At some point, the Shredder would have rose. His claws in keen condition as he looked over the messages. His eyes skimmed each one, searching.... Searching...Finally, he stepped back. Whatever he wanted, it was not there. That said, from the markers he selected a blank space and drew the following sign.
That done, he walked away calmly to his corner before settling in a meditation stance on his knees.
@C.T. @Whoever
Safety
Albeit cramped and small, the aura of safety was a breath of fresh air for the misfit exiles of Salt Lake City. Despite some of them only meeting in the desolate wasteland of what was once the prodigious deserts of Southwest America mere hours ago, a feeling of mutual companionship was easy to foster. After all, dark times often called for unlikely companionships, for what lies in the grand unknown that the military fended off for months was now unleashed in full force. What semblance of a vain attempt to restore a sense of normality in life was all but crushed when the military fled, and now, this band of children, criminals, and all those in between are but united as one.
They were the ones left for dead, and yet so ironically, they left the dead and dying for another chance of life.
For Armor King and Akagi, the supplies within the garage looked to be trampled with and scavenged, the saferoom's bundle of valuables stored on the surface of what was once a craftsmen table. However, there were a few valuables to the rest of the group awaiting to be scavenged from. First of which, was the remnants of several different ammunition types, particularly 12 Gauge, .308s, 9mm, .45 AP, and even a few revolver types such as .357 and .44. In terms of actual weapons, there was a military "Nova" shotgun, a shoddy hunting rifle, and a classic Uzi submachine gun. Finally, above all else, there was the standard four medkits, a common trait throughout most saferooms, although some exceeded that standard.
For Laura and those near her, more interestingly the walls of the garage, despite the rust and dim lighting, held secrets and histories of those that came before. It was clear that something was afoot a long time ago, and that simply being exiled from Salt Lake City was but the climax of the impending storm. Others seemed to have acted much earlier, and in their haste, left messages for Laura, simple tales and stories of people, just like them, trying to survive in a hostile, dying country cut away from the rest of the world. Most it, sadly, was but gibberish, the mere scribbling of mad men and women driven to insanity due to grief and a lack of hope.
Yet still, for Laura, and any others willing to gaze upon the walls, a few messages stood out above the others....
---
What is dead may eternal lie,
And in strange aeons, even Death may die.
From shadows, I refuse to cry,
For her, this is not my last goodbye.
-Blake
Keep skirting along the edges of the town, I will meet with you later. Please, don't cross down main street. I see them.
-Rey
Wowie, this place sure is....haha...WELL?
-Anonymous
beware the thin red line
beware the thin red line
beware the thin red line
beware the thin red line
---
An eventful read to say the least, but as they say, knowledge is power. Before Laura was a small marker, red in color, presumably from the "beware" individual. If she so choose, she could inscribe herself a marking upon these rustic walls. In a way, there was something eerie about it, yet alluring. Grimly, if she were to fade from this world, this would be a reminder of her existence- a mark that she was the one that survived for so long.
As the survivors contemplated their findings, whether it be knowledge or earthly possessions, a loud thumping could be heard emitting from confines of the closed bathroom. From within, the Swede, who had barricaded himself in such a room, had perform ungodly surgery to his mutilated face. Even in the relative solace of the saferoom, the occasional yelp, cry, and scream of the aging man echoed sonorously and frighteningly, invoking a sense of dread and pity. Slowly, but surely however, the door to the bathroom, steel in nature, creaked slowly to be opened.
A heavy breath escaped from within, and with one sudden joust of bravery, a new man walked out of the bathroom, forged underneath the sheer cruelty of this apocalypse.
Revolver in hand, having smuggled the firearm desperately in the confines of his medical bag, the middle-aged man looked entirely different mere hours ago. His entire form, from face to hands, were covered in a thin, sickly layer of bandages. He walked slowly yet surely, a limp in his legs, looking not only battered but physically demolished. What would normally take months of recovery would have to be reduced to mere hours, the Swede saying nothing underneath his veil of bandages, his duster jacket ripped, tattered, and covered in mud.
With small slits for the eyes, the Swede blankly looked ahead at those within, particularly Yang. He said nothing, or perhaps more accurately, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Whether it was out of shame for his actions or that he was physically in too much pain to move his muscles was a question that, given Gundersen's state, was one left better unanswered.
