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just a picture of a cloud
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He walked back to his bag and unzipped it.

"Looks like a lotta junk, mostly. Or, y'know, like good shit and all, but nothing that's gonna stop someone comin' at us with hate in his heart."

He glanced over at Raina's weapon. It was old-leaf green and looked plastic, almost fake, but there was a sense of malice that seemed to radiate out of it in waves.

"Or, y'know, twenty someones."

He upended the bag on the bed, it's contents sending up a mushroom cloud of dust and grime.

"Map. Water bottle. Compass. Shitty looking food. Medicine, I guess. Water bottle. Water bottle. Radio-thingy. Some fucking pamphlet. Water bottle. Fuck!"

He threw the now-empty bag at the wall, which it hit with a flaccid sort of flopping sound, and slid to the floor.

"Shit, Ray, you think they forgot to give me anything? Or maybe we left it back in that big bathroom we woke up in, or something? Fuck, should we..."

He paused, and took a breath. Should they what? Go back for it, why? It wasn't like he even wanted a weapon, really; this was his time to get his soul all polished and shiny, he wasn't going to run around shooting kids.

Still, it did seem particularly cruel, after a lifetime of lacking not to even get this.

He hadn't been given looks, and that was fine. he could live without brains, wihtou money and without muscle, without people liking or respecting or trusting him, without his dad ever treating him as worth anything more than dogshit, without Raina ever being interested in him - all that was fine, and Johnny had made his piece with it, but at least it should earn him something. He should have been staring at a fucking... bazooka or something right now, instead of a bagful of worthlessness.

That was how it went, though. Life sucks and then you die.

"Hey, sorry. Little carried away there, yeah? But we're good. Looks like you're gonna be the brains and the brawns of this outfit, though."

He flashed Raina an excuse for a smile.

"I'll just be the beauty."

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