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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Mar 23, 2019 19:58:47 GMT -5
hey all i'm bored and honestly just had some inspiration for a post-apocalyptic-type rp. don't worry about activity or sticking with it, no commitment means no commitment. feel free to help world-build/steer the plot, don't have anything really planned out atm. please try to match post lengths at the very least
~
He woke face-down, gasping for air. A thick fluid washed over his tongue, salty and soapy and caustic. It stung his throat and his breath hitched as it permeated his lungs, making him cough. He tried to get an arm beneath him, choking on the acrid oil. As he gradually emerged from his subconscious, he was becoming acutely aware of elements in his vicinity. The ground was dry and pale as bone, and flecks of dust floated in the puddle he currently found himself lying in. Oil dripped from his hair down the side of his face as he finally caught his breath and looked around. He was surrounded by sky mostly, as the land was flat as far as he could see. There was a cracked road in front of him. Behind him, as he pushed himself up to his knees, he spotted an abandoned gas station. The pumps had evidently been ripped out, tubes and wires the only things left sticking out of the ground like weeds. He almost didn't want to remember how he had got here. It almost wasn't worth it.
In the end, as he stood, his shirt soaked with oil, his mind betrayed him by reminding him of what happened and why he was alone, because ultimately he knew it was necessary for his survival that he remember. That did not make the memory any less painful. A fast wind came, pushing at the surface of the oil, separating droplets from their mother puddle. The air was warm. Nevertheless, he shivered and spit on the ground, trying to get rid of the oil that was still burning his mouth.
His legs felt weak when he stood up, further scattering the oil across the dusty earth as he stumbled to find his balance. Taking a shaky breath, he turned around to head for shelter in the station, hoping against hope that there would be something in there he could use.
The shelves were already empty, as he'd suspected, along with the cash register. Not that money would do much good in his situation. His knife had been taken from him, and he searched the storage room of the gas station for another weapon to replace it, but no such luck. He found a cigarette lighter on the floor, and it had enough fluid, about half, that he pocketed it and continued his search. A window in the hallway to the bathroom had been broken, and he picked up a shard of glass the size of his wrist. Better than nothing.
More than anything, Jude was looking for a change of clothes, a hat maybe, something to protect him before he went back outside. He couldn't stay here long. He moved quickly, opening boxes and looking both above and below the shelves just in case, afraid to miss something of value in this strange new world that he was surviving in. His eye scanned the shadowy corners of each room, on alert for passerby on the road or intruders from within. His grip on the glass was a bit tight, and it dug into his skin, on the verge of cutting him. Still he persisted, determined to search until everything in this gas station was established in his mind, or until the sun dipped slightly lower in the sky, and he could leave under the watchful guarding eye of dusk.
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Post by 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 on Mar 23, 2019 23:35:03 GMT -5
(Hi! I'd love to join. I'll have a post typed up asap. (: ) |
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Post by 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 on Mar 24, 2019 0:15:05 GMT -5
The days passed one by one, each just as brutal as the next, blurred together through the harshness of survival into a mess that couldn't be separated. A day felt both like an eternity and a split second all at once. It could have been weeks since the madness overtook the world. Months. Years.
But it didn't matter to Dove how long it had been. He didn't care.
Time only made a difference when it came to day and night. Supplies could be gathered throughout the night, when the darkness provided adequate protection from most dangers. When no one could see him moving through the pitch blackness. Daytime was for finding a seemingly safe place to crash, for resting and preparing for yet another day of his wretched life. A few meager hours of fitful sleep to block out the rest of the world and try to forget, if only for a moment.
It was a hot day. Most days were hot, out here, but today felt hotter in some way. There were limited options for shelter. The sun was just beginning to rise on the hazy, muddy horizon when the gas station came into Dove's view. Run down, cracked, broken. But still standing, all four walls exactly where they should be, a roof that was mostly unharmed. A thorough check of the area showed no one. Dust, greasy puddles of oil against the cracked pavement, and the silence of the wind. No people. No people meant no trouble and that was better than anything else.
With not a soul around and the dark of night slowly fading into day, it was easy for Dove to clear a space inside the gas station. Behind the cashier's desk, tucked away in a little closet-like room with no door, out of sight from the door and shielded by the tall counter. Glass and stray pieces of paper were pushed out of the way, only a ratty coat to serve as both a blanket and a pillow. Before heading to sleep, he did a quick check for anything useful. The place was mostly picked clean, but he did find a long forgotten can of food stuck beneath one of the shelves. The can was quickly shoved into his bag.
Sleep came a little easier from exhaustion, from how Dove had pushed himself to travel a little further than usual. He fell asleep to the quiet of the wind outside, knife clutched in his hand beneath his coat. Face pressed to the dusty, dirt-stained fabric, body tense even in sleep. The person who crept into the gas station first woke him briefly as they rifled around and whatever scuffle took place outside not longer after prevented him from falling back asleep. He didn't move to invesitage, but he also didn't rise to make a run for it.
A lot of people would leave on their own. It was better to wait them out. They hadn't seen him, so there was no point in giving away his place. He was too tired to make a run for it, if it came to that.
After what felt like ages, the sound of footsteps faded away, and all was silent again. Dove went back to sleep, this time a little more wary, his grip on his knife just a little tighter. The next time he woke, it was once again to the sound of someone else walking through the rundown store. Their feet crunched on glass, growing closer.
Dove gripped his knife out of sight, but he kept his eyes closed. If they moved any closer behind the counter or leaned in just the right way, they would be able to see him. He held his breath, tried to steady his racing heart. If he was lucky, he could play dead for a minute and take them by surprise. |
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Post by driedflowers on Mar 24, 2019 10:34:38 GMT -5
This is as far as Ares is willing to travel today. They're not sure what possessed them in the first place- probably the desolate, bored look in Belle's eyes- but they had saddled her up and road out west in the pre-dawn darkness. Hours of vastness with nothing but flat, arid earth on the horizon had been cause enough for them to want to turn tail and head back home, but Belle was so clearly enjoying the chance to run wild and free despite her coverings that Ares couldn't find it within themselves to deny her.
No one was safe in the apocalypse, especially not animals. Most people tended to stick together and were wary of outsiders; not necessarily going out of their way to pillage and kill. However, there was an equal amount of awful souls out there lurking in the wasteland, and with conditions like these, starving people don't blink twice at a walking meal of any shape or size. Ares hadn't expected to be alive after the world had gone to hell, and furthermore could not have foreseen any animals surviving. Belle had been there, though, tied out on a post by a dilapidated farmhouse, starving to death.
They'd been together ever since. Ares had made that crumbling property into a base; booby-trapped it, cultivated it, molded it into a home. All that time working and sweating with no interruption had slowly driven them into a halfway state of paranoia. Someone had to be watching...waiting for the right moment. Luck didn't just happen to people, especially not in this day and place. Especially not in hell on earth. Getting away from the farm for a few hours was a relief and an anxiety all at once, but Ares was not out here for their own sake, and they reminded themselves of that.
There, just coming into view, the ruins of what appeared to be a gas station jutted up from the soil like a tomb in the rising light. Its once neon sign blown and crooked, dripping sparks into the air below before vanishing. That piqued Ares' curiosity. If there were sparks there had to be some sort of power source, even if no longer fully functional. Any kind of battery power or electrical boards were help, in their mind, so despite their cautious nature, they approached the gas station. If there were any signs of trouble, they'd just run. Simple. Easy. Nothing could go wrong.
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Mar 29, 2019 16:10:58 GMT -5
[ hey both! thanks for joining lmao lettuce have some fun ]
He found the back door, originally intended for deliveries, hanging off of one hinge, now letting in the dust and wind. Stepping around the door, he checked behind the building. Nothing. Eventually he found himself back in the front of the station, what had once served as the store. A single fluorescent light bulb still hung from the ceiling, flickering pathetically. The rest of them had either been taken or broken. He stopped at the counter with the register again, peering at the road outside through the glass doors. The sun was still a few hours from setting, and then he had a choice to make. Stay here until dark, or leave now. Both presented risks, with little real hope for reward, but that was the nature of the world these days. Behind the counter was another door frame he had yet to go through, and he dragged his gaze to the little office-like room.
