Zombie Apocalypse Rp! IC

[Zarko Straadi]

Tatterdemalion:

"Well, I thank ye for your kind an' generous offer," Tatterdemalion said, not in the least certain that Leigh's intentions were either kind or generous, given that his initial plan had been to rob the woman with the motorcycle, "but me home is in the--" Bethany spotted the urgent situation outside, unlocked the door and headed out. "By your pardon," Tatterdemalion said with a flowery curtsy, then followed Bethany outside to watch her back while she assisted the wounded female soldier. Before she could reach her side, a man in a similar uniform ran up, shouting "Em, you're not allowed to die on me dammit!" He started shouting orders about covering him while he moved the woman into the house. He was clearly quite shaken up. Either he'd forgotten how to say 'please,' or he simply decided that he didn't want to take the chance that they'd say 'no.' In either case, Tatterdemalion didn't want to be on the wrong side of an agitated soldier with an automatic weapon, so she kept her sword in a low guard position and watched for ghouls as they returned to the house with his injured comrade.

Back inside, she started to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Too many people, with too many guns. Still, they seemed like decent people. If she could help them navigate their way from the wreckage of the Old World to the birth of the New, she could perhaps make at least a part of that world a better place.

"Is there anythin' ye need? If ye name it, I can go in search of it."

Briar Rose:

Briar Rose had kept her shooting confined to the zeds furthest from Ramon, so that if she missed she wouldn't hit him by accident. She regretted that for a moment though, when one of them came dangerously close to scratching him. To her great relief, he dodged the attack and brought the zed down. Then he was back, with a laugh and a compliment for her marksmanship.

"Thank you," Briar Rose said, blushing. As requested, she covered him while he tinkered under the car, downing a couple straggling zombies. If he gets the car running, then what? I won't be able to keep up with the Lion, she thought. Tow it behind? While he worked, she started pondering solutions to the problem. Seat belts could be cut out of vehicles and fashioned into a tow rope, but would there be enough length? Some of the cars would probably have jumper cables, and perhaps bungee cords. But I'm not sure if the Lion would do well at proper automobile speeds. It's not designed for that, she thought, then her contemplation of extracting useful things from cars started to range beyond the present situation.

If enough car batteries could be obtained, they could be connected together to form a power source--for a DIY welder, perhaps, if welding sticks could be obtained from a hardware store. I really should find a way to learn how to weld. Books? How to re-charge the batteries? A wind turbine made from an automobile fan and generator? Probably not very efficient. The generator would be useful, of course, but a proper wind turbine would require a mast or tower and guy wires. Then there would be the matter of creating the blades; they'd need to be quite a bit larger than an automobile fan. She'd seen a YouTube video once where a man cut wind turbine blades from a large PVC pipe, but Briar Rose wasn't sure she'd remember what she'd seen well enough to replicate it, especially without the powered tools the man had used. A Savonius type, perhaps? Find some oil drums, cut them in half, mount the halves to a shaft...

Or, they could be lined on the inside with aluminium foil, with black-painted PVC pipe or copper tubing placed at the focus, run some water into the pipe for a solar-thermal steam generator. With luck and time I might be able to make a Tesla disc turbine--

"Aha!" Ramon said, pulling Briar Rose from her thoughts. He emerged from under the car brandishing a squat cylinder. To her surprise, he handed her the ball bearings.

"Brilliant! I hadn't tried going after automobile bearing races. Thank you! I do have some steel shot, but I save it for when I need range most. The rocks are more easily replaceable. Though I suppose a decent hardware store might have all manner of bits I could use, like hex nuts and whatnot, and standardized weight and shape would be a plus. There is a town a few miles that way," she said, pointing. "Not too far from where I used to live," she added softly, with a hint of sadness in her voice.

 

[Cry.EXE]

"Alright." She said, grabbing it. Once they got inside, she pulled out her first aid kit. "I don't have much, but It might be enough." She said.

 

[Travelor]

:Emily:

Emily was trapped in her own head visions of her friends, both alive and dead. Her memory's playing hell on her dreams. She was back in new York again with her squad. They were trying desperately to hold back the civilians and keep them from leaving what was then known as quarantine zone theta.

