It wasn't a surprise to see the other girl arm herself the first chance she got, considering the circumstances. Kennedy eyed the remnants of what she immediately recognized as a lacrosse stick. A moment passed where she frowned, reminded of her old life. The one before all hell broke loose. She used to have it so easy. The perfect job, teaching something she loved to young athletes that looked up to her. What she wouldn't give to go back to it. But she wasn't in Kansas anymore, and there were no magic shoes to send her back in time either. 

Just as she was about to proceed leaving, the girl spoke up. It was clear it had been a while since she had come in contact with anyone too. A slight wave of relief washed over her, and she put the gun in the holster at her side. "I'm Kennedy. This is Enzo," she said, patting the dog on the head. "Nice stick by the way, STX? Or maybe used to be an STX." She laughed nervously, unsure of the proper etiquette for post-plague greetings. She didn't figure offering her hand out for a shake would go over well, so she stayed still where she was. 

"And you are?" She questioned. From the looks of it, the woman had set up shop here in this yacht. Not too shabby, who wouldn't want to live on the water? "Is this... where you live?" Kennedy hadn't had a permanent place to stay since the plague broke out, she never camped out in one spot for more than 3 days. She gathered resources, rested, and then moved on. The promise of safe-zones on the west coast kept her moving.

[@Wintergrey]