H O M E [IC]

Jinx · Nov 30, 2019

H O M E

Synopsis Q&A Rules Player Characters NPCs

It is the year 2030, for those who still keep track of the passing days.

Most have completely forgotten how the world used to be, if they had even been alive when the world made sense. Neighbor turned against neighbor as the basic instinct of kill or be killed began to set in. Supplies were hoarded and fought over, dwindling till every store contained only empty shelves and those unlucky enough to cross the wrong person while looking for food. Once the initial chaos of the apocalypse had ended, survivors began to band together to create places where they could watch out for one another.

As territories were established, some communities began to trade supplies. Others began to take supplies. Tensions rise, bandit encampments begin to pop up, and fights over territories begin as some began to realize that humans may be a bigger threat than the zombies. Between rivaled communities at war, Abductors grabbing those suspected of being immune to the zombification disease, and the dead growing in numbers, survival has never been more difficult.

In the small community of Graceland, around 100 survivors have made their home. There is an easy peace with the local communities and Eden, with whom they often trade with. When a member of the community is taken by an Abductor, the race begins to bring him home before they reach the labs in Nevada. They'll have to survive both the dead and the living if they hope to make it back alive.
GM - @Jinx
CoGM - @Applo
Coder - @Lillian Gray

Can I be immune? : For the time being only one immune player is being allowed. Due to the expressed interest, this will be dealt with on a case by case basis and decided by the GM.

How many characters are being accepted? : For now, we are limiting the selections to 6 characters.

Can I have multiple characters? : Yes! You can have a maximum of two characters. We would like to first make sure that initially we accept one character per person, however.

How do I know I've been accepted? : We will approve all CSs that are submitted. That means it is important for you to remember it is not first come first serve. If you are worried you will not have time to finish, please let us know!
Rules and Requirements
- Adept writing skill
- One post per week, with multiple paragraphs
- Respect the GMs
- Respect other players
- Do not control other players' characters
- Please be involved, and contribute to ideas and posts
- Of course, please follow Iwaku's basic rules and requirements
  - General Rules
  - Group Rules
Almira Benjamin Cerys Cordelia Dennis Kent Maricela Mona Ren Set
- Almira "Alley" Renton
  Immune | 28 | Scrounger
  
  Name:
  
  Almira Renton
  
  Nickname:
  
  Alley
  
  Race:
  
  Black
  
  Age:
  
  28
  
  Home Territory:
  
  "Graceland. Sure, I came here only six years ago, but where I came before that doesn't matter."
  
  Profession:
  
  Scrounger
  
  Description:
  
  An ebony haired, olive-skinned woman with moderate height and lean build. Wiry muscles lie hidden beneath baggy, green wool commando sweaters and a sweeping spring dress that is thread-bare thin. Almira claims that its weak enough to tear quite easily and can be used as impromptu bandages. Beneath that, is a tough pair of cargo pants. While Almira only makes the effort to cut her hair once a year, she keeps it tied up and tight in a small bun. The effect of which makes her look rather plain. Black eyes, a strong jaw are the few features that make her face stick out while the constant presence of her hiking backpack marks her presence across the Eden compound.
  
  However, beneath her sweater, her body tells a different tale. Old breaks that haphazardly healed left their marks across her body. Not to mention the distinct scarring of bite marks on her left shoulder, right side of her rib cage, and upon her right forearm.
  
  Personality:
  
  Almira is deceptively cheerful. She cracks jokes, laughs openly, and seems to be just a lass trying to make the best of the apocalypse. Certainly, this is true, yet lying beneath these surface emotions is the incredible isolation that she feels from everyone. The knowledge that, no matter how widespread and how terrible the infection is and becomes, she will survive. That, after the las corpse has risen, Almira will still be alive. So, she doesn't let others in, unable to shake the feeling that it will all be temporary. That everyone will, someday, die around her. In direct contrasting harmony is Almira's belief that the disease will, one day, fail completely. After all, she stands as living proof that there are those immune in the world. Some will always survive, somehow, and humanity will learn to carry on. This "apocalypse" is not their end. It's a belief Almira clings to, calling upon her Christian faith and reserves of determination to make it so. So she seeks to help people, putting to use her gift of immunity to enter into dangerous and infected wrecks of human civilization and find survivors, scrap, and other useful supplies for the rebuilding of civilization. Even still, she wonders if that's the best use of her abilities.
  
  Bio:
  
  On January 30, twenty-eight years ago, Almira "Alley" Renton was born into this world. A second generation of Egyptian migrants, Almira inherited her mother's looks in full force and minimal of her father's. Denver, Colorado's Winter was windy and frozen that year. And gave her taste of the suffering she'd undergo while at home. Naturally, as a baby, she couldn't remember the fights, the missed feedings, and near misses of being shaken.
  
  But with age came memory. And within memory lay tales of punches and belts, broken bones and locked closets. So, as soon as she was able, Almira found her way outside. Repeatedly running away from home and taking shelter with the homeless. Sleeping with them in the alleys and under the highways of the city. Fortune sided with her in the community she took refuge with wasn't one that forced drugs upon her. Soon, a cyclic process came into effect. Almira would run away. Her parents would call the police. After a some hours, or days, they'd find her. She'd be brought home. A series of abuse would commence. Then the girl would run away again. Her time with the homeless wouldn't exactly be called healthy, but it was at least caring. She began to learn skills that served her well in the coming apocalypse. Fire making, meals in foil, the ability to sleep anywhere and on most anything, how to make simple shelters.
  
  It had to be one of the greater ironies as to how little her life changed when the apocalypse came to her household. Almira was in her room in the family's apartment. Waiting for night to fall so she could crawl out the window and down the side of the brick building to rejoin her second family. A typical evening in the cycle. When her mother came in. Almira stood and turned to face her. The thirteen-year-old's face was blank, waiting for the shouting, sobbing, or whatever her mother would do to start. It didn't. Instead, the woman staggered over, Almira assumed she was drunk, and clamped her jaws down upon her left shoulder. Teeth dug into and through the cheap blouse and into her shoulder. Strong as vice her mother bore permanent scars and damaged her shoulder's ability to function forever. However, one step behind her mother, was her father who hammered a cast iron pot into the woman's head. He himself was already half turned and going deranged. He gave Almira one order: run. It was the most fatherly thing he had ever done for her. An action that Almira still doesn't understand to this day. She did run, screaming and weeping in agony, out the room, out the front door, down the stairs and into the deteriorating state of the city. Through the mad looting, the girl found her way to her homeless friends.
  
  There, upon seeing her injury and as the infection was not as understood as it was, they poured looted alcohol across her shoulder as a few of them pinned the writhing child down and bandaged it up. Like many of her childhood injuries, it never healed properly. The homeless squad rode out the initial wave of infection as they had survived for ages, by simply being invisible and out of the way. Certainly, there was the need for barricades and hidden locations to hide from the hordes, but by-the-by, the largest change to Almira's life was the fact that the police no longer brought her home. For five years her life was this way, living upon scavenged scraps, until, finally, Denver became barren enough that the group was forced to leave.
  
  However, success was not to be theirs. In the exit of the city, a horde came staggering on their heels that drove them to DIA, where another horde intercepted them. The homeless group that had been her family bit them down to a man. While some, including Almira, escaped, all had sustained bites. Almira's upon her chest. Within a few days, all but her had turned, and she fled continually East with the scavenged food from the corpses of her family. Aimlessly, the 18-year-old wandered, wondering why the horrid disease could not claim her body.
  
  It was in the plains that the wondering band under one Old-Man Todd found her. Todd was three steps past weird, but four steps ahead in common sense and old faith wisdom. And he didn't give up on the deadened teen. Every step of the way, he pushed her to live. To survive in this new reality. Forcing her to learn how to make a camp, scrounge off the wilderness, sling a stone, and set snares. Always with what she once found to be an infernal positivity about it all. "Not to worry," he'd always say in the face of her frustrations, "the good Lord has a plan. Horror defies none of His power and good Saint Christopher will see some of us make it through."
  
  At these times, he'd pull out the necklace with Saint Christopher on it and show it to her with a toothy grin. Almira would eventually have no words for this, namely because his calm, strong belief denied all argument. And slowly, very slowly, she came round. His stead fast determination and the continued proofs of life in both herself and other, changed her tune and, on her 20th birthday, she was given a hatchet and Todd's own necklace. In turn, she told Todd about her immunity. It was a blessing her called it, and she finally began to believe him.
  
  Of course, as all things, it didn't last. A horde swept upon Todd's group in the night and plowed into them. Almira was bit upon the arm just before she drove her hatchet into its skull. Eventually, she and a scatting of others were able to pull free, including Todd. But he was bitten and no immunity would manifest itself in him. He gave Almira the necklace after forcing her to promise she would never allow herself to sink so low again, before leaving to die, out in the Midwest as the rest of the survivors succumbed to the illness.
  
  Despite her promise, the young woman almost fell into deep depression again. She went further East, following growing rumor and story that there were some friendly settlements along the east coast regions. Along the way, while cutting through Indianapolis, IN, she came across a small family in hiding. Stunned that the woman had survived on her own, she told a tall-tale about a raider attack breaking up the group she was with. The family had fled their group after it began to twist towards such tendencies and were going to the settlement of Graceland. Taking pity upon them, Almira helped lead them out of the dangerous city and further East. Sleeping in quickly fortified allies and up in trees. The young daughter of the couple took to calling her "Alley Cat," without a single ounce of offense for her like of these ruined spaces and a seemingly soft nature.
  
  Often, the parents would struggle with despair, not used to being out without the support of a large group of individuals. In the face of such despair, she'd often make light jokes or say, "Not to worry the good Lord has a plan. Horror defies none of His power and good Saint Christopher will see some of us make it through." At these times, he'd pull out the necklace with Saint Christopher on it and show it to them with a grin. And, to her own amazement, they made it. Entering into the Graceland community when Almira was 22. And, due in part to the child's insistence, Almira stayed and began to carve out a living for herself. Utilizing her gift of immunity to go on solo expeditions into infested territory to find useful materials to bring back home. Being in a community restored much of the woman's pepper. She took to easy laughter in the face of the continued disease, a quick smile, and simple jokes. However, being the sole survivor twice over has taken its toll and she can't help but wonder when the next tragedy will ruin this home she's built and Almira will be forced to wander across the states again, looking for the next place to call home.
  
  Pack:
  
  Almira's pack is a veteran scavenger's pack. Meaning if it weren't ready for most anything, it would be considered a failure. Belted to her waist is a sharp hatchet that rests on one side while on the other holds a simple contraption of cloth, a sling. In her pack, the woman stores rations for three of eating, and those are her last resort for food. Preferring to devour the surrounding wildlife in case she has to hole up somewhere for awhile while waiting for a horde or raiders to pass. Furthermore, she keeps a basic Boy Scout book of survival for its knots and list of simple, edible wildlife. Within the various pouches, she also stores a hand-crank flashlight, whetstone, matches, heavy leather working gloves, buck knife, flint, bandages, tin foil, water resistant-winter coat, road maps of most everywhere east of the Rockies, 100ish ft of twine, and a portable water filtration kit, and a solid fifty feet of paracord. Dotting around the outside of the pack are a set of pitons on a chain of caribeaners, a few of which clip a mummy bag to the outside straps.
  
  Prized above it all is a small silver necklace with the worn image of Saint Christopher of travelers that she carries.
  
  Skills:
  
  Advanced Wilderness Survival: "Who wants to set up the lean-to for those without tents and who wants to join me in looking for edible bugs, roots, and berries!"
  
  Jury Rigger: "Tie this here. Prop the board like this. Load all that and hey presto! A brick rain trap!"
  
  Excellent Listener.
  
  Strengths:
  
  Long years of wandering, abuse, and scrounging has toughened Almira's body with the gift of endurance.
  
  "I've got two eyes for something.": Living on the streets and scavenging taught Almira to keep a sharp eye for useful material, good sleeping places, and perceiving others in the area, not to mention changes in her companions.
  
  Slinger: "No matter what falls to ruin, there will always be another rock."
  
  Weaknesses:
  
  Stubborn: "After I've set my mind, I dare you to break it."
  
  Risktaker: "Hey, I bet I can find, or create, a safe way through that infected-infested town than just walking around it."
  
  Damaged Left Shoulder: "Yah, some crazed idiot brought a spiked club down on it one day and it just never healed right. Not to worry, it never slows me down." Which certainly is a lie.
  
  Romanceable:
  
  "I've got issues, like everyone. But I don't feel like discussing them naked." That's a negative on love.
  
  Art:
  Sadly, I couldn't find who did the lovely piece.
- Dr. Benjamin Crane
  Sniper | 46 | Medic
  
  "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my baby you'll be."
  
  - Love You Forever by Robert Munsch
  
  Name:
  
  Dr. Benjamin Augustus Crane, MD
  
  Nicknames:
  
  Ben, Benji, Doc, 'Hey You'
  
  Race:
  
  Non-Immune Human
  
  Age:
  
  46; DOB August 28th
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Doctor
  
  Description:
  
  Benjamin stands at an uneven six foot, or perhaps a near five foot eleven, it's hard to tell with the shoddy prosthetic leg he's kept cobbled together over the last fifteen years. He lost his left leg as a child in a car accident and without any surviving companies creating new parts to keep it in balance, the inch of leeway would have to do. As a result he walks with a limp, and on the days the rain is a bit too much, he can be seen using his rifle as a cane. It's hard for most people to look past the prosthetic to notice his tired facial features. Benjamin has peppered black hair and a short beard which he lazily trims when permitted the luxury. A long scar cuts across his right eye, which has caused him to lose a good portion of his vision. His eyes are a steely blue and there is little life left in the two dark orbs.
  
  Usually, the good doctor can be seen in the same rugged pair of charcoal cargo pants tucked into a pair of shin high cargo boots-- at least on the one side. It's easy to see which leg is missing a bit of meat on the bone, but he still dons both shoes every morning. Benjamin has long since lost his precious white medical coat, not as if he'd wear it anyhow, the only item he has kept over the years is his stethoscope. It hangs around his neck like a badge of honor and a clear indication of his practice.
  
  Personality:
  
  The good doctor appears outwardly genuine, with compassion and care his first priorities when treating patients within the Graceland compound he's come to call home. He has few worldly possessions, not that anyone else has much to claim for themselves either, and most of what he finds he gives to others to put to good use. Benjamin already has everything he needs and puts his focus into keeping his community healthy and thriving. This is the face that the residents of Graceland are accustomed to, the smiling doctor who greets each day with a subtle smile and a wave before going about his business with a quiet sort of concentration.
  
  Inwardly, Benjamin is rather reclusive and prefers to be left alone to his self destructive thoughts. He turns to booze for comfort and is struggling to keep the façade of a happy life up as his chronic pains grow worse each day, his leg getting more and more tired the longer he goes without a proper fitting prosthetic. The only people who know about the more depressive side of Benjamin are those he would call his closest friends, though the list isn't very long.
  
  If he had to be honest, putting on a brave face and curing the world one scrape at a time suited him just fine, even if he did miss home. At least there was a purpose in that.
  
  Bio:
  
  Before the shit show of a virus spread across the country, Ben spent most of his young adult life studying and preparing himself for a life of fatherhood and residency. Like all problems in life, he approached them in the same manner. Through the arduous memorization and study of books and reference material, Ben set forth to excel in every challenge presented to him without any room for failure. He was determined to clear a path for his happy little family.
  
  He met Joanna in his first year of college. She was a student in her second year, studying business without a passion for her studies. It was an instant attraction. Within a few more years, Joanna had graduated and began a decent job as a secretary for a small printing company in the DC area. Barely a month later, Joanna found out she was pregnant. That winter she gave birth to twins, Hannah and Grace. All the while she always encouraged Benjamin to continue to his dreams of becoming a doctor. Despite the difficulties the two had shared with the both of them attending school, Joanna being pregnant, and the overwhelming amount of debt looming over their heads, they had so much joy within their little family. After the girls were born, at the young age of 21, Benjamin proposed. It was a whirlwind time in Benjamin's life but he never regretted choosing Joanna and his girls.
  
  Finally, at the age of 25 he got the notification that he had been accepted at Inova Fairfax Hospital in Annandale, Virginia for a residency program. Now that he'd completed both his bachelor's and four long years of medical school, he was ready to tackle the next phase of his education. He was over the moon. They celebrated by finally tying the knot, and Joanna and Benjamin officially married that afternoon at the courthouse. Everything was perfect. Joanna was doing well in her position, Benjamin had a residency at a highly respected hospital, and their two girls were due to start school in the fall. He felt like he was on top of the world and all the pieces were falling exactly into the right places. Once his residency was up, Benjamin was offered a position as a surgeon and was officially a part of the hospital staff, working towards specializing in cardiology.
  
  How many times could he say it was perfect? Not enough.
  
  And then, one day, his perfect world began to crumble apart. It started with an unknown disease. He saw it in patients. A strange illness they couldn't treat as one by one, patients had to be quarantined and staff sent home. Schools shut down due to the spread of some unknown virus. At first, Benjamin couldn't believe it. Zombies? The apocalypse? It wasn't real. This was the kind of stuff straight out of a horror flick, not a real disease. Yet he saw it day by day in the patients at the hospital. Much to his dread, he finally saw it in his own wife. It started as a cold and quickly turned into something much worse. From his wife, to his daughters, and from there, Benjamin knew that everything he had worked so hard to build, this perfect little world he treasured, had finally been broken.
  