:Marcus:

Marcus gave thankful nod to everyone as he got her into the house. As soon as they were inside he laid Emily across what used to be a dining room table, but would now make for a decent triage table. He checked over the wound again before grabbing the piece of metal and taking a deep breath. In one harsh motion he pulled the metal free from her ribs and applied pressure to the wound, pulling a gut wrenching scream Out of her.


With his free hand he pulled out his knife and flipped it so he was holding it by the blade. Holding it out to the girl with the odd accent he said "I need you to find a way to heat this up once the blade is red bring it back." He then turned his attention back to emily. He made quick work of taking off her Kevlar best and tossing it half hazardly to the side. He quickly un buttoned her shirt and opened it to give him easy access to her wound.

He grabbed the medkit out of the biker girls hands and opened it quickly scoping out what was in it. Two gauss pads, a few sewing needles and a tiny bit of fishing line. Now all he needed was alcohol. Glancing around the room he spoke shakilly "I need alcohol. Doesn't matter what king I just need to sterilize the wound and this needle." If they didn't have any he would have to make do but he would rather not risk infection if he didn't have too.

 

[Cry.EXE]

"I think I have some in my flask! Let me check!" She said, rummaging through her things quickly. She pulled out a flask and brought it over. "It's about 3/4 full. Will it be enough?" She asked.

 

[Travelor]

:Marcus:

March quickly grabbed the flask saying "That's perfect thank you." He made quick work of pouring some over his hands and the needle before pouring the rest of it on her wound causing her to lurch violently, screaming out in pain as he did so. He did his best to hold her down as he spoke quietly to her " Shhh, it's ok Em. Your gonna be fine!" Now all he needed was that knife so he could cauterized the wound.

 

[Cry.EXE]

She helped hold her down quickly. "Hey hey hey you're okay. It'll be over soon..." She said softly. "Just look at me. Keep your eyes on me..." She whispered, looking at her.

 

[Travelor]

:Emily:

Pain. So much pain. Her eye's shot open as she screamed out in pain. It hurt so much she couldn't even think, when suddenly a voice caught her attention. Her vision was too blurred to make out who it was, and her head was all muddled from both blood loss and pain. Her mind tried desperately to figure out who it was until finaly she muttered. "Sarah?"

:Marcus:

Marcus froze in place when he heard the name. Em hadn't talked about her in month's. His eyes filled with sadness as he looked to the biker girl saying "Sarah was her wife . . ." He glanced back at Em for a moment before saying ". . . Please just go with it.'

 

[Eon]

Oliver carefully stepped slowly through the depopulated wasteland, humming a cheerful tune in contrast to his bleak surroundings and appearance. Clad in a heavy, dusk-colored cloak, he blended in with his environment surprisingly well, especially when he stopped moving. Pushing his dark-rimmed glasses further up his nose, he glanced about his environment, curious if there was anything useful nearby. He needed a new axe, after his old one finally kicked the bucket. It hadn't really been meant for fighting anyway, being more of a workshop tool, but it had gotten him through many tough moments, and it was useful as a general tool as well. Perhaps one of the nearby buildings would have a fire-axe. It would be larger than his previous one, but better suited to his needs.

Turning to enter a nearby building, he glanced briefly up at the sign, before sighing at the fact that it was now a defunct, unreadable LED board. That was something he missed: Electricity. It had been such a backbone of his old life, and the loss of it had almost as large of an effect on his life as the undead hordes prowling the streets. He pushed on the glass door of the building, only for it not to open. Of course, this was when he noticed the "pull" sticker, still intact on the glass.

"You know what? Fuck it. It's the goddamn apocalypse," he said to himself, retreating back some to retrieve a block of stone used to wall off the small flower bed on either side of the steps and hurling it through the glass with a shout. It shattered into thousands of tiny pieces, which made him thankful for his thick boots. He'd wrapped them in thick, soft cloth too, both for extra comfort and support, and because it made them as quiet as falling snow. Even as he stepped across the glass, the crunching was almost silent, due to the sound being muffled by the material.

