The confirmation was good to hear; considering that Zack was the one who'd trained Fleet to become a weapon in the first place, who'd been instrumental in his first kills for survival, his was the opinion and approval that was the final word in Fleet's trajectory as a fighter. Not that he intended to make fighting his primary activity, but all the same. It did feel good, both to have that skill under his belt and keep improving it, and to have Zack there as a constant source of training.

"I've always aimed big," Fleet said with an airy confidence, tossing his head, horselike and bold. "And considering how familiar I am with your body by this point, tiger, and the way you move it -- I think I've got a fighting chance. More than." Fleet almost said that he might have Zack on his back, but once the bigger man reached out and cupped his skull, strong fingers fleecing through Fleet's growing hair, he thought better of the boast.

"Apprenticeship is good," Fleet said, warm to the topic from the get-go. "I like the work and Alden likes teaching me, even if I think he finds me sort of ... perplexing." Fleet laughed, shaking his head. "Which is fine. I've changed a lot since when I first got here. Sometimes I hardly recognize myself."

"You're used to it by now, no reason to stop fighting with it. Don't fix it if it ain't broke." Zack turned to cast a short glance at Fleet walking beside him, after hearing the slight hesitation in his voice. "And you're doing well with it." It wasn't the first time Fleet had affirmed his choice to continue using the crowbar. Always took it with him when they went outside the walls, and from time to time, Zack factored it into their training. It worked for Fleet, in more ways than one.

Zack had just turned back when Fleet bumping and rubbing up against him like a cat made him turn his head around again. The short moments of affection had become more common recently. That comment, in turn, pricked at the back of his neck. "Oh really?" Zack asked. "Those are big aspirations, kid. You sure you can live up to that?" He raised his eyebrows, before turning his attention to the path, breathing out softly. "Keep training. Good thing about is that you'll never be done with it. You can keep getting sharper."

Zack reached out, cusping the back of Fleet's head with his hand, running his fingers through the budding curls, down to the thick, shifting muscles of his neck. He'd been able to see the growth on Fleet's body, the growing heft of compact muscle. When they were training, he could feel their resistance. That he had to use more force, more energy to keep him down. Yeah. Maybe. "How's the apprenticeship going? Alden's doing a good job teaching you?"

"Okay then." Alden's reassurance mollifies Fleet's concerns somewhat -- only somewhat, though! -- and he says, "I want to know about you. It's a tricky path to navigate, is all. Like I said: minefield." He scrubs his face with his forearm, having worked up a sweat with the bellows and with the kindling fire, glowing hotter with more ferocity to it now. "There's a shit-ton to uncover and so long as you let me, I'll keep doing it."

Manifesto stated, Fleet leaves that where it is and listens to Alden give his view on killing, its place even in the zombie apocalypse. "I'm not pretending," he says, watching those coals and stones glow. "It does weigh on me, heavy." Fleet flexes his hands in the gloves, looking down at the frayed edges. "I can feel the way my crowbar jerks in my hands, even when I'm not holding it. There's such a specific way bone crunches when you hit it, y'know?"

Fleet insists he's not sensitive but his tone becomes sharp... Yep, he hit a nerve. If his tone of voice wasn't enough proof, the look he gets in reply sure as hell is. "You think I'm gonna start cringin' every time I see you or somethin'? I'm not sure that's how brains work. And even if it was you got to do a lot more than make me remember bad memories to get me cringing at the very sight of you." With a soft sigh, he lets a beat a silence pass before speaking further. Unlike Fleet, he's not good with words. It takes him a second to piece together what he wants to say.

"I hear you," is how he starts because it feels right. "Killin' somebody isn't an easy choice to make. I'm glad you were able to defend yourself... To defend Redwood. But I hope you don't gotta make a habit of it. Death and killin'... It weighs on a person. You can pretend otherwise but at claws at your heart all the same." His gaze focuses on the hot, glowing forge for a few moments before returning to Fleet's face. "And sometimes protection isn't a need but rather a want. You may not need help but I like to give it. Cause we're friends. Besides, I like to think that no matter how capable I am you wouldn't just stand and watch someone or somethin' try to kill me."

Most overrated pop star that was honored on Music Camp?

Not really a pop star, but I didn't care for Kate Hudson. She was good in what, one movie? Almost Famous? And she didn't even sing in it!

Fleet accepted the hug with genuine delight, pleased that his attempt at filling the nicotine gap had gone over so well. "We'll see how effective they are!" he laughed, patting Harry's back (and, honestly, hanging on to the other man probably for a beat longer than Harry would've intended; Fleet was nothing if not one to take advantage of being hugged to its fullest). "When the craving kicks in and you light one up and huff catnip instead of tobacco. But till then I'm just gonna believe that they'll be good, and you'll be demanding the recipe to make more!"

OMG. For a short moment, Harry had stared at him like an addict meeting his dealer after weeks of abstinence. "You guys did this?" He asked, having a hard time believing it. He opened the case and gently took one cigarette to look at it. "That's fucking awesome." He chuckled and smelt it quickly. "Thanks dude, really." Harry was more than grateful, a huge smile on his lips. "Fuuuck man, I love it, come here, you're not escaping a quick hug." He added before putting his words into action, still chuckling about all of this.