  He travelled between compounds for a time, offering his services as a doctor to those who needed it, before settling in Graceland permanently. Five years after the chaotic affair of the beginning of the end of the world, Benjamin met someone. A boy. That kid changed his life for the better.
  
  Pack:
  
  Inside of Benjamin's pack are primarily stockpiles of bandages, ointments, and a mix of medications and whatever other supplies he can get his hands on. He even had the fortune of finding two Epi-pens on an expedition. He hoards medical supplies at his own personal expense and doesn't carry much else beyond a canteen and a few spare rifle bullets. He has a dull knife, half a roll of duct tape, and some gum he's pretty sure is expired. Benjamin has a pistol, but the ammo comes and goes as easily as the liquor he sometimes carries.
  
  His most prized possession is tucked away against the back of his pack. There's something there, a flat object wrapped and tied securely inside of a red plaid kitchen towel. It stays there.
  
  Skills:
  
  Medical knowledge; licensed surgeon in the state of Maryland
  
  Hunting knowledge; as a child, hunted with his grandfather for sport
  
  Steady hands; practice through hunting and medicine has given Benjamin steady hands for healing and hunting
  
  Strengths:
  
  Level headed; thinks rationally instead of emotionally
  
  Soothing; a calming presence to anyone acting anxious
  
  Loyal; once an ally, always an ally
  
  Weaknesses:
  
  Impaired vision; right eye scar
  
  Impaired mobility; limp in left leg
  
  Alcoholic; in a depressive mood, his addictive tendencies to liquor can get the better of him
  
  Romanceable:
  
  Absolutely, I guess?
  
  Art:
  Credit to UNKNOWN
- Cerys Victoria Owens
  Soldier | Thirty-Two | Welsh
  
  Name:
  
  Cerys Victoria Owens
  
  Nickname:
  
  Tor, The Dragon of Graceland
  
  Race:
  
  Caucasian (Welsh)
  
  Age:
  
  Thirty-Two
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Sentinel
  
  Description:
  
  Cerys is no easy to miss waif of a being. Clocking in at five foot and nine inches tall, her frame is bulked out by the sort of well defined muscles that are only achieved through buckets of sweat and decorated with a slew of piercings and long, swirling, lilac tattoos that travel up from her wrists on onto her back. This striking look is completed by the shock of dark red hair, most of which is tied back in long, thick braids while the rest has been shaved almost to the scalp.
  
  When it comes to clothes, Cerys values practicality and freedom of movement over other considerations like protection from the elements; there isn't much in the way of bad weather that can phase this girl from Brecon anyway. When traveling Cerys prefers a small pack over something large and cumbersome and makes up for the lack of space with various pouches strapped to her belt. The only slight concession to personal style this welsh transplant makes comes in the form of dog tag necklace; only one of the tags remains but either side of it hang two gold rings.
  
  Personality:
  
  In years gone by, Cerys was known, possibly even renowned for her breathtaking anger. People who crossed her would at the very least receive both barrels of a vicious bilingual assault. Others lost limbs. Since she returned from her long stay in Eden however Cerys is significantly more measured in temperament; Whether the anger the used to drive her has been extinguished or just buried it is impossible to tell but she is more like a stern school mistress than a fire breathing dragon. Taciturn would perhaps be the best word to describe her now. She'll never use twenty words to say something if ten will do and she very much doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve. That is not to say that Cerys is shy. She will give her opinion on something just as readily if she hasn't been asked as if she has. Either way it will be delivered in a blunt and to the point fashion. She will open up more to those she has shared plenty of history with, but even then she still gives off a guarded vibe, as if she doesn't want to get too close to people.
  
  Bio:
  
  Cerys was seventeen when the world collapsed. On holiday in the United States celebrating passing basic training to join the Royal Marines, she wasn't able to get out of the country before the borders were closed. Stuck in a world where society was disintegrating more and more every day she did what everyone else did. She joined the biggest group of survivors she could find and tried her best to stick with them.
  
  The group Cerys had joined, like so many others at the time, was semi-nomadic, wondering till they found somewhere to settle and staying there until a lack of supplies, the dead or other survivors forced them to move on. This pattern repeated itself over and over for the next three years.. Over time, human stupidity, ego, greed and wroth whittled down the number of survivors till perhaps only one in five of the original group members remained. The zombies and disease played a part too.
  
  As the number of survivors dwindled, Cerys slowly became an increasingly important figure. At first her youthfulness and foreign accent meant that she wasn't taken seriously when she said she had military experience. As the ranks began to thin however, the leaders of Cery's group became more willing to accept the foreign girl's claims. Her gun, was literally prized from a dead man's hands and she was promoted into their position.
  
  Those first three years for many were the worst part of the end of the world. For Cerys, they were largely the best. The pressure cooker atmosphere of the apocalypse made romances burned hotter as everyone looked for someone to share the horror and pain with and the lost welsh girl found Heather. The thirty year old New Mexico native was a balm to a painful world and Cerys fell head over heels for the woman. For two and a half years, the pair were all but inseparable, guiding each other through the nightmare of a zombie apocalypse. And then the bandit raid happened. The feeling of Heather's blood seeping through her hands still haunts Cery's dreams. The ever pervasive feeling that she failed to protect the person she loved still haunts her days.
  
  By the time Graceland was formed, Cerys wasn't ready to settle down. There were too many feelings she wanted to runaway from. At the same time however, the thought of not knowing anyone who had known Heather was too much to bear. Instead she spent the next seven years guarding the settlement's trading expeditions. There was a sort of peace in traveling. She took particular pleasure in dealing with any bandits that tried to rob the settlements good. Disturbing and reckless pleasure. Eventually though this recklessness caught up with her and she ended up with a bullet in her right thigh and a knife in her back before she lost consciousness. Cerys survived due to the fact the bandit attack took place less than an hours frantic horse ride from Eden and blind dumb luck.
  
  It was a year before Cerys was strong enough to even think about making the journey back Graceland. It was another eight months before the leadership of Eden where satisfied that she had paid back enough to community that had saved her to let her go. When she finally returned to Graceland, people noticed something was different about Cerys. That anger at the world and desire not to be still to long seemed to have gone. She still wasn't easy to get along with and seemed somewhat distant, but now she seemed to have a desire to be in Graceland, to keep it safe.
  
  Pack:
  
  Traveling light is the name of the game and apart from the bare essentials of a couple of days worth of water, some food, a small first aid kit and a change of underwear and perhaps a warm top, not much else goes into Cery's pack or pouches. There is an old plastic sheet big enough to form a small shelter, a spool of navigation line, as much spare ammunition as she has at any one time and carefully folded, a very old and much repaired Welsh flag. In addition to this she also keeps a baseball bat with a circular saw blade embedded and bolted into the end strapped to her pack, a metal, spring powered realistic looking BB gun and knife on her belt and almost most importantly of all a repeating rifle slung across her shoulder. Cery's most truly treasured possession however is the necklace on which hang two gold rings and a single, battered military dog tag.
  
  Skills:
  
  Military Survival training.
  
  Battlefield first aid trained.
  
  A remarkably better than average shot with most guns.
  
  Strengths:
  
  Natural navigator.
  
  In near prime physical condition.
  
  Has traveled many of the major trade routes multiple times.
  
  Weaknesses:
  
  Suffers from hayfever.
  
  Reduced hearing and tinnitus in her right ear.
  
  Her right legs both pains and slows her down.
  
  Romanceable:
  
  Theoretically.
  
  Art:
  Credit to Karla Ortiz
- Cordelia Armethea Nelus de Yourne
  "...but please, call me Candy"
  
  Name:
  
  Cordelia Armethea Nelus de Yourne
  
  Nickname:
  
  Candy | Lia | Del
  
  Race:
  
  French-American
  
  Age:
  
  40
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Eden
  
  Profession:
  
  Entertainer/Hunter
  
  Description:
  
  Candy stands at roughly 170 cm (5'7") and weighs 125 lbs (57 kg). She has wavy black hair that she likes to keep at mid back length that often gets disheveled or messy looking, which sometimes gives the impression that she can't be bothered to comb her hair. Her eyes, a mixture of chocolate and amber, doesn't reflect so much light that makes her eyes look deeper if not hypnotizing. She has dark skin marked with imperfections: small scars littered her body while her face has a few acne scars.
  
  Personality:
  
  The entirety of Candy's character is hard to distinguish. When entertaining, she's considered as a femme fatale: capable of convincingly portraying friendly and flirtatious, yet deadly and fierce. She can also be timid, vulnerable, and scared. For the most part, she is a level-headed and strong-willed woman. She tries to maintain a controlled, almost emotionless persona to keep whatever she is thinking a secret unless she is around people she trusts.
  
  Bio:
  
  Candy's childhood wasn't easy. Her mother was a hooker while she grew up not knowing who her father was.
  
  She grew up at the crime-ridden streets half of her life, trying to survive. Her mother made sure Candy rakes in the big bucks for their family by selling her for a night to the rich people to do favors at the ripe age of fourteen.
  
  Life was hard for the poor girl though thanks to her mother and her work, she met people from all walks of life. She learned how to social climb; use her charm to get what she wants. This went on for a couple of years until when she met Joshua, a young man who owns a bar and became a regular client. He was the one who taught her how to live her life. He even taught her to read and write. Long story short, they fell in love and decided to be together. Her mother was fine with it after being paid a large sum of money.
  
  Since then Candy had a comfortable life. She stopped selling her body and began singing at the bar Joshua owns. Everything was perfect. She got her happily ever after! That is until the zombie apocalypse happened.
  
  She was twenty five and twelve weeks pregnant when all hell broke loose.
  
  They were driving down to Georgia to visit Joshua's family when a man popped out in the middle of the road. Naturally, Joshua swerved the car to avoid him only to crash against another car. Candy couldn't clearly remember what happened after that although when she woke up, learned that Joshua was missing and she had a miscarriage.
  
  Candy joined and wandered with the people who helped her in hopes to find Joshua. For years she searched, refusing to believe that he's dead or turned. She promised herself that either he was dead or a zombie, she needed to see it through her own eyes. The group she was with the thought she went crazy when in truth, she just can't bear the thought of losing someone again. But years of looking for him took a toll on her. She grew tired and weary.
  
  Thus, she decided to settle down at Eden for a few years, reach to her connections and ask for help. Every time she heard the news that Joshua was alive and he was seen somewhere, Candy would travel and search for him. It was a vicious cycle of disappointment but Candy never gave up. She strongly believes that Joshua was alive; and that he wasn't turned yet.
  
  Years passed and her search came into fruition. She followed a lead that Joshua was seen near Wrecks. It took her weeks scouring the woods but it was worth it. She finally saw him, surrounded by zombies and trying to fend off himself. Although tired and exhausted from tracking him down, Candy helped out and did whatever she could to save him.
  
  She soon found herself in some makeshift camp with Joshua sitting right beside her. There are other people there as well although that wasn't her concern since at that time, her main focus was her long lost lover. She thought it would be a reunion. A day full of love. Oh how she thought wrong! Joshua drugged her and quickly shot her expectations down by telling her that they couldn't continue their relationship. At least, for now.
  
  While she was in and out of her consciousness because of the drug, Candy could hear snippets of words. Something about a kid and a bounty. She also heard the words "forced" and "owed".
  
  Candy didn't know how long she was out but when the drug wore off, she realized the makeshift camp was gone and she was back in Eden. Residents told her that they found her right outside the gates.
  
  Feeling lost and betrayed, Candy vowed to find Joshua no matter what. She then made her way to Graceland just in time to hear the news that someone abducted a child! Although she refused to believe that Joshua would do such heinous crime, the whispers she heard from the residents of Graceland are enough.
  
  Now she's on the search for him and the child. She vowed that this would be her last trip of finding him for she wanted to clear things out between them once and for all.
  
  Pack:
  
  Candy's bag only contains necessary items: a set of clothes, a blanket, food, and water that can last her for two days, a hunting knife, catgut, fire starter kit, and a medkit. Her most prized possession is not in the pack but on her neck. Its a .68 carat square-cut pink diamond pendant that was given to her as a birthday gift by her beloved. She changed its silver chain to catgut and made it longer so the pendant can be tucked between her bosom.
  
  Skills:
  
  Network. Candy knows quite a handful of people that used to be her clients and can simply ask in favors from them. That is if they're not dead yet.
  
  Wilderness survival. Candy has advance knowledge of how to survive in the wilderness. She can hunt animals and forage for tubers or berries.
  
  Hand to hand combat. Candy has enough knowledge to protect herself in short-range combat.
  
  Excellent Tracker.Years of trying to find her lover, Candy developed her skills in tracking. She can track a person or an animal based on its trail. Thus, if the trail has been there for hours or days, she'll start having difficulty.
  
  Strengths:
  
  Candy can easily get along with people. That means she's charismatic and charming enough to manipulate. She can even get them to spill their dirty little secrets.
  
  She is rational even when under pressure. She doesn't show her true emotions so easily and she sees that as an advantage.
  
  Although she lost her baby, Candy's motherly instinct hasn't left her. She can easily comfort kids and can take care of them as if they were her own.
  
  Weaknesses:
  
  Candy can fend for herself but that doesn't mean she's strong. She lacks the muscle power to lift half a sack of potatoes.
  
  She struggles to be honest with herself and others. This may lead to mistrust and miscommunication.
  
  Candy gets easily impatient. For her, time is precious and it shouldn't be wasted over trivial things.
  
  Topics of loss, death of a child, or her lover triggers her emotions.
  
  Romanceable:
  
  Possibly once she finished chasing her boyfriend
  
  Art:
  Credit to Aleksei Vinogradov
- Dennis Haufman
  Sigh. "I'll fix it."
  
  Name:
  
  Dennis Haufman
  
  Nickname:
  
  Go on, if you're feeling creative, give it a shot. He'll accept most nicknames.
  
  Age:
  
  35
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Mechanic
  
  Description:
  
  Scruffy and tired would be the best two words to describe Dennis' appearance. His full height is 6'2", though a slouch keeps him from reaching such most of the time. Dark brown hair that lays fairly shaggy, as well as an unkempt beard. Dennis stopped putting effort into his appearance long ago. His hands are fairly weathered, covered in small little scars, but beneath the mess is a pair of somewhat striking grey green eyes, often hidden by locks of hair. He most often wears anything that he finds in comfortable and good condition. The only constant item he keeps on his person is a tool belt. He wears it very often, but if not, it is stored safely in his bag.
  
  Personality:
  
  Many can say they've developed a hardened shell to survive the apocalypse, but Dennis likes to claim he had it long before. Gruff and sluggish, Dennis feigns a lot of disinterest when meeting new people. He can often be viewed as somewhat rude or uninvolved, but actually, it's usually the opposite. Dennis is observant, though quietly so. He tends to stick to the back and save his energy for the dire moments and pressing situations, then whipping out his knowledge in an unexpected moment. He's not very sensitive to people's feelings, but he often has their best intentions at heart, even if it may not come across like it. When he's in the mood, he can also be quite a bit of a jokester and can sometimes find joy in pushing people's buttons, a rare glimpse of the childishness that lingered from before the apocalypse.
  
  At the root of it all, cliche-y enough, Dennis is a softie. He cares about those he bonds with and is found making the most rash decisions when another person's safety is in question. A lot of his actions are weighed down with a deep regret for the people he couldn't save or find, and the will to survive is slowly beginning to dim after fifteen years struggling alone. Dennis is very much a pessimist, but a small, squashed part of him is waiting for a reason to shed that title.
  
  Bio:
  
  Born and raised in Annapolis, Maryland to two middle class office worker parents, Dennis had a rather boring start. He struggled to pay attention to school, and found quite quickly that his interests lay in places outside the academic realm. His first years of schooling made him feel somewhat inadequate, but once he realized it wasn't his priority, life got a lot easier. His parents were clueless, and if anything, a little intimidated by the blunt attitude Dennis carried early on, but they loved him nonetheless. This affinity for the more brutish and hands-on hobbies didn't quite come from them, but his grandfather on his mother's side.
  
  Dennis adored his grandfather, who was a veteran in the Korean war. A tough, hardened, clever old man who knew just about every survival skill there was to know, and Dennis was there to soak up knowledge like a sponge. He also had a love of cars and boxing, two interests Dennis took to immediately. He begged his parents to sign him up, and after getting quite into it, they discovered it did help to get out some aggression and improved his mood in school. Not exactly his grades, but he was no longer picking petty fights. Most of his childhood was spent at his grandfather's house, watching wrestling matches together, or poking his nose into whatever work his grandad was doing on his old truck.
  
  His teenhood had a lot of the same with a few more risky activities mixed in; some girls, some parties, some illegal substances… every stupid thing a teen could get their hands on, Dennis probably tried. He's not the proudest of it. He did have a girlfriend for the later part of highschool, but she moved away before senior years' end. He and his grandfather also fixed up an old motorcycle together, Dennis' eighteenth birthday gift. Dennis cherished it more than anything else.
  
  But he passed a few weeks before Dennis graduated highschool. Though he didn't get to see his grandson graduate, he'd left his mark on the young man, and Dennis quickly became a certified mechanic and started work in Baltimore. Life was good for two years; he had roommates, decent pay, independence.
  
