Maybe if he'd have a little forethought, he'd have brought something to wrap them up. He's not getting soft, but he's falling back into the habit of thinking singularly. Like he can't rely on anyone but himself, and that's maybe just as bad.
"Might could cure 'em," he agrees, looking critically at the bloody skins. Not in bad condition, though one's got a hole punched through it. Still. Usable. Waste not, want not, right?
"Yeah." Her eyes light up. That'd be perfect--her own thought had been a vague one, of mittens for whoever's hands would fit, but that's nowhere near as good. There's more than enough fur for Judith's feet, no guesswork required. "She's getting to the age where she actually needs shoes."
She'll be running all over the place, getting into everything, sooner or later. No matter how much of a pain it ends up being, Beth can't wait. Everything new she gets to learn and explore is proof that they're doing something right. Judith's getting to live like a kid her age should, not like a fugitive.
She shifts the rabbit carcasses to one hand, leaving a bloody ring around the doorknob as she opens the front door. Whatever--she'll clean it off later. Hurrying toward the sink, she asks, "How do you cure 'em?"
The toddler-- too big to call a baby, now, he's not sure if there's another stage in there-- she's maybe the one real bright spot, the saving grace to this place. He could live out the rest of his days on the road, without showers and parties and fresh clothes, but Judith deserves more. If this place can give it to her, then they'll keep it safe. Somehow.
And if he left, it's why he'd leave alone.
"Salt," he muses, leaving the bloody bundle on the lawn (since it's not like anyone'll steal it, trailing after so he can answer, hesitating a little at the doorway. It's not that he worries about tracking in the mud, he just can't feel comfortable in these goddamn houses. Fuck it, though. He leans on the kitchen doorframe, lets himself childishly revel in the thought of the mark it'll leave on the pristine paint.
"Does the job. Ain't as soft as chemicals... Never did much of that kinda shit."
Beth turns on the tap and rinses off the rabbits, mostly because the novelty of water they can run whenever they want still hasn't gotten old. After so much time out in the woods, she doesn't give a damn if a few blades of grass find their way onto the meat--but she likes being able to wash the blood off everything, her hands included, and pat the carcasses dry with paper towels Aaron scavenged. It's been a long time since she's been able to do that without a second thought.
"The fur'll be soft," she points out, leaning back against the counter. Judith'll never know the difference anyway. For better or worse (and Beth, for one, has never been able to decide), she'll probably always be happy with rough leather. "I can ask Olivia for some salt, if you want."
And maybe she can make a conversation out of it next time she sees her students. Guess what Mister Dixon's doing-- She's been trying to work their group into discussions where she can, anyplace it might help the kids get to know them.
Somehow the offer takes him by surprise. It shouldn't, because of course that's the logical thing to do, but on his own-- well, he'd just wait until he could scare some up. Maybe stuff the skins in a freezer, since they can do that. Miracles never fuckin' end.
"Sure," he murmurs, not sure what else to say, somehow rebelling at the thought of asking for anything. Maybe just because of the chance they'll say no. But it's for a good cause, and they're all in this together, all that shit.
"I dunno." She doesn't know Olivia too well--not yet, anyway--and some of the people around here look at them like they might be a little bit feral. Not everybody, though, and if Beth's the one asking, maybe it'll be easier to get a yes. "But maybe. She seems nice."
Beth wipes her hands on her jeans unconsciously, leaving a faint streak of blood on one leg, and looks over at the rabbits. "I should probably ask for some vegetables for dinner anyway. Just regular salt, right?"
It'd suck if it turned out he needed something special.
Probably he'll have to look for more, but that's not so bad. Ain't like bulk salt is something people would think to take, probably; even picked-through shops might have a couple boxes left.
Besides, the worst that could happen is it won't work.
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"Might could cure 'em," he agrees, looking critically at the bloody skins. Not in bad condition, though one's got a hole punched through it. Still. Usable. Waste not, want not, right?
"Pair'f boots for Judith, maybe."
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She'll be running all over the place, getting into everything, sooner or later. No matter how much of a pain it ends up being, Beth can't wait. Everything new she gets to learn and explore is proof that they're doing something right. Judith's getting to live like a kid her age should, not like a fugitive.
She shifts the rabbit carcasses to one hand, leaving a bloody ring around the doorknob as she opens the front door. Whatever--she'll clean it off later. Hurrying toward the sink, she asks, "How do you cure 'em?"
no subject
And if he left, it's why he'd leave alone.
"Salt," he muses, leaving the bloody bundle on the lawn (since it's not like anyone'll steal it, trailing after so he can answer, hesitating a little at the doorway. It's not that he worries about tracking in the mud, he just can't feel comfortable in these goddamn houses. Fuck it, though. He leans on the kitchen doorframe, lets himself childishly revel in the thought of the mark it'll leave on the pristine paint.
"Does the job. Ain't as soft as chemicals... Never did much of that kinda shit."
no subject
"The fur'll be soft," she points out, leaning back against the counter. Judith'll never know the difference anyway. For better or worse (and Beth, for one, has never been able to decide), she'll probably always be happy with rough leather. "I can ask Olivia for some salt, if you want."
And maybe she can make a conversation out of it next time she sees her students. Guess what Mister Dixon's doing-- She's been trying to work their group into discussions where she can, anyplace it might help the kids get to know them.
no subject
"Sure," he murmurs, not sure what else to say, somehow rebelling at the thought of asking for anything. Maybe just because of the chance they'll say no. But it's for a good cause, and they're all in this together, all that shit.
"Think she'd give it?"
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Beth wipes her hands on her jeans unconsciously, leaving a faint streak of blood on one leg, and looks over at the rabbits. "I should probably ask for some vegetables for dinner anyway. Just regular salt, right?"
It'd suck if it turned out he needed something special.
no subject
Probably he'll have to look for more, but that's not so bad. Ain't like bulk salt is something people would think to take, probably; even picked-through shops might have a couple boxes left.
Besides, the worst that could happen is it won't work.