[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=4682b4]Ash Holloway[/color][/b][/i][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/92d5f43a-8b98-4f28-9d91-88707ca27ccf.gif[/img][/center][hr][center][color=steelblue][b]Location:[/b][/color] Quarantine (Conference Room)
[color=4682b4][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr][hr]

	Ash hadn't expected company while he was picking out music. Not from one of the other groups, anyway. So when the older man who had given the cryptic answer concerning military service hobbled up to him, he gave the man a thoughtful look before responding to his statement about the Rolling Stones. [color=4682b4]"It was my Dad's music. Grew on me. Really classic stuff."[/color] His words were stoic, even dry, through his ragged Virginian, but in his defense it had been a while since he had met someone new that he hadn't either shot at or hidden from. Not to mention, Ash [i]had[/i] attempted to make conversation first, back at the showers. Relenting against his kneejerk desire to stay on the defensive, if just for the moment, Ash returned with, [color=4682b4]"Likewise."[/color] He extended a hand to the older man, [color=4682b4]"Ashton Holloway. Ash."[/color] 

	He seemed more relaxed with Jack as he approached, which made full sense as he was one of the few constants in his life over the past sixteen months. He nodded in agreement with the man's assessment of Mexico Beach, or what they had seen of it so far. Some restraint in his voice remained as he spoke quietly, [color=4682b4]"Yeah. Yeah, it sure is."[/color] He eyed his surroundings, took stock of who of his people were back, what they were doing, and the locals who were around for their introduction to the community. He wanted to stay give this place immediate and complete trust, partially for the sake of Thana (wherever she was, and why wasn't she around?) but mostly because of his Newnan people. If they saw him open and comfortable with everything, it might make it easier for them to do the same. They had followed him this far, after all. He was just a little too wary, probably from the road and the loss they had all suffered as of late, to succumb to the relative opulence of the settlement. [color=4682b4]"I really hope this works out for us, Jack."[/color] 

	Though he didn't say it out loud, Ash had already made up his mind about one thing. If this place was fully legitimate and his people weren't good enough for it, he was going to take his leave as well. The reciprocal though? If he was the odd man out, there was no way in hell he was going to support anyone (especially Jack, Tati, and little Jamie) leaving with him. This place had resources and they had a baby. Ash was tired of seeing a wide sea of orphans and surviving parents of dead children. 

	With that particularly depressing thought firmly in mind, the doors opened to admit two carts, both being pushed by individuals that looked significantly more personable than those they had been dealing with so far. They were being treated fairly, even kindly, but these people seemed downright hospitable. The fact that they had a ton of extremely tempting eatables did nothing to remove Ash from that assumption, either. Ash felt the need to abstain from the spread, however. Temporarily, of course. Oh he could eat, no question about that; his stomach even began to make conversation with him on the topic. There was still a hint of group solidarity that motivated him to restraint. He did make one concession. 

	[color=4682b4]"Excuse me, guys."[/color] Ash moved over to the tables and poured himself a cup of coffee. Actual coffee. He hadn't had that in quite some time, and here it was freshly brewed, waiting on him. He then took a few steps back so as not to be in the way of anyone else filling their plates. Until the last of his people had a turn, that was as much as he was taking for himself. Still, coffee? It was worth it. Ash nodded politely at the woman, Mae, and the more animated Moralez. [color=4682b4]"Thank you much."[/color] he said politely. Motioning to the coffee, he deflected with, [color=steelblue]"I'll be back when this settles."[/color] 

	





