[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]

	This was a scene that likely never would have happened at any other time in human history. Two men waylaid by circumstance, sitting in a station wagon in a true-to-gospel apocalypse with a baby in need of a change. The ravenous undead could be chewing on them, random living people could attack them for what supplies they carried with them, and considering the weather right then a tornado could scoop up a downed tree and deposit it unceremoniously atop their heads. The past year had been spent in pure survival tactics and their safe, defensible vehicle had been damaged beyond the possibility of repair. One of the men had been shot and was slowly bleeding out, the window for speedy attention to said wound quickly growing shorter. Yet, their biggest concern in this group of moments was the application of a disposable diaper. Truly a harrowing ordeal. 

	Ash readied his recently acquired pistol and gave a quick scan to their surroundings. Then he addressed Jack's assertion about the ease of the task relative to that of his family's ancestral profession, distilling. [color=4682b4]"I don't know, Jack. If you mess up 'shining you could go blind. This looks a lot more dangerous."[/color] A joke, spoken in serious words nonetheless. [color=4682b4]"Alright, then..."[/color] he said, leaning over to read the crumpled packaging. [color=4682b4]"Wait, these tabs face forward, I think. Okay, and this bag is for the one coming off. You've got this."[/color] 

	Ash's attention was divided between the engineering feat before him and the landscape around them. The last thing they needed was anything catching them unawares, be it living, dead, or a sudden shift in the atmosphere. The first two could be rectified with the proper application of violence, but the latter had them at its mercy. 




[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)
[b][color=dc143c]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	[color=dc143c]"O Positive."[/color] Thalia said around a spoonful of Dem O's. She nodded her head vigorously. The young woman seemed quite sure about it. She was toward the beginning of a decent career in her family's company; a private security firm that included, among other perks, a comprehensive health and hospitalization program. Thinking back to the older scars on her body as she had been tracing earlier, she had put it to good use, once upon a time. Getting shot was never a picnic, even back when medical facilities were commonplace, properly staffed, and properly supplied. She spent some time getting to know the extent of her med plan while she convalesced. One big point of that was an initial, thorough examination that included blood typing. It was confirmed before she went into surgery later on. 

	[color=dc143c]"It sounds like a name, doesn't it?"[/color] she said, slightly amused at herself. She continued in a horrible, possibly racist Irish accent, [color=dc143c]"Thalia O'Positive, goodtameetcha. And ya've no need tae strap me down, missy. I'll not be running about with any shenanigans, y'understand."[/color] She popped another spoonful of canned pasta into her mouth and resumed her normal voice, [color=dc143c]"Oh God, that was [i]awful[/i]."[/color] Thalia looked up and accepted the bottle from Beatrice. She took  swig and breathed out the word [color=dc143c]"Thanks."[/color] before giving a quizzical look. [color=dc143c]"Hey, I think we got the dosage wrong. Half a pill next time, yeah?"[/color] of course, she had another pill in her pocket. Not the time, though. This feeling was not one that she appreciated. Oh, the lack of pain was vastly appreciated, but everything else was most assuredly not. Having less of a grasp upon her impulses was not something she liked in the least. Or finding most everything funny. Nope, not her. Thalia was the embodiment of quiet, dexterity, and controlled brutality. Thalia on opiates was pathetic in comparison. 

	These thoughts were very likely forthcoming because she was on the departing half of her dosage. Still a lot of good drug left in her system, although the grip on her brain was less. Less enough, at any rate, to realize that she was not acting normally. Well, being aware was a good thing. It may allow her better latitude to gauge her reactions before her body set to reacting. As if she hadn't heard the conversation about Thana, she mentioned, [color=dc143c]"I hope Navy's alright..."[/color]  



[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=deb887]Hank Wright[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/208878e4-4653-42b8-9d42-af7376e0b28c.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=burlywood]Location:[/color][/b] Okefenokee: C6 -> D4
[b][color=deb887]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	Hank eyed the Roman for a few seconds. [color=deb887]"When we have some quiet time, maybe I'll tell you why referring to me with those two words, [i]specifically those two[/i], is bad for your teeth. K? Ok, I'm going that way now."[/color] He jerked his head in the direction that the road led and quickened his pace somewhat. Hank disliked talking about his family, which of course was the tie-in with the Shovel Knight bit. It wasn't something he really meant to say out loud, and being truthful it was his own damn fault. Assigning little sarcastic names to people and then making a reference to himself in a similar way? He was kind of asking for it. All the same, there were few things that would put Hank in a foul mood like forcing him to think about the origin of that title for him. 

	The very recent addition to their tiny know of survivors, Erica, raised some concern about Wayne's sudden silence. Hank waved it away, literally and figuratively, with exaggerated movement and expression. [color=deb887]"Noooo, no. He does it all the time. Just don't, you know, get your fingers or ears near anyplace he can bite them off."[/color] Hank nodded his head and applied one of the more obviously fake smiles that he had to offer. The older man was truly sardonic in both word and action, almost as a form of art. 

	Coming up behind Wayne, Hank offered him a couple of words. His sudden quiet could be a sign of a few things, but hopefully they could find that fishing camp here in a little while and get out of this damned swamp, which Hank was sure would lead to a boost in morale. [color=deb887]"Hey there, big guy."[/color] he said cautiously. [color=deb887]"We're almost out of here, huh? Kick back in a little while, get some rest someplace with walls. I'm going to look ahead a bit and see if I can't keep 'new girl' from having to roll her dead friend's corpse. Hang tight, huh buddy?"[/color] His voice was tired, a little gravelly, even. Hell, he [i]was[/i] tired. He had been tired for years now, but all that was left for him was to keep going. 

	Hank shook is head and kept his pace up, pulling to take point in their scattered group. If he was correct, Erica had mentioned that she and another woman had left from the fishing camp, headed up this direction. Then the one died, and she had to keep moving alone so the Assholes wouldn't eat her. Meaning that the corpse was on the road just ahead. Well, the first order of business was to cover her face. The second was to remove any pack or containers on her person and neatly arrange personal belongings, weapons, etc. on the blacktop. New girl should really get first dibs. Perhaps not a hard and fast rule, though as it came to it, Hank was fairly well provisioned, considering the occasion. That canteen, though? It would come in handy.