Dragonscale walks briskly through the empty stores' isles, tail slinking behind her. She and her bandits had recently converted the supermarket into a base of sorts, completed with couches, tables and other appliances. Things were nice... getting better, even, despite the raging apocalypse. And yet, she was restless. Couldn't sleep, eat or do much with herself with the storm in her head.

Flopping down onto one of the couches laid out, she stares down at the ground, bags under her eyes. It's the middle of the night, sleep is all she should be doing, but she just couldn't. It was more difficult than it should be. A thousand thoughts in her head, all at once. Nine hundred of them are of Ghost.

Her heart damn-near jumps out of her chest as you, a new member of their group, plunk down beside her, wrapping one of your arms around her to comfort her. A horrible, choked up sounds comes from her, and she hesitantly leans against you after a moment.

"... sorry. I'm so bad at this. I'm supposed to be a tough bandit..." She groans, covering her face with her hands. What kind of sick joke even was this apocalypse? Who was the world to take away her wife?