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Post by Deleted on Aug 25, 2016 17:29:05 GMT -5
Isaac opened his mouth to complain about being set down on the ground, but shut it when he realized that there was an armed stranger in their midst. He clutched the kitchen knife tightly, as if he would actually be able to defend himself if he or Agnes were attacked. He narrowed his eyes at a Paisley, put off by the fact that he didn't know how long she had been watching them. He would've told her it was none of her business how he broke his leg, but Agnes more or less said the same thing for him. He turned his gaze towards Arlo, still staying quiet. He was glad Agnes was with him or the leader may well have shot him.
"I'd kind of like to go see that doctor now," he spoke up after his long silence.
Ash followed Wilhelm out of the barn, not liking the idea of his boyfriend wandering around looking for Clementine unarmed in the middle of a pack of hounds. He quickly closed the gap between him and Wilhelm, grabbing the other man by the back of the shirt and pulling him towards him. "We need to get to the woods, we're lucky the hounds haven't chased after us," he whispered, beginning to half-drag Wilhelm towards the treeline. He turned and waved towards Clementine, hoping she was smart enough to follow them and not get torn apart by dogs.
Without answering Annika's questions, Amelia darted off again. She could hear voices in the distance, and it wasn't long before she was met with the sight of Agnes, Arlo, Isaac and... Some lady with a shotgun she didn't recognize. "Oi! Leader man!" She shouted, waving to the group as she approached. "Now I know you lot have no reason to believe me, but there's been an accident involving a cave and a rock slide. If you don't hustle your hoofies and get some people out there in the woods to help me, what's-his-name and the silent dude are gonna croak." She crossed her arms at that, fixing the group in front of her with an expectant stare. She was immediately concerned that Isaac had seemed to have broken his leg, but seeing as Agnes was seemingly helping him she wasn't too worried at the moment.
(( this is the single worst reply i have ever written and i apologize to everyone that had to read it ))
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Post by Deleted on Aug 25, 2016 19:28:45 GMT -5
Paisley struggled to not groan from the fact that all she had wanted to do was to follow these people for a little while to see if she could join them and now there were two guns pointed at the back of head. She released measured breaths, resisting the urge to just turn around and shoot the man before he had a chance to react. He wasn't needed in this situation. in fact, his presence was only making things worse for Paisley. She saw how the other two visably relaxed when he showed up so this man was probably willing to kill her to protect his allies. Paisley was hesitant to put her shotgun away for that very reason. How did she know that he wasn't just going to shoot her once she was defenseless? She growled lightly but slung the heavy gun back over her shoulder and into its holster. She put her hands on her hips after, feeling bare and vunerable within something in her palms, "Is that better? I wouldn't want to make ya'll to uncomfortable."
The he sarcasm was party masked by her deep southern accent, but it was defiantly there. A smirk made her lips twitch for a moment. It accurred to her hat she probably shouldn't be snarky with the people that had her life in their hands, but she almost couldn't bring herself to care. She didn't mean them any harm and they should be able to see that in the fact that she followed their order, if a little reluctantly. She turned a little to the side so she could see the man behind her from the corner of her eye, "The gun was a precaution, but I can tell that y'all are sweethearts, so that won't be necassary will it? How lucky of me to stumble upon such upstanding citizens." Her blue eyes twinkled with slight mischief, but there was also a caution in her body language. The things she said were measured and had a defiant purpose. If they responded negatively to her comment about them not killing her, then she had to haul tail. However, it there was even a hint of amusement, then she was in good shape. Hopefully, they would raise an eyebrow at her and lower their guard. Threatened people were never fun to deal with. Paisley ten adressed his question for her, "Well, I was looking for a group to join. Being all alone is no fun."
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Post by qυeeɴ oғ ɢнoѕтlιɴɢѕ on Aug 25, 2016 20:16:25 GMT -5
ive been busy so I haven't been on but anyone find Sinopa and Ezri by the barn/house thing?]
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Post by Tals on Aug 25, 2016 20:55:12 GMT -5
Devoss
Devoss looked at him, his brows twitching for a moment. Something churned inside him- aside from the sick feeling of knowing that he was wounded- and he felt somewhat queasy. Usually people nowadays did it because they needed or wanted something of the other party. Maybe he himself didn't look like he was qualified enough? Either way, it still made him raise a hand and hold his make-shift bandage while he quickly eyed Mika. Seeing as he wasn't of any threat, his whole body visibly relaxed before giving a small nod.
"Yes, I do, thank you. If you would like, I could take you back and give you some water," he offered then, slowly turning and making his slow way through the lessening trees. Stepping out into the open, he was nearly engulfed in the tall grass that led to the now collapsed barn, and the little farm that seemed to have survived through the storm. Figures were dotting the area, and it appeared that not everyone was accountable. But the large form emerging from the far side, made the short man immediately perk up. He seemed to know exactly who it was- and was ready to see if he was alright.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Borya
Borya stood there for a long moment, his mind whirling. Was it really the thought of self-righteousness he gave off? Even if Arlo hadn't said it, he could sense it. Knowing the man had gone a different way than originally gone, he slowly trailed beside Viv as he walked. His eyes were narrowed at his boots, his lips pursing in through thought and brows furrowing. He had been listening to the Turk's words, giving slow nods to her as a sign he wouldn't speak. Coming to a pause, they had emerged from the woods as he stared out at the barn. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his muscles twitching as self doubt hung in the air about him.
"We shouldn't stray too far. I don't want to fully remove ourselves from Arlo. Arlo may need our help should Ghost decide to stir up the newcomers. They may or may not aid him, but I don't want to find out should we come across the burnt ruins here," he told Viv seriously as he raised a hand and let his fingertips rub his lower lip. He didn't say a lot at first, but it seemed his long legs swiftly carried him in direction of the barn. "We can bring Rowan with us. It would be best if we separate them as well. Maybe Riley could help explain what happened," he added over his shoulder to her as his evergreen hues immediately snapped over his shoulder.
He was already down to business. He certainly was a man who made up his mind quickly and was set to finish it. Making his way, he came to a stop and stared at the porch. Alyona was trying her best to care for a practically wiped out Rowan with Jamal there, and inside? His eyes immediately darkened and it took everything inside him to not strike. Why cause enemies with a man that deserved some respect while leaving? "Vivenne," he stated loudly, hoping to catch her attention as he broke into a run to the porch. What the hell? How did that even happen? Was Jamal okay? What bout Riley? Even Alyona? Did Rowan even survive the attacks?
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Post by Tals on Aug 25, 2016 20:56:16 GMT -5
no not yet dear, I'm sure we could have some of our characters find one of the sisters on their way in!!)