Upon his first inspection, there was nothing but a desk and its accompanying chair in there. Jude sidestepped to get around the counter. Against the other wall, he saw what he thought would be a cheap metal shelf, the corners of a couple boxes coming into view. Probably empty, he thought, and stepped forward. He froze when he saw shoes, not lying abandoned, but on someone's feet. A squatter who had already claimed this gas station, or a dead body. He didn't like his odds either way. The idea of touching anything that was decomposing made him gag, but he didn't like the idea of smelling like oil any better, which was almost more suspicious to people than the smell of death at this point. He crept quietly forward until he was in the door frame, clutching his piece of glass, eyes wide.
The body wasn't moving as far as he could tell, the rise and fall of the man's chest was conspicuously absent, but Jude couldn't trust his own eyes to not play tricks on him when his own heart was beating too fast to concentrate, his pulse throbbing against the lines the glass was making in his hand. As per usual, he had two options: a potential fight if the man was alive, or flight, which meant he would be exposed earlier than he'd planned. His muscles tensed, preparing him to move into the room, which only had the one way in or out, but as long as he kept the door to his back, he would be okay. Jude held his breath, but was stopped from forward progress when he heard something.
Hooves? That was something he hadn't heard in a long time. What was a horse doing in the middle of a desert? He turned his head to glance outside, leaning back from the door frame. The animal appeared in his field of view, and Jude crouched as soon as he saw the saddle. A rider. Instinct drove him into the little room with the corpse, but he stayed close to the open door, trying to plan his escape if the rider came inside the station. The back door was his best option, he'd never be able to hide here, and he quickly realized it was now or never, the store was too visible from the outside, he would be completely unprotected if he waited until the rider came inside and trapped him. Motion in the corner to his right made him flinch. He's dead. You're seeing things. He's dead. Time to go. Jude looked over at the body to be sure, leaning back against the wall by the door, holding the glass in front of his chest.
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Post by 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 on Mar 29, 2019 16:38:04 GMT -5
( This might be cheesy but I think this is gonna be really grate lol )
The footsteps were close, too close. Uncomfortably and worryingly close. There was nothing Dove could do now, except wait for the right chance to strike. He was boxed into a corner after all, with no window or door to escape through. If he wanted out, he would need to fight for his survival. The thought alone made him sick; Dove wasn't a fighter. He carried a knife for protection, for emergencies, but he preferred to avoid violence. It was why he travelled at night, when no one could see him, because it lessened his risk of being found.
It just didn't work this time. He knew he should have picked another place to rest. This gas station was clearly too conspicuous, even if it was in the middle of nowhere.
The sound of hooves against dirt made his heart beat wildly and he flinched. If someone had a horse, it likely meant they had decent weapons to defend said horse. For all Dove knew, this could be a whole group of people. He could be surrounded, with nowhere to go. No way to run. The man entered the room and stopped. Dove heard him moving slowly, quietly. He gripped his knife like a lifeline, the movement so slight he thought the man wouldn't notice, but he heard the man go suddenly still. Playing dead wouldn't work for much longer, he couldn't stay still forever, but he also couldn't see the man from where he laid.
It was impossible to know if he was facing him or the door, if he had his back turned. Surprise wouldn't get him far if the guy was looking his way.
But Dove was growing fearful. He could feel it, the panic rising in his chest. It made his mind fuzzy, his decisions hasty. It was hard to keep his breathing under control, to stop himself from twitching. Wait, he told himself desperately. Wait. Wait, wait. The fear couldn't be stopped--he was short and lightweight, no good in a fight. A runner, a scavenger, not a brawler.
Dove moved before he could make himself stop. He didn't pay enough attention to watch the stranger's face, slinging his bag over his shoulder, jacket forgotten. He held his knife up defensively, but the closer he grew to the man, the more his courage wavered. Dove was wild-looking, dark hair curly and frizzy, sticking up everywhere. Eyes big and brown and fearful, bronze skin bruised and freckled. Skinny and bony as a corpse. The odds were clearly not on his side. He rushed at the man anyway, planning to duck and slide out of the way toward the door as soon as he was close enough. |
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Mar 29, 2019 18:04:46 GMT -5
[ yo it's perf also how u write so fast ]
His mind was reeling with regret. The old saying should've would've could've berated him. He should've stayed out of the room. He would've avoided this problem if he'd known the man was alive. He could've run straight to the back. Yet, he had done none of these things and he had a bad feeling in his gut that he was about to pay for it in some way. Fear of whoever was outside made him stay put, however, and Jude could feel his heart in his throat. There was a brief pause in which he stared at the lump of a figure on the ground. He seemed to feel Jude's eyes on him, and was waiting for something. A chance to strike. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction. Jude stood slowly at first, thinking he would take his chances and simply leave, but then the man got to his feet, whipping a bag behind him, brandishing a knife in front.
The man was almost a head shorter than he was and thin enough that Jude could see the joints at his elbows and clavicle. But still he had that knife, so the differences between them didn't matter. Initially, the man approached him slowly, his body language portraying a warning, but his eyes betrayed him. He was terrified, probably more so than Jude was. He could use that to his advantage, but he didn't have time to figure out how to diffuse the situation or even raise his hands in surrender before the man charged toward him. "Wait-" Jude barely managed one word before the man had reached him, but he didn't run him through with the knife. His momentum shifted as he angled his body toward the door and it was all Jude could do to stop him. He slammed his free hand down on the man's arm, knocking the knife from his grip. The man didn't seem to care, intent on escaping with his life if nothing else, which Jude could understand, but as the man almost reached the end of the counter, Jude dove forward and grabbed the man's ankle, tackling him to the floor.
More interested in staying hidden now that the threat was neutralized, Jude held the man down despite his wriggling to get free. "Hey! Stop! There's someone out there!" He whispered harshly. "I'm not gonna hurt you, but I don't know about them." He made a sound in the back of his throat, something like an 'ow' and a breath out. He'd dropped his glass in the scuffle, but not before it had sliced diagonally from the base of his thumb down to his wrist. Thankfully, it had narrowly missed his superficial veins, but it burned from the oil on his skin. Regardless, he held tight to the man, even though he'd stopped struggling. Listening, he didn't hear anything but their ragged breathing. They stayed as still as they could manage, each afraid to move and startle the other, but Jude knew they couldn't stay there with someone outside.
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Post by 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 on Mar 29, 2019 18:47:39 GMT -5
( Years of practice I guess lol )
Dove made it less than three steps out the door. A hand came down hard across his arm, enough to send a jolt of pain up to his shoulder. He choked on a noise of distress, somewhere between a soft gasp and a sob. Blindly, he moved towards the end of the counter. His knife was gone, but he was a fast runner and he if he could clear the counter, he could make a break for it straight out the window.
The opportunity for escape was short lived. Gone as soon as it came, a hand on his ankle brought him crashing straight to the ground. He hit the tiled floor--hard, his elbow cracking against the counter--and wheezed as the air left his lungs. His arm hurt, his elbow throbbed, his lungs burned from the force of his fall. Pain wasn't enough to stop him from fighting back. In this world, there was only fight or flight. If he couldn't run, then he would struggle.
And he did.
Dove thrashed like a wild animal, dug his nails into Jude's arm to pry him away, swung his uninjured elbow out, kicked and kicked. Until his leg hurt, until he was so out of breath he was gasping for air. Jude's words took a minute to sink in. As they did, the struggling stopped. He stopped not because he trusted Jude, but because he was quickly growing sluggish. He was too skinny and weak to put up a fight for long, another reason why he would rather avoid them. In the moments that followed, Dove was silent, except for his ragged breathing. His skin was soaked in sweat, his muscles sore.
He wanted to flee, but he was trapped there, pinned and held tight by Jude. There was no getting away, whether the man meant what he said or not.
"Let me go," Dove wheezed quietly, weakly pushing at Jude's shoulder with one hand. He could head straight into the desert from here, he didn't care what might be waiting out there for him. The further away from this gas station, the better. "Let go of me. I can't--I can't breathe." His words came out more frightened than threatening, voice shaking. The panic in his tone, his face, was intense. He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe, choking on nothing but air. Apocalypses and panic attack didn't mix well.
It was a miracle Dove had made it this far in the first place. |
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Post by driedflowers on Mar 29, 2019 19:45:06 GMT -5
(Omg that took way way too long; sorry yall.)
