immortal — private

[vix]

[align=center][div style="0px; width:450px; height:auto; text-align: justify; font-size: 11px; line-height:17px;"][font=arial]FACE CLAIM

Her father used to swear to his children they were destined for greatness. Nestled in their suburban home, they had nothing to worry about with the exception of their future ahead. How in the world did it deteriorate in the span of three months and a day? There was no proper closure with her parents, with Russel, and the sweet child she swore to protect despite the discrepancies of him not being her father's, she'd lost in the blink of an eye. Again, there's no closure, but unlike the others she doesn't undergo grief as she'd done Russel, her parents. It could just mean she was already used to it, the loss, or that apart of her was aware that he could be alive.

Even with all odds against them.

She felt repentant relying on kin that weren't her own. Being alone, with just two people was what she was used to, however it's not easy to find just one person to trust without suspicion and Clementine learns something about herself within the one month time span of being without her brother: She doesn't like to be [I]alone. After she'd been robbed, nearly losing her life in the process of trying to get what's hers, they'd found her: Timmy, Isabelle, Sahara, and Jackson. They quarreled more than they agreed, yet they at least had a destination. The Hills.

"I had a grandfather who stayed there. It's our safest bet." Jackson says. Clementine couldn't argue with that. In comparison to the city, the population wasn't by much. The absence of people meant the absence of them. Didn't mean it would diminish their problems but a problem or two was a hell of a lot greater than ten.

Driving closed the miles. Clem was relieved she didn't have to exhaust herself on foot, that she could get a half-proper night's sleep without Timmy talking her ear off. They rest has is spent walking before finally, they near their destination. Clem isn't sure what she was expecting, but it's closest to normal she's seen in awhile. Not just normal, but welcoming.

"Forewarning you my grandfather never been so nice on the welcomes." Jackson cautions, opening the gates to allow entrance to the property. The air is so much cleaner here, she can breathe. A barn isn't too far off in distance. If Clementine can't play nice, maybe she could stay there. She smiles pleasantly to herself.

"I'd stop right there if I were you." A gruff voice warns. It's become second nature she reaches for her gun. Her gaze lands on the silhouette of a man who eyes them. Despite his exceptionally great posture, his bones and gray hair implies he's older. Jackson takes a step forward, raising his hands. "It's me, Jackson. Your grandson, remember? You said I could come here anytime."

"Who are they?" The man huffs. He doesn't let go of his gun.

"Some friends." He turns with them, quietly pleading with those who have their weapons to discharge, before introducing them one by one. "Isabelle, Sahara, Timmy, Jackson, and..." He glances at her, smiles softly. "Clementine." She smiles back before he turns back around to face his grandfather, who remains unimpressed. Quiet.

"Just let us stay for a little, to at least get the truck together and then we'll be on our way. C'mon." Clementine exchanges glances with Isabelle. "Oh, I see what this is. You replaced me. Who is that?" Jackson deadpans.

Another person?

Clementine directs her attention back to Jackson's grandfather and beside him, stands not a man, but a boy that carries a gun much bigger than himself in a boy scout's uniform a little too big for him. Clementine recognizes him immediately. Even with the momentous expression painted across his features (and it's so unlike him it's comical), he still had those [I]eyes. Their mother's eyes. That blonde hair. Their mother's hair.

[b]"Preston!" Everyone watches in shock as Clementine darts to him, leaning down to envelope him in a hug. It's much longer than intended because she wants to make sure he's there. Not the kind of there where she thinks he is when she hadn't ate and starts to hallucinate or when she's dreaming, but actually there. When she's sure he is, she pulls away, cupping his cheeks in her hands to solidify that thought, eyes searching his.

[b]"You're alive."

[impiety]

[align=center][div style="width: 400px; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 8.5pt; text-align: justify;"]Preston liked to practice climbing the trees, he liked to practice hiding, training himself for the worst to come - though he wasn't sure it could be much worse than this. It had been months since he met anyone he knew, except a grumpy old geezer. The man wasn't mean necessarily, but Preston knew he was not family. He was not family to his siblings either, nor their father. Perhaps not even his mother - Preston was a mistake, and he didn't really have a home to call his own.

So he supposed that lack of belonging with the old man was the same as life had always been. That was why he adjusted easily, but also changed. Hardened, cold even, he was unafraid and confident - he would not be confident in others however, but himself. He did not want reliance and dependence on a man who probably would be approaching his deathbed in a little while, and he was getting to be big and strong. His body was in a sort of awkward manner, rather young features attached to a boy growing lanky.