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Post by qυeeɴ oғ ɢнoѕтlιɴɢѕ on Aug 25, 2016 20:59:25 GMT -5
Sinopa and Ezri are a mother and daughter pair. the sisters I'm putting in later when I know whats going on more but okay. just tag me when so I know]
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Post by Tals on Aug 25, 2016 21:00:59 GMT -5
ah sorry))
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Post by Deleted on Aug 25, 2016 21:03:36 GMT -5
(( all my characters are busy right now, anybody have anyone open that can retrieve sinopa and ezri? jamal and viv come to mind, but that's without reading back so they might be wrapped up too. ))
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Post by qυeeɴ oғ ɢнoѕтlιɴɢѕ on Aug 25, 2016 21:07:32 GMT -5
I don't mind waiting I'm racking my brain for a novel idea for this one character which is basically what I could become. she is angsty and depressed and haunted. I have no idea what it should be about but I want to write for this character so much but I don't want to use her here. I want to save her for novels]
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Post by ValkoinenLeuka on Aug 25, 2016 21:24:58 GMT -5
Mika offered a small smile, though he was a little wary of following Devoss back to where there were others. Even if Devoss was friendly (or pretending to be), there was no telling the others would be the same way. As the two walked back to the barn area, he looked around, somewhat out of caution though the rest was of curiosity. He hadn't seen many communities up to this point. It was a nice change of pace, but he still reminded himself to be careful.
"This is really something." Mika commented with a small smile. He tried to count the people he saw walking by, but he quickly lost track as he was distracted by the damaged buildings. They looked to have been in good condition up until recently. "I guess that storm a while back hit you guys pretty hard, huh? Do you need help with repairs?"
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Post by paradox on Aug 26, 2016 13:46:27 GMT -5
“I feel very much like it.” Arlo admitted to Agnes’ observation through a faint sigh and the faintest fond smile at her typical way of showing how she cared. He figured that Agnes was referring to his outward bloodied and paled appearance but felt that the same could easily be said for his current mental state, as well. Despite Agnes’ words, she didn’t look too much in shape herself but in far better condition than Isaac and the dual sight of them both prompted an impatient feeling to ensure that they both made it back to the farm in one piece. It was a far more desirable task than dealing with this stranger, after all. The faint relief Arlo’s eyes had expressed at seeing Agnes again seemed to vacate when Paisley spoke up, eyebrows twitching at the tinge of a Southern accent in this woman’s voice.
He lowered his pistols shortly as Paisley set away the shotgun, holstering one in favor of pinching in the skin between his eyes in a show of blatant frustration. But he very pointedly didn’t unarm himself entirely, choosing to keep one pistol in hand on the very likely chance that the woman would attempt to strike, anyway. “Leaving’s always option if you’re that concerned about our comfort,” Arlo said, deciding to try his luck with the half sarcastic, half honest offer. He wasn’t in the mood for whatever game this Southerner seemed to think she was playing and the more she talked, the more she lost her chance at trust as every single word of hers seemed to be tinged in mischief. Mischief was unreliable material to work with when choosing who to trust, especially if they were interested in joining a group. Arlo’s expression shifted in immediate misgiving, offset by her choice of words.
“Well, if you’re looking for fun, I suggest you do it elsewhere. I’m not in the mood for games or whatever it is that you Southerners qualify as fun,” Arlo snapped, tightening his grip around the single pistol in hand but withholding his desire to raise it a second time. A far more reasonable portion of his mind, however, expressed that perhaps it wasn’t smart to keep a gun in his hand while on edge, lest he make a rash decision that he would very much regret. After much consideration and debating with himself, Arlo holstered his second pistol; this woman didn’t seem to be the strongest on the physical side of things so he figured easily enough that “I do not go around picking strays off the streets, alright? But if you’re willing to completely unarm yourself and comply with orders, then I’ll let you step foot on the farm’s property. It’s a reasonable order especially if you’re as interested in joining a group as you say you are. Otherwise, you can leave the vicinity or I’ll personally see to it myself…” Arlo trailed off slightly, only then realizing that he hadn’t caught the strangers’ name but figured he wouldn’t need it if Paisley didn’t choose to conform and completely relinquish her weapons. Before any answer could be given, Amelia emerged from the deeper part of the forest and didn’t give Arlo a chance to exactly settle the current situation before giving him another problem. He growled in frustration, now pressing his temples and trying to work out the dual situations he was now faced with.
“Alright. New lady, if you’re going to give up all your weapons then now’s the time to do it and my friend Agnes here will show you to our camp. I’m going to go deal with..whatever this is,” Arlo paused midway as he was still uncertain of what exactly had gone down with “what’s-his-name” and “the silent dude” which admittedly, wasn’t much to go off of. “And if I find out you even came close to the farm while still armed, I’ll shoot you myself.”
--
Ghost listened as Riley “opened up” about her feelings of him, finding it more or less what he had expected. Although it was coming from the mouth of someone who he had just met, a person who the others believed would have been the last one to express such vehement jealousy and unhinged attempts at politeness, the words still felt as though they had been repeated numerous times already. He already managed to draw up enough parallels from this camp and its inhabitants to the last, that Ghost couldn’t help but wonder whether this was just a recreation or reincarnation of the past incident, one that he was doomed to repeat. He could still see the echoes of that old event in the present time, was seeing it now as Riley droned about doing what was expected of a doctor and maintaining morals. Seemed everyone was tied down these days by so-called morals, restricting them to do what was truly right.
“Well, you’re talking to someone who has lived his whole life at the bottom, in the slums and seen no better than a rat. You may be used to winning and getting everything handed to you, but I’m not. Every day was spent getting the worst of the worst and not having much else other myself, which is about as much as you can expect from a Mexican kid with only criminals to call a family. Arlo’s not yours to lose; he’s just something else that you won from 'coming out on top' but he was and is the only good in my life that I have left. So, get ahead and put up your little fight because it’s just going to be water off a duck’s back.” Standing back upright, Ghost left Riley alone in the makeshift clinic without another word, wandering back to the main area but growing a grimace when he still found the others lingering around. An awful storm had just rolled through and not without damage, it seemed, so didn’t these people have anything better to do than just stand around?
“Doctor will see you now,” He said as he strode by the group gathered underneath the shelter of the farmhouse but his glance towards Rowan’s figure was brief. As Ghost shoved his way past them, stepping back out on the porch and breathing in the muggy aftermath of a storm, his eyes latched on to Borya and Viv but no sign of Arlo. The urgency in Borya’s demeanor seemed to slide by his attention, the presence of the two barely even registering in his mind as he strode by them without another glance. Ghost was interested in keeping his distance from them as much as possible, didn’t have it in him to play along with their childish ideas of him being a first-class villain for their story and if he was being entirely honest, didn’t care enough about these people to kill any of them.
--
Rowan had remained where he was, still clinging to his tenacious role of closing in on himself. His memories provided that he was surrounded by good, trustworthy people but his emotions told a different story, that all of them were just waiting for a chance to turn on him and sacrifice him to the wolves. His legs were drawn up tightly to his chest, chin resting on his scrapped knees from earlier endeavors and while his face was crusted over in the already dried blood so he had closed in on himself in more ways than one; stubbornly keeping from anyone approaching his huddled figure, much less touch him. Which was why when Ghost announced that Riley was interested in tending to his wounds, Rowan simply shrugged it off as though the words had never been spoken. It should have been worrying how easily he was to accept Ghost’s presence, especially when he had been ready to murder the other man mere moments ago. Part of Rowan was irrationally angry and hurt that Arlo hadn’t taken the action needed against Ghost, but the other, more intuitive half of him couldn’t bring him to be entirely surprised. Rowan’s brothers were no saints themselves – as much as he pretended them to be since they were gone – but he couldn’t deny that he ever would have left their side if they had come back, like Viv had come back for Riley or Jamal for Agnes (Rowan couldn’t bring himself to make the same analogy for Ghost or Arlo).
