Survival of the fittest (with Kuukakulily)

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Karaan, Jun 3, 2016.

  1. The warm air mix with the humidity of the region, while the door is slowly push. The young man expels a victorious scream, smiling at the success. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and tilts his head on the side, trying to pierce the darkness of the abandon shelter, wondering if he was alone this time. He reaches for his knife and clenches his fingers around the leather hilt of his new favorite friend, smiling at the situation. The last owner of the blade tried to screw the young cop over, and a quick discussion ends up into a bullet in the head for the poor fellow. It was ate or be eaten around here and Mathieu had no plan of being found dead in the middle of nowhere, alone.

    It's been six months since the first case of this strange phenomena appears. At first, people around him thought it was the new publicity for the Walking Dead season, a person being hospitalize for a strange case of rabies, but soon, one became two and two became four, before the authority could even understand and mobilize in the different region to secure the people, the plague had spread to the south of the country. After two months, chaos and disorder were the real owner of the land and people are trying to survive in this world. Mathieu is a poor fellow in vacation in the USA, stuck now in the middle of nowhere in a state without a name anymore. He wishes to go back north, to travel the border and hopes to see the light of his town, Montreal.

    Now, the young man grunts when he tries to make the door moves an inch, hoping to pass between it and the wall to enter this old shelter. He learns rapidly to salvage, kill and recycle everything. Sure, some people could find him strange or even dangerous, but he had survive six months in this hostile world now. He had no plan dying for nothing. He squeezes himself through the door and grins, seeing that the place seems to have been abandoned before the plague. Maybe he had stumble on one of those nuclear bunker that so many American build in the the year 60 in the fear of the cold war. He glances through the entry, seeing no sign of body or fight, a good sign most of the time. His blue eyes adapt to the dim light while he puts the blade in his sheath being his back, pulling his pistol from its holster. “Criss de baraque de mongole” He express in his native language, seeing the strange shelter, time seems to have taken its toll on the building, but the man thinks he can uses it for a few days, making sure to heal his sprained ankle. He stumbles bit toward the living room or the bedroom, unsure what he will find in this.
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  2. The woman taking refuge in the bedroom of the shelter paused in her actions as she heard the scrape of the door a loud shout. She frowned at the thought of some idiot leading the dead to the shelter she found only a day before. 'Jesus I can't catch a damn break' she thought as she stuffed her waning supplies back into her backpack and moved to hide in the small bathroom connected to the bedroom, waiting for the intruder to either leave or die by his stupidity.

    As she sat in the cramped room, she listened closely. One hand gripped the handle of a machete tightly while the other fiddled with the chain around her neck. It was all she had to remember her life before all hell broke loose.

    She remembered the reports. She was even interviewed about them. 'An outbreak of rabies sweeps the nation' they said. 'Whats your professional opinion ' they asked. Quinn told them it wasn't rabies. There was no way it could have been. Rabies didn't turn you into a mindless monster. For a while when it began she thought it was some government scare, meant to turn people's attention away from whatever bill congress was trying to pass, but then it quickly spiraled and there was no time left to prepare for the worst and she and Ben had to leave their home. Now Ben was gone and she was aimless, sitting alone and scared on a toilet in a cramped bathroom of another family's safe place, listening and waiting.
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  3. After the initial glance over, Mathieu turns himself toward the door, slowly closing it, using all his strength to make sure it won't be open another time by a stranger. He frowns and looks around him, searching for a pipe or something else, so he can block the door. The young cop's lips curl into a successful grin when he sees a big pipe laying on the floor, near the entrance. He pass it through the handle and in the slot appropriate for it that is behind the door. Now the French Canadian knows that if someone tries to enter the shelter, it will take a bit more time for them to do so, but if there is something or someone already in it with him, he won't be able to escape fast enough. He frowns and pulls out his Glock pistol from its holster again.

