As Ellie takes a seat on the couch, Joel eyes everything around him warily. He slowly walks further into the room, eyes landing here and there on furniture that isn't his, personal effects that aren't his, a sense of lived-in-ness that certainly isn't his.
Well, fuck it. At least, it's safe. For now, anyway. Better than being outside, hell of a lot better than being caught up in crowds and noise and potential danger, which is more or less imminent danger as far as Joel is concerned. He turns, shuts the door behind him, locks it, turns the deadbolt, puts on the chain. He shrugs off his backpack with a low sigh and sets it on the floor by the couch. Damn, his shoulders are aching.
The windows. He gives his shoulders a quick roll and then he's making his way over to the windows; he looks out first, gauging for escape routes in case they'll need them, then snaps the curtains shut. He does the same on the other. He turns back around and does another quick sweeping glance over the room; he quickly calculates what furniture can be used to barricade themselves in if need be. Bookshelf. Chairs. A table. Okay. Good.
And then he's starting through the living room to check the rest of the house out, to find out other escape routes, lock up any other doors, secure the place.
He comes to a short stop at the door leading to the kitchen at Ellie's words. He turns and quickly looks at her. His brows knit in a flicker of a worried frown. He takes in the way Ellie is sitting there on the couch, all liveliness and excitement she'd just been exhibiting now replaced with a pensiveness that makes Joel's stomach do a nervous clench.
She's gotta tell him things he's not going to like? That don't sound good. He shifts on the spot, hands balling into subtle but nervous fists at his sides. "What is it?"
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Well, fuck it. At least, it's safe. For now, anyway. Better than being outside, hell of a lot better than being caught up in crowds and noise and potential danger, which is more or less imminent danger as far as Joel is concerned. He turns, shuts the door behind him, locks it, turns the deadbolt, puts on the chain. He shrugs off his backpack with a low sigh and sets it on the floor by the couch. Damn, his shoulders are aching.
The windows. He gives his shoulders a quick roll and then he's making his way over to the windows; he looks out first, gauging for escape routes in case they'll need them, then snaps the curtains shut. He does the same on the other. He turns back around and does another quick sweeping glance over the room; he quickly calculates what furniture can be used to barricade themselves in if need be. Bookshelf. Chairs. A table. Okay. Good.
And then he's starting through the living room to check the rest of the house out, to find out other escape routes, lock up any other doors, secure the place.
He comes to a short stop at the door leading to the kitchen at Ellie's words. He turns and quickly looks at her. His brows knit in a flicker of a worried frown. He takes in the way Ellie is sitting there on the couch, all liveliness and excitement she'd just been exhibiting now replaced with a pensiveness that makes Joel's stomach do a nervous clench.
She's gotta tell him things he's not going to like? That don't sound good. He shifts on the spot, hands balling into subtle but nervous fists at his sides. "What is it?"