[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]

	The words of the doctor were taken with altruistic intent. To paraphrase the scripture on the matter, "[i]Man shall not live on [b]coffee[/b] alone.[/i]" No matter how much he may try sometimes, as was habit from time to time when coffee was available. Ash nodded a quiet affirmation in Doc's direction. It was kind of him, but unnecessary. He had full intention of taking a meal with everyone else, he merely wished to make sure that the rest of his group got something before he did; a tiny and possibly ceremonial action designed to ensure that those for whom he took responsibility had what they needed, even if he had to go without. The moment that Riley and Amelia acquired plates and began to fill them (and then actually Hank, not that he owed the man anything but he did let them go before him and there was still plenty), Ash did the same. 

	The erstwhile Captain had been involved in multiple relief efforts during his time overseas; various assignments to places that most Americans hadn't heard of across three continents where the unifying factor among many of the indigenous peoples was hardship. He had seen what was given to these people to eat at first, and he was fully aware of why. He and his group were better off than many of the people he had met in his career. Better - not exactly at their best. Nor was he. His repast consisted of mashed potatoes, gravy, and a fair amount of that chowder that he saw the older gentleman ponder over the pronunciation thereof. Soft, readily digestible, filling. And as it turned out, [i]really goddamned tasty[/i]. He would have preferred to supplement the meal with liquid nutrients or a multivitamin (as was standard for possible malnutrition), but that was simply a matter of habit and military protocol. He was immensely grateful for the meal. And if all he was lacking in a apocalypse was a bottle of One-A-Days, he was still living a blessed existence.  

	Unfortunately, he was only a few bites into it when he heard the telltale rustlings of a commander on the approach. As the trio entered, Ash immediately recognized the gait and posture of a seasoned military man. He rose, stepping out from behind the space of table he had chosen to dine upon so as to see and [i]be seen[/i] by these people. He kept his own posture level and stance straight, not quite snapping to attention but assuming a ready position, as if waiting to be called upon. So much as his stomach raged against the interruption of its filling, Ash's rational mind and military training held a plentiful reserve of personal resolve. That resolve was rewarded, if one can call it that, by the older man noting his presence and seeming to bore a hole through him with his eyes, followed by an introduction. [i]Macsen Martin[/i]. As in Master Gunnery Sergeant Macsen Martin, United States Marine Corps. The man who he was here to see, and the man mentioned first and foremost when he met with the welcoming committee north of there just that morning. And it seemed like the man knew who he was. The Captain returned his gaze respectfully, letting the man see him without adopting defensive thought nor action.

	Until he was given the nod to return to his space at the table or take other action, Ash was going to abide by stoic protocol concerning a commanding officer entering the room. 
	



[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=dc143c]Thalia Carmichael[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/4e737113-ebf8-43ca-a9b1-82a1bea4a781.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=crimson]Location:[/color][/b] Quarantine (Conference Room)
[b][color=dc143c]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	Thalia didn't want a kid of her own. That was a pretty cut and dry standard for her. Maybe one day she might - there were a number of years left for that - but another little Carmichael/Gonzalez running around? No ma'am. Still, the sight of that baby brought something almost positive to her face. A sort of glow, really. Ever since she was ten or so, Thalia was raised in an environment where family was the most important thing in her life. La Familia looked out for each other, because in the end that's all they could really count on. It made her clannish and ever-so-slightly distrustful of outsiders for a while, until circumstances forced her to reevaluate what she considered "family". Habits died hard when picked up that young. Seeing a baby, though? One that survived the world out there? It threatened to bring out warm and fuzzy instincts to accompany her newfound glow. Such a thing might be detrimental to her reputation. 

	The glow dimmed just a little as Manny approached. Thalia had not meant for this to be a group meeting, rather just a quick and informal "hello". Tatiana seemed like she could break down at any moment, and after seeing the scarring on her skin while in the shower room, she thought the young Russian mother could use a friend. She was about to attempt light conversation or offer to feed the little one for her when she began to exhibit signs of further stress and spoke to her husband (?) in Russian, a sign to Thalia that they were making her nervous. It was the opposite of what she was going for. But she did hear something that unexpectedly made her a little more upbeat. [color=dc143c]"Ballerina?"[/color] she repeated quietly. That... gave her an idea. 

