[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=4682b4]Ash Holloway[/color][/b][/i][/h1][img]https://i.pinimg.com/originals/5f/8a/20/5f8a2055b2556fa9987b107928d11280.jpg[/img][/center][hr][center][color=steelblue][b]Location:[/b][/color] Headland: E. Main Street, A4, Car (Passenger side back seat) -> Adjacent House (Exterior)
[color=4682b4][b]Skills:[/b][/color] Perception, Endurance [/center][hr][hr]

	The situation was not ideal. It never was. If the situation was ideal, there would be a lot more living people in the world. Tons more. Ash sat for a second or two and mentally braced for the pain he was about to inflict upon himself, moving quickly and lightly encumbered when he should be staying still and receiving medical attention. But it looked like Mother Nature was about to give them a good kicking again and Ash would be damned if he went down without giving it his best, especially when the closest thing to a miracle he'd seen in years was laying in a carseat next to him, receiving attention from his father. Naturally, that sentiment came very close to being dispelled when the man spoke. 

	Ash turned to look at Jack, a man who he had come to rely upon and trust implicitly, a fellow survivor of keen mind and instinct. The man he counted upon to take the reins of what remained of their people and lead in the event that Ashton himself was absent, incapacitated, or dead. He stared for a moment, honestly wondering if his Second was joking about him going blind on account of a diaper mishap. Lost in his own difficulties, as he had been for a while now, Ash simply couldn't tell one way or another. He opened his mouth to speak, thought the batter of it, opened his mouth again (this time with a slight hand raise for emphasis), decided against it again, then switched tactic with a noncommittal, [color=4682b4]"Not an expert, but I think you'd be the first."[/color] The usual hint of his mild Virginian accent was a hair more prominent in his speech, as if he was caught in conversation with his guard down. 

	Mentally reaching back to business, Ash set down his newly acquired pistol and strained to reach into the back of the station wagon. His fingers hooked around one of the bags they had liberated from the rednecks that they had earlier dispatched and pulled it forward. He leaned up and slung it over his shoulder as best he could with his existing, smaller pack, recovered his weapon, and prepared to make a break for it. [color=4682b4]"This is going to suck..."[/color] This to himself, but for Jack, [color=4682b4]"Grab what you can, if you think you can. I'll clear the way."[/color] Very much like the credo of the Combat Engineer, an occupation which Ash plied with distinction for his country, what seemed like a lifetime ago. [color=4682b4]"Okay, and... [i]let's go[/i]."[/color] 

	The movement from the car to the house that Tatiana had pointed out was relatively quick, quiet, and cautious. Quiet at least on his part, though that was difficult to determine. The second that Ash set foot outside of the vehicle, wind buffeted him, forcing him to turn his head before proceeding. This was not something to be out in for too long. Especially for a baby. Silently, he prayed that this part of the ordeal would be over quickly. Luckily, there really wasn't anything to clear, the main obstacle being the wind. As he neared the residence, Ash could not help but notice that the windows were boarded up. This could be a good thing, considering the weather. But it did limit options for entry. A slight stumble as he slowed punctuated his movement, stopping as he came to the front door. Locked. 

	Windows boarded, door locked. Weather swiftly turning on them. The needed to get inside on the immediate. Ash looked back for Jack, urgently curious as to whether he had a ready idea on entry. Maybe Ash had missed something basic in his haste. 

	

[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 -> G6)
[b][color=dc143c]Skills:[/color][/b] Survival, Firebuilding, Scavenging/Foraging [hr][hr][/center]

	[color=dc143c]"Yeah, fuck yourself."[/color] breathed Thalia, gratefully accepting Beatrice's help over to the fireplace. She had a plan in mind, and damnit, that meant burning something. The day might not be a total loss after all, aside from her arm, of course. Fire always seemed to calm her anymore. Or excite her. She couldn't tell sometimes. Whatever, it didn't matter. She was going to try to get one going. [color=dc143c]"Thanks, girl."[/color] Her words seemed in contradiction to her previous ones, but that was just how things were now. The pieces of Thalia's mind weren't altogether traveling in the same direction, anyway, requiring a conscious effort to keep a complicated thought in her head for any length of time. 

	Alexander had been kind enough to deposit her bag in front of the fireplace, a thing for which she was grateful. Thalia nodded, contemplatively murmuring, [color=dc143c]"Good, good..."[/color] There was a faraway feel to her voice. She opened her pack as best she could with one hand and started rummaging through it. Her firestarter was the big reason for having her pack, but she was also able to scare up enough lint, thread, and scrap to form the inner bundle of what would become a fire nest, if she could get a decent enough spark off and nurture it alive. Worse case scenario, she could dissect a bullet and go about it that way, but it was a last resort. And though it looked like the house was very gently broken in, if at all, they seemed to have enough materials keep a fire going interim, in only she could start it. 

