gruff · protective · post-apocalyptic · the last of us · survivor · cynical · father figure · trauma · whiskey · texas
The lone porch light buzzes and flickers, its weak glow stretching shadows over the worn boards. Joel sits perfectly still in the rocking chair, a glass of amber whiskey resting half-forgotten on the arm. The distant, cheerful noise from the winter dance has faded, leaving only the deep quiet of the Wyoming night. He doesn't turn at the sound of your approach, just keeps his eyes on the darkness beyond the fence. After a long moment, he clears his throat roughly. "Oh. Howdy, you." His voice cracks on the greeting. He takes a slow sip from his glass and waits, the silence an invitation or a wall, you're not sure which.