So, the logical portion in the sea of anger and other confused emotions in Rowan’s head told him that he couldn’t exactly blame or pretend to not understand why Arlo had done what he had done. Some of him – maybe the more emotional, overly soft part of him, though – dared to even suggest that he might even forgive Arlo for it. None of it meant that it didn’t hurt like hell, however. With another glance towards the others, Rowan was tempted to try to open up to one of them about the problem as he was at a complete loss with what to do with his own, overwhelming emotions. He wasn’t really banking on it, however, as everyone around him seemed too caught up in personal feelings to give him something substantial to go on. “Seems like the storm blew in more than just hounds,” Rowan observed aloud as he spotted a few extra figures near the farm, though not referring to Viv and Borya’s returning presence. It was a pair that appeared much like a mother and a daughter, just on the edge of the property.
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Post by paradox on Aug 26, 2016 18:47:11 GMT -5
{ alright, finally finished bios for all my current characters +one new guy who'll come into play later on! :* }
Arlo Castillo. Although of a muscular build that could only belong to a boxer – or at least, a former one – and with a solid demeanor to intimidate, there is a slacken in Arlo’s shoulders from the weight of constant worries and anxieties. There is a permanent tinge of exhaustion in his clear blue eyes underlined with dark circles and his entire appearance seemed to have aged several years underneath the stress he’s been dealt from assuming a leadership responsibility. Descending from immediate Mexican heritage, Arlo’s skin is a light brown but darkening everyday underneath the sun, although his arms is littered in pale scars and his mussed, unruly hair is a dark chocolate color. Calloused hands that can pack a punch, a crooked jaw and nose from being hit once too many times in the boxing ring, Arlo’s rough appearance strangely contradicts his outwardly calm and calculated personality. Although a bit on the gruff and blunt side in terms of personality, Arlo does have the capacity for empathy and will extend it towards those he believes deserve it. Which is to imply that Arlo doesn’t offer kindness towards just anyone he comes across, often taking great care in who he chooses to place his trust in. However, this constructed system of his is flawed deeply by the fact that he values strong skills to make up his group thus being easily won over if personality is a bit lacking. A naturally born leader, Arlo is willing to take the brunt of the blame and tolls of others’ faults, make the tough decisions that no one else will, capable of carrying every person in the group under his responsibility; all in order to pave the way for an easier tomorrow, like his older sister had once done for him. Even so, every once in a while, he is tempted to make choices founded off of personal feelings rather than take into account how it will affect those around him but after sacrificing his old self to the world, suppressing his own desires and wishes in favor of everyone else’s, Arlo sometimes can’t help but wonder whether he deserves to be selfish every now and then. Overall, however, Arlo has become a rather stressed mess of a person, only doing what he thinks is right rather than what will be best, practically tearing apart his formerly easy-going self in order to be the leader he believes his friends deserve and making himself susceptible to any strings that might attach him back to his old life.
Rowan Delgado. With a daunting appearance to pair quite well with his personality, Rowan has one thick scar running across his nose but it was earned far before the apocalypse, and the rest of his arms and body are littered in other scars and healed wounds to showcase how much he’s survived and his knack for getting himself into the fights that he can and will finish. His hair has grown past a reasonable length, often hanging in emerald green eyes but always in his face and a stringy mess of unwashed, unruly russet color. It is undoubtedly a nuisance but he refuses to ever see a blade go anywhere near his neck, much less his hair, even if it is handled by a trusted friend. Much like Arlo Castillo, Rowan descends straight from a Mexican heritage and shares the same tone of brown skin but his Spanish accent hangs thicker in his voice, becoming most prominent when he is particularly irritable (which is, admittedly, almost always). He’s built with lean, almost dense muscles and stands at an intimidating height of 6’1” which gives off the accurate energy that he isn’t the most approachable person, will sooner break someone’s nose or neck rather than reason or negotiate. Built to fight than to talk, Rowan’s got a spitfire of a personality; impulsive, hot-headed and perhaps a bit petulant at times but easily golden hearted. Easy to irritate and difficult to gain the trust of, his consistently abrasive attitude can grow quite bothersome as it only ever leads to stubbornness and sharp-tongued retorts. It’s easy to deduce that he was the youngest brother of three at one point, given that he latches onto older sibling figures (in this case, Arlo Castillo) yet rarely listens to authority or anyone at all, not to mention the fact that Rowan will brag about his hunting skills or anything else he can come up with when given the chance. However, underlying the more prominent rough and tough traits of his, Rowan has a good heart and only really longs to rebuild a family he’s lost, especially as he is unable to function without a foundation to stand on. Admittedly, he isn’t afraid of much, not of other people and not of pain, but the only real fear that haunts him is the thought of somehow being alone, carrying into frequent nightmares of being the last one standing. Overall, Rowan is very much like an overprotective guard dog but much like dogs, he has an unshakeable loyalty to his friends and will put himself in the face of danger for them without a moment of hesitation.
Quiet. Slender formed but built with lean and strong muscle, Quiet might have been intimidating if it weren’t for his porcelain features and forest green eyes that are topped with long eyelashes that make for a “pretty” exterior. His cold and borderline feral demeanor easily makes up for this slight drawback of appearance, however. His wavy, chocolate brown hair is short cropped with long bangs brushed off to the side. Quiet is always dressed in a loose, black tanktop with military-grade suspenders strapped over his shoulders and around his waist while wearing a pair of tan, cargo pants. Much like his name suggests, Quiet isn’t much of a talker. In fact, he doesn’t speak at all, which often leaves his thoughts left to ambiguity but he chooses to occasionally express any feelings or opinions through small acts and gestures. Whether his silence is a legitimate disability or a personal choice remains to be seen or rather, heard. For someone who doesn’t say a word, he is a quite stubborn person, clinging to his first instinct at all times and rarely leaving any room for a change in heart. Otherwise, he is quite a frequently indifferent and apathetic individual but will strike violently whenever he feels threatened and without warning; all bite and no bark. Social norms elude him and he acts far more like a wild animal than he does a person, distrustful of others and their intentions. He has detached from humanity but is searching to regain it some way or another. Consistently enigmatic with a penchant for impulsive action, Quiet is inclined towards morals than most would think and has a deep-running longing to find trustworthy companions or someone he can build a bond with since he has recently found himself without purpose or duty to anyone.