  Dennis was twenty years old when the end of the world came around and stole away the sense of normalcy he had grown so used too. Despite the chaos that engulfed the world rather quickly, but Dennis was no idiot. He didn't have a nuclear fallout shelter or a stack of supplies, but he had skills and his wits. He vacated Baltimore quickly, with nothing but his motorcycle and his most essential and treasured items.
  
  He went back to Annapolis first, to his parents' home. It was ransacked. There was blood, but no bodies. The mailbox was untouched, and in it Dennis discovered a letter addressed to him.
  
  It was from his highschool girlfriend, who had moved away. She had a son. His son, who was nearly two years old then. She had wanted him to come, regretting having never told him that she was pregnant. Maybe if the apocalypse hadn't happened, he'd be a loving father in a happy family. His parents would be alive and his problems would be the damn motor on a client's car that just wouldn't work. But of course, things don't work like that. They never do.
  
  Dennis spent the most part of the last fifteen years on his own. He searched long and hard for his parents, for his son and his mother, but he never found them. Their apartment was empty; there was no sign of where they'd gone.
  
  Anyone who Dennis traveled with, he never stayed long. He avoided interactions if possible, and kept mobile most of the time. Fairly early on he ditched his motorcycle, even though it pained him greatly, though he still kept the keys.
  
  Eventually he joined a wandering group heading from St. Michael's. Losing sense of purpose, Dennis stayed in this group longer than any other, all the way until it met its bitter end due to a horde of zombies. Only he and one other woman survived, Momo. Now he's found himself somewhat attached to her, and reluctantly agreed to pause in Graceland for a little while. Two months have passed as Dennis and Momo attempted to gather their bearings and find a new plan, and now Dennis finds himself roped into a rescue mission courtesy of the kindness of his traveling companion.
  
  Pack:
  
  Prized Possessions: Of personal value - A hand-written letter with a photo inside, yellowed with age. The keys to his motorcycle, which he left behind.
  Of utility - A toolbelt and a set of tools given to him by his father. The tool belt itself is what Dennis values more in terms of personal attachment, but some (not all) of the tools within it were also part of the original gift. It includes:
  
  A medium sized hammer, his favored zombie skull-crushing tool (always at arm's length)
  
  A set of screwdrivers
  
  A set of wrenches
  
  Pliers
  
  Heavy duty mechanical gloves
  
  Wire terminal crimper
  
  Torque wrench
  Other tools not in his toolbelt but that he does carry in his pack include:
  
  Wrecking bar
  
  Jumper cables
  
  Electrical tape
  
  Scavenged ratchets and sockets (not exactly a complete set)
  
  Non tool related items:
  
  A roll of bandaging
  
  Water canteen
  
  Small package of matches
  
  Swiss army knife (His grandfather's)
  
  Change of clothing
  
  Blanket
  
  Skills:
  
  Experience with machinery, specifically automobiles, which has transformed into a fairly seasoned ability to jerry rig certain items and things together to help him out.
  
  Fighting. Dennis had a deep love for boxing as a kid and has used these valued skills throughout the apocalypse. He is an excellent hand to hand combatant.
  
  Agile. Even though Dennis is a fairly hefty guy, he's surprisingly quick and has a high amount of finesse that can often come as a shock to someone on his tail, especially those pesky zombies. He has kept physically fit throughout his lifetime.
  
  Strengths:
  
  Quick Thinking (while keeping cool, most of the time)
  
  Clever. Dennis is able to solve problems creatively and make use of his skill set.
  
  Observant. He's always on high alert and taking mental notes of surroundings and people.
  
  Weaknesses:
  
  Enjoys pushing buttons, and lacks sensitivity with people at times in pursuit of a larger goal.
  
  Stubborn as hell. He's hard headed and must be thoroughly persuaded on certain matters.
  
  Dyslexia - it was a large factor in his struggles in school but he was never formally diagnosed. Therefore, he isn't the most academically skilled and generally tries to avoid reading or anything similar.
  
  Romanceable:
  
  Indeed, if you're willing to brave the thick layer of stubborn. (Bi but female leaning)
  
  Art:
  Fc: Michiel Huisman
- "Lettum' burn."
  
  Name:
  Kent 'Arson' Murphy
  Arson was the name given to him by his group in Beggars End.
  Race:
  Irish-American
  Age:
  Thirty Nine
  Home Territory:
  Beggars End
  Profession:
  Ex-Bandit ~ Scavenger
  Description:
  Sitting atop his 5-foot/10 inches self is a generally messy head of ginger hair with a beard to match. A slightly crooked nose from falling down after a night of drinking is one of two abnormalities on his face. The other being a small scar just above his right eye. His eyes are a blue-green mix that tend to always be tired and scornful. The only hint of happiness manages to shine through when he gets his rough, burnt hands on a bottle of liquor. His body is strong and slightly defined, though lack of a proper diet does leave him more on the skinnier side than he'd like. His arms are covered in burn marks; some old and some new. On his left shoulder is a bullet scar.
  All of this is normally covered by his modified fire-suit. Though it has seen better days, he tries to keep it in good condition by patching up any holes or replacing pieces whenever he finds something in decent condition while scavenging. When he finds a safe place to relax, he tends to wear a pair of denim jeans and a tank top or a hoodie in cooler weather. Despite the season, he also tends to wear a beanie.
  
  "Why fire? Maybe it reminds me of a simpler time, where I put out fires instead of started'em. Or maybe it just kills shit and keeps me warm."
  Personality:
  Brash and stand-offish is the best way to describe Kent. While he isn't necessarily charismatic, he doesn't have a problem talking to those he doesn't know. It's hard for him to actually like people, but if you can prove capable you can get on his good side quickly. He sees value in people who are strong and can hold their own in a fight. The worst kind of people in his mind are those that need to be "babysat". He doesn't talk much about his time in Beggars End, and can get rude if pressed on the matter.
  Once you manage to gain his trust he is loyal and enjoy joking around. He is looking for a place to call home where he doesn't have to sleep with one eye open, and though he may deny it, friends to live along side with. Those that share a drink with him might find his personality is completely reversed once drunk and is a kind man who likes to listen to stories, sing songs and reminisce about simpler times.
  
  Bio:
  Pre-Apocalypse
  A firefighter for the Lancaster Fire Department, Kent was set to marry Samantha Gelt the summer of 2015. When the virus broke out and chaos erupted around the world, fire came with it. In a particularly nasty riot in Los Angeles, the Lancaster FD was called in to help control a fire that had broke out in the city due to a car crashing into a gas tanker truck on the edge of the city. Turned out, the man driving the car had been infected with the virus. When they arrived on the scene, several people had already been bitten.
  Months later and life as Kent knew it was a distant dream. He'd been at a government aid center in the city when a riot began. The riot ended when soldiers turned their guns on the looters, and in the cross fire Samantha was among those dead.
  Most people left the city after that, giving up on the government and sticking it out by themselves.
  Postapocalypse
  Kent was among the few who stayed. Something in him snapped seeing his fiance killed by other survivors rather than the dead. Joining up with an anti-government group, he stuck with them for the coming years. They stole from other survivors and rival bandit groups to survive. They killed when they needed to, which turned out to be often enough in Beggars End. It wasn't until they needlessly killed a surrendering family of four that brought Kent back to his senses. Gathering his things and heading out the following night. At first he went north to St. Michael, but he was recognized as a bandit and was denied entry.
  He's been on the move ever since, traveling East. He caught rides with traders, stolen a horse from a small farming community but lost it a week later too a group of lurkers but eventually he made it to the Atlantic Ocean. He still isn't sure where he's going or what he's looking for, but when he stumbled upon the community of Graceland he decided to stick around.
  He hasn't been around long, but decided to make himself useful when he heard about a child being abducted. Maybe it'd be a way to atone for his past.
  
  Pack:
  He keeps all his things in a tan travel bag, though his ax and flame thrower tend to sit on his shoulders via straps. His Glock 22 pistol is kept in its holster on his waist.
  Clothing: He keeps two spare shirts, one being a tanktop. Two pairs of jeans, socks and boxers. He regularly trades for fresh clothing every so often, or manages to scavenge some.
  Tools: A can opener for food, a box of matches to conserve fuel, crowbar, folding knife, sharpening stone, canteen for water, burn ointment, bandages and water purification tablets.
  Miscellaneous: A half-drank bottle of rum and two rags. One spare gas tank for his flame thrower and two spare magazines for his pistol, though one is empty.
  Prized Possession: Almost always worn on his person is a bracelet that reads "K + S" and a heart. It was a gift he gave Samantha before things went to hell.
  
  Skills:
  Bandit Connections: Even though they're out East, he does have several connections from his years as a troublemaker.
  Fire-Starting: Be it molotov or a match, he has plenty of ways to start fires. Alternately, he can also has knowledge to putting them out.
  Fractured Humanity: He has done messed up things in the past and would do it again if needed. This can be useful when convincing someone is out of the question and it helps with the hesitation before killing another person.
  Strengths:
  Fighting: Particularity close range, as he is strong and has quick reflexes.
  Building and Woodworking: A natural at building, be it defenses like a fence or something smaller like a makeshift weapon.
  Woodcutting: Be it for campfires or building, he can cut a tree down.
  Weaknesses:
  Shooting: The opposite of a crack shot, he isn't too good with a gun. Luckily with a flame thrower you don't have to aim.
  Diplomacy: He tends to speak his mind despite the situation. This doesn't tend to be the best for talking with other groups or making friends.
  Afraid of Spiders: He always has been. It's probably the eyes.
  
  Romanceable:
  Sure! (Hetrosexual)
  
  Art:
  Face Claim: Aaron Griffin-Here
  Fire-Suit: Daniel Comerci-Here
- Maricela O. Lee
  Certified Bitch | Baseball Bat Enthusiast
  
  Name:
  
  Maricela O. Lee
  
  Nickname:
  
  Mari
  
  Race:
  
  African American
  
  Age:
  
  31
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Eden
  
  Profession:
  
  Trade Supervisor
  
  Description:
  
  Mari had always been tall for her age. When she was younger, her limbs were lanky and got in the way of even walking. As the years stretched on, she grew into her body and now stands at just under six feet tall. Dark grey eyes peer out from her dark brow, keen and watchful. Her springy curls fall just to her shoulder, often tied back with a bandanna or tamed underneath of her favorite baseball cap. A single white scar cuts across her collarbone, the only visible mark that the apocalypse has left on her. It's often hidden behind her thick overcoats or leather jackets, a precaution she always takes if she's going outside of the town limits.
  
  Personality:
  
  Mari has been told on numerous occasions that she has a resting bitch face, making her seem unapproachable and distant. Which is accurate. She much prefers the company of Graceland's horses and a few quiet individuals to any large gatherings of people. Whenever Graceland has a dance or celebration, she tends to be standing awkwardly on the outskirts. One part due to the fact that she doesn't like socialization and mainly due to the fact that she can't dance to save her life. While distant, she is anything but quiet. She has her opinions and isn't afraid to voice them without sugarcoating her words. The only thing that can break her hardened, described by some as bitchy, exterior, is unwarranted affection. She doesn't typically do 'feelings' and keeps her flings private and short.
  
  Bio:
  
  Mari had the perfect life. Well, at age ten, she thought that it was perfect. She had a younger brother to play video games with and a baby brother to coo over. When she wasn't at the shabby little school that the city of Savannah Georgia couldn't bother to give proper funding, she was playing her Gameboy while her mother tended to the garden. While it was old and out-of-date, it was the best that they could afford and she loved leaning over it for hours on end. They didn't have an abundance of wealthy, but they had enough to put food on the table and a roof over their head. It didn't matter that it was a shabby roof, especially when they'd decorate it with small arts and crafts. When her father would come home from a long day at work, they'd spend hours playing a makeshift game of baseball in the backyard with bags of sand as their bases and a glove that she and her brother shared. She still has memories of long evenings when they'd sit on the porch and watch the sun set, the buzz of the radio in the background and the smell of her mother's cooking in the air. It was perfect.
  
  Until it wasn't.
  
  It was hurricane season and the report had told them to evacuate multiple times. Their father, while a kind-hearted man, was set in his ways. He believed that the storm would miss their town and everything would be fine. They didn't have the funds to travel anyway, so the best option was to wait it out. Unfortunately, he was wrong. The storm hit the coast at full force and their whole town was submerged within hours. The storm tore the house apart, flooding the single-level home and forcing them onto the roof. The night was a blur, a nightmare that she couldn't wake up from. She only remembered clutching her baby brother, Mihn, to her chest as the waves splashed onto their roof. By some miracle, rescue services came during a lull in the storm and got Mari and her brothers off of the roof. However, as rescue services went back for their parents, they only found a collapsed roof.
  
  The siblings were put in the foster system, any other family unwilling or unable to take them in.
  
  Mari was used to taking care of her brothers, even before they were place in an orphanage. As the oldest in the bunch, she learned quickly how to toughen up even as she tried to process the passing of her parents. She did her best to be there for her brothers when they needed to talk about it, but never fully processed the incident herself. The foster home that they were eventually sent to was overcrowded, under-furnished, and under-funded. The two foster parents did their best to provide for the children, but there was only so much that they could do. Once Mari, Mika, and Mihn entered the system, they were soon lost in the wave of paperwork with no hope of being adopted together. She still found time to play her Gameboy, often finding herself reluctantly sharing it when she brought it out.
  
  She supposed it was a blessing in disguise that nobody wanted to adopt them, as they refused to be separated. When the apocalypse started, Mari didn't have parents to lose, adopted or otherwise. All she had were a six-year-old and a fourteen-year-old brother to take care of.
  
  Their foster mother, Eliza, managed to get them and two other children out of the city and into the countryside after her husband was lost to a horde of zombies. They settled with a small group that would eventually form Eden. It took nearly two years before the community was finally formed. Two years of scrounging for food, learning how to kill zombies, and trying to make sure that Mihn had a relatively normal childhood. Thankfully, Eliza was around to make sure that he was properly fed and taken care of while Mari and Mika went out with a small group of survivors to try and find whatever supplies that they could. One particular expedition was cut short by bandits that tried to kill them and take their things. Losing two members and gaining a thin white scar across her collarbone, this became Mari's first lesson in the shifted moralities of the world.
  
  As most things for the Lee family, the semblance peace and stability didn't last. While Eden formed on the outskirts of her old home town and began to trade across the nation, tensions began to rise between the growing farming community and Charcity. Eliza and Mihn had been working in one of the fields when the electric fence was sabotaged, allowing a group of zombies to break through and attack them. Mari arrived just in time to pry a zombie off of Mihn while Eliza was lost in the pack of undead. To her horror, his shoulder was bloody from a deep bite.
  
  She snuck him back to their tiny barracks and kept the bite covered and sewed it up to the best of her ability. She and Mika agreed to keep it a secret until he actually turned, as neither of them could bring themselves to actually kill their little brother. But to their confusion, he never turned. The thirteen year old boy didn't understand why Mari was so serious as she told him that nobody could ever know. There were horror stories of those rare survivors who were immune being carted off to a lab, and she did her best to instill that fear in him.
  
  Afraid that the community would discover it and sell him out for supplies, she and her brothers packed up their things and left.
  
  Eventually they settled in Graceland where Mari found herself creating unwanted bonds with a few of the community members. Mika and Mihn were more than happy to make new friends, but Mari found her own circle limited to a handful of people. It wasn't that she didn't trust them, it was mainly because she was a bitch. At times, she still found herself taking out her Gameboy that had long since broken and thinking about how the world used to be. She often questioned if the world was actually better before the apocalypse, as she found herself smiling much more in Graceland as she ever did at the orphanage or the foster home.
  
  But Graceland seemed okay to have her bitchy nature as she made sure traders got to and from other communities safely. For eight years, she was content. But as previously stated, nothing stayed like that for long.
  Now Mihn is missing and it's her mission to bring him home.
  
  Pack:
  
  Mari typically keeps only the essentials in her bag. This includes a few packages of dried meat and fruits, a full canteen of water, matches, a small sewing kit, two knives, a change of underclothes, and a revolver that only has three bullets. If it's a longer journey, she'll stuff a thin blanket in as well. The only non-essential item that she carries is her Gameboy which has become a token of good luck for her.
  
  Strapped to the outside of her bag is her weapon of choice, which is a wooden baseball bat with two shivs jammed into the top. She's gone through about three of these since she figured out that she liked to fight with it, but typically is able to get her hands on another one or ask someone whose good at woodworking to make her another one.
  
  Skills:
  
  Close-Ranged Combat
  
  Horse Handling
  
  Sewing
  
  Strengths:
  
  Leadership
  
  Physical Strength
  
  Analytical Thinking
  
  Weaknesses:
  
  Diplomacy
  
  Ranged Combat
  
  Teamwork
  
  Romanceable:
  
  Yes [Homosexual]
  
  Art:
  Credit to ARTIST
- Mona Jablonski
  "I refuse to waste words on you."
  
  Name:
  
  Mona Illian Jablonski
  
  Nickname:
  
  Momo
  
  Race:
  
  Polish/German Descent | Caucasian American
  
  Age:
  
  28
  
  Home Territory:
  
  St. Michaels
  
  Profession:
  
  Farmer
  
  Description:
  
  Momo stands at a height of 6'0" and sports a lanky build. Whatever muscle she's managed to gather while roaming the country, it's still not much to begin with. Her complexion was once ghostly pale, but now holds a healthier, sun-withered tan with blotches of dirt that she can't wash off--no matter how hard she tries. And yes, she tries everyday. Finally, Momo's blond mane is cut short and choppy, which she allows to lay on her head in any direction it pleases, and her eyes are a striking shade of blue.
  
