[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=4682b4]Ash Holloway[/color][/b][/i][/h1][img]https://i.pinimg.com/originals/c3/2a/d5/c32ad53279d627f66861cb579e4b3fb8.gif[/img][/center][hr][center][color=steelblue][b]Location:[/b][/color] Headland: E. Main Street, E8 (outside of the Hordebuster)
[color=4682b4][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr][hr]

	Ash was happy for Jack. Delirious, even. Against all odds, in the middle of a full-blown apocalypse and over the course of a [i]year[/i], Jack found his family. It made all the difference in the world. The tired and beaten-down Captain had been giving the concept of noncommittal Agnosticism a serious look, but this? Be it with an eye dropper, tiny miracles like this kept him hanging onto the concept of a deity who hadn't completely turned his back on humanity. 

	Then Amelia jammed her finger into his bullet wound. [color=4682b4]"GAAH! Jesus FUCKING CHRIST, Amelia!"[/color] screamed Ash, embracing his Inner Bridgette. At least invoking the name of his Savior could be construed as a tenuous hold upon his beliefs, be it in the most ass way possible. His breath seethed through clenched teeth and he jammed his thumb back toward the cab. [color=4682b4]"Whiskey. Sterilize. [i]First[/i], Jack and Tati."[/color] He halfway leaned forward, pitching his voice toward the previous field of fire, [color=4682b4]"Jack! Are we good? Tati and the baby safe?"[/color] 

	Today wasn't his day. Shot, his Hordebuster dead in the middle of [i]Alabama[/i], and issues with a Nun he was pretty sure he would have to put a bullet through. Oh, if his mother could see him now. But Jack's day was phenomenal, and that was going to have to do. More of his people were safe. Safe enough for now, anyway, though not for long if the sky was any indicator. They had to find shelter. The Hordebuster might suffice, but that fire station looked a fair sight better, if it was clear. They had to find supplies. Those asshats who shot him obviously had guns. Maybe they had more in their car - it shouldn't take very long to look. [color=4682b4]"Search the car. Find shelter. Today isn't done kicking us yet."[/color] It was to anyone who was still nearby. Life for him could be better, but damn if Jack and Tati's good fortune didn't bring a smile to his face, bullet stuck in him or no. 


[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=dc143c]Thalia Carmichael[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/99b643e3-9dfc-433b-b45e-358442bd37c7.png[/img][hr][b][color=crimson]Location:[/color][/b] Quincy (in house, C9)
[b][color=dc143c]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	The images in Thalia's head faded into inky blackness. It was either a sign that her soul was departing her body or that she was coming back to the waking world. How long had passed? Minutes? Days? Would it matter? Maybe it would be better if she didn't wake at all. Thalia was going to be a liability, when before she was a strength. She was fast, agile, quiet. She could take out a group of gun-carrying men with a short blade if she had to, so long as the circumstances could be set properly. About a year ago, it's exactly what she did. If she lived, she would not have that kind of dexterity anymore, not like she used to. It would be a while before her full balance returned, as well. Maybe letting go was best for everyone. 

	Thalia felt the presence of something familiar in her mind. Terrifying, yet oddly comforting. A quiet, disappointed growl surrounded her with sourceless vocal static. In the haze of her thoughts, Thalia fought to search around, see from where this unbidden noise originated, only to be met with darkness and more confusion. Then just for a moment, the young mestiza thought she saw her uncle [url=http://www.joblo.com/assets/images/oldsite/images_arrownews/dmachtrej.jpg]Caesar[/url] standing before her in a flat, desolate plain. Jut the two of them, staring down one another. Not a word was spoken; the disapproving stare of the man needed no explanation and she had no excuse for herself. People might still need her. [i]Broken[/i] did not mean [i]dead[/i]. The old man reached out and slapped her across her face. Hard. 

	Back in Quincy, Thalia sat bolt upright on the table, gasping in her first conscious breath in hours. Immediately, she wished that she hadn't. The pain of her condition slammed into her like she was flung bodily into a wall. Shock set in as she held her left hand before her eyes, next to the stump where her right hand used to be. Not just the hand, but a hair less than half of her forearm was missing as well. It looked clean, not that she was in the mood to critique Manny's work right then. Her remaining hand was shaking with stress and adrenaline, which she brought up to shield her eyes as tears began anew. This is who she was now. She needed to get used to it. As soon as she healed enough, she had to get back to surviving with her friends.  

	If she couldn't count on the full measure of her trained dexterity anymore, she would have to make up for it with familial brutality. 

	Nodding her head as an affirmation only to herself, Thalia fell back onto the table and stared at the ceiling. She barely registered anyone else in the room, though she could hear the random bits of material tapping against the house. She felt weak. Pain spread through her like streaks of poison. Probably would for a while. Slowly, she raised her right arm as much as she dared to look at what was left of it. Thalia cleared her throat, and in a clear but quiet voice, said,

	[color=dc143c]"Well, there goes my social life."[/color] 



[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=deb887]Hank Wright[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://www.screamhorrormag.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/Stan-Against-Evil-e1529577006422-600x240.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=burlywood]Location:[/color][/b] Okefenokee: D11 -> C10
[b][color=deb887]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	Keeping up with Wayne was about as fruitful as trying to nail jello to a tree, or trying to convince a toddler that candy was awful. But he kept things interesting. The two guys that they had just met decided to hang back for a while, it looked like. Hank guessed that it made sense; they now had some crazy guy to run blocker and take the first bullet and/or attract all of the dead Assholes in his direction. At least the Roman guy was handy with that pig-sticker he carried. Give Hank a camp axe or a good, reliable shovel any day, but he wasn't going to knock the man for carrying a weapon he with which he was proficient. The outfit was by no means off limits, however. Principle of the thing. 

	He had kept to a brisk walk, hoping to catch up to Wayne in a roundabout, eventual manner. It was a decent enough plan that accounted for the fact that they had been sitting in a truck for a while and Hank was past his best years for endurance running. And the fact that he'd just rather not in the first place. That plan had to alter somewhat when he saw that the his "survival buddy" for the past five years had stopped in the middle of the road and was, while swatting at the same imaginary whatsits that always seemed to vex him, was knee-deep in making first contact with another survivor. A young woman. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but felt it prudent to put some effort into covering distance without spooking the lady. 

	Feeling like quite the dumbass, Hank shifted his mighty shovel fully to his left hand and gave the two of them a big wave. If the woman took any notice at all, she might see the sarcastically welcoming smile leave his face as he said aloud (though not at a volume anyone might readily hear), [color=deb887]"No one for weeks on end and suddenly they're falling from the goddamn sky."[/color] Plastering the false happy back onto his face, he continued, [color=deb887]"Oh, he's going to get slapped, I can tell. Hell with all this, I could use a beer."[/color] He shifted to a jog, more eager now to join the conversation a ways in front of him.