[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=steelblue]Ash[/color] & [color=orangered]Bridgette[/color][/b][/i][/h1] [img]https://31.media.tumblr.com/bcfab66a674d39bfaaddc28bd62d4470/tumblr_inline_ne41kcr5UN1s5par2.jpg[/img] & [img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d5/b4/78/d5b478ac0063ce48f5bab3cb5648b0a1.jpg[/img][/center] [hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Infirmary [/center][hr][hr] Ashton had become unaccustomed to responding to the orders of others. Maybe it was pure pride that caused the initial shock in response to familiar speech of the nature, but it was quickly followed by a sheepish feeling of utter foolishness. Astrid was, in Froggy's absence, the closest thing to medical personnel at Newnan's disposal. If this was truly serious, she was also the only person on standby that could help him. Ash's own brush with battlefield injuries and the treatment thereof from his time in Basic Training really didn't cover this. At all. If nothing else, this touch of humility was good for the man. [color=steelblue]"Nothing special. We had just left the Mess en route to the Distillery. A raccoon ran by, I made some comment about it. When I looked back he was grabbing himself and falling forward."[/color] If it was a simple matter of losing consciousness after going from air conditioning and into a Georgia summer, then it was a severe and long lasting reaction to it. Ash was not a medical man, far from it. He hoped very much that he was wrong; his initial reaction was sharp concern that the man was dying. This was a decent man who had been through more than most, even now in the apocalypse. [color=steelblue]"Bridgette, did you see anything before that? Anything I missed?"[/color] The tall woman gravely shook her head. [color=orangered]"Nope. Trying to settle Cadence. Didn't see shit until you started yelling about it."[/color] Bridgette turned her head just a little to address Bryn. Bryn! Someone found her. Medical emergency or not, the way the world was her work had to continue, especially as it meant the walls. "Stitch In Time" had a more dire meaning these days, and significantly worse consequences than a split seam if it wasn't tended to. There were few excuses for shirking chores, especially when there was nothing she could do to help. [color=orangered]"Dunno, girl. They might need us -"[/color] Ash cut her off. [color=steelblue]"If Astrid needs hands, I'll help. If you want to stay, stick with Bryn manning the doors. I got this."[/color] His face softened just a touch, noticeable, but barely. [color=steelblue]"You've helped enough. A lot. Thank you."[/color] Not wanting to keep a tender topic sappy, Bridgette responded with a pert, [color=orangered]Good man, Walldick. Bryn, soon as they're good, I can use your help on the walls."[/color] It was Bridgette's turn to soften her voice, showing genuine concern. [color=orangered]"Keep me posted, huh Boss?"[/color] Ash nodded and turned back to Astrid. He quickly recounted what happened, to the best of his ability to do so, and in as much detail as he could muster. It ended with him asking a simple, [color=steelblue]"What do you need from me?"[/color] [hr][hr][center][h1][color=#800000]Lawrence Long[/color][/h1] [img]http://i.onionstatic.com/onion/5302/9/16x9/600.jpg[/img][/center] [hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Lost in the woods. [/center][hr][hr] Lawrence froze in place at the sound of gunshots in the distance. It was far too close for his liking, as was the throng of dead people at the approach. This most assuredly clashed with his plans for breakfast, as did the somewhat younger man dashing past him with a shove and entering the semi-abandoned delicatessen before them both. [i]Semi[/i]-abandoned because, while no living soul remained to care for the upkeep of the building, there was at least one deceased body present to muck things up. He was still frozen in place, rooted to the ground beneath his feet as the door to the long neglected building closed. The man on the other side of the door had made a decision to ensure his own survival, despite Lawrence's own rigid inaction. He was never the type to panic, hadn't yet since the obliteration of human society that forced him into a cold life of aimless wandering. Something was different here, though. The cold and tingling grip of painful anxiety tore through his torso, like mad and multiplying tentacles of cancerous ice penetrating to his core, knotting against itself and tearing any sense of hope away. The tendrils of this despair gripped his heart and stole his breath from his chest. The good news: Lawrence's legs began to move. The bad news: They carried him downwards. He slumped to his knees, a cold sweat flooding his features; features which told the story of a breaking man. He felt ill. His bowels began to reflexively unclench. More than that, a growing pressure from within crescendoed. The contents of his bowels built up as water pressure behind a cracking dam might, promising a release of gastrointestinal stew birthed of an irregular diet