It took a little coaxing, but Hell's Belles eventually craned her head up high enough that Ares could trapeze along the tough trunk of her neck. The horse whinnied in annoyance as their weight shifted uncomfortably, feet slipping against the narrow slope of the mare's crest as they grew closer to the animal's skull, parallel to the broken gas station sign.
"I know," Ares said, voice straining with their body as they reached upward against the dented pole, "Just a little closer..."
There was no way that Belle could lift them any higher; doing this much was already a danger to her vertebrae, and Ares regretted it. They were already here, though, just an inch away from grabbing the climbing pegs to hoist themselves up. Not wanting to risk any lasting injury for their companion, the ranger counted to three before leaping from the horse's neck. Rusted metal hit the inset of their knuckles clumsily, but they managed to cling on even as their torso collided against the pole itself. Ares wheezed, the air effectively knocked from their lungs, and huffed desperately as they wrestled their weight upward. Eventually they were able to plant feet solidly against the pegs, and gave a cursory glance downward at the dusty earth far below. Belle whipped her tail, staring up at Ares through the slits in her face barding, ears flipped backwards in concern. She looked so small from up here.
It was this panel they were looking for, a bolted down square of bent metal that was surprisingly (and obnoxiously) still sealed despite the theoretical end of the world having occurred. Not a problem, though. Fine. Reaching into the sack that bounced against their upper thigh, Ares brandished a screw driver--
But there, inside the gas station, a telltale buh-bum-crash! made them freeze. They leaned away from the pole despite themselves to catch a better view, then ducked back against it tightly, fearing that the noise was made by someone who had seen them and was setting up a snipe. They hadn't seen anything through the window; the view from here only angled at the floor. A solid thirty seconds went by and nothing happened, so Ares figured it was high time to get off the pole before they became even more of a sitting duck. They whistled high, and Belle trotted in response, sidling their flank up against the pole. When Ares thought she was close enough, they climbed down to the last set of pegs in a hurry and swung themselves off, landing hard on their butt on Belle's back.
With a quick whip of the reigns, Ares could be out of here in a heartbeat, spraying up dust as they tore out across the dry desert sand-- but knowing that there could possibly be someone watching, who could be planning on following the hoof prints back to their base... They slid from the saddle cautiously, unfastening what appeared to be some kind of staff crudely fashioned out of a hockey stick from the straps of Belle's harness.
With a prayer to a god they did not know or worship, Ares yanked the handkerchief around their neck upward to cover their nose, and crept toward the building low on the balls of their feet. The goal was simple: get in, turn the enemies lights off, and get out. They didn't even have to kill, so long as whoever was in there didn't try to punch holes through them, first.
At the threshold of the broken entryway, they crouched for a minute and listened. It was silent, as they'd anticipated. Only an idiot would continue to shuffle around knowing that a stranger lurked outside. Knowing that, though, Ares knew they had no time to waste. With a last regret burning at the back of their throat, they burst through the shattered doorway and dove down behind a ransacked and overturned shelf. When nothing seemed to happen- no sound, no click of a telltale weapon, they managed to peek their head up over the lip of their shelter to scan the room, only to catch sight of two men in a tangle on the floor.
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Mar 29, 2019 23:08:54 GMT -5
[lmao i been writing for half my life and could probably write for fifty years and still never respond that fast. also sorry for poofing i was at a club]
Jude was surprised, to say the least, at the amount of fight the man had despite his emaciated frame. He tried everything that Jude would have tried had their places been switched, short of punches aimed at the face, and his attacks hurt in the way a stick might hurt. It was short-lived, he could feel the man tiring beneath his weight, his body accepting defeat before perhaps his mind had. He felt a flash of guilt, but he knew it was for the best. The rider outside could have everything they didn't: real weapons and allies, in addition to a horse. They could be thriving, meanwhile it seemed to him that the two of them inside the gas station had only a few sharp objects and a will to live. In some cases, that was all a person needed, but not here. They had to be careful until they knew more, and it wouldn't work in either of their favors if they fought each other.
It felt like they were there for hours, when really, hardly a minute passed between his words and the man's response. Jude had decided to ignore him, until he said he couldn't breathe. He hesitated, but not for long, before he lessened the pressure. He shifted slightly so he was next to the man instead, no longer touching him but ready to reach out and grab him if he tried to run again. Had they lived in any other world, he might have apologized, but there was no reason here. Instead, he shushed the man, "Just be quiet." Jude stared through the glass doors at the front of the store as he caught his breath, watching and soaking in what limited information he could. The rider was no where in sight, but from his angle, he couldn't even see the horse's shoulder, let alone someone sitting on the saddle. If they were there, they were likely surveying the area. It didn't seem to Jude that he had been spotted, he was probably just out of the rider's periphery, but that wouldn't last. Unless... Unless, of course the rider had already dismounted and was now on foot, inspecting the gas station.
He took a deep breath in before releasing it, trying to slow his heart to a reasonable pace before he could even attempt to leave. His worst fear was trying the back door and finding the horse's owner there, but the doors in front of him were the most obvious place for someone to lie in wait.
Jude was about to get to his feet, prepared to make a break for the back without a glance at the man on the floor, when another human ran by, crouching behind a shelf about ten feet from the register. He had gotten to his hands and knees but froze at the sudden intrusion. From what he could see of their face, they looked hostile, a makeshift staff in their hands. He thought it was safe for him to assume this rider was a bandit. Merciless, greedy. Jude eyed the knife on the ground behind the man he'd tackled. It was the only thing that might get him out alive. Yet he didn't move, anticipating the rider would pounce as soon as he did, and he could only hope the other man who stay down too.
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Post by 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 on Mar 30, 2019 0:51:49 GMT -5
-- DOVE -- at a rundown gas station, in the desert Dove might have been offended by the rude dismissal of his panic before the world fell into ruin. Now, he didn't care. All he cared about was that the man let go. He knew that the stranger was right, that he needed to be quiet. It was easier said than done, unfortunately. Panic attacks hit him frequently in these horrible, dreadful days. He could count the days he didn't have anxiety attacks on one hand. Now wasn't really the best time to freak out, in the middle of a bad situation and potentially in danger of being killed by a bandit. Or worse.
He forced his heart rate to slow down, bit by bit, using all the tricks he knew helped him best. Counting silently in his head from one to fifty, going through the alphabet, spelling words out letter by letter. It didn't help this time. His brain was working in a frenzy as he moved away from the man, to press his back to the other side of the counter. Putting a reasonable amount of distance between them, preparing to make an attempt at escape.
The situation grew worse with the arrival of the horse riding newcomer. They carried their makeshift staff in a way that sent a flash of fear down Dove's spine, like a hunter ready to strike their prey. He was trapped and terrified, wedged between one stranger and another. His knife was gone, forgotten somewhere on the floor. He couldn't have reached for it, even if he wanted to--the man wouldn't let him, he knew that. His body still hurt from being tackled before, he didn't want to be hit again.
The strangers could deal with each other, he decided, because Dove wanted nothing to do with this situation. Without a second thought, he staggered to his feet and flung himself at the tiny window above the counter's side. It was mostly broken already, the glass jagged and scattered across the floor. He could feel small shards digging into his hands, his arms, as he tried to squirm through the gap. Fitting through it was still a problem, even with how unhealthily skinny he was.
The noises he made were pathetic, really. Desperate, broken sounds, from a desperate, defenseless man. Dove struggling out the window was the same as a trapped rabbit struggling to free itself from a snare.
Dove was the rabbit. The man and the other stranger were the hunters. They were going to hunt him down, kill him, then try to do the same to each other.
The stupid window just wouldn't budge. Not much more than his arm fit through it, but he was so focused on getting away, he didn't seem to care. His mind was filled with a chorus of escape, escape, escape, run, run, run.
"Come on, come on, please," Dove begged no one in particular. Maybe he was begging the world to show him mercy or maybe it was meant for the strangers. It didn't matter, because no matter what he said or wished, there was no way he was getting through the tiny window. He was being loud and disruptive, there was no doubt about his presence now. In his panic, he would rather risk dying of an infection caused by broken glass than at the hands of another person. |
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Post by driedflowers on Mar 30, 2019 14:18:02 GMT -5
Ares only has to double-take once to understand that there was a whole lot happening here, but none of it seemed life endangering. These two men did not exude threat, but that didn't mean they weren't. As always, they approach the situation with caution, rising from the floor little by little with their hands out in front of them. I'm not your enemy.
