Tyler and Joselina - Morgantown
Life seemed happy to hand Tyler all the power in the world, no matter how much he may have not wanted it.
In the weeks since he'd arrived in Morgantown, the community had been shaken thoroughly, the lives these people knew thoroughly uprooted. For once, Tyler had nothing to do with all the chaos that surrounded him. It felt almost refreshing not to be at the heart of things, but Tyler knew that if there was any constant in his shitty life, the apocalypse sought to make him the center of attention sooner or later.
Claiborne had been ousted by his former ally, Nathan, ensuring that Morgantown's entire leadership was decimated in just a few short weeks. Tyler had been thankful he wouldn't have Clay breathing down his neck any more, but he felt like throwing up once he learned who Nathan wanted to take over in his place. Of all the people he could have chosen, he chose Tyler, a man who just couldn't stay anonymous. Tyler had even tried to decline, but Nathan had been insistent-- he saw no one else fit for the job. Tyler could have been adamant, or maybe even put Caleb in his place instead, but something about how the position had been offered to him on a silver platter had intrigued Tyler. There was something tantalizing about being a part of the world's easiest coup.
So much easier than it had been at Outpost.
Besides, Tyler had to admit that he liked being in control. He wasn't stupid enough to think he could monopolize everyone - New Orleans had taught him the dangers of his own ego - but he still held a modicum of power that no one else would have. People would listen to him just because they were obligated to. The taste of it was like a fine wine, the kind his wife would have pulled out for their anniversaries what felt like ages ago.
He held control of Morgantown and didn't have to draw a single drop of blood himself to do it. Thing was, he didn't want to draw a single drop to keep it either. He wanted to be good to these people, to create a place where Katie could feel safe. He'd be able to give back to Caleb and Jace for all they'd done for him by giving them an honest community. He'd show even those who hated him from Haywood that he was capable of more than just pain.
Of course, the first order of business was to find Scarlett. She'd gone missing two weeks ago, sent off on a mission by Claiborne. Tyler had worried the mission was an attempt to kill her, but he knew Scarlett was stronger than that. She was likely still out there, not willing to return to Morgantown. She likely suspected that Sam had been killed by Clay much like the rest of them had. She would certainly come back if she learned that Tyler was the one in control now, right? Tyler could only hope.
Unfortunately, a few of the old Morgantown residents seemed
scared of him, as if he naturally gave off an intimidating feeling. Maybe he did. He'd tried to establish a connection with the residents, but some of them had managed to avoid him. There was one woman who had arrived a few weeks ago as well, but Tyler had only seen fleeting glances of her. He'd managed to get a few people to say she was just quiet and kind of strange, but that sounded like music to Tyler's ears. Brad had been one of the strangest people Tyler had ever met, and yet he'd turned out to be the most loyal guy Tyler had ever known. It was not entirely hard to mold people into what you needed them to be, especially if they were not particularly assure of themselves in the first place.
He managed to corner her eventually, finally forcing a meeting out of the woman in one of the school hallways. He wasn't even sure if she'd seen him up to this point, but no doubt she was seeing him now. He doubt he looked like much; just a tired man with a ragged look and a bad leg. He stared at her with soft eyes, realizing she seemed incredibly familiar. The feeling gripped at his gut like a vice, the feeling so strong that Tyler had to figure this was someone he'd at least met before, but where?
He held out a hand, not realizing it was shaking. "I'm Tyler, the new leader around here."
Two weeks.
Two weeks, everything had changed.
Not just for the citizens of Morgantown, the local community's organization being turned on it's head in just a few critical moments, but seemingly for everyone. Each day, each passing hour, each passing minute, each passing second meant a whole plethora of different events happening across what was once a proud and bold country. Underneath the confines of her mask, underneath the shell of madness, Joselina could feel herself being in tuned with this aura of constant change, seeing the broken, battered, and maimed bodies left in the streets, their carcass barely distinguishable to be human any more. Occasionally, she would even see herself, and flinch in fear, staring at the horrid abomination she had morphed into over mere months.
