Luckily, the kitchen had been abandoned by the time he got there. Having grabbed a small notepad and a pen from the front desk on his way in, he quickly began to appraise their food supply, stooping down and starting with a low cupboard that served as a dry pantry for cereal and a wide variety of canned foods. Unfortunately, he found that the cabinent was almost empty upon inspection. "Cereal... check," he said with a sigh, scribbling on his pad.
He reached back and began to rummage through what little was left in the cupboard, freezing when his fingers touched on a box of empty taco shells. Those had been bought especially for Fred, he remembered. He grimaced, getting back to his feet and moving on to the next cabinent.
He felt pathetic, unable to take a simple inventory without thinking about Fred. It was a fresh wound, and it still stung. He'd never thought Fred would be the first of them to go... he'd always thought she would be around long after the rest of them. She was too smart to get herself killed, too cautious... at least, that's what he'd believed. But now she was gone, leaving a gaping hole in her stead. That demonic shell did nothing to fill it. She only made the pain worse.
Sighing again, he leaned back against the counter and rubbed at the back of his neck, fixing his gaze on his feet. Fred had been so much more than their resident brain... she had been a source of strength, courage. Gunn wanted to go on fighting, he knew he had to, but without Fred to cheer him on... it was going to be hard.
((Open to anyone who feels like talking to a melancholy Gunn.))