Mission: Z, IC

[JJ]

Nashville, TN | 20 February 2027 - Mid Morning

WEATHER: mild, clear skies, about 50f (around 10c)

It was cold outside. Not cold enough for snow, and not necessarily cold enough to keep you indoors, but for someone who had spent the better part of the last twenty years in Texas, it was unpleasant enough to make Dexter hesitate with his hand on the doorknob of the townhouse that he and Evie shared with Riley and Conner. At his feet, Hero looked up with a quizzical expression, his almond eyes following Dexter as he backtracked to the hallway to snatch a hoodie off of a hook on the wall, shoving his head and arms through it on his way back to the front door.


"Okay, you ready?"

Predictably, Hero didn't reply, but the dog's excitement upon the front door opening was enough of an answer. Stepping into the biting cold, Dex shut the door behind him and stuffed his hands into his pockets, wincing at the wind that sliced across his bare face. It was nearly noon, and the streets were bare but not deserted - every so often, another bundled up citizen would smile and nod as they briskly walked past him, to a shower, or the market… but Dexter was headed to neither of these places. As was the routine every third day, he and Hero were on their way to meet the scientist in charge of analyzing the dog's blood - and his supposed immunity.


This took place in the laboratory directly across from the hospital, a part of the Nashville community that was off-limits to most. But the guards at the front doors were so used to Dex and Hero's visits that they just waved the pair through with little ceremony. Once inside, he took a moment to stand there and appreciate the warmth with Hero at his feet, the dog's demeanor changing from excited to dejected as he realized where they were. He didn't like the lab, and Dex didn't blame him, but they had to do what they could.


"Morning, Fletcher," the guard inside, Rick, lifted a hand in greeting, and Dex nodded in return. "Cold out there, yeah?"


"For only a few more weeks, hopefully," Dex grinned, eager for spring and its promise of warmth. He unbuckled the knife from his hip and handed it off to Rick, who sat it in a bin with the number 7 behind him.

Rick patted him down to ensure he wasn't carrying any more weapons before inclining his head down the hallway. "Doc's waiting for you, but watch it, he seemed pretty annoyed this morning."


"Noted, thanks. C'mon Hero." The dog slinked after him, and together they reached the door to Dr. Torres's office. Dex didn't knock, and the doctor didn't look surprised to see him.


"Dexter," he greeted.


"Doc. How's it going?" Doctor Torres wasn't the lead on the project involving the immunity, but he as the one that Dex had met with the most, and the one who always took Hero's blood.


"It's… going," he replied with a frown. "I don't expect any real results so soon, but we're doing the best with what we have." He came from around the desk, beckoning them back through another door, and into a sterile part of the lab, where Dex hauled Hero up on to a shiny metal table. The dog flattened but didn't protest, expecting what was coming as the doctor returned with a syringe and several tubes. Taking a hold of Hero's leg, Dex pinched the vein off and held the foreleg steady so that Dr. Torres could draw the three vials of blood, one at a time.


When they were finished, he held the leg a moment more to let the wound clot, and then lowered the dog to the ground. "See you in three days, then?"

"Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about," the doctor started. He frowned, scribbling something on the label of the vial, before continuing. "I know you've declined before, Dexter, but I really need more access to the specimen-"

"He's not a specimen," Dex snapped, eyes narrowing on the doctor. "And I've told you before I'm not comfortable with that. He stays in my sight at all times, and you're not going to use him like some guinea pig."

"We need more samples. We need to test a serum, something on him just to find out-"


"Absolutely not."


"But if we could-"


"I said 'no'," Dex growled. "No tests. No overnights. You need his blood and that's all you're going to get." Without anything else, Dexter quit the room, Hero wasting no time to follow. Together they returned to the lobby, retrieved Dex's knife, and pushed through the doors into the cold. He was so heated now that he barely felt it.

INVENTORY (DEXTER)
-------------------------
Wearing
jeans, blue long-sleeve flannel w/black undershirt, brown boots, dogtags

On Person
Black Backpack
Hunting Knife, with Sheath [left hip]

In Bag
Minor First Aid Kit
Small LED Flashlight
Letter from his Father
Change of Clothing

Food & Water
17oz Bottled Water [3]

Stashed at Home
.50 Cal Desert Eagle (15/15)
Wes's Colt
.50cal Rounds x32
9mm Rounds x46​

 

[VengefulPeanut]

John Langwith

Interactions: Dexter @JJ
​

Whistling as he walked, John sauntered down the street on his way to the lab, an almost spring in his step. A wide, beaming smile was etched onto his face as if he were capable of producing no other expression. It was the sun, the feeling of the sun on his face. He'd missed it. With the gloominess of winter constantly hanging over them and his long sessions spent in the lab daily, he'd forgotten to take the time to enjoy the outdoors. Still, he could only take a break for so long. Procrastination was a crime when his work regarded the fate of humanity.

Arriving back at the lab with a rejuvenated motivation for work, he saw Dexter leaving looking none too happy. With his smile still resting blissfully on his lips, John nodded to him. The two had a positive relationship for the most part. After all, Dex was the catalyst that really kicked John's project into gear.

