The cool thing about salicylic acid is that it's actually pretty easy to find in nature. The *bad* thing about salicylic acid is that it requires having to peel bark off the little copse of willow trees nearby, and Reid never was that handy with a knife. Eda, one of the community doctors, had offered to do it for him, but he'd felt like today was a day he needed to take a walk outside the walls. As much as he loves routine and familiarity, sometimes even he needs a change of pace.
So here he is. In nature. Scraping willow bark.
And getting jump scared.
The whistle has him jumping like a startled deer, but training kicks in a split-second later, and he turns sharply, gun drawn and pointed, knife still in the hand he's bracing against his pistol. Luckily for the guy who startled him, it's pretty immediately obvious that he's not a walker, so the pistol's muzzle swings down to point at the ground, but not put away.
"Yes, that's me?" he replies, voice rising at the end to make it a question, eyes narrowed in wariness. He wishes he cut more of an intimidating figure -- his bulletproof vest lays on top of an outfit that's in no way *outdoorsy* and is in fact exactly what he used to wear as an agent, slacks and sneakers and a white shirt and a sweatervest. He even has a grey and black striped tie, because it makes him feel better.
The point is, *this guy* looks way more intimidating than he does, much to his eternal chagrin. "Who are you? You're not from Forty-Eight." The community; so named for the highway it's near.
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So here he is. In nature. Scraping willow bark.
And getting jump scared.
The whistle has him jumping like a startled deer, but training kicks in a split-second later, and he turns sharply, gun drawn and pointed, knife still in the hand he's bracing against his pistol. Luckily for the guy who startled him, it's pretty immediately obvious that he's not a walker, so the pistol's muzzle swings down to point at the ground, but not put away.
"Yes, that's me?" he replies, voice rising at the end to make it a question, eyes narrowed in wariness. He wishes he cut more of an intimidating figure -- his bulletproof vest lays on top of an outfit that's in no way *outdoorsy* and is in fact exactly what he used to wear as an agent, slacks and sneakers and a white shirt and a sweatervest. He even has a grey and black striped tie, because it makes him feel better.
The point is, *this guy* looks way more intimidating than he does, much to his eternal chagrin. "Who are you? You're not from Forty-Eight." The community; so named for the highway it's near.