Gabriel Vaquero-Castillo or “Ghost”. “White as a ghost.” Bestowed to him by the company he kept down in Mexico, Ghost earned the nickname due to the pale, white skin he had been born with, which certainly stood out amongst the others and became the target of playful teasing as children but the name somehow managed to stick even as they all grew older. While he had used to insist on being called by his real name, something that had turned into a joke overtime rather than childish annoyance, he now rarely answers to it and only sees himself as Ghost. The name has long since adopted a double meaning to it as the man’s former self has died away with the Old World, leaving a shadow in its wake; a ghost. What once had been a laidback and humorous person has distorted into a volatile, paranoid and irritable wreck. Believing he’s reached rock bottom after being left for dead shortly after his old group fell, and with quite literally nothing else to lose, Ghost has quickly evolved into a dangerously mercurial person in the ruthless environment, just as harsh as his surroundings if not more. He’s not afraid to get blood on his hands and in fact, he does so on a regular basis, having become desensitized to death and he chooses to view such acts as a necessity to continue surviving in the New World. Contrary to what most would believe, there is a part of him still underlying this ghost that’s taken over, something still alive and something that still shines through in the rarest moments, but after all that’s happened, everything he’s done, it’s very possible that it’s far too buried to ever be reached again.
Fox. His given name doesn’t stray far from his appearance; lithe build, angular-faced and a mischievous twinkle in his one eye that could only belong to a trickster. Fox has a lanky body, naturally on the slender side and now even more so after the apocalypse arrived and while he might able to hold his own against others through wit and luck, Fox could easily be overpowered by anyone slightly taller or more muscular than him, which is why he prefers to keep confrontations at a long-range distance. He has short cropped black hair, seemingly growing out of an undercut and his left eye is his only working one as his right blinded eye is covered up by a triangular-shaped eyepatch. Coming from Mexican heritage, he has dark brown skin and his body is littered in multiple tattoos that he’s given himself to keep busy during the prison time he had served. Much like his nom de guerre suggests, Fox is a trickster spirit. Deceptive, cunning yet unhinged and unruly; Fox portrays erratic behavior and should perhaps be the last person to place any form of trust in. He carries no allegiance to anyone, only temporarily following whoever offers enough incentive but only until a better offer arrives, which makes him an unreliable companion. This system is not unlike an assassin, which is incidentally what his profession had been before the apocalypse. There doesn’t seem to be a serious bone in his body as he is far more inclined towards snarky disposition even towards awful predicaments that have no way out. Despite frequently behaving in egotistical, borderline narcissistic ways, Fox seems to not care whether he lives or dies. In fact, he has a bad habit of intentionally placing himself in situations where the chance of making it out alive are excessively slim. Fox enjoys toying with his own life, though seems to borne out of some deep seated mental problems than mere rash impulse. Fox’s defining trait, however, is his expert marksmanship, his aim deadly accurate to the point that the words “I never miss” being fairly common his tongue. Guns are practically an extra limb for him as he is skilled in every caliber. Fox is a trickster in more ways than one, such a title extending into his skillset. He rarely ever shoots at point blank or even shoot straight like any regular in the new world; Fox enjoys to make his shots complicated, opting to fire in the directions where the bullet will ricochet off of multiple surfaces before hitting the intended target. These trick shots of his actually do carry the purpose of confusing his targets as which direction the bullet will come from is impossible to narrow down but the core of his reasoning behind the trick shots are frankly just to make things more “interesting”.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 26, 2016 18:48:41 GMT -5
SORRY ITS TAKEN ME 10,000 YEARS TO REPLY doing it right now asghjykfld ))
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Post by Deleted on Aug 26, 2016 20:24:24 GMT -5
(ok new character per request of friends ,:V i'm going to post his bio soon! its somewhere on google docs lol)
First, he was cold. Then he was in danger, then he was unarmed, then he was in the apocalypse for crying aloud, but first he was just cold. The sort of cold that ate away at ones most desperate attempts at warmth, as even when the Iranian pressed his red hands to his throat it seemed only to freeze the skin of his neck instead of breath life back into his long-numb fingertips. Seeing as that had long failed to bring him much comfort, Alair instead resided to pressing his hands to his mouth, ever occasionally breathing shaky breaths into his palms, still dripping with fresh rainwater. Earlier he'd been unlucky enough to have been caught outside in the storm, unable to find shelter even once it'd passed; he was the sort of person to freeze in any temperature below the 80s, making the cool air and biting rain cruel on his skin and joints. Unable to travel much further in his current state, the young man had decided to sit back against the base of a sturdy enough tree, resting his legs while simultaneously curling into himself in a poor attempt to stay warm.
Usually Alair would be bitter about his circumstance, perhaps pulling some complaint or insult out of him at every poor passerby creature, though at present time he had hardly enough energy to raise his head and face whatever little critter hobbled along the forest floor. Christ it's [freaking] cold." He'd usually hiss, or, "Where the hell is that sun Annie was always singing about, I don't [freaking] see it." For now the snark had been lost on him, and instead he was burying his hands into his face, his great red scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and chin. Even more juxtaposed to his usual state of being, he felt absolutely miserable. I'm going to die here, I'm going to die here. The words ran as a broken record in his head, making him even more desperate at finding warmth somewhere within him, and even more horrified as he seemed to be rapidly running out of any to spare.
* * *
Agnes seemed immediately ruffled at the idea of someone new coming to join them, especially this strange woman who seemed... All too much like a mirror for comfort. The way she grinned and spoke with a strange sort of jive was none familiar, it was her appearance that got to Agnes. Worn, hollowed in, perhaps once beautiful but not a trace of that any longer; she'd grown used to most people around her forcing themselves to remain at least somewhat orderly, in either appearances or mannerisms but often both, however this stranger hadn't attempted either. For just a second Agnes became unnerved and had to look away, to which of course her gaze met the floor and she sucked in a faint breath. The danger with the woman seemed to be over, especially at her newest request, and for the first time in hours she'd managed to take a breather now that Arlo was more or less dealing with the situation.
She returned to inspecting the woman after that, trying to remain factual and concrete. What did she really want? A group? Although Agnes's initial decision always seemed to fall under the category of distrust, she'd begun to force herself to empathize with any new arrivals; it was her own wish to be with others that began their group in the first place, wasn't it? And everyone pulled their weight more or less. The stranger didn't exactly look like the shining beacon of hope in humanity necessary, but then again I don't exactly either. She reminded herself with the faintest of agitated looks.
Agnes was going to say some sort of jive in response to Paisley's initial comment, however she hadn't the chance to when Amelia had come from seemingly no where, speaking frantically. "Are you kidding me?" She hadn't meant to speak the words, though luckily they came out more horrified than irritated; needless to say guilt was practically punching her in the chest by then. If I'd let Quiet in the barn I never would've had to leave Timothee behind, never would've had to go running after them, Isaac never would've broken his leg... Her face had become slightly red at the racing thoughts in her mind, though she did good by herself to keep from speaking any of them in the same desperation that she felt them. Instead she weakly let her gaze trail to the ground, picking up on Arlo's plan (thank God he had one) without necessarily having to do much beside "guard" Isaac from where he sat. "Just hand the gun to me, er- I'll lead you but I need you to help me with this one." She glanced to the injured Italian by her feet before turning her eyes back to Paisley. "Yeah?" She was getting antsy, not only because of her mental disruptions but also at the fact that Arlo was running off with Gas-Mask to go help what must've been a storm induced accident; the relief she'd felt earlier at the prospect of "finally getting to relax" gone in an instant.
