[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=4682b4]Ash Holloway[/color][/b][/i][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/0a4ff453-3e81-4168-812e-43542db4e796.gif[/img][/center][hr][center][color=steelblue][b]Location:[/b][/color] Quarantine (Showers -> Conference Room)
[color=4682b4][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr][hr]

	It was a provocative question, generally. Even years before the threat of dead people chewing on your midsection, asking if there were any military in the room tended to start one kind of a myriad of conversational possibilities. Ash took in the responses of the people around him, both hosts and recent arrivals. He noted who didn't answer, as well. He nodded to Alexander as the older man made reference to a possible stint from a while back, but didn't say anything to the man. When the others made their commentary or asked their questions, he gave the group a second to make sure more wasn't forthcoming, then tried to address as many as he could at once. Admittedly, he had to crack the barest of smiles at the antics of the big, twitchy guy who claimed membership in a brigade that seemed ...dubious... at best. Between him and Panama with his Sergeant Bilko comment, It did a little to ease his morale. Even color his voice from grim to casual. 

	[color=4682b4]"Yeah."[/color] This assertion was equally to the man who mentioned ability with swords and the younger, more slender man with National Guard ties. [color=4682b4]"USACE Sapper. O-3 bars, gold castle."[/color] Again, a short burst of words that communicated to those of a military background his active rank and role within the Army, as well as a good estimate of his education and experience. In short, a Captain and Combat Engineer with formal education and respectable field experience. A few were not military, and would not have understood him very well. For them, he followed up with, [color=4682b4]"Army Captain, Engineer. But we're all kind of soldiers now, aren't we?"[/color] It was a fair enough assessment. At least half of the people he had served with would have turned and run for the hills at the first sight of a walking corpse. He'd seen it firsthand when the Outbreak started - Ash was at the equivalent of Ground Zero. If you still pushed air past your teeth past that first year, chances were that you had to fight for the privilege of doing so. But addressing the Atticus, Ash commented lightly, [color=4682b4]"We might have shared a patch of dirt for a while there, Padre."[/color] He shrugged. It wasn't that big of a coincidence, he had been to a lot of military hotspots in his career. Afghanistan was just another series of assignments. 

	As they shuffled along into the Conference Room, the first thing that Ash did was take a head count of the people with whom he entered Mexico Beach. Jack, Tatiana, little Jamie, Amelia, Riley - then Beatrice and the hazel-eyed girl (he hadn't gotten Thalia's name yet). All appeared safe and well treated, clean and dressed the same as he was. Ash counted Beatrice and Thalia among that number, even though the former had left Newnan of her own accord just prior to its collapse and the latter was known to him for all of two minutes before they separated. They were still part of the group that left with Thana to attack Eden, giving what was left of his people a fighting chance to survive. He still wanted to look out for them, regardless. Ash did not recognize the other two with them, though he did have a snatch of conversation with Alexander just prior. He seemed an okay guy. Picked them up along the way, maybe? Well, all questions would be answered in time. Just for now, they were together again. When they were all processed and he had a better feel of the situation, then he might approach. Once he had established that they were all safe and together, Ash allowed himself to take in the details of the room around him. 

	The smell of coffee hit him. It was heavenly. Caffeine in all of its may and glorious forms tended to be heavenly, but he had a special spot in his heart for coffee. Sadly, it looked like that was just a cup for one - that [i]one[/i] was a lady that the Doc referred to as "Scary Bitch". Still, the smell of that bitter black roasted goodness was alluring. 

	So the plan was detailed as a quick series of questions and a physical examination. Fine. Fair enough. Back in Newnan, he had new people give over blood to their medical facility and he interviewed each new person individually. This was just their way. While not completely swept away by the comparative luxury of the place, he did appreciate the steps they were taking and their treatment so far. So no problem. Ash grabbed the paperwork and found a flat surface where he could fill it out. 

