[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
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	For the first time since he started producing a feast from the recently truck-bludgeoned deer, Black James received a message through his walkie. It was cryptic, kinda. Definitely a thing which would pique one's curiosity. The words of their main Gatekeeper, Jim, sounding through the black, composite plastic box attached to his hip: 

	[i]"Um... This is, ah, Jim? Yeah, Jim at the South Gate. Ah... Look, you guys have to [/i]see[i] this one. And anyone who speaks Russian? Please. I wash my hands of this." [/i]

	Now THAT sounded like an interesting turn of events. Something worth taking a look at, if he spoke Russian or was part of the Security team. Another new guy! Someone else to meet and greet, learn about, teach in the Ways of Newnan. After a lengthy assessment of their trustworthiness and capabilities, of course. Jim's words seemed a little exasperated, perhaps, but nothing along the lines of an emergency. If the fellow (or fellows) at the gate were hostile, a very different kind of message would have been given. The alarm bells would have sounded, something. This was benign in nature. 

	Too bad it wasn't his concern whatsoever. I mean, it was a concern for the community, but unless specifically called for, there were people that handled things of this nature. James was the guy you talked to about growing many and varied things suitable for human use and consumption, proper care, feeding, hunt, and slaughter of porcine livestock, and just maybe a colorful anecdote every once and again. Hey, you need someone shot, he's a more than capable marksman. Hell of a gun for it, too. But this situation? Nothing he could contribute. 

	Yet more interesting stuff going down in a town he was helping to make prosperous that he either knew nothing about or could not help with. Ah, well. But this time in front of the smoker with minimal distraction did give him time to think. He had talked to Ash about his little writing projects over the past month. They seemed a little morbid to him, like he was preparing for his own death. In truth, he half-expected the Captain to eat a bullet after he was through. But he didn't. Listening to the pop of slow burning wood and the occasional sizzle of liquefying fat striking the bottom of the hot smoker, he drew into a kind of meditative lull. A realization dawned on him - Ash wasn't preparing for himself for death. He was preparing Newnan for it. 

	Continuing with this train of thought, the grim sumbitch knew things that no one else in town did. He'd been making plans with Leann long before Eden invaded, same day as the walls were breached and the dead FLEW IN by means of tornado stowaway. Those plans hit a hiccup, no doubt, but all that death... if both he and Leann had died, Newnan would have been without direction, nor the planning to develop as a community. James didn't know how much was lost due to the original Commanding Officer's death, and was sure that they were just winging it with some things. 

	What if James himself died? He was the only guy who was making plans, and damned good ones, about the agricultural future of his new home. The people working under him were goodly folk, no doubt, and knew their way around shovel and seed, but simply lacked the foresight and experience to really blossom Newnan into what it could be. It was time to make plans. Years in advance kind of plans, and write it all down. He could die just as easily as anyone else, and he also knew things that no one else in Newnan did. At least, not as well as he. 

	Well, that was that. He was going to pen his plans, both short and long term. Shouldn't take long, there was plenty of reference material on the actual [i]planting[/i] aspect of it all. Following that, he was going to approach Newnan's new leaders and request to lead a team to execute those plans. Of course, for everything to work out, they would need people to explore outward, look for more people. The base of recruiters may have to expand. 

	But these were all plans that would occur [i]after[/i] this delectable bit of flesh was done accepting the appropriate levels of heat, smoke, and time necessary to bring it to culinary perfection. And to Hell with the drama elsewhere. They don't want to talk to him, he'll concentrate on what he does best. Now, to the Gravy.  

[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=steelblue]Ash Holloway[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
[img]https://31.media.tumblr.com/bcfab66a674d39bfaaddc28bd62d4470/tumblr_inline_ne41kcr5UN1s5par2.jpg[/img][/center]
[hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Interior Courthouse, Southern Gate
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	When it rains, it pours. The whole of the apocalypse reminded him of sentry duty, during his early military career. Hours upon hours, days upon days of absolutely nothing but the rigid discipline and rituals thereof; the waiting, saluting, speaking the proper words in the proper tone to your superiors and relief - and then the times when something happened, few as they were, the shit [i]really[/i] hit the fan. 

	Today was going to be one of those days. Almost a full month of rebuilding, reorganizing, and setting in new additions to their community. Relative quiet, really. Growing of crops, construction of gates, establishing wells, putting up fences. The Valkyries were especially happy about the last two points, not that you could tell unless you looked closely. Their little stronghold just outside the Inner Wall was an excellent regrouping point, with its own water source and rough hewn wood fencing. James had done a wonderful job getting their crops back on track, even instituted something involving "companion planting" and "crop/livestock rotation", or something like that. Zoie was training the hell out of the Newnan folk, now that it was apparent that they had definitive enemies. They had been coming together and growing stronger, quietly, for a while now. Today just [i]had[/i] to happen eventually. 

