𝙵𝙻𝙴𝚂𝙷 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙱𝙾𝙽𝙴 | 𝚃. 𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙾 𐂃

- Cristine & Dolores -

Cristine walked near the fences, the chill of the night sucked away her body heat. She rubbed her palms up and down her arms and shoulders, eyes focused on the perimeter of the empty road. It's been some hours since Troy and the others left and it was barely an hour ago she and Jake had that argument. He hadn't convinced her to back his parley, as much as he begged her. But in spite of her own bias against the deeds of Walker and his Nation, there was one thing that echoed through Cristine's skull like a thick liquid trickled through the cracks. "Walker wants the Founding Father, our fathers, dead more than anything. Preferably by his hands... so why deny this? Why would Walker care whether any of us here lives or dies when he's killed us without mercy?" Cristine told herself before that she wouldn't rationalize the actions of a madman, but Jake's comment managed to plant a seed of doubt within her. He was right. And it still didn't make any sense. The Trimbols were scalped and burned, just like McCarthy. Moving to keep herself active and distracted, Cristine didn't know how long she was walking the endless length of fences and heard the distant noise of someone shouting. "-tine!" Furrowing her brows, Cristine stopped dead in her tracks as well and the chilly wind that was a harsh nip could be felt through her clothing. The rapid scrape of boots, heavy rustling that were distinct to the heavy tactical vest, and unmistakable yell of her name, "Cristine!" She turned to the source of the noise and shuffled back a step in reflex when Joe drew close. Trying to pinpoint the man's frenetic dash in her direction, Cristine roamed her eyes up at him, seeing no signs of injury or discomfort on his body. Joe rubbed the side of his chest, panting from the run and caught his breath and pointed in the general direction where the tents were located. "There's- there's someone you need to look at in the infirmary."

Cristine stood plastered in the same spot as when she walked through the entrance the moment she laid eyes on the person in the bed. Her legs felt heavy and her chest constricted. Like the naïve little girl of the past who had no clue what to do. Looking at it made her feel tiny and almost nonexistent looking at the state of her stepmother she'd seen her father in so often and protected Hailey from witnessing. It was like a timer set on a bomb about to go off. Issues that were always present, but never acknowledged or discussed, but only complicated. The presence and memories of her birth mother slowly being replaced in her home from her puerile mind at just six years old. Her breath echoed loudly in her ears and she clenched her eyes rather angrily at this burden. This disease that was put on her shoulders again. And again. And again.

"I was doing my regular shift and found her near the gates passed out," Joe explained, breaking Cristine from her gloomy memories and pushed her confused and anxious thoughts to the backburner. Sprawled unceremoniously in the bed was Dolores. Her blonde locks were a mess and her cheeks were flushed red. She was mumbling incoherent nonsense in her drunk slumber. Hearing the man's explanation, Cristine couldn't spare room to care much for her stepmother's situation. Dolores just laid there like some victim, waiting to be soothed by someone. That someone was her. The fact that Dolores, out of everyone, drunk herself into oblivion was a twisted kind of fate. "Thought it was best to bring her here. Is that good?" Cristine turned her head, eyes raised at the curly-haired ginger-blonde and silently lowered her chin.

"That's good. Sorry about this Joe." Cristine was relieved he didn't ask any questions. It was embarrassing enough he found her outside passed out.