@Schnee Corp Lawyer @OrlandoBloomers @Kaykay @Jeremi @Kakarot! @Ivazel @Verite @Josh M @C.T. @Saint Guillotine @Indolent
---
Safety
Albeit cramped and small, the aura of safety was a breath of fresh air for the misfit exiles of Salt Lake City. Despite some of them only meeting in the desolate wasteland of what was once the prodigious deserts of Southwest America mere hours ago, a feeling of mutual companionship was easy to foster. After all, dark times often called for unlikely companionships, for what lies in the grand unknown that the military fended off for months was now unleashed in full force. What semblance of a vain attempt to restore a sense of normality in life was all but crushed when the military fled, and now, this band of children, criminals, and all those in between are but united as one.
They were the ones left for dead, and yet so ironically, they left the dead and dying for another chance of life.
For Armor King and Akagi, the supplies within the garage looked to be trampled with and scavenged, the saferoom's bundle of valuables stored on the surface of what was once a craftsmen table. However, there were a few valuables to the rest of the group awaiting to be scavenged from. First of which, was the remnants of several different ammunition types, particularly 12 Gauge, .308s, 9mm, .45 AP, and even a few revolver types such as .357 and .44. In terms of actual weapons, there was a military "Nova" shotgun, a shoddy hunting rifle, and a classic Uzi submachine gun. Finally, above all else, there was the standard four medkits, a common trait throughout most saferooms, although some exceeded that standard.
For Laura and those near her, more interestingly the walls of the garage, despite the rust and dim lighting, held secrets and histories of those that came before. It was clear that something was afoot a long time ago, and that simply being exiled from Salt Lake City was but the climax of the impending storm. Others seemed to have acted much earlier, and in their haste, left messages for Laura, simple tales and stories of people, just like them, trying to survive in a hostile, dying country cut away from the rest of the world. Most it, sadly, was but gibberish, the mere scribbling of mad men and women driven to insanity due to grief and a lack of hope.
Yet still, for Laura, and any others willing to gaze upon the walls, a few messages stood out above the others....
---
What is dead may eternal lie,
And in strange aeons, even Death may die.
From shadows, I refuse to cry,
For her, this is not my last goodbye.
-Blake
Keep skirting along the edges of the town, I will meet with you later. Please, don't cross down main street. I see them.
-Rey
Wowie, this place sure is....haha...WELL?
-Anonymous
beware the thin red line
beware the thin red line
beware the thin red line
beware the thin red line
---
An eventful read to say the least, but as they say, knowledge is power. Before Laura was a small marker, red in color, presumably from the "beware" individual. If she so choose, she could inscribe herself a marking upon these rustic walls. In a way, there was something eerie about it, yet alluring. Grimly, if she were to fade from this world, this would be a reminder of her existence- a mark that she was the one that survived for so long.
As the survivors contemplated their findings, whether it be knowledge or earthly possessions, a loud thumping could be heard emitting from confines of the closed bathroom. From within, the Swede, who had barricaded himself in such a room, had perform ungodly surgery to his mutilated face. Even in the relative solace of the saferoom, the occasional yelp, cry, and scream of the aging man echoed sonorously and frighteningly, invoking a sense of dread and pity. Slowly, but surely however, the door to the bathroom, steel in nature, creaked slowly to be opened.
A heavy breath escaped from within, and with one sudden joust of bravery, a new man walked out of the bathroom, forged underneath the sheer cruelty of this apocalypse.
Revolver in hand, having smuggled the firearm desperately in the confines of his medical bag, the middle-aged man looked entirely different mere hours ago. His entire form, from face to hands, were covered in a thin, sickly layer of bandages. He walked slowly yet surely, a limp in his legs, looking not only battered but physically demolished. What would normally take months of recovery would have to be reduced to mere hours, the Swede saying nothing underneath his veil of bandages, his duster jacket ripped, tattered, and covered in mud.
With small slits for the eyes, the Swede blankly looked ahead at those within, particularly Yang. He said nothing, or perhaps more accurately, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Whether it was out of shame for his actions or that he was physically in too much pain to move his muscles was a question that, given Gundersen's state, was one left better unanswered.