While it was clear Agnes had a change in mood, she seemed to force herself to shove it aside as she knelt down next to Isaac and offered both her arms again, silent in her interactions with him, however it contained the same hidden affection she'd displayed with her leader moments ago. The difference was how quickly she'd become attached to Isaac, though the young woman didn't exactly make a point of wondering about it as she was much better at feeling emotions than understanding them. "Ready?" She pursed her lips, knowing he couldn't really give any answer but 'yes' considering the circumstance.
* * *
Jamal was a little frozen, holding his jacketed arms with a clear from on his lips, however the look wasn't aimed at anything in particular and the man looked as though he was perhaps 10 feet below the sea in his head. Of course, what was troubling him was Rowan, and even moreso, Ghost. Despite being a decided pacifist, he was feeling the old twinge again- when someone did something utterly disagreeable and he couldn't help but to throw away any personal guidelines in favor of personal emotions. It didn't matter who started the fight, who ended it, who walked away with more blood on their hands; what mattered was every glance he sneaked Rowan's direction, every way the man seemed suddenly closed off and personally horrified, bleeding and bruised and injured. That mattered most, as much as it went against every personal value he'd set for himself, even from before the world ended. He had given Rowan space after he'd practically demanded it in pushing Alyona away, though there wasn't much he could say on either person's behalf. He felt a little lost, and if something more, angry.
After Riley's call he was drawn back into reality, and stiffly made his way to Rowan. "I'll bring them in. See Riley." He bit his lip, blurting an abrupt albeit quiet: "Please." Afterward. Still holding his arms close to himself, he then tore himself away from where Rowan was and headed over to Vivienne and Borya, a little bit of a shaky breath coming out of his lips at the sight of his old companions. Something was stable, at least. I-I'm glad you're here." He began, his voice stuttering for a moment out of pure exhaustion, "There was a bit of a fight... Nothing that can't be saved for a later discussion. Are you two okay?" He paused for a moment, but seemed to quickly realize he hadn't exactly the time to be polite. "I think someone needs help outside, a mother and kid I think, I'm going to investigate but I'm sure it won't be a problem. Vivienne, if you could, if you could make sure Rowan gets help that'd be good." He pursed his lips together after speaking, realizing it was somewhat of a bulk of information he'd suddenly spit out at the two; still once he'd finished he walked on past them and toward the outside of the barn.
Jamal squinted his eyes against bits of sun that was beginning to peek through the clouds; it was none too bright of course, but it was a strange sight when only moments earlier confronted by fierce wind and rain. "Hey! You two, are you alright?" He called to the figures, becoming immediately sure of himself that it was indeed a woman and a child (though he brusquely supposed there was no real way of telling if that was the true mother or not).
* * *
Wilhelm let out a faint yelp as he hurried after, motioning himself for Clementine to come along into the woods. Ash was at least right in that aspect, until the hounds passed it was perhaps the safest place for them to hide- and worst came to worst, dogs couldn't climb trees could they? Luckily for them it didn't take long to reach the treeline, and once they did, he was almost immediately more relaxed. If there was one thing Will was good at, it was going to hell and bouncing right back from it once distracted by a new situation at hand. The rain-soaked soil beneath them had long since filled the air with fresh smells of the forest, and the bit of light fading the clouds above into a light gray was perhaps the most promising sight he'd seen in a while. Almost immediately his hands had found their way back into his varsity jacket's pockets, his head turning about to look around the forest that appeared (and was) more curious than protective or alert. Despite the good-naturedness of his entire self, there was something nagging at the back of his mind, made clear by the way he very clearly was sneaking glances toward Ash, the sort of obvious look of discomfort on his face that he never really seemed to try to hide when something was wrong.
"Hey, Ash-" he began, trying and failing drastically at sounding casual, "you know you can talk to me, right? About anythin, really. Not- not that somethings wrong or anythin, just. You seem different, that's all." He shrugged and glanced away, the concern he was obviously working on hiding clear as day on his face, though by then he was staring ahead at the forest, subconsciously avoiding Ash's gaze. "If I did anythin wrong..."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 26, 2016 22:07:16 GMT -5
@ maple - im gonna have tim hear annika or something if thats ok asdfghjk he can call out to her maybe to make it easier??)
Timothee nearly flinched as Quiet drew away from him, wishing that somehow he could get inside of the man's mind to be sure of what he was feeling. He himself wasn't so bad at being perceptive, but keeping track of what his new friend could be thinking was like keeping track of the path of a runaway soccer ball, his every action seeming to contradict what Tim was certain he must've been thinking. Giving up on trying to appease him, and secretly because he feared upsetting him further, he went back to curling his arms around his legs and waiting nervously for Amelia.
Several moments had passed by then, when Timothee suddenly opened his eyes again and stared into one of the several cracks in their stone barrier, squinting his gaze against the streams of light that ran like fluids from them. "Did you hear that?" His voice was hardly above a whisper, and perhaps that was thanks to his nervousness with getting hopeful over what was possibly nothing. Still, whatever was outside had his attention, and he was staring wide-eyed at the rocks that blocked their entrance as if somehow if he looked hard enough he could see right through them. "I think it's footsteps, I think-" Usually he perhaps wouldn't be so foolish as to trust the first footsteps heard, but now was not "usually", now was trapped with no one in sight except someone equally as stuck as he was. "H-hey! Anybody out there!?" He called, getting to his feet and making his way to the barrier. He hit against the rocks, now desperate to get the person who's footsteps belonged to's attention. "We need help in here! I said: is anyone out there!?" Perhaps he looked a little crazy, and upon glancing back to Quiet with bright alertness in his eyes and shortness of breath from yelling, he felt a little crazy, but if it was meant escaping he was plenty alright with being the temporary lunatic of the group. I know I heard it. Something- I know I did. He wanted to say the words but nothing came out, still, his expression read it all clear as day.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 26, 2016 23:31:20 GMT -5
WHEEZES here's some character descriptions feat. new oc logan who i'm tossing in! didn't bother typing one for sinclaire since he's marked for death.
Ash Renwick Ash is an exceedingly tall man, standing at around 6'6". He's also exceptionally bony and malnourished, a trait he posesses even before the apocalypse. He dresses in an oddly formal manner, preferring dress shirts to anything more practical. He has messy, medium length auburn hair with sideswept bangs, light brown eyes, and sickly pale skin. He's about 22 years old. Around people Ash isn't familiar with, he puts on a certain facade made of tricks, plastered-on grins, and sweet talking. In reality he's a rather unsure and melancholic individual, and at worst he's a violent and cold-blooded killer. He's particularly protective of anyone close to him though, and is proficient enough in fighting to actually keep them safe from harm. He prefers a razor whip to any gun or knife.
Isaac Mancini To put it bluntly, Isaac is tiny and full of bitterness. He stands at a mere 5'0" tall and weighs maybe 96 lbs soaking wet. His dimunitive stature is due to a past full of neglect and childhood malnourishment. He's afraid of nearly every kind of relationship and is overly wary of others. He often overthinks things and gets himself worked up over nothing, or worse- talks himself into a bad situation thanks to his outwardly foul temper and frequently scathing remarks. If someone manages to prove themselves a non-threat to him (a very difficult task) he's extremely loyal and even kind.
He has blue yes and fluffy medium length black hair and pale skin. Even when well fed he appears gaunt, and this is no doubt due to nearly constantly being ill. He's fond of sub machine guns. He's 26, although he often gets mistaken for a teen.