"I don't have any guns on me," they say firmly, eyes wide as they examine the pair before them, some relief burning in their mouth as they watch the second man try, or appear to try, to escape through a window behind the first. Ares is, needless to say, confused. The taller man was bleeding and stood his ground while the other, who he'd just had pinned, was now in a pitiful attempt of an escape? Had they been fighting each other? And if not that, then what was all the commotion about?
"I'm not here to hurt either of you, I just thought..." Ares trails off, unsure how much information they're willing to reveal. It's easier to lie, but lying about why they ran into the store so suddenly would be an obvious red flag. They had to tell the truth, and tell it as convincingly as possible. The pair before them didn't seem to be harboring any long distance weaponry, but one wrong move would be all it took for them to be proven wrong on that front.
"I was only outside looking for electrical parts. I heard a noise in here and thought maybe someone had seen me from inside and was waiting for me to run away to get a clear shot. I decided to come take care of it before it took care of me...but you two don't look..."
Thats all they say, voice trailing off as their gaze flickers between the two men, wary and observative. They really shouldn't bother to ask any questions, considering the bristly nature of most survivors. Any slip of the tongue could be life or death, but despite all this, Ares feels strangely calm. Their gut does not stir with premonitions of bloodshed.
"What's going on here?"
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Apr 1, 2019 17:20:50 GMT -5
It was a con. He was sure of it. Though the bandit stood slowly, hands raised in a way that plead for a truce, there was still that staff. They were feigning a desire for amity, hoping to lower his defenses. He wouldn't. He scowled darkly at the marauder, a warning in his eyes. Don't come any closer. Jude didn't care to play games of deceit with this stranger. They could pretend to be harmless if they wanted, but he thought it was too sharp a change in behavior, especially after bursting into the station, ready to defend.
The words coming from behind the cloth were worth dogshit to him. Guns didn't scare him; he'd been practically raised on a range before society fell apart like sandstone. Compared to the creative ways of dying in the world now, guns were a quick and painless way (if they were aimed properly), but they were fallible in the hands of most survivors. You weren't really in trouble until they were within arm's reach. So whether the words were true or not, he didn't care to know. Jude was distracted when the man on the ground clambered to his feet and tried to climb through the window next to the counter. Glass clinked and broke in his feeble struggle to fit through the window frame, but he simply couldn't. Jude watched him, thinking it was the saddest thing he'd seen, even by today's standards. Compassion stirred in his chest, but it was quickly snuffed when the stranger spoke again, ignoring the man's blatant attempts at escape. Were they that confident that they would be able to handle two people at once? Jude was vaguely distrustful of the fact that the rider hadn't tried to strike either of them yet. They were probably stalling. He considered the knife, a mere few feet away from him.
Jude watched the rider with gradually diminishing anger. The longer he looked at them, the more he became convinced that he would win if they did spring upon him, even with that staff. All he had to do was kneel down and grab the man's knife, and if he somehow couldn't because he missed, he figured he was strong enough to wrestle that staff from them and gain the advantage in that way. They didn't look as intimidating as he'd thought, now that he'd been given time to assess without the fog of adrenaline clouding his vision.
That didn't mean he had relaxed in the slightest. Rather, Jude stood tensed, wearing a hard expression, still hostile. He was certain, when they asked what was going on, that they weren't a bandit. No one ever wanted to know what was going on anymore, and if they did, they didn't say so aloud. This was plain curiosity, a weakness, and Jude couldn't understand it. Had the tables turned, given him the power to decide what happened here?
"That's none of your business," he retorted, before the whimpering sounds of the man at the window, begging for release, gave him pause. His brow softened a bit as he turned his attention to the poor fellow, who was getting glass fibers all over his arms. Jude grabbed him and pulled him back from the glass. His touch was rough, but his tone was as tender as he could manage, "Stop that, you're going to get an infection. We're not gonna hurt you." He glanced at the rider again, frowning. "Why don't you get those parts and leave then, huh? No one's stopping you." He thought it was pretty clear that they wanted to be left alone, didn't know why this stranger wouldn't want the same, unless they still planned on attacking them when their backs were turned. That was fine, Jude was prepared for that. But the man beside him was quickly becoming a liability. Depending on what the rider said, Jude would either leave or stay. The rest of the variables didn't matter, not even the time of day. Just to get away from these two whose names he didn't know; they made him uneasy. The more they talked, the worse things would get, based on his experience, which he trusted far more than any stranger.
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Post by 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 on Apr 1, 2019 18:39:26 GMT -5
It didn't matter what the rider said, they could be out for blood. No one ever came anywhere peacefully anymore. When strangers ran into strangers, someone always died. And the rider said they were looking for electrical parts. Dove didn't know anything about that. He only hoped they weren't after other kinds of supplies. There wasn't anything to steal here, everything already picked clean by those that came before them, and Dove had taken the last of what remained. It wasn't much. Just a beaten up can of something he hoped was edible. He had nothing to offer to make the stranger go away, if it was supplies they were after. The thought of giving away the only potential food he'd stumbled across in days made his stomach hurt.
Having a meal was the least of his worries. Dove let out a choked noise as he realized fearfully that he wasn't going to fit through the window, that escape was impossible. He was going to die here, alone and weak and forgotten. The pitiful sob he let out as the man grabbed him and roughly pulled him away from the window was the only sign of resistance he showed. Dove flinched and threw his arms up, protecting himself from a blow that never came. The man wasn't hurting him, only moved him away from the window, with an unusually gentle warning that he was going to catch an infection. In these days, that was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.
Dove didn't attempt another poorly planned escape attempt. His arms were covered in small cuts, fingers bleeding from where he gripped too tightly to the window's jagged edges. It hurt. It hurt so much and his whole body ached, muscles bruised and sore from wrestling with the man earlier. He was too weak to be picking fights and this was the last straw. He felt so tired, so dizzy, crashing from the adrenaline that his intense panic had given him. His eyes were heavy, glancing between the man and the rider. If they were going to kill each other, then it was only a matter of time before the one left standing came to take care of Dove. Or maybe they would team up--he saw it happen sometimes--to get rid of him together.
Whatever they did, Dove couldn't defend himself. His knife was gone. He was too tired to do more than slump near the man, breathing heavily and wheezing. The ground was spinning beneath his feet, head fuzzy, and he leaned his upper body on the counter. His hands left bloody fingerprints on its smooth, dusty surface. His empty stomach lurched, a wave of nausea rolling over him like an angry ocean tide. Bending forward, he pressed his forehead to his arms. “I think...I'm going to be sick,” Dove mumbled, not sure why he said it. In the next moment, he hunched over to the side away from the man, and was sick.
With nothing in his stomach, it was painful, and he clutched his abdomen tightly with his scratched arms. The rider and the man could deal with each other, fight to the death or join up to kill Dove or run away or whatever they wanted to--but this was all Dove could do. He shouldn't have put up a fight with the man, shouldn't have tried to force himself through the window. Shouldn't have stopped at this awful gas station to begin with. By the time he was done being sick, he was shaking, eyes watery and cheeks tear-stained. |
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Post by driedflowers on Apr 1, 2019 18:49:19 GMT -5
The stranger only had to open their mouth once for Ares to roll their eyes and get it. All bark and no bite; a hurt dog growling. One hand falls from its submissive position to grab at the fabric of their handkerchief. With a solid tug it drops away from their mouth, revealing the unadulterated planes of their face. They're androgynous by all accounts, no features leaning too far feminine or masculine to tell, but all this revelry was in the hopes of drawing a fragile trust between the three of them. For putting up such a front, the man did say "we" when addressing the other behind him at the counter, and that was all Ares needed to hear. Clearly the third party was in a state of shock, and whatever his aggressive friend was saying was no help in the matter.