[hider=Questionnaire]
Questionnaire:
[color=39b54a]Name: Ashton Holloway[/color]
[color=39b54a]Age: 34[/color]
[color=39b54a]Birth Date: 03/09/1978[/color]
[color=39b54a]Race: Caucasian[/color] 
[color=39b54a]Where were you born: Esmont, VA[/color]
[color=39b54a]Where were you when the outbreak occurred: Marietta, GA[/color]
[color=39b54a]Who were you before the outbreak: I was a soldier. Officer, Combat Engineer. Son of moonshiners and mechanics.[/color] 
[color=39b54a]Who are you now: I never really stopped being a soldier. [/color]
[color=39b54a]Have you ever been part of a large group since the outbreak: Yes. [/color]
[color=39b54a]If so, why did you leave: Infighting and factioning prompted a withdraw from my first large group. Some came with me. In Virginia, a megahorde surrounded our compound. A few panicked and tried to escape too early, letting the Dead inside. Led a motor caravan after that headed south. Helped establish the Newnan Safe Zone in GA with Lt. Colonel Leann McCormick, USAF. Lost Newnan to geographical instability and other factors. [/color]
[color=39b54a]Did you serve in the military: Yes [/color]
[color=39b54a]If so, what branch/rank/specialty: Army/Captain/Engineering [/color]
[color=red]Any known medical issues: N/A [/color] 
[color=39b54a]Any special needs: N/A [/color]
[color=39b54a]Any special skills: Engineering (Combat, Mechanical, Civil), Distillation (Fine Alcohol, Utility Alcohol, Vinegar, Potable Water, etc.) Vehicle Mechanic, Vehicle Operation, Combat Experience, Command Experience, Emergency Medical Training [/color]
[color=39b54a]What would you enjoy doing if you had time to: Rebuilding the Hordebuster [/color]
[color=39b54a]Your most traumatic moment: Everyone has lost people they care about. You never get used to it, but you understand that this is how the world works now. Putting down people you love was my trauma, at the beginning, even though it was an act of mercy. Every time after that took me back there in my head until I could adjust.[/color] 
[color=39b54a]Why are you still alive: Whatever I was supposed to do, I haven't done yet. Grace of God. [/color]
[color=39b54a]What are you seeking: The security and well-being of those who trusted me enough to follow. Past that I made a promise I intend to keep. [/color]
[/hider]

[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=dc143c]Thalia Carmichael[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/e5a2acd6-4a43-4fdf-81a0-ae19c80e184c.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=crimson]Location:[/color][/b] Quarantine (Showers -> Conference Room)
[b][color=dc143c]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	Thalia had to admit, being squeaky clean was pretty awesome. In her younger days, it would have been "Wicked Pissa Awesome", but she had experienced a lot more than her adolescent years along Cape Cod since then. Her lack of comfort didn't come from taking a shower, for which she was highly grateful, but the uncertain switch from her life out in the wilderness to one where she was experiencing what was now considered luxury, all the while being watched by people with automatic weapons. The other unfamiliar people weren't exactly making this a picnic, either. 

	A long time ago, Thalia was a devout urbanite who, while a little anti-social, enjoyed the benefits of civilization. She liked the City. That had definitely changed, as anyone who had been near her for more than an hour could attest. All the same, there was a small part of her that wanted to be a part of these people's lives. Or anyone's life, for that matter. Being alone was often safer and she could move faster, but some things about it sucked. The last time a balance of who she [i]was[/i] and who she was [i]becoming[/i] had been struck, she was living a more primitive live in Fairburn, with the medieval and Viking reenactors who had stuck around and ran with the concept. Hewn log walls, stone firepits, longhouses, hunting, fishing, spears and axes. She missed those people. They were really good to her, and she owed her continued survival to them. Suffice it to say, she wasn't a city girl anymore. Cities usually meant death. Thalia's people revered death, but were not in a hurry to meet her. 

	Stepping into line with everyone else, Thalia got a tiny amount of reassurance when Beatrice hung close to her. She was a bitch, no doubt. They had a little in common that way. For their constant snark and sarcasm, Thalia was happy to have her near. She took a seat next to Bea and looked over the questionnaire while her face began to twist into an expression that suggested a lack of knowledge as to why this was necessary. If it could be summarized into a single word, said word might be [color=dc143c]"Wuzzafuq?"[/color] Some of these questions made sense for filing or personnel or something else that she didn't find useful (but understood why others might), but some of them just struck into the personal. Or ambiguous. Of course, there was a problem with her filling out a form, particularly one with an essay element. This problem was addressed by Beatrice with all of the tact and grace that she had come to expect from the woman. 