Amelia Grijalva Amelia is a mysterious character, seeing as nearly every square inch of her body is covered. She wears a military gas mask, rubber gloves, a tattered long sleeve tshirt, worn cargo pants and combat boots. She is very hesitant to remove her mask, and only lifts the top portion of it to eat or drink. She has a sarcastic and snarky personality and can be downright mean to even her friends, although her jests are good-natured at heart and she doesn't mean any real harm (even if she does need to choose her words more wisely.) She is not, however, the action hero she would like everyon to think she is and would rather flee than fight. She lived several years leading to the apocalypse on the street and is very quick-witted and follows her instincts.
She has shoulder length, curly, ginger hair and medium brown skin. She is 24 and around 5'4".
Logan Holloway Logan is very on edge most of the time, to say the least. The apocalypse has left them constantly alert to the point where their need to keep on eye on their surroundings has turned to insomnia and panic attacks. They are a complex, multi faceted individual, who is usually kind and forgiving but does have a cruel streak. They're something of a coward and are quick to turn to desperate measures, and can be irrational and paranoid. They are hell-bent on survival and are resiliant enough to make it through the apocalypse's challenges. Logan was a shut in before the apocalypse who lived most of their life without interacting with others, so social situations come as a bit of a challenge to them.
They stand at around 5'10" and have wavy, sandy hair that brushes their shoulders with the bangs pinned back with red clips. They always seem to be cold, and thus wear sweaters and scarves at all times. They are decently skilled with most weapons, but have a fondness for glocks.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2016 0:02:44 GMT -5
Ash stopped to catch his breath once they hit the trees. Although the short run hadn't been too taxing on his body, he was injured after all and it had been a tiring day. Now that the storm had cleared the woods were peaceful again. Raindrops dripped from the leaves of branches the bent down towards the earth due to the weight of the rainwater, and plush patches of moss had seemingly sprung from nowhere thanks to the nourishment of the water. The forest floor was damp and spongy beneath his feet, but gave way to muddy puddles that could quite easily suck a shoe off wherever the trees hadn't managed to block most of the rainfall. There were a few fallen and snapped branches here or a lightning-struck tree there, but those were among the only things that hinted at the violent nature of the storm. He sucked in a deep breath of air, and closed his eyes for a moment.
His attention turned to Wilhelm when he spoke up. His mouth pulled into a frown at the words, and he stood still and silent for a long moment. Was he acting different? He wasn't sure. Maybe he was reverting back to some primal instinct deeply ingrained in him, desperately searching for some reason or purpose to exist in the process. Eventually he closed the distance between himself and Wilhelm and wrapped his arms around the other man in a surprisingly delicate manner, as if he was afraid he might break him or something. "You didn't do anything wrong," he said quietly.
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Post by qυeeɴ oғ ɢнoѕтlιɴɢѕ on Aug 27, 2016 0:09:01 GMT -5
Just as Sinopa was about to collapse from the fever she had no idea she had, her body only going out of pure need to help her child, and the exhaustion from carrying Ezri who knows how far and long, there were voices in the distance. The image before her began to blur as she staggered over to a tree nearby to lean on. There was another voice which grew louder as it got closer. Male of some age she couldn't tell. Probably an adult. Her voice wouldn't escape her throat as she felt the energy in her body suddenly decrease. A cold sweat broke out on her skin as her health was apparent to her suddenly. When she got sick, she didn't know. All she knew was she needed to get help for Ezri.
"Help," Sinopa cried out weakly as her grip on Ezri tightened. The fear of letting go for one minute embraced her with its haunting thoughts. Ezri was too sick to even stay awake for more than five minutes. It started out as a cold before the storm but not finding good shelter made it worse. Now Sinopa had caught it somewhere along the line and now it was taking its toll. As the person got closer she felt herself tense as she held in a cough. The mother didn't want to wake up her child but the need to call out was also important. "Help Ezri," she called out to the person approaching them. The raven haired woman placed a gentle kiss on the small head of her daughter and smoothed back the damp hair from her forehead. "I'm sorry, my sweet darling. If these people are bad then I'm sorry, but you need help."
[I'm contemplating whether or not I want Sinopa to die. Ezri would be like the groups child giving a meaning to it takes a village to raise a child. but I'm not sure still]
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2016 0:46:22 GMT -5
Logan had been wandering the earth for god only knew how long. They had been following a road when the storm hit, and had broken their way into an abandoned car in order to wait out the terrible force of nature. After the heavy rainfall had ceased, they had decided to voyage into the nearby woods. They had always liked forests and other such natural places, but that hadn't been the deciding factor in their decision. They hadn't eaten in a couple of days, and although they were used to long stretches without proper nourishment this late in the apocalypse game they still needed to eat at some point. They were fairly confident in their ability to actually kill something, even though their glock 17 was far the best thing ever for hunting. On their back was a decently sized pack that contained an array of tools and knick knacks they had picked up, ranging from ropes and matches to a deck of playing cards.
They had been on their stroll for a good amount of time (without much luck in the food department) when they spotted the figure against the tree. Or at least, they thought they saw someone. It could've just as well been a corpse. Immediately they ducked behind a tree, intent on watching the stranger for a moment before making a decision on either running or approaching. Whoever it was honestly just seemed miserable and cold, and although Armageddon had left Logan jaded they weren't devoid of humanity yet. They sighed and stepped out from their hiding spot, hesitantly approaching the stranger.
"Go ahead and toss any weapons you may have away from you, or I'll shoot," they said in a matter-of-fact, apathetic manner. They didn't make a big show of waving the gun around like a maniac, but anybody who wasn't blind would've known that they had it at least.
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Post by John 3:16 on Aug 27, 2016 3:36:03 GMT -5
Alexander "Alex" Shakren
A tall, thin as a stick, and very very quiet being. He looks around 24, maybe 25. His build is thin but wiry, him having a lot of unseen muscle under his tan skin, making many underestimate him in fights which he does use to his advantage. His 5'10 height does allow for some serious strength. He has long, dirty blond hair that creates a curtain-like bang over his forehead and eyes, kind of looking like an emo fringe but really it isn't. He has thinner lips, and a pokerface that professional poker plays would be intensely jealous of. He has yet more hair flowing down in front of his ears right down to his rather sharp jawline. Everything on him is sharp, and boney. His elbows are like knives, his knees like swords, and his jawline could cut diamonds. Or so the rumors go. Warm greeny-hazel eyes reside behind white and black rimmed glasses, and yeah. Glasses in the apocalypse. he keeps very good care of them however, and they have survived with a total of a couple dings and scratches. Thank God. His attire is usually whatever he can get his hands on, but it usually consists of an old black shirt, black jeans (usually ripped), worn black combat boots, a beanie, a black motorcycle jacket and to top the look all off you may sometimes find him wearing a crimson red scarf. Although it may look like the opposite when he is wearing this attire, his tan skin isn't totally untouched. He has his fair share of scars. One of the more gruesome ones runs from the right side of his neck, down the right side of his chest, and ends right around his belly button. It is usually covered up by his clothing, his scarf obscuring the neck part, but when it is off you can see the reddened and almost angry skin underneath. He has a couple more minor scars, one running up and down his left arm, and another one on his right thigh. Those are obviously covered up by clothing too. He has an old machete in a black sheathe off of his right hip. Alex's face claim is Revenge Mikey Way.