Ares' eyes flicker down at the glint of a knife on the floor a few yards to their left, and considers it warily for a split moment before they break the boundary of their stalemate. They sidestep the overturned shelf where they had originally hid, and every so slowly march forward, hands open and held away from their sides. Everything about this new, horrid world was a gamble, and right now they were betting on the hound not diving for the knife to stab them in the back, even as they approach. Their intention is not to interact with him at all, just pass him by. It's the man slouched halfway over the checkout counter that they're interested in now, some deeper rooted part of their conscious lighting up their helper gene. Just like Belle, this man's entire countenance begged for help, and they wanted to provide it, despite the circumstances.
The air between them sparks with opposition like two facing magnets as their bodies come into alignment side by side, sending the hairs on Ares' arms upright. But only moments later they pass by, keeping their eyes unwavering from their goal. They had left their staff on the floor by the shelving, another last ditch effort to show their good will. As they draw near the skittish man, they outstretch a relaxed, open palm, crouching slightly into his line of sight with a soft set to their eyes.
"Hey..." They say calmly, not making any moves to touch the man, just trying to make eye contact to reinforce their honest attempt at aid. "It's going to be alright...Can you understand me ? If you cant talk you can just nod, it's okay... You're hyperventilating and you need to breathe."
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Apr 4, 2019 18:31:32 GMT -5
The man beside him mumbled something about being sick before he threw up next to the counter. Jude resisted the urge to step back and put distance between himself and whatever disease the man might have. Even if the man was clean, it wouldn't be long before he wasn't healthy enough to walk more than a mile; Jude wasn't honestly sure how this fellow had managed to survive this long. Jude stood there, dumbfounded at the tears that streaked down the man's dirty face, a hesitant, almost scared frown on his own.
His uncertainty vanished when the stranger moved in the corner of his eye, and Jude turned to face them again. The rider was all but ignoring him, unfazed by his concealed threats. They approached, slow yet steady, meeting his gaze briefly. Jude's hands curled into fists, feet spread apart and knees bent for balance; a fighting stance. Goosebumps tingled along his skin when the rider stepped by him, but they were focused on the other man quite clearly. His heart was thudding, mind racing to try and decide their intentions. Had this been the plan all along, to kill the weak one silently before turning on him? It certainly would have surprised him, but no such murder occurred, no blood blossomed on the other man's shirt, no glaze of death came over his eyes.
Instead, they were trying to help him. That's strange enough, Jude thought, relaxing slightly. He felt rooted to the floor, however well he knew that this was his chance to escape. Push them both over, they're defenseless. He could have done it, and it would have worked to get him outside and as far from this gas station as possible, but for some reason, he didn't. The silence was awkward, disturbed only by the man's gasping wet breaths. Jude had no idea what to do to help, so he stayed in his place, busied himself with ripping off a clean strip of his shirt to wrap around his cut hand. His throat was dry, and he couldn't think of the last time he'd had water. Probably before... He willed this thought away because it didn't do him any good, distracting him from the situation at hand, made him weak.
Perhaps it was his conscience that wasn't letting him leave. If he asked, to make sure the man was in good hands and that he would be taken care of, he could go. He wouldn't be of any help to either of these people, not when they were determined to act so sensitive. Besides, he had to convince himself somehow that he didn't care about what happened to these strangers. He was a bigger target here with them than he would be on the road. Gotta keep moving.
"Is he okay?"
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Post by 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 on Apr 4, 2019 19:40:50 GMT -5
(Any ideas on what kind of disaster caused the apocalypse? Or whether it was natural or manmade?)
Dove couldn't get control of his breathing, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He didn't see the rider approach, but he heard their footsteps, and lifted his head to glance briefly over his shoulder. They were getting closer and closer, so close they could pull a weapon and end his life at any moment. That moment never came however, as they crouched at his side instead, hands out but not touching him. Their face was kind, a rare and unusual emotion Dove wasn't familiar with recently, and their words were soothing. It was the only word he could find that described their tone.
You need to breathe. Dove couldn't speak, not yet, so he did as he was told and nodded in one jerky motion. He took a moment to hang his head, trying to breath and not to be sick again. He wasn't sure if he would be, so he clutched his stomach and closed his eyes. Seconds passed, then minutes, with only the sound of his ragged breathing. He wasn't okay. He hadn't been okay since the world turned upside down. Now that he could take a breath without feeling like he was suffocating, he was better.
He said as much once he trusted his voice. “I'm...okay. I'm fine,” he mumbled quietly, leaning his shoulder against the counter and wiping his grimey face on his equally as filthy shirt. He waited for a moment before he gripped the edge of the counter and tried to pull himself to his feet. It hurt his bones, strained his muscles. He leaned against it for support, his tired gaze shifting from the kind stranger to the man.
They both might still be planning to kill him, but Dove's now clear mind doubted it. If they wanted him dead, they would've done it by now. He pushed away from the counter and made his way into the back room on weak legs. When he returned, he was clutching his forgotten jacket to his chest like a safety blanket. The sun was shining brightly through the window hurt Dove's eyes. “There's a generator room out back. Lock's broken,” he said. His voice was dull, tired. So quiet it was barely above a whisper. To the man, after a minute of hesitation, Dove added, “Don't head north. I was there. It's bad.”
This was his way of thanking them, for not killing him when they had the chance. No one else would've done the same for Dove. |
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Oct 5, 2019 14:20:11 GMT -5
[yo! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 sorry for dropping this! i was waiting for driedflowers to respond first and then when they didn't, i lowkey forgot about it until a couple weeks ago
i would still be into continuing if either of you were! ]
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Post by 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 on Oct 5, 2019 14:25:23 GMT -5
(( No problem, life happens! I’m down to continue if you are. ))
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Oct 5, 2019 15:07:45 GMT -5
[awesome, thanks for understanding! i saw something the other day that reminded me of this and i was like *surprised pikachu face* i forgot about an rp
happens once in a blue moon i swear
and i know i called it no commitment so i wasn't sure y'all would still be around but i'm glad you are! i will get a reply up asap, got some studying i want to finish today but once i reach a good place to stop i will try and write somethin here!
edit: i'm not sure how long if at all to wait for flower? i haven't seen them online in a while, they kind of disappear and reappear at random it seems? and i have no other way to contact them so it's up to you, how do you think we should go about this? i don't want to just chop their character out completely...
also, as for your question and what caused the apocalypse, i honestly hadn't thought of anything in particular? but it obviously happened recently enough that our characters remember what life was like before so... idk probably something spontaneous (like over the course of a few years) it could have been environmental but man might have shoved it along kind of like we're doing irl lmao]
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Post by 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 on Oct 5, 2019 15:36:50 GMT -5
(( Lmao it’s no problem, happens to the best of us. Life gets busy and things can just slip out of your mind.
Take you time, there’s no rush!
I know driedflowers isn’t online very often, from what I’ve seen. I don’t think they check the forums regularly, but I don’t want to completely cut out their character. Maybe we can catch them up to speed and let them jump back in, if we continue and they’re still interested?
Ah, that would make sense. Maybe it was something like severe global warming or a combination of natural disasters over the course of years. ))
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Oct 5, 2019 20:20:14 GMT -5
It was some time before anyone answered him. Too long... too long... It was the only thought in his mind. The more he lingered, the more the risk grew. It was infuriating, knowing that a risk accompanied any decision. Risk of what, though? One might have asked, in order to better calculate success, in the world before now. It didn't matter, all impending risk meant inevitable death these days, whether it came suddenly or days later. Jude made no move against it, however. Could it be he actually cared to hear what they were going to say? Not a chance.
The two strangers remained as they were for so long that he almost started to think they were statues, that he'd been hallucinating all the events that led to this moment. He was still unconscious outside, face-down in the rainbow sheen of that oil puddle. Jude shook his head, thinking he should slap his face and wake himself up, when the smaller man took a deep breath, slowly uncurling. The rider leaned back a bit to give him space, and Jude held back a sigh of relief. Great, he's fine, even said so himself. Can we go now?
The pitiful man, grasping at the counter, pulled himself up to his feet again. For a moment, Jude was sure he was about to go down again, but he stood fast, and even managed to take a few steps. Jude at first thought he was coming toward him, and he tensed up again, eyeing the knife on the floor to his left, slightly behind him. The others would be fools to think they could get to it before he could. But the other man went back into the storage room, leaving Jude alone with the rider. An unprecedented turn of events. Jude glared at them, eyes narrowed. It was not even ten seconds later that the other man returned with his over-sized jacket, clutched to his chest the way a child clutches a favorite security blankie. Blanket, he corrected himself, annoyed at himself for reverting to childish vernacular. Now isn't the time to get all sentimental. He would leave that to the other two.
