[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=orangered]Bridgette Vinters[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
[img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d5/b4/78/d5b478ac0063ce48f5bab3cb5648b0a1.jpg[/img][/center]
[hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Burial Site
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	Mostly silence, on both the part of Bryn and Bridgette. Not that the taller Nordic-looking woman (that'd be Bridgette) spoke constantly, but her verbal presence was strong. Especially as it came to screaming obscenities when called for. Or when not called for. Or if she was drunk. Or merely conscious. So long as one of those conditions applied to a situation, there was a reasonable chance that Bree would find some way to edge in a colorful sarcastic remark, and/or a judicious application of several diverse variations of the word Fuck. [s]It was art.[/s] It was fuck-fucking-tastic art. 

	Not so this hour. Her own sense of twisted proptiety led her to try and drown out the lovers' quarrel between Zoie and Dick, thus making her completely oblivious to the sudden attack of the Biter [i]within Newnan's walls[/i]. Seems no one was safe anymore. Further, when she was alerted to the danger, the walking corpse was already upon Zoie. Her reservations about Dick aside, Zoie was a really stand-up lady. Bridgette felt bad that she had completely missed her fight for survival. Thank whatever God may or may not still be looking down at humanity that Brynja still had her crossbow. 

	That was another topic she intended to discuss - even if she was fully aware of the danger, being basically unarmed gave a massive disadvantage in the event like something such as this happened again. While she had no idea how Bryn's crossbow passed by the weapon policy, she was extraordinarily happy that it did that day. Bridgette absolutely [i]had[/i] to speak with Ash and Zoie about that. A few additional people they could trust inside the walls with relaxed weapon restrictions, preferably including a tall angry woman with a spear and shield, could only help matters. 

	Bridgette's train of thought on the matter, along with the rhythmic crunching of shovel in soil, was disrupted by a loud crack. Bryn's shovel, possibly taking revenge for being mercilessly shoved into the dirt over and over again, decided to split along the handle and spill forward, a whack to her chin for her trouble. [color=orangered]"Nice fucking shovel."[/color] mumbled Bridgette, seeming a bit of her normal self. [color=orangered]"All those pearlies still attached there, Bryn? Aw, hell... I can finish up if you need to hit the infirmary. Don't have a lot left."[/color]



[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] Southern Gate
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	Well, this was new. Looking down upon the stranger, who seemed much stranger than most, Ash could not help but squint his eyes against the daylight and stare as the odd man rambled on about himself. In the third person. This guy was either a total loon or an amazing infiltrator, down to the fine details of his costuming and accent. 

	Then he did something strange. His mask cracked a little bit, accent withered enough to very clearly pick out a single sentence: [color=c0c0c0][i]"I'm not good with Alone, anymore."[/i][/color] Okay. This ...Great Bazhooli... wasn't being one hundred percent genuine about something, but he didn't think he was lying, either. The one line about being alone - something about the way he said it made Ash believe that it was the first non-scripted thing that came out of his mouth that morning. Whatever else this guy was, he was a showman. 

	And then he went on about his cat. 

	Tatiana appeared, hopefully for the purposes of translation if necessary, and assessed the man. The words "Not friend" gave Ash pause. This day and age, it could mean a couple of things. He was just about to ask specifically what she meant by Not Friend when the petite ballerina began a dialogue of her own with the man in a language Ash knew absolutely nothing about. He had just met her that day, too. It was an awful lot of uncertainty, and a hell of a coincidence that two Russian speakers suddenly show up, coming from different paths, both within a couple hours (if that) of each other. 

	Yeah. Today was one of [i]those[/i] days. He reminded himself to make sure to picked up an extra clip for his .45, just in case. 


[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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	The Great Bazhooli seemed overjoyed to hear someone speaking in the language of his upbringing. Well, the rarer one, anyway. He responded in flawless Russian (but with ever so slightly muddled accent), [color=c0c0c0]"Akh! Moya prekrasnaya step' tsvetok. Eto delayet moye serdtse priyatno slyshat' rodnogo yazyka snova."[/color][sub]1[/sub] He immediately switched back to heavily accented English, continuing, [color=c0c0c0]"But let us please not to be rude. The man with grim face obviously does not understand. He is one to decide if I get shot on doorstep, da? You ask what I vant: I vant [i]in[/i]. I vant help. And, vant to be help. The Great Bazhooli can be [i]out[/i], when is needed, but to have [i]in[/i], this is good. Plus, have cat. Very fuzzy."[/color]

	This was probably not the most compelling, nor understandable argument he'd ever made in his life. The Great Bazhooli was just about to open his mouth to clarify his intentions, probably with less chewing of his words with his theatrical accent, but it was immediately cut off by Ashton. 

	[color=steelblue]"No place is completely safe, anymore. Not even behind these walls. If you choose to walk in here, it'll be without weapons. They will be kept safe, for now. We'd have to talk more."[/color] Ash cleared his throat before continuing, [color=steelblue]"The best defense against People, or the Dead, is more people. We give refuge for decent folk, unless they prove otherwise. Fine. Pile your weapons behind you, step inside. The minute you feel like leaving, you can have them back."[/color]

	Hesitant at first, The Great Bazhooli lay down his fur coat and placed his rifle, extra bullets, and his many knives on top of it. He wrapped the coat up, creating a bundle of things that hurt covered in bear fur, and moved it to the grassy bit he performed on just a few moments ago. During this time, Ash was on his radio, [color=steelblue]"Newcomer at the gate, alone. Need an escort detail to search and accompany him to the Mess Hall. ...Zoie, if you've got a minute, we have a guest."[/color] 

	The gate opened just enough to admit a single body, and The Great Bazhooli stepped inside. He looked around at the contents of the Outer Wall, captivated by the sight. This was an actual [i]community[/i], with people working, animals, etc. Armed men and women willing to fight to keep it, too. They looked slightly untrusting, which was to be expected. He was very new. One of these armed men brushed past him, carrying his coat full o' fun. He remained close, but not as close as the two men with rifles. Just in case. [color=c0c0c0]"This place... vonderful. Better than train."[/color] 

	It may have been, but it was not home. Not yet, anyway. Ash urged the small procession forward, motioning with his hand toward the Inner Wall. [color=steelblue]"Welcome to Newnan."[/color] 

	

[hider=Translations]
[sub]1[/sub] = Ah! My beautiful steppe flower. It does my heart good to hear the Mother Tongue again. 
[/hider]