  Personality:
  
  Socializing is far from Momo's strong suit. Meeting new people stirs a rare anxiety in her gut, so she does her best to avoid doing so altogether. This includes refusing to utter a word to a stranger and pinning them down with a calculative, piercing stare. Nothing malicious, but quite invasive. However, she is far more vocal around those she is familiar with and can easily chat off her poor victims' ears about the wonders of flora and her favorite literary philosophers. In the rare case of anyone being able to get under her skin, Momo tries to meditate (roughly 5-10 minutes) and reel her emotions in. Composure is key, after all.
  
  Bio:
  
  Before catastrophe seized the country, Momo lived a sheltered and highly pampered life. The Joblanskis were a prestigious and well-revered name, especially so in the academic world. Her father often toured the nation to present lectures, feeding young minds his ground-shaking concepts on historical literature and philosophy, while her mother remained in California as a Botany professor. Momo's studies were strictly monitored the moment she was born, thus leading to plenty of private tutors and a heavy focus on Botany, thanks to her mother's... nudging. Influence. Interference. The words were always interchangeable. Whenever Momo wasn't shoving her face into a book about plants, it was in another about literature and philosophy, of her own will. She'd grown a love for the subject just as passionate as her father's.
  
  Then came the epidemic.
  
  She was thirteen years old when it all began. And she was thirteen years old when her father stopped answering their calls. To this day, Momo is unsure of his fate but has long since accepted the reality that he's either dead or turned. She was left to look after her mother and they were lucky enough to have been family friends with a professor at St. Michaels, who leaked information to them about the possibility of a safe haven in the making. It was there that Momo found a niche for herself and developed her skills further as a resident farmer. When she wasn't contributing there, she was also assisting her mother with monitoring the campus greenhouses, hiding away in the library (that she fought tooth and nail to preserve), and participating in trades with farms located outside of community borders. Of course, she never ventured out alone.
  
  Her life took an unfortunate turn (as if a zombie apocalypse wasn't unfortunate enough) when one trip in particular lead her group to being ambushed by bandits. All members except for her managed to fend for themselves and she found herself taken by force, her fate unknown. She didn't know if they planned to kill her, trade her in as a hostage, or something else entirely. She didn't manage to escape until days under their watch, having slipped Wolf's Bane (Aconite) into their meals. Fleeing back home, she was then delivered even worse news: Her mother had left St. Michaels alone in search of her and they haven't heard from her since.
  
  Refusing to lose anyone else, Momo packed everything she could and also left St. Michael's. In her travels and desperate search, she eventually joined a wandering group of survivors. Hopping from place to place. Hope after hope. Disappointment after disappointment. After crossing over from west coast to east coast of the country, her group was wiped out by a horde of ravenous Newborns. Only Momo and one man named Dennis survived the ordeal. They decided to band together and traveled further before making a home in Graceland, no matter how fickle that status may be at the moment. A reprieve from the trauma was in order for Momo and she refused to go elsewhere until then. As of now, she and Dennis have been in Graceland for a little under two months, trying to figure out their next move.
  
  Pack:
  
  In Momo's bag is a set of tools responsible for plant gathering and crop production, such as pruners, empty pill bottles to contain seeds, ziplock bags for holding specified vegetation/flora, sturdy work gloves, and so on and so forth. There is also a bowl and small strainer available. These tools lean heavily towards the instance of finding edible, medicinal, or potentially harmful plants. The specified plants that she prioritizes and currently have in possession will be listed below:
  
  - Tule Mint (Mentha arvensis): For upset stomach, indigestion, and chewing (somewhat like candy)
  - California Wild Roses (Rosa californica): Another source of food and easy to gather in the California area
  - California Sagebrush (Artemisia californica): Crushed leaves in a container, mainly used as a repellent against insects
  - Yarrow (Achillea millefolium): Highly useful for medicinal purposes, used to soothe boils/sores, contains anti-inflammatory compounds, speeds up blood clotting, and can be applied to wounds
  - Yerba Santa (Eriodictyon californicum): Another medicinal herb, though this strain of Yerba focuses on relieving sore throats, sore limbs, colds, asthma, rheumatism, etc
  
  As far as sentimental items go, Momo has one thing and one thing only--a limited edition golden pages copy of Moby Dick. The margins are filled with little notes scribbled in pen and each one holds a memory dear to her.
  
  Skills:
  
  Advanced Memory: Some would consider it a blessing, others a curse. Momo deems the skill as both. Her memory is nearly perfect, which definitely appealed to her fascination and love for academics. Thus, it's unlikely for her to become lost while out foraging, unless the path had changed somehow and even then, it would have to be by drastic measures.
  
  Medicine (Herbal): Momo utilizes her in depth knowledge of Botany and basic medical aid to heal others of their ailments, though they can only go so far. Her specialty lies in the realm of digestive discomfort, fever, sores, and epidermal injuries. Significant injuries such as bullet wounds and missing chunks of flesh are beyond her.
  
  Farming: Of course, she gathers far more than just flowers. If it can be grown by Mother Earth, then Momo more than likely knows where, when, and how to find it. She's also very adept at determining which crops are safe to consume, considering the possibility of zombie virus infection. Her preferred methodology is using a combination of water finding paste (she could thank Dennis for that one) and HP testing strips. It's the most reliable system she has at the moment, but is definitely in the process of improving it.
  
  Strengths:
  
  Intelligent: Momo was provided elite education from private tutors since the moment she could walk. Of course, her hobbies tend to veer her closer to the studies of literature and philosophy, but that never stopped her mind from greedily speeding through every book she could lay her hands on.
  
  Level Headed: This skill was one that Momo had to adopt over time. Through years of sheer will power, scheduled seclusion, and frequent meditation, she's managed to put a cap on her temper and anxiety. Most of the time, the calculative composure works well for her.
  
  Observant: Momo is always watching her surroundings. No matter what. It could very well be a product of paranoia or the fact that her brain refuses to take a break. Likely a mixture of both. Either way, Momo does well to spot things that others miss, whether it be an item or a completely convoluted idea that could pose as the solution to their problem.
  
  Weaknesses:
  
  Physically Weak: Momo is quite tall, but all her growth spurt succeeding in doing was spreading out what little muscle she has. All those years spent farming and wandering across the country with her group didn't do her body much justice, and it shows through whenever she tries to throw a punch. It's a pathetic sight to behold.
  
  Judgmental: Understanding others is a challenge for Momo. She can maintain civil conversation, but when someone attempts to formulate a deeper relationship with her, her lack of experience with other people rears its ugly head. She hates not knowing and because of this, she has a tendency to clam up and assume too quickly. Combing assumptions with distrust just leads to unfair judgement on her part.
  
  Reserved / Antisocial: Branching off from her previous weakness, Momo's inadequate social skills are apparent. No--palpable. In order to avoid any awkwardness, she deviates from talking, which can prove to be detrimental in a team setting.
  
  Romanceable:
  
  Yes | Demisexual, heavy female leaning
  
  Face Claim:
  Elizabeth Debicki
- Ren
  Caretaker | 16
  
  Name:
  
  Ren
  
  Nickname:
  
  Kid, Son
  
  Race:
  
  Asian-American
  
  Age:
  
  16
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Hired Hand
  
  Description:
  
  Saddled with a mediocre height of 5 ft 8 in, the young man does not strike anyone as an immediate physical threat. Much like his avian namesake, Ren is thin and delicately formed, a few pounds shy of a healthy weight. There is a softness to his overall appearance that belies a sharp mind. His eyes, almond in shape, black in color, are rimmed with lashes, brilliantly filled with life as they look out upon the world. In more ways than one, he has his mother's face, misleadingly feminine save for a squared jaw. He is more pretty than handsome, and it irks him. There was a time when he used to wear his hair long, but in a recent period of self-awareness, Ren has gone to clipping his hair to just below the ears.
  
  There is no shortage to the clothes Ren can wear. It is a novelty to have clothes that actually fit; in the meantime, Ren has done well with whatever clothes he manages to squirrel away. A needle and thread have done wonders for many a worn pair of jeans or shirt, and he is not bothered in the least if they hang off his small frame like rags on a scarecrow. Shoes are the only thing the teen is particular about. They must fit.
  
  Personality:
  
  There is an intrinsic friendliness to Ren's overall person that makes him quite likeable by others. Aside from his youthful optimism, he draws on his own troubled beginnings to treat community members with kindness and empathy, notably compassionate for one so young. It is easy for him to become invested in other's lives; though he would not personally consider himself nosy, he does try his best to help out, even if his efforts are ultimately rebuffed by the recipient. Curiosity spurs most of his actions; he is inquisitive, to a degree that has gotten him into trouble once or twice. He is drawn to knowledge of the old world like a moth to the flame. A few times his wings have become singed, and he's retreated, only to return some time later, ever incorrigible.
  
  His age reflects poorly on him in other aspects. Though not as gullible as a younger child, Ren struggles to discern truth from fiction and as such often takes things said at face value. While he does not appear to be, he is sensitive in more ways than he would like to the thoughts and opinions of others. As he grapples to find a sense of identity, his mood can be volatile at times, an unfortunate after effect of his own self-reckoning. It does not help that Ren continues to internalize this ongoing battle. This is one battle he believes he must face alone.
  
  Bio:
  
  For Ren, there are no memories of a world before the undead. He was only one year old when society collapsed, and his mother, barely 20, was determined to fight tooth and nail to keep them alive. Even if it meant isolating them from other survivors. His early childhood was a large muddling of constant travel, cold meals, and a pervading silence as he was often urged to remain quiet for reasons unknown to his young mind. He did not see much of the decaying landscape. Much of the brutality surrounding him escaped his view, as his mother tried her hardest to preserve his innocence. To this day, he can not fully remember her face. He can only picture her smile: fleeting, wan, something that came and went in the few moments they shared as a family.
  
  Their life alone was not meant to last. It ultimately came to an end when, while exploring an abandoned farmhouse, a Newborn zombie set upon his mother. As it just so happened, there were two bullets left in his mother's gun. The first bullet was used to dispatch the Newborn as it drove its teeth into her arm. A minute and a half passed, his mother locked in rigid contemplation. The second bullet then followed, blowing out the back of his mother's head. The blood and bits splattered distinctly against the wall, like a colorized Rorschach test. Ren was only six years old.
  
  He does not remember much of what happened next. Ten or so days later he recalls sifting through trash on the road for food when a man emerged from the gloom, a warm disposition about him. The man saved him from certain death; Ren would later come to know him as Benjamin Crane, a kind doctor who took the boy with him back to Graceland. From then on, the two were inseparable, Ren laying claim to one who quickly became a beloved father figure to him. Where the good doctor went, Ren went. In time, the boy flourished under the man's care, the traumas of his past ebbing away as he embraced his new life. Opportunities to better himself came as he began to branch out to other members of the community. Many of the older members taught him rudimentary skills in various practices. As such, he was able to keep busy, splitting his time between assisting the doctor and performing random odd-jobs throughout town.
  
  Life was as peaceful as it could possibly be...up until the tragic abduction of Minh Lee. Now Ren is on a mission to help find him, and he will do whatever it takes to bring his friend back home.
  
  Pack:
  
  By survivalist standards, Ren is a hoarder. His black hiking backpack is large, and he makes full use of it on his travels, cramming it to the point of bursting with knick knacks and useless oddities he'd like to bring home to Graceland. At present, after emptying most of his junk at home, most of the space is filled with bare necessities. That is not to say that a few frivolous items have not stuck their way in. His supply list is as follows:
  
  Two collapsible water canteens
  
  1 Liter Portable water filter
  
  Slingshot
  
  Pouch with 12 smooth pebbles
  
  Rain poncho
  
  Space blanket
  
  Hand-powered flashlight
  
  Small, red tent for two
  
  3 needles and 6 ft of thread
  
  A half bottle of gorilla glue
  
  Swiss army knife
  
  Small compass with cracked screen
  
  Over-sized red scarf
  
  One set of spare clothes
  
  Five days rations of food
  
  Two sticks of beef jerky
  
  Useless items that he keeps solely for selfish reasons are: a rubber bouncy ball, a small sketchbook and pencil, a small palm-sized mirror, a set of playing cards, and a water damaged copy of YA novel The Hunger Games. In the front pocket of his pack rests an intricately designed flower hair clip, the red bloom of the metal petals having turned a faint brown. He never wears it.
  
  Skills:
  
  Scout - Ren is the ideal person to send ahead to scope out an area. His triple threat qualities - small, quick, and silent - allow him to move about virtually unseen through abandoned homes and unexplored territories.
  
  Sharpshooter - He learned how to shoot at the age of 12 and is keen to practice whenever the opportunity arises. His more obnoxious mode of target practice is with his trusty slingshot. Unfortunately, the boy is prone to take aim at whatever comes his way, including more than a few hats off unsuspecting passerby.
  
  Caretaker - A nurturing soul, much like his guardian, Ren is built to take care of other's needs. He can manage to cook most anything, as well as bandage and clean wounds, take vital signs, and tend to the physical state of ailing ones.
  
  Strengths:
  
  Whippersnapper - Youth is on his side. He has a young, sturdy body with all the energy, stamina, and endurance that comes along with it. He also has a sharp mind and does not easily forget things.
  
  Runner - The teen is incredibly fast, quick and nimble in a way most zombies - or people, for that matter - can't keep up with, lest they tire themselves out.
  
  Malleable - Ren is adaptive. He is both eager to learn and make needed adjustments along the way. He picks up skills more quickly than some of his older contemporaries.
  
  Weaknesses:
  
  Mother Nature - He is currently in the throes of puberty, and it is not doing wonders for his emotions. That, combined with his continued repression of childhood memories, leaves him particularly sensitive.
  
  Young, Dumb & Broke - Relatively sheltered and young, Ren does not have the insight and sound judgement of others around him. His naivete puts him in a vulnerable position.
  
  Paci-fist - No hand to hand combat skills whatsoever. He is utterly useless in a brawl.
  
  Romanceable:
  
  Wait right there, I'm calling the police.
  
  Art:
  Credit to enilehtnorevol
- Name: Set Lichtenfeld
  
  Nickname: "Lichti"
  
  Race: American
  
  Age: 48
  
  Home Territory: Mal O 'Ica, with close ties to Graceland
  
  Profession: Travelling Merchant, Scholar
  
  Description:
  Cutting an imposing figure at 6'5", Set often finds himself compared to a lanky scarecrow due to his height and wiry frame. Wearing his hair long, he holds to the traditions of his upbringing and maintains his *payot* sideburns in the long, twisted Yemeni form. In-keeping with Hasidic practices he maintains a long beard, only occasionally trimming it to keep it from being a magnet for clutching undead hands.
  
  His adherence to tradition continues on to his sense of dress. Set still maintains his battered old rikel overcoat and sticks to Hasidic dress whenever he can (though he is willing to concede to practicality when the occasion demands). As such, his dress standards are modest and simple even by the standards of the apocalypse, though he is given to wearing a waterproof military jacket over his rikel to help ward off the weather. At all points he can be seen wearing the traditional wide-brimmed black hat that was once a common sight amongst his community and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.
  
  Personality:
  Soft-spoken and possessing the air of an academic, Set nonetheless has a dry, down-to-earth sense of humour that makes him well-liked amongst the merchants of Mall O 'Ica and the community of Graceland. His relaxed attitude and propensity to acts of kindness does not mean that he is an easy target: Set is a shrewd businessman and careful negotiator who knows how to get his own way in a deal. His contemporaries have deemed him a clever, if slightly eccentric, merchant and are usually happy to do business with him.
  
  A quietly devout man, Set prays regularly and does his best to find beauty and joy even in the wake of civilisation's end. He holds to the tenets of Hasidic doctrine where he can, though he's willing to make workarounds where necessary given the circumstances he finds himself in. His faith is often taken as another sign of his eccentricity by fellow merchants, but most are happy to tolerate it (at least he doesn't proselytise like some of the cults that have sprung up in the last 15 years). He considers the act of putting down the undead to be part of the traditions of the Chevra Kadisha, Jewish societies that prepared the dead for burial and watched over them until their funerals. When he can, he will consecrate and burn the bodies of the dead he finds. Small acts of kindness and respect, especially to those no longer able to thank him, bring him closer to the aspects of God within the world. Once again this is seen as an eccentricity, but at least its good for hygiene and disease control.
  
  A keen researcher even before the apocalypse hit, Set has not allowed the end of the world to stunt his curiosity. He is, in his own words, "a businessman by training and a scholar by vocation". He works to collect books and other pre-collapse artifacts, regardless of origin, aiming to preserve human knowledge where he can. Though he trades with St Michaels on occasion, he also keeps plenty of books within his own collection.
  
  Bio:
  "You're wanting my life story? Feh, you must be really running out of entertainment. Your funeral if you die of boredom.
  
