[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] Building [b]2[/b], Mess Hall [/center][hr][hr] [color=steelblue]"Niesha..."[/color] mulled over Ash. He had received complaints about that woman, from a few different sources. He recalled meeting her for the first time, requesting entry into Newnan. She had mentioned that she could make some types of medications upon meeting their usual welcoming committee at the gates, trying to use it as leverage to gain entrance for an injured companion. The part where she sounded like a total frigging maniac aside, one thing that she said did stand out: She claimed that she could convert solid antibiotics to an IV solution. Now, in his years with the U.S. Army, he had seen what medical personnel and pharmacy techs could do when pressed into service. Even for them, the scratch production of anything in the "cillin" family was difficult, without an existing base to start it off. A Doctor could identify the proper mold, that much he knew. Ash knew enough about it to know that the wrong mold could kill you faster than the infection would, and not to mess with it. But he also knew that if that bit was settled, all they would need is a more or less decent chemist (or God forbid, meth manufacturer) to run the setup, and a pharmacy tech to assemble/convert the raw materials into more sophisticated forms. He knew what [i]had[/i] to be done, in theory, but nary a clue on how to actually do it. All he could do is try to assemble the people that [i]might[/i] know. And he was short a chemist. But all these thoughts were pointless in that moment. The conversation turned back to the more urgent business of the hour, not to mention that Astrid had already hashed out a plan and made the decision to follow through with it while in plain view of Ash, as if he wasn't actually there. Still, he couldn't fault her too much for her minor act of insubordination. She had been accustomed to making snap decisions like this for just herself and her sister Valkyrie since the beginning of all this unpleasantness. Out there, it would have been called Initiative. That, and it wasn't altogether a bad plan. Ash did want to foster a relationship with a friendly settlement, maybe even get more hands manning the walls and working the fields here in Newnan. It couldn't hurt. If Astrid wanted to take the risk, and Beni put himself up as collateral, he could work with it. [color=steelblue]"Approved. Grab your shield and anything else you might need from Froggy or [i]Tom[/i], meet us at the Gate when you're ready."[/color] He turned his attention to Beni, [color=steelblue]"This is turning onto a lot more trust than I'm usually comfortable giving. We're both going to be a lot happier if I don't come to regret it. [i]Now[/i], we don't have a whole lot in the way of resources overall, but I'd hazard a guess that we're better off than your group. If you have any other pressing medical issues, have them brought over. I trust you will instruct your people to treat her with diplomatic courtesy?"[/color] [color=steelblue]"Astrid! You haven't eaten all day. Grab something you can walk with. You won't be any good to anyone weak and tired. Beni, whenever you're ready."[/color] [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] Within the Outer Wall, Livestock area - Stables [/center][hr][hr] They were doing relatively okay, those horses. They just had a bit of mild neglect and, from the look of them, hadn't been for a good run in a while. Bridgette didn't really have the time to exercise them that night, but she made a mental note to come back tomorrow early, if it was at all possible. It looked like the bare minimum of care was being done for them, and she wasn't having it. Luckily, it didn't take long to see to their nutritional needs, nor to provide fresh water. Cleaning their hooves and shoes weren't too time-consuming, either. But brushing the Four Horses of the Apocalypse would prove to take a bit more time. Also, the single most settling thing that Bridgette could do for them. A brushed horse is a happy horse. At least, a less nervous one. That's what she needed now. Bridgette started with the jumpiest one, a chestnut mare, and began smoothing and exfoliating with experienced, even strokes. She seemed a different person, handling horses. The hard and sharp lines of her face softened somewhat, and she could even be heard (from extremely close range) humming a little, bordering on vocalizing a song. It seemed to help calm the horse, but more surprisingly, the horse seemed to calm the woman. She even let her hair down, allowing the soft, summer breeze to catch her long, blonde locks and let it cascade over her chain armor. When the first horse was down, Bridgette went back out to check on her Cadence. The warm sun illuminated her face and revealed a very rare thing for the warlike, vulgar lady: An honest, broad smile. It amazed her, when she realized what she was doing. It was a feeling of competent euphoria, like she would get when working a properly equipped forge, but calming instead of energizing. Also, deep down - she really hoped no one could see her like that. It would damage her reputation. Bridgette took a long drink from a bottle of water in a saddlebag, replacing it just after she was done. Cadence had plenty of water on standby, and a little bit of fodder. He would be just fine. After a few minutes of enjoying the wind and sun, she would be back to work, brushing down the other horses. But for now, she would have her moment. Damnit. [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] Building [b]7[/b] (Rec Center) [/center][hr][hr] A box. Specifically, a box of old-school, wooden bowling pins and a few colored balls, some of which looked like they had seen better days. Well, it wasn't the most ideal of circumstances when putting together a show, but let's face it - nothing in the Apocalypse was ideal. It was a thing he had gotten used to, equivalent to favoring cans of Spam in the same fashion he would have a decent burger, just over three years ago. It's what you've got. Optimism catching