By the looks of things, the place had been some sort of old motel. No signs of recent habitation, by the living or the dead. As he walked about, he looked for anything particularly useful. Back during his time surviving from the college, a place like this could have been a gold mine. Most of the rooms had TVs, and minifridges, the lobby had a dozen toasters and various food-warmers, all sorts of things that the others could've cannibalized for parts to make into something useful. He, unfortunately, didn't have those skills. Oliver was much more of a planner than he was a maker of things, and while he'd been a contributing and helpful member of the group back when there were eight of them, now that he was alone, he felt useless. He couldn't think about that now. Before they'd been forced to leave, they'd made contact with the Canadian Government, who apparently were not only quite effective at combating the undead hordes after some initial losses, but were accepting refugees. They'd been planning to make the journey when...

No, he couldn't focus on that right now. He had an axe to find...

Returning his attention to the search, he managed to find an unopened bottle of whiskey in the desk of someone who, by all accounts, was named "Mark" according to the name plate on his desk that also labeled him as a manager. It was a good find, so he slipped it into his backpack, but it wasn't what he was looking for. A slight chuckle escaped his lips when he noticed that Mark had a vault-boy bobblehead on his desk. Oliver gave it a slight flick, setting it rocking back and forth, before continuing his search.

Picking through bags of people who'd been here when it all went to shit, he found a bottle of vodka. Still no axe, but alcohol was good for treating wounds, and useful as a bartering tool if he came across other survivors. He'd like that, he thought, having someone to talk to again. Being alone these last few months had lead to him sleeping poorly out of fear of attack, and resulted in him taking to the habit of talking to himself.

"We should figure out where we're sleeping tonight. We've been walking for a while now, and this area seems to be pretty deserted. Haven't heard much, and our scouting hasn't revealed any huge hordes anywhere..." he spoke to himself, "Why exactly do we do that? Talk about ourselves in the first-person-plural, I mean. It's weird, because I know there's nobody else in here, but I don't believe that there's anyone else in here..." he continued, tapping his skull gently with one finger, "Loneliness? That's a plausible explanation, I suppose. We also might be experiencing PTSD, considering it's the end of the damn world and all." He pushed open another room, only to be greeted by a snarling, rotting face. "Shit!" He cursed, slamming the door shut again violently, "Nope, nope nope. Nopety nope." He stuck a broom through the door-handle, then put a chair in front of it just to be safe. "Not fuckin' with that. Not today, thank you." Oliver then decided to take his leave of the motel, having explored most of what wasn't the guest rooms, which he'd just discovered could contain zombies. "No axe is worth looking at those ugly mugs..."

Striding out from the hotel, whistling the tune of an old Megaman stage as he walked, he heard people talking, "Look at me, just keep your eyes on me..." and then a scream, like the devil himself had decided to show himself to a...woman, by the sound, mid 20's, maybe? That made two, most likely, and, another voice. Male. That made three, confirmed people. He get behind some nearby rubble, ready his slingshot for one. He could break the whiskey bottle for a...

Something within him clicked. It made him realize just how different he'd become. He'd never liked talking to strangers, but this new person he'd become had just planned on murdering at least three people because they might have resources he could use to survive. What was he thinking? One of them even sounded like a child...Would he have been able to live with himself after that? He certainly hoped otherwise.

Stepping out into the open, he tried to make a bit more noise so as not to scare anyone, but his muffled footsteps made it difficult. Glancing at the group, he realized that there were more than three. Closer to six, it seemed. His words froze in his throat, and for what felt like an eternity to him, but only was in reality a few seconds, he was silent.

"Hey...I uh...I heard you guys...You should be more quiet, if you can help it. You never know what kinda' monsters are around these days, and I don't mean the zombies." He said, finding his will to speak again. At that moment, he realized just how he must have sounded, and looked. Clad in a dusty cloak, his transition glasses darkened by the light, two bandoleers of arrows and toilet brushes around his chest, a pouch of ball bearings hanging from his waist and homemade slingshot crossbow in his hands, ready to fire.