The old geezer he stayed with was walking along the path, and though supposed to stay on track as well, he decided to climb the trees. His small body clambering branch to branch, using his shoes to grip against the trunk of the tree every once and awhile, he could hear the other scolding him to get down. He wanted to climb to the top, but settled for sitting against the center, still giving him a good view ahead and ignoring the man who was approaching the entry suddenly drop dead silent.

However, the realization that someone was entering made him stare, and it became clear that there was more than one stranger. The urge to defend property came upon Preston as he maneuvered down with surprising amounts of speed, and raced to the old man's side standing similar to a soldier waiting to be sent to battle, his eyes scanning over the trespassers. He was fiddling with his gun before holding it, pointed and copying the man by his side. He'd arrived just in time to hear the name Clementine and his eyes lingered on her. Would she even recognize him, or would she and just ignore him out of shame? He was not really her family. He was his own man, he belonged to no family.

When she looked at him, his face was an expression of confidence, importance, chest puffed out, the look almost as though to claim he was in power without actually uttering a word. It took him a moment to process her darting forth and hugging him, and unsure how to react, he stood stiff as a board, gun lowering in an almost lazy way. He didn't pull back from the hug, he - was relieved, if he was honest. For a brief moment, he was tearing up, stepping slightly closer as his head burrowed into her shoulder, shoulders tensed. But he sniffed indignantly anyways when she stepped back, looking at her and slowly pushing her hands from his cheeks, embarrassed as he looked out the corner of his eye at the old geezer.

"Yeah. Of course I'm alive." He huffed, seemingly offended. "Did you think I'd die?" He asked, rubbing his eyes in hopes they'd dry. Preston looked up at Clementine quietly, and then to the group with her. What did she care about him for? She seemed to have a ton of other pals, maybe even more siblings or something crazy. The slight crowd felt even more unwelcoming than it did when it had just been his siblings and their dad. Sniffling and bouncing his gun up briefly with a knee, he stared.

[vix]

[align=center][div style="0px; width:450px; height:auto; text-align: justify; font-size: 11px; line-height:17px;"][font=arial]As far as she's concerned, Preston isn't aware of the secret that burdened the marriage of her father and mother, bruising the relationship what seemed to be a tight knit family. Clem used to think the world of her mother up until her 'business' trips were proved to me much more than business. Seven year old Clementine thought she'd hate Preston and like Russel, she wanted to. But when she saw him cradled in her father's arms, something shifted in her. A young girl who despises babies, wanted to hold Preston every chance though she nearly couldn't. Camcorder footage nearly encompassed the two of them and the potentiality of an unbreakable bond. Her father treated him like his own and was enamored by him and she understands, because so is she. 

She's taken aback, not by his words, but how he expresses them. The Preston she knew months ago wouldn't be so offended by her words, as if it was abnormal to expect anyone in this predicament to still be alive if you didn't have them in your sights for more than an hour. He should know that, especially after all they'd lost. [b]"Of course not, Goofball, you've always been the toughest of all the Kennedy's, you know that." She counters, smiling feebly. She's not sure why he is acting this way, but she could only hope it's due to others being present. The sweet boy, with all his childlike innocence, couldn't be changing, could he? The one who still dwelled on their parents being alive, of Russel being alive. No.

"Whose that girl to you, Preston?" Jackson's grandfather wanders aloud, impatiently interrupting a reunion. Before Preston can answer, Clementine does. [b]"I'm his sister." Her eyes flicker to the others of her group who are still dumbfounded by this unlikely reveal before looking back at the man who narrows his eyes, as if he's contemplating before finally, he speaks. "Preston, go check on my horse will ya'" Clem turns to her brother who obeys, treading off to the barn. "While ya'll here what I say goes, but you only stay as long as he try n' get that truck runnin' ya here?" Everyone is visibly relieved, including Clem. But there is a sudden barring weight on her shoulders. Her flicker towards Preston once more.

"Clementine? Make sure Preston does his job. Sometimes he gets distracted. Name is Denver by the way."

Clementine glances at Denver, nodding. Preston already obtained distance from the others, almost as if he's expecting his sister to follow and wants to disappear before she can. She hurries after him, speeding to a jog and once she's by him, she slows down, allowing just enough strained silence for her to catch her breath. Finally, she speaks, attempting to relish in standard conversation. [b]"This place is really nice. Do you like it here?" She ponders, glancing at him. [b]"How did you end up meeting him in the first place? Did he save your ass or did you save his?" She deadpans, smiling.