Breaking down

Buster didn't remember how long he sat there.  It had been awhile because he started to drift off and fall asleep in the heat.  His head was rested against the wall and his eyes had slowly closed.  The only sounds drifting to his tired ears were the soft thuds of Mr. Miller being an asshole on the other side of the door.  

Buster's legs were sprawled out with his hands resting neatly in his lap.  His hands, much like shit tanktop were covered in blood.  His eyes slowly opened when he heard a voice.  The blood on his shirt.  The pale greasy look of his skin and the crust in his eyes must've made him look damn near dead.  Buster looked up to see a pretty face.  He wasn't high anymore.  At least he didn't feel high.

Was this real?  Buster said jack shit.  He just stared at her from his place on the floor.  There were a few mutts following her.  Buster's eyes rolled over to the dogs.  Slowly his hand crept back.  So slow you might've missed it if you weren't paying attention.  He allowed his hand to gradually slide off his lap and plop to the floor.  Then he tucked his hand behind his back gingerly... Cautiously reaching for his revolver.  He felt the cool crushing familiar grip under his fingers.  A thumb sliding over the hammer to cock it back.  

Buster's face still said nothing.  He stared at her, he barely blinked.  He made no aggressive motions.  He was just a scrawny fuck sitting on the floor in the sweltering heat.  He thought about putting one between her eyes.  Purely reactionary.  It's what you do when someone has you at gunpoint.  He didn't want to kill her, but he wasn't' ready to die either.  He could hear the shakey bravado in her voice.  That calm collected reassured facade that she had everything under control.  "It's a free country." Buster said shortly as he discovered her intentions.  She wanted to stay in the apartments.  "Though, I gotta warn ya.... As the landlord I'm going to need a pet deposite."  

His humor was dry.  And even though there was a smirk on his face his eyes were cold.  Buster Fleetfoot, never did nothing for no one that didn't benifit himself.  He wasn't sure how having someone else here was going to be advantagous to him besides someone to maybe talk too, but she didn't exactly seem like the talking type.  

"Easy.  I'm fucking with you.  I thought I was the only piece of shit left alive on this god forsaken rock.  What's your name anyways?  We're going to be neighbors.... Might as well know each other's name right?" Buster's finger eased the hammer back down on the gun.  He was feeling more at ease.  Confident in the notion that she wasn't going to shoot him.  She didn't look like she had the balls to put down one of the dead ones let alone some living breathing asshole slowlyg sweating into a puddle of goo on the floor.  

"Name's Buster.  You can have any place here you want, exept 2B.  That's mine.  And 3B"  He  motioned with his head towards Mr. Miller's door.  "That's Mr. Miller.  He's an asshole, keeps prank calling me.  Ringing my doorbell and running away...."  It wasn't entirely clear that he was being sarcastic.  Mr.  Miller's corpse had lost interest in the noises outside and had wandered back into  the back of the apartement after Buster had fallen asleep.  There were no soft thuds at the door.  Only the tense stare down of two strangers.  Buster hadn't decided yet if she was worth keeping around. 

Okay.  I'm going to fucking shoot her.  Buster thought as her dogs attacked his face with licks and kisses.  Buster wasn't an animal hater, but he had certainly never had a pet of his own.  What the fuck would he do with it?  He was never home.  He spent more time breaking into other people's homes than he actually did in his own.  

Standing up he straightened out his Hawaiian shirt.  He flew the back of the shirt out with a flap and popped his collar.  Buster was a popped collar kind of guy.  Most people prefer their collars tucked but it was always his style to have it popped.  Even in the fucking apocalypse, Buster considered himself a guy with style.  Leaning against the wall he ran his hand through his hair slicking it back. 

His hair was wet, just from the sheer sweat of sitting out in the hot sun for however long, but it was cooler out now.  The sun had dropped a little in the sky.  Buster's piece remained hidden away under his vibrant shirt.  "Never heard of you sorry."  He didn't sound very sorry.  He was going to say that he actually lived here before.  But he didn't bother.  Dames like this were high class, high maintanence.  There's no way a chick like this would have slummed it with a guy like him before all the shit hit the fan.

Suddenly the sweet treat as all love and affection.  Taking his hand and leading him down towards the stairs.  Buster slowly pulled his hand from her grasp. He stood there, shoulders slouched and jaw clicking as his eyes rolled.  He looked like he was mulling it over.  His jaw didn't quite line up, his lower jaw swung out awkwardly over the side of his face and slightly agape.  Buster had never been lucky in his whole life.  