"Shit. I probably look like a murderer, don't I?" He grumbled, "I'm sorry. I can go...If you want," he said a bit more audibly, "I've just been on my own for a while, and I heard voices so I thought I'd introduce myself but I've never been very good with strangers, so..."

 

[Zarko Straadi]

Tatterdemalion:

"I need you to find a way to heat this up once the blade is red bring it back," the soldier said.

"Aye," Tatterdemalion replied. "But it may cost us a bit o' smoke, an' your blade will nae be good for much after," she said, taking the blade and hurrying off, having no doubt that he valued Emily more than the knife. A quick search of the garage. Bugger! A few tools, but nothing so handy as a Bunsen burner or butane torch. A charcoal barbecue pit that wouldn't provide the red heat he'd asked for...and stuff for model railroading. A run to peek into the back yard: a pile of discarded cans. I could make a rocket stove out of those. But it'd take too long. Too dangerous t' search other houses. Better idea, she thought, heading for the door at a run.

Sword still in hand, she almost ran straight into a newcomer who was stammering out an introduction.

"Shit. I probably look like a murderer, don't I?" He grumbled, "I'm sorry. I can go...If you want," he said a bit more audibly, "I've just been on my own for a while, and I heard voices so I thought I'd introduce myself but I've never been very good with strangers, so..."

Tatterdemalion skidded to a stop and gave him a quick up-and-down. His weaponry looked like clever re-purposing of found items. Skill exchange! she thought, but there was no time for that now.

"Well, ye don't be lookin' like an insurance salesman, but I have'nae laid eyes 'pon one o' those in a long time. Play nice, an' ye will be fine," she said, then took off for the hardware store. She slashed down a couple ghouls as she ran past, but thankfully the soldiers had drawn off and dispatched all but a few stragglers. Reaching the store, she started grabbing fire bricks and throwing them into her wheelbarrow, along with a piece of wire mesh. A quick dash to the tool section, where she snagged a carving chisel with a wooden handle. Then, she wiped her sword so she could sheath it, grabbed the wheelbarrow, and ran it back to the house.

"Somebody fetch me kindling, small branches, bits o' siding, whatever, if ye please," she said, crouching in the driveway to stack the bricks into a rocket stove. A rocket stove burned modest amounts of fuel cleanly with high heat. Perfect, in this case, for making a wound-cauterizer. "Many thanks," she said when someone handed over the fuel, which she promptly set alight. She set the chisel across the top, careful to keep the handle far enough away that it wouldn't catch. Once it was red hot, she withdrew it from the flame, wiped off the carbon with a quick swipe of a work-gloved hand, then delivered it to the soldier. "Used this instead o' your blade," she said, pinching the handle between thumb and forefinger so he could grip the rest. Once he took the red-hot chisel, she pulled his knife out of her belt and carefully set it down so he could take it back at his leisure.

"Anythin' else?"

 

[Cry.EXE]

((Guys I'm sorry, I'm shutting down the rp for a day or two. I've been extremely busy with work and school, so please don't be mad and don't reply until I get back. Sorry again!))

 

[Cry.EXE]

((I have returned!!!!! We can continue if you like!))

 

[Tarieles]

Leigh Darling|With: Many People
Leigh merely stood away from the wounded woman. He had no idea how to handle such a thing. He glanced at Bethany, who looked itching to help. He shouldered the rifle, using the strap attached, and simply hovered. He would extend his offer of his old house again once everything had calmed down. Instead of being completely useless, he decided to stand watch outside the house. Not five minutes after he set up his post, a smaller group of the dead had started to form on the outskirts. They were headed their way. "Um, guys? Got a small horde. Maybe thirty." He announced, looking back. "Probably should board up. Get everyone to the top floor." He sounded quite calm for the current situation, which even surprised him a bit.

Bethany Owen|With: Many People
Bethany tried to squeeze in to help, but eventually gave up. She didn't need a "too many cooks" situation. When Leigh announced a small group, she cursed loudly, looking outside. "They're probably attracted to the noise. We may have to leave the town, they'll only become more and more attracted to the sounds of fighting." She began pushing the dresser close to the door. "I like Leigh's idea of his old house." She had heard stories of his house. It was big, and it was safe. That's all that really mattered. They could construct a fortified fence to keep everyone safe, too. It sounded like the best option to her. "But for now, let's lie low."

