you aren't born with strength, you cultivate it

RHYS | Cause I know that talking hurts

Published: 19 JUNE 2023

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Rhys has a fun time™

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In less of a rush to vacate his property and more of an innate need to get back as quickly as possible, Rhys throws a brief "be back" into the living room. He's answered by his daughters, sister, and Xander, the latter choosing to bid him adieu with a rather unconventional "so long, fucker." If it weren't for the fact that he already closed the door behind him, he would've either thrown something at the man or bit back with a snide remark. Whatever was more convenient. And, seeing as they try to keep clutter from their front door, it might've ended in the two of them shouting between one another (fondly in the only way practical brothers could) or taking it to the yard to roughhouse.

Huffing in fond exasperation, he shakes his head from side to side and bounces from their meager porch to the driveway. Rhys whistles a forgotten tune that failed to escape his brain, blaming it on those from the Firehouse as it must've been one of them that gave him the worm. But he can't deny the half-baked song from leaving him as he shimmies to his beast of a vehicle and spins his keys over his index. It takes little time for him to approach his beloved truck, the black Rancher XL currently a little worse for wear with duct tape holding together three of the four windows. He's yet to get them fixed, the rear windshield having been his first priority to ensure the vehicle would be roadworthy. Not to mention the whole engine having to be fully repaired due to stray bullets striking it. The engine, rear windshield, and the driver's side window were dealt with before anything else.

With little fanfare, he dives into the driver's seat, enclosing himself in the relative safety of his vehicle. He pulls his firearm from his waistband, shoving the holster in its rightful place between the passenger and driver's seat, sticking it in the crevice made from the compartment in the center and the driver's seat. He pulls that compartment open to ensure his needed items (insurance, registration, the likes) are inside before sealing it shut once again. Rhys has to make sure his wallet is still in his right pocket before he puts the keys into the ignition, checking once, twice, and three times before he feels it's good to continue on to the store.

Backing out of the driveway, and precariously avoiding the white picket fencing he just fixed a week ago, he slips backwards down the winding slope and into the main street. Well, he would hardly call the street a "main street" seeing as few people chose to transverse through the hills and left that to the more experienced people who actually knew how to navigate the winding, twisting, confusing maze of roads that look the same. Righting his wheel, he makes his way down Baytree Canyon toward Sanora Road in hopes of entering Harmony and Sandy Shores. He wanted to avoid going into the city, not wanting to play traffic light simulator, and instead visit Sandy Shores for their better stocked convenience store. While Harmony had the better coffee and donuts, Sandy, probably due to its proximity to the Sherriff's Office, had better stock in terms of long-term items. Frozen pizzas, produce, chicken, ham, you name it, Sandy probably had it. And, if they didn't, they wouldn't mind having it ordered specifically for those that avoid the city like a plague.

Mrs. Evangeline, though, is just one of those people who doesn't mind going out of her way to help people. Being the owner of the recently renamed "QuickStop," she often hires those desperately needing money, even giving job experience to teenagers to help prepare them for adulthood (sometimes finding temporary housing for the ones either running from home or the system). She's one of the ones who helped cultivate a better community out of Sandy Shores instead of raging crackheads and rednecks. Most of those people migrated to the abandoned boat house or Stab City. They should feel lucky the Lost didn't occupy that trash den any longer, or they'd be running for their lives.