"Good morning, Dex!" he chirped, cheerfully. "Been in to see Torres?"

 

[JJ]

Nashville, TN | 20 February 2027 - Mid Morning

WEATHER: mild, clear skies, about 50f (around 10c)

Interactions: John @VengefulPeanut

Best as he could, Dexter wiped the sour frown from his face, stopping to nod at the doctor. "Yeah, time for more blood," he told John, gesturing at Hero who stood placidly at his side. "Torres is... kinda pushy." He rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't want to besmirch the other doctor's name, especially to his superior, but Torres's insistence to more access to Hero made him nervous enough to continue. "How's it going..? The research, I mean? Have there been any real breakthroughs?"

Hero nudged at his hand, and Dex stroked the dog's muzzle with his fingers. "I understand if it's confidential, but... All this time I thought my dad was just nuts, you know? But to realize he was telling the truth, after so long?" He paused. "Just makes me wish I'd gotten here sooner."


INVENTORY (DEXTER)
-------------------------
Wearing
jeans, blue long-sleeve flannel w/black undershirt, brown boots, dogtags

On Person
Black Backpack
Hunting Knife, with Sheath [left hip]

In Bag
Minor First Aid Kit
Small LED Flashlight
Letter from his Father
Change of Clothing

Food & Water
17oz Bottled Water [3]

Stashed at Home
.50 Cal Desert Eagle (15/15)
Wes's Colt
.50cal Rounds x32
9mm Rounds x46​

 

[VengefulPeanut]

John Langwith

Interactions: Dexter @JJ
​

John softened his brow with sympathy at the news of Torres's relentless pressing for access to the dog. As much as John agreed with Torres in some regards, his pursuit of apparent custody of Hero wasn't one of them. They'd only get one shot, they couldn't afford to mess it up. Attempting to allay Dex's worries, he offered the man a soft chuckle, scratching at his jawline a moment before concurring,

"That makes two of us, you know." Heading towards Hero, John squatted down to the dog's level, the tail of his mustard trench coat kissing the floor. He'd attempt to fuss and pet the dog, all the while keeping his eyes on Dex. "Confidential - yeah, it is. As far as I'm concerned though, you bringing me this little fluffy wonder earns you the right to be read in fully. It's going well but..." He grimaced slightly as he paused, standing back up. "It's not going as well as I'd like. It's slow, Dexter. Slow and f- well... it's frustrating the hell out of me. I need more stuff to work with: more equipment, more samples - getting those means risking lives, though. I've been working on a proposal for the council, try to get them to approve targeted salvage runs for me but my work is becoming ever increasingly low priority... booming population and resource management comes first."

 

[JJ]

Nashville, TN | 20 February 2027 - Mid Morning

WEATHER: mild, clear skies, about 50f (around 10c)

Interactions: John @VengefulPeanut

"How can developing a vaccine be low priority?" Dexter huffed, watching Hero sidle up to the doctor, all wiggles. But the question, really, had been rhetorical. Dex knew why. The council, and pretty much everyone else, didn't believe that a vaccine was possible. Even with his father's research, and Hero's immunity, developing a vaccine for the end of the world just wasn't plausible to most.

But it was to him.

"Let me go," he urged, seeking the doctor's gaze and nodding eagerly. "You can write me a list, I'll put together a team. We'll go out and get what you need, council be damned."

Even as he said it, apprehension settled like cement in his gut. Since coming to Nashville, Dex hadn't left. Not once had he gone back through those gates and into the "real world" in the three months they'd been here... He was happy staying put, attempting to get some sense of normalcy back, and so far it was working. He didn't want to jeopardize that, but if it was the difference between the vaccine being successful, and not, he'd do it. "What do you need from me?"

INVENTORY (DEXTER)
-------------------------
Wearing
jeans, blue long-sleeve flannel w/black undershirt, brown boots, dogtags

On Person
Black Backpack
Hunting Knife, with Sheath [left hip]

In Bag
Minor First Aid Kit
Small LED Flashlight
Letter from his Father
Change of Clothing

Food & Water
17oz Bottled Water [3]

Stashed at Home
.50 Cal Desert Eagle (15/15)
Wes's Colt
.50cal Rounds x32
9mm Rounds x46​

 

[JJ]

Nashville, TN | 20 February 2027 - Mid Morning

WEATHER: mild, clear skies, about 50f (around 10c)

Forty-seven days. That's how long Dean had been gone, on a long-range expedition to Washington and, now, back to Nashville. In that span of time, he'd come to several conclusions... the main one being: he'd grown unexpectedly attached to the Ballamory group. Despite being 100% dedicated to his mission, the couple of months he'd spent with them observing their dogged, indefatigable will to live had sparked something in Dean: a form of admiration, an undeniable fondness... one that, unfortunately, left him in quite the pickle.

It was this pickle that drew him back to Nashville, when by all accounts, he could have - and should have - stayed in D.C.. It had taken him cashing in several favors to get his return approved... and even so, his higher ups were none too pleased about it.

"Damned if I do, damned if I don't..." he muttered, voice drowned in the thrum of his motorcycle's engine. He directed the bike through the exit that read "Downtown Nashville - next three exits" and followed.

