Post by Deleted on Oct 2, 2014 18:08:33 GMT
 In all reality, ‘anxious’ didn’t even begin to explain how she felt. Not in the slightest. Her hand made minute progress towards the doorknob before she’d pull back, her gut stopping her before her mind pushed her hand forward again. Serra’s head turned to check over either shoulder before she finally grasped the handle, testing the resistance as she turned her wrist before slowly pushing against the heavy wood until it swung inward on its hinges. Unlocked, unbarred, zero resistance. With a strong sense of paranoia and hypervigilance at her back she took her first step into the home, .45 lowered to her side as she took a minute to just listen to the house. It seemed quiet enough thus far, but that was never a guarantee. Edging over the threshold she silently closed the door behind her, peeking into the dining room to her right before nabbing one of the chairs to jam beneath the door knob as a temporary barricade. After all, this was only going to be a quick in and out run, grab and go. Serra’s light eyes swept up the stair case that rose before her, and she moved to set her rucksack at the foot of the stairs before beginning to make the short assent with her back to the wall. Her gaze was fixed along the sights of her pistol as she brought it up to be level with her collarbone, knowing full well that she’d never even consider firing a shot unless that was the only option. It was really just an intimidation tactic. More than once she’d seen groups get annihilated because the noise brought on by the gunfire to take down one or two draggers attracted a dozen or so more. Needless to say, she was already a quarter of a mile away by that point and gaining distance. The top floor, containing two bedrooms and a single bathroom was uninhabited, though she did grab a pair of thick wool socks from one of the dressers. It was going to start getting cold in a few months' time, and the last thing she would want to add to an already less-than-ideal situation was cold, wet feet. As she returned to the first floor and stored her find in her bag, she slung her belongings onto her back before clearing the living room and finally moving through the dining room with the intent of finding the kitchen. A restrained sigh of relief left her lips when she was content in discerning that she was in fact the only person (living, dead, or somewhere in between) in the house. It was at times like these that Serra reflected on the occasions that she had gone hunting with her father, and while she was a decent shot, she was no Daniel Boone. That was, she wasn’t so much a survivor as a scavenger. Couldn’t track for the life of her, which really was a necessary skill if you had any hopes of completely cutting yourself off from the city. Serra just wasn’t ready to do that yet- because she knew she wouldn’t make it on her own in the wild. It was only a matter of time before all the canned goods ran out, but she largely preferred to pretend to be ignorant of that fact. As expected, the pantry was mostly bare, only spilled boxes and empty cans remaining. To her credit she did find a can of Spam shoved to the back of one of the upper ledges and a jar of peach preserves that had rolled underneath the shelving unit. Without bothering to check the date on the preserves, and hoping more than anything that it was still good, she unscrewed the lid and pilfered a forgotten spoon from one of the drawers of the ransacked kitchen to take her first bite. It’d been some time since she’d had peach preserves, and she was truthfully rather fond of them. Her eyes scanned through the slats of the mostly boarded up kitchen windows that streaked the once magnificent, dusty room with slivers of sunlight, taking a moment to just breathe. She paused briefly, spoon mid-way from the jar to her mouth, before shifting to look from a different angle when something beyond the glass caught her attention. A flutter of motion of some sort. A wicker table and chairs, a grill…. It was a patio. Her once pacified heart stuttered weakly as she picked up on the distinct sounds of movement through the archway that presumably lead to a mud room. It was at that point that she realized what a potentially fatal mistake she had made; she hadn’t checked the back door. tagged: (carol ;; open) words: (782) outfit: (link) notes: (n/a) |
made by remi of i'm so curious