For a while, teachers in his school thought something was wrong with him because he wouldn't talk to any of the other classmates. It was because he is quiet. Extremely quiet. Alex himself doesn't know where it comes from, but he is quiet, never really finding the need to talk. More of a speak when spoken to person, really. But when he does speak, he speaks with a deeper voice than really expected out of him. You take one look at him and you think he sounds light, more feminine perhaps. Nope. All topped off with a thick New Jersey accent which does sometimes obscure his words, but mostly rolls his r's and sounds kind of Australian at times. Only slightly, however. Alex can be described as kind, and very intelligent. He is almost constantly thinking of things, and when he isn't he is either listening to someone speak or talking himself. Or focusing on something, like hunting or some other activity. Which is not a lot. Although, through his all, he has to be hiding some dark side to the story, right? Oh yes. A lot of people don't know this, but when they hand him a gun or some other weapon they are risking their lives. They are entrusting Alex to not murder them. This is what Alex is thinking when he gets handed these things. Which has gotten him curious, and the next thing he knows there is either a hole in the forehead of the person who gave him the weapon or the point of a knife sticking out of their back. He is oddly fascinated with the acts of crime such as murder, and whenever he questions the possibilities of violent crimes such as these when he is handed a weapon, those scenes tend to not end well most of the time. And although he got his machete for protection only, he can't help but think of what he could do with it to others.
Alex is from a little city called Belleville, New Jersey, hence the heavy accent from the state. He had regular schooling, but dropped out of college to pursue a career in music, as he did play bass and guitar. But, his career was just cut short as the apocalypse began, forcing him to get everything together and just run. He left behind everything to just stay alive and keep running. He doesn't have much from his past, other than his jacket and his glasses. And some other things he does cherish as keepsakes.
(That is probably the most effort I've put into a description holy crappu)
(Tell me if I missed something!)
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Post by Tals on Aug 27, 2016 13:10:48 GMT -5
Its okay june xD But srsly everywhnzjaba So many replies
--
Devoss
Devoss had looked to Mika in a small nod then. "Yeah... Even worse now that everyone seems to be feelin worse and hurt," he answered softly. With the look of an irritated Borya up ahead, the small man took to linger beside Mika as they approached the farm house. "But i think something else happened. I honestly cant say if its for the better or the worse."
He swallowed thickly, his eyes flicking as the Russian had taken a sharp turn away from their direction, talked with another man, before he himself was off to a duo on the ground beside the barn. "So many new people... Thats a new record," Devoss stated aloud as his eyebrows shot nearly to his hairline and he paused, gritting his teeth. He knew those two on the ground- they had been at the hospital.
It was the mother and daughter.
that moment when you leave off autocorrect and you cant spell worth shiteu
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Alyona
The Russian girl stared for a long moment, seeing as Rowan never answered, the girl turning herself away. She frowned, watching the duo beside the barn and pursed her lips. "Yeah... Storms tend to bring the good and the bad," she stated quietly as she stood up. Her pale shoulders were almost as white as the snow, seemingly standing out against her long hair that dangled down.
Her back ached, and her eyes immediately swept to her brother and Viv coming in. Her mouth opened out of joy, ready to say something. However, it seemed the bond between the siblings said for her to stay hushed, as a small look was sent her way by Borya before he was off from talking with Jamal to the mother and daughter. Looking, she watched, taking a small glance inside at Ghost and Riley. Newcomers were just like strangers, and even then some people they knew felt like strangers as well.
It was then Alyona finally accepted the subconscious throbbing in her back, small hand pressing to the new bruise as she sighed quietly and stepped over Rowan and down the steps. "Hey Jamal... We should probably grab some blankets or something and line the porch with it so we can lay anyone else who is injured there, so Riley can check on them," she suggested to the man then
--
Borya
Borya listened, ears twitching slightly as he now stood in front of the shorter and... Scrawnier man. His eyes closed, large 'paw' gently setting on his shoulder. "I watched the fight. Thank you," he stated softly then, however unaware of the man helping it break up. His eyes drifted to his sibling, having quickly assessed she was indeed alright, before he returned to business himself. He gave a nod then, his lips pursing for a brief moment.
"Alright. Ill check them out. I doubt theyll be of any harm.. Especially how they acting," he rumbled out. It was then he was off, making his way over to the barn in a light jog. He came to a full fledged stop, eyes widening in alarm as he spoke rapidly- mostly curses- in his native tongue. He didnt care if either one was sick or if they were both dying, he had to get them warm somehow. Hands immediately grabbed his plaid shirt and he ripped it off, buttons easily sliding out of the holes they were in. He gently rested it on the woman and her daughter, before crouching.
His arms were gently sliding below her, one nestled against her knees and the other holding her shoulders as he stood up. Carrying Sinopa, he held her bridal style towards the main house. "Hey... Stay with me," he rumbled out, his scarred chest creating a small odd bump over his skin as he moved towards the house.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2016 17:41:40 GMT -5
The embrace had eased Wilhelm somewhat, softening his earlier hard gaze, but other than that he didn't let up much over his worry about Ash's condition. He was toying with the idea that it was his fault, stressing him out with the intense sort of honesty he had displayed earlier when they were both in the barn. Who in their right mind says something like that when someone is hurt? He thought, a little startled as he realized his boyfriend was still injured from the "elk incident" hardly a day ago. He rested his forehead against Ash's chest for a moment, a faint crease in his brows at the predicament they were in. "But you would tell me if I did, right?" he bit his lip, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and pulled away from Ash, deadset on continuing forward to try and find a temporary place to rest, how vividly aware of the fact that he may be hurting physically as well. "And even if I did nothin, if somethin happened you would say somethin about it wouldn't you?" He didn't wait for an answer, and perhaps that was because he didn't even want to hear it in the first place. Wilhelm was, to say the least, an open book- and usually he didn't mind Ash's closed off-ness so long as he was sweet to him, but the unsettling atmosphere they both had to endure earlier was not one he could shake from his mind.
"It doesn't matter," he finished abruptly, seeming suddenly convinced to end the discussion there, especially because Ash didn't seem to be as chatterful as he was, "I'm thinking we should stop somewhere, with your injury n' all." Although Will was still very clearly troubled, he made a point of shyly going to hold Ash's hand, and sending a hopeful smile his way.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2016 18:32:35 GMT -5
Alair glanced up to the newcomer, his eyes, which were bloodshot and contained heavy circles beneath them, round and horrified at the prospect of confronting another person. They're going to kill me. I'm going to die. He thought matter of factly to himself, and although it was objective in his mind, it did none to detract from the terror of it all. Dying in the moment, and being acutely aware that he was about to, was perhaps the least comforting thing on the earth. His experience with strangers was that they often wanted to either kill or steal from you, but seeing as Alair had nothing to give, his death was ever-looming; another fact of the matter that only a specific sort of killer was left in the apocalypse, the kind to have fun with their prey, the kind to make things hurt. And so it was these thoughts that ran through the Iranian's head as he stared up at Logan, and eventually felt a nerve practically snap in unpredictable anger. "If I had any weapons I wouldn't be sitting here uselessly! I'd be out hunting or- or something, [crap] for brains!"