It got easy to tell when you got close to the settlement. Every house that was scavenged and cleared by the community's foragers was marked with a large red 'X' on the doors and windows. And these cleared houses got more and more frequent, until Dean was driving down block after block of exxed out houses. And then the wall - the glorious, 30ft wall that stretched from riverbank to riverbank - came into view. Dean slowed down, puttering to a stop just outside the gate. Two guards walked out to meet him, hands on their weapons.

"Easy, boys," he called, pulling the helmet off his head and tucking it under an arm. The free hand withdrew his badge from his pocket, something that, he was pleased to find, still held merit in the apocalypse.

They paused, nodded, and then started to open the gate. "Make sure you stash those weapons ASAP, yeah?"

"Sure thing."

Once he was through, Dean wasted no time, practically walking the motorcycle to the vehicle lot and stuffing the keys into his bag. From there, it was only a couple of blocks to the row of houses that the Ballamory group had been offered. Specifically, to the one he shared with Eva, her brother, and Bea. It was a tight fit, with it being only two bedrooms, but from someone who'd spent the majority of the last month and a half on the road, even the couch - which he'd taken without complaint when they first moved in - looked good. Dean knocked twice on the front door before opening it, running a hand over his dramatically shortened hair. "Hey, it's me - anyone home?"


INVENTORY (DEAN)
-------------------------
Wearing
Bluejeans, long-sleeved black shirt & dark blue hoodie, motorcycle helmet w/visor
Black combat boots & lightweight Kevlar vest
Black Camelbak

On Person
Colt Combat Commander (9/9) [on right hip]
Small Machete w/Sheath [on left hip]
Foldable Pocket Knife [in pocket]
Small Lockpicking Kit [in pocket]

Backpack
9mm Rounds [1x box of 21]
9mm Rounds [5x boxes of 50]
9mm Mags [1x mags of 9, 2x empty]
Picture of Last Class from D.C.
Small First-Aid Kit
Police Utility Belt [handcuffs, radio, pepper spray, taser, baton, maglight]
Personal Hygiene Kit [includes battery operated clippers]
Change of Clothing [jeans, socks, boxers, shirts] (4)
Water Purifying Straw
Mess Kit w/Utensils
Weapons Cleaning Kit
Clear Rain Poncho [2]
Motorcycle Keys


Food & Water

Dried rations x4
60oz canteen [full]
85oz black Camelbak [full]
Dark chocolate bar x2
8oz canned fruit in syrup x6

[/fieldbox]​

 

[KatSea]

Evangeline Moore



Sweet, sweet miraculous sleep had encased Evangeline in a promise of love and hospitality, the warmth of her body radiating against the fuzzy green surface, wrapping her in a dome of sweet, promising...

"GUYS I FREAKING SUCK!" Evangeline's entire body bolted from her bed, stray locks of hair dangling messily and with the slightest hint of animalistic rage. Oh, someone was about to get about 5'3 feet of pure, unadulterated fury. She and Winslow, with nearly perfected rhythm, forced themselves to their feet, and with hands gestured to the air as if to beg God Himself for an answer, asked of her

"Who do we have to kill?" Winslow's gaze hardened, having heard his own friend refer to herself in such a manner causing an intense wave of pain to shudder throughout his body. Lowering his hands to his sides and clenching his fists in his jean pockets, he raised his eyes to meet hers. "What happened then, Queen Bea?" Winslow inquired, tone soft and delicate. Evangeline hadn't even considered her slight belly budge, but having wrapped her blanket firmly around her shoulders, she figured it wouldn't be a problem. Besides, out of all the people in their little group, Evangeline trusted Winslow and Bea more than anyone in the infested world of zombies, mayhem, and apparently a lot of time to procreate. Evangeline hobbled up to her friend, had to stand on her tip toes in order to pat her shoulder, then claimed.

"Bea you will never suck a day in your beautiful life. Anyone says otherwise and they will have two servings of knuckle sandwhich with a side of whoopass." Evangeline was going to continue to say how she would have performed the ancient technique of crotch kicking on anyone who would have dared question her friend's superior awesome-sauce readings, only to hear a knock on the door.

Hey, it's me - anyone home?" Evangeline froze in her tracks, placing her hand over her stomach with a sense of dread overcoming her. He was back. He...he hadn't run off again. Or, well, perished.

"He...he's back." Winslow claimed, the same fear invading his voice as if he were to announce the return of the Dark Lord Voldemort from the dead. Evangeline stiffened, leaving Winslow to comfort Bea(for the meantime, Evangeline fully intended on coming back and educating Bea on the twelve step program of how she sucked the least out of anyone).

Making her way to the front door of the condo, Evangeline undid the lock and pried open the door. He had changed, that was for sure. Well shaven. Handsome, she almost shamed herself for thinking. Her mouth dropping, she stared at him, eyes flickering up and down to fully inspect him. "H-hey. Welcome back." Hoping to hide most of the swollen stomach in her fuzzy shield, she firmly tightened her grip before gently wrapping her arms around him, squeezing him briefly but with enough affection to let him know that she had, indeed, missed him. Unwinding herself from him, she took a step back, eyeing him up and down. "You...I didn't think you were coming back again. You look good, sweetheart."

