[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=4682b4]Ash Holloway[/color][/b][/i][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/54f902c5-aef8-429b-833d-a643fe7aa7e6.png[/img][/center][hr][center][color=steelblue][b]Location:[/b][/color] Headland: E. Main Street, A4, Car (Passenger side back seat)
[color=4682b4][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr][hr]

	It could be said that Ash wasn't fully satisfied with the plan. Then again, it could also be said that he was shot and, while not entirely useless, he was not remotely at his best game. Hence, his satisfaction would have to take a backseat to Tatiana's ploy for revenge. Again, the thought crossed his mind that revenge was generally a double edged sword, the darker half of what people considered honor, and overall a waste of resources that could best be used to keep them alive. An unnecessary risk. But seeing as how her bloodlust had a possible ending that netted them shelter and supplies, that made it almost goddamned pragmatic. 

	Ash made regarded the pistols that Tati handed over earlier. The woman wasn't just a Prima Ballerina anymore. He chose to hang onto the one closest to milspec - not his near beloved Detonics modular personal sidearm system, but near enough that he was highly familiar with its use. If it was in sound condition and fired straight, he should hand no problem using it one-handed. One handed weapons would be the order of the day, until he had time to convalesce a while. He jammed the extra mag into his back pocket and readied for the weapon's rapid use, if necessary. The additional pistol was set aside for Jack, who was in better shape for a firefight anyway were it to come to it. 

	This moment seemed a good one for keeping quiet as the impromptu strike team prepared to clear an inhabited area. Nothing he hadn't done himself, in the not-too-distant past, and he knew that there were some instances that, in order to be a proper leader, one had to step back and let the team do what they knew how to do. He refrained from speech almost entirely until Tati's Raiders had begun to move on their target. Then he looked over to his friend, left behind with him. [color=4682b4]"Jesus, Jack... A diaper? I don't know either. I got a degree in Military Engineering, which pretty much means Civil and Combat Engineering mixed with a whole lot of improvised work. I've put up bridges in jungles, built fortifications in deserts, set up whole goddamn irrigation systems and potable water transport relays, wells, walls, fully stripped government issue vehicles and stuck them back together [i]and a hell of a lot more[/i], some of it while taking enemy fire. But neither the wise people in the United States Army Corps of Engineers, nor the knowledgeable men and women at the Virginia Military Institute prepared me for [i]that kind of pressure[/i]. Diapers, man. That's heavy."[/color] 

	He joked, but a crying child out in the middle of this was no laughing matter. This was actually very important. [color=4682b4]"Okay okay, we can handle this. We can do this. I don't want to bleed all over your boy, so here's my idea: If she's packing disposables, there should be directions on the packaging. I'll keep an eye out and talk you through it, you grit your teeth and focus on little James. If you've got a better idea, I am fully open to suggestions."[/color] 



[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=dc143c]Thalia Carmichael[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/b828740c-5073-41b3-b391-b648ffa50292.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=crimson]Location:[/color][/b] Quincy (in house, C9 -> B6 -> Back to C9)
[b][color=dc143c]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center] 

	Thalia blew that damned comma of hair back off of her face with a sputter. She really preferred her hair short. Shorter than t was right then, anyway. The problem with an Apocalypse was, among other things, that she couldn't just hit a hairdresser and get her pixie bob cut restyled and trimmed up to her specifications. It was an easy one to pull off, though the people she'd let near her with a pair of scissors anymore could be counted on her one remaining hand. But anyway, Beatrice was being nice. Ish. For her, anyway. Manny was being condescending. Grateful as Thalia was for saving her life (in the most painful way imaginable), the crack about the sucker narrowed her eyes and earned him a look that, for anyone who knew her family from Before, looked startlingly like her uncle, [url=https://media2.fdncms.com/eastbayexpress/imager/machete-dont-text/u/magnum/2043990/mg_movie_3248.jpg]Casear[/url], albeit in a younger, feminine package. [color=dc143c]"Dama Muerte nos sonríe a todos."[/color][sub]1[/sub] she spoke simply, her voice dropping a bit in pitch. [color=dc143c]"¿Puedes devolverle la sonrisa?"[/color][sub]2[/sub] Then that damned lock of hair drooped in front of her eye again, causing her to blow it back up inexpertly and begin to laugh at herself. 

	Her eyes went back over to Beatrice. Her expression became somber once again, but she nodded her head in agreement. The stump that ended her right arm was raised up, about on level with her chin so that it could be clearly seen by the stern woman. Her voice serious, she responded, [color=dc143c]"That's a thumbs-up. It's just [i]really hard[/i] to tell now."[/color] Thalia kept nodding as she spoke, but now it was punctuated by an eerie grin. Naturally, the moment that Beatrice stepped away from the table, the headstrong young mestiza hopped back down from the table and entered the kitchen, her steps suddenly more sure. 