@Schnee Corp Lawyer @OrlandoBloomers @Kaykay @Jeremi @Kakarot! @Ivazel @Verite @Josh M @C.T. @Saint Guillotine @Indolent
---
Even with Ruby's inherent tininess, there was only so long you could keep up a hug with someone who wanted no part of it short of throwing them to the floor and engaging in a full on wrestling match anyway, so Yang reluctantly disentangled and backed off after a moment with a ludic, if sheepish, laugh that was mired only slightly by her present teary state. "Toldja you should've held off on the soda til we found a bathroom!~ But okay, okay, I can take a hint. I'll keep my hands off the goods. Sorry, it's just..."
She trailed off for a moment, wiping at her eyes using one sleeve and sniffling once or twice as she tried not to be too embarrassing while she looked at Ruby with an expression not too far away from the one a parent might have at their kid's graduation ceremony, barring a few situational differences. It was easier to see now that they were indoors and out of harm's way, but Yang was tired, bruised, battered and grimy; her pale complexion sporting a couple of dark circles underneath the eyes and rounded cheeks already bearing their share of cuts, welts and marks after just a few days on the road. Even her hair, aka the crown jewel, was left looking frazzled and unkempt, the constant sun and lack of working showers along the I-80 having taken their toll on the normally-radiant blonde locks.
And for all that... it didn't change a thing. Past the cuts, and the bruises, and the dirt and sweat and exhaustion, there lay the same beaming face and soft purple eyes people who knew Yang came to expect, as vibrant and resilient as ever. The end of the world could kick her around all it wanted. It was never gonna change who she was.
"I'm just so proud to be your sister."
Logan's arrival snapped her from her sudden onset of stress-triggered fluffiness; maybe for the best, in retrospect. She broke her gaze from Ruby, draping an arm over her shoulder lightly in lieu of any sort of hug as she flicked him a friendly wave with her other hand, happy to see he was okay. Not that she expected anything else. "I think we're okay, master L. Thanks. Don't worry, we can handle ourselves, but if we do need anything I know who to call!" Some of her usual optimistic cheer crept back into her tone, though it was replaced by a blink and cock of the head at the piece of info he divulged.
"Yikes, no kidding. I kinda figured he was just some nutjob. Nooooooooot really sure which is worse."
She squinted, weighing the pros and cons of both and how they related to zombies in her head for a few seconds.
"... Anyways, I'll keep an eye on him. Appreciate the heads up."
There he was.
When the Swede stepped out into the main room, Yang's features fell so sharply and begrudgingly it bordered on whiplash. Just seeing him again started building up the tension in her shoulders, and if she felt any sympathy for the older man's condition it was so blanketed by the sheer rage over what he almost did to Ruby that it was insignificant. Bandages or no bandages, this creep almost ruined her entire life. She wasn't gonna let that go.
"Ruby, go pee."
She nodded in the direction of the now-unoccupied restroom before moving away, attention too focused on Gundersen to pay much heed to the wall writings as she stomped past them. Had she so much as glimpsed one message in particular, it might've changed everything, filled her with the kind of hope and spirit normally reserved for dreams, even if it was a longshot. As it was, though, she strode up to the Swede without fear of the gun he held, stopping just a few feet away and burning a pair of holes in his head with the sheer intensity of the glare she leveled him with, fists clenched at her side. It took everything she had not to lunge for him right then and there, but she wanted answers first.
"Why."
That was all she said for a moment, eyes narrowing in thinly disguised fury.
"Do you even know how much she risked for you? Do you not get that? She's the only reason you still have a face to put bandages on. She's the only reason you're still alive! SHE RISKED EVERYTHING FOR YOU AND SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW YOUR GODDAMN NAME, AND YOU ALMOST KILLED HER!"
It didn't take long for her emotions to come completely unbridled and cascade into full-on shouting, tears of sheer, hot anger welling up at the corners of her eyes as she took a step forward and thrust a quivering finger at him.
"SO TELL ME WHY, AND THEN TELL ME WHY I SHOULDN'T DRAG YOU OUT ONTO THE STREETS AND LEAVE YOU FOR THOSE THINGS TO SNACK ON! WHO KNOWS, MAYBE THEY'RE HUNGRY ENOUGH TO EAT TRASH?"
She was making more noise and causing a much bigger stir than she honestly even meant to when she came over here, but anyone who knew Yang knew her temper was like an avalanche when it was set off. Abrupt to trigger... and impossible to stop.