Inventory

Rifle

Three hospital rags

Needle and String

Unborn Child

Increasing moodiness

Fuzzy Green Blanket

 

[Mobley Eats]

Rimon Galocha "Momo" | Location: Nashville Community | Interactions: Ryan

Endearing. That was the first and only description to dominate her thoughts whenever the tiny one revealed herself. It had all started with a greeting three months ago. Well, that greeting came in the form of her tripping and knocking Momo off her feet, followed by an apology so extensive and feverish that the mute feared she had forgotten how to breathe. Regardless, the girl with glasses had fled soon after, way before she could give out a proper response, and Momo hadn't heard from her since then.

As for seeing the girl? Yes--Momo spotted her many times. All in their unique and hilarious fashion. A head peeping around the corner before retreating. Walking in her general direction before locking eyes, sputtering, and turning on her heel to run. Funny. So damn bemusing. Momo honestly couldn't get enough of that quirkiness; it was surely a refreshing change of pace to her surroundings, though she'd never say that her environment beforehand inspired dissatisfaction. On the contrary, she was one of few lucky souls in this country. She was safe, sheltered within the towering walls of a well-run community in Nashville.

And thus... the girl had ran away. Again. No matter, it would never stop being fun to watch and if Momo was anything, she was patient. She'd be ready to communicate with the newcomer whenever she's ready. Sighing silently, the mute stood up and abandoned the porch in purchase of waltzing back into the house. She needed to check up on Ryan, anyhow. As soon as she took one step inside, she paused and took in her surroundings with sharp glances, borderline paranoid. All of the exits seemed to be in order. Windows could be shattered in worst cases. A chair would likely work; most furniture around here was light enough to work with. No suspicious noises or anything out of order...

She screwed her eyes shut. Tranquility. Serenity. There was no need to let her mind wander. Her roommate was of current priority. She searched the house on ghost-light feet, stopping at wherever she deemed a possibility. Den, empty. Kitchen, empty. Entire first floor, lonely. She went upstairs, curiosity climbing by the second. She knocked on his door, waited a few moments for a response, but when she received silence, she stood there in bafflement. Where in the world did that man hobble off to...? All that was left was her room. Unlikely that he'd be there, but it wouldn't hurt to check.

Momo peeked her head in first, as if she was awaiting some sort of surprise attack. Of course, it never came and when she pushed the door open even further...an amused smirk pulled at her lips. Arms folded and leaning against the wall, she eyed her roommate. She refused to say anything (not like she could) and just waited for the man to turn around to see her.

 

[Jack Robinson]

LOBSTER


Location: The Barn

Sunlight poured through the cracks in the barn walls, illuminating the hay covered face of Lobster. He woke up as one of his chickens, Bartholomew Cortez, nipped at his naked toes. Lobster flinched and then chuckled. He reached for the pipe next to his pillow, saw there was still some green in there, and lit up. Smoke floated up into the air, pierced by those soft beams of sunlight. Lobster chuckled and laid his pipe and lighter back down on the barn floor. Bartholomew Cortez nipped at Lobster's toes again. He got to his feet, buttoned up his bright red Hawaiian shirt, and opened the stall door. Four chickens fluttered out before him like doves before the bride and groom on their wedding day. He yawned, scratched his ass, and went over to grab a bag of seed. He scattered it for the chickens, who began pecking at their breakfast greedily.

"Another day, another...something," Lobster mused, stroking his mustache. "How you fellas feeling about today?" he asked the chickens, who failed to respond. "Yeah. I'm feeling good too. Rejuvenated, really. Been getting some good sun time, good connection with the...the earth, uh, you know? I've been feeling great."

He walked out of the barn and waved at a couple workers heading to the field. They waved back, and Lobster stood there for a moment, his hands in his pockets, surveying the green houses nearby. He wasn't a huge man for bragging, but man did it feel good to look at those little glass houses just teeming with life. In a world so violent, it was just...peaceful to see how valiant life could be in the midst of such chaos. He pulled a half-burnt joint out of his breast pocket, lit it, and started heading to check on his crops. He'd made it halfway when he realized he'd forgotten to put on shoes. Actually, he then remembered he hadn't had shoes in a few weeks. He kept forgetting to go get any. It was just that it felt so good to feel the ground with his feet. He'd come to appreciate the simple things in life after seeing how easily they could be taken away.

Like poor Cante. Who knew where she was? If she was alive. If Isabel...if she was alive. Lobster sighed as he entered the nearest greenhouse. The tomatoes and potatoes were fine. Carrots were looking a bit iffy. And the weed? It was flourishing. Lobster could probably live in a much nicer home or something if he wanted to with the way his weed sold. But why waste? He was happy with his chickens. Speaking of which, the little fuckers had followed him in here, searching for more food. He smiled and sat on the ground, running his fingers through their feathers as he smoked. He looked up at the sun piercing through the glass ceiling. So beautiful, so trippy. He started thinking about that new group that had just come into town. When was that? A month ago? Two? Three? He wasn't sure. But they were fine people. Scared, violent people, but fine. He'd found himself thinking about them a lot recently. Thinking about his daughter and ex-wife too. The universe was trying to tell him something. And old Lobster hadn't quite figured it out yet. But once he did, he'd start to go with that flow, baby. Always go with the flow. He wondered where the flow would take him today.

