[ After last month, Len isn't taking any chances. There's something simultaneously reassuring and frustrating about the way that this place resembles home, with its pervasively dangerous environments and constant onslaught of creatures that want to kill them. Before setting out he can be found along one side of the convoy, prepping his weapons and offering to do the same for any passers-by.

They don't have the luxury of not taking what they can when they can get it, which is why he also doesn't hesitate to explore the hospital. Might be the first time he's seen one completely upside-down, but beggars can't be choosers. The hallway they're in is dark and rotten, and something clicks before a few sensors start winking on. ]

Well, that ain't right. [ His pistol is already drawn. ] Watch your back.

i. new mexico

[ He's a lanky kid, barely a teenager judging by the awkward skinniness and messy hair. Suntanned but sweating and fearful, skin shining in the light of the pueblo buildings around him, their timber roofs ablaze. Behind the crackling of the fires and the shattering of windows there is an ugly laughter - gunshots, screaming - and it's difficult not to stand and stare, dumbstruck as a limp body is thrown through a broken door in front of him and the man that follows it turns to look at him.

It's like seeing a giant for the first time, all black leather and a crazed look in his eyes, blood slicking off of the rusty blade in his hand. That mouth cracks into a sick grin as another firebomb explodes behind him and the sound startles him into a terrified sprint, weaving between adobe walls in a blind panic, the echoing shouts fading behind him.

When he finally stops running his chest is heaving, the little community is a bright speck in the distant night and he's damp, having frantically clambered through a creek. Out the other side he collapses, shivering, against some old, marked stones. ]

ii. new reno

[ Cigarette smoke and live music fills the room in a crowded casino, The Shark Club written in neon on the wall over the bar. Slot machines and craps tables are sprawled across the main floor before dumping out into seating for the entertainment; a corner stage surrounded by chainlink fencing. Protection for the talent against an increasingly rowdy crowd. The decor leaves something to be desired, utilitarian and concrete, but the club is more inviting than the dirty street outside even if it gives off the distinct impression that it's run by some sketchy people.

The opening act for the main attraction is onstage: a man in his twenties, wielding a guitar and accompanied by an associate on the piano, executing a rousing rendition of an old pre-war song. They wrap with applause and soon extricate themselves from the only thing protecting entertainers from the occasional glass bottle, the young man meandering over to the bar to tap the counter for a stiff drink.

Once acquired he turns leisurely to the person next to him, giving them an obvious elevator eye and a pleasant smile. ]

Ain't seen you 'round these parts before.

[ He has horns now, and he kind of hates them. It isn't that it's the first obvious evidence that he's changing as much as everybody else here, and it isn't that he feels a little bit like a Bighorner - it's that he can't wear his goddamn hat. Probably doesn't help that he bumped into a couple of those weird tumbleweeds rolling through the convoy, and now he feels like he's experiencing mental exhaustion like no other.

He projects an evident frustration with the circumstances, but he also feels like he can pick up what other people are putting down: exhaustion, fear, anxiety. Len considers himself a pretty excellent reader of people, but this is a little like being assaulted. ]

You, uh...you doin' all right?

[ Pretty much open to anything and everything outside of what I've provided, but I'm going to tag around a bit too! Let me know if there's something specific you'd like and I can always make a separate prompt for you. My plurk is yeeheist and my discord is uncalendula. ]