    Each of his step brings a grimace to his face, feeling his sprained ankle pulsing with pain in his body. He shouldn't try to outrun those thing in the meadow, but he didn't want to empty another magazine of bullet in a few of them. He frowns and grits his teeth while he reaches the first room of the industrial bunker. He rests his back on the wall next to the door, closing his eyes for a brief moment, trying to regain composure and listening to the emptiness. “Rien...” He whispers to himself in his native language. Not sure it is a good sign, Mat.” He chuckles at himself and leans on the side, raising his firearm in front of him. He enters the room, who seems to be a small bedroom with just one small bed, a few boxes, a desk, a shelves with can in it and an another door. The survivor expels a release sigh from his lips and stumbles a bit toward the bed, siting on it. He lowers his eyes toward the damage ankle and frowns. “Tu t'es pas manqué, mon gros con.” He puts the gun next to him for a second and studies the situation, to remove or not remove the boot who sustains his anke.
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  4. Quinn listened with bated breath as the bedroom door opened. She heard the sounds of shuffling and the cream of the bed as the person on the other side took a seat. She dared not breath in case the other one was listening. After a moment he spoke.

    'Sounds like French, male.' She thought to herself and tried to recall her freshman year of French from the depths of her mind. 'Tu...that's you and manque...that's missing, I think.' She deduced. 'He's talking to himself obviously...' She frowned and tightened her grip, scared that she was trapped with a crazy man.

    Her legs were growing numb from the awkward position and she attempted to adjust her position. As she moved, her metal belt clinked against the porcelain of the toilet and the sound resonated.
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  5. Mathieu was still trying to find a way to secure his ankle when a sound came from behind the second door of the room. He raises his eyes from his ankle and toward the door, his finger crawling toward the hilt of his pistol. Once they reach it, he clenches them around it and raises it toward the door. Staying silently, the young cop listens for a second sound or anything that would tell him that he was right or wrong to think about that. He stands up and stumbles a bit toward the exit of the room, giving himself a few feet of security if the thing or the person try to burst through the door and toward him.

    His job reflex runs through his veins, his gaze stare at the second door, the gun muzzle in the direction of it. He takes a deep breath and says with a loud voice. “If there is anyone in there! Get out! Your hands in the air! Any rapid or harsh movement I will shoot!” He narrows his gaze on the door, waiting to see if someone or something will react. He hopes that it will be another scavenger, maybe they will be able to trade or talk, if it is one of the those rabid thing, he would have hear their usual sound, the moaning of the dead and the agony of the eternal prison, like the young french Canadian like to call their static noise.
  6. Quinn mentally cursed herself as the man yelled through the door. She stood, the sound of shuffling reverberating once again through the thin door. She was here first and she'd be damned if this intruder was going to take it from her. Far too much had been taken from her in this hell.

    The grip on her machete was tight and the young woman was tense. She called through the door, her voice wavering slightly. "You get out! I found this place first! It's mine!" Her gaze narrows against the door as well, as if daring him to either come in or drag her out.
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  7. Hearing the voice of a woman coming from behind the door, the young cop release a bit of fear and tension from his hands. He keeps his pistol aims at the door for a moment, listening to her words. She was right in a way that he was second here, but Mathieu doesn't have the attention to leave before he feels his ankle better. “I understand your point, Miss.” He says while he lowers his pistol and puts it back into its holster. “I don't want to bother you, Miss.” He looks at the room and frowns. “I can pay my time here, I have collect a few interesting object in my travel that are useful, so maybe we can find a way to have deal. I just want to take time to heal my sprained ankle.” He explains and stumbles a bit toward the bed, not bothering with the door anymore.

    He sits and starts to unlace his boot, feeling the pain and the pressure in his ankle multiplying rapidly. “I am Mathieu, by the way.” He says while he glances toward the door, wondering if the second person will even interact with him or she will wait for him to leave. He knows that the life of woman are even more worst than the rest of the population, since some men have the bad habit to take woman has resource in this new wasteland. Water, food and women are now sign of power for bandits, raider and slavers, so Mathieu understands clearly that his fellow survivor doesn't want to move from her room until he leaves.
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  8. Quinn narrows her eyes at the door. She had come across too many men in her travels. Ben protected her from a lot of dangerous men in the beginning, but Ben wasn't here anymore to protect her. Now she had to do it herself. She breathed deeply, taking her necklace into her hand again for comfort as she listened to the man outside. He spoke politely, but it could just be a game, a part he's playing. She had to make a decision eventually, she couldn't just stay in this cramped bathroom forever, waiting on the inevitable.

