There's a certain aesthetic you adjust to when you're surrounded by the decomposition of society, one that makes it very immediately apparent that Glenn is not where he belongs. After emerging from the Ingress, his gaze moves over the computers that line the walls with building alarm, his brow furrowing and eyes widening.
Slowly, he turns until he's facing the portal from which he emerged, stepping backward from it as he stares. And then, his face contorts in desperation as he searches the room. There are other people here - living people, strangers, and that's cause enough to be on guard, but having been so clearly removed from where he belongs, there is an imperative he must address and therefore only one thing he says.
"Maggie!?"
moira: observation deck }
He's still dazed, really, by the time he makes his way to the observation deck, staring out into the vastness of space, trying to comprehend that the world (such as it is), every person that he loves and everything he knows is far beyond his ability to see, even as a pinpoint in the black. It's impossible, but he's adapted to the impossible before.
Stepping forward, his gaze moves over the sweeping expanse of the forcefield. It's something of a sight, really. He's relatively clean by the standards of his world, but his clothing is a bit tattered, the utilitarian pants and flannel faded and patched. His unruly hair is swept back save for a few loose, long strands that fall over his eye, and his facial hair has been left to do as it pleases.
There's no way of knowing which way is home, but it's not as if he could accomplish much with that knowledge at the moment anyway. Still, he stays there for a long while, staring rather solemnly into the distance.
whatevs } [ do your own thang. hit me up on plurk if you want to run it by me. idkmybffinternetcelebrity ]
glenn rhee | the walking dead
There's a certain aesthetic you adjust to when you're surrounded by the decomposition of society, one that makes it very immediately apparent that Glenn is not where he belongs. After emerging from the Ingress, his gaze moves over the computers that line the walls with building alarm, his brow furrowing and eyes widening.
Slowly, he turns until he's facing the portal from which he emerged, stepping backward from it as he stares. And then, his face contorts in desperation as he searches the room. There are other people here - living people, strangers, and that's cause enough to be on guard, but having been so clearly removed from where he belongs, there is an imperative he must address and therefore only one thing he says.
"Maggie!?"
moira: observation deck }
He's still dazed, really, by the time he makes his way to the observation deck, staring out into the vastness of space, trying to comprehend that the world (such as it is), every person that he loves and everything he knows is far beyond his ability to see, even as a pinpoint in the black. It's impossible, but he's adapted to the impossible before.
Stepping forward, his gaze moves over the sweeping expanse of the forcefield. It's something of a sight, really. He's relatively clean by the standards of his world, but his clothing is a bit tattered, the utilitarian pants and flannel faded and patched. His unruly hair is swept back save for a few loose, long strands that fall over his eye, and his facial hair has been left to do as it pleases.
There's no way of knowing which way is home, but it's not as if he could accomplish much with that knowledge at the moment anyway. Still, he stays there for a long while, staring rather solemnly into the distance.
whatevs }
[ do your own thang. hit me up on plurk if you want to run it by me.