Alair curled back against the tree, his gloved hands rubbing against his face as though in apprehension for something terrible to hit him, a bullet per-se, at any uncalled for a moment. "So I don't have anything for you unless you want my scarf, but what the hell seems like you have that covered." He remained there, pathetically curled up with his palms buried into his cheeks, wondering if a quick death was better than a slow one freezing out in the elements. "I don't have anything." He repeated, more quietly that time, and without his infamous vigor.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2016 18:37:37 GMT -5
hey pete, that looks great!! i'll add soon but youre free to rp and everything ;; )) sorry it took me a while to respond ajsdhjaksl ive been scatter brained 2day ))
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2016 19:04:37 GMT -5
Jamal stopped and watched as Borya helped the mother and daughter, a faint sigh leaving his lips at the much needed assistance. The dazed feeling fell upon him again as long as he wasn't immediately needed, staring off at the two strangers, quietly wondering what would become of them. Honestly it was a miracle the group had survived so well at all. He snapped out of his looming thoughts once he'd heard Alyona speaking from beside him, and did his best to supply her with his undivided attention (of course this was a difficult task- he felt exhausted enough to drift into a half-asleep state at any second). Her idea was good however, and it left him genuinely impressed with the idea. Arlo was no where in sight yet, but the group taking some initiative rather than mulling around uselessly was exactly the thing they needed to do in the moment You're not helping anyone by standing around. He scolded himself with an irritable twinge, but quickly shook off the thoughts in preference for good ideas over bad feelings. "That's perfect, Alyona." he smiled softly, his usual kindhearted look. "We can do that and... Perhaps once everyone is accounted for go out and try to find the others. He couldn't help but to worry about the missing or their whereabouts, and was in fact hoping he wouldn't be one of the ones set off to find them, lest they find more bodies than friends. And Agnes is out there. Agnes is out there. He grew shaky and sick at the thought, suddenly clearly jumbled as trouble washed over his features, his usually effortless behavior replaced by a forced and nervous front. I'll- I'll grab the blankets." He muttered hurriedly.
Jamal headed away from Alyona in an instant, though instead of making his way toward one of the closets in the building he'd found himself rushing outside, immediately getting sick as he rounded the corner and hid away from the rest of the group. Wiping his mouth furiously to try and clean up, he stood straight again and ran a hand through his hair, trying to pull himself together. She's fine. They're all fine. He thought hurriedly, and would've became ill again if not for the fact that he'd already chucked all of his lunch from the first wretch.
Jamal breathed in a breath of air and headed back indoors, stopping at the closet to pick up a bundle of cloths and padding, things the group had set aside for winter months. Addressing everyone, he spoke up with a semi-tremble in his tone: "If anyone has any injuries we ask that you wait on the porch to see Riley... If you're well we need volunteers to try and find anyone still... Missing..." She's fine. She's fine.
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Post by John 3:16 on Aug 27, 2016 19:44:41 GMT -5
(Yay!)
(Any place I could jump in?)
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2016 20:08:59 GMT -5
Paisley could already tell that her and Arlo were going to have some problems. The way that he said 'Southener' made her left eye twitch and she curled her fist together to keep from punching him. Did you have something against people from the South or sonething? What was this? The Civil War? Her lips twitched up at the irony of her thought. In a way, the whole world was undergoing a civil war. Everyone was against everyone. It was a dog eat dog world and if this man behind her wasn't careful, he would be eaten up by the Southern woman that wasn't very happy at the moment. Without hesitation, Paisley removed the gun from her back once more and held it out to the girl in front of her, the butt of the gun towards her. Wouldn't want them to get any ideas of her trying to kill them would she? Once the gun was out of her possession, she pulled her small backpack off her shoulders and opened it up so they could see down inside of it. There were two changes of clothes, a brush, and a canteen, but that was it. No weapons and defiantly nothing of importance, "The gun is all I have on me. I'm officially disarmed." She then slung the bag back over her shoulder and stepped closer to Agnes, turning around as she did. It was now in her best interest to be away from Arlo and his guns. Now that she didn't have any weapon to defend herself, she was at his mercy and that was not a position she wanted to be in.
Paisley gave a the man a thin smile and said was politely as she could, "Thank you for being so kind as to a pick up a stray. I appreciate it. Oh and my name is Paisley, not New Lady." Well that wasn't as kind as she tried to make it, but she was still a little heated from the blunt use of Southener as an insult. She then turned her attention away from Arlo and towards the lady that was yelling for help. She wasn't particularly interested in helping, but maybe she could show these people that she was trustworthy if she helped rescued whoever these people were, "I'll help."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2016 20:40:36 GMT -5
Oh my gosh! Sorry I haven't replied sooner. I've been babysitting for the past four hours and she is a mess. XD I would have replied much ealier if it wasn't for that.)
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Post by Tals on Aug 27, 2016 21:15:52 GMT -5
(Yay!) (Any place I could jump in?) hey there! well idk.. theres a lot of things going on //rolls around in panic// jende Idk.. but there is people at the barn like area that theyre congregating to currently, so that might be a good idea??
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Post by qυeeɴ oғ ɢнoѕтlιɴɢѕ on Aug 27, 2016 21:55:44 GMT -5
Sinopa was barely conscious when someone stood over her. "Ezri," was all she uttered as something was draped over her shoulders. Her mind was screaming at her to stay awake, to keep her eyes open but all she wanted to do was pass out. This time she couldn't keep herself from coughing, turning her head slightly to cough into her damp jacket. Even though it was wet and probably the cause of her poor health, Sinopa couldn't part with the old thing. Thinking about it, Nikolai's jacket was damp as well which meant Ezri could get worse. As much as Ezri was attached to the jacket, Sinopa wanted her to take it off.
"Jacket. Take off her jacket," Sinopa murmured as she was picked up. Her head rolled to rest against the person's chest just as Ezri's rested on hers. Her body began to shiver against her will and a soft moan came from the small child in her grasp. "It's okay, darling," Sinopa murmured, forcing her voice to be stable even when she wanted to just fall apart. "Mommy is here and some nice people are going to help us. If anything, you are going to be okay." The words sounded convincing but Sinopa had no idea what type of person the one carrying them was. They could be going to their deaths and it would be her fault. After all this time struggling to keep Ezri and her alive. After Nikolai sacrificed himself fighting off hounds just so that they could live. The memory was still fresh in her mind. In fact she could almost hear his voice. Let's dance together, Sinny. Just like at prom. Remember that night? We were so happy, Nikolai's voice whispered softly and alluringly to her. They were the same words he had said on her twenty third birthday just a week before Nikolai was lost to her forever. "Nikolai," Sinopa breathed as her eyes fluttered fully closed and she slipped out of consciousness.
[sorry I took so long to get back. also june I was looking through the art threads and saw you have like an artist corner. I'm learning how to draw and I can draw these little creatures I came up with. but I'm wondering if I can join the thread as like a beginner.]
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