For two weeks, Joselina was barely considered a member of Morgantown upon first glance. Every since the schism with Mel and her followers, the muzzled, deranged brunette had little reason to stay in the community. Many citizens paid little attention to the wanderer, and to be brutally frank, those that did were truthfully afraid of the psychopath. Who wouldn't, after all, with the plentiful amount of scars, strange, inhuman muzzle, and strained eyes like that of some feral, savage animal that made Joselina an imposing woman at six foot. Truth be told, the insane individual almost preferred it that way, enjoying to venture out on her own, happily returning back to Morgantown with plentiful supplies to trade and commit basic levels of commerce to hopefully establish some relations with the locals.
With no weapons to her name outside of a rusty and empty Mosin-Nagant rifle she often used as both a club and walking stick, the isolated woman stood near the gates of Morgantown, dealing with a few residents here and there, trying to ignore their uneasy glares and quivering lips. With half entire jawline bounded like some unruly bitch, Joselina acquire a knack over the years for examining another's physical gestures and reactions. She knew, despite her seemingly schizophrenic personality, how people acted towards her and what they were somewhat thinking. If anything, her veil of insanity, whilst all so real, often worked in Joselina's favor, whether it be intentionally or unintentionally.
So when a certain man approached her with a hand extended outwards, the bloodthirsty yet extremely reckless drifter felt herself taken aback. A gesture? From a man so familiar as well, with soft eyes Joselina swore she had seen before. An awkward pause loomed in the air, the woman, wearing nothing but a black spaghetti top and blue jeans tilting her head curiously. Along her arms, the scars were heavily visible, some of which looked more like burn marks from Tyler's angle, these markings and engravings appearing more artificial than accidental. The most noteworthy of these was one lingering at the base of her neck, though once again from Tyler's angle, this "tattoo" of sorts was hard to detail.
Intently and curiously, Joselina reached for Tyler's hand, squeezing it firmly, the muzzled woman growing uncomfortably close. There, she just stood there, staring lightly up at Tyler, her chestnut eyes static and unfaltering.
"Hiii...."
Her voice was as ghastly as a phantom, her pale skin covered in filth, grime, and pain was as ghastly as a phantom, and above all else, Joselina herself felt like a phantom.
A phantom of the past.
A monument of sins.
Tyler's outstretched hand felt like a sudden unwanted entity. It twitched slightly, Tyler almost feeling sick as the strange woman took her time responding. He wanted to pull it away like he'd been scalded, take a few running steps back and put some distance between him and this curious woman. He felt overwhelmingly small, caught up in a feeling of nostalgia that rocked him to his core. The feeling was nauseating, as if his stomach wanted to heave up the vile feelings pooling in his stomach.
His eyes went wide as the woman finally took his hand, squeezing it about as roughly as he expected from this woman. The silence between them stretched further, leaving Tyler with nothing to do but examine the woman intensely. Her eyes were unmistakable; both intense and paralyzing, they were eyes Tyler had no doubt seen before. Her pale skin looked darker under the filth, Tyler's gaze slowly travelling down to examine every visible part. Scars, maybe even burns, determined a life full of painful memories. This woman had been through so much, but of course, who hadn't these days?
It was when she spoke, her frail voice echoing behind the mask, that Tyler felt something akin to a punch to his gut. He pulled away from the woman, ending their handshake suddenly. He stared at her, unblinking, not entirely sure if this wasn't a ghost he was staring at. "You..." was all he could manage for the moment, his mouth feeling dry, as if something distasteful had lodged itself inside his throat. This moment - this
chance meeting - was no mere coincidence. Someone out there had a sick sense of humor. To be handed such a position, only to then run into this phantom of the past, could only be the work of some asshole higher being.
Joselina, or Bitch as the men who had sold her had dubbed her, was supposed to be dead. Tyler could recall those final moments in the catacombs where he had so desperately fought for those women in his care. They had been... were supposed to have been the future, but they had been reduced to mere gore across the stone walls of that underground complex. Not a single one had been rescued, but perhaps it was not impossible for a few to have made it out alive. Did that mean one of the pregnant ones still lived, carrying a child that was supposed to be his?
"Fuck!" Tyler doubled over, clasping his hands over his eyes. His body shook, but Tyler did not know if it was from rage or despair. It had all been a desperate and lost cause. He had been an idiot, drunk on power and thinking he had some kind of ability to change the world. It all turned to shit, proving to the former raider leader that such ambitions were the thoughts of ultimately delusional men. All the better that some of the women survived to be free of him, but what about the one that stood before him? The one with the word "Bitch" branded to the back of her neck, a woman who had seemed too broken for even Tyler to touch.