	Sadly, she had a point. Thalia was right-handed. Or she used to be, before the skillsaw amputation. The whisper and smirk from her friend was met with the very calm and professional response of, [color=dc143c]"Thank you for your concern, hon. Take a moment, if you could, and go eat a dick."[/color] She gave Beatrice a playful nudge with her elbow, and then got to the trying task of attempting to write with her left hand. It was about as promising as a drunken NASCAR event - something was getting wrecked. She tried to keep the writing as basic as possible and push through. 

[hider=Questionnaire]
Questionnaire:
[color=39b54a]Name: [b]TH[/b]ALI[b]A[/b] CA[b]RMIC[/b]HAEL[/color]
[color=39b54a]Age: [b]29[/b][/color]
[color=39b54a]Birth Date: MAR21 '83[/color]
[color=39b54a]Race: ME[b]STIZA[/b][/color]
[color=39b54a]Where were you born: SAN FRAN, CA[/color]
[color=39b54a]Where were you when the outbreak occurred: [b]B[/b]oSTON[/color]
[color=39b54a]Who were you before the outbreak: SEC[b]URITY SPEC[/b]. (tECH) - PHYS. TRAINER w/[b]MSS[/b] CORP[/color]
[color=red]Who are you now: [b]INVOLUNT[/b]ARILY LEFTHANDED[/color]
[color=39b54a]Have you ever been part of a large group since the outbreak: YES[/color]
[color=39b54a]If so, why did you leave: DISEASE[/color] 
[color=39b54a]Did you serve in the military: [b]NO[/b][/color]
[color=39b54a]If so, what branch/rank/specialty: [s]                            [/s][/color]
[color=39b54a]Any known medical issues: ARM OFF[/color]
[color=39b54a]Any special needs: [b][u]ARM OFF[/u][/b][/color]
[color=39b54a]Any special skills: TRAIN w/[b]FAMI[/b]LIA [b]GONZALEZ[/b], AND w/FAIRBU[b]RN[/b] SH[b]IEL[/b]DMAIDENS - [u]ASK[/u] - ELECTRONICS ENGINEERING[/color]
[color=39b54a]What would you enjoy doing if you had time to: [s]CLAPPING[/s] TRAINING [/color]
[color=39B54A]Your most traumatic moment: ARM. OFF. SAWED. [b]OW[/b].[/color]
[color=39b54a]Why are you still alive: FRIENDS [/color]
[color=red]What are you seeking: IMPROVE SELF[/color]

[sub]Scrawled in the margin of the paper, messy but still barely legible are the words "Writing with my 'stupid hand', talking is better."[/sub]
[/hider]




[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=deb887]Hank Wright[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/3a9d9282-fddf-4558-97cb-5f6494f43a4f.gif[/img][hr][b][color=burlywood]Location:[/color][/b] Quarantine (Showers -> Conference Room)
[b][color=deb887]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	No, Hank didn't have any clever witticisms for the peanut gallery, nor anything to add to the conversations going on about his struggle against the pitfalls of soap reclamation. He wasn't military, though he had considered it briefly before going into law enforcement, and if anyone wanted to know directly about it they could ask him directly about it. Hank was busy trying to re-attune himself to things he used to take for granted like clean clothes, hot water, and a fresh shave. Not bad, if he did say so himself. But like all good things, it too had to come to an end. Optimism was not a thing which he wore well, but he tried nevertheless when the patry moved down the hall and into a place that looked suspiciously set up like one of the rec rooms at the mental health hospital he started his little journey from. Complete with a doctor who was trying too hard to be relatable and a scary nurse. 