	The response from the man with her also gave Thalia a sort of lifting feeling. She extended her hand to Jack and said in direct notes, [color=dc143c]"Hey, it's killah to meet a fellow Masshole. From ahh... Downtown/Beacon Hill area, I guess. Just outside of wheah they had money."[/color] It was true, mostly. That's where her mother was from, that's where she was raised until she was in double digits, and that's where she returned to go to school, then later work. [color=dc143c]"That and Monterrey. It's complicated."[/color] 

	She was obviously making Tatiana nervous. Her bring nervous put Thalia on guard. Her face got a little more serious, and she stood straighter. Maybe it was time to back off. Maybe it was time to back off two minutes before she decided to walk over there. The last thing she wanted to do was break into a fistfight with a couple carrying a baby because she unintentionally spooked them. New people getting too close, and all that. Baby aside, she still hadn't regained her full sense of balance yet and only had one fist to scrap with. Of course, her mind would go [i]there[/i] first. [color=dc143c]"Hey, Manny? We should find someplace else to be right now."[/color] She looked back to Tatiana, [color=dc143c]"Can you teach me? Ballet, I mean. Could you... Um, we can talk lateh, I guess."[/color] Thalia began to back away from the couple and their shared tiny human, looking for a seat elsewhere. [color=dc143c]"Good to meet ya."[/color] she managed to say, just prior to the doors opening and admitting a very clean cut looking older man, claiming to be the Executive Officer of Camp Mexico Beach. 

	Thalia clammed up and tried to take in as much detail about the people who had just entered and the stuff they brought along with them. Nope, nothing to do but find a spot to sit and listen to the man speak. Who knows? She might even learn something. 








[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 (Conference Room)
[b][color=deb887]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

        It would almost be accurate to describe Hank's action as a "saunter", as if it were possible for the man to move in any manner that appeared slow or relaxed. Especially carrying a plate of food. It had become a sort of curiosity in years recent; eating food from a plate. A rarity, really. At least since he and Wayne were politely asked to leave Amish country at the end of a shotgun. It was amazing how easily one fell back into the habits of civilized society. Just about as amazing as how quickly one could fall out of them. Nevertheless, Hank was moving at mid-saunter, carrying an actual [i]plate[/i] of very yummy things over in Wayne's direction. 

        He did note a certain lack of solidarity among the other people that he came into this latest chapter of the epic adventure that was his life. Maybe it was something he said. Hank pondered the implications of it all for a second or two before realizing he was wasting moderate brainpower on something for which he gave nary a shit. Besides, [i]food[/i]. Hello? Remember food? Yeah, he was being silly. The others were fine, he was fine, everything was fine, [i]food[/i]. They could use a break from the general (but well-meaning) assholery of he and Wayne, anyway. 

        But the comment about his appearance simply would not stand. Oh it could, but he just wasn't going to let it. [color=deb887]"This is gonna grow out, Maldonado. I'm afraid, ah, that your fugly is permanent. Sorry, pal."[/color] A little jab back, but he did take a moment to judge his buddy's assessment of the gravy. It was the crude method of poking his pinky into the stuff on his plate while still sauntering over to the chair that Wayne had pointed out for him, and then jamming it into his mouth. Hank stopped for a second, nodded approvingly, and agreed, [color=deb887]"Well holy shit - [i]this gravy[/i]."[/color] It invoked a sense of gnawing hunger in the man, whose pace quickened until he found himself in a comfortable chair, horking back the first truly good meal he'd had in ages. [color=deb887]"Hmm. Forget the beer I said earlier. Bottle the gravy. They'll make a fortune."[/color] 

        Then of course, the capitalist in him wondered in the back of his head, "How [i]might[/i] someone get ahead financially in the apocalypse?" It was a head scratcher. Leaning over to his steely cohort, he murmured, [color=deb887]"Mental note, Maldonado: Reinvent toilet paper. It's a good idea."[/color] He flashed a quick thumbs-up and made a clicking sound with his tongue, then resumed his meal. 

        Hank slowed his intake of yummy things when Gunny arrived, but did not stop. Just because someone was in charge, that was no reason to abbreviate meal time for refugees. Thinking about it, that was pretty much what they were. No shame, just a statement to their situation. He did note the actions of the younger military man from the other group tbat they vame in with, though. There was something else going on there. Lucky for Hank, it didn't involve him. He kept to eating quietly and listened respectfully to what the man had to say. Don't screw them over? Awesome. He could do that. Next?