Jude took note of his words as he gave them each a piece of information, seemingly in thanks. Jude nodded in return, grateful for the advice (though if he was being honest, he hadn't been paying close attention to where his instinct and his feet took him, as long as it was safe), and the rider looked about ready to respond, when, as if on cue, a thunderous boom from outside shook the one-story building. A panicked neighing outside followed, and with barely a glance at them, the rider fled the gas station, either to inspect the source or to get his steed out of harm's way.
Neither mattered to Jude. He flinched at the sound, mind racing to decide what it was. Too close to the earth to be thunder, too low and deep to be a gunshot. Was there a faint echo he heard, or was he just imagining it? Bending down, he grabbed the knife and pocketed it before quickly turning to run out the back door. Something gave him pause. He couldn't say it aloud, but he knew in his gut what it was that stopped him. The look in his eyes. It was fear. He'd seen it as he glanced at the other man before Jude turned his back on him. He knew that look all too well, had once worn that look himself.
Jude whipped back around and returned to the stranger's side. He reached out to grab the man's elbow and pull him along after him, but he hesitated, remembering how the man had reacted before. Jude had learned, touching him again would probably make him freeze more, so Jude motioned at him instead to follow.
"Come with me?" He hadn't meant it as a question, but that was how it sounded, and he made a face that disappeared just as quick as it had appeared.
[ okay hopefully that works well enough to get ares out of the scene but totally able to re-enter later if flowers returns to us </3 ]
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Post by 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 on Oct 5, 2019 21:08:07 GMT -5
(( sorry this isn’t the best reply! ))
A thunderous boom from outside shattered the thoughts floating around in Dove’s mind, carrying them away like dust in a storm. The aftershocks trembled through the rundown building and left behind a mess of a man, weak in body and in mind. He nearly screamed, though he knew better, and resulted to clapping his hands over his ears to block out the remaining noise. As it faded into a dull ringing, he allowed his hands to drop and did his best to stifle any of the panic that lingered in his blood.
The kind stranger was off in an instant, vanished in the blink of an eye as they left the building. As if they had never been there at all.
Dove was prepared to hunker down in the station for another day, safe or unsafe, and figure out where he could go from there. He was so thin and wilted from hunger, that one more night here could be his last night on earth period. Perhaps that would be for the best, going quietly in his sleep. No more muscle aches. No more pangs of hunger. Only the heavy call of sleep, maybe a soft pillow to rest his head atop of.
Then the strange man was there to drag him away from those melancholy thoughts. He reached a hand out but didn’t make contact, for which Dove was a bit grateful. A single push forward would be enough to knock him off his feet. What he didn’t expect was to be asked to join the man.
Come with me.
It was a promise. The opening of a door to a path that Dove had never foreseen. Maybe not friendship, but something.
This is a bad idea, his brain supplied unhelpfully.
”Okay,” Dove agreed after a brief moment of thought, walking on unsteady legs after the man and out into the hot air. He wobbled a little, knees threatened to give out, and had to straighten himself out every so often. Quietly, he asked, ”Where will you go?” |
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Oct 6, 2019 12:34:17 GMT -5
His own conscience would be the death of him, he was almost certain of it now, as he stood, searching the man's face for a reaction. All he could see was that of vague shock. And the fear that had caused Jude to do this in the first place. He felt bad for him, and despite his better judgement, was trying to do the right thing. He's going to be a liability. The man could barely walk in a straight line, and it didn't take much to send him off the edge. Jude almost wished that other stranger had stayed with him instead, so Jude could leave, alone as always. Alone and secure in it. The other stranger would have been the lesser of two evils for this poor man; they at least knew what to do to calm him. Jude was at a loss, but the cannon-like boom had startled them all, and this was the way the cookie crumbled. He was stuck with him now.
"Okay," the man said in his quiet shell of a voice. And with that, Jude led the way through the store, clambering out around the broken back door, back into the heat and sun. He ignored the man's question because he had no answer. He was going to go the same way he had been for the past week, following this road, which went east, judging by the sun. Glancing toward the horizon, he could see the shining ball of fire hovering a few hours from setting. Any other day, he would call it too early to start the night trek, but as they approached the corner of the gas station, facing the way Jude had come from the night before, he stopped abruptly before they could round the corner to see to the front. The man bumped into him at the sudden stop but Jude didn't notice, gaze fixed on a dark, misty cloud coming down the road toward them from the west. Another resounding boom under their feet. Definitely coming from the cloud. A troop of bandits? He wasn't about to stick around and find out what that sound was.
No sign of the rider from what he could see. They were likely long gone. The cloud approached, its pace slow, and he debated their options. Staying here would surely get them killed. Whatever was coming, whether it was a storm or people, that sound filled his belly with foreboding. They wouldn't survive it by bunking in the station regardless.
"Can you run?" Jude turned to the man. "Not far, I think. We should just get out of sight from the road." As much as his muscles were itching to start moving without waiting for an answer, he knew he had to show some restraint around this man. If he shut down again, Jude would have no choice but to leave him here. And that wouldn't make him feel any less guilty.
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Post by 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 on Oct 6, 2019 21:32:20 GMT -5
Boom.
The sound was louder than thunder, a force that trembled through the earth and kicked dry dust into the wind. Outside in the bright sunlight, a dark cloud was steadily approaching over the horizon. Toiling and building, enveloping the distance in darkness. A great storm, whether the work of Mother Nature or mankind, that would consume both men and leave nothing behind should it catch up to them. That was a scenario that Dove was not keen to visit, in his mind or in reality, and the sight of the cloud struck more fear into his heart than anything else that day had. He would take the grumpy man’s company over whatever lied in that cloud any day.
The man’s question brought a small frown to Dove’s thin lips. Walking was already a feat that took more energy than he had to give and he couldn’t remember the last time he had physically been able to run. Now, though, he didn’t have much of a choice. It was run or get left behind. Run or die. Although, the effort of running might kill him anyway — he would rather die of exhaustion than whatever fate awaited him if he stayed. “I can try,” he answered truthfully, not a solid yes or no. Try he would, but that was all he could do. “I’ll go as far as I can.”
If the man decided to abandon him halfway through, it wouldn’t be the first time Dove was unable to keep up. He was used to it; being a burden on others, too scrawny to move well and too flighty to stick around for a fight. Hiding, sneaking, avoiding other people — those were his only talents in this desolate world.
Dove’s pace was sluggish and unsteady as he attempted to run beside the stranger. Less than five minutes in and his muscles were begging him to stop. His chest ached with every breath he took, his head spinning in rough circles. The exertion turned his legs into jelly and he couldn’t catch his breath. They were past the road, though only just, when Dove came to a clumsy halt. Arms wrapped around his middle, breathing heavily and face covered in sweat. He felt like he was dying, like running such a short distance had zapped him of what little energy remained in his stick thin body. Slumping forward against a nearby rock, he gave the man a pained grimace. “I have...to stop,” he gasped, one hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” |
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Post by 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊 on Oct 7, 2019 8:10:44 GMT -5
Fallow Murphey | Near a run-down gas station in the desert
Fallow let out such a constant stream of curses under her breath that a passerby might have thought she was literally giving off steam from the bad-tempered hiss.
Of course. She’d just managed to scrounge together enough parts to fix this car, enough tools to get the parts into place, enough precious drops of fuel to get it to run. It was finally, finally working again, and she was ready to high-tail it out of the desert to some place with life, but low and behold! She’d run right into one of the superstorms wreaking the desert. Not quite into the storm itself, mind, but close enough that the winds were picking up and certainly close enough that a piece of debris to slam right into her fuel tank, leaking the precious liquid onto the desert sands, gleaming in the sun that still shone in the sky opposite the storm.
The day was cast in the eerie sort of pre-storm light, when the sky at the horizon was pitch black but the sun still shone bright gold on everything you could see, land and sky in stark contrast with one another. It was beautiful, in its own sort of way, and on a better day she could have stared at it for hours - sat on the hood of the car, maybe, and stared into the across the landscape and up into the sky dreaming of better times. From a safe distance. Preferably with a car that worked and could take her away from the storm if it got too close.