	Still better than the outside. That, and it wasn't anything that he wasn't used to, be it over five years ago. Almost like coming home. If they started dispensing pills in those little wax paper cups that might have otherwise contained ketchup, it wouldn't surprise him. And, there was one piece of fortuitous news that came from Wayne: There were recliners. Two of them. 

	Hank carefully acquired one of the questionnaires, got a pen, and made his way over to the chair next to his buddy. It was a solemn occasion, settling into a good chair. Or a passable one, and this chair would do nicely. Hank did enjoy a good [i]sit[/i]. After settling in, he gave the paperwork a good once-over. This looked like pretty basic stuff, except for a couple of those trick questions that were supposed to make you think. Or designed to [i]look like[/i] they were there to make you think. Casually, he glanced over to Wayne who appeared to be filling his out with some degree of seriousness. Almost at a whisper, he asked his friend, [color=deb887]"Hey, ah... what've you got there, bud?"[/color] 

	Wayne responded by showing Hank his paper so far. The former Sheriff raised his eyebrows in amazement. Wayne was being awfully straight with these people. Not to say that Hank was planning on lying, but if he were then their answers should probably match up. Well, nothing to be gained from it otherwise. With a shrug, he got to the paper. In the meantime, there was a damn comfortable chair that, if he had the time to afterward, he was going to nap in. He might while filling the form out, anyway. You know, keep his options open. 





[hider=Questionnaire]
Questionnaire:
[color=39b54a]Name: Hank Patrick Wright [/color]
[color=39b54a]Age: 52 [/color]
[color=39b54a]Birth Date: August 3, 1960 [/color] 
[color=39b54a]Race: White Guy [/color]
[color=39b54a]Where were you born: Willard's Mill, NH [/color]
[color=39b54a]Where were you when the outbreak occurred: Hudson River Psychiatric Center, New York, NY[/color] 
[color=39b54a]Who were you before the outbreak: Cheshire County Sheriff, NH [/color]
[color=39b54a]Who are you now: Come on, what kind of question is this? It's an even less subtle written equivalent of an inkblot test, except an inkblot test might actually be entertaining if you get the blots where, when you squint, they kind of look like breasts. And [u]yes[/u], I know that Freud would have something to say about this. And Jung. And that poor bastard Maslow with his stupid "hierarchy of needs" and odd idea that we all instinctively subscribe [cont'd on back] to some "higher power theory" as a coping means for things we are afraid of on a visceral, possibly species-ingrained level, but [u]he[/u] never had to deal with my mother-in-law. So fine, who am I now? I'm some guy with a shovel and a shotgun who knows more about the average dumbass than he should, with a history of doing his own legwork and the simple dream of wanting to lead a mostly productive life into his declining years. I hope that satisfies your curiosity of my sense of self awareness and expression. [/color] 
[color=39b54a]Have you ever been part of a large group since the outbreak: Do the Pennsylvania Amish count? We'll go with "Yeah". [/color]
[color=39b54a]If so, why did you leave: Personality conflicts. No, really. [/color] 
[color=39b54a]Did you serve in the military: Nope. [/color]
[color=39b54a]If so, what branch/rank/specialty: Also Nope. [/color]
[color=39b54a]Any known medical issues: History of non-dementia visual anomalies, temporary and closed. [/color]
[color=39b54a]Any special needs: Steak would be nice. If you're offering. [/color]
[color=39b54a]Any special skills: Just the stuff brought about by a career in law enforcement and not dying yet. Also, I'm a fair judge of character and know more about psychology than any straight man without a prescription pad should. [/color]
[color=39b54a]What would you enjoy doing if you had time to: Drinking beer and learning to fish. [/color]
[color=39b54a]Your most traumatic moment: Happened way back before. I don't like talking about it.[/color]
[color=39b54a]Why are you still alive: I have no idea whatsoever. Absolutely none. Probably has something to do with the asshat I travel with, hard as that is to believe. [/color]
[color=39b54a]What are you seeking: Epic knightly quest to retire in Florida where older people are supposed to. Being of use would be good, too. Not dying is also good. Unless this is another one of those "getting to know how you tick" questions designed to motivate self-inquiry. Then I might have a novel for you. [/color]
[/hider]