    She kept the machete in her hand and with the other, opened the door. The young, brown-haired woman peeked around the door to see the man sitting on the bed. "I'm Quinn." she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She stepped around the door and came around to face him properly. She looked worn and tired from her journeys. She pointed at his ankle with the machete. "Let me see your ankle."
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  9. Mathieu pass his hand in his brown hair, placing his rebellious lock of hair away from his eye when he sees the door opens. He offers a soft smile to the woman appearing, it seems that like him, she has suffer a great deal of pain and she is trying to survive in a harsh world where everything and anything can be a danger. He removes the holster from around his belt and puts it aside, a sign that he doesn't want to harm her. He is too tired for the moment to deal with someone else and the pain from his ankle is killing him, not literally. “ As soon as my ankle is bandage and that I can walk on it, I will leave your shelter..Miss.” He says softly while he studies her, keeping his gaze on her eyes and on her hands, fearing that she will try to do something with that machete. Normally, the young cop would not fear a woman, knowing that he is stronger and bigger than her, but now that he has removed his boot, he can't stand on his ankle so he is at the mercy of the newcomer.

    His eyebrow arches slowly when she asks to see his ankle. He slowly raises his leg in her direction, keeping his icy blue eyes on the machete, not liking the idea to be point at with it, but keeping his comment for himself for the moment. “Are you a doctor?” He asks while he moves a bit on the bed, so he can lay the leg on something hard, giving himself a better position to rest. “I was reckless and I stumble on something while I was getting the hell out....from the grasps of those rabid thing..”
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  10. Quinn takes note of his signs, removing the holster and smiling, to show he isn't a danger. She's seen them before. Anyone can lie these days.

    The young woman sighs deeply and seems to deflate a little, her shoulders relaxing. She retreats to the bathroom to grab her bag and returns, setting it on the floor. She gazes at the man with a hard look, trying to size him up. "Hopefully it won't take long for you to leave then." she says coldly, setting the machete down by her bag. It was close enough that if he tried to take her by surprise, she could still grab it and slash his throat. It wouldn't be the first time she had killed a man and it certainly wouldn't be her last.

    Quinn rolled up her sleeves and bent down to get a better look at his ankle. "Veterinarian." she responded to his question. "It's basically the same." She poked and prodded at his ankle, being surprisingly gentle for talking so harshly. "Just a sprain. Nothing too serious, but you should stay off of it for a few days." she surmised after a few moments of examining the swelling. She reached behind her and grabbed an ace bandage from her bag and began to wrap it. "Too bad we don't have any ice. That'd help bring the swelling down." she said, propping the leg up under a pillow.

    She stands and puts her things away. "Did you at least lock the damn door?" she asks the man with a measure of sarcasm.
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  11. Mathieu chuckles. “No I let the door open, so they can all feast on our body while we are talking.” He tilts his head in direction of the doorway, narrowing his eyes. “I close it and I did put a pipe behind it, in the old handle, so it should restraint anyone else to enter your shelter, once I will be out.” The young cop’s icy eyes turn back on the young woman, trying to pierce a bit of herself behind the sarcasm and words. He lowers his gaze toward his ankle and smiles. “No need to apply anything from your …bag.” He points in direction of his, next to the bed. “I have some bandage too, found them in an old hospital…” He stops and shakes his head. “I can’t believe in less than a year, people are …turning into that.” He grits his teeth when she starts to apply the bandage around his ankle. “I don’t mind the pain…at least it shows that I am alive.” He chuckles. “My mother always said: “If it hurts it means that it is healing…” ” He raises his eye toward the ceiling. “It must be healing …a lot.”

