[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] Quarantine (Conference Room)
[color=4682b4][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr][hr]

	It was highly unexpected. So much so that, when the petite Russian ballerina's fist made connection with his face, Ash could have sworn that he went fully horizontal before flopping onto the hard floor like a boned fish. Of course, it wasn't remotely as pretty as that, but in the instant replay of his mind it did seem fairly massive. It was a fair statement that he didn't see this coming. In the least. His mind was already shifting him toward the leader he needed to be for the rest of the people he brought into this place. A little grimmer maybe, more stoic; the kind of person he had become by necessity in recent years. Then the punch landed. God damn, that little lady could throw her knuckles. He was actually a little proud.   

	Pride was one of the emotions running through him as he sat up, his posterior still settled uncomfortably on the floor. But there were others. For starters, he was disappointed. Tatiana had blown her cover as a secret badass, obviously. Moreover, she had demonstrated conflict in their group in front of people who would be deciding what their next address would be. Ash was also pissed. The problem was, when confronted with the sudden onset of these negative sort of emotions, Grief, Anger, Fear, the kneejerk reaction was always to dig in. He was generally a straightforward and stoic man in his daily life because it saved lives. And his ruralish upbringing. And his military training. Forced into a confrontation was not the way to go if someone wanted to squeeze a tear from his eye, not unless that confrontation involved pepper spray. 

	He mused for a tiny moment that this wasn't the first time he got decked by a girl. Ash did miss that one.

	Ash waved Riley away with one hand while the other felt the throbbing damage to his face. He noticed that the eye on that side was watering. Maybe that would count as him crying, if that indeed was what Tatiana was after, but he severely doubted it. His voice was ice. Commanding, clear, yet possessing a trace of humanity as he looked up at Tatiana looming above him. [color=4682b4]"Didn't say that. I said 'I'm good', Tatiana."[/color] He spit red onto the floor in front of him. [color=4682b4]"That's short for '[u]I'm good[/u] enough to keep my shit together until we can talk privately', because one of us [i]damn well has to[/i]."[/color] He took his hand away from his face and admired the spot of red, the result of the hole dug out by her wedding ring. He sighed. [color=4682b4]"We passed by 'fine' a long time ago."[/color] 

	The downed man held his blood marked hand up, as if asking for help to right himself. [color=4682b4]"You're not going to lose me, Tati. Too stubborn."[/color] 




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

	Alright, so the hand of Death herself didn't stop her. This particular moment, it was the fist of a Russian ballerina. But we'll get back to that in a moment. First, Thalia grabbed herself a cup and filled it with the marvelous substance known to mortals as coffee. It was more of a process than it was supposed to be, what with the whole "one hand" thing, but she was learning to adapt. There wasn't really much of a choice in the matter. Thalia wanted coffee. She either got coffee with one hand or she didn't get coffee at all [i]and still[/i] was short one hand. 

	Thalia barely noticed the guy standing by the coffeepot. Maybe her mind was elsewhere, what with the news, unofficial though it was, of Thana's death. After she acquired her cup of black goodness, she took a sip and set the cup back on the nearby table. The tense air was making her a little alert. Bad news tended to do that. This was amplified somehow by the suddenly noticed presence of the soldier - the younger one who was picked up by himself. She didn't think much of it at the time, but when a few errant words leaked out from him, seemingly unrelated to the situation at hand as well as each other, Thalia regarded the man with raised eyebrow and clarity of vision. She took another sip of her coffee and set it back down again. 

	Alexander's presence, silent as it was, made sense. There wasn't really a lot to say about it, especially as they both knew everything the other did about the situation. No questions to ask, no thoughts to share. They didn't even know anything for certain, except that everyone in the room seemed to believe that Thana was dead and no one was giving out details. Why he was even there was beyond her. Maybe he needed some sort of reassurance, or maybe he thought that exact thought of her - she and Thana were close. They all had come together as the months out in the world turned into a year, and then more. So she allowed for a quiet moment looking at Mugsy, breathing out a quiet sigh. Then the thought came to her that maybe he actually came up there because he wanted coffee. She shot him a puzzled look, moved out of the way to allow him access to the pot, and motioned toward it. Just out of habit, she looked over to Beatrice. Still quiet, all in one piece. Probably still wanted her space. Talk later. 