@Schnee Corp Lawyer @Indolent @Krieg
Even with Ruby's inherent tininess, there was only so long you could keep up a hug with someone who wanted no part of it short of throwing them to the floor and engaging in a full on wrestling match anyway, so Yang reluctantly disentangled and backed off after a moment with a ludic, if sheepish, laugh that was mired only slightly by her present teary state. "Toldja you should've held off on the soda til we found a bathroom!~ But okay, okay, I can take a hint. I'll keep my hands off the goods. Sorry, it's just..."
She trailed off for a moment, wiping at her eyes using one sleeve and sniffling once or twice as she tried not to be too embarrassing while she looked at Ruby with an expression not too far away from the one a parent might have at their kid's graduation ceremony, barring a few situational differences. It was easier to see now that they were indoors and out of harm's way, but Yang was tired, bruised, battered and grimy; her pale complexion sporting a couple of dark circles underneath the eyes and rounded cheeks already bearing their share of cuts, welts and marks after just a few days on the road. Even her hair, aka the crown jewel, was left looking frazzled and unkempt, the constant sun and lack of working showers along the I-80 having taken their toll on the normally-radiant blonde locks.
And for all that... it didn't change a thing. Past the cuts, and the bruises, and the dirt and sweat and exhaustion, there lay the same beaming face and soft purple eyes people who knew Yang came to expect, as vibrant and resilient as ever. The end of the world could kick her around all it wanted. It was never gonna change who she was.
"I'm just so proud to be your sister."
An eventful read to say the least, but as they say, knowledge is power. Before Laura was a small marker, red in color, presumably from the "beware" individual. If she so choose, she could inscribe herself a marking upon these rustic walls. In a way, there was something eerie about it, yet alluring. Grimly, if she were to fade from this world, this would be a reminder of her existence- a mark that she was the one that survived for so long.
As the survivors contemplated their findings, whether it be knowledge or earthly possessions, a loud thumping could be heard emitting from confines of the closed bathroom. From within, the Swede, who had barricaded himself in such a room, had perform ungodly surgery to his mutilated face. Even in the relative solace of the saferoom, the occasional yelp, cry, and scream of the aging man echoed sonorously and frighteningly, invoking a sense of dread and pity. Slowly, but surely however, the door to the bathroom, steel in nature, creaked slowly to be opened.
A heavy breath escaped from within, and with one sudden joust of bravery, a new man walked out of the bathroom, forged underneath the sheer cruelty of this apocalypse.
Revolver in hand, having smuggled the firearm desperately in the confines of his medical bag, the middle-aged man looked entirely different mere hours ago. His entire form, from face to hands, were covered in a thin, sickly layer of bandages. He walked slowly yet surely, a limp in his legs, looking not only battered but physically demolished. What would normally take months of recovery would have to be reduced to mere hours, the Swede saying nothing underneath his veil of bandages, his duster jacket ripped, tattered, and covered in mud.
With small slits for the eyes, the Swede blankly looked ahead at those within, particularly Yang. He said nothing, or perhaps more accurately, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Whether it was out of shame for his actions or that he was physically in too much pain to move his muscles was a question that, given Gundersen's state, was one left better unanswered.
@Schnee Corp Lawyer @OrlandoBloomers @Kaykay @Jeremi @Kakarot! @Ivazel @Verite @Josh M @C.T. @Saint Guillotine @Indolent
Their was a first time for everything, I supposed. Their was a first time for society as we know getting it's butt kicked by some kind of infection that turns people into monsters. So what hurt the possibility that I'd run into some guy calling himself the Red Ranger?
Okay, let's give the guy the benefit of the doubt, Frank. Maybe Red Ranger is some kind of military designation or code name or whatever. Maybe this guy's on the up in up on what's happening that's tearing the world we know and love to pieces.
Well, I knew straight off the bat that was nonsense. I've seen wars, conversed with generals, gone to places a photojournalist like me shouldn't have gone. I'd covered wars just to reaffirm to myself. So either Red Ranger was the name of some interestingly named courier service or this guy had taken one too many blows to the head. Not to mention what was up with addressing me as ''fellow citizen?' Sounds like something a superhero would say.
Maybe he thinks he's one. Isn't any of my business either way. So long as it doesn't put my ass in the firing line that is. If the Red Ranger gets too a bit too heroic for my tastes, I guess it'll be up to me to bring him back into reality. But then again, reality wasn't all that great.