He needed to get a hold of himself. Memories of the anger management class he'd taken so long ago drifted into his head, leading him toward taking a moment to breathe deeply. He slowly straightened his back, standing with his eyes closed and imagining something both calming and tangible. Katie usually did the trick. After a few moments, Tyler lowered his hands and opened his eyes, taking in the phantom once again. He knew what had to be done.
"You need to leave," he said, not daring to take a step closer to this woman. He didn't know if she recognised him or cared, but he could not allow this entity of his past to stick around. Especially not with Katie around. "I will give you supplies and you will
leave Morgantown. You are to never come back."
For Joselina, the reaction of the familiar man was to be expected. She had grown use of her horrid, nightmarish appearance spurning off others. Not only that, but the muzzled woman was not prideful enough to deny her own inabilities as a human, walking a thin line between madness and savagery. From her constraints and bindings, the psychopath found unsavory pleasure in this ruined world, enjoying the anarchic freedom it brought to an extent, reveling in the utter disarray of society. Ironically, it was that same anarchy that brought her to her knees, that scarred her and almost ruined her identity as a whole, with the only fragments of her former self being a small, tattered teddy bear hugging at her waistline.
With her dark eyes furrowing into a brow, the feral inhuman snarled viciously, kicking back upon the earth, gripping her Mosin-Nagant rifle with a trembling fury. Dark thoughts raced into her wild mind, thoughts of crimson and blood dancing like that of a beautifully terrible ballroom filled with the most elegant of dancers. All the world's a stage, and to Joselina, the actors within it were easily disposable if need be, fearing little repercussions or sense of morality. With one fell swoop, the six foot deranged individual raised her archaic bolt-action rifle, wildly chomping and thrashing underneath the confines of her muzzle.
Of course, to the trained eye, the rifle was empty, but looking down the barrel of a firearm often skewed normal senses.
"You... affraaaid...?" Joselina rasped, her voice shallow, weak, and croaky, as if it was barely hanging onto a thread. Approaching slower with her rifle aimed at Tyler, the wanderer grew nearer and nearer, her wide eyes running through a wide arrange of emotions. While Joselina could not remember Tyler due to the severe unspeakable trauma she endured, the Hispanic was not keen on authority, recalling how she awoken in the midst of the dead and dying, her chains broken and her freedom awaiting at the end of some damp, dark hallway.
Raising her rifle briefly, Joselina forced her muzzle towards Tyler's chin, making an odd set of clicking sounds, her tongue slapping against the roof of her mouth, her dirty bangs hovering over her filthy face, eyes of a lost soul beaming into the very man that forged Joselina into who she was today.
"Whaat maakes yoou... thiink... I won't... come back?" Joselina openly defied, gripping at Tyler's collar, abruptly coughing due to her usually long spill of words.
"I-I-I... a-alwaaays... c-cooome baaack...."
Tyler stared the rifle down, chest heaving in confusion and anger, teeth bared in a glare that stared deep into this woman's eyes. He made no move to strike her or the weapon in her hand out of the way, only standing with his arms rigidly at his sides and his hands twitching in anticipation. His chin raised up on instinct as the rifle's muzzle pressed against his neck, his eyes peering down at Joselina without fear.
Did she not deserve this? Was this not what
he deserved?
He flinched as the woman grabbed at his collar, pulling him forward so that the raw stench of her filth wafted over him. "I don't think anything," Tyler said, his voice barely above a whisper. He sounded so quiet compared to Joselina's rasping. His right hand began rising, Tyler hoping to not set the wild woman off. "I have a daughter who needs me. She's just a little girl. This isn't something you want to do--"
Tyler's hand shot up the rest of the way, his hand slamming into Joselina's hand holding the rifle. As she was pushed to the side, Tyler took a harsh step to the side and pulled out of her grip. Joselina stumbled backward a step or two, her mind too frazzled to interpret a counter to this action. Tyler made use of the hesitation and reached out to grab the woman's rifle from her grip. He pulled the weapon away and threw it away from both of them, the gun skidding across the ground until it rested into the wall.
Seething, Tyler flexed his hands and stared Joselina down. "You know what? Do what you want, it's the least you deserve. But you stir any shit or fuck with things here? You
will regret it. You
will die. No matter what you think you can do." Letting out a staggered breath, Tyler turned briskly and left Joselina where she stood.