	She didn't quite solve the mystery of Alexander's presence when a sound, not unlike someone getting smacked with a flatiron steak, sounded from the front of the room. -[i]back to the Hand of Death/Russian ballerina thing[/i]-

	Thalia instinctively moved her hand toward where she regularly carried her knife before she remembered that she was still in a hospital gown and bathrobe. At the same time, she noted another reaction from the younger soldier involving speed-drinking coffee and standing at the ready. This prompted another eyebrow raise from the one armed lady. The fight didn't seem to be a fight, persay, but it did look like a crap tactic to impress the people in charge who hadn't yet made up their minds about who would be allowed to stay in Mexico Beach. 

	Instead of a somber coming together, maybe sharing stories of the departed woman, or (if they were religious types) having some kind of communal prayer, the news of Thana's passing was capped off by someone getting punched in the face and an otherwise feminine voice screaming in a language that wasn't English. There was blood. There was crying. People looked very uncomfortable. [color=dc143c]"This is my fucking quinceañera all over again..."[/color] she muttered, shaking her head. 





[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=deb887]Hank Wright[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/28a8c4fa-dd19-40f4-9d22-e98a27649839.gif[/img][hr][b][color=burlywood]Location:[/color][/b] Quarantine (Conference Room)
[b][color=deb887]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]     

	 You tend to miss a lot of details when you're hastily trying to change into a pair of fresh, new pants in the middle of a crowded room. Hank wasn't a generally self-conscious sort of guy, though he did possess a moderate amount of something resembling social decency when he gave a crap enough to, hence the fact that he did try to make it as hasty as possible and, likely very thankfully, did not strip down beforehand. It was the little things that kept a situation merely awkward and not completely, downright creepy. Yup, it was probably one of the last things that these people needed to see was an irritable fifty-something airing his danglies so soon after they had all eaten, even if he had actually kept himself in relatively decent shape (apocalypse notwithstanding). But so long as Wayne was on about "pants making the man", he might as well throw in his two cents on the matter. [color=deb887]"Yeah, pants. Pants and testicles..."[/color] He cut himself short on his intended rant involving a ton of scathing sarcasm as he heard the meaty slap of a punch landing. And damn well, too. Hank was surprised to note that it was the little red-haired Russian girl. 

	Hank used the momentary distraction to slip into the rest of his allotted clothing. No sense in wasting a moment where everyone's eyes were focused toward the front of the room. Why, it'd be foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity. He then rolled up his hospital wear and tucked it under his arm. It looked like a lot of other people were getting coffee after lunch, and come to think of it, he might could go for a cup, too. The fight (or whatever the hell it was) didn't affect him in the slightest, and it wasn't like he could understand a single goddamned word the little lady was screaming anyway.  

	Through the din of the incident involving... well okay, he didn't exactly know what the whole deal was, but it was affecting a lot of people in that room and (once again) he still wasn't getting involved. Nope sir, not him. He did maneuver himself close to the coffeepot with a few gruff monosyllables to excuse his presence and get around the people crowded around the area, then over to Wayne. [color=deb887]"Well, [i]that guy[/i] went down like a drunken prom date."[/color] he observed, pointing at the pair of Tatiana and Ash. Nodding in Nigel's direction, he sought confirmation from the man with a quick snap of, [color=deb887]"Right there, Sportacus?"[/color] 

	Hank took his first sip of coffee that he had imbibed in a long time, remarking, [color=deb887]"Hmm. Good coffee."[/color] Yup, not his fight.