  "I was born into a niche within a niche, you might say, the subset of an already small subsection of the world's population. A particularly enthusiastic dynasty of a group of people who could trace their origins back to the tribes of Canaan. You know the ones I mean, with the funny hats and the strange hair and more black clothes than those goth kinderlach you used to see loitering about the place. Brooklyn was my home, and what a city it was. A melting pot, so much so that even my community wasn't all that curious compared to our fellow residents. Mine was a good upbringing, quiet and pious but loving all the same. I had plenty of friends, even outside my brothers and sisters: the son of the local butcher is a well-connected boy.
  
  "I was the middle child, not expected to inherit the family business but still expected to make some of himself. A scion of the Boyan dynasty cannot merely sit with his thumb up his tuches all his days, after all. So it was that I found myself at Hebrew University, half a world away from the Brooklyn neighbourhoods I had grown up in, studying history and the classics. So it was that I first began to dabble in ancient texts and esoteric works, learning to love the smell of old books and parchment: the scent of knowledge itself. So it was that I met a beautiful young mathematics student by the name of Shoshanna, who would later make the horrible mistake of agreeing to marry me and move back to New York City once we had both graduated.
  
  "My mother always asked me what a man could really do with degrees in history and literature. She should have known that I was my father's son, at the end of the day, for I did what my people have been doing since time immemorial: I went into business for myself. Specialist book selling, focusing on rare academic and occult texts. My primary source of income was Kabbalic works, but I had a roaring trade from other aspects of the occult. You wouldn't believe what people used to pay for a first edition copy of that dreck Le Vay was churning out in the 60s. Shoshanna and I made a home together. A family. For a time, life was good.
  
  "And as it was for many people, the end of civilisation had to go and ruin it.
  
  "We'll skip over the immediate aftermath, if you don't mind. Some memories it does not do to dwell upon. Suffice it to say, Shoshanna is no longer with me. Nor are my eldest sons and my youngest daughter. Their loss damn near finished what the undead started, but I had my remaining children to care for. There was little time for grief, in those days. I utilised what I knew best to ensure that we had a place to sleep, food to eat, comrades to watch over us as we slept. I harnessed my skills to do the same for others where and when I could, build friendships and connections. Before I knew it, I was a businessman again. 'Lichti & Sons', they jokingly began calling us. Wasn't long before the name stuck. At the former Mall of America, where my family and I eventually came to reside, I found myself at the centre of a burgeoning community of traders and merchants. We carved a place for ourselves there that remains to this day, one of the oldest merchant enterprises still operating. My younger children handle acquisitions, trading for new imports and handling stock at the Mall O 'Ica, as it came to be known.
  
  "My eldest son and I handle distribution.
  
  "Over the last decade I have become a veteran of the post-collapse landscapes, a seasoned traveller of the lands once known as America. Which is a fancy way of saying I shlep up and down the country on horseback, avoiding bandits and walking corpses. Met plenty of good people along the way, from Eden to those isolationists out in St Michaels. Even managed to talk my way into Charcity one time, though I can't say I recommend the experience. But if there's one place I always find myself drawn to, its the people out here in Graceland. This is the first place that I can truly say reminds me of home, of Brooklyn, of a community formed by choice rather than necessity. I stop in whenever I can, for as long as I can.
  
  "And yes, I hear things on the road. It's the nature of a trader. I have heard the stories of people who are immune to the virus that destroyed our country. I've heard the rumours of them disappearing, too.
  
  "Which is to say, I've heard about young Mihn vanishing recently. Why else do you think I'm here? I can't have some schmucks going around kidnapping my customers. It's bad for business."
  
  Pack:
  Set carries a well-used but rugged backpack that he managed to acquire from a former soldier many years back, and which has served him well ever since. Durable and airtight, as well as containing numerous different compartments and pockets to hold his gear, it's easily the most important piece of equipment that he travels with. It commonly contains the following:
  
  - Multi-tool
  - Water filtration system, w/ collection bladder
  - Paracord, 100 ft
  - Small tent
  - Sleeping bag
  - Mini shovel
  - Knife
  - Crowbar
  - Hatchet
  - Duct tape
  - Compass
  - Small mirror
  - Flashlight, w/ spare batteries
  - Headlamp
  - Matches
  - Spare bolts (limited)
  - Cold weather gloves
  - Waterproof jacket
  - Spare clothes, one set
  - Goggles
  - Spare glasses
  - Hand warmers
  - Chem lights
  - First-aid kit
  - Rations, one week's worth
  - Three large water bottles
  
  Set's primary choice of armament is his crossbow, a nasty jury-rigged number that looks like something out of a pre-collapse movie but which can cope with life on the road well. As a fallback he also wields a spear that he had crafted by a weapons trader at Mall O 'Ica, which works well from horseback and as a means of keeping the dead at a distance whilst he's dispatching them. In addition, Set carries two items that he would be truly heartbroken to lose. The first is his battered, worn copy of the Torah, which he carries with him wherever he travels. The second is his journal, which he uses as a repository of knowledge, travel routes and contacts all throughout the post-collapse world.
  
  Skills:
  
  Travelling Merchant: A life on the road, roaming from place to place, has allowed Set to gain a greater understanding of the brave new world than most who live in it. He has learned the best routes to take, which regions to evade, and how to find supplies when needed. He's been able to pick up essential survival skills, and over the years he's learned how to ride a horse like the best of them. A veteran negotiator, he can drive a hard bargain and ensure that he gets what he needs for his goods. When it comes to roaming the apocalypse, few know how to do it better.
  
  Veteran of the Apocalypse: No-one makes it this far without knowing how to defend themselves. The wastes of America are home to all manner of threats, be it bandits and other rogue survivors or be it the undead. Though he's no soldier, Set has nonetheless learned how to hold his own when it comes to self-defence. His primary means of defence is his crossbow, and years of experience have honed his eye with it, but he also possesses a crude but durable spear that is good at dispatching the walking dead from a respectable distance.
  
  Strengths:
  
  Wandering Scholar: Set is an intellectual at heart, a man at his happiest when he's solving a problem or delving into a difficult subject. Years of study and practical experience have honed him into a highly knowledgeable and adaptable thinker. He can communicate in several different languages, hold forth on academic matters, and come up with crafty solutions to problems as and when its required.
  
  Hardened Survivor: You don't survive 15 years of the apocalypse without being something of a survivalist. Set can take a beating, weather a storm and keep himself alive when others have fallen. He may be getting older, but a life of travel and expedition has turned him into a wiry, lean figure who can take what life might throw at him.
  
  Weaknesses:
  
  Getting Old: At nearly 50, Set is far from the spritely young man he once was. Though physically capable and able to hold his own when required, he doesn't have the stamina of a younger man. In a physical confrontation, he will quickly be out-matched.
  
  Wears Glasses: "Honestly, you have no idea how much of a pain in the tuches it is to find the right prescription when the last ophthalmologist in the country started eating people two decades ago."
  
  Romanceable: "You don't look like my wife."
  
  Art: Javier Charro
Abigail Barbara Gracie Joyce Michael Mihn Morgan Robert Scooter Zachariah
- Abigail Ashwood
  62 | Cook
  
  Name:
  
  Abigail Ashwood
  
  Nickname:
  
  Abby
  
  Age:
  
  62
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Cook
  
  Personality:
  
  Abby in a no-nonsense person. Food is a very important part of the community of Graceland, so she runs the kitchen with an iron fist. Unless you're a cute little kid who can do magnificent puppy-dog eyes, you'll be leaving the kitchen without anything extra. She's passionate about what she does and isn't afraid to talk back to whoever, superior or not, dares question her methodology.
  
  Bio:
  
  Abby owned a small Bed and Breakfast with her husband after working at a commercial restaurant for fifteen years. She and Edgar were content to serve travelers with warm smiles and open arms until one of the guests sunk his teeth into Edgar one day. The apocalypse began with Abby sitting at her husband's side in the local hospital, watching as he slowly grew worse before finally passing away. When he didn't stay dead, it became obvious that something in the world was wrong. Luckily she was back at the Bed and Breakfast when she got the call that he had come back to life, a call that was cut short by the screams of doctors.
  
  Armed with a rolling pin and her loyal golden retriever, Gus, she fought her way downtown to the hospital to find it overrun with zombies. Unable to find Edgar in the horde, she goes off on her own for a few weeks before meeting up with a few people that had stayed at her Bed and Breakfast before the apocalypse began. They wandered for a few years, watching each other's back and staying away from populated areas, until their van broke down near the eventual formation of Graceland.
  
  Art:
  Credit to ARTIST
- Barbara Moody
  57 | Nurse
  
  Name:
  
  Barbara Moody
  
  Nickname:
  
  Mama Moody
  
  Age:
  
  57
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Nurse; Oversees Health and Education
  
  Personality:
  
  Sweet as pie and mother to many, Barbara Moody doesn't have an ounce of upset in her bones even if she tried to shake them up herself. Although she has no children of her own, the residents have taken to calling her Mama Moody for her motherly care over all those within the walls, from young to old. She is generous to a fault, and is always giving what meager rations and supplies she has.
  
  Bio:
  
  Barbara Moody was born Barbara Gonzales in Mexico. Her family immigrated to the United States when she was very young, and she only remembers the struggle of living paycheck to paycheck in their cramped apartment with her three siblings. She was the first to graduate high school, and the only one of the four children to go on to pursue a college education. Barbara wanted to be a guidance counselor for struggling students, to teach Spanish, to help those in need. Barbara wanted to do everything! She didn't know where to start. But, she did know one thing. The first thing she did was work towards purchasing a home for herself and her parents to live in. Eventually she met a nice man, and they were married. They became foster parents to over a dozen different children.
  
  Once the virus began to spread, Barbara was separated from her family in the ensuing panic. She has been unable to make contact with them, or even confirm they are alive. For now, she can only pray that they are safe. She finds peace in knowing the is providing for her new family.
  
  Art:
  Credit to ARTIST
- Gracie Scofield
  24 | Teacher
  
  Name:
  
  Gracie Scofield
  
  Nickname:
  
  Ace
  
  Age:
  
  24
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Teacher
  
  Personality:
  
  Gracie is a curious mind with a great passion for learning. It doesn't matter if the subject is from before the apocalypse or from after, she is excited and willing to devote hours upon hours of study. Soon, only studying the material wasn't enough. She was eager to teach whatever young minds managed to make it through the apocalypse and begins each day with the same reserved enthusiasm that she has had since her first day of teaching. While she sometimes finds herself becoming discouraged at the state of the world, she does her best to instill hope in those she comes across.
  
  Bio:
  
  Gracie was a young child when the zombies came, old enough to remember all the horrors of the apocalypse clearly but too young to really understand what was going on. It has taken her years to get over what she saw in those three years that the Graceland survivors wandered the wastes. Since Graceland was settled she has rarely left the safety of its confines, preferring to stay deep within its labyrinth of corridors reading whatever she could get her hands on or taking care of the younger children.
  
  Her move into the role of teacher was an organic one, at some point her parents realized that she was effectively performing the role already and suggested it be formalized. Although she never finished her own education, Gracie's enthusiasm for learning lead her to teach herself large amounts of what she had missed out on from books, the same books she now uses to teach the next generation of survivors.
  
  Art:
  Credit to ARTIST
- Joyce Scofield
  48 | Founder
  
  Name:
  
  Joyce Scofield
  
  Nickname:
  
  Joy
  
  Age:
  
  48
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Founder; Head of Graceland
  
  Personality:
  
  Joy is the definition of tough love. Her hard exterior is necessary when it comes to running a community, especially in the apocalypse. She cares not for what people call her behind her back, as she'd rather be a hardass than be running a corrupt community. Despite her tough nature, she is compassionate and loving of all under her care and would go to great lengths to protect them. Her intelligence and sharp wit made her a viable candidate for leader once the time came for one to be chosen.
  
  Bio:
  
  Before the apocalypse, Joyce was something of a soccer mom. With long days to fill she discovered the joy of video games, logging thousands of hours doing what most people considered a waste of time. As it turned out they were wrong. When the apocalypse happened, Joyce started to see more and more situations that seemed familiar somehow. It took her a few months to realize she had seen them in video games. Slowly she started to suggest solutions to problems the group faced based on her extensive virtual experience. When they worked people started to see the woman as a font of wisdom and her rise through the non existent ranks began. After a year she was no longer Robbie's wife, he was her husband.
  
  As it turned out, leadership was a mantle Joyce had been born to wear and with her husband at her side she soon took over leadership of their group of survivors by general consent. It was Joyce first floated the idea of claiming the fort and despite fearful opposition, got enough people on her side to launch a successful assault against the undead horde occupying it. Since then she has remained the official head of Graceland, although she recognizes the desire for personal agency and often lets the community make decisions on issues through town hall style meeting.
  
  Art:
  Credit to ARTIST
- Michael A. Lee
  29 | Farmer
  
  Name:
  
  Michael A. Lee
  
  Nickname:
  
  Mika
  
  Age:
  
  29
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Farmer; Oversees Food and Rations
  
  Personality:
  
  While Mika has the same sense of responsibility to Mihn as his older sister Mari has, he is much more laid-back. His high-stress job of farming drives him to find relaxation in the company of whoever would listen to his charming words and promise of breakfast rations.While Mari became the guardian of their family, he took it upon himself to become a positive influence on their younger brother. Somehow he maintained a sunny disposition through the entirety of the apocalypse, keeping a young Mihn entertained while also prying a smile out of Mari every now and again. No matter what the situation, Mika seems to have a joke or song to life the spirits of his friends.
  
  Bio:
  
  Tragedy after tragedy seemed to befall Mika and his siblings, but he kept a smile on his face through it all. After their parents died, it became difficult to keep that smile for a long time until he realized that his attitude directly affected Mihn. So from that moment on, while Mari tried to be strong for them, he would be happy for them. This cycle continued even after the apocalypse began. Mari would go out to scavenge for supplies with their group while he would sometimes stay back with Mihn and their caretaker Eliza. He learned how to farm once Eden was formed, as they were all required to work to earn their place, and found that it was both stressful and relaxing. On one hand, there was a lot of pressure to produce good yields while on the other, he found peace in the fields with nothing but his thoughts to entertain him.
  
  After Mihn was bit and they discovered that he was immune, keeping that secret became his top priority. Whatever excuse was needed for explaining Mihn's scar, Mika would smoothly generate with a charming smile. Moving to Graceland alleviated that stress considerably, but Mika always remained on guard. He found friendships and a few too many romances in Graceland, bringing his knowledge of farming from Eden to contribute. For years, he was content to live his life out in Graceland...that is, until Mihn was taken.
  
  Art:
  Credit to ARTIST
- Mihn J. Lee
  21 | Trader
  
  Name:
  
  Mihn J. Lee
  
  Nickname:
  
  Mini
  
  Age:
  
  21
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Trader
  
  Personality:
  
  Mihn took after his brother Mika and became an unabashedly social being. While still young, he would eagerly follow after anyone who would tolerate his millions of questions about different jobs and duties in Eden. Curious and wide-eyed about the world outside of the fences of Eden, Mihn often found himself riding along with traders to nearby communities. This gave him the opportunity to meet new people and talk their ear off about anything from the weather to the history of their community. His chatty nature didn't dissolve after he was bitten, and, in fact, he found himself creating stronger bonds than ever. The fact that they had moved to Graceland had certainly helped. Friendly, helpful, and always looking to learn something new, Mihn is ready to handle whatever life throws his way.
  
  Bio:
  
  Mihn doesn't remember much before the apocalypse. He certainly doesn't remember his parents, as he was just a baby when they died. What he does remember is Mari beating up a boy who had stolen his lunch and Mika telling him a ridiculous story about a rabbit and a fox to distract him that night in their too-small room. His older siblings were always there for him, making sure that he was fed, healthy, and entertained, even if they had to give up their own food and time. After the apocalypse, their concern only grew. He was often left with their caretaker Eliza while Mari went out to find supplies and Mika began to take up agriculture. This allowed him to shadow a handful of different professions, even as a young boy.
  
  After Eliza died, Mihn became more withdrawn. It was the first time that someone very close to him had died. Mari and Mika had been able to move on quickly, as they'd experienced this kind of loss before, but Mihn was stuck with feelings of guilt and melancholy. It had helped when they left Eden and he was able to make more meaningful relationships, and soon enough, he was once again talking off the ears of whoever would listen. Life was good. He could travel with the traders and help negotiate prices while also spending time with old and new family.
  It was perfect until he didn't make it home.
  
  Art:
  Credit to ARTIST
- Morgan Holt
  43 | Trader
  
  Name:
  
  Morgan Holt
  
  Nickname:
  
  Miss Holt
  
  Age:
  
  43
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Oversees Trading
  
  Personality:
  
  She's curt, she's tired, and she doesn't have time to chit chat. Morgan has spent far too long trying to survive to care whether or not you're getting a good deal, because honey, everyone is trying to get a good deal. It's her ass she cares about, and that's the final word. So it's a good thing she's the Graceland trader. Morgan isn't one for idle banter and is very matter of fact. If you want to get to know anything about her, you're better off buying something from her first.
  
  Bio:
  
  Morgan had grown up a bit of a social recluse, but she had a way with numbers unlike many of her peers. She enjoyed the theories behind the math and excelled in her courses. However, she had no aspirations for anything bigger. She disliked most topics in engineering and didn't really have a knack for the lifestyle of a statistician. So when she couldn't find work there, she opted to get a teaching license and return to the very same school she attended as a teen and teach AP studies to the less than eager minds of the next generation.
  
