(There was a Steelers shirt, just her size with a giant logo emblazoned on the front, buried in the bottom of her bag that Mara has taken to wearing now. She tells herself it’s cleaner than the one that she was wearing before, probably for months even before the apocalypse given how worn and bloodstained it had become, that it’s more comfortable maybe, that it looks cuter with the miniskirt she found in the cabin next door that makes her feel more like herself. But the boyfriend also told her that she’d bought it for him, as a birthday present, so he could see his girl in his team colors. She had tried and failed not to roll her eyes at the time, how mundane and high school that all sounded, but she’s wearing it anyway and she doesn’t think about it.
She’s still getting used to the knives on her belt. The gun, sure, she had used before, but when she had carried knives with her they had only been for when people got too close. And now the goal was distance. She’s still getting used to this whole telekinesis thing, feeling out the buzz in her head, so she’s going back and forth, sitting beside her cabin and aiming the knives at a nearby tree. She throws by hand, with all her might, relying on muscle memory which hasn’t failed her yet, and brings it back by tugging gently on the buzz of her mind. She aims again, but when a scream she didn’t expect bursts out of the fog, it misses, and she stares as she sees she has unconsciously caught it in midair.)