After firing off a series of messages to everyone still alive, conscious, and with a working watch--Kira tries to put aside what every lack of a reply might mean and minds his fucking lists.
The schoolhouse is worse off, shocking no one; Mark and the animals are fine. As names trickle in, either through the device or from the people passing through, he stays behind the bar with the books and a bucket of the weirdly vitamin rich peaches, handed off to the shaken up and less seriously injured.
Throughout the day, the glasses in the cabinets rattle with the windows, the lights flicker but hold. It's unnerving, more-so knowing his poor dog is probably in the cellar, smart enough to express the level of spooked he's starting to feel. Whatever his stupid journal said on the subject, he's never felt anything like this outside of brief explosions, the tremors of heavy vehicles or artillery. The latter didn't do much to the buildings downtown.
Watching another round of shingles slide off the roof, falling past the nearest window, he decides that upstairs trumps outside, when nature inevitably calls. The stupid books will be fine, he indicates for someone else to take the post. He might as well see what else he can bring down while he's up there, and make sure nobody is trying to wait this out under a bed.
Closed to Kamala
The schoolhouse is worse off, shocking no one; Mark and the animals are fine. As names trickle in, either through the device or from the people passing through, he stays behind the bar with the books and a bucket of the weirdly vitamin rich peaches, handed off to the shaken up and less seriously injured.
Throughout the day, the glasses in the cabinets rattle with the windows, the lights flicker but hold. It's unnerving, more-so knowing his poor dog is probably in the cellar, smart enough to express the level of spooked he's starting to feel. Whatever his stupid journal said on the subject, he's never felt anything like this outside of brief explosions, the tremors of heavy vehicles or artillery. The latter didn't do much to the buildings downtown.
Watching another round of shingles slide off the roof, falling past the nearest window, he decides that upstairs trumps outside, when nature inevitably calls. The stupid books will be fine, he indicates for someone else to take the post. He might as well see what else he can bring down while he's up there, and make sure nobody is trying to wait this out under a bed.