    He stops and looks at what Quinn has done to his ankle, offering a soft smile, as a sign of peace, the young man tries to stand up, but fails and almost falls on Quinn. He lets himself fall on the bed, behind him and frowns. “Well. It seems, I can’t walk on that ankle for a while.” He seems a bit nervous by the situation, applying a soft pressure on his own lower lip. “I don’t want to bother you more, Miss.” He explains finally and using his hand and the wall, stands up. “I can repay your time with foods, medicine, maybe something to defend yourself or…” He lets the last option fall short, a bit shy to ask or even finding it stupid to ask. He knows that some men or women will trade service or food in exchange for sex. It was like that before and it is even more now. Mathieu isn’t a blue, he has seen horror and feels it in his time in the Police, now that he walks in a wasteland of desolation, and he understands a bit more the idiom Survival of the Fittest.
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  12. A scowl crosses Quinn's soft features at his attempt at sarcasm. She opened her mouth to say something in rebuttal, but the man continued on and she decided to let it pass...for now. "I'll just take your bandage to replace what I've used of mine." she answered, her interest piqued at the mention of an old hospital. She was still very uncomfortable having another person in her place and her body language showed it. She was restless and paced the room, looking through drawers and at shelves that she looked through the first time she came to this place. "Those aren't people." she turns away from a shelf to look at him. "I think I have some painkillers, you'll have to pay me back for that too." she said before going to grab the nearly empty bottle from her bag and her water skin. She takes his smile with a grain of salt and goes to hand over two pills and the skin to him, but the idiot tried to stand and nearly fell on her. She dodged out of the way, clearly intent on letting him fall.

    As he fell on the bed, she took two pills from the bottle and handed them to him along with her skin. Another scowl crossed her face at his implying of relations as repayment. "I don't want your little prick you pervert!" she crosses her arms defensively across her chest. "You can take me to that hospital you mentioned when you feel well enough to walk. That'll serve as payment."
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  13. Mathieu's eye glances at the silhouette of Quinn for a moment while she searches around the shelter and her bags for some painkiller. He smiles and nods slowly when she gives to him two painkillers and some water. He was taking a sip from skin when she express herself about the last part of the payment, making the young man almost spits out the rare liquid. He blushes and starts to mumble and stutters a few excuses to the young woman. Once his brain is back in his head, the policeman narrows his eyes on Quinn and frowns. “It wasn't my attention to say that...I am not some pervert would trade resources for sex, Miss.”He stumbles in direction of his own stuff and looks in it, pulling a skin full of water. “Here for the water..” He keeps his eyes on her. “And I will bring you to the hospital, if it is what you want...I don't mind.” He walks slowly toward the bed and reaches for his holster, puts it back around his belt. “It wasn't occupy last time I went...I took the bandages, mostly...” He stops and ponders a bit. “And I did find a few bottle of alcohol, that was used to clean wound.”

    Mathieu pass his hand in his brown hair, resting his back and head on the wall, near the entrance of the room, leaning on one side, making sure to release a bit of pressure on his sprained ankle, the young man studies the situation, they were both on edge and staying too long on this room, could turn all this into a real black powder keg. “I'll wait outside the room, give you your space...until the painkiller has effect on my ankle.” He leans and takes his two bags, putting them on his back. He stumbles outside the room and walks toward the door, siting near of it, one back near him, the other under him. He pulls out a small box and opens it. In it, there is a few instrument to keep a firearm clean and in good condition.
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  14. Quinn rolls her eyes at the stubbornness of this man. It seems that men never stopped being obstinate, even with the apocalypse upon them. She takes the water he offers and refills the water she lost. "I have no intention of going to the hospital until your ankle is well. It would be stupid to go and have you die because you can't keep up." She says, handing the skin back to him.

    She turns away for a moment, packing things back in her bag. In response to his 'gentlemanly ' favor of going outside she shakes her head. "No, you'll stay here and rest until your ankle is better. You're no use to me injured." She says bluntly and pushes her way past him to the door. "I'll be outside if you need me Mathieu."
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  15. Mathieu tilts his head and expels a long sigh in defeat. He stumbles back into the room and nods at the fierce woman. It seems he is better not try to fight with her on thing, just allow her to say and do what she has in mind, the man is a bit tired of fighting or getting on his guards for every moment. He sits on the bed, resting his back on the wall nearby, releasing all the pressure from his sprained ankle. “How are you in this shelter, Quinn?” He asks, a bit hoping to have a real conversation with someone for once.

