[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#00ff00]Jack Hudson[/color][/h1][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/5e9e714002b5f04769d7e0dac2f0ce50/tumblr_inline_nuo5xtN7aI1qlt39u_500.gif[/img][hr]Location: Gilbert Street, in front of Building 1 ---> Eastern Outer Wall ---> Center West End of the Outer Wall[/center][hr][hr]Jack had to stop himself from shaking his head. He couldn't get a read on Bridgette, but he wasn't going to be complain. Some people were just confusing at first, didn't make good first impressions. He could hardly fault someone for that. Grabbing the ladder, Jack gripped it tightly despite the protest from his cut hand. 

[color=00ff00]"Bet he can go wicked fast,"[/color] Jack commented, whistling slightly at the sight of Bridgette's steed. It was no different than the way he would have admired a car years back, marveling in the beauty and ingenious design. It was perhaps the reason no one had criticized Jack's masculinity--except, of course, to call him a mama's boy. They weren't exactly wrong, either. 

[color=00ff00]"Last time a Jack cruised, somethin' sank,"[/color] Jack joked, keeping pace with Bridgette. He continued to note the path, as well as glance around at the various sights. It still puzzled him that a place like this could exist. The last safe havens, he figured, had ended ages ago. It was as if he was an archaeologist, searching for an ancient civilization...only to find one that still existed. By the time they arrived at the breach, Jack grimaced a bit. 

There was blood on the jagged edges, the metal bent out of shape. Glancing up at the wall, Jack narrowed his eyes a bit, in order to keep the light from blinding him. Even after being down south for ages, he still missed the windy grey skies of Chicago, and the unpredictable winters of Boston. His eyes tended to agree with him, needing a moment or two to get used to the light. Noticing where the guards on the wall were stationed, Jack sighed a bit. 

[color=00ff00]"Don't suppose you got fohensics or anythin' that can figuhe out who got in,"[/color] Jack murmured, half joking, and half hoping that [i]somehow[/i], the people of Newnan knew who it was that had entered through that breach in the wall. If the dead managed to rip holes in the metal, at least there wouldn't be any [i]intelligent[/i] foes to fight. But he didn't fancy the idea of the dead being able to rip through at all, finding that possibility horrific. Equally horrific was the possibility that [i]people[/i] had crawled on through the gap. 

[color=00ff00]"So, what can I do to help?"[/color] Jack asked, carefully setting down the step ladder. [color=00ff00]"Let's get her done."[/color]
[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#cc6699]Édouard Riviere[/color][/h1][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/69644a8e5bf63103befaad07c349990c/tumblr_inline_mw086ex1w71s73t47.gif[/img][/center][hr][center]Location: Heard County High School (Franklin)[/center][hr][hr]Édouard rolled his eyes a bit. He couldn't believe that Lyon, the butcher, was giving him a lesson on [i]morals.[/i] One of his college professors had attempted to do the same thing. Édouard had torn the pages out of the flimsy book on Nietzsche, and threw them around the city, shouting in French the entire time. A few students eagerly gathered around him, thinking it was some sort of [i]protest[/i], that Édouard was someone of merit and value.

That Édouard, essentially, was someone other than Édouard. 

[color=cc6699]"Morales? Que sais tu?"[/color] Édouard snickered, dropping the towel for a moment as he shook his head. Édouard had never killed anyone--Félix didn't count in his book. He never murdered children, never terrorized the best and brightest in French society (he was, of course, referring to himself). His parents had [i]adored[/i] him, showering him with praise and riches. Anything he wanted in the world was his. 

And Lyon? He had to [i]work[/i] for his power. Édouard couldn't help but hold contempt for the man, reminiscing about the old days, for a brief moment. Birthright used to stand for something. Blood used to be valued. Perhaps this was why the world had gone to shit, it was the fault of people like Lyon, acting out of their place. The thought befuddled Édouard, but he couldn't help but be more proud of it. He was enamored with his own idea, already imagining how centuries from now, he would be remembered as [i]Édouard le Grand! Édouard le Saint! Édouard l'Héros de la France![/i] 

And Lyon, he was confident Lyon wouldn't even be mentioned. Filth and scum had no place in history books. They belonged in shallow graves, in ravines, at the bottom of [i]la Seine.[/i] No, even that was too good for Lyon...He would have to orchestrate something [i]perfect.[/i] And as his tutors often informed him, practice made perfect. There would need to be a rehearsal, a run through in order to work out all of the kinks.... He knew [i]just[/i] the thing as well. 

[color=cc6699]"J'ai fini,"[/color] Édouard announced, flopping the rag onto the ground. It was perhaps the best he had ever cleaned [i]anything[/i] in his life. Which was to say, of course, that it was hardly clean at all. He had more rearranged the blood and gore into new shapes and patterns, the same way children just rearrange the dirt when they wash a car. 

[hider=Translations]Morales? Que sais tu? = Morals? What do you know?
Édouard le Grand! Édouard le Saint! Édouard l'Héros de la France! = Édouard the Great! Édouard the Saint! Édouard the Hero of France!
J'ai fini = I finished. [/hider]