"Uh...Name's Frank West, photojournalist. Not fellow civilian. Red Ranger huh? Mind if I catch a quick snapshot?"
Without waiting for a response, I held my camera up and took a snapshot of the guy. Glancing down to see how it ended up turning out, I nearly broke out into a fit of laughter. For as much could be said about whatever the hell this guy thought he was, he could make a business out of facial expressions.
"Nice.."
@Kaykay
Safety
Albeit cramped and small, the aura of safety was a breath of fresh air for the misfit exiles of Salt Lake City. Despite some of them only meeting in the desolate wasteland of what was once the prodigious deserts of Southwest America mere hours ago, a feeling of mutual companionship was easy to foster. After all, dark times often called for unlikely companionships, for what lies in the grand unknown that the military fended off for months was now unleashed in full force. What semblance of a vain attempt to restore a sense of normality in life was all but crushed when the military fled, and now, this band of children, criminals, and all those in between are but united as one.
They were the ones left for dead, and yet so ironically, they left the dead and dying for another chance of life.
For Armor King and Akagi, the supplies within the garage looked to be trampled with and scavenged, the saferoom's bundle of valuables stored on the surface of what was once a craftsmen table. However, there were a few valuables to the rest of the group awaiting to be scavenged from. First of which, was the remnants of several different ammunition types, particularly 12 Gauge, .308s, 9mm, .45 AP, and even a few revolver types such as .357 and .44. In terms of actual weapons, there was a military "Nova" shotgun, a shoddy hunting rifle, and a classic Uzi submachine gun. Finally, above all else, there was the standard four medkits, a common trait throughout most saferooms, although some exceeded that standard.
For Laura and those near her, more interestingly the walls of the garage, despite the rust and dim lighting, held secrets and histories of those that came before. It was clear that something was afoot a long time ago, and that simply being exiled from Salt Lake City was but the climax of the impending storm. Others seemed to have acted much earlier, and in their haste, left messages for Laura, simple tales and stories of people, just like them, trying to survive in a hostile, dying country cut away from the rest of the world. Most it, sadly, was but gibberish, the mere scribbling of mad men and women driven to insanity due to grief and a lack of hope.
Yet still, for Laura, and any others willing to gaze upon the walls, a few messages stood out above the others....
---
What is dead may eternal lie,
And in strange aeons, even Death may die.
From shadows, I refuse to cry,
For her, this is not my last goodbye.
-Blake
Keep skirting along the edges of the town, I will meet with you later. Please, don't cross down main street. I see them.
-Rey
Wowie, this place sure is....haha...WELL?
-Anonymous
beware the thin red line
beware the thin red line
beware the thin red line
beware the thin red line
---
An eventful read to say the least, but as they say, knowledge is power. Before Laura was a small marker, red in color, presumably from the "beware" individual. If she so choose, she could inscribe herself a marking upon these rustic walls. In a way, there was something eerie about it, yet alluring. Grimly, if she were to fade from this world, this would be a reminder of her existence- a mark that she was the one that survived for so long.
As the survivors contemplated their findings, whether it be knowledge or earthly possessions, a loud thumping could be heard emitting from confines of the closed bathroom. From within, the Swede, who had barricaded himself in such a room, had perform ungodly surgery to his mutilated face. Even in the relative solace of the saferoom, the occasional yelp, cry, and scream of the aging man echoed sonorously and frighteningly, invoking a sense of dread and pity. Slowly, but surely however, the door to the bathroom, steel in nature, creaked slowly to be opened.
A heavy breath escaped from within, and with one sudden joust of bravery, a new man walked out of the bathroom, forged underneath the sheer cruelty of this apocalypse.
Revolver in hand, having smuggled the firearm desperately in the confines of his medical bag, the middle-aged man looked entirely different mere hours ago. His entire form, from face to hands, were covered in a thin, sickly layer of bandages. He walked slowly yet surely, a limp in his legs, looking not only battered but physically demolished. What would normally take months of recovery would have to be reduced to mere hours, the Swede saying nothing underneath his veil of bandages, his duster jacket ripped, tattered, and covered in mud.
With small slits for the eyes, the Swede blankly looked ahead at those within, particularly Yang. He said nothing, or perhaps more accurately, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Whether it was out of shame for his actions or that he was physically in too much pain to move his muscles was a question that, given Gundersen's state, was one left better unanswered.
