[hr][hr][center][h1][color=crimson][b]Thalia Carmichael[/b][/color][/h1][/center]
[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/e4117d5f-65c8-4b8e-98df-5810a59267c5.jpg[/img][/center][hr][center][color=dc143c][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Other Side of Armageddon [/center][hr][hr]

	[color=dc143c]"Hasta el último hijo de puta allí.[/color][sub]1[/sub][color=crimson]"[/color] said Thalia promptly, speaking in perfectly inflected Spanish. She had no use for survivors, needed no new friends from among a group of murderers and assholes that were directly or indirectly responsible for the deaths of people she cared about. She took the map from Thana and gave it a once over, noting that there was one town in particular marked in central Georgia. She doubted that it was a battle plan, seeing as it was laminated, and not very recently. Still, it was a useful, detailed map. 

	Sighing, Thalia looked at Astrid's shield in front of her. It was a fine, strong device, made to withstand a serious beating. While a little cumbersome for her general preference, the woman was specifically trained in its use, and not just as a thing to hide behind. She had claimed it for her own the moment she shuffled off its previous owner from her undead coil, though despite this, it would always be Astrid's Shield. They were not fast friends, Thalia and Astrid. Not like herself and Bridgette. There was a huge amount of respect for the Shieldmaiden though. She was one of the few that passed along survival skills to her that had saved her life on more than a few occasions, not to mention had helped herself and Lola over the course of an irregular winter. Those two women helped her adapt to the world as it was now, and she would be forever grateful to them for it. She could survive, even thrive in it, Dama Muerte willing. And the shield was a damned useful item. If she could have gotten hold of one of Bridgette's spears, that would have been massive. No one could make a killing tool like that tall, foulmouthed bitch. And from the look of the smoking crater that used to be Bree's last home, she wouldn't be seeing one ever again. It was a shame. 

	It suddenly hit her: Thalia had left her own spear in the Tank. Primitive, but damned effective as a stabbing tool with a point as hard as copper. Not the kind of thing that would fit well in the cab of this truck, though. Undeterred, she kept a light conversation going with Thana, to get more information about where they were going and better feel out the lady who had assumed command of this half of the expedition. [color=dc143c]"Yah, girl talk."[/color] Her tone was such that it was difficult to tell whether or not she was being sarcastic. [color=dc143c]"You know - Where did you get your hair done? Meet any cute boys? Hell, meet any cute girls? Oh (and here's a good one), where are we going, exactly? I don't see [i]Eden[/i] on the map. I've got a lot more, but let's start there, lady."[/color]

	A thought jostled loose in Thalia's brain, [color=dc143c]"Wait, no... what was up with that guy in the truck? Hell, what is [i]up[/i] with that truck? He joining us up the road?"[/color] She had originally assumed that Thana and the guy she was with was there to box them in like some kind of trap, but the temperament of the group even after their loss made her begin to reconsider the overall feel of these people. Then again, they were all going to the same place to kill a whole lot of people. Perspective was necessary.  






[hider=Translations]
1	=	Every last son of a bitch there.
[/hider]