 

[Himilo]

Aveline
Location: Nashville, TN (Church)​

Aveline didn't expect to be following the group for so long, if it wasn't obvious, she appreciated Otto's company the most, the rest of the group she feels more distant and honestly she liked it that way.

It had been months and they finally arrived at this… haven. It was quiet, protected, had plenty of food, water, and space. It was perfect, it was bound to get raided at some point but the thought made Aveline just roll her eyes for trouble seemed to love this group. But once she realized how open it was and how easy it was to be alone without looking over her shoulder, it made her think for a bit. Instead of the usual distance from reality, she was talking walks and think how she got where she was. This didn't mean she didn't zone out from time to time and find herself standing on the edge of the woods. "...fuck." she tugged her coat tighter on her, it's too cold. She continues walking until she reaches the church.

Sooner or later she's going to have to contribute.

--

ON PERSON:

- Sneakers
- Black turtleneck
- Dark blue jeans
- black socks
- Black coat
- Baseball Bat (main weapon)
- Silver lighter (in back pocket)

IN PACK:

- Corey's stuffed animal
- Picture of Aveline and Corey
- Small pistol
- 4x pistol rounds
- Baby wipes (doesn't actually smell like babies)
- Bagged and labeled medicine: Ibuprofen (6x), Benadryl (8x), Tylenol (4x)
- Bagged band-Aids (7x)

Outfit:​

 

[JJ]

Collab between @VengefulPeanut and @JJ (John & Dex)

John offered Dexter a grateful nod as he volunteered. Still, a sense of trepidation was clawing at his mind. "Look, Dexter," he began, holding his hands up. "I don't want to put you in harm's way. You nor anybody else. I'll convince the council. I mean, I'll try at least."


"We're all in harm's way. All of us. Always. But we can change that if you're successful with the vaccine. This is bigger than the council, and they don't understand anyway. They don't believe it's possible." Dex waved a hand dismissively. "I've got people I trust, capable people, who've done stuff like this dozens of times. We can do it. Just give me a list."


"And if I gave you the list?" he asked, sighing. "Would you even know what half of the stuff looked like? Dexter, I'd love to accept..." John trailed off, scratching at his chin and frowning in consideration.


"I…" he started. "Well, no. Probably not. But we'll figure it out." Noticing the promise of something unspoken in John's expression, Dexter pried. "You know something? Someone? That can help?"


John held his words for a moment, freezing in place as he considered multiple possibilities. Finally, capitulating his position, he shrugged his shoulders. "No, I don't. Perhaps... look, leave it with me. I'll submit this proposal and we'll see what they say." He cast a look down to Hero before looking back at Dexter. "I'll broach the topic with Torres, too. See if we can work something out. Okay?"


"Yeah. Okay." Sensing that pushing the issue would be more detrimental than helpful, Dex nodded. "You know where to find me." He whistled softly for Hero to follow, and headed east towards the barn. John didn't do anything to impede him, simply nodding with a small smile.


Once Dex was clear, John sighed heavily, dragging his palms down his face. An immediate swelling of regret bubbled in his stomach. Perhaps he should have just accepted the help. Still, there was no use debating it, it was time to get to work.

​

 

[VengefulPeanut]

Shane Clarke

Interactions: Aveline @Himilo
​

Stood before the church, Shane was busy at work draping an old bed sheet from one of the building's windows. As the white cloth hung lazily before him, he set to work decorating it with bartered for bucket of paint and a brush. He drifted the brush side to side, occasionally pausing to get a dab more paint. After some time, the loose and scattered marring of paint seemed to gel together more and more, a representation of the garden of Eden and a sun rising above it. It was about that time he felt the presence of a recent arrival stood behind him.

Turning on his heel, he looked over at Aveline with a pastoral smile. "Good morning," he spoke, voice laden heavily with his thick Irish accent.

 

[VengefulPeanut]

Ryan Taylor

Interactions: Momo @Mobley Eats
​

Ryan was busy rooting through the closet of his house-mate. It wasn't as seedy as it sounded, in all truth. Being laid up in his house wasn't much better than being laid up in hospital - he was going insane. There's only so many times you can hobble around the neighbourhood before you get sick of that too. At times, he wished he could just go back to the coma. Back to the distorted dreams and tranquillity of being an almost lifeless husk on a bed. At least in that world, he had his friends back, all of those that he lost, even Wesley.

With a sigh of relief, he finally found what he was after. Momo's book stash. He knew she was an avid reader, he'd seen her pouring over texts in her free time. He had to wonder where she was getting them from - not that it really mattered. All that mattered was grabbing one to pass the time until she came back. Wincing, he grabbed a book from the collection and tried to lever himself back to his feet, relying heavily on the crutch that assisted his movement. Attempting to turn, his heart sank in terror as he saw the silhouette by the door.