  The cliques didn't change, and the drama never left. Soon, she found herself remembering why she hated high school so much in the first place. Her attitude shifted and she became short and curt, known as being one of 'those' teachers for her difficult tests and harsh grading system. Her love of math remained.
  
  When the virus broke out she finally snapped. She took on a no nonsense attitude and pointed both middle fingers to the principal as she stormed her way out of the school. No order in the unknown, and no rules when the only thing standing between you and the next day is your own capabilities. Morgan was present during the original fight for Fort Lee. Some describe her as a terror, a fighter like no other. All that pent up aggression finally was let free. She now operates the channels which move in and around the area or even on longer excursions to other well known outposts.
  
  Art:
  Credit to ARTIST
- Robert Scofield
  49 | Founder
  
  Name:
  
  Robert Scofield
  
  Nickname:
  
  Robbie
  
  Age:
  
  49
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Founder; Oversees Combat
  
  Personality:
  
  Robert is a man who always has a plan in any given situation. He's quick on his feet and is indescribably loyal towards his wife and those he trusts. The occupation of sheriff never left his soul, as he still holds himself to a standard of morals and ethics that were taught to him at the academy and expects those who work under him to comply by the same rules. While he can be strict with those running security, he can sometimes be found in the classroom with his daughter Grace more or less distracting the kids instead of helping teach them.
  
  Bio:
  
  Robert was a small county Sheriff when the zombies first appeared. Despite his best efforts, his small department fell apart before the end of the second day. Robbie had always been loyal to the badge but he was smart enough to know a lost cause when he saw it and that staying would only lead to doom for him and his family. Stocking up on supplies he loaded his family into his jeep and set off for what he had heard was a safe area. When they ran out of fuel they walked, slowly falling in with other survivors.
  
  The rumored safe zone proved to be anything but and the band of survivors were forced to keep walking. As a man with law enforcement experience and his easy, approachable attitude, Robbie more or less fell into a position of influence; people clinging to a dream of the old world still saw a sheriff as a figure worthy of respect.
  
  His wife's near meteoric rise to power may have caused problems in their marriage if it hadn't actually made Robbie quite pleased to see the woman he loved finding a new role for themselves. He was her most loyal adviser and closest confidant. When she proposed the taking of Fort Lee he supported her to the point of leading a scouting expedition into the infested base and heading up the assault to clear it.
  
  In the years since, Robbie has almost fallen into the role he used to have. As the head of security he is responsible both for keeping the dead at bay and the living in line for the good of the community.
  
  Art:
  Credit to ARTIST
- SCOOTER
  GOOD BOY | 4 | CORGI
  
  Name:
  
  SCOOTER
  
  Nickname:
  
  SCOOTS, SCOOTY, BOY
  
  Race:
  
  CORGI
  
  Age:
  
  4
  
  Home Territory:
  
  HOME IS WHERE THE MASTER IS
  
  Profession:
  
  I GUARD THE BACKPACK
  
  Description:
  
  I LIKE TO WEAR A GREEN BANDANA MY MASTER GAVE ME. IT SMELLS LIKE MEDICINE.
  
  Personality:
  
  A GOOD BOY
  
  Bio:
  
  ONE DAY I HAD SIBLINGS. THERE WERE GROWLY PEOPLE. MY MAMA BIT THEM. I GOT SCARED AND HID UNDER A CAR. THEN MY MASTER FOUND US. NOW WE ARE SAFE.
  
  Pack:
  
  WHAT IS A PACK?
  
  Skills:
  
  DIGGING
  
  ALERTING
  
  FETCHING
  
  Strengths:
  
  COMFORTING
  
  FINDING
  
  MAKING FRIENDS
  
  Weaknesses:
  
  MY LEGS ARE SHORT
  
  I LOVE TOO MUCH
  
  I AM SMALL
  
  Romanceable:
  
  I AM A DOG BUT YOU MAY LOVE ME
  
  Art:
  Credit to Anneke van Waard
- Zachariah Mulligan
  32 | Expeditions
  
  Name:
  
  Zachariah Mulligan
  
  Nickname:
  
  Second Shot, Mulligan
  
  Age:
  
  32
  
  Home Territory:
  
  Graceland
  
  Profession:
  
  Oversees Expeditions
  
  Personality:
  
  My country tis of thee, Zachariah has more pride in his left knee than most people do in their entire bodies. His only goal is to reclaim the country that the virus took from him, which is a tall enough order for a lifetime. He is loud but not obnoxious or idiotic. Zachariah is still intelligent, though his more boisterous mannerisms tend to get in the way of his subtle smarts. The man would do anything for his fellow soldier, and prides himself on being a part of the well running community known as Graceland.
  
  Bio:
  
  Born and raised in the outer limits of Washington D.C. to two career politicians, Zachariah was born with the natural urge to rebel against the man. However, being so close to the central pride of his country only brought out the patriot in him, and soon the young teen was engaging in debates at school and becoming more engaged in his parent's work. A shame he really only began to show interest when the world was starting to end.
  
  Zachariah was a junior in high school, his mind more focused on midterms and college than survival and zombies. He had his heart set on studying politics and his parents had put a divide on where he should go to college after he graduated. The virus solved all his problems, and brought out a kind of comraderie with his fellow neighbors. Frustrated by the events, the young teen rallied his neighborhood in an all out effort to escape their populated D.C. neighborhood as soon as possible. It was a decent plan, and many survived. Call it dumb luck, or some sort of political speech gone rogue, Zachariah wasn't able to pull off any sort of motivational spirit again once he saw the real world, not for many years.
  
  He volunteered to lead the first expeditions at Graceland and has been leading them ever since. It's brought out some of his fighting spirit, and he's learned to become quite an effective leader.
  
  Art:
  Credit to ARTIST

Applo · Jun 22, 2020

Glancing sideways, Cerys looked Candy up and down. She didn't fail to notice that even though they were hiding it with their arms, the woman had quite a lot more down to look at then she had had before. It seemed her poor shirt was one of the few casualties the group had sustained. Considering how the woman had acted before all hell had broken loose, Cerys couldn't quite discount the idea that the damage hadn't been inflicted on it by Candy herself. To what end the Welsh woman couldn't say; maybe their contribution had been to smother a bandit to death.

"I've survived worse. We all have." The words were barely more than a gentle whisper as Cerys slid her pack off her back and started to blindly finger her way through its contents. "It's a miracle that that pretty much all out injuries you could kiss away."

Deep in her bag, Cerys felt her finger tips close around what she had been groping for and with a breathy grunt she pulled until an old plaid button down shirt came free. For Cerys the garment was a bit on the small side and left too much of her midriff on show. Candy wouldn't have the same problem Cerys was sure and not only because the woman was a few inches shorter than her.

"I got a needle kit you can borrow too if you want." Tossing the shirt into Candy's arms, Cerys reached into one of the pouches on her belt and pulled out a small metal tin. "You can pay me back for it by saving the flashing for anyone not trying to rob and murder me."

Verran · Jun 24, 2020

Almira "Alley" Renton
Status: Healthy, For the Grin-reaper

The Alley Cat stretched languidly as she watched Momo begin rummaging through the bodies. There was going to be hell to pay at some point with someone and death, she could almost feel it. Although, given how, on the whole, laissez faire everyone was around the bodies, it seemed that most people were at least, while not comfortable, not squeamish about it. Some new killers to mix in with the veterans, but not new to corpses. Pretty typical, but still, worth noting. However, her comrade's idea of looting seemed to solely resolve around weapons. That wouldn't do at all. In fact, they had a cart. No reason to take plenty of random, though well off, bits and bobs to barter on their way.

A thought and chance burying them was, however, a new factor for her. It was…pleasant, actually. To be able to stop and tend to the dead beyond prayer. Usually it was a search through and then be done with it. However, now was not the time to appreciate the situation. Pulling herself into action, she went to each corpse in turn after Momo, closing their eyes, and checking their remains. A good coat, leather, came from the fellow clubbed on the head. A fine enough pair of shoes came from the bullet-holed man. A brief stop at the next one saw her use a bit of ripped shirt and spit to wipe away some of the blood on her. And, oh good, a shiny little watch from Cordelia's victim. Broken, but no doubt would fetch a price with the right person. The charred one was useless. Where Kent had acquired a flamethrower, she hadn't thought to really ask. Until this moment that is. Still, as she turned to the last body as Momo strained to move it, Mari was giving a speech. One that, for her own part, was unnecessary. And bad. They would have so much to talk about this evening!

Smiling at her compatriot, her fingers dance lightly about the corpse. Fingering into pockets until, ah, perfect. Almira slipped free the wallet. Simple black. Leather. Rather worn, but the stitching held well.A token or something of the past, no doubt. Did it hold something? She flipped it open and, flopping down from one of those internal pockets. Hanging within its plastic leather frame. Glassy eyes beheld a picture. Faded color, but still clear of a man, the man, arm around a woman who held a child in her other arm. A boy seemed ready to bounce right out the picture, stood in front of the pair. Eagerly, impatiently, smiling and ready to free from his father's restraining, though loving, hand. His eyes were bright then, she thought as she beheld the picture. Almira snapped the wallet shut and pocketed it. Some nostalgic person would want the wallet. She'd return the picture before burying him.

"C'mon, Momo, let's get them off the road," she said as she grabbed the other end of the corpse, "I'll do a bit of burying and then need to sit down with our fearless leader before turning in." Unsurprisingly, her chipper attitude never wained.

Mobley Eats · Jun 25, 2020

Mona "Momo" Jablonski | Interaction: Almira @Verran

Talking. Someone was talking--no, rather, a speech of some sorts. That was all that Momo's muddled mind could currently process; trying to absorb information beyond those parameters was just nothing short of impossible. Every inch of her poor pounding cranium was flooding with a dense fog. She couldn't think straight, but was also powerless when it came to not thinking.

Images. Motion pictures flashing behind her eyes at sluggish lightning speed. Blood. An expression of unbridled fury and pain and shock riddling the visage above her, before the light in his eyes dimmed. She was capable of recounting every aching second of it. Death was no stranger to her, but bringing it onto someone else definitely was.

Bile toiled in Momo's gut.

If it wasn't for the strain and burning in her muscles, she would've found herself succumbing to these thoughts. Crumbling and withering and deteriorating until she'd forgotten how to speak with Ren. Even worse, Denni... No, that wasn't true. She'd never forget that. Harassing Denni in response to harassing her was second nature by this point; trying to convince herself otherwise was a foolish venture--

It was the movement of the corpse that ripped her from her musings and the following of a voice that forced her back to solid ground. It was Almira again. Hadn't she walked away from this enigmatic woman? Did she require something else from Momo? Further aimless conversation about the stars? Well, perhaps not aimless... but still, Momo held no chance of smothering her confusion and it showed in her sore, wet eyes. "W... why're you...?"

"C'mon, Momo... off the road... bit of burying... fearless leader..."

Bits and pieces. If Momo was granted the pleasure of privacy, she would've blushed then and there with embarrassment. However, her brow creased further, struggling to comprehend Almira's words beyond the fog. She needed more time to gather her wits. To present herself as a proper lady, despite the scrapes and blood and bruises decorating her person. Momo opted for the safest reply--which was none, aside from a simple nod. Grunting, she hefted the corpse off the side of the road with Almira's assistance and cradled her lower spine with a light grimace resting on her lips. Gods... she was so weak. Why did she have to be so fragile? So thin? There were days in which the woman was trapped by her own reflection, catching glimpses of her lanky figure. Unhealthy. Featherweight. As if she'd fly away with a semi-harsh breeze, never to be found again... She looked disgusting, like someone on the verge of becoming an animated skeleton.

But ladies didn't have such insecurities. And ladies surviving the zombie apocalypse had no room for petty doubts.

Running a sleeve across her tender cheek once more, Momo turned her sights on the others, who were already in the process of setting up camp and winding down. Her gaze was specifically set on finding Denni--meddling with him would help to ease her mind, if only a little. But wait, no. Almira. It was rude to dismiss her.

Momo forced her attention back onto the woman, looked to the body between them, back up at her, then awkwardly set off for one last corpse in the road, hoping that the strange woman would offer help with this one as well. She could just ask. Use words. Make her life easier. But Momo's lips were far from cooperative and her throat had yet to function after choking out sobs from earlier. She was such a pathetic child... A grown woman, crying over dead bodies.

She'd do better in the future. She swore on it--

Delayed realization. Fragments and cracks were suddenly filled, Momo's memory refreshing itself like some deep-seeded instinct. Sitting down with their fearless leader. The jest in Almira's tone. Was she simply trying to lighten the mood? What for? Why? It was comical in itself to try and do so, considering what just transpired. Was that the flesh and bones of her joke, then? Something so convoluted and random? No... No, no. Momo was merely drowning in her own skepticism and paranoia again. Regardless, the curiosity seized her like a hostage, and she placed the body down to shoot Almira a questioning look. Scrutinizing. She scanned Almira up and down, the aura of a cautious puppy radiating from her.

"I-if you're serious... the burying," she muttered, her voice hoarse and crackling. She cleared her throat and pushed on in a slightly clearer tone. "A small stream nearby. I... I-if I recall...?" She never doubted her memory, as it never once failed her in the past. She was certain that she had caught sight of one during their travels, but it was a decent venture away from them by now. But still... She looked to fields nearby. Much closer than the stream. More than likely living off the same source of freshwater. Hebeloma syrjense loved to grow on corpses, so if Almira wished to bury them, they could at least avoid leaving behind the evidence. She... She didn't want to take any chances.

She pointed in the general direction of the fields of tall grass, only to squint at her bony finger, and dropped it just as quickly. "Over there should be... um, optimal." Another awkward pause, before she forced out faintly, "And thank you." She was grateful for more than just Almira's offered strength, but she didn't have the energy within her to express it.

CloudyBlueDay · Jun 25, 2020

Dennis Haufman
@Verran @Mobley Eats

An eery calm had draped itself over the group as they cleaned up the aftermath of the question, leaving Dennis to question his place in this caravan of travelers. Despite thinking himself a fair fighter, the ragtag team had descended upon the bandits with a fury that had shocked him. Maybe spending so much time with Momo had lead him to wrongfully believe that people were scared into submission. This group seemed the opposite. They seemed scared into violence. And it came easier to them than he ever thought it would have, even to Momo.

So, he wondered if she actually really needed him anymore. One way or another everyone either succumbed to the brutality of living in this world or died as a victim of it. He came on this journey to fulfill a purpose he had grown accustomed too, and now that position seemed void. It left him no excuse for the real question gnawing at his gut, but Dennis still insisted on ignoring it.

He wasn't ready. To face it. To go up to them and say it and make it real or prove it to be fake. Fifteen years a stupid hope had guided him; that the last people he loved on this earth were still out there. At the five year mark he had still been hopeful. At the ten year mark he had still pushed forward. And now, all this time later, right in front of his face was the first sliver of light he had seen in so long. And he suddenly didn't want it to be true?

Of course it was easier to keep on pushing through the world with a cold heart awaiting the moment he would finally get bitten or stabbed or sick or something. Of course it was easier to pretend he cared about nothing at all or even a spare few or just one single person that had needed him, but when that went away, what was he? He often asked himself time and time again why he was still alive. Why so many people had fallen to minute failures or unhappy circumstances or brutal, bloody wars and yet he was still here. Still toiling, grumbling, and standing around while everyone else did the dirty work.

Dennis blinked, lifting his head to realize that the dirty work was indeed being completed while he stood staring into space. For fuck's sake. He'd go crazy if he stayed in his head any longer.

Rolling his shoulders and tensing his jaw, Dennis approached Almira and Momo with his sluggish gait, looking them both over as he caught the tail end of their conversation. Looking for a place to dump the bodies, he figured, which was exactly why he had shuffled over.

"I can do some lifting." He offered gruffly, catching Momo's gaze. For a moment his eyes held an air of soft concern, asking without words if she was alright. But another moment passed and his usual indifference returned with the slouch of his posture, giving a curt nod to Almira while he slung a body over his shoulder in one swift movement, trying not to think much of who this person had even once been. "Near the water?"

Jinx · Jul 1, 2020

H O M E

Chapter 1: Country Roads

Post GM Notes

Night was quickly falling upon the group, the reds and oranges of the sun bleeding through the trees as Mika coaxed a fire to life. Mari had successfully corralled their supplies and Huffle. After checking the cart multiple times and being satisfied that nothing had been lost, she settled on one of the logs by the fire and began to dig through her bag. Mika had settled on the ground near the fire, one leg stretched out lazily as he counted his arrows. Every few seconds his eyes flickered around the group as he tried to find the words that would correctly follow up a bandit attack.

"If anyone has any scary stories-"

Mari reached over and smacked the back of his head, rolling her eyes.

"We're living in the apocalypse, I don't think that anyone can outdo that." Her smile was wry and dry as she leaned forward to rest her elbows onto her knees. "But it'd probably be pretty entertaining for someone to try."

"Or don't." Croaking like a frog, Cerys leaned forwards and poked at the fire with a stick for a few moments. It had been a long day of which the fighting had only been a part. Momo, Alley and Dennis each had mud and bloodstains aplenty from their efforts to remove the dead, the Doc had plied his trade with all of them and all of them had been up at the crack of dawn. "Some of us might want to sleep tonight Mari."

Mari almost commented that there were other ways to help her sleep, but she only smirked and stared forward at the fire once more. Mika sighed and rested his chin in his hands, tapping his fingers against his cheeks for a moment before he perked up once more.

