Slatyr [0002]

Narrative of how I'd understand the character's archetype:

The lining of their respective shoes were rubbing blisters into the toes and heels of the group's aching feet, as nothing but gravel, railroad ties and asphalt are what brought them here. The entire trainyard would sit quietly in a stillness that she'd been forcing herself to adapt to, unsettled by the sheer number of bare skeletons and useless vehicles of all those lifetimes prior.

Their return trip to what was once Fenway Park had given them only time for brief respite, as breathing in the wintry air of this new Boston was taking more of a toll than she would've anticipated, going into that long-lost tradition of the holiday season. Pondering the memories of her husband and child - she knew, would utterly haunt her being, had she stayed in her best-if-left-forgotten neighborhood up north.

Before those two lost centuries, life in Massachusetts was subtle, gradually shifting through family obligations and preparing for her return in the Spring of 2078 to life as a paralegal. Her practice with firearms would need years of improving, as she never expected to become an active-duty cop after law school.

That former cage fighter and neglected canine would provide morale, company and combat support, yet the aloofness of that dishonored mercenary would need to be addressed by the time they'd return to the theme park to check for her misplaced rifle. The group would still need more fire support if her matriarchy of raiders is to ever amount to anything beyond a failed flock of small-minded morons.

Her collection of cigarettes and narcotics in her possession would only provide her spriit the lingering temptation of choosing whether she should proceed forward into the harshness of this deadening world, or leave herself behind and journey beyond consciousness, desperately longing to meet the two men she'd left in some place she could only hope would be eternity...

What to do...