@Schnee Corp Lawyer @OrlandoBloomers @Kaykay @Jeremi @Kakarot! @Ivazel @Verite @Josh M @C.T. @Saint Guillotine @Indolent
---
"Wha-"
Once Yang identified her assailant as her own fiendish sister and the ensuing scuffle was over, she grabbed Ruby's shoulders in turn so it became a sort of two-person huddle and sent an equally intense stare back her way, showing she was taking her concerns completely seriously. "Ruby... I'm not just any old bard. I'm the bard. Bards are the ones with... uh... throwing stars, right?"
Well, mostly seriously.
"Can you please just trust me when I say I have a good reason for this? I've gotta go! This could be life or death!"
She leaned in further and affixed Ruby with her big purple eyes, expression somewhere between pleading and impatient. There was no telling how long that message had been there, which meant every second counted.
"...Iiiiiiiiiii say "could be" because... Well... I can't be sure if this is legit or not. It should be impossible. It's just that I saw something that feels so real, and if it is real it's really really real and I can't ignore it I just can't, so even if I am just going crazy or grasping at straws it's still something I gotta check out because it doesn't matter if it's a 2% chance of being something when that 2% is still a chance a-and it's all I have so PLEASE, I JUST-"
She cut herself off abruptly with a small, sharp intake of breath, becoming aware that she'd been shaking Ruby's shoulders a little hard by the end of that full-auto barrage of words and waving her right hand's wrist-- bearing the black ribbon she'd worn tied around it for months-- in her face. Waaaaay too vigorously. She shook her head and stepped back, hands briefly lingering in an outstretched position before they dropped and she cast her gaze down to the floor with an air of contriteness.
"Sorry, sis. I've got a ton of junk on my mind. Look, I... I need to know. Some longshots are worth fighting for, even if it's just me doing the fighting. So... so take those sweaty palms of yours off me and go wash 'em already, will ya?! Now! Go! I order you with my bard powers!"
She attempted to lighten the mood from where she'd unintentionally babbled it into a low point, pointing imperiously back towards the bathroom and giving Ruby a hesitant-- but hopeful-- smile.
@Schnee Corp Lawyer @C.T.
"Wha-"
Once Yang identified her assailant as her own fiendish sister and the ensuing scuffle was over, she grabbed Ruby's shoulders in turn so it became a sort of two-person huddle and sent an equally intense stare back her way, showing she was taking her concerns completely seriously.
"Did you not wash your hands?!"
She questioned loudly as the intrepid heroine reappeared, backing away a little bit with mouth agape because gross. Yang's knee-jerk response to that, however, was little more than a coverup for her more subdued reaction to the outburst itself, which amounted to her jaw tightening while she dropped her gaze to the floor and looked away dejectedly. Her temper might've gotten the best of her from time to time, but she wasn't dumb; She knew a patented "calm down, Yang!" platitude when she heard one, and as much as she appreciated her sister's effort to stay diplomatic by not naming any names... it was still pretty obvious what she was saying was directed at her, and her alone. She was basically telling her to back off. From the guy who made Ruby cry. Who almost killed her. Did she really think this was gonna be that easy for her to swallow? On some level, she understood. Her peacemaking ways were just one of the many things she loved and admired about her little sis, but still... she'd be lying if she said it didn't sting a little that the person she was trying to defend was also the person yanking on her leash, telling her to heel.
And she'd be lying if she said it didn't sting a lot that that person was Ruby.
"But... Ruby, you're my... it's just... you could've died. How can I be okay with that?"
She rubbed her head and fell silent, letting her shoulders sag as she walked away from the Swede without another word. She didn't know if he was ignoring her or if he just couldn't talk through those bandages, but either way it seemed like she'd lost her heart to continue this discussion, so it stood to reason that he was off the hook. The guy in the leopard mask was right, anyway. His level wasn't one worth stooping to. Yang sighed as she crossed over to the other side of the room, intent on curling up against the wall of scribbles and getting some rest or something. Home sweet ho--
"...What?"