"Mo-" he managed to utter out in shock, ready to try and explain his actions. However, before he could finish his utterance, his balance on the crutch gave way, the stick collapsing to the ground and him with it with a pained yelp. Laying on his back, spread eagle, only a single thought went through his mind. Fuck.

 

[Himilo]

Aveline
Location: Nashville, TN (wandering)​

​

"Good morning." Aveline greets quietly, taking in the scene and surroundings. She crosses her arms, her tired eyes watching the man paint and somehow being in this church brought her peace. Remembering the tiring Sunday mornings of having to go to church with her mother, the tense nights of hiding in from the cold dead, but now this...it felt right to be here. "I'm lost." she states bluntly. "Figuratively and literally… So, mind if I help?" she approaches. "Plus it's warmer in here."

--

ON PERSON:

- Sneakers
- Black turtleneck
- Dark blue jeans
- black socks
- Black coat
- Baseball Bat (main weapon)
- Silver lighter (in back pocket)

IN PACK:

- Corey's stuffed animal
- Picture of Aveline and Corey
- Small pistol
- 4x pistol rounds
- Baby wipes (doesn't actually smell like babies)
- Bagged and labeled medicine: Ibuprofen (6x), Benadryl (8x), Tylenol (4x)
- Bagged band-Aids (7x)

OUTFIT:​

 

[Jack Robinson]

LOBSTER

Location: The Barn
Interacting with Dexter and some chickens @JJ

After checking on his plants and making sure all was right with the world, Lobster strolled on back to the barn. He got the tools necessary for starting a small fire, and then made himself a little sitting area a little bit outside the barn. He started a fire, put a kettle over, and waited for the water to boil. Nothing said luxury like some hot tea on a cool February morning. He grabbed his banjo as well, scattered some more chicken feed nearby, and strummed some tunes as his chickens pecked and dueled over little pieces of food. When the water was boiling, he threw in what he called his "special tea leaves" and poured some into a little mug with a bright red Maine lobster emblazoned on the front. He had three of these mugs. They were his most prized possessions.

While sitting there enjoying a cup of tea, soaking in the nature, and playing the banjo, Lobster noticed someone rather intriguing heading toward the barn. He believed it to be that Dexter fellow, along with his beautiful dog. Lobster grinned. It was good to see some people still cared about the other creatures of this planet. They were in just as much trouble as man. This plague affected them too, and before the plague, well, mankind had done enough to really fuck over Mother Nature just tremendously. Anyway, his thoughts were wandering. He decided he'd speak to this young man. See what his story was. What his troubles were. He wasn't sure how many friends the poor fellow had. And Lobster was always eager to talk about people's lives with them. It was the most pure and honest way of learning about the world.

"Hey, friend!" Lobster called, raising his cup of tea, "Care to share some tea with me? You look like you could use it!"

He did indeed. Lobster didn't know him very well, but he knew that living on the outside was no picnic. Lobster had done it at the very beginning of this whole debacle. So much blood, so much struggle, so much trauma. Anyone who survived that could definitely use the occasional relaxing conversation and mind soothing cup of tea. Lobster poured another cup and laid it on the ground.

"If your dog wants a treat, I reckon I could get him one," he added, "Just keep him away from Bartholomew Cortez and the boys. They're feisty little bastards." He gestured to the chickens. "Be nice to the newcomer, boys," he whispered to the chickens, "And don't peck at his dog. It's a sweet little animal. Be on your best behavior."

The chickens ignored him, which Lobster was fine with. So long as they were oblivious to the situation, everything would turn out fine. That's chickens for you.

 

[JJ]

Nashville, TN | 20 February 2027 - Mid Morning

WEATHER: mild, clear skies, about 50f (around 10c)

Interactions: Lobster @Jack Robinson

Though speaking with John had done little to cool down Dex's temper, it, at least, alleviated a little bit of his biggest point of anxiety about deciding to approach the Nashville council with his father's research. It had taken weeks of persuasion - both internal and eternal - for him to even consider coming clean about it, and mostly because he was terrified of what might happen. Not just to Hero, even though the dog was like a brother to him. But to Riley, and Evie, and Otto and all the others who had trusted him enough to follow him to Nashville.

Because the possibility of a cure was big. And big things tended to draw down wrath upon the heads of those present.

But, luckily... and, somewhat perplexingly... they didn't really seem to care. They'd shuffled him off to Torres and Langwith and that had been that. Little ceremony, little enthusiasm, just... the barest hint of acknowledgement. If Dex hadn't known better, he'd have thought that they were on a prank show, or something. Only Doctor John Langwith had showed even a hint of excitement.

But that was fine with Dexter, as long as his own were safe. And Nashville, despite its flaws, was safe.

Blowing out his breath, Dex watched it dissipate into the air in front of him, then blinked in confusion as Lobster's voice called out to him. Had he made it to the barn already? It appeared he had.

"Care to share some tea with me? You look like you could use it!"

"Oh, uh. Yeah. Sure." Dex ambled over to the fire, sitting down beside it close enough to make the most of the warmth without being burned. "Thanks. Lobster, right?" The nickname was weird enough that it had cemented itself into Dex's memory.