consisting mainly of scavenged convenience foods, Georgia woodland mushrooms, and that recently(?) dead squirrel he came across not too long ago. The once proud Chinese gentleman fell forward to his elbows, ass angled upward when the breach occurred. The force of it slammed into the back of his pants like a third fist originating from his rectum, trying to batter down a means of escape for the second assault. The second assault was much worse. It broke all barriers, his Captain America boxers and tailored pants alike, ripping them asunder with the same force that likely widened his pelvic bone, possibly even giving him the atypical "child-bearing hips" in the process. It was an event of horror. A mud-caked Oompa Loompa shot from a cannon shaped like a middle aged Asian man on the verge of total, mind-sharting lunacy. Panic sweat and labor pains erupted from the man's face, prompting an involuntary scream of terror, revulsion, and self-pity that ended in long, shuddering sobs. His posterior was still exposed to the elements, spraying dark and fetid fluids behind him when he came to senses enough to realize that the lock to the door in front of him had clicked, and that he was alone, out in the open, with a gang of Walkers nearing his location. They had ALL taken note, every last one in the area; there seemed to be a uniform decision among the undead population that today was an excellent day to go out for Chinese. Upon hands and knees, Lawrence shuffled to the door, scraping and begging for entrance to the only practical option available to him in the time provided. Unfortunately, to allow him entrance would mean the continued draw of the Dead to the location, ensuring the untimely death (or at least seige) of the plucky yet determined Seńor Mendoza. This was not an option he was willing to chance, apparently, as the door remained locked and the growing crowd of corpses came closer. The humiliated and endangered man slammed his palms into the door, half-crawling to a shaky, standing position. Understanding that he was left outside to die, Lawrence began screaming, [color=#800000][i]"BUN tyen-shung duh ee-DWAY-RO!!!"[/i][/color] while banging his hands impotently upon the side of the structure. Just before the advancing Dead came withing clawing distance, Lawrence took the only option left to him, one which he did with urgent certainly: He ran. He ran for dear life, though rather awkwardly due to his recent misadventures in projectile defecation. Lawrence ran until his lungs burned and his legs went numb. And then he ran some more. He screamed loud and long, at least at first. The choking intake and release of breath in such a desperate manner saw to that after the first few minutes of all-out, breakneck sprinting. Luckily for anyone (that wasn't him) in the immediate area, it did have the benefit of drawing away the vast majority of Walkers, giving them new purpose in (un)life. The eventual breaking of his voice still allowed him the occasional, snot-accented whimper, though it was hardly the attention grabbing sound it was upon time of origin. He ran until he could no longer hear the growling and snarling of the Dead behind him, before finally tyring to give notice of his surroundings. He was somewhere in the woods, far from discernible human habitation. His mad dash had involuntarily slowed to a ragged jog as his head whipped around, trying to make heads or tails of where he was or how long it took to get there. In his state of fatigue and bewilderment, Lawrence was completely taken by surprise when he crashed into what he thought was merely a thicket of shrubbery, but was in fact an abandoned hunter's blind. Plants had grown up and around the thin, artificial material of the blind, and it had weakened to the extent that the slender and mentally disrupted man tore right through the side of it. Pain screeched into the oblivion of his brain, happening simultaneously with the sound of glass breaking and the feel of something connecting solidly with the top of his head. The sensation was almost overshadowed a quarter second later by the rush and flutter of hundreds of smallish, leathery wings exploded all about him - the blind had been made the residence of a colony of bats, each one almost as surprised and anxious as the stranger that had just crashed through. Frantic hands flailed around in mayhemic disorder, lest the tiny flying mammals get lodged in his hair and make the next few moments [i]even more interesting[/i], also serving to completely destroy the remaining plasticy fabric of what remained of the hunting blind. For the first time in years, the sun shone into the little alcove. At first, Lawrence thought he was going to be okay. Then his head reported burning pain, and a sour, musky, pungent wetness that started from the source of sharp concern and cascaded down his back. It was a truly horrible but very organic stench. One eye suddenly blinded over as thick, dark blood poured from his scalp and over his face. He was done. Three steps away from the crash site he fell forward, taken by his painful fatigue, the shard of glass imbedded in his cranium, and the overpowering smell of whatever presently coated his body. Just prior to losing consciousness, Lawrence glanced over at a rather unremarkable pile of wet, broken glass. It may very well have been a pickle jar originally, but now it was a mere pile of sharp and jagged trash with a homemade masking tape label. Scrawled across this homemade label in black marker was a series of simple letters and symbols, mundane but repulsive all at the same time, "Bear Piss: ♀". [color=#800000]"Female bear urine... ?"