Yang must've read and reread the poem at least a thousand times in the space of the next two seconds, eyes wide and unblinking as they stared transfixed at the wall. It... couldn't have been... How many Blakes were there in the western United States? It was a gender-neutral name, as she always liked to tease. It could've been some guy writing about his girlfriend, or a grandma lamenting her favorite cat or something. There was no way. Even forgetting the unfathomable coincidence it would've been for a second, it was impossible. Her Blake was... she saw them...
But the poetry. She couldn't get it out of her head, it was just so...
Familiar.
"I... I need air. I gotta go!"
She exclaimed with a seemingly-random sudden onset of urgency, turning on a dime to jog over to the workshop table and procure one of the medkits. She also snatched up the shotgun Laura was eyeballing without preamble, offering a hasty and somewhat apologetic "Yoink" as she snapped it open to check if it was loaded and brought the stock to her shoulder, peering down the sights briefly. It was obvious she was in a rush, but the why was anyone's guess; Honestly, she wasn't even sure herself. She didn't know anything for sure. What she did know is that she wanted Blake to be alive, and if she was... she had to find her. There was no telling when that message was written, but for all they knew it could've been recent-- whoever wrote it could've still been somewhere close by. They saw for themselves coming into town that there were hardly any zombies out there, and the ones that were around were dried up like raisins. She could handle a few raisins.
Sweeping as many of the 12 gauge shells as she could carry into her hoodie's pockets, she glanced up from the table in the midst of her frantic supply scrounging to address Ruby again. "Sis, I'm really sorry about this. Stick with Logan until I get back, okay?" She dropped her gaze slightly, eyes softening as she slowed down long enough to actually register that she was splitting from Ruby, however briefly. The idea didn't sit well with her at all, but... what else could she do? As quiet as things seemed, it was safer in here than it was out there; Especially with Logan around to keep an eye on her. She knew she could trust him. She quickly made eye contact again as if to assuage any fears, putting her hand up and offering as reassuring a smile as she could muster (which, despite the circumstances, was pretty reassuring). "I won't be far! If you need me, just scream and I'll come running. I swear. I think this gives me a real shot at staying safe. Ehhhh? Am I right?"
She flashed a grin and winked, pumping the shotgun once for maximum pun emphasis, cocking an ear to listen for the laughs that were never coming.
"Darn. Guess some people just can't appreciate a good shotpun. Anyway, I'll be back before you know it. Stay here and keep your head down and you won't even know I'm gone, 'kay? Love you!"
And with that, she made for the safe room door like a bat out of hell.
Smooth.
"Wha-"
Once Yang identified her assailant as her own fiendish sister and the ensuing scuffle was over, she grabbed Ruby's shoulders in turn so it became a sort of two-person huddle and sent an equally intense stare back her way, showing she was taking her concerns completely seriously. "Ruby... I'm not just any old bard. I'm the bard. Bards are the ones with... uh... throwing stars, right?"
Well, mostly seriously.
"Can you please just trust me when I say I have a good reason for this? I've gotta go! This could be life or death!"
She leaned in further and affixed Ruby with her big purple eyes, expression somewhere between pleading and impatient. There was no telling how long that message had been there, which meant every second counted.
"...Iiiiiiiiiii say "could be" because... Well... I can't be sure if this is legit or not. It should be impossible. It's just that I saw something that feels so real, and if it is real it's really really real and I can't ignore it I just can't, so even if I am just going crazy or grasping at straws it's still something I gotta check out because it doesn't matter if it's a 2% chance of being something when that 2% is still a chance a-and it's all I have so PLEASE, I JUST-"
She cut herself off abruptly with a small, sharp intake of breath, becoming aware that she'd been shaking Ruby's shoulders a little hard by the end of that full-auto barrage of words and waving her right hand's wrist-- bearing the black ribbon she'd worn tied around it for months-- in her face. Waaaaay too vigorously. She shook her head and stepped back, hands briefly lingering in an outstretched position before they dropped and she cast her gaze down to the floor with an air of contriteness.
"Sorry, sis. I've got a ton of junk on my mind. Look, I... I need to know. Some longshots are worth fighting for, even if it's just me doing the fighting. So... so take those sweaty palms of yours off me and go wash 'em already, will ya?! Now! Go! I order you with my bard powers!"
She attempted to lighten the mood from where she'd unintentionally babbled it into a low point, pointing imperiously back towards the bathroom and giving Ruby a hesitant-- but hopeful-- smile.
"...Catch on quick, don't ya? You must be smart..."
