[center][color=778899][h2]Arnold Myers[/h2][/color]
High noon with a hot sun, stretch of open road with practically zero cover, nearly fifty people in a less than fifty foot radius, if there wasn’t a more literal term for, “out of the frying pan…” than Arnold sure as hell couldn’t think of one. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Arnold had to contemplate his more recent decision making. How long had it been since he joined? Maybe a little over a week now? The days seemed to blur together, and between the heat and lack of water, the days only seemed to have melded moreso. Even so, he’d been through a hell of a lot before this, he was just more well supplied. Watching people screaming as they were being eaten, cops and military were practically ineffective in the long run, bases being overrun by the sheer number of [i]’them’[/i]. It was only a matter of time before the people around him were taken, or even he was taken, hell at this point everyone in this party was just biding their time.

Arnold sighed rather frustratingly, a hand grazing over his torque wrench gently carried in the makeshift sheath that was a belt loop, before breathing deeply. [color=778899][i]’Get a hold of yourself,[/i][/color] he thought, [color=778899][i]’sure shit has hit the fan, but you can make it through this, a day at a time.’[/i][/color] Though he really wanted to believe that, this sorry lot of pack scavengers wasn’t going to last long unless they actually banded together and formed a stronghold somewhere. The city wasn’t a viable option, too many of them already had a hold of it, the forest wasn’t a great option either, plenty of game, but there were too many blind spots amongst the foliage that they couldn’t afford the ambush. Nearly a year ago, Arnold wouldn’t of thought of this crap, he’d be working on a Ford Mustang or a Ducatti or some kind of fuckin’ car and just zone out. Now, he was literally planning on what kind of forward base a group of survivors could call their home, something they could build, fortify and protect, even with half of the assclowns that were around. Sure most of them were ‘troubled’, but if it was either food and water vs. the wasteland, they’d turn around and settle in line.

It wasn’t until the group stopped and he nearly ran into the big muscle head of the group, Don? That he realized that Freddie was speaking. A trip to Costco? That seemed like a fruitless endeavor...however...a lightbulb went off in his head. [color=778899]”Food and water might already be gone, but hopefully there’s other useful stuff that no one would even think about.”[/color] In his mind Arnold was already thinking of the possibilities of different tools that could be available as well as scrap that could be converted into other items. [color=778899]”Clothing for one would be a good start,”[/color] not only was it flammable, but to be fair, everyone was as dirty as..well a mechanic, and fresh clothing could be a useful morale boost, since hot water was nowhere to be found. [color=778899]”Any camping or travel gear we can find can store more items for later scavenging, tools and scrap are useful too.”[/color] For the first time in a while, Arnold felt excited, even forgetting about the current water and food situation. Hand gripped tightly around his ‘club’ he smirked at the hulk before him before turning towards Freddie, [color=778899]”I’m willing to go with anyone else who wants to, I can help spot out the stuff we need in the long run.”[/color]
[hr]
[color=FF4500][h2]Donald “Don” Ackerson[/h2][/color]
Six months and ten days since it nearly all started, even now he could still remember Freddie Jones words that they needed to get out before Don nodded assuringly, getting as many people out of the bar alive. He wasn’t a bodyguard, he wasn’t supposed to protect people with his life, he was a bouncer, someone who roughed someone up when they were being too rowdy, touchy, or plain old creepy. Most days he thought about Day Z, thought about how most of the patrons...didn’t make it, in a way it haunted him, it haunted the oath he swore by and broke at the same time. At the end of the day though, he saved his bro, and he saved his bro’s daughter and that...that was enough to console him; at least long enough.

Donald Ackerson on the outside was a stoic and intimidating man, but on the inside he actually cared about those around him, particularly Freddie Jones and especially Jones’ daughter Alex, ‘lil firefly’ he’d call her. Even in this gloom, cruel and disgusting land, she always had a way to shine among those around her. He’d known Freddie Jones and his kid long enough that both were practically family, she was, in notion alone, his niece. At one point in his life Don thought the only people he’d have to protect her from would be the boys trying to get a piece of her. Nowadays he didn’t think he’d literally have to protect her from ‘things’ trying to get a ‘piece’ [i]from[/i] her. Well...so long as ‘Uncle Don’ was around, she wouldn’t have to worry about nuthin’, same with her pops.

