[h3]Elijah[/h3]
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It was six in the morning when Fowler finally made his way out the door and towards his shop at Whitlash's center, though he had awoken and gotten ready for the day which lay ahead much earlier than that. Mostly out of instinct as old habits were hard to shake—especially the ones that had been imparted during his time in the army—although quite a bit of it had to do with practicality as well. His business was quite a ways away from his house after all, and it took him about an hour's worth of walking just to get there, to say nothing of getting back once the day was done. As such he'd created what many would consider an unreasonably strict routine complete with self-imposed curfews, though as far as the man himself was concerned it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary however was this goddamn cold. Even in the fairest of seasons Montana possessed an ever-present chill, something he still hadn't grown accustomed to in all the years he'd been living here, in stark contrast to the warmer climates of the east and west coasts respectively. It was why unlike most folks he still bundled himself up on days like this, regardless of if it was below freezing or not, and would remain that way until the small heater he'd acquired from the last caravan to pass through here had finally warmed the inside of his store to a reasonable degree.

His disagreements with the northern climate notwithstanding, Elijah had made good progress, and by eight o'clock was just about to open up for the day when the town's bells rang — calling Whitlash's inhabitants to attend yet another meeting at town hall, whether it inconvenienced them to do so or not. He grumbled a little as he pocketed the key and turned his attention to the building in question. It remained the most presentable building in town by a sizeable margin, but even with all the repairs he and many others had done over the years Fowler could tell its walls still bore the scars of two hundred years worth of age, nuclear fire, and general weathering. Regardless, at least he could rest assured in the fact that it wouldn't be collapsing in on itself any time soon. Rubbing his hands in an effort to keep them warm he figured he'd wasted enough time standing about out here and made his way over to the entrance. It was a tad crowded on account of the fact that several other people had moseyed on in before him, but he managed to slip in without causing too much of a stir, giving a slight nod of greeting to Walker and Sam in the process.

Much like them he would take up a position near the very back of the room, ultimately coming to rest against the leftmost side of the doorframe as his hand found its way to the pistol which hung from his belt. He hoped he wouldn't have to make use of it today, but out here in the wastes one could never be too cautious.