[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#00ff00]Jack Hudson[/color][/h1][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/fde14cab421725565d0071ca1454a579/tumblr_inline_nuo5qfRGIf1qlt39u_500.gif[/img][hr]Location: Building 7 (Rec Center)[/center][hr][hr]Bazhooli wanted to involve him? Jack tried not to get sucked back into his fantasy, with the Eye of the Tiger being the only song he could possibly perform to. If anything, his best role would be adoring fianceé, cheering Tatiana on from the crowd, and panicking more than slightly over the danger of the stunts. It wasn't that he didn't think Tatiana could do anything she set her mind to--it was more that he didn't know Bazhooli well enough yet. 

And yet, the man was his best man. He'd trust him, if Tatiana did. Anything to see that smile on her face. [color=00ff00]"Oh, solovey, you know me. Goofing runs in my blood. Hudson family genes and all. Can't just turn it off an' on again."[/color]

He did, of course, agree with Meg and Tatiana. A simple show would be the best, especially for the first night. And maybe after that, Tatiana could do one of her ballets? Swan Lake was a ballet right? And the Nutcracker? Les Miserables? Those were all ballets...right? 
[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#cc6699]Édouard Riviere[/color][/h1][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/12ea9529e6b320ba35c1496715fbd99a/tumblr_inline_mw07ykvWON1s73t47.gif[/img][/center][hr][center]Location: The Infirmary (Franklin)[/center][hr][hr]At Lyon's chuckle, Édouard frowned deeply. Seemed Captain Stub thought he was a funny one. He curled his hand into a fist, tempted to smash the man's nose in, and leave him there to deal with his own mess. Just because the guy was missing a leg, didn't mean Éd had to be nice to him. And right as Édouard was about to give into his rage, new people burst into the infirmary. 

Among them, there was yet another woman! Typical. Lyon realized Sana failed to seduce him, so he brought in another one to try with. And just like Sana, this one seemed to be so sweet, so doting, so caring...Aww, look at the way she tended to Ray and the kids! It made Édouard sick to his stomach, and he crossed himself, as if to ward off demonic spirits. The woman having a phone didn't shock him too much. After running into another Frenchman, nothing was all too shocking. 

And there was the door, so open, so tempting! If he could just slip out...

Well, what was the harm in it? They all seemed to be distracted. He didn't need to be stuck in all of this [i]shit.[/i] And so, bowing his head slightly, as to be theatrical, Édouard waltzed out of the infirmary--or at least, he would try to. 
[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#cc66ff]Tryke Lockley[/color][/h1][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/3ca5391ece75833c47b1407d16383d59/tumblr_n5s0kcGu1h1r25rnmo2_250.gif[/img][/center][hr][center]Location: Franklin[/center][hr][hr]Right. No answer from Michael Jackson about his hand. If he hadn't been holding a riffle with intent to kill anyone who tried anything, she might have given into the temptation to just tug the glove off, and see what wonders appeared. But she supposed he [i]did[/i] have a point about introducing herself first. No one she had met that day actually knew her name. 

The temptation to call herself Tessa Tesla was pretty high. Her actual name, Trillium Brite Lockley, wasn't the most fun. It was perhaps the single benefit of the apocalypse--no more nerds realizing who she was, and squealing about the sci-fi franchise her parents started. But with her luck, one of these assholes would recognize it all the same. Better to go with the nickname. Less chance of her being found out that way. [color=cc66ff]"Call me Tryke."[/color] Of course, [i]Marx[/i]--the most idiotic name she'd ever heard, even compared to hers--had his eyes trained on some chick. [i]Typical[/i]. 

She started glancing around, half wishing for an excuse to just [i]leave[/i]. This experiment in social participation was proving to be a bore so far. Her bike provided better company, and it didn't pretend to be the goddamn king of pop. At least Bridgette was amusing. Her brand of impatient and cheeky sarcasm made her not as awful as the rest of the fuckers in Tryke's book. She tapped her fingers against her leg, letting herself get lost in her thoughts about how to improve Sheila--her bike. Perhaps boosting engine efficiency would be her next pet project...

[color=cc66ff]"Oh, right, you were going to tell us what the fuck was wrong with your hand, right, Marx? You're not related to the communist, are you? Killer name to be branded with."[/color] She looked directly at Marx, unwavering in her gaze. She wasn't a people person; she was a robot person.