[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=4682b4]Ash Holloway[/color][/b][/i][/h1][img]https://68.media.tumblr.com/c6f0f86d13839f8542e4b754c251da73/tumblr_ojog8uNf9k1qdhps7o1_r1_500.gif[/img][/center][hr][center][color=steelblue][b]Location:[/b][/color] Headland: E. Main Street, E7, Car (Passenger side back seat)
[color=4682b4][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr][hr]

	Godfather? The concept intrigued Ash ever so slightly more than the searing pain of having a foreign object chemically propelled into the fleshy part of his shoulder. Part of him was immediately joyous at the thought of it. Naturally, given the state of the world around them it was very possible that the baby might be deprived of his parents, making the naming of a Godfather necessary. You never knew when the great Soul Collector would nod in your direction. On the other hand, part of him echoed with dread from past, recent years. There were times that Ash was certain that he was a death magnet, doomed to survive while all those he cared about perished. Now he had another life to help look after and care about. He surely didn't mind the responsibility. Hell, it was inspiring. A family coming back together was inspiring. 

	And to hell with the rest. That kind of indecision and worry was pointless. Ash was a different person now. Ever the Captain, but no longer would he be circumstance's bitch. Yeah, bad things happened. Just sometimes, you had to be the architect of those bad things to protect the ones you loved. Ash accepted Tatiana's help getting into the station wagon. It was tricky at first, getting in while maintaining hard pressure on his wound, but he settled into the seat readily enough. 

	He hadn't seen a baby in a long time. Much like Jack, Ashton stared at little James with wonder and warmth. [color=4682b4]"Hi James. I'm your Godfather, Ash. And as long as I'm still breathing, you're going to be just fine."[/color] Unlike Jack, he could pull away and resume the business at hand. He didn't blame the man. This was the culmination of a one year search, and that was his firstborn son. Let him have his moment. But the "take the lead" bit from earlier would have to be suspended. If anything, Tatiana seemed on top of things. [color=4682b4]"Well let's hurry. We are not blessed with an overabundance of time."[/color] Between his wounding, the coming weather, and their need for both supplies [i]and[/i] revenge, they really didn't have a lot of time. And ordinarily, revenge was not something Ash went for. It was stupid. Unsound. Took risks that weren't necessary. But just this one time, it fell in very nicely with the task at hand. 




[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=dc143c]Thalia Carmichael[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://i.pinimg.com/originals/32/45/47/324547e3b7817ea71d71e719e871d78d.gif[/img][hr][b][color=crimson]Location:[/color][/b] Quincy (in house, C9)
[b][color=dc143c]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	Whoa momma, did that pill work. It kicked in like SWAT busting down the door to a crack house. Thalia could feel the intense, gnawing pain that apparently accompanied limb removal (as she was previously inexperienced with the practice on a personal level), but the pain seemed to be elsewhere, apart from herself in the way that one might feel a sympathy twinge for a crotch kick. It was admittedly one hell of a sympathy twinge. But the level of narcotic assistance was greatly appreciated. 

        [color=dc143c]"Ba, ba, ba, ba, baaaa... The joy of [i]Chola[/i]..."[/color] Wait, was that out loud? She was more into Coke products than Pepsi, anyway. Or used to be, back when an there was an option. Now, she'd take what she could get, of it was still nice and fizzy. But that wasn't the thought she was trying to have right then. What was it? Damn, that pill was strong. 

        She could see why people wanted the stuff so badly. And why her family was so anti-drug. This called for one of the massive exceptions to that rule, losing part of an arm. Thalia wished that she didn't need it.

        At any rate, now that the pain in her arm was subsiding somewhat, it allowed her to realise that she was really, really hungry. Now, she [i]meant[/i] to politely ask for a can of whatever was handy, for the purposes of splitting it, and that can of SpaghettiOs with Beatrice. It was only fair. The "O Wars" were not going to be called on account of injury. But what came out of her mouth sounded more like, [color=dc143c]"Heyah, girl! ...lemme get a crack at [i]dem O's[/i], sweetie... left-handed can opener... yummyummyummy."[/color] Shit, that was definitely out loud. 

        The moment that Thalia heard Alexander say he had found water, ahe realized that she was massively thirsty. [color=dc143c]"Hey, over here!"[/color] she slurred, raising the stump of her right forearm as if to catch something. She looked at the bandaged end of her prematurely terminating limb as if confused for a second, then let her head plunk back on the table. Thalia started giggling, quietly but maniacally to herself, like it was somehow a private joke. 


[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: C8
[b][color=deb887]Skills:[/color][/b] Club/Blunt Weapons [hr][hr][/center]

        [color=deb887]"Yeah, I got it."[/color] remarked Hank, as if moderately annoyed at the whole Fighting For Your Life Against Walking Corpses thing. True enough, it was enough to give anyone moderate annoyance, let alone a man like Hank who seemed to make it a key point of his post-apocalypse career. Now, to whom he was saying it was open for debate. The most likely two persons were Wayne and his new pal, Sportacus, seeing as the former made a request for a low initial swing to reduce the chances of Friendly Fire via shovel, and the latter communicated his point of tactic for probably the same reason. 

        That left one just for him. It began to turn to one side, toward another one of the men speaking aloud, but Hank wasn't having it. He whistled aloud, regaining its attention. [color=deb887]"Anyone ever tell you, you look like a barrel of assholes? Whole goddamn barrel. Yeah, really."[/color] He swung his shovel, the edge of the tool smashing heavily into the dead person's knee. It cracked in the slowish manner of timber breaking, and fell to the ground. Hank finished it off with a utilitarian thrust downward, as if digging soil. After the thing's head cleft neatly in twain and was still, Hank looked up and with the same annoyed voice, inquired, [color=deb887]"Alright. What's next?"[/color] and to the shambling Assholes which remained upright, [color=deb887]"Oh yeah. Fine."[/color] There was more to do before they were through for the day. Lots.