    He rests his head on the wall behind him and closes his eyes, letting the sky blue eyes disappears behind his eyelids. “I miss home.” He expels after a few minute of silence. He shakes his head and looks around, wondering if his fellow survivor was even listening to his words. He shrugs and returns his eye on his firearm, spreading the kit on the bed, the young cop starts to unscrew pieces of it and to make sure everything are in order, if they are to walk in the wasteland and toward the hospital, he doesn't want his firearm to fail him if he needs it.
  16. Quinn sits outside the door, resting her head against the wall and listening for sounds of the man within. At his question, she is silent for a moment before speaking. "Luck. I've just been...lucky." The young woman sighs and draws her knees up, resting her head against the dirty fabric of her jeans.

    She sighs and feels a twist of pain in her heart as Mathieu says he missed home. She missed home too. She missed her farm. She missed her practice. She missed the disgusting coffee that her receptionist, Pat, made every morning. She missed her animals. She missed Ben and the way he made her feel safe and warm. She missed his smell. She missed everything about him. She didn't want to dwell on what she missed so she tried to distract herself by learning about her impromptu roomate.

    "Tell me about yourself."
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  17. “About me..” He express hearing the voice of female survivor. He knows mostly that he needs to share a bit of himself, if he ever wants to gain trust from someone else. “Well...not much to say, to be honest.” He scoots a bit on the bed, leaning his back on the wall of the shelter, wondering where to start or what to say for the moment. While he ponders, his hands mechanically reaches for the pieces of his firearm and continues to clean and screws back the different part of it. “Well...first I ain't from around here..” He says, chuckling a bit. “Got stuck in here while I was in vacation, decide to see the south...” He sighs and raises his eyes toward the ceiling for a brief idea. “I am from Montréal...well, Canada..” He explains. “I work at the police there, making sure to keep order and law in a city.”

    He looks in direction of the corridor, where she must be sitting. “Calmer than here....and I hope it isn't corrupted or that this strange rabid plague has reached the border.” He sighs and puts the pistol away, passing his hand in his hair. “I guess it is the basic of me, what about you?” He inquires while he positions himself on the bed, turning himself so he can lay on it, staring at the ceiling. “What is your story, if you have one?”
  18. Quinn rubs her arms, fighting off a sudden chill as she contemplates his question. She adjusts herself against the wall, her legs growing numb and her back beginning to ache. "I'm from Georgia. I was a veterinarian." she pauses, wondering what else she could say about herself and about her life that seemed so long ago. "I had a husband, Ben. We had a farm together." she chews her lip. "We ran when we saw what was happening. He died about a month ago. He got bit."

    She stares at the opposite wall, not expecting the man on the other side of the door to talk anymore or comment on her story.
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  19. The young man frowns a bit hearing the story of the other survivor. He heard it a thousand time, sees it a few time too, but it was never easy to hear someone losing their family, friends, husband, lover, or even dogs. He remembers the class at the Police Academy in Nicolet, remembered the time he had to explain the parents that they will never see their son again, since he crashes his new gift into a lamppost after drinking too much. Being a police gives you key to interact with people, but never the solution.

    He chuckles nervously at his own silence, trying to break it, without sounding too heartless. “Sorry for your loss.” He finally says softly. “I know coming from a stranger, stuck in a stupid shelter waiting for his ankle to heal isn't the best way to say it, but it is true.” He stops for a brief moment, glancing toward his firearm.” So you travel alone since his demise...” He inquires after the short silence. “You didn't want to stay on your farm?”
  20. Quinn wouldn't tell him that to hear another person express sympathy for what happened to Ben made her feel grateful. In this new, cruel world, finding another person who could connect with what's happened to you and feel sorry was a rarity. People were too ready to hurt one another for the sake of greed and survival. Even she was prepared to hurt this stranger to defend herself.

    "We couldn't stay on the farm, not for long at least. We tried to stick it out, but people kept bringing me their sick children and begging me to help." she shakes her head at the memory. "Most were already too far gone. Parents and friends wouldn't accept my answers and eventually, we just got overrun by the same people we tried to help." She situates herself and lays down on the hard floor.
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