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The commissary was every survivor's wet dream – stacked high and low with luxuries and necessities, everything she had ever dreamed of scrounging for her own people while beaten down and desperate in the woods. With the ample amount of men Negan had gathered over the years, it didn't come as a shocker. Even on her third visit, she couldn't stop her jaw from slacking from the overwhelming amount of things.
It might not have been as much as she thought it was, but Alexandria had a severe absence of basic items. At least, that was before she left. Perhaps they were doing well. She could only cross her fingers and continue to stack up the points.
The woman that worked there had an unpleasant face, aged and wrinkled with an unfaltering glower etched onto her pale skin. Winona tried to ignore her gaze most of the time, but it was difficult. Her eyes were filled with contempt as if were her 'round the clock job to make her feel uncomfortable. She tried not to let it bother her much: she was in and out of there quick whenever she went. Didn't want to draw attention. In her small basket was no more than tampons and a box of (likely expired) Maltesers she'd promised Sara, with intertwined pinkies.
She asked the wrinkled lady for aspirin, followed by her weekly insulin purchases.
"Lot of insulin you're buyin' each week," the lady commented with contempt, though she couldn't figure why. "What's the deal? Ain't you the girl that broke in here, anyway? You got any business buyin' this much?"
Winona huffed under her breath and grabbed the aspirin she'd slid across the counter. Her voice was carrying and shrill. Her intense hangover with throbbing temples only added to the grating tone. "You got any business questioning me like that? It's for a friend."
"Uh huh." She pursed her lips and rummaged for the bottles of insulin, coming to over a half the number of points she'd earned that week. Winona snatched them and shoved them in her bag, not bothering to give a nod as she usually did before she left.
She could only hope that she wouldn't notify Negan of her suspicious purchases. Even if she did, it wasn't very hard to lie. Negan was a smart man, but he couldn't punish her for what he didn't know, or what she hadn't done yet. Winona clutched the plastic bag close to her chest and rounded the corner.
She 'shop' as they called it simply, was beside the commissary where workers would set up tables and sell what their own creations. She'd never gone there. She was busy doing other things – like teaching kids and going on runs. She'd heard through people she worked with that many of the people who took gathering points into their own hands by selling their creations, were never very successful. It wasn't hard to pick out, when most who slouched behind their counter were dressed in thin, barely passable ragged and tattered clothing.