"A campfire song then. Something to lift our spirits." He grinned, crossing his legs and looking across the group. "Any favorites?"
Instructions: To keep things moving along, the next GM post will take place after a time skip of a couple of weeks. Bare that in mind for your posts.

Lillian Gray · Jul 9, 2020

Dr. Benjamin Crane

Benjamin was tired. He'd gone around, checked on everyone, and was not pleased with the results. How was it they could cover so little distance yet earn so many injuries? Not only that, but he was frustrated by their decision to make camp near a pile of dead bodies. What did it matter if the river's current carried away whatever foul scent that called to the undead? They would hunt, and they would do it well. It was only a matter of time before they ran into some of the unfortunate souls.

He wisely chose to remain silent. The good doctor had no desire to stir up trouble on their first night outside the comfort of their campus walls.

He sat on the edge of the circle, purposefully putting himself at a good distance from anyone else, and procured a small flask from his backpack. Both rifles sat in his lap for safekeeping, just in case. He was still on edge. Benjamin couldn't have imagined they'd run into anyone so soon, and after the skirmish that had taken place, he felt a drink was well deserved.

"If anyone has any scary stories-"

That caught Benjamin's attention. Yet another poor idea. Scare the volunteers out of wanting to help with a bit of horror on their first night? He swallowed a mouthful of liquor and groaned as quietly as he was able. Come on, Mari.

Perhaps there was a story he could tell.

With a grin, he wiped his face with the back of his hand before speaking up. He'd humor them with a story. "Oh, certainly. Let me tell you all about the horror of filing taxes." He chuckled. "Once a year, you had to pay the government money based on how much you made. Everyone did it, no one knew how, and if you cheated they'd put ya in jail." He took another swig and shrugged. "Or just pay a fine."

"And when all this is over? We'll have to start taxes right back up again."

CloudyBlueDay · Jul 14, 2020

Father
with @Lillian Gray

Campfire stories. That's what this group had been reduced to. Campfire stories. He'd agreed to risk his life for some stupid kid and they were wasting their time perched around a fire telling jokes. God, if this was how he went, he swore he would come back to haunt someone, something, anything, to make at least a halfway decent story for the next set of idiots to tell.

Dennis took a seat farther away from the rest of the group, feeding off just the edge of its warmth as he kept a quiet watch ahead. It hadn't been easy work, tugging bodies and digging graves, but there had been some semblance of peace in doing it. He'd forgotten what it was like to bury the dead. If only he could wash away the day with a good bottle of booze…

Benjamin glanced over to Dennis and sighed. Did he say anything, or just let it go? He hadn't checked up on Dennis yet and he supposed it was probably time.

Benjamin flashed his flask towards Dennis with a light shrug, hoping the offer was enough to gain a seat by his side. After the day's events, all the doctor wanted to do was sit and have a good long drink. Company wasn't necessarily what he was craving, but Dennis was looking pretty sore himself. The least Benjamin could do was make the offer.

Dennis turned his head to Benjamin, eyes brightening slightly as the bottle of liquor made an appearance. Well then. Whoever heard my prayer, thanks for answering. He'd take the good doctor over a lot of these fools, even if he might be the one person standing in the way of a rather monumental discovery. Either way, Dennis was good at pushing things aside for a bottle of liquor. With a small nod he gestured to the open space beside him for the doctor to sit.

After a moment of silence, Benjamin opened his mouth to speak. His tongue felt far too dry though. He took a sip before speaking. "Thanks for looking out for the kid today." His eyes followed Ren across the fire. He looked so carefree next to Momo. Though it was hard to look anything but next to the spritely young woman. Benjamin bowed his head, staring at the bottle in his hands. "I really messed up. I think he's mad at me. So I'm glad someone is looking out for him." Benjamin passed the bottle to Dennis.

Dennis allowed a hand to rest on the back of his neck, staring at the ground beneath him. "No problem," He offered gruffly, and then pausing in surprise as Benjamin continued. He lifted his head to look at the man, eyes softening slightly. "Mad... how?"

Benjamin shifted uncomfortably. "I guess mad isn't the right word. Pissed, confused maybe, I dunno. He's just a kid. I just, I dunno Dennis. It's hard to tell. Shit. I told him something I should've told him a long time ago." He exhaled and closed his eyes, was he really dumping this on Dennis? "It didn't go well."

A cough exploded mid-swig in Dennis' throat as he choked on his drink. Fuck, that was not the answer he was expecting. And if this was going down the road that it seemed to be going down… oh god, was it true? Was it actually him?

Benjamin was startled out of his admission as Dennis began to choke on the borrowed alcohol. He slapped his back a few times and watched his face, in the honest to God case he actually started to turn blue.

After a moment of heaving his guts out, Dennis took in a steadying breath, finally regaining control over himself. "Th-thanks." He muttered, a hand coming over his mouth to stroke his beard anxiously. "S-so… what did you… tell him?" His heart threatened to thump out of his chest.

Alright, so this was happening then. Benjamin crossed his arms over his knees before getting to an answer. "...I told him about his mom." Benjamin said after a while. What did it matter who knew now? Ren wasn't talking to him. Someone ought to know. "How she died. Figured if I didn't make it back from this trip, at least he'd know."

Silence swallowed Dennis like a suffocating blanket. His eyes were misty and far off, and he wasn't even sure how to make his mouth work anymore. It felt too dry to speak. What was he even supposed to say? What was he even supposed to ask? He just wanted to know if it was really him. And if it had really been her.

"How… how did she die?" Dennis whispered, the world crumbling before him.

Benjamin scoffed, "You really wanna know?"

Not yet, Dennis steadied himself. "Y-yeah, I mean… it'd probably help you to get it out of your system, you know?"

"It's fine. It's been so long I guess I just don't... I just... wish I'd have been there. To do something." Benjamin looked back up at Ren. Did he look like her? Sound like her? Would she have been proud of the man Benjamin had helped to raise? Or would she have been disappointed in the doctor? There were so many unknowns and not enough reassurances that what Benjamin was doing to guide Ren was right or wrong.

Benjamin shifted nervously with the bottle of liquor in hand before continuing. He couldn't look at Ren when he spoke. "She took her life to save his. Got bit. Used the last bullet to…" Benjamin clasped his hands together around the neck of the bottle and pointed towards the ground in a shooting motion. "...found Ren wandering nearby. He asked me to fix her, Dennis. To fix her. If I'd have been there just another day sooner, another hour, I- I don't know. I could've done something."

Dennis' fists clenched and unclenched. It looked like it was taking everything he had to keep his emotions in control, body near trembling from the overflow of emotion. "I wish I could have been there too." He mumbled, words dripping with sorrow.

"I still think about her, you know." Benjamin said quietly, "She passed through Graceland, wouldn't stay. I could've done something. Stopped her. Something." One of his hands grasped at the open air. He took a heavy drink from the bottle.

Memories danced in front of his vision and blocked out the flickering fire before them. "She was a lovely person." Dennis spoke without thinking, just wrapped up in the sound of her laughter.

Confused, Benjamin glanced over at Dennis. "Did you know her?" He wondered if he had perhaps misheard him. What were the odds that Dennis could have known Ren and his mother from when he was a toddler? Maybe he'd hit the bottle a little too hard already.

Dennis blinked, woken from his daydream. "W-what? N-no! I just meant.. I meant she must have been a lovely person. Y-you know. Lovely kid."

"Right. Sorry. That would just be…" Impossible?

He slowed. "I…" Did he say it? Did he risk it? Did he dare? Fuck, oh fuck. What was he gonna do if he didn't? Suffer in silence the rest of his life? Ignore the fifteen years he'd spent searching? "Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you know her name? His mother?"

"Kim. Her name was Kim."

And just like that, it became true. All his doubts washed away. Gaze foggy and far off, Dennis sat in silence as he processed Benji's words. As he processed the truth, a truth he could no longer avoid. Wordlessly he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter, rubbing his thumbs gingerly over the worn and yellowed paper. His own name was scratched into the front.

Benjamin's eyes momentarily flashed over to the item. Quietly, he inquired, "What's that there?"

It took him a moment to find the words to respond. "It's ... it's the last letter I got before the apocalypse."

"You don't have to talk about it you know." He replied just as softly as he'd asked. Benjamin might have been a doctor but he wasn't always the best with people. Not any more. He could patch up limbs and wounds no problem, but matters of the heart and head were another kind of beast. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything that took them down this road of broken hearts and weary memories.

For a moment Dennis squeezed his eyes shut, still trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. "I ... I do."

"Only if you want to. When you're ready. God knows I fucked that part up... least I can do is make sure you're
ready to talk about something." Benjamin sighed. He was talking too much, dammit.

"It's from Kim." He blurted, knowing no other way to say what had to be said unless he forced it out.

Benjamin definitely thought the alcohol was playing tricks on him now. A cruel prank that only karma could deal out. He wasn't sure he believed in all that, but the words slipped past Dennis' lips like a smooth song. "Kim? What's it say?" He still held doubts it was the same person. It was a common name. That had to be it.

"She... she says to meet them." He said, voice a breath away from being inaudible. "Her and... my son."

" ...the odds are a million to one Dennis." Benjamin tried to persuade Dennis.

"I wasn't sure at first," Dennis said, voice rising in pitch, though still strained and controlled so as to keep this conversation private from the rest, "I told myself there was no way, I told myself to forget about it, but now… now I'm sure."

Benjamin fidgeted with the fabric of his pants. He was becoming nervous. This whole conversation had taken a turn he hadn't expected, and he wasn't comfortable with it. There wasn't much that could make him uncomfortable, but Dennis was doing a damn fine job of pulling at his anxieties. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because," He choked out, waving his hands. "Because he's the right age... the right circumstances. And he looks.... so much like her."

" ...Dennis, come on. You can't... you don't know."

"H-how could it not be?" Dennis snapped, whipping around to face Benji. There was a look of desperation in his eye, a look that someone had when they had tortured themselves over this very answer for years upon years. "I-it... it has to be! It has to be. He... has to be…"

Benjamin put up his hand to stop him before he grabbed the attention of the rest of the camp. This was certainly not the time to be dredging up rumors about who was or wasn't Ren's mother. He needed some kind of proof. " ...Kim. Your Kim. What's she look like?"

"Like him! Just like him!" He croaked, a shaky hand tangling in his hair. "Same hair, same eyes. Same laugh. Same everything."

"Dennis, hey I... I'm sorry. You just gotta calm down, okay?" He ran his hand through his peppered hair. His eyes maintained a constant watch on Dennis, in case he began to panic. It was too coincidental to be a lie, but so far fetched Benjamin didn't know what to believe. Stranger things had happened, and with far worse outcomes.

"I'm... I searched for them, Ben." He dragged his hands over his face and took a few shuddering breaths, reliving the agonizing years he had spent with just the tiniest bit of hope in his heart that he would some day find his family. "For fifteen years. I didn't even know I had a son until I got that letter and I never even found him. And now I find out she... she died protecting him. And I could have been there if only I had found them."

His shoulders sagged. "And now... what? He has you. He doesn't need me to hurt him more. He doesn't need me."

The sudden twist of emotion had him reeling. He put his hand on Dennis' shoulder and tried to look him in the eye, what with the only good one he had. "Dennis, shit. Don't say shit like that. Look at me man. We both had our shot, and we both fucked it up, but a lot of people have done a lot worse. He's alive, and you're alive, and I'd say that's pretty goddamn good considering how fucked everyone is. If he didn't have you today there'd be another body out in the road. He needs you, Dennis. Okay? You're here now. That counts for something."

Dennis shook his head, gaze drooping. "No, man. He needs you. Way more than a stranger like me." Who was he anyway to Ren? Just a flake of a father. A nonexistent figure. How dare he drop into Ren's life after hardly existing for all sixteen years of his.

Fuck. Benjamin was torn. He knew what it was like to be a father. It was second nature to protect your own. You put your heart on your sleeve, and got down in the dirt for your kids no matter what was mixed into the mud. Dennis didn't mean what he was saying, and Benjamin knew it. That doubt wasn't real. He probably wanted to run straight up to the kid and hug him until it hurt. And after sixteen years? It was a small wonder Dennis could keep himself seated. Hope and want were powerful emotions and Benjamin wasn't about to be the man responsible for getting in the way of flesh and blood.

"Then don't be a stranger. Get up and go tell that kid you searched for him for fifteen years." The liquor was starting to talk now. That liquid courage built up into his bones, even if it was for someone else.

Yeah. They were drunk.

A flutter of hope clutched Dennis, the very glimmer that had kept him going all these years. "H...how?"

"Fuck if I know. Doesn't have to be today. Tomorrow. Just don't wait too long." Benjamin shrugged. This was probably a bad idea, but the pieces were all falling together so perfectly. Dennis shows up, has his own Kim who disappeared with their boy. The one and only Kim Benjamin knew had a son his age? Benjamin couldn't know if this would be good for Ren or not. Would it be overwhelming? Probably.

Fuck. He didn't know. Didn't have time or the capacity to think of the consequences. He was tired. Dennis was probably tired. And Ren? He was stuck in the middle of all this and he didn't even know it.

His teeth ground together with nervousness. "I... I don't want to step on your relationship. If there's a-anything I do you don't like.... please t-tell me."

"You're his father, doesn't matter what I think. If anything I should be asking you. After all these years…" He snorted. "Fuck."

This is a bad idea. A small voice in Benjamin's head spoke up.

"Y-you're his father." Dennis rasped. "You raised him. I'm just the... the blood that made him. And you raised him damn well."

"And you spent fifteen years looking for him. He could've been dead for all you knew. That's commitment, Dennis. Love. Kid's pissed at me now... misses his mom. Can't replace blood." Benjamin tried to argue. Had he known his kids were still alive he'd drop everything to find them. But… they weren't. So he wouldn't. But Dennis! Dennis still had a fighting chance for something.

"I-I don't want to replace you! And he doesn't want that either." Dennis insisted, hands dragging through his hair, stress radiating off of him in waves. "He's just hurt. I'm hurt too. I didn't... I can't believe she died like that." Finally he had answers. But despite all his preparing for the worst, he wasn't ready for it to hurt this bad. "Fuck.... Fuck."

"You'd be an idiot to think you're replacing anyone. Family is family. Two dads or one. You're family. And dammit just... I'm sorry about what happened, I am. But if he's yours... fuck. You gotta talk to him. Maybe slow… maybe… I dunno, fuck. He should know."

This is a really bad idea. Ren needs time. I think I'm drunk. Benjamin thought. Not that it changed what he said.

The thought terrified Dennis. Getting up and talking to Ren. Spilling all of this onto him. How? How could he possibly explain to Ren that his father was suddenly here after sixteen years? Dennis finally fell silent, hand dragging over his mouth. "I'm sorry. About dumping all this on you. I couldn't... hold it anymore."

"S'fine. Sometimes you just gotta talk about shit, or it eats at you until you can't remember what you were supposed to be talkin' about. Sorry you had to wait so long to do it." He chuckled and took a swig. "Sorry it had to be with me."

With a quiet inhale, Dennis' eyes fell closed. "I want more than anything to have something with Ren." He mumbled honestly, his tone sullen and truthful.

"Can't do it if you don't go talk to him at least. Don't have to tell him everything… Maybe not right away." That small voice was beginning to make some sense. Maybe this was real. Benjamin handed the bottle back to Dennis. "I hear it helps the nerves."

He toyed with the idea in his mind, running through a few possibilities that just wouldn't end well if he tried them tonight. "I can't tell him all this shit wasted. Not a great 'first dad' move."

"You wouldn't be wrong, but the offer still stands." Benjamin shrugged. His shoulders relaxed, and his expression was much softer than when he'd sat down.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow." Dennis resolved, the frantic beating of his heart slowing considerably. With that decision made, he grabbed the bottle from Benjamin and took a swig.

"I'm holding you accountable, then."

A rough chuckle escaped him. "Where do I even begin?"

"Well, 'Hi' is a pretty good start. Kid doesn't like it when I beat around the bush. Well, he's not a kid either." Benjamin scratched his head. Ren definitely wasn't a kid any more. He was old enough to decide on his profession, and nowadays that meant something akin to independence.

The chuckle turned into a weary laugh, though it held very little humor. "Hi, Ren. I'm your dad." Dennis said, straightening his posture and slapping on a fake dad smile.

"Perfect." Benjamin chuckled. He paused, "Oh come on, I'm kidding. Just... talk to him. You just gotta… say something. There's no handbook to this kind of shit."

"I wish there was." Dennis said honestly, thinking about how much he would love to read a rule book on parenting right now.

"Yeah, me too." He replied. Had there been some kind of guidance maybe he wouldn't be in the shit hole he was, and Ren would still be talking to him.

Dennis took a swig in silence, letting the conversation ruminate over them. He couldn't believe he'd told another soul. In all these years, he'd never said a word. And to think, it wasn't even to Momo first. Ah, shit. His gaze drifted over to her. When was he supposed to tell her?

"You're a good dad, Dennis. I think you'll figure it out."

He blinked in surprise, pulling his gaze away to stare at Benjamin blankly. "I haven't even been a dad yet."

"You've been a dad for sixteen years. Haven't stopped thinking about your kid, didn't even know his name.
You're a damned good dad." Benjamin insisted. "You don't just stop because you don't have your kids with you."

