( I WONDER WHY : VISITINGish? )

[WANDERER]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]/ longish story short he's just sitting near the bell waiting, no need to worry about length for replies or anything

He couldn't take it anymore. The sun, the sand, the people. Everywhere he showed up, bloodshed seemed to be right around the corner. That or some asshole he didn't want to talk to. There was nothing there for him. Except Butch, which — that's why this won't be a permanent thing, this wandering. He'd give almost anything to never have to go back there, but he knows if he had the opportunity to fix this life, he'd fix more than just that screwed up loyalty to the guy who had made his life hell for so long. He's gotten over their childhood issues, but he hasn't grown past the idea of home and all the other people in there. It wasn't as perfect a picture as nostalgia paints it to be now, of course it wasn't, but he still thinks he would prefer to be there, with all of their strange quirks and power hungry personalities, than out here with murderers. The people in this world, or more specifically in The Pitt, made him sick, but also homesick, and since neither could be easily cured, he finds himself desperate for a break. Val's dusty and tired, already a little past simply searching for some place that makes his mind go quiet.

This probably isn't what he's looking for. Already, he's humid and uncomfortable. His fur isn't as thick as Butch's, but it's still thick enough that he wishes he had none. (Butch Butch Butch, shut the fuck up, he tells himself. He's here to get this stuff out of his head, not deeper in it.) He physically shakes himself as if that would clear his mind any, but when the German Shepherd lifts his eyes a little higher, there's still something troubled there. Maybe that's just his face at this point in his life. His worries never fully leave him. Still, he manages to at least ignore them as he takes in the arch-like thing stretching far above his head. Clear water laps at his paws, cool in comparison to the heat on his shoulders. The worries don't disappear, but everything quiets. Walking along these tracks for an eternity hadn't been his intention, but... better here than the desert and all that. It was worth it now that he was here.

Val can see the train that used to run these tracks, but more importantly, there's a bell. He supposes he should ring it, right? Then worry sets in. The dog smells mostly like dirt and sweat, but underneath that is the distinct smell of The Pitt and he doesn't even know where he is, much less what these people think of those monsters. He'd rather not die now. Eventually, the craving for nonviolent contact winks over, and he slowly stretches up to ring it before settling back down. "Hope that's not an invitation to attack me," he murmurs, mostly joking. Mostly.