[hr][center][h1][color=steelblue]Ashton Holloway[/color][/h1]
[img]https://31.media.tumblr.com/bcfab66a674d39bfaaddc28bd62d4470/tumblr_inline_ne41kcr5UN1s5par2.jpg[/img][/center]
[hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Newnan Armory 
[b]Interacting With:[/b] Meg, Zoie, Tom (from the Armory!)
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Finally, after so much death, they mad it into the Armory. It was a matter of three, maybe four hours since Ash had seen "Armory Tom", but it seemed like days. Their group was whittled down to two people (three if you count Zoie), not quite the Building Clearing Team he was hoping for; nonetheless they were about to be the best equipped group in the area, hands-down. 

Ash's brain fought valiantly to maintain his cold, militaristic demeanor. Perhaps moreso because of Caesar's encouragement. In a million years, he never expected to hear kind words from the man. Knowing that his time was up, his last thoughts were for others. Well, goddamnit, he wasn't going to have died for nothing. 

Nonetheless, this [i]was[/i] a very tight spot, and this concrete concern was voiced very succinctly by Meg, [color=f08080]"Are we ever going to get out of this alive?"[/color]

At this time Zoie entered, bearing El Jefe's machetes. Her grave look matched his own, and he understood. Leave it to the baddest man on the planet to request a death worthy of Valhalla. Not that he ever let on that he believed in it, but it was a hell of a way to take that final exit. Just in case the Vikings were right, it seemed like the prudent thing to cover your bases with a proper passing, worthy of warrior women descending from the sky to carry your spirit away to a place of beating and booze. When it was Ash's time, he hoped he had the courage to take the same route. 

Ashton regarded Zoie's words concerning family. Caesar's words, really. Did the old man suspect that his words coming through her would carry weight, bind them together? Maybe it was to ensure that a skilled fighter would remain in their presence, at least for a bit longer. Either way, all they had was each other just then. Each other, and a metric fuckton of small arms around them. Ash addressed Meg first. 

[color=steelblue]"Hell yes, we're going to get out of this alive, Meg. And we're going to kill every last one of those sons of bitches out there. You, me, Mistress Stabby over here, and this town. It's time we mobilized Newnan." [/color]

The motivated Captain accepted the elder warrior's blades reverently and set them with the rest of his gear. Maybe he'd establish a memorial of some kind. Maybe he'd put the equipment back into general service. No reason for good weapons to go unused, but if ever there were sharp objects that deserved to be retired... well, it was a thought for another time. Right now, it was time to fit himself into full Riot Armor and re-up his ammunition. As he geared up, he addressed Zoie: 

[color=steelblue]"Yeah, we are a family here. If you want in on the dysfunction and awkward Thanksgiving meals, sure. I guess you've earned it. We're going to use your plan, Cousin Zō. Two things: The both of you are packing armor, you and Meg. The most you're comfortable in. And Meg, if you would please, fill a duffel with as many weapons as you can. We're picking up reinforcements on the way, and I want our folk [i]armed[/i]. Tom, you're holding this building. If you don't know them, they don't get in. We good?" [/color]

Ash strapped on his helmet, becoming a vision of ballistic acrylic and matte authoritarian armor, punctuated by several nonstandard items of varying degrees of lethality. He procured a belt of flashbang grenades, extra clips, and chambered a fresh round into his carbine. 

[color=steelblue]"So, Country Girl - How's about you raise some Hell while we go on a cleaning spree?"[/color]