[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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	Astrid's words came through the phone, loud and clear. One wounded, two kids (one with painful malnutrition), herself, Bridgette, and a mystery Engineer. [color=steelblue]"Understood. I'll have an appropriate Welcome Party waiting at the gate."[/color] 

	In the back of his own mind, Ash mused that he was, a great deal of the time, merely a person who passes information along from one source to another. In its own way, that was a form of leadership; allowing those with the skills and observations room enough to do what they did best. But it can lead to people thinking of him as a paper tiger - all threat and bluster, but ultimately unable to effect the results desired. The man himself knew differently, but sometimes, [i]just sometimes[/i] he felt that the occasional example must be made for others to understand this, as well. A few incidents recently had him thinking it was high time for just that. But those incidents were relatively minor. Maybe a "wait and see" approach over the next stretch was appropriate. Before he reminded others. Ash was not power hungry, but he knew others outside of their walls were. His desire was to maintain discipline. Newnan was not a commune. It was a group of survivors, three years into an honest-to-God Apocalypse. The key word: Survivors. 

	Ash's head hurt. He rubbed his temples as best he could while still holding the satellite phone. Maybe he was taking his fleeting thoughts a little too seriously. The world outside was damned serious, no doubt. But his people meant well. The vast majority, anyway. 

	Taking Froggy's advice, Ash put a broad frequency range to his radio. Breathing a heavy sigh, he announced to anyone with their own walkie, [color=steelblue]"The next person who sees Neisha, send her to the Infirmary."[/color] He really hoped this wouldn't lead to more difficulty. Especially while they were entertaining guests. 

[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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	Bazhooli nodded happily at Tatiana. He thought teaching dance was a fine idea. It was so much better to keep the arts alive than to totally forsake it for mere survival. His own art may very well die with him, unless he trained a replacement or raised an heir. A similar feeling must be within the ballerina. Teach others, be a vessel for your art. Who knows? Maybe he should, too. But none of this would be a possibility, at least for him, unless that guy in charge finally got finished being important and gave him that entrance interview. 

	[color=c0c0c0]"Nyet, Jack. Ve do not need the parking of cars in Harvard yards. Is okay. Is simple: Ve get routine down (this is hard part), ve tell you what we do, you tell audience, you make sure we get vhat ve need. You feel more comfortable, maybe again, there is room for, eh... panache? Da! Panache! But for now, back to practice."[/color] The Great Bazhooli resumed tossing bowling pins in the air, taking a step or two away from those around him for both his and their safety. 

	He did notice the acceptance of his request, concerning giving him a tour of Newnan proper, from Meghna. She also carried a radio - Bazhooli assumed that it meant she was important somehow. So, an important Newnanite was going to show him around, tomorrow it seemed. There were worse plans to have. 	



[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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	The second the truck began to pull around, Bridgette threw on her "ignore" switch and proceeded to block out any further communication from the other side of the fence. Crispy Michael Jackson wasn't going to shoot them, had apparently seen a movie that involved the mention of Crumpets, so that was ...recent... But now the prospect of completing their mission and getting back home safely, with the sick and wounded in tow, was paramount. Bridgette didn't particularly like the fact that Astrid went into the building by herself, and doubted that she would have known if anything amiss were to have occurred anyway. Moreover, if she did, the most she could likely do about it, from her vantage, was kill off a few people before succumbing to gunfire herself. 

	For these reasons, Bridgette felt herself become particularly vigilant, tensing as if planning to receive attack, eyes scanning for the arrival of her battle-sister from inside of the building. She reined Cadence around to face the truck, allowing him to take a couple of clopping hoofbeats toward it. [color=orangered]"Alright, Trillium, we're a bout ready to book, [i]I fucking well hope[/i], so let's... wait a sec, Trillium Brite? Ow, girl. I'm sorry. Don't worry, we'll get you nice and hammered later. Nowish, time to put on bitch faces and run escort."[/color]