him, as it tended to from time to time, he realized that he had just offered up one hell of a Hail Mary, asking if they had [i]bowling pins[/i], of all things, in their settlement. It was unthinkable that anyone would hold onto something like that, as it had absolutely zero practical use for security or production of edibles. Somehow, these people had a set of polished hardwood, white with red band bowling pins. And here he was half-joking when he mentioned it. The Great Bazhooli had even trained with items like this. Following basics with simple, colored balls, bowling pins were adopted for use to get the juggler accustomed to asymmetrical, but uniformly shaped items. It acted as a bridge between simple stuff and the truly random, like juggling a seven piece set of alternating masonry redbrick and whole, fresh fish. Bowling pins. Yes. Many people used only these to put on legitimate shows, though they were usually doing something else along with it, like unicycling or singing opera. The Great Bazhooli had even seen one particularly talented French lady who performed a very risque burlesque act while simultaneously juggling pins. The finale of that act resulted in her being banned from family shows in the United States for the remainder of her career, but from what Bazhooli heard she was still amazingly popular in Western Europe. For a moment, he wondered if that charming and well-endowed French lady had survived the Outbreak. Probably not, but it would be interesting to know for sure nonetheless. Circus folk had to stick together. In recent days, just folk had to stick together. It was several seconds of him staring into the box before he realized that he hadn't even acknowledged Jack's presence back in the Rec Center, nor had he properly extended gratitude for the mostly unexpected lending of exactly what he requested. The mention of food piqued his interest, until he realized that the Massachusetts native was speaking only to Tatiana. That, and he had grabbed a little something earlier, though it did not include that heavenly aroma he could only assume came from the dark gentleman manning the massive woodfire cooking apparatus earlier. This would demand further inquiry after a bit. But for now, he had a point of manners to attend. [color=c0c0c0]"Krasivyy[/color][sub]1[/sub][color=c0c0c0], Meghna. Absolutely beautiful. It's no set of knives and lovely lady to throw them at, but is great. More than hoping for. Spasibo[/color][sub]2[/sub][color=c0c0c0]."[/color] [hider=Translations] 1 = Beautiful 2 = Thank you [/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] Building [b]B[/b] (Zoie's House) [/center][hr][hr] James didn't have a whole lot to say. He just wanted to drop off some food for his pre Outbreak friend, and had the good fortune to have it turn into a quiet bit of time, sharing a meal of decent grub in the early evening. It seemed like an occasion to turn back the mental clock to long before all of this death and dismemberment started, to when he could pop by Lee County and drop in on Miss Zoie and her family, get in on a basket of fried chicken and a slice of genuine, Southern Style Red Velvet Cake. Back in the day, it was a thing he would travel many miles to consume. These days, there was no manner of atrocity he wouldn't at least [i]consider[/i], were the option to grab a leg and a slice to present itself. It didn't matter that he had little to say. He was with his friend. Life would never be like it was. A moment of calm civility over, James nonchalantly stepped into a bit of light business with Zoie. [color=firebrick]"You know, Ash doin' a OK job, keeping Security in line. We got some new faces in too, since you been stuck in bed. You wanna try to set somethin' up, so's you can get a good look at 'em? Make sure they ain't the Bad People what we been worrying about?" Man, what I wouldn't give for a beer..."[/color] he breathed, looking down at his plate. It wasn't quite a subject change more than a mental tangent he felt the need to express. [color=firebrick]"There's a show tonight, two of them new people's putting on for us. Maybe I can wheelchair ya down to it. Meet the new folks, have some fun. Leastaways, I'm hopin' fun. What you thinkin' on that?"[/color] [hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=FF8C00]Schrödinger[/color][/b][/i][/h1] [img]http://coverphotosite.com/thumbs/young_orange_tomcat_stalking_in_the_grass-t1.jpg[/img][/center] [hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Building 2 (Mess Hall, Roof) [/center][hr][hr] From atop one of the central buildings, the Dread Feline Schrodinger surveyed the territory he now viewed as his. At least for the time being. So many new sounds and smells, new people with which to interact... and every so often, he would catch a glimpse of the one human he knew for a fact he could trust. Strange fellow, even as humans go. Likes those shiny, sharp things that humans usually carried, but a LOT more. The chunk of meat and fat that Schrodinger liberated from the larger man earlier had long since been consumed. There was nothing left to do but lick his paws and clean his whiskers, perhaps give his chops a good once over to make sure he hadn't missed any spots of grease or the like. But maybe this wasn't the best place for it. The fuzzy orange survivor scanned his new home again, trying to sort out a suitable place to hole up for a while; a spot to come back to between bouts of eating and exploring. [color=FF8C00]"Meow.[/color][sub]1[/sub][color=FF8C00]"[/color] he stated flatly. Meow, indeed. [hider=Translations] 1 = Yes, Newnan. I shall suck and savor the sweetness of your scrap of human civilization, possibly growing fat and happy until such time as my natural passing or yours. In return, I offer the greatest gift my kind has been able to bless you with: The Power of Cuteness. You will grovel for it, Humans. You will beg and whine for it. And I, being a benevolent entity, shall acquiesce. Keep me fed and my Human happy, and you shall take great reward. Do this not, and the land becomes my own, personal litterbox. [/hider]