He grew up with an abusive alcoholic prick of a father.  He fell in with a street gang and had to fight and scratch for every bit he ever got, but he was never lucky.  Sure he was a hit with the ladies, but he had to put in some fucking work at least.  Buster was a good looking guys but never had he had someone basically drag him to a bedroom within moments of meeting him.  Maybe he was over thinking it.  Maybe being alone had gotten him fucking paranoid, but his gut was twisting up.  

" I said 2D." Buster lied.  They sound similar enough that it could be casually shrugged off as mishearing it.  He was smiling.  Despite his nervous feeling he was all 32 teeth and a big grin.  He was honestly happy to see someone else.  At least he knew there were others out there, but he wasn't riding off into the fucking sunset with the redheaded bombshell.  Even if she had some damn nice legs....

Buster caught his eye wandering and cleared his throat.  "Whiskey first." He said.  His mind was already slightly buzzy from the weed, but he could use a ice cold glass of forget this shit.  Buster followed her down stairs and led her to the neighbor's apartment.  It was the cleanest of the ones he cleared.  The Johnsons weren't even home when shit hit the fan.  It looked lived in.  Nice, upscale funiture.  The kind of shit you order out of a catalogue because you have more money than common sense.  He opened the door and swung it open allowing her to step in first.  He looked down at Dixie.  "Don't shit on my carpet pooch."

Buster stood there a moment.  He couldn't believe this shit.  This girl was full of herself.  Not that he was a stranger to a little cockyness.  "Right.  Because anyone that doesn't want to hop in the sack with you is instantly gay, that' about right sweetheart?  Maybe I have standards.  Not high standards, but standards."  The cool silky material of his shirt felt good against his skin on the parts it was touching.  Light cotton and a god awful ugly silk shirt.  He was usually so particular about what he wore.  Even now days he never liked a hair out of place or a speck of blood on his shoes....

Call him crazy, but Buster actually dug the stylings of a Hawaiian shirt.  It was his style and just below the thin silk was an empty shoulder holster for a pistol, a pistol that wasn't there.  Stupidly he dropped his barretta two days ago on a supply run.  He had his snub nose.  Tucked neatly, discretely in the back of his pants but she didn't know that.  She thought he was a tourist.  He was just hot and liked ugly shirts.  

What she didn't know was Buster's history with drugs and alcohol.  He could down drinks all night and roll a few joints in the bathroom and still be on his feet enough to brawl with assholes at the bar.  He was small, but vicious.  There was a hidden mean streak in the scrawny fuck that hadn't revealed itself yet.  Buster was quite gifted at creative violence.  The kind that is deep down in the pit of your stomach.  The kind that keeps weaker men up at night.  Buster didn't give a shit.  He had handed down his share of beatdowns before the outbreak, and he was sure he would crack a few heads now.  Now that he knew there were more people out there.

It both worried, and relieved him to find out that there were more people left alive.  The TV airways went dead weeks ago.  There were no voices in TV land calmly reassuring everyone that help was on the way.  All that bullshit had stopped and he was left with his own thoguhts, his own regrets and his own bad intentions in a tiny shithole apartement.  The world was rotting to the core, but Buster had been rotten for a long time.  

Following her down to the apartment, Buster had to pretend like he had seen it all before.  Honestly he knew the apartment layout But as far as where everything was he had no clue.  He took the drink without a second thought and instantly brought it to his lips and took a sip.  It would take more than Beneydryl to knock him out.

 Buster raised an eyebrow as she slipped into his lap and said she was lonley.  Persistant motherfucker.  Honestly he wasn't super into it.  He wanted a challenge.  Even when he was depressed and lonely his ego needed to be the persuer.  This girl was all over him and it bored the fuck out of his egotistical side.  His hadn't got any in a while side was kissing back until he felt her going for the gun.

She came up with some half ass excuse about not wanting to hurt anyone and it was enough to raise his suspcions, but he only squeezed her wrist tightly.  He took the gun from her and tossed it behind the couch.  'I hope her dogs don't like to play fetch.' He thought with a smirk.  The smirk didn't last long as the room started getting blurrier.  His eyelids felt heavy and Buster suddenly felt tired.  "The fuck....What did?"  His eyes landed on the drink.  "Mother...."  Buster pushed her off his lap.   