[dash=#ff0000]Ramon Alvarez|With: Briar Rose
Ramon nodded. "Yeah, can use all kinds of stuff with one of those." He chuckled. "The squirrels in my neighborhood could tell you that." He looked towards where she pointed, and shrugged. "May as well. Might even be able to find a place to settle. I'd like not having to wander from place to place, trying not to fall asleep. It's not so easy." He started walking in that direction. "Could use some more nails in my bat. Some got ripped out." He mused, looking at the makeshift mace. He had gone through a lot with that bat. Saved his skin on more than one occasion. "I'd like to find some ammo eventually. Can't use it for much. Only got one bullet." He grabbed the gun, pulling it up, before letting it dangle at his side again.[/dash]

 

[Eon]

Oliver was surprised by the comparatively warm welcome he received, seeing as most of the people he'd met in his travels had been less than friendly. Often times, they just pointed at him with whatever weapons they'd scavenged up and ordered him to keep on stepping, though he'd had to fight his fair share of raiders and raving lunatics. In all honesty, they scared him a lot more than the zombies did. The people who turned into monsters at the lost of infrastructure, without them, this area would likely be pretty safe, as any survivors within would've since banded together as a unit and made a cohesive, united effort to fight back.

"Oh, really? Wow, thanks. You know my dad was an insurance salesman? My mom was too, actually, that's how they met," he replied. The story wasn't true, but it was funny and relevant, so he said it. His father was actually a clown when his parents met, performing in a rainbow wig and large shoes. At least, that was the story he told the most, and it had gained a sort of truth to it. "What's going on here? Is somebody in pain? I've got some alcohol in my bag, if you need to sanitize or take the edge off..." he offered, swinging his pack over his shoulder with a practiced ease and pulling a half-full bottle of whiskey out, "I'm not much of a drinker, so I'm pretty happy to give it away in exchange for nobody trying to slip steel between my ribs, and maybe some people to tell all my jokes to," he added.

It had been too long since he'd had anyone besides himself to talk with. He'd drawn a face on a basketball once, but he figured it was too sad, and a waste of effort to carry around. In memory of "Billson" he'd been using any sports equipment to attempt to put together some armor. He wore a few pieces of it under his cloak, but it was far from finished. He'd made some basic greaves from Billson, wrapping the leathery material around the upper part of his boots, granting a precious few centimeters of extra protection. He'd made some armor for his lower arms out of a few footballs, and he'd even had a nice helmet up until it got cracked open by some debris, and he'd chosen to abandon it. He'd been working on a chestplate for a little while now, but it wasn't finished. The individual components were, but he didn't have anything to keep them together just yet. He'd used up all his old shoelaces making his greaves and armguards, but his hope was to find some proper thread or string to lace his chestpiece together.

 

[Cry.EXE]

"Shit..."she mumbled. "Someone take over. I'm going back out there." She said. She grabbed her things and started heading back out. "I can lour them away again. It'll be no problem." She mumbled

 

[Zarko Straadi]

Briar Rose:

Briar Rose looked away to hide a pained look when Ramon boasted about shooting squirrels with his slingshot. "I hate killing squirrels," she muttered. Depriving any beautiful creature of life in this world just felt wrong, no matter how necessary it might be. But then Ramon was a boy--well, a man, so... "I would like to find a place to settle..." she said as she climbed back into the Lion's seat and clipped her feet into the pedals. "...try to help rebuild civilization.

"Do you think the zeds could have been sent to punish us? For causing too much destruction to the biosphere or something? I mean, they don't seem terribly concerned with abiding by the principles of thermodynamics and biology, so they're...the strongest candidate for demonstrable supernatural intervention that I know of...