[/color] he queried aloud. Then the darkness took him. Lawrence did not know how long he had been out by the time he awoke, but a soft light shone above him. Curiously, he was experiencing a strange, not altogether unpleasant tickling sensation on his bare flesh, where his pants lay open and massively compromised from his earlier, violent trouserblast. In his half-awake confusion, the poor, unknowing man mumbled softly, [color=#800000]"Uhh... of course I have feelings for you, Adolphus. But we must be quiet... Huh?"[/color] The crunch of bone and meaty ripping sound came to his attention next as a set of massive, ursine jaws closed on his left arm. There were two of them. The first one he could see. It had his arm and seemed intent on pulling it away from his body. It was thusfar unsuccessful, but that didn't stop the beast from trying. The other he could only feel. It had just placed a huge, hairy paw onto Lawrence's back, keeping him pinned to the dirt as the other tugged and pulled at him. Lawrence's senses, rather than be washed away by shock, instead sharpened to memory forming clarity. He could mentally catalogue every sensation of every second that occurred, though with his trauma and lack of available adrenaline he was powerless to take any preventative action. The next thing he noticed was a low, suggestive growl - almost a purring sound - as the rear bear's hot breath raked across his neck, taking in the aged pheromones of the ladybear piss that now covered the gentleman's back. The posterior tickling feeling returned, and it was only then that he received true enlightenment of what the immediate future held for him. The scream he issued was exactly the cue that the second bear needed. Being that it had found its ideal (or at least present) date for the Bear Prom, it acted accordingly. A great breathy muzzle loosely took up the prone Lawrence and tossed him, stomach down, onto a nearby rocky outcropping. The second bear, sensing sport was to be had, formed a hairy, lewd queue - politely giving the situation the patience it required. Somewhere, cresting the Georgia woodlands, a flock of local birds scattered and reformed above the treeline in reaction to an anguished voice, screaming, [color=#800000]"Wǒ yīng dé de! Wǒ yīng dé de![/color] [center][youtube]https://youtu.be/0f46aUfSBIw[/youtube][/center] Now alone, torn, disfigured, and violated in almost every way, Lawrence wept softly and felt his life's blood drain from him. He barely had the strength to cry, let alone move. He was dying. No changing that now. The internal damage alone would shuffle him off; in fact almost had. If only he had the luxury of unconsciousness at his disposal. But he did not. It was almost a comfort when the herd of Walkers finally caught up with him. Fitting. [color=#800000]"Wǒ yīng dé de..."[/color] [center][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif[/img][/center] [hider=Translations] BUN tyen-shung duh ee-DWAY-RO - Stupid Inbred Stack of Meat Wǒ yīng dé de! - I deserve this! [/hider] [hr][hr][center][h1][color=firebrick]Black James![/color][/h1] [img]https://v.cdn.vine.co/r/avatars/6AE78329E91063505631975227392_pic-r-1396533712688c4afde8ecf.jpg.jpg?versionId=ZnGOSit0zozlhxpJk0w6QVx4cSozVRdq[/img][/center] [hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Newnan, Inner Wall - Smoker [/center][hr][hr] James tended his gigantic smoker, trying to decide what this strange feeling was that was coming over him. He had experienced this before, a period of his life where he was always two hours behind "The Party Bus". Some people were just [i]like[/i] that, always barely outside the center of things, oblivious to spontaneous events until after they were long over. There were even rumors that he had just barely missed a redneck kegger where two of the three Dixie Chicks showed up, got really drunk, and started making out with anything that had a pulse. James wasn't 100% on whether he believed it or not, mind you, but he was pretty sure he had missed [i]something[/i] that night. Whatever the truth of it, there was the most peculiar feeling that a great many things were going on in the world around him, and he was missing it. At least supper would be awesome. Adding to his odd state of mind, Black James(!) got the oddest memory stuck on repeat in his head. Almost in response to one of the unwitnessed events of the morning, he suspected. After a moment, he started to sing it. It went a little something like this: [center][youtube]m.youtube.com/watch?v=qG5EqP1nyr0[/youtube][/center]