Hero showed extreme interest in the chickens, crouched on his belly and nose quivering to draw in a scent and identify the noisy birds. Were they to try and come closer, he would undoubtedly flee.

INVENTORY (DEXTER)
-------------------------
Wearing
jeans, blue long-sleeve flannel w/black undershirt, brown boots, dogtags

On Person
Black Backpack
Hunting Knife, with Sheath [left hip]

In Bag
Minor First Aid Kit
Small LED Flashlight
Letter from his Father
Change of Clothing

Food & Water
17oz Bottled Water [3]

Stashed at Home
.50 Cal Desert Eagle (15/15)
Wes's Colt
.50cal Rounds x32
9mm Rounds x46​

 

[Jack Robinson]

LOBSTER

Location: The Barn
Interacting with Dex @JJ

Lobster smiled and handed Dexter a mug. "It's hot. Be patient, brother," he advised, "And yeah. Name's Lobster. Guess you've heard of me and my old green thumb. And I've heard of you. Well, sorta," Lobster mused, sipping at his tea, "I know you're from outside. You and your group. Must've been hard out there. And you're fortunate to have found refuge here. But tell me, brother, is refuge what you're seeking? You look like a nice enough young man. A bit troubled. Beautiful dog. But to me you seem a bit anxious. Cabin fever, of sorts," Lobster chuckled, set down his mug, and started strumming on his banjo. As he played, he talked.

"I've felt that before, brother. The urge to go out and travel. A desire for something more. It plagues us all. But if you can control that desire, well, there's nothing you can't achieve, and I mean that. Anyway, you've been here a few months. How are you feeling? Is everything...sitting right with you?" Lobster smiled at him kindly. Moments of peace such as these were essential for survival. They were few and far between for most people. But Lobster made it his goal to always try to find a little slot of time each day to enjoy himself. Without it, he wouldn't truly be human. Mankind is defined by recreation. It's the simplest, purest of joys.

"Beautiful day today," Lobster murmured, "Such a beautiful day." The weed was kicking in a little. The chickens were keeping a fair distance from that wonderful dog, who was extremely curious about those cocky little bastards. The clucking of the chickens. The curious whines of the dog. The crackle of the fire, The strum of his banjo. God. If everyone could find peace like this sometimes, the world would be a much better place.

 

[JJ]

Nashville, TN | 20 February 2027 - Mid Morning

WEATHER: mild, clear skies, about 50f (around 10c)

"I told you I'd be back, didn't I?" Dean's voice was soft, understanding. But he knew that the 'you said that the first time, too' hung in the air, thankfully unspoken. Mostly because Winslow, the little shit, hadn't followed Eva downstairs. Dean knew he was here, because he was always here. Or, wherever Evangeline was, at least. Always hovering, infuriatingly close like he was convinced Dean was the wolf, he the sheepdog, and Eva the innocent lamb between them.

He returned the embrace, begrudging the bulk of the blankets, then placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before drawing away, towards the couch. "I got you something," he said, shrugging off his backpack and placing it upon the cushions. He rummaged through it for a moment before finding his prize, a carefully wrapped rectangle of foil. "It's chocolate. I got one for Win and Bea, too, but they'll have to share. This one's for you, though." He offered it to her.

INVENTORY (DEAN)
-------------------------
Wearing
Bluejeans, long-sleeved black shirt & dark blue hoodie, motorcycle helmet w/visor
Black combat boots & lightweight Kevlar vest
Black Camelbak

On Person
Colt Combat Commander (9/9) [on right hip]
Small Machete w/Sheath [on left hip]
Foldable Pocket Knife [in pocket]
Small Lockpicking Kit [in pocket]

Backpack
9mm Rounds [1x box of 21]
9mm Rounds [5x boxes of 50]
9mm Mags [1x mags of 9, 2x empty]
Picture of Last Class from D.C.
Small First-Aid Kit
Police Utility Belt [handcuffs, radio, pepper spray, taser, baton, maglight]
Personal Hygiene Kit [includes battery operated clippers]
Change of Clothing [jeans, socks, boxers, shirts] (4)
Water Purifying Straw
Mess Kit w/Utensils
Weapons Cleaning Kit
Clear Rain Poncho [2]
Motorcycle Keys


Food & Water

Dried rations x4
60oz canteen [full]
85oz black Camelbak [full]
Dark chocolate bar x2
8oz canned fruit in syrup x6​

 

[KatSea]

Evangeline Moore




"I was worried you weren't." She admitted, voice soft and cautious. She didn't want to present any frustration, knowing it was foolish. Above all the circumstances, including the child that was nestled within her and relied on her for survival...Becoming angry at this man's predictable ways seemed more of a hassle than of an emotional release. Besides, she doubted stress beyond hormones and an occasional scare about zombies was going to be healthy on her body. She cupped her hands at her stomach, stroking her thumb gently against the fabric of her shirt(happily borrowed from Winslow). "Maybe you had found a sunnier, less zombified place, you know? I wouldn't blame you for ditching then..."

Then you wouldn't have the chance to have the father around. Pity. Winslow isn't going to be happy about...yeah. He's just not gonna be happy regardless on whether or not I get a helping hand.