"On the other hand, they could be the result of some kind of experimental nanomedical device going awry. I read once that there were researchers who were developing a nanotechnological equivalent of a red blood cell that would process oxygen so efficiently that if you had them in you, you could sprint for fifteen minutes without needing to take a breath. So maybe it's something like that, but self-replicating and infectious," she said, pedaling alongside Ramon as they headed down the road. "Though I don't know why it would suppress higher brain functions or cause aggression. Unless it's something like what they did to the people on Miranda in Firefly, and the zeds are real-life Reavers?

"I truly hope they're not an alien bioweapon. Have you ever read 'The Screwfly Solution?' It's a short story--dandelions!" she said, pointing out to a spread of the bright yellow flowers in a meadow. "The greens are edible, and you can make tea from the roots. If you could cover me while I harvest some, I could show you how to make dandelion tea once we've found shelter for the night," she said, still wanting to prove helpful. "It's rich in vitamins."

 

[Zarko Straadi]

Tatterdemalion:

The soldier made no reply, but then he had more important matters to attend to. Tatterdemalion backed away to give him some space, and joined the others. The girl who had come for her now warned that the hordes were likely being drawn by the sounds of fighting, and that they would probably need to leave the town. "I like Leigh's idea of his old house. But for now, let's lie low," she said. Tatterdemalion glanced over at Leigh. His green suit looked to have been high quality once, but now his long tailcoat was in tatters. He still held his firearm. It was a black, ugly thing. No hint of elegance about it whatsoever, no possibility that it could have any meaning or purpose apart from being an industrial machine for manufacturing death.

The soldiers of course were also weighted down with similar weapons. The male soldier obviously cared for his female cohort, but inwardly he still belonged to a culture that would not permit him to express compassion or tenderness, save by ordering her not to die, in military cadence. I think I can see where this is going, and it's not a place I want to end up, she thought. Who would become Patriarch of this forming clan: the Patrician, who owned the property they would be living on (and whose initial plan had been to rob the motorcycle woman at gunpoint, Tatterdemalion reminded herself), or the Warrior who might find his way to an older and more primal system of asserting dominance than property ownership and primogeniture? Leigh's girl would side with him; the soldier-woman (assuming she was well enough when the confrontation happened) would side with her CO, and Tatterdemalion? Caught in the middle, with no true friends on either side. The motorcycle woman, who was even now preparing to ride off to draw the horde away, had no reason to let herself get caught in that trap. Her setup was optimized for 'Move Fast, Travel Light,' with her swift machine stallion to keep her ahead of trouble.

Then there was the fact that Tatterdemalion and the others simply weren't living the same story. Even briefly holing up in this lightless house made her want to Get Out. Strange how alien it feels, she thought. The others' ugly-American clothes, their firearms, the suburban utilitarianism of the house and its furnishings... It was a world that had been 'normal' only months ago, but now seemed eerie and hollow, yet deeply foreign.

"I thank ye both for your kind an' generous offer, but I'll not be imposin' on your hospitality," she said to Leigh and Bethany. "I am a creature of the wild wood, an' 'tis time I returned. Would ye welcome a visit t' this place o' yours, for the purposes of trade an' th' sharin' o' skills an' stories?" As much as she ached to be back out among her beloved trees, being around other people brought back memories of presenting her wares and performing at fairs, offering a bit of whimsy to people whose lives had been drained of it. It would be good not to be entirely alone. Perhaps I can bring th' fair t' them, she thought, noticing that her accent was starting to drift into her mind's inner voice.

 

[Tarieles]

Leigh Darling|With: Many people

Leigh was not sad to hear that the Renaissance woman would be leaving. He wasn't fond of her ever since she threatened him and kept looking around at everyone's guns and clothes with disgust. He couldn't stand those who fought against "the machine of death that was capitalism" and thought the world could just be some lovey dovey place so long as guns and industry didn't exist. He felt as if she thought she was better than everyone because she was a damn dirty hippie. He may have been an ass, but he rarely thought he was actually better than people because of his lifestyle. Better off, certainly, but not better. He couldn't understand her, both because of her accent and the fact that she thought she was better off by being a god damn freak. "A creature of the wild wood." He had to scoff at that, turning back to Cry, who had gone to lure the small horde away. "All right, then. Good luck." He pointed into the distance, where a small bit of his old house could be seen. "If you come back and we're not here, that's where we may be." He told her, hurrying back inside.

