warning ‼️: WAP, p in v smut (kind of descriptive), oral sex (fem receiving)
THIRTY-TWO: STARS ALIGN
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THE FIRST NIGHT THEY SLEEP BUNCHED UP ON THE FLOOR OF THE HOUSE FURTHEST AWAY like they've done many times when they were on the run. Few sleep soundly, trusting in this community, others can't turn off that blaring alarm in their mind, and it keeps them up. Daryl, for example, doesn't sleep, he stays on the porch keeping watch; Sasha stares up at the pristine ceiling until her eyes eventually surrender to an unpleasant drift. Rick does the same, his fears and worries keeping his body stiff, unable to go into that good night.
"Rick," Jospehine whispers beside him. He stops twisting the ring on his finger and turns to mirror her position. He moves closer to her and lies on his side, one of his arms supporting his head. "You can breathe now."
"I can't." His voice breaks. "The second I let my guard down. . ."
The following morning Rick tries to try, but soon that sense of panic overtakes him when he gets lost on the street. Eventually, he follows the cries of his baby Judith and finds her and Carl with an elderly couple. Judith, not too fond of all the attention of strangers, cries out for familiar arms; she's exactly like her father because once he spares a few words with their new neighbors, he gravitates toward Jospehine after she returns from wherever with Carl, Luciana, and Marigold trailing behind, who visited a nearby hairstylist.
Rick mentioned Jessie by name to Luciana after she quipped, "So do they only give out haircuts to leaders of groups, o que mamadas son estas." (—or what bullshit is this.)
Marigold and Carl were both invited by Jessie to her house because Ron and his friends were kids their age, and she wanted the kids to have each other's company. Luciana went with them because she wanted to meet the women and break down what kind of person she was.
"I hear you are a hairstylist," Luciana says after they introduce themselves. Ron and Carl disappear upstairs, but Marigold waits patiently to be attended.
"Oh, yeah." Jessie rolls her eyes playfully and waves her away. "I'm also a tattoo artist, if either one of you wants one. I have my equipment, it's safe."
"Hell, yeah." Marigold beams, to which LT immediately shuts down.
"No. Marigold wanted—you just tell her."
Marigold brushes off the rejection and pulls out a folded page of a magazine.
"I want my hair like her, can you do it?" The picture is of a black model, her hair is parted in the middle and each half is sectioned into small, thin braids. The front pieces of the model's hair have thicker braids made up of thinner braids, all while each twist has a golden ribbon weaved through.
