( HANGOVER HEART : VISITING? JOINING? )

[WANDERER]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Val had grown up with a moderate life. Moderate temperatures, moderate people — moderate everything. At the time, it had been everything to him. The vault would get hot and he would grouse about it, sweat and sulk because all his friends (and his enemies) were sweaty and lazy with the heat. It would get cold and he would curl up under piles of fabrics like it was the worst thing he could experience. His life had rotated around memorizing facts and the stinging bite of petty insults that Butch would fling at him. He'd adjusted to violence amounting to scuffles in the hallways and the collie's blood on his tongue. That was a moderate life, and one he now recognizes was unsustainable. In the end, he supposes he should thank his dad for leaving. Throwing his life into absolute chaos, all that. Everything that followed. He learned to stitch up his own wounds, sleep in sweltering heat, and — talk. To Butch, mostly.

He'd learned a few things out here in this world, which gave him nothing in moderation. At the edge of Snowbound's territory, the German Shepherd is freezing his ass off. It's not the first time today he's found himself jealous of his — of Butch's coat. Thicker and silky, though still not meant for this goddamn place. It takes a moment for him to swallow the bitter realization that they wouldn't be grousing about this together, but that's his own fault anyway. Like he'd said, nothing in moderation. Things were good or they were absolute shit, and now Val's on the downwards half of this roller coaster. He shivers harshly, entire body shaking for a moment before he gets it under control. He just has to be patient. Someone will come along before he freezes, he's sure. (He just wishes it'd be someone more familiar than these strangers. It's a far-fetched hope.)