	Thalia heard Alexander's assessment of her plan to create a crossbreeze. Perhaps he had misunderstood something. A couple somethings, maybe. Distracting herself right at that moment was counterproductive, being as she was still loopy from the medication. This would have to be addressed when she was done with Step One of her plan, however. 

	Wadding seemed easy to come by, too. Still, she was going to need the people with her to locate a couple of things to actually keep the potential light and wind source going. Thalia placed the starter bundle of lint, scrap paper, and ends of string into the paper wadding and attempted to get it going. All she needed was one good spark to catch [i]something[/i], and the rest was all about technique. Lacking a second hand, the mestiza doubted that she would be able to use the friction bow method for quite some time. To make matters worse, the firestarter worked best with two hands applied to it. It was a thing which Thalia struggled with for longer than she liked, coming close to tears with at one point, yet she refused to abandon her idea. 

	Finally, she managed to grip the two sections of her firestarting tool in her fingers in such a way as the activating surfaced touched, yet had room to slide against each other. Kneeing over her little nest of scraps and trash, Thalia brought her hand down gently and gave her fingers a sharp [i]snap[/i]. She hovered over her project, refusing to move or breathe for long seconds, until a genuine smile of accomplishment beamed across her face. One might have thought she had just discovered a way to remove the calories from ice cream without altering a bit of its sweetness or flavor. She cradled the newborn combustion in her one working hand and brought it up to her lips, blowing upon it ever-so-gently so as to coax it into growth without extinguishing its red-orange goodness. When actual flame appeared, Thalia quickly set into the fireplace and sat back on her legs, a happy sigh of relief emanating from her in a huff. 

	Then she turned to Alexander. [color=dc143c]"Yeah Mugsy."[/color] She exhaled again, apparently not ready for a lot of movement just yet. [color=dc143c]"Flue dampa."[/color] Her Boston was acting up again, apparently. [color=dc143c]"Vents the smoke. Needs to be aupen. Hot air rises, 'k? Tries to draw in air from somewhere else. If that somewhere else is aunly aune spot aun the autha side auf the room, we got current."[/color] She shook her head tiredly, [color=dc143c]"And I didn't neva say to [i]break[/i] a window. Crack it. Open a single window just a tiny bit. Put something a foot in front auf it to block light, if you have to."[/color] The cost of her effort and now her prolonged speech was wearying her. [color=dc143c]"A chair back, or something... Know what? I'm good. If you think your way will work, go for it. If it doesn't, you got a second aupinion right here. Fine eitha way."[/color] 

	Thalia was just satisfied to get a fire going. High and one-handed, she still contributed to the group with something meaningful, even if it was just light and breeze. She pulled out a big, floppy beach towel from her bag and spread it on the floor as best she could, lay back on it, and shoved the firestarter in her pocket. She was spent. [color=dc143c]"Need to feed that mama."[/color] she informed, pointing her stump at the hearth. [color=dc143c]"Smalla things until they catch, then bigga things. Not too much at aunce."[/color] Yeah, she was tired. She did manage to raise an eyebrow when Manny insisted that whomever takes watch could use his shotgun, but dismissed it. She wasn't in any shape for security detail, and even if she was, she'd stick with the Ruger on her belt. 

	

	

[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=deb887]Hank Wright[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/12999738-8626-45f0-a9bb-32db85f056ed.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=burlywood]Location:[/color][/b] Building Interior (F5)
[b][color=deb887]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	The torchlight was doing a pretty good job of providing illumination, flickering though it was. Hank was not overwhelmingly satisfied with the scintillating dance of its less stable light across his field of vision, alternating with orange light and indeterminate shadow. It increased the time it would take for his tired eyes to adjust well enough to discern detail of his surroundings, even basic ones like the color and shape of the segments of floor beneath him. Was it planks? Sheets of wood laminate? Linoleum? No, it was a mystery that would have to wait until he could get a firmer grasp upon the barest hint of his surroundings, and even then it was doomed to mere supposition until the light of day beamed in a smoother, more powerful form of illumination. 

	Hank took some comfort in the fact that he knew, catching a decent enough eyeful from the outside, that he at least had access to four walls and a floor. Yes, it was indeed a floor upon which he stood, details notwithstanding and largely unnecessary in the grand scheme of things. He contemplated the luxury that said floor might provide, especially here in a wetland in Georgia, of all places. Hank took stock of that word, wetland. The a compound word; an amalgamation of the words "Wet", obviously, and "Land", also obviously. Land that was Wet. It made sense. And Hank was happy that he wasn't standing on wet land at that hour. Or if not happy, barely content enough with the concept that he did little else but stand quietly and give it further thought. Yes, with the exception of seeing to an inner ear itch with his pinky finger, maybe adjusting his belt a little to place the simple, once chrome colored buckle in the exact center of his waist, Hank took the opportunity to set his mind to idle. Possibly the first of many upcoming senior moments? That remained to be seen.