What is the origin of love?

I could tell you, liebchen, but you've got blood on your face and I've got blood in my eyes.

After the ranch and what you went through, is there still something that scares you?

It would be ridiculous to claim that nothing scares me anymore just because I can physically fight now. The same things scare me, in fact. Losing people I care about, the Daybreakers, getting eaten alive. Those things didn't stop being terrifying and they probably won't ever.

People aren't going to like how you're changing. It'd be best if you went back to how you were before

Shoot! You might be right about that. I'll get on top of turning back time and make myself into a teen idol again.

...everyone changes, man. I can't go back to how I was before; I don't even know how to be that guy again.

if zack asked you to, would you dress up in your little Music Camp uniform?

My Warblers uniform??

I mean, sure. If he wanted it, why not? My Music Camp memories are all good ones.

Are you sometimes glad that your dad died?

Sometimes. And sometimes I'm glad my uncle died. And sometimes I'm glad my cousin Oneal died and sometimes I'm glad my mom died. Sometimes I wish that I'd died.

I think that's normal, though, for what we go through every day. It's not like I'm trying to die, or I want to die; it's not like if any of my family was still alive I'd want them to die. It's just this isn't how any of us saw life being, and it's hard, and it's disturbing and weird, and sometimes it seems like a better option to not have to survive it, y'know?

with @zackastor at their lakeside cabin

"--still don't think I'm gonna give up the crowbar fully," Fleet was saying as they made their way around the last round of the lake, the cabin in sight now. "I've used it so much I think at least half of having it as a weapon is psychological, y'know? It's used to me, I'm used to it, plus, y'know." He chewed his lip slightly. There wasn't any real need to say the last part, but Fleet made himself voice it, nevertheless: "Since I used it to dispatch the last of my family I might as well have *something* to show for it."

He huffed out a long breath, instinctively ranging closer to Zack to bump against him, ducking his head; his hair was just long enough again to start curling instead of only being textured, and he rubbed the crown of it against Zack hard before separating again, swinging his arms crossed in front of him and behind again. "But I could really take someone even without a weapon, now." Fleet cocked a look at Zack, with a sidelong smile. "Maybe you, someday soon."

"You sound like my personal life coach," Fleet said a touch drowsily, lulled by the warm water, the domesticity of this little shower scene, Zack's fingers against his head tending to him. "I'm glad you approve of my optimizing my time and my fitness in the pursuit of my ultimate goal of becoming a living weapon. Maybe I can find a suitable advertising partner for proper synergy." He chortled, leaning back easily and eagerly against Zack's much broader, heavier body when he felt his man's hand clasp his throat.

And there it came with a demand, as well, lighting fireworks up Fleet's spine at the clamp of Zack's hand tighter, until he gasped. "Sure," he said, reaching behind him to touch Zack's thigh, feel the long firm muscles there. Fleet was fitter now than he had been before the Ranch, but his body would never be like that; he'd forever have softer, squashier places, pads of fat that showed up for cushioning. It didn't bother him, especially now that getting into swim trunks didn't mean the possibility of pics showing up on Just Jared the next day.

Besides. Zack liked how he looked. Enough that he intended them to be doing something that very intimately involved how much they liked each other's bodies, and company, and general everything. "For a whole week? That's a lotta confidence, tiger." He turned in Zack's arms, looping his own up around the taller man's neck and leaning up for a kiss. "Might as well not waste any time, if I'm housebound."

"Working out's productive if you got a goal. You're trying to be a weapon, kid. You ain't training for the sake of it." Zack reminded, massaging Fleet's scalp until the water finally ran clear. He knew well enough what Fleet meant, because Zack had done it too. Finding something to aim at and pivoting himself towards it, instead of moving in one spot just for the sake of not standing still.

Zack's eyes wandered over Fleet's back, his arms, already growing broader, but still having that agile quality that had been his advantage in fighting. Bound to grow broader, stronger. "Blacksmithing's good. It's gonna help you. Trains your body, too." Zack agreed, wrapping a hand around Fleet's exposed throat and pulling him close. He could feel the wiry muscles there too, tensing and flexing below his fingers as Fleet's pulse thrummed up against his hand.

"I want the first weapon you make." Zack squeezed down on Fleet's throat, feeling a spark at the way the kid's pulse quickened under his touch. He pushed up against Fleet, the water pattering against his neck as he pressed his chest and body to Fleet's backside. "You can ask Alden about training next week. I'm not letting you leave the house. I'm keeping you here."

"It's got nothing to do with being sensitive." Fleet's tone turns a little sharp on the word; he stares at Alden with his thick brows furrowed, wanting to get this point across. "I don't want you to see me coming and automatically think that you're gonna have to endure a conversation about the things you've been through -- which are uniformly horrible, Alden -- and develop a kneejerk reaction. I don't want to ask you about yourself if it's gonna end up making you averse to my company. That's what I mean."

