[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#00ff00]Jack Hudson[/color][/h1][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/f58514cd985117e3c627f00323af6ca5/tumblr_inline_nuo44zn3hG1qlt39u_500.gif[/img][hr]Location: Building 7 (Rec Center)[/center][hr][hr]Tatiana sitting on Bazhooli's shoulder while juggling? He supposed that there wasn't anything inherently wrong with it, but he found it hard to picture. The beautiful, delicate, and graceful Tatiana, sitting on top of the large and muscular Bazhooli? It wasn't that he was jealous at the thought...though the idea of Tatiana's legs spreading for Bazhooli didn't make his top ten list of things to do during the apocalypse...but that it simply eluded his imagination. 

Wouldn't one of the pins smack Tatiana in the face while flying upwards? And if she tried to stand to do some sort of trick, wouldn't that damage Bazhooli's shoulder? He supposed that perhaps that was just the price of a good performance--physical pain and injury. Jack wasn't a doctor, but even he couldn't imagine ballet was incredibly healthy for someone's toes. None of his sisters had been into it--not that he saw them growing up much, of course. They lived with his dad. He did have a younger sister, Georgiana, that he visited once while she was studying in college--she played ice hockey for the University of Minnesota. 

What had happened to her?
[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#cc6699]Édouard Riviere[/color][/h1][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/b249f6ab1b43ba7c39e9a3ecc838e58d/tumblr_inline_mw07kgaXvu1s73t47.gif[/img][/center][hr][center]Location: The Infirmary (Franklin)[/center][hr][hr]There went one mild source of entertainment. Apparently, Lyon had decided to stop paying attention to him. Well, that was fine. It wasn't the first time in his life it happened to him. The staff were forced to listen to him and cater to his each and every whim on pain of death--but his sisters had a vicious streak, and once they tired of boxing his ears to assert their will, the silent treatment would come shortly after. Édouard imagined that Sana would have been best friends with Alisanne, the cruelest member of the family. 

But what was Lyon paying attention to? The sickly Jewish kid. Édouard rolled his eyes again, leaning up against the wall. The blood and gore that coated his clothing rubbed off against it, creating a gruesome shadow on the plaster. He didn't care, however, despite the likelihood that Lyon would make him clean the room [i]again[/i]. And at least it seemed stubby was either going to die for real this time, or had finally decided to stop being a nuisance and actually heal. 

The injured could be so exasperating at times, so challenging. His eyes darted to the door, as Lyon busied himself with Moon-Moon or whatever the kid's name was. Maybe it was time to slip off, to leave Franklin behind, and start his life anew. There had to be a settlement of sorts somewhere that would understand him--maybe he'd find a way to contact his sisters in France. Édouard doubted that even the undead could kill Alisanne and Darcey. They were too stubborn for death. 

Letting out a bit of a yawn, Édouard stretched in a near cat-like manner. Things were starting to get boring--he almost hoped that Captain Stub would burst into flames without a moment's notice. At least that would have been [i]interesting.[/i] 
[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#cc66ff]Tryke Lockley[/color][/h1][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/967a81369ffddcec686c83e761c990fe/tumblr_mpo9xlOD111su9bs8o3_250.gif[/img][/center][hr][center]Location: the Woods ---> Franklin[/center][hr][hr]Viking girls acting super clingy and secretive? [i]Check. [/i]

As Tryke followed the small party on her bike, she realized how fortunate they were, and how odd the entire situation was. On one hand, only the stray walker reared its ugly head. She didn't have to swing her baseball bat around, instead able to let it rest comfortably behind her as she rode. Her makeshift flamethrower, Tryke found, was far more effective at terrifying people than the fucking walker infestation. A bat worked surprisingly well, when it came to smashing walker brains into something like applesauce, only ten times more disgusting. 

[color=cc66ff]"Is there a viking convention in town I didn't get an invite to?"[/color] Tryke asked, a small smirk on her face. As they approached Franklin, she took in the metal, chainlink fence. Her mind flashed instantly to Farraday cages, and she sighed a bit, reminiscing about old times. Maybe she'd be able to trade her service for food--electrifying the fence wouldn't be too difficult. It wouldn't be sustainable, but they'd be able to keep it off mostly, and turn it on to [i]shock[/i] anyone who came near.

[color=cc66ff]"Oh, shit, I'm sorry,"[/color] Tryke muttered. [color=cc66ff]"It's the Michael Jackson tribute fest, right? The 1980's called, they want their fashion back."[/color] Her comments were mostly under her breath, but her eyes were obviously narrowed, as she took in the thick glove. Thinking back to her previous scathing thoughts, maybe he [i]did[/i] have an android arm. That'd have been cool. Tryke always knew she'd have done well in a world where robots were beginning to replace people--and a robotic arm would have been the start of that. 

[color=cc66ff]"What the hell's wrong with your hand?"[/color] Tryke asked, giving in. Her lack of patience didn't help, and it was bothering her more and more. [i]No one[/i] wore thick gloves like that--her gloves, for example, were fingerless. And if it wasn't for her bike and roughing it up in the woods, she might not have even worn them. But this asshat? It seemed almost like a fashion statement. 

Only, of course, no one had time for fashion statements. But her other theory, of a robotic arm, seemed a [i]little[/i] too much like a cheesy Star Trek fanfic.