She stood and collected the bucket of chicken feed. Dipping her hand in, she scooped out a handful of grits and sprinkled them in through the mesh. The chickens flocked to her side of the coop and the first handful of feed disappeared in moments. Chris crouched again and tipped the bucket from the bottom, drawing a heaped line in feed at the edge of the coop. With the bucket half empty and the chickens feasting, she moved around to the small door in the coop and slipped inside. In fluid motions she retrieved the two grain dispensers and ducked back out of the coop. She filled them with the remaining grain and slipped them back into the coop behind the chickens.

Chris stood straight again, dusting grass and grain off her knees. “Tadaa,” she gestured like a game show host to the coop. She looked at Mercy, trying to offer a supportive smile – though she knew not why she felt the need to support this woman. “Want me to grab those eggs?”