He started towards the door.  He got three steps outside the apartment and slumped agains the wall.  He fell on his but right by the open door.  The cool breeze pushing his hair around his face as he stared angrily at his parking lot.  His car keys were in his apartment.  He wasn't planning on going anywhere today.  Plans fucking change.  Buster reached for the hand rail but didn't have the energy to pull himself to his feet.  Buste heard footsteps and pulled his revolver from his back but his clumsy fingers let it loose.  He watched it tumble down the stairs.  Bouncing twice before going off and shooting the plaster out of the apartment hallway ceiling.  Fuck.  He thought as his eyes started to close.

Chickie didn't do him no favors.  She could have left him to die, it would have been better than taking him to Mississippi.  America's armpit.  Buster was lying in the backseat.  His face was covered in a flop sweat of anxiety and depression.  Worry tore across his features as he moaned out sleeplessly in the backseat.  Weak cries from some terrible dream.  He was running from something. 

 Searching for someone.  Someone important and from the sounds of his whales he had found them dead.  It was the same kind of shit everyone dreamed about now days.... Though if anyone who actually knew Buster had seen it they wouldn't have let him live it down.  Buster's eyes shot open when the car bounced.  He was lying in the back on the white crown leather seats.  Seats so white they hurt your eyes a little and you had to wince away from the brightness. 

He kept his car imaculate.  Sure it looked dodgy from the outside.  The hood had a skull and cross bones panted across it... Only they weren't cross bones but two criss crossing lightning bolts.  This was his racer.  It didn't look like much but it was faster than a jackrabbit making a couple thousand kids.  Before things turned to shit this car would race up and down the streets of Detroit weaving in and out of traffic.  He was a king behind the wheel.  Right now he wanted to throw up.

Buster leaned up slightly.  He made a face and shoved the dog off of his lap and pulled himself up.  His mind was still trying desperately to escape the dingy fog that had him trapped in a bitter haze.  What the fuck was even going on?  His eyes moved towards the sound of a singing voice.  His eyes narrowed.  She drugged me.  Stuffed me in my car and took off?!?!?  This is some Law and order SVU shit.  He thought.  Still, he was half surprised he didn't wake up inside his own trunk.  Had she bothered to look she would have seen an assortment of chemical cleaners, explosively flamable liquids and bottles upon bottles of alcohol.  He was collecting you could say..... Stowed beside that was a neatly rolled up chain, a box of road flares (Honestly not super intelligent to store next to flamable shit) And an emergency supply backpack. 

Buster's eyes moved to the rearview mirror.  He wanted to meet her eyes and show her the coldness that resided there.  "You always drug people you're trying to get friendly with? Or am I special?" There was sassy bite to his sneer.  He hadn't figured out yet that they weren't in Detroit.  They had passed the state line almost an hour ago.  "There a reason   You're driving my wheels babe?"  He wasn't seething mad yet.  Not yet at least.  He couldn't honestly be too mad at her for making sure he wasn't a threat.  She didn't look like much of a threat and he supposed it was better for her to be safe than sorry. He didn't hold it against her.  

"My fucking head hurts, reach in the glove box give me those asprin."  Buster demanded.  He rolled his eyes at the dog that was trying to engage him in a staring contest.  When Buster looked away the dog licked it's lips hungrily and slobber dripped down on his fine ass prestine seats.  He hadn't noticed that yet either but when he did he was likely to hit the fucking roof.  "Just so we're clear...." Buster said palming a few pills and slapping them down his throat.  "I don't like being drugged.... Or handcuffed." 

He said raising his cuffed hands in her face.  "This is a bad start to our relationship honeypot.  Keep this shit up and you'll end up in the friend zone."  There was a cocky smirk on his face.  He couldn't help it, being an ass just made him feel more at home.

It was actually kind of cute that she thought she was in control of this shit show.  Buster had been in cuffs before. He was being honest.  He didn't like being cuffed.  Not even in the thralls of passionless passion.  Cops on the other hand didn't really give a shit what kind of kinks you were into.  He knew how to pick a lock and could have gotten out of the cuffs given some time and a little privacy.  Still, what good would that do other than to send her on edge and make her all kinds of paranoid.  His gun was missing.  He saw the familiar pearl handle grip in her hand as she slid out of the car.

Buster's eyes rolled over the car graveyard before them.  A few cars along the side of the road laid quiet.  They had seen better days.  Buster's hand shot up and ran through his hair pushing it out of his face as the dogs beside him wined and howled.  Buster wasn't big on dogs.  Little miss kidnap didn't bother to check the car because Buster had a spare piece sitting under the passenger seat.  His eyes lit up as he saw it and licking his lips he leaned down and grabbed it.  He slipped it into the holster that lied beneath his shirt.  The thin fabric could conceal it at least.