But Fallow had neither a safe distance nor, apparently, a working car.
There was nothing for it - she’d have to push. Someone saner might have advised her to abandon it and run to save her own skin, but that saner person probably hadn’t been scavenging for months to get this thing up and running. She’d learnt how to hotwire a car for this, for star’s sake! They don’t teach you that in an auto mechanics apprenticeship! She’d grown to love the beat-up pickup truck from its dirty cream body to its mismatched wheels, and there was no way she was surrendering it to the storm to scatter all her hard work to the four winds and the desert, never to be seen again.
The storm cracked, a deep boom like a giant that shook her bones, and Fallow paled. Well. Maybe... maybe she would, but not without giving a hell of a fight. And so she got up from where she was crouched by the gas tank, braced her hands on the rickety tailgate and her feet against the sands, and pushed.
It was slow going. Her feet sunk into the sand at every step, and she was soon sweating and pale and weak with exhaustion and she’d lost complete conception of time, but the storm was tireless, and it was closing in, step by thunderous step. Soon it had swallowed up a whole third of the sky, and it still looked greedy for more.
And that’s when she saw it, an absolute miracle - a gas station. If she could get there in time, find something to patch up the tank with, then take some fuel for the truck... she could take the car out of here and beat the storm. She was saved! Assuming she could patch it up in time. Assuming that the storm didn’t wreck the truck all over again, break open a tire or burst the windshield to hit the wheel... and assuming she could push the truck to the station before the storm caught up to her.
She started pushing with reserves of energy she didn’t know she had, starting to pick up some sort of speed as the sand under her feet turned to rock - and then she spotted the two figures on the other side of the road, one slumped over a rock facing the other.
Well. That could complicate things.
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[Hope you guys don’t mind if I jump in with another character?]
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Oct 7, 2019 21:10:40 GMT -5
[no not at all girlfriend! you're very welcooem to join us c:
also space, can i just say i loooove that dove called jude 'grumpy' i meani'm dying
and feel free to steer the plot some more, i don't mind y'all taking charge of things lmao]
Within a few minutes, his impatience turned into something more akin to panic. With every rumble from the sky, butterflies battered his insides. The noise was deafening, not only to his ears, but to his core, and to his bones. The thunder rattled them and made his fingers and toes go numb momentarily. The closer it came, the more obvious it was that the cloud was an aggressive storm, of sorts. But it was nothing like he'd ever seen before, and there were a lot of unpleasant things to see in this arid tundra environment. Lightning flashed in the distance infrequently, but it startled him every time, drew his eye when he would otherwise avoid looking at their oncoming doom.
It looked devastating. He didn't know another way to describe the cloud. It stretched across the western sky like a tidal wave, crawling toward them. He couldn't say how many miles stood between them and that swirling vortex, but he knew there weren't enough for them to outrun it. Not at this pace. When he said he would try, that was enough for Jude. They ran, but they ran slow. He was barely jogging beside the other man, who took quick, short steps, but his feet barely coming off the ground, kicking up more dust than air. His annoyance quickly escalated, dangerously close to tipping over into hatred. He hated this. He hated knowing there was nothing he could say or do to make him go any faster, much as he wanted to yell at him. He could tell he was already pushing him beyond his limits. But didn't he see that they had no other choice?
You have another choice. The voice came from the corner in his mind that hidden in shadow, gently reminding him that he could make it if he left him behind. This thought was more tempting than anything he'd come across in his travels, any food or water or supplies, because this thought meant life. It was selfish, granted, but most things he did were selfish. You want to live, don't you? He didn't know this man at all. He had no feelings of loyalty or attachment, though God knows he tried to pretend he did, to fool himself. I made a commitment. But commitments didn't mean anything anymore. He thought he had come to terms with that, yet, here he was. About to die because he wouldn't leave a defenseless bunny-rabbit to die alone. He's going to die soon anyway. If not this storm... somewhere down the road, whether you're with him or not.
Jude was nothing if not truthful. All of the thoughts in his head, swirling like the storm-cloud in the distance, were true. The realization that they were not, in fact, going to be chased by a group of savage marauders, was almost disappointing in the face of the truth: this storm was worse than any looter or murderer. But maybe it won't hurt as much. Bleak prospects, but nothing new.
He wasn't surprised when the other man stopped abruptly as they passed a rock. Less than ten minutes of running had got them next to nowhere, maybe a fourth of a mile from the road. That would have been fine if there were people in that cloud, because they might have had a chance to escape detection by this rock. He was struck by his own stupidity; it was a storm, why were they running parallel to it? Goddamn it. They had to change direction, they had to run east and let the storm drive them where it would as a rancher might with sheep.
But looking at the other man, Jude came to the conclusion that was not about to happen. The man's face and hair were covered in sweat, as if they'd run ten miles. He couldn't understand his tiredness. Jude felt fine, he felt like he could go for days, but he knew that was just adrenaline. How weak was this man that his body couldn't muster enough energy to produce adrenaline just to propel himself to stay alive? As he stood there, waiting for God-knows-what, he could feel his own heart slowing, his own breathing forced and heavy. He didn't want to imagine how the other man felt, when exhaustion was starting its climb up his brain-stem, making his vision dark.
Blinking hard a few times to clear it, Jude stared down at the poor fellow, trying to steel his resolve. He had to persuade him to keep moving, even if it was just walking. As long as they kept moving, they had a chance, however slight. Winds changed all the time.
"Listen, I know you're tired, but-"
Jude cut himself off when he glanced back toward the gas station. A trace of metal had flashed at him from the road before the storm. At first, he thought it was lightning. But he forced himself to concentrate, to try and see that far. Debris? No, there's something there. Barrel of a rifle? But the ground was no ideal vantage point for a shooter. And why hang around in front of that storm to target two dead men walking?
Farther up, above the curious shape, the sun was dimming with the oncoming storm.
"It's a... car," he said aloud, dumbfounded. He'd thought all cars were incapacitated, at least judging by the ones he'd seen. That one had not been there before, he was sure of it. He would have walked right by it, which meant it had been running at one point recently. It stood very still though as he watched it, pale on the brink of the encroaching darkness. Why wasn't it moving now?
Unwanted curiosity grabbed hold of him. This could mean escape, but it could also mean danger. As if there weren't enough to go around at the moment. They would be headed toward the storm to see who could possibly be inside, who had gotten this far only to stop? And why?
"Something must be wrong." Without saying so, it was evident he wanted to find out what. If someone needed their help, and they were successful (somehow), they might get a ride. Or you might get shot. What did they have to lose besides their lives? It was a matter of how they wanted to go. Jude would rather go and say that he gave it all. He couldn't die here, having given up and ignoring the blatant hope staring him in the face. Time to be tenacious. Turning back to his companion, he held a hand out to help him stand.
"Coming?"
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Post by 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓮𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓮 on Oct 8, 2019 12:43:44 GMT -5
(( Sure, Chimera, the more the merrier!
Lmao Star, Dove just likes to tell it how it is ))
I can’t keep running like this, Dove thought as he dug his fingers into his own knees and tried his best to catch his breath. Blood roared in his ears and sweat trickled down the back of his neck, the exhaustion from the short run turned his muscles into useless jelly. I can’t make it any further. Once upon a time, he could run for miles before his body begged him to stop and take a break. He could run and jump and climb, the way people were built to do. Now, he was lucky if he could walk without keeling over and dying from the sheer strain of movement at all. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t. I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it.
Death was an inevitable, quickly approaching future for everyone in this desolate wasteland, young or old. Dove was at the very bottom of the food chain, little more than a skeleton in oversized clothing. An itty-bitty, scrawny bunny-rabbit trying desperately to outrun the predators at his heels. He would die, sooner than later, and it was growing easier to consider the possibility that it might be better not to fight the inevitable. Maybe there was no point in struggling. Dove should ignore the man’s grumpily given help, go back to the gas station, and curl up to wait for the storm. To let it take him away.
It wouldn’t hurt to be swept away by the storm’s vicious rampage. To allow it to wash away his pain and troubles. If he did so, perhaps there would be something better waiting for him in the end. A happier, easier life after death, a place where he wouldn’t have to scavenge for food, hide from bandits in abandoned buildings that were falling apart, or throw up every time he moved just a little faster than a slow, sluggish pace.