	Today looked like it was going to continue in a manner of escalation, or at least consistent of questionable events. This feeling was confirmed by the next radio transmission from Jim, the Gatekeeper:  

	[i]"...Ah... Look, you guys have to [/i]see[i] this one..."[/i]

	Froggy was ok, at least well enough for now. No one else had come on the line for a few seconds, meaning that Zoie was either indisposed or without her walkie. Ash responded in her stead, [color=steelblue]"Received, Jim. I'll be along shortly, and I think we have one person who speaks Russian, arrived today. One minute."[/color] 

	[hr][center][h3][color=steelblue]One Minute Later[/color][/h3][/center][hr]

	[color=steelblue]"Jim. You understand that, when you took this job, you would be the first to observe and evaluate new people."[/color] He voice was understanding but slightly impatient. [color=steelblue]"I understand your hesitation, but you really can't give me a "wash my hands of it" explanation."[/color]

	Ash sighed. He got it, the guy certainly seemed colorful. Add to it a thick accent and a moustache that could probably signal a rescue chopper... it had been a strange day. Looked to get overwhelming if they didn't stay on top of it. [color=steelblue]"So what's his deal?"[/color] 

[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=c0c0c0]The Great Bazhooli[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/0c830ac3-637e-4722-a654-d4192b0bd4c2.jpg[/img][/center]
[hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Outside Newnan's Southern Gate
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	Okay. The Great Bazhooli hadn't been let in immediately. This was not ideal. On the other hand, he hadn't been shot, either. Not ideal, but not the [i]worst[/i] way to kick off a meet & greet, by anyone's standards. Perhaps the reason for his lack of instantaneous welcome came due to the unfortunate and unexpected attack of his semi-adopted feline, Schrodinger. The fuzzy orange bastard had never really seen him pull off a routine, and acted like a kitty possessed. 

	The truth of the matter, from the cat's point of view, was that the big, strange human had decided to play. He seemed nice enough, giving him food every now and again and allowing him to enjoy his warmth when it got colder at night, but he never wanted to do anything [i]fun[/i]. Now that he had discovered other humans, he seemed to want to play. This was good! Playing was good. Though he seemed ever so put out when the nimble tomcat pounced in honest joviality. Humans were strange. Schrodinger decided it would take more time to figure them out. 

	Meanwhile, The Great Bazhooli had moved to recover his knives, hat, and coat. He kept the rifle where it leaned, still wary of these people and hoping not to make a threatening first impression. He then remained standing, adopting various histrionic circusy poses as the (now) two men stood atop the Wall post, discussing his fate. It was when the freshly arrived man posed a question, [color=steelblue]"So what's his deal?"[/color] that he decided to cut in, leading the way with his girthy Russian accent:

	[color=c0c0c0]"[i]Deal[/i] is, good comrade, dat you have honor to vitness [u]The Great Bazhooli[/u], alive and in flesh! Da, internationally recognized Great Bazhooli, Master of Impalement Arts and..."[/color]

	From bushes nearby, one could hear an attention grabbing [color=FF8C00]"...meow..."[/color]

	[color=c0c0c0]"..and... and his faithful Cat, Schrodinger! Eh... chert voz'mi. Look, I level with, okay? I [i]am[/i] Great Bazhooli. My circus train, assault by peoples. Then Returned, afterward. Dead and scatter-ed, all of. I look for them, I look for place too, yes?"[/color] His accent softened just a touch with his next sentence. [color=c0c0c0]"I'm not good with Alone, anymore."[/color] 

	[color=FF8C00]"Meow!"[/color], as if on cue.

	[color=c0c0c0]"Except for Schrody! Yes! I have the Schrodinger, [i]who I have decided not to eat today[/i]..."[/color] he added, looking in the direction of the now emerging feline as if in warning. [color=c0c0c0]"I could use thing to eat, and kitty can use milk, or mouse, nyet raznitsy. Uh, I vork! Vork if need. Vork for Schrody, too. Is handful, but good kitty."[/color]

[hider=Translations]
da 		=	yes
chert voz'mi	=	damnit
nyet raznitsy	=	no difference (used as "whatever" colloquially)
Vork            =       Work (if it wasn't clear from dialogue)
[/hider]