His eyes moved to the ignition to see that she had taken the keys with her.  Great.  He thought.  Well, he wasn't giong to drive off into the sunset.  He was stuck here, in this situation.  She better not get herself killed with his keys because he didn't really feel like fighting a bunch of walkers to save his ride while handcuffed.  Reaching down he pulled his smokes from his pants pocket.  He didn't move from the car.  He saw the walker sneaking up on her, but it was just the one.  He lit a cigarette and watched with mildly interested eyes as the thing crept closer.  Buster took a smoke and the car filled with the stale smell of Malboro.  The thing crept closer.  Buster leaned over and popped open the ashtray on the back door and ashed his cigarette.  Looking back, the thing crept closer.

He was almost certain she was going to get her ass bit.  The window was down.  He could have called out to her, but he didn't bother.  Instead he watched and saw her competantly handle the situation all on her own.  Like a big girl.  A smirk pushed across his face as he saw the supplies coming back to the car carried by a goregous pair of legs and not much between the ears.  Buster could be a judgmental little shit sometimes.  He formed opinions of people quickly and it was up to them to change his mind.  He had always been that way, but the cold harsh reasoning of his mind was the reason he wasn't face up in a ditch staring at the sun while his greasy hair slowly fell out.

"You going to make it sweetheart?" He jested as she sat in the front seat with a huff.  Buster was giving off some unintentionally hostile vibes .  He wasn't doing anything threatening, but he wasn't going out of his way to help either.  But then again... She did tell him to wait in the car.  Buster leaned over the front two seats with his shackled hands still holding his lit cigarette.  "You know....If you uncuffed me.  I might actually be able to help with shit like that."  He said sympathetically.  His smile was soft and almost kind.  His usually cold eyes were brown pools of 'reasonable man.'  

Trusting a stranger could get you killed.  Not trusting someone who had the skillset to survive in this world could get you killed just as easily.  The car roared to life and Buster eased himself back against the backrest of the backseat.  He stared into her eyes through the rearview mirror.  His question had gone unanswered and all he got for his trouble was a brief smile.  Weather it was contemptious or playful he wasn't exactly sure.  He just knew this was going to be a bumpy fucking ride.  If Buster was being completely honest he didn't mind though.  For the moment the back and forth was at least entertaining to him.  He had sat in that apartment for months with nothing more than empty bottles and roaches to keep him company.  

For the first time since this all started he was actually doing something.  Not what he wanted to be doing, but she had a cute face and nice legs.  He was sure that his charm would grow on her over time.  Buster wasn't looking for another notch on his belt, but the soft touch of a woman would have been comforting.  He shivered when she touched him back at the apartment complex, but his nerves were live fires lit with suspcion and anxiety.  How can you trust someone in this new world.  It was another question that had gone unanswered.  Buster wasn't great at trust before shit hit the fan.  He looked out for him and his and that was it.  Across the passenger floorboard in the front seat was a leather jacket.  There were bloodstains on the sleeves and a few tears in the leather.  It was crumpled in a heap under a few empty bottles and the grin of a reaper magnified through the glass.  The glass bottle with the torn away Miller Light label; distorted the reapers face and made it appear larger and out of focus.

A distant past and long forgotten memories.  Buster pushed that shit aside.  Closed the chapter on the Fool's Dice Club.  He wasn't going to see any of those guys ever again.  It was reasonable to want to distance yourself from the pain of those you lost.  This stupid bitch was running right for that pain.  Something about a boyfriend and family. 

Buster brought his shackled hands up to his mouth and took another drag of his cigarette.  "Hope you ain't getting your hopes to high princess.  This world will kick the shit out of you... Your people are probably dead, and if they're not they're definatly not thinking about you."  It was cold and cruel but it was the reality she needed.  Buster turned his head; leaning it against the back window and just stared at the trees whipping by. 

He thought about a girl he once knew, along time ago.  She wasn't just another in a string of faces. A blur of nightly conquests.  She was someone he gave a shit about.  Everytime he pictured her face he saw the skin hanging from her jaw.  The crushed side of her face and the broken teeth pushing out from the gums in weird angles.  He couldn't remember her sweet smile or the way she laughed.  All he remembered was how he found her.  Buster flicked his cigarette out the back window and grew very quiet.