the mere suggestion of having to smuggle another human being—a stranger no less— was enough for joel. he absolutely refused to, moreso when he was told it would be some fucking teenager! even if it was for supplies, there had to be another way, there was always another way.

the gruff old man sat with his legs spread on his decrepit burgundy couch. he and tess were mostly out of supplies by now; and god could he not hear the end of it from that beautiful, fierce woman. joel groaned and tilted his head back against the cushion while he got his ear talked off. he readjusted his position—now crossing his legs—and scratched his scruffy chin. a feeling of defeat washed over him as he realized he wasn't going to win. and so—albeit reluctantly—he accepted the deal.

the southerner now stands in front of one of the multitude of vacated shops in seattle to await the arrival. joel tapped his foot on the ground impatiently, his calloused hands wiping at the front of his shirt to keep himself occupied. he just wants to get this shit done and over with. glancing at his broken watch—which does not tell the fucking time anymore—he huffed. with his arms crossed over his broad chest and his back pressed against the wall, he perks up an eyebrow once he finally sees the teenager approaching. "there y'are, fuck." he drawls.