Coming back from his thoughts, he noticed that the mechanic was slowly invading his personal space, clearly engaged in his own thinking. Fortunately he noticed before ‘popping Don’s bubble’ the one that would have left him on the ground. Even so, the mechanic didn’t seem like a threat, not unlike some of the other knuckleheads, the ones that clearly needed a swift fist to the teeth if they even sneezed out of place. Out of the few that came to mind he trusted was probably KT, didn’t know why she was called that but she was a fighter, and just as quiet as he was. In a way if Don was Freddie Jones’ right hand, she would have been his left, hell maybe she was. Out of everyone else, there were too many kids and too many unwilling to follow people, both presented a problem in and of itself, but even though Don didn’t make the rules, he certainly helped enforce them.

Even as Freddie Jones told his plan of going to Costco, Don silently observed the group around them. Some seemed hesitant, while others eager, there were some...individuals who his gut didn’t trust, the grave digger seemed like one of them, that redneck (not quite right in the head) who brought back food seemed like another, the gangster and ex-con were top on his list of who to fuck up if shit hit the fan. All in all, there was a group of good, a group of bad, and a real~ nasty group of ugly that he had to keep an eye on all the time. So long as they didn’t stir up the hornet’s nest they’d be fine, but who knows how long that’d last.
[hr]
[color=FFD700][h2]Ollivander Clarke[/h2][/color]
Back in his younger days, Ollivander Hemingway Clarke, along with his late wife the beautiful Emily Diana Dickenson, would have enjoyed a day like today. A day out on the safari, a harsh sun beaming at their backs, a lion poised to roar as they drove their jeep in the savannah, pictures ready to be taken. Today...was not one of those days, i hoʻohalahala lā, or ‘harsh sun’ as the Hawaiians would say was not one to be taken for granted. It weakened and dehydrated the body, lost will to the spirit and in this case...made them a perfect target for Cathartes aura, or the Turkey Vulture as it were. Normally such a genus would rest along the Mississippi river, but chances would have it due to recent events they have migrated towards this area along with many others in search of food; Darwin would certainly be proud.

Ollie would have no doubt been one of the last survivors to join such a rancorous group, but as luck would have it he was in a bit of a pickle and truly needed their help. Now having joined them, roaming the land and the current Minnesota highway he was grateful for the temporary rescue from the uncomely beings that gave chase to him. As he continued his travels with the rather large group he noticed that the children had grown fond of him and his stories, along with any adults that wished to indulge him. Certainly there were some unruly characters, but they mostly kept their distance.from the rest of the group. This was no problem to the elderly professor as he shared his knowledge when he could, while also listening to those who desired his council. In this particular case, they were stopped, alone and debating and all he could do was stand about and wait.

What did catch his eye during the debate was the sword that the woman ‘KT’ wore. Perhaps it was an acronym, perhaps it meant nothing more than Katie and it was simply a misnomer. In the end, Ollie was glad to be amongst individuals with both a shared skill set and hopefully a mind open to all possibilities; even ones such as his. Curiosity has its constraints though, he limped over towards the swords-woman, his cane guiding every step, before leaning on the railing next to her.

[color=FFD700]”I apologize madame,”[/color] he nodded in respect, [color=FFD700]”Indulge an old man like myself, but...I’ve been observing your sword for some time now, it appears ornate, yet most of its stones have either lost luster or fallen off completely.”[/color] Perhaps he was entering the lion’s den, but a scholar never loses a chance to ask a question. [color=FFD700]”Given the intricacy...can I assume it's a Falchion? Something of the 15th century, possibly belonging to an Arabian warlord?”[/color] Even among the current discussion and the arguments being presented, Professor Ollivander had a knack of learning before debating.[/center]