Evangeline's shoulders slumped once he released her, keeping a close eye on him as he navigated towards the couch. In full honesty, the lust and sinful desire to splay along that couch, to encase her body around the smooth material and...

Ask Dean to tuck me in so I can take another hibernation nap. I can be an animal in the bed room, and by that I mean curling up in a ball like an irritated cat and be disappointed and judgemental about all of your life decisions.

Evangeline bit down on her lip to hold back a chuckle at the thought, realizing fully that an old spark was beginning to flicker back in her chest. She felt next to normal, although she knew she wouldn't quiet make it back. Not with...well, not with a little bump in the road. Her train of thought, however, was cut off by the piece of tinfoil Dean had presented to her.

Chocolate.

Sweet.

Heavenly...

"Eeehhhh..." A nearly inhuman gurgle of syllables flooded gratefully from Evangeline's lips, her fingers looping around the precious treasure and scooping it safely into her grasp. She hadn't had chocolate since before the zombie take over, and the flavor was lost upon her tongue. She knew better than to gobble it all down at once(as much as she wanted to prove how she could pull off being a beautiful pig.) Slowly she tore at the wrap, but made sure that only a sliver was revealed. Taking a gentle and small bite, Evangeline's eyes flickered up innocently to meet his. With a mouth full of chocolate, she proclaimed tenderly"I wove bo" (Rough translation : I love you).

 

[Rosé Moon]

Nashville, TN | Feb 20th, 2027 | Afternoon




As unlikely as it would seem, the trek from Atlanta to Nashville had been a chilly one for Eriees. And probably only Eriees. While the group that the girl had traveled with mostly took the guise of your typical, post apocalyptic nomad, she looked like something someone had plucked out of some post-modern gothic witch sitcom back when sitcoms were still a thing. However, the look was all that separated her. Just like everyone else in the group, huddled around the wall that surrounded the now walled off city of Nashville, Eriees looked tired. Her once alabaster complexion was freckled with spots of dirt and sunburn, and the flacks of bourbon she had not touched in monthes was now clutched to her chest in both hands, and half empty over the last two nights.

God, what she wouldn't give for some wine.

Now, you might ask why the group she'd traveled with was outside the wall and slowly dripping in, like sand through an hour glass but that answer is plain and simple, and Eriees understood it. Safety. They were being checked for signs of it. The sickness. The plague. Some of the others from Atlanta seemed to be becoming impatient, but the raven haired girl, bound in a grey scarf and clad in a black summer dress under a thick coat was not among them. She had waited this long, what was another couple hours?

She sipped the bourbon from her flask, and embraced the pull of her pale lips as they meet the sharp bite she wasn't quite used to.

"I don't figure you're willing to share that, are ya'?"

The voice that came from behind her was so sudden, that if it hadn't been for her pleasantly warm buzz, she would've jumped, but now she just turned about with wide suspicious eyes, at for a brief moment, he distrust was clear as crystal, and the next moment it was gone. Or at least... hidden.

"No-" her response was quick, and sharp, "No... I think Grif- in front- has more. You'll want to ask him. I'm afraid I need every drop."

The man who had asked was not unfamiliar to her. In fact, he was quite familar. His stupid blond beard and cowboy hat made it impossible for him NOT to look like some stunt double in an old western movie. The man had been kind enough... but that kindness was usually a bait meant to hook something more, and she would make it clear she had no interest!

"You'll have to wait till we're on the other side. Grif already went through."

And with that, the conversation with him was concluded, as evidenced by her abrupt turn, once again facing the walls. At least it was to her. The man, Jacob, stood there for a moment in a cocktail of confusion and annoyance before brushing passed the black-clad witch girl.

As time passed, Eriees continued to sip and the wall just got closer and closer, until finally one of the men who guarded the way in waved her forward -- a hand a bit too close to his gun for her comfort. She took in a deep breath, screwed the cap to her flask back on and returned it to the make-shift rope holster on her hip before approaching.

"I promise I don't have any weapons! I mean, I have a small knife with my drink, but it's so small I hardly think it counts!"

The man rose an eyebrow at her as her words came sputtering out of her, but then began patting her down. It was something she'd been eager to get behind her, and sure enough, once he was at her hip, examined the rope, the flask, and the shabby knife not too much further down from it.

"You ever use it?"

The question took her by surprise, as it seemed most did.

"Use it? You mean, like, on a person? No! I've only ever cut this rope... actually..."

Another judgmental eyebrow raise. As unbelievable as it was, she had actually never had to fight. She always ran, and she always seemed to find a good escape route.

"Alright, your clear... but don't go waving that thing around."

He waved her through, and her face lit up! Finally, sanctuary! The road from Atlanta had felt like it had taken a whole year, but as she passed through that gate, she turned to back paddle and observe the opposite side of the wall, and how it now barricaded her from the chaos beyond it.

She was safe.

She could drink to that, and she did.

| |
Inventory:

• Large Jacket
• Scarf
• Pentagram necklace
• Rope Holster
• Shabby Knife
• Flask of Bourbon
• Rations