[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=dc143c]Thalia Carmichael[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/45f8049e-1846-4cc8-9eee-8e4039fdcf20.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=crimson]Location:[/color][/b] Quarantine (Conference Room)
[b][color=dc143c]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	Beatrice might or might not have been entertained by the lefthanded attempt at Pac-Man. Arcade gaming wasn't exactly Thalia's area of expertise, and it was a safe bet that she hadn't usually done so with her left hand thoroughly on the few-ish occasions that she access to a machine such as this one. She had [i]repaired[/i] items like this before, and the controls were amazingly simple besides. Nonetheless, turns were missed, power pellets grabbed too early and/or too late. She was marginally okay at best, even when she got her timing on turns down right. While Thalia played, she responded to her friend and fellow survivor, [color=dc143c]"Nah, I'm mostly straight, Bea. Just got a thing for angry cunts is all. And [i]yours[/i] is the most disagreeable cunt I've seen in long time. [i]Shit.[/i]"[/color] The last syllable was reserved for the arcade game, as her yellow protagonist was just run over by a ghost. It was her last life on that quarter. 

	It got her thinking, though. While she hadn't had any overt inclination toward her own gender prior to Zeds eating the living, she didn't have any problem with the concept. It just didn't happen that she acted on any opportunity of that nature until afterward, and even then, it wasn't until she spent some time with the Reenactors from Castle Town in Fairburn, GA. She might have gone with the excuse of "any port in a storm", or "biological urges", but it wasn't exactly a choice that required a lot of convincing. Thalia stared blankly at the video game screen, giving passing memory to the woman who had made the shield she now carried, or had carried until it was taken by these people earlier. It was purely a passing thing, but she was a good friend and trainer to Thalia. Regarding the thought with a raised eyebrow, maybe she [i]did[/i] have a thing for angry cunts. Go figure.  

	Now, if she did have a weakness, such as it was, it was the presence of food. Thalia could go for long periods of time without feeling hungry, or being able to ignore it well enough to push on with whatever she needed to accomplish. But when she sat down to eat, the girl could put food away like a pro. Opportunities were scarce to do so out in the world, unless she managed to spear a passing animal or come across another overtuned truck of Campbell's Thick & Fugly Stew, but the ability and willingness was still there. Coupled with a metabolism that she had to have inherited from her mother, she was dangerous to the continued survival of any holiday spread set out for just anybody to take from. 

	When the meal was laid out on the table in front of everyone, she had quite forgotten about playing another round of Pac-Man. Instead, Thalia found herself instinctively raising to the balls of her feet and bending her knees slightly, shifting into something of a predatory stance. Eyes dilated and she took in a quick burst of air through her nose, identifying the nature of the prey before her. Fish, crab, potatoes. Shrimp. Citrus. And something else she couldn't place... but wanted to. Her early terminating arm was held close to her torso, while her more ready left began to slowly raise in front of her centerline, a motion indicating the coming of an attack stance before she realized what she was doing. She needed to hold back, stop herself. There was obviously plenty for everyone, and for once in a long time she didn't have to kill anything or compete with local fauna for foraging rights. This was civilization. She could handle it. (#wishfulthinking) 

	Without saying another word, Thalia forced herself to walk calmly over to the spread. She looked to the providers of the feast, and tried as best she could to smile at them. Like Pac-Man, it wasn't exactly dead center in her skill set. She then gingerly picked up a plate and set a couple pieces of shrimp onto it. Then picked up one, biting into it as if sampling. She probably should not have done this. Whether it was a polite [color=dc143c]"Mmm."[/color] sound, reserved for someone complimenting the cook, or a wolfish growl of claiming territory was up for debate. Five more were unceremoniously tossed onto the plate before her eyes locked onto the bread. A roll was scraped across the surface of the fresh, salted butter and crammed into Thalia's mouth while her dish began to be laden with whatever was nearby. A fish fritter or two, more shrimp, a couple of those lemon thingies, and the mashed potatoes. Oh dear sweet heavenly [i]whatever[/i], the mashed potatoes. They took up about half of her plate and she stacked them high, splatting them down with direct, tactical strokes of the serving utensil as if she meant murder. 

	The lady who introduced herself as Mae did instruct them not to be shy. Miss Carmichael did not want to disappoint. 