It was hard to agree with Ben, but as his words sunk in Dennis realized how much of a weight they took off his shoulders. "You too." Dennis murmured with a thankful nod.

"Nah, just... doing what I can." Benjamin turned away. Maybe he was being a hypocrite, giving advice like that when his own kids were gone, and Ren was lashing out.

"You're doing a good job. A damn good job." He meant every word of it. "Because he's still got light in his eyes and kindness in his heart and that... is so rare nowadays."

" ...and I fucked it up. He's a good kid. I should've told him sooner."

Dennis scoffed, taking another swig. "Told him that his mom offed herself? There's no good time to tell someone that. He's mature enough now. At least maybe I'll get to tell him about her."

"I think he'd probably like that. All I've got of her was a picture she carried around...but you can tell him so
much more. That'd be... yeah." He nodded, more sure of this plan than what he'd done. "Yeah."

"She was... she was a damn spitfire." The thought of those days brought a fluttering smile to Dennis' lips. "It was a highschool relationship, and she moved away quickly... probably when she got pregnant. Never even told me. But I really did.... I loved her like hell. The most any stupid eighteen year old kid could."

"I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you." Benjamin was sincere.

Dennis paused in thought, running through the options of who could have broken the news. "Nah." He shook his head. "I'd rather hear it from you than anyone else."

"Thanks Dennis... means... more than you think."

The fire crackled on.

Kuno · Jul 15, 2020

THE BIRDS AND THE ZOMBIES

@Kuno | @Verran | @Mobley Eats

The fleeting warmth of sunset and campfire had drawn the members of their party once more together. The gruesome event of the day lingered in the air. Mika attempted with some humor to distill it, and Ren's eyes turned emptily first to him, then to Benjamin, his expression appearing harsher in its stoicism against the chuckles the doctor's joke drew.

He was hardly listening. That much was obvious as his eyes drifted away to the dark of the woods, absentmindedly sipping on water as his thoughts took him above and beyond the so-called camaraderie shared by his campmates.

Ren had rewound the day's events over and over again, and in them he had found one recurring theme: his own uselessness. He'd froze - in the fight with the bandit, he'd froze, paralyzed, even when a permanent means of salvation had been laying right at the base of his bag. It was one of the deadliest skills one could have. Ren was a good shot, so why hadn't he gone for the gun? A quick hand thrusting into the bag, a nimble twist of the fingers-

The teen made a frustrated noise. He knew continuing on with this train of thought would only serve to rattle him unnecessarily. But he was certain of one thing- and the key lied across their makeshift camp.

As the group encircling the campfire began to relax into light conversation, Ren rose from his lone position at the edge and approached Momo and Almira, who sat close to the flames' warmth. It was unclear what his exact intentions were as he came to sit cross-legged before them, inclining his head slightly.

"Hey."

Ren's eyes flitted to and fro from Momo and Almira. He was a serious teen by nature, and in the waning sunset, his face appeared even more solemn. Pensive, even. He attempted to distill it with a soft smile, though it did not reach his eyes.

"Sorry," He began, looking first at the tall blonde. "Ya know, for pushing you earlier. I know you probably didn't need my help, but I...uh, you know."

His words withered away as the thought process behind them evaporated. Too embarrassed to go on, he exhaled softly and switched focus, turning his almond eyes onto Almira.

"And thank you, Almira, for helping me." His expression was warm, if not earnest. "Seriously. I thought it was over with for a sec, you know? Swear to God."

The burial had been a pleasantly solemn affair. Shallow graves that wouldn't stand up to much digging and probably wouldn't survive a spring river flooding, but the bandits, the people, were put to rest. Almira had let her two compatriots head to the campsite before her, praying quietly, before taking the opportunity of the small ounce of privacy to return the picture to its owner beneath the earth. It also afforded her a chance to quickly rinse off the blood and gore along with mud from the grave making in the nearby stream. A proper bath, or at least soak, would have to wait until she could ensure at least twenty minutes of privacy. It was an odd little point of actually traveling with people again; privacy was hard to find. The duality of both wanting to have solitude, yet also enjoying the rare experience of walking and traveling with others. The quest itself had a romantic little notion to it as well. All together, it gave this Alley Cat a contented feeling, despite the tragedy, that had her humming quietly to herself when Ren came over.

"Oh, anytime," she said as if it were nothing new while matching his warmth with an easy smile. Yet his tone harkened that there was something further to Ren's line of inquiry than casual conversation. It was best, in her mind, to let the lad get on to it at his own pace and only prod him along if necessary.

Momo's mind had no right to exist on the same plane of reality. Not at the moment. In place of clarity and proper awareness, there resided the undying tides of anxiety. Warmed by the reassurance of Denni and Ren's survival of their recent encounter, only to be iced over all over again by a lingering dread. Or was that perhaps nausea? The onset of trauma?

No, certainly not the ladder. She'd experienced the sentiment before and the current one taking shop in her body didn't even come close. There was some comfort to be found in the realization, but not much.

Regardless, Momo was spared of drowning further in her musings, ripped back to the present when two voices pierced the fog. She blinked, internally fought the keep up with what she heard, processed, then let her response hang on her tongue with hesitation. Ren had no reason to apologize. Not in the slightest. So what brought this on? What urged him to do so?

"You saved me," she muttered, short and sweet. Ringing with blatant truth. She stared down at her boney fingers and rubbed them together. She shouldn't have felt so cold. "You've accomplished far too much to warrant an apology, Ren… Are you in need of something?" A lot--saying two sentences had taken a lot out of her. Not because of Ren's presence, but because of Almira's nearby. She'd just barely gotten to know the woman.

"Yeah, actually. Can I ask you guys something?"

Always the keen listener, Ren shifted so that he was fully within the trio's shared space. His fingers rested upon his knees as his posture relaxed. Their answers were enough to calm him, if not subdue some of the nagging insecurities in his mind. Nevertheless, the current issue remained, and his thoughts aligned in one accord as he picked over his words delicately.

"Alright, so," The raven-haired boy finally began, scratching at his nose. "So...so, ok. You guys have a lot more experience with the world, ya know, out here. Outside the walls. With people like those bandits-"

It was a cold, callous question that he had in mind. It was something he'd never thought to ask Doc, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a swell of guilt for dumping this at the two women's feet.

But he trusted them to answer. So ask he did.

"How do you do it? How do you…kill to survive?"

Ah, that would be on his mind, wouldn't it. Almira cast a glance over to the doc. He was deeply engaged in conversation with Momo's resident grumpy guardian. Debating exactly how to answer slid the smile from her face, turning it to a pensive pool of a still pond. Though her eyes were empty. It was nigh on ten seconds before she answered.

"You don't want that power." It had to be the most horrendous protagonist-like advice she had ever started with, but Almira plowed forward. "What I mean is that you shouldn't kill to survive. Not really. Nine times out of ten, there's some other choice one step beyond thinking of killing. Running away. Giving them what they want. Waiting for a chance to escape. So, if your only goal is to survive, then just do that and forget learning how to kill. Killing to survive will rend whatever heart you're blessed with and either leave you a wreck or something twisted. Cold, barren, with only flashes of desperate emotion and distrust."

Almira sighed and stretched her back, letting it pop under the strain. Her shoulder ached. "But, I doubt such lofty dreams will hold for this journey. So, if you're going to kill, weigh in your mind what you want to protect. What your goals are. Whoevers' dreams you're fighting for. Anyone you want to save. And then make the simple, yet not easy, decision to kill for them."

Probably the safest answer Almira felt she could give. Any further, killing for any less a reason and the kid would probably end up like her.

Well… Momo knew a question to be both expected and unexpected at once. Perhaps it was the timing of it all that threw her through a loop or the jarring combination of such a solemn expression on Ren's young face. Luckily, she didn't have to rush a reply, as Almira provided advice. Near perfect advice, at that.

A small part of Momo was impressed, admiring the wisdom that peeked through the cracks of Almira's tranquil demeanor. She was nothing but a hastily sewed sack of encyclopedias and botany textbooks, perhaps with a (massive) dash of nervousness. Her knowledge would do little good for Ren's question, but she wanted it to. Not desperately, but strongly. In some shape or form.

"I… I concur. With her, I mean," she cast a quick glance at Almira from her peripherals, then locked onto Ren again, "The world we live in is filled with enough bloodshed as it is. N-needlessly adding to it is… It wouldn't do your psyche any favor." And yet, Almira's latter advice tickled the back of Momo's skull. Choose something to protect, determine how to do so, stick to the decision of killing without looking back. Who was she protecting from the bandits? Ren? Herself? Dennis? The entire group? And what of that time before? Who was she…?

Her mind ran off on a tangent. This was ridiculous and useless to dwell on right now. Proper ladies were focused and cordial.

"Know that we have f-faith in your skills, Ren." Momo tried to flash a smile, but it didn't quite reach the bags under her eyes. "It's not a reflection of you. To kill or not. It's merely… too complex to judge anything about yourself."

What was once stone had become flesh. Softened by the glow of the fire, Ren looked all of his sixteen years as he mulled over the advice that had been given him.

He didn't want to be a killer. Almira presented the thought of losing one's soul to the flames of desperation. To let the savage laws of flight-or-fight dictate his heart; it wasn't what he yearned to do, but like Momo had said: the world they were living in was filled with bloodshed. Wasn't the day's events enough evidence of that? He didn't seek out violence, but they did travel on a violent path. Blood would stain his hands some day. Probably, definitely sooner than later. The people who were holding Mihn weren't just going to hand him over without a blood sacrifice. And what if there was no Almira or Doc or Dennis to help him then? What then?

What if they were the ones in trouble instead of him?

An eye for an eye. Blood for blood.

Ren's eyes were the black of an endless pit. He weighed every word carefully.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," He admitted slowly, "But I think sometimes...somethings are just unavoidable. Like today."

He looked away. His eyes sought out his adoptive father, who sat at the outskirts of camp, deep in conversation with Dennis. He kept on looking as he added, very quietly, "I just want to make sure I'm doing my part to help the group."

A fondness crept into Almira's face, bringing back a soft smile that was, perhaps, genuine. She wore smiles often enough that, for anyone who could begin to pick out a few fakes, it was a challenging job to figure where they ended and real ones began. Especially for herself. It felt real enough, this time.

"You've got a good heart, Ren," she said, "keep to those reasons alone and you'll be alright in the end. And, for whatever it's worth, I think you're doing your part just by being here. Not that working to do more is a bad thing, but never undervalue a person's presence."

Ah, I'm talking about myself too much, then said as she got up while swinging a cheery smile back onto her face, "well, I've been meaning to talk to our fearless leader before hitting the hay. Best do it while someone debates telling some sort of story, scary or no. If you ever need an ear again, I'm happy to listen. Same for you too, Momo."

Applo · Jul 23, 2020

"And though Ceridwen searched for days and weeks, she couldn't find Gwion. None of her evil spells could help her in her selfish quest and the servant escaped with the magics meant for her son. Once he knew the witch had moved on, Gwion left the fae's hidden glade, took the name Taliesin as his mantle and set out to make his fortune as a bard."

Her hushed, raspy monologue at an end Cerys leaned forward once more to poke the fire with a stick for no reason other than it was vaguely satisfying to do. She had felt bad for Mika. After Benji's joke story about taxes, everyone had fallen back into their own private conversations. Mika had been trying to do a good thing and a slight sense of guilt at squashing his idea for ghost stories had compelled Cerys to recount the story from a country long since lost to her. After so many years, and so many other things, it only made her a little homesick.

"Now, I'm going to sleep before you say something dumb." Using Mari's brother as support, Cerys shook life back into her legs. She saw Alley circumnavigating the circle of bodies that had surrounded the fire but didn't think anything of it. "Wake me up when it's my turn for a watch Mari."

"Mari, Mari, give me your answer do. I'm just crazy, to know of your plan from you. We left our home all slap-dash, so there wasn't time to hash. So let us two, make a plan ado. And find our way through the land," Alley softly sang in a positively atrociously bad manner as she plunked down next to the target of her song.

"So what do you think? I'm at least three times worse than Candy, right? Anyway, I've got enough energy and thinking power left to begin charting us a course. Being blunt, from what I recall of the description of the kidnappers, I don't think we'll catch them any time soon and we're likely to lose whatever we could call a home field advantage. In other words, we should settle in for the long haul. Now, with the cart, we've got a scattering of routes I know of, from both my own travels along with chatting with other scroungers and the like, that push us South and or West. So it depends, do you want to strike for Eden or work to cross the Appalachian Mountains and try to cut them off either before or while we're on the plains. Course, they're likely to be thinking of supplies too, so I imagine they'd be striking for Eden for supplies as well. Presuming they don't really have a scrounger at least. But, that does mean we can likely pick up news and their trail proper before turning West. Course, we have a solid week, at least, before we reach there. Still, the sooner it's decided, the better."

Pausing mid stride, Cerys spun on her heel at the sudden outburst of what could loosely be called song behind her. She wasn't actually surprised to see Alley falling into the seat that she had just vacated but Cerys failed to suppress the urge to raise an eyebrow at Mari, silently asking if the woman was for real.

"That's pretty much the plan so far." Without pausing to worry about something as archaic and old world as privacy, the welsh woman kneeled down and undid the straps of Mari's pack. If there was a reckoning coming for going through her friend's bag without asking, Cerys was sure Mari was already scheming exactly how and when to extract it. The carefully folded piece of paper was exactly where she expected it to be. Mari was a little predictable. "We spent most of last night up with Joyce and Robbie. We think this is the route they'll take, that is unless they know something we don't."

It wasn't an official map; those were far too valuable to be slepped about in the badlands, but rather a traced copy. It contained a smattering of pre-pandemic cities like New York and LA for reference but most of the space was blank save for the occasional word or picture denoting some significant feature. Where the map did get busy was between the marking denoting the settlements of the new world. Trade routes and paths had been scrawled between the dots and there was the faint hint of those that had been erased as they were dismissed.

"Chances are you're right. They're gonna need supplies and Eden and Charcity are the best bets. If we're lucky they'll stay awhile at Eden. We… I know people there. If we aren't, they will push hard for Texas. It's closer to where the rumours say their base is so it might be friendlier for them. Hopefully we won't have to find out."

Without breaking step, Almira accepted Cerys into the conversation. "Well, it would be a surprise to me if they hung around in Eden. Given Mihn's immunity and how even a whispered rumor of immunity is rare enough, they'd want to push hard for friendly territory and then homeland as fast as they could. The longer time out in the field invites catastrophe. Although, we might need to bank on them running into problems and just do our best to keep pace until then."

She hummed as she leaned over the map, eyeing over the route while rummaging around in her own pack. Despite the value of maps, Almira had ensured she had her own few, heavily annotated pieces sealed securely in one of the simplest reminders of the old world. Ziplock bags. Fingering out a few of the treasures that were detailed road maps of the East coast. Her's had little use for trade routes, though the settlements were there. Color-coded swaths included projected territory of the settlements, brigand activity, along with a few zombie hordes that fellow scavengers passed around as rumors.

"This intel is about a month old, so giving some projections...Hmm, yes. What you're showing me is probably the safest and one of the fastest ways south to Eden. Traveled enough that most people are willing to kill a zombie or two to keep it clear. But quiet enough of activity that raiders aren't pulled to it. I hate to admit it, but it's a good choice to take. Although, if we felt like being a bit bolder, we could run along some of the old highway routes that hug the mountains a bit more. They're mainly clear of debris, so the cart can handle it no problem. The big issue would be the ruins of Charlotte. Been there once, but getting through or around it when we're that close to it...well it'll manageable and cut inside their circle a good chunk. Make up a bit of ground, right?" Almira traced a line down tracing, showing how it would cut inside the projected line's curve. Charlotte itself, however, seemed to tell a more detailed tale than Almira's vague cheer as the note on her map simply stated 'zombies, brigands, and scavengers, oh my!'

"Well, once we reach Eden, I'll also check around to see if there are any haunts scroungers prefer and try and update anything for us traveling West while you check in with your friends there. Otherwise, all my information would be so horrendously out of date as to be pointless."

Cerys stared at Almeria as she tried to mentally adjust to the switch the woman had made from singing to proposing an alternate route. She wondered if there had ever been part of her life when she herself had been so lighthearted. The answer was probably no; not even as a child.

"Why don't you take this and note down anything you know on it." Pushing the map into Almeria's hands, Cerys looked over to where Mari was sitting. "We've got more and anything we can do to save time is good. "

"Will do!" the alley cat chimed, "give me till morning and promise me the first round of riding in the cart so I can catch up a bit on sleep and I'll mark this up right pretty while figuring out at least two alterative routes that can handle our little party. Along with rating them on safety and speed. Sleeping after I share, of course."

Naturally, a small giggle left her mouth as Alley accepted the map and began to pore over it while fumbling in her pack for writing material. "Heheh, I'd forgotten how much fun it is to plan with others!"

A collaboration with @Verran

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H O M E [IC]

Jinx

A Stupid Hopeless Romantic ♡

Applo

Beautiful like a Forest Fire

Verran

Illogical

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.

CloudyBlueDay

consistently inconsistent

Jinx

A Stupid Hopeless Romantic ♡

Lillian Gray

Craft Master

CloudyBlueDay

consistently inconsistent

Kuno

Django Jane

Applo

Beautiful like a Forest Fire