He wanted to head out. He was itching to get to his dad's weapons and ammo. That and there were a few things he wanted to get other than weapons. There were some mementos that he wanted to retrieve. He also kind of wanted to see what happened to his sister. He just kind of assumed she was turned already. She at least knew not to starve to death, but he wasn't sure about self defense. All he knew, was she probably wasn't there anymore.

Bethany Owen|With: Many people

Bethany nodded to Tatterdemalion. "Of course. You'd be more than welcome." She said with a smile, then looked to the others. "Once the small horde is gone, I think we should leave. Is there a way that we can safely transport her without attracting too much attention?" She asked the military man. "I mean, if you even wanted to come with us." She aimed this question at all three of them for the most part. This newcomer could be helpful as well. "We'll also need to figure out who's carrying her and who will be on guard duty while we walk." She felt like it was necessary for her to take control of the situation. No one else was taking a leader's stance. Leigh would have been shot down, the military man was busy tending to his friend and being emotional over it, the military woman was indisposed, Tatterdemalion was leaving, she doubted people would follow the brand new person, and the motorcycle woman didn't seem to be taking the lead. So, here Bethany stood, her options laid out for her; and these options said "take the lead or you're all dead."

[dash=#ff0000]Ramon Alvarez|With: Briar Rose

"Well, it was either them or our house. Damn reds. Destroying everything." Ramon shook his fist in the air. He was, of course, referring to red squirrels. "Rebuilding civilization will be difficult. I mean, there's first trying to bring everyone together, then we need a leader, there will need to be procreation, we'll need to think of an economy and some sort of leadership. I mean, it's definitely doable. It'll just take a while." He paused when she mentioned the zombies being sent to punish. He shook his head. "Nah." He spoke, looking around, making sure there weren't any of the said creatures around. "I say it's a medical test gone wrong. Something the government worked on and it got out." He listened to her ramblings with a bit of a smile. "No, I've never read that, but-" He jumped, dropping his bat and bringing his gun up and clicking off the safety out of habit when she exclaimed. He saw the dandelions, and quickly calmed, putting the safety back on and lowering the gun. "Sure. I'll stand watch. Get as many as you need." He said, picking the bat back up, and following her over. [/dash]

 

[Cry.EXE]

"Alright. Listen up. If I'm not back by sunrise tomorrow, or if another hoard comes close, get out of here. I've been on my own for this long, might as well be alone for longer." She said, making sure she had everything. "Well, if I don't see you again, good luck in this new world." She smiled briefly before putting her helmet on.

She ran outside and revved up her bike. She saw them and smirked. She pulled out the blood and rubbed a bit on the back of her bike. She also attacked the dead squirrel to it. She waved quickly before going toward them. Once she got close enough, she started making lots of noise, hoping she would attract them all.

 

[Starrnico]

Muffled hoof beats could be heard as Mark and Anna rode closer to the city. They had heard the many explosions and gunfire from this area and were wondering if there were survivors out here. If there were, they wanted to try to help. It had been a while since the siblings had seen anyone else alive, though they had found plenty of the walkers during their travels. They stopped the horses when they saw people up ahead, wondering if they were friendly or not.
It looked like a kid on a trike and a guy walking with something dangling from his waist. Could he really have bones? The brother and sister glanced to each other again then made sure their weapons were close before walking the horses closer to the pair.

 

[Zarko Straadi]

Tatterdemalion:

"Best of fortune to ye," Tatterdemalion said. Not that there was a great deal of good fortune going around these days. Still, if they could get to Leigh's big house and continue to get along with each other, they had a chance. She could trade with them, teach them, learn from them, help them plant gardens and build defenses, and perhaps receive some help in return. In time, their bullets would run out, their clothes wear out, but hopefully not before they could make new weapons and clothes, better suited to Whatever Came Next. The dawn, perhaps, of a new culture.