I don’t want to die.
His thoughts of the storm — and how much he really felt like he needed to be sick — were momentarily distracted by the sight of an oddity emerging from the growing clouds. A sleek, metal contraption that brought back memories of older days, before the collapse of modern society and all the things that made life worth living. It was like something out of Dove’s daydreams, that everything was fine and one day he would wake up from this awful nightmare. Or like the ones where he envisioned being saved by a stranger and taken to a better place, some sort of safe haven against the horrors of the world. Safe places were out there, somewhere. Rumors told of a place to the east that was considered safe, a place where people were just beginning to rebuild what they’d lost.
Rumors were like flowers. Soft, delicate things that could be easily ripped away and thrown into the wind. Sometimes it was better not to hope, Dove had learned. Hoping lead to tears and disappointment. Bad enough I’m stuck with a grumpy old man in a young guy’s body, who probably wants to leave me for dead on the side of the road. He’ll kill me himself if I start crying.
At least the man was polite enough to offer him a hand up. Dove gratefully took it to pull himself up on trembling knees, though he was careful not to lean on him once he got his bearings and let go as soon as he was certain he wouldn’t fall over. “Yes,” he answered reluctantly, positive that they were walking right into their deaths. He might be under the impression that surviving was difficult, but he didn’t want to die a painful death at the hands of whoever owned that car.
As they were moving steadily closer to the car, a sharp sound shattered the silence. Not the rumble of thunder, but the whistle of something moving fast through the air. It wasn’t until Dove caught sight of a shiny object traveling toward them fast up above before he even realized what it was:
An arrow.
The arrow dropped down less than a foot in front of the pair, burying itself into the dirt. There was very little cover in the desert, but Dove did what he did best and cowered behind Grumpy Man, grabbed onto his arm and whimpered out a quiet, “We’re going to die, oh my god.”
On top of a distant rock stood three figures dressed in camouflage, each with a bow notched with deadly sharp arrows. It was nearly impossible to see them and it took Dove a moment to pinpoint them as the source of the arrow. |
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Post by 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊 on Oct 9, 2019 21:20:19 GMT -5
Fallow Murphey | Near a run-down gas station in the desert
Fallow stopped pushing the car for a second, rapidly flicking through her options. More people meant more danger, and more danger meant more chance of making it out if the storm only by being dead. But it also meant more pushing power, not to mention a helping hand getting the tank patched up, both of which could drastically increase the speed at which she could be out of here.
Her eyes darted between the two forms. One looked weak, collapsing onto his knees and swaying as he got up with the help of the other - exhaustion, or maybe sickness? She could probably take that one in a fight if it came to it, but the other one looked fine, and - oh, great, they were coming towards her - to ask for her help, or just to mug her on the spot? - taking steps in time with another crash of thunder that rumbled right through the ground to shake her rib cage and the chassis of her car.
So confrontation it was. They hadn’t gotten out any weapons to attack her yet, so they could still be peaceful, but just in case she unhooked a wrench from a makeshift tool belt and pointed it with two hands towards them like she’d seen people point guns in the movies, hoping that from a distance the metal glint of the handle might look like a gun barrel -
Thwack! An arrow hit the sand near their feet and she swung around the makeshift ‘gun’ towards the its source.
Thwack! Thwack! Two more arrows hit the ground closer to her this time, and she hoisted the ‘gun’ higher over to the distant rock where three distant figures stood with must be bows in their hands.
”Hey!” She took a step towards them, keeping the ‘gun’ level. ”Stop it with those arrows or I swear to everything unholy it’ll be the last thing you do!”
Oh, hell, they probably couldn’t even hear her, could they? They stood still on the rock for a moment, one tilting their head like they were trying to figure out what to make of her. They were all about an equal distance away from her and from the two other figures they were shooting at, positioned near enough between the two groups that they could probably cut one of if they tried to make a run for the other. They must be part of one of the raider gangs fighting for dominance around the desert - the Doomtakers, maybe, or the Copper Death? Fallow wondered how long they had been there. With how well they were camouflaged they could have been there for ages before they acted, waiting for the perfect moment - maybe even until Fallow turned up with a lovely stealable car?
Fallow groaned inwardly. The two figures who had been headed her way before the archers attacked had better have been coming for her help rather than to steal her car too because she did not feel like defending it from two attacking parties.
The standoff had just began to feel stretched when one of the archers stepped down from the rock and started walking towards them, the other two aiming their bows at Fallow and at the two figures opposite her.
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Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Oct 12, 2019 12:53:02 GMT -5
[sorry! busy week. meant to respond yesterday but got lazy before i could haha]
At first, it didn't seem like the man was going to get up. He just cowered there, fighting for air, and Jude was left holding his hand out for a painfully long time. All the while, he was aware of the shadows that approached, the light on the ground growing grayer by the minute. Finally, he reached up and accepted Jude's help. The man's hands were soft and childlike, save for the layer of dust caked on the surface of his skin. Jude wondered if he'd worked a day in his life, in his normal life, what he'd done before any of this happened. He was inclined to believe the man was raised as any sickly child might be, in a cushy, pillow-padded house for his own protection. Ridiculous.
Jude helped him to his feet, and it took him considerable effort to not let go before he was sure the man was steady on his own. His arm tingled with the desire to wrench his hand away, to preserve his own safety and get away from someone who was turning out to be more trouble than they were worth. Maybe he was jumping the gun on this one, but... the man hadn't done anything to prove his worth, and until he did, Jude saw no reason to feign optimism or give him the benefit of the doubt, despite his weakened state. Not his fault. Maybe. But still. Jude was quickly losing patience as he re-weighed his options, going over every choice and outcome in his head, on a repeating loop.
And then they were moving again, hurrying as much as they could to get back to the road, close enough to the truck to see that it was a pickup truck. He was just trying to make out the figure behind the bed of the truck, pushing the back of it toward the gas station slowly, when a strange new sound pierced through the wind. It broke the illusion that the rumbling thunder was coming from the underworld, a slicing note above the stormy song introduction in his ears. At first, it came from all sides, and he glanced wildly around to find the source.
Time seemed to slow when he saw it. In that moment, faced with something he'd never seen before, Jude froze. He tripped and stumbled when his brain made the connection. That's an arrow. Like a knife aimed for your ribcage, but faster. Slower than a bullet, but that almost made it worse, to see death at the door before it could even ring the bell. It was worse knowing that he had time, that he could do something, whereas with a bullet, there was no warning, no knock at the door, just an explosion and then death. Jude flinched when the arrow hit the ground at their feet, pausing their steps momentarily. He hadn't even had time to try and guess its trajectory, and there it was. He'd thought for sure it would hit one of them.
A warning shot. If those archers had any skill, they could have hit them if they wanted. Jude wasn't so naive to think otherwise. Even someone with little knowledge of long-range weapons could have hit them from this close, moving or not, though perhaps it would have been sloppy, and caught them in the shoulder or the leg or something. So he knew they were being instructed to stop moving. But the arrow hadn't come from the figure at the truck, but rather, three other people that he hadn't noticed before. He scolded himself for not being more vigilant, but there were only so many distractions he could take at a time. He was bound to miss something. But two threats now? Come on.
Jude tensed and his heart skipped a beat, already pounding from the near-miss attack, when his companion grabbed his arm and hid behind him. For how much he hated being used as a human shield, he bit his tongue and shrugged the man off as gently as he could (which wasn't saying much, the guy offered about as much resistance as a twig). He wasn't about to let this stop him. Clearly, the arrows were not intended to harm, only to ward off. Were the archers interested in the truck as well? He watched as the person drew a gun and two arrows embedded themselves unnervingly close to the back tires. The driver stepped around them, apparently unfazed, aiming the gun at the trio that stood equidistant from Jude and his helpless companion. Deciding to take advantage of the stand-off between the two groups, Jude grabbed the man's arm and pulled him along behind him. He would rather present himself as an ally to the girl with the gun. The odds of survival seemed higher with her. She yelled something at the archers, and Jude and his companion ran closer to the confrontation, all but ignoring the bows still trained on them and the other person that was approaching the girl now.
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