	The direct path led her to a pull-out drawer near the rangetop that oddly had precisely the items she needed, one of which being a functional can opener. You'd have thought she just pulled off a great jewel heist, noting the way she suddenly wore a look of genuine accomplishment. She slipped back out of the kitchen, to the table that served as her operating table/resting spot, and jammed the can between her thighs while her feet swung off of the side. Using a can opener was no small task for a recently handicapped woman, but somehow, inexplicably, Thalia was able to maneuver the device in such a way as to cleanly remove the top from the precious can of O's. 

	It was everything she remembered that it was and occasionally even dreamed about. 

	A few glorious bites in, Thalia began to realize that there was still a shirt difficulty that had to be remedied. That, and her skin was paler than she remembered. Her Latina background and European facial features often had her confused for a woman of Greek or Sicilian descent, but the way she looked now she could very near pass for a Scot, like her mother. Had she lost that much blood? And was that the reason the drugs were kicking her ass recently? The thought slammed into her, despite the flagging medication making things interesting, that she needed to keep still and warm. [color=dc143c]"Yeah. Yeah, you win. Staying put."[/color] she said to no one in particular. 

	The newfound paleness of her features served to highlight her scars with more contrast, a thing that Thalia noted with some interest. The older ones caught her attention first; the ones that she acquired back when functional electricity and grocery stores were commonplace. Slash marks across her side that she knew curved up part of her lower back. She could still feel the blade digging in, be it years later, the memory of it strong. Setting her spoon back into the can, Thalia's hand drifted up her torso to come to rest at a scar below her collarbone. It was from a bullet - deceptively small for the trouble it caused her. Such was life back then for her, and it was still less dangerous than life recently. Or more convenient, at least. The other scars were brighter, more recent. The flesh wounds she took attacking Eden. Minor accidents and misadventures along the way. She was a marked woman, like everyone else around her. Years of fighting for your life left marks that lasted forever, and there was no escaping that fact. Still, she felt a little self-conscious. The pale, one-handed Angel of Death drew the blanket that still lay upon the table around her, careful not to spill her can of precious, precious SpaghettiOs. 



[hider=Translations]
1	=	(Our Lady of) Death smiles at us all.
2	=	Can you smile back?
[/hider]





[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=deb887]Hank Wright[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/d6c6bf4c-bf22-4bbd-97e8-d40021569bb5.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=burlywood]Location:[/color][/b] Okefenokee: C7 -> C6
[b][color=deb887]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	Hank took a knee and scanned the area around him. No sounds so far of more Shambling Assholes, which was good. No pressing smell of decay caught in the wind and low to the ground, though that was a more difficult thing to tell in a swamp than in a piece of farmland, say. Likewise, no movement that he could immediately tell as not being part of nature around him. It didn't mean that there wasn't an issue lurking around the corner, but he did feel somewhat more safe to proceed. 

	He nodded grimly at the news that Robert was indeed gone. He had just met the man, but as annoying as he was, the guy was still a living, breathing man. Every one counted these days. Okay check that, [i]almost[/i] every one counted. Something about a total lack of oversight coupled with a brutal survival scenario brought out the worst in some people. If you got enough of those in a group, the sentiment got a lot worse, in Hank's experience. When Erica responded in the negative to Wayne's concerns about being outspokenly religious, Hank just had to pipe up. [color=deb887]"Got that right, sister. God is a kid with a magnifying glass and we're all just ants to sizzle and pop for His amusement. Anyway, name's Hank if I didn't say anything before. Lead the way."[/color] 

	The others seemed to want to get chummy, which was not on Hank's agenda. They just met. Killing Assholes together wasn't the bonding experience that most people might find it. To Hank, it was something you did to keep yourself alive. He wasn't going to immediately trust someone just because they were pulling air into their lungs or trying to feed themselves, which was just about the same thing in his book, these days. Living versus Dead. But also, Living versus Living. He'd just like to remain a neutral third party for the moment. The girl knew about a fishing camp? Great. They weren't trying to kill each other and that was enough for him. He didn't rule out the possibility that it might change at any minute. The grizzled and cynical former Sheriff hefted his shovel, made sure his shirt was tucked behind his pistol for ease of reach, and started back on the path. [color=deb887]"Hey there, Sportacus? You might want to roll your friend off the road. Or not. I'm not planning on going back that way. Ever."[/color]