Alden does go on to ameliorate slightly, saying that things have been getting better for him in Redwood, and Fleet nods, taking that in. He gives Alden a twisty sort of smile when the other man warns him about being careful not to get burned, saying, "It's different since the Ranch, y'know. I don't so much need protecting anymore." The work on the bellows had gotten the coals up, hot and glowing, and Fleet's looking at them when he says, "--I killed people. I'm not talking walkers. I mean living people. I killed them with my own hands. So I'm not like I was before."

At Fleet's words, Alden shrugs. Much of his past isn't pretty. Both his life before and after the end of the world has been pretty fucked up. Still, feeling stupid compared to the living dead hellscape they've been put into feels like nothing. He's mostly gotten over feeling dumb. Mostly. "Keep talkin' to me and you're gonna trip into a lot of things," Alden confesses. His past ain't pretty but his present? It's getting better. And it will likely only get better as he makes more friends -- friends such as Fleet.

"I ain't that sensitive," he assures Fleet, gaze focused on the fire. Fleet is a lot more empathetic and sensitive than he is... He'd hate to make Fleet upset on his account. "I've gotten over most of the bad shit anyways. Pre end of world stuff don't matter much anymore. And the stuff that happened afterwards... It's startin' to matter less the longer I stay in Redwood. Redwood is a safe place. Ain't no one gonna beat you or starve you here. As long as we all keep protectin it and each other we'll be fine. Speakin' of protectin' you should be afraid of gettin' burned. Burns aren't easy to treat no more. So be careful or I'm kickin' you out." There's a subtle playful tone to his last remark. He wouldn't kick Fleet out over getting burned. He might scold him a bit, though.

That was a question that Fleet knew the answer to: the answer that most people generally wanted when they asked. In actual entertainment industry circles, anyhow, which meant there was a good chance that Drea didn't want that answer, but he wasn't going to tie himself into knots about it.

"Why, you'd be the lead, of course," Fleet said easily. "Dye your hair purple, stick on some more of the attitude you've already got going naturally, and boom! Instant crowd appeal."

He snickered a little, saying, "...means you make the big bucks. Anyone would be crazy to turn down being the lead if it was offered to them."

"Oh cool, thank you. " She wasn't sure what was going through the guy's mind. However, she had the feeling that he was just repeating it for himself, to anchor it as a reality. She could sympathize with that, but was not really willing to go down a rabbit hole she had no intention of sticking around for. Fleet had probably people for that.

"I disagree, everyone si meant for hair dye at some point, that and a shaved head, which you already did. " Drea pointed out. " I don't think I want to go purple just yet, been there done that, but you know things you keep for trading that you think maybe could be of use. " she shrugged. The firefighter nodded. "Maybe , or that season that shouldn't have been greenlit but did anyway because of fan petitions. It would prooobably have something with dead in it or momento mori or something. " She took her binoculars and did a sweep. "Who do you think would be the lead in this series ? "

Zack Astor + Fleet Summers

Love.

@fleetsummers

"Yeah, I mostly make them. Won't be some for a little while now, until spring fruits start coming, but we've got enough till then. There's a huge glass jar in the community common room full of these -- help yourself anytime."

Drea's response to his comment about having to kill his dad was fine; Fleet hadn't really said it in order to kick off any sort of deeper conversation or swapping of war stories, he just ... wanted himself to be acclimated to saying it. Killing his father had been a necessity. These things were a part of life now and he didn't want to get precious about it. He wasn't gonna flinch or feel that lance of pain and anger and regret every time he thought about Cole, or when anybody mentioned him. And this was the way to begin building that callous.

"I don't think I'm meant for hair dye," Fleet snickered, "but if you need a hand making sure yours doesn't turn out lopsided and unintentionally ombre, let me know." Drea did an about face, probably discomfited by the Cole talk -- which would be understandable -- and tossed out a more frivolous question, which Fleet pretended to ponder. "Aren't we in Season 4?" he asked. "I mean, going by common knowledge, anyhow. I guess we'd be called ... anything other than one of those generic titles that are impossible to search for online. We can't be called 'Redwood', for example, because that would just bring up trees."

"Ooooh, nice, thank you ! " she cheered in excitment. She took fruit candy and tried it. "Wow, that's really good, did you make it? " she asked, just so she knew who to go to for healthy snacks. She chewed and chewed and let the flavour get to her, and then she stopped, when Fleet overshared. Usually when people overshared , they did it as a defense mechanism, to accept a hard truth or they just liked to talk about them.

She did not think Fleet really meant to say that much, but instead of going for sorry and a pity she did not have in her right now, she did some act of compasion. " That hair must have been heavy to wear, but not everyone can rock a shaved head, if you want to dye it after the next crisis, I have some bleach and purple or red dye I traded a while back. " There was no mockery in her voice, it was as if she stated facts. She was the same, her hair was messed with after something taumatic or awesome, especially when she could not just face herself in the mirror afterwards.

"I hold your word on that. " she left that conversation there. "What would you call the movie or series we're currently in ? " she changed topic. "And what season or sequel are we in right now. " She glanced down and saw someone enter the perimeter, she recognized the face and just went back to the conversation.