[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]1[/b], Infirmary
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	Mention of a functional prosthesis definitely piqued Ash's interest. Not for himself, but for Sophia. From what he could tell, speaking with her on interviews or check-ins, her experience with construction would be amazingly useful in keeping things upright (like the ever-important WALLS). Keeping people alive was priority one. Keeping people useful was a close second. Sophia with two functioning hands could remove a fair amount of extra duties from himself, and if today was any indication, Bridgette as well. 

	In these troubled times, rough amputations were a lot more common. Surviving them was more difficult, and even if one did, their productivity and survival chances dropped in case of a emergency. Getting some of that back was well worth the investment. Listening to Sophia, she felt the same way. 

	[color=steelblue]"Future Mrs. Hook?"[/color] he mused aloud. He had heard it around, but didn't say anything. It was the kind of thing that Bridgette would say, except that there was a distinct lack of profanity involved. Ash nodded, even smiled thinly, and opened his mouth to say more - until his radio went off. The news from the Armory was not the most welcome. Set aside the fact that Ash had considered handing off one of the satellite phones anyway, its removal without mention was troubling. The more relaxed look to Ash's face dissolved immediately. 

	[color=steelblue]"Yeah. If you would, please bring that at a run. Infirmary."[/color] His voice was terse. Luckily, counting the time to lock the Armory and beat feet to Ash's location, it was about ninety good seconds before Astrid got to hear Captain Holloway clear his throat and state flatly, [color=steelblue]"Go for Ash."[/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] Building [b]7[/b] (Rec Center)
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	This show was getting a little too complicated, at least for the amount of practice time available. Give them a week, maybe as little as a couple of days, and something was possible. Coordinating a performance between two people who have never worked together before, trained under two very different types of the Performing Arts, and have just met that day (that is to take place in a few hours) was problematic. The Great Bazhooli did not know how to respond to her expressions or other nonverbal cues yet, a thing which took time and a little trust. 

	[color=c0c0c0]"Da, I can lift on shoulders. But remember, am Impalement Artist. I juggle, but I am not Juggler. Cannot be comfortable doing this without practice. Vill try though, if you vish, and is not making your Jack upset, ok?"[/color]

	It occurred to Bazhooli that his position there might be viewed as threatening to the observations of the recently engaged man. Russian performer meets Russian performer; they [i]literally[/i] had their own language, worked in a similar capacity before the Outbreak, and met by astronomical chance in Georgia, of all places. [color=c0c0c0]"Ve should involve your man too. In some way."[/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] (outside of) Heard County High School, Franklin
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	A whole other settlement. Lots of new people, conveniently squatting in a High School, of all places. Seemed fitting, when Bridgette thought about it. In the random swirl of her teenage years, she often thought that school was the end of the world. Now that it really [i]was[/i] the end of the world, people went back to the place where that feeling originated. High School. Like prison (and the rest of the world now), High School divided people into cliques, had a tendency to be violent, and gave you an education. Maybe not the one you wanted, but you learned nonetheless. Another feature in common with prison, this new world, and high school, was that you stood a much, much better chance of dying if you were all alone. 

	Now, here were these guys. Bridgette didn't know what kind of people they were, but if they were letting strangers in, or at least near, because they had a medical emergency, it meant a couple of things. First off, they weren't the type to "prematurely retire" someone who was grievously hurt, not when there was an option. Secondly, they were provisionally open to allowing outsiders in to help. Continuing with the observations, the good(?) people of Franklin weren't entirely stupid, either. Astrid went in, Bridgette and the new girl stayed behind. 

	Astrid's parting words marked either restraint or a conditional promise of violence on Bridgette's, she couldn't quite tell. Regardless, she didn't want to give the impression that the message in Norwegian was in any way unclear to the Frankin people. She put on a dangerous smile and responded with a nigh cheerful, [color=orangered]"Aw, you know me. Friendly girl."[/color] in clear English. The smile faded into something more serious as Astrid disappeared into the school. Bridgette gave a look over to Tryke, and back into the group of strangers near her. She didn't know any of these people, and to be frank, she was a little testy at having to wait outside while her closest friend in the world was someplace unknown. 

	Tryke had her minor conversation with the guards, or at least who she thought were guards. For all she knew, they were the actual Welcoming Committee. Maybe they needed one of those in Newnan? No, passing thought. Then the one guy introduced himself. Naturally, such displays of gentility required adequate and polite response. 

	[color=orangered]"Well hello, Marx. How the fuck are ya?"[/color] she said in mock seriousness. [color=orangered]"I'm the Contingency Plan. Don't suppose you got any water for these horses? We have a hard ride back."[/color]