For now though, she got the distinct impression that The Green Gunslinger didn't like her very much. Fair enough; she wasn't exactly his biggest fan either. "Tatterdemalion was here," she said with an impish smile and a curtsy with flourishes. She stepped in between the handles of the wheelbarrow with her back to it, like a horse before a cart, then grabbed the handles and skipped away. Thanks to the woman on the motorbike, her exit was clear.


Briar Rose:

Briar Rose blushed when Ramon brought up the subject of procreation. She understood how people went about it, theoretically at least (Google had been a great help with such questions; she dearly missed Google), but she hadn't given much thought to the practical matter of participating herself. Boys were mean...back when there were boys. The examples of relationships her life had presented her with thus far--her parents' tempestuous marriage, and Leigh's girl-o'-the-week tomcatting (back when there were girls-o'-the-week)--didn't make the whole thing seem like much to look forward to. A world crawling with deaders and armed brutes could hardly be expected to improve matters. Thankfully, it would be ages before she would even have to think about--

Wait, he didn't mean...us...did he?! Briar Rose thought, glad that she was headed out into the field with her back to Ramon so he couldn't see the look of horror and disgust that surely swept across her face. No...he was talking about bringing people together with leadership and an economy. An economy would take lots of people. So he'd have someone else to marry. Right then. We would need to figure out some sort of governance that wouldn't be 'whoever is strongest and meanest.' Direct democracy should work while the group is small, shouldn't it? she thought, stooping over to uproot a cluster of dandelions, putting them, roots and all, into a cloth shopping bag she'd retrieved from the Lion's trailer. When there are more of us, then what? A Parliament and Prime Minster? Should we have a Monarchy too? She had a brief vision of herself as a grown woman seated on a throne (an intricate clockwork contraption, naturally), shifting a lever to cause a set of solar-thermal powered bellows to blow a fanfare from mechanical trumpets to open Parliament and let the politicians get to politicking. She wouldn't want to do any of that herself, goodness no. Too much time out of the lab. And she would have a marvelous lab, with lots of flasks and retorts and test tubes and coils and crackling electric arcs and beautiful brass gears and machine tools for making things--

Briar Rose shook her head to clear away the fantasy, smirking at its silliness. She looked around, checking for zeds. It's not as if anyone would want to make me Queen anyway. I wonder if she's still alive? They've got proper castles over there, and the Royal Guards carry partisans and swords... She smiled at the thought of men in Beefeater regalia fending off zeds with their ceremonial weapons, of the Royal Family and Parliament holed up in the Tower of London or perhaps Windsor Castle, with soldiers and citizens they were able to save, keeping the fires of Civilization lit and perhaps even beginning to drive back the hordes. They'd have suits of full-plate armor and halberds and swords in castles, all perfect for fighting the undead!

Her bag mostly filled, with a few scattered dandelions deliberately left in place so more would grow later, she started back to her bike. With images of actual knights riding out of castles to slay zombies and rescue survivors flashing in her head, Briar Rose ached to go to the UK now more than ever...but of course it was impossible. Now more than ever. She dragged herself back to reality, squeezing the bag of dandelions into the trailer and Ramon a bittersweet smile.

"Thank you for keeping...wha?!" Spotting movement in her peripheral vision, she turned her head to look down the road behind them. She saw people on horses--beautiful horses--coming their way. They were dressed like...like they could almost have rode right out of her fantasies. She cast a glance at Ramon to make sure he was seeing them too; now would be a dreadful time go to insane. They looked wary and well-armed; one with a bow and arrows, the other with at least one sword that she could see hanging from his baldric, and a shorter weapon, perhaps a mace. They weren't charging though, so that had to be a good sign, didn't it? What if they think Ramon is some kind of sicko keeping me hostage or something?

"Uh...hello?" she said, giving the pair a nervous wave. "We...we don't mean any harm," she said, hoping they felt the same way.


Tatterdemalion:

Tatterdemalion stopped, and doffed her hood to listen. Voices up ahead, just around a bend in the road. She pulled her wheelbarrow off he road and hid it in the bushes, then ascended the forested foothill on one side of the road, ducking between trees to keep herself concealed until she could get a good look.