	The roll was still hanging out of her mouth when she realized that she might be attracting gawkers. Rather than tone it down, Thalia opted to keep the roll exactly where it was, having only one hand to properly maneuver her plate around, and instead raise her eyebrows and glare at whomever looked like they needed a good glare. Obstinately, she carved out a huge hollow in the center of her mashed potatoes and, in a fit of ingenuity birthed of hunger, filled it with as much clam chowder as it would hold. She was a Boston girl, and oft sounded every inch of it. Like she wouldn't go for the [i]chowdah[/i]. 

	Thalia looked over in the general direction of Mae and Moralez, made a sound that kind of sounded like a [color=dc143c]"Thank you."[/color] through the roll, and carefully backed away from the service table. She found a spot with her back to a wall, hunkered down, and began to put a solid hurt on the contents of her plate. Maybe she really [i]had[/i] been outside for too long. 

	

	




[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] Quarantine (Converted Sauna)
[b][color=deb887]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	This was an excellent thing to get over with, and quickly. There wasn't much of a reason otherwise to be there, and as soon as everything was handled from their end of it, Hank could rejoin the rest of his group, hopefully with lots of yummy things to eat. Not like he was going to tell any of them this, but they were kind of okay. Even Sportacus in his own condescending way, he at least meant well. He thought he meant well, anyway. There must have been [i]some reason[/i] that they stuck together after finding their way into the next piece of civilization, seeing as their plan was to work on vehicles and be on their merry frigging ways. Separate merry frigging ways, that is. 

	But they stuck together. And now he and his new buddy Nigel were going to look a whole lot more alike, held together by the bonds of total baldness. Unless he went for Option B. But that might deprive Nigel of Hank's company. Surely he wouldn't use it as an excuse to be rid of Hank for three days? Well, whichever way he was going to play it, Hank had no desire to hang around any longer than he had to. [color=deb887]"Don't you worry there, Sportacus. I've got next."[/color] He nodded smugly and rose, striding over to the man referred to as "Shears". He was considering the standard handshake introduction, but was unsure as to whether it was a great idea, on account of the whole "infestation thing", and so instead plopped down in the chair. 

	Hank raised a finger into the air, paused for a second, and then pointed at his head while giving a knowing nod. [color=deb887]"Need you to snip it, Shears. Snip it good, snip it hard. Scorch the earth if you've gotta. My dance card ain't exactly full these days anyway, and I hear there's something yummy showing up in the other room soon. Let's do it."[/color] 

	[i]Shears got his gear together and went to town on the man. "With them eyes and yer age, you look like a retired skin head," Shears chuckled as he finished up. Hank was now bald and beautiful. Head and face were clean shaven. "Dolphin smooth, just glad I didn't have to shave your ass," he snickered a bit as he took a step back and motioned towards the row of others that were already done. "Got us a fine set of entries for the Sinéad O'Connor Look-alike contest."[/i]

	Sadly, Hank wished that he had the opportunity to have used a Sinéad O'Connor reference first. Beaten to the punch by another older smartass. It was just the way things went sometimes, and it could be a lot worse. Still, he couldn't just let the previous statement go unaddressed. Okay, maybe Hank could, he just didn't want to. With just a dash of sarcastic color, he responded with, [color=deb887]"Retired skinhead? Nah... if I was a retired skinhead, I wouldn't be so... Well, just so [i]Gosh Darned Happy[/i] to see you there. Huh?"[/color] He rubbed his hand across his face and the back of his head. [color=deb887]"Oh, now that's squeaky. Good job, there."[/color] Following the example of Amelia, sitting on the other side of the room, Hank did as he was motioned to do and found his way over. 

	[color=deb887]"Hey, Red... I know it sucks, but it's really not that bad a look for you. Couple of months, you'll have one of those Tinkerbell cuts, right? And in a few minutes, you're going to have a full stomach. Not all bad."[/color] Hank sucked at cheering people up. Not really his thing. But this young woman looked like the only one out of the group having an utterly miserable time of it, he had to try something. Well, perhaps not that he had to, but it might have taken more effort to ignore the issue than address it, which kind of defeated the point of it all.