[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=khaki]Victor Bonheur[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://i.imgur.com/BgmBGGL.jpg[/img][/center][hr][hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Gates to Camp Mexico
[b]Skills:[/b] N/A[/center][hr]
Upon approach, Victor tried to see if anything was aimed at him but couldn't get a clear view plus everyone looked like tiny ants from afar so it's not like he'd actually have any real idea until they began to shoot at him. He continued forward until a screeching, squeaking... squealing type of noise sounded. Victor slowed his steps but continued forward a little until the noise stopped, and he followed it's lead, his feet stopping squared to his shoulders. He squinted and raised an eyebrow before reaching for his glasses. When he remembered they were in his pack he scowled and felt irritation well in his stomach and throat. He rubbed his thumb across his ring and middle fingertips, feeling the callouses and torn skin that met him, a relatively new habit he'd picked up in lieu of playing with his glasses. The sound had began again in the time he'd stopped but he remained where he stood, uncertain what was about to greet him on the other side. The outer gate began to open and two male figures stepped out as it did so.

Victor eyed the older one first, tracing his eyes in disgust at the weapon the man held. He had no love for guns, especially those that could tear through a person like the one in front of him. His sight then flickered to the cigar that dangled from his lips, even here in the end of the world there were those who took little care with their livelihood, preferring to relish in the small pleasures they could get their hands on. He had to admit, he was not adverse to taking pleasure in the little things. Especially since Newnan fell and the little things were so microscopic that he wondered if they'd ever existed in the first place. 

He then shifted his attention to the younger of the two men, who called out in casual greeting towards him. Instantly his eyes caught the collar that he wore that showed he was a man of God. He wasn't sure how to handle that particular piece of information but it gave him pause to give the potential of trust to this group that he had followed in hopes of finding his family once more.

A moment passed between the priest, preacher, vicar... whatever he was... calling out to Victor and him actually responding. 

[color=khaki]"..."[/color] He opened his mouth to speak but nothing but a raspy cough left his lips. It had been so long since he had said... anything out loud. He held his left hand up and showed two fingers. He reached for his canteen and drank some more water from it, swilling it around his mouth and he gargled some before swallowing it. He wasn't about to spit out perfectly good water, were you mad? He put his canteen away and took a deep breath and cleared his throat as gently as he could.

[color=khaki]"P-pardonne-moi, je n'a---ai pas parlé d--depuis très looooongtemps."[/color] Victor spoke brokenly, his lips and throat aching slightly as he vocalised the words he had in his mind before he realised that it was the wrong language he was saying it in. He blinked and rubbed his face with his free hand, as he shook his head. He slicked the moisture off his skin from the sweat and rain that had soaked him on his travels here, shaking his hand out, letting the moisture flick away from his side. Victor took a deep breath and closed his eyes before trying again - this time focusing on the words as he said them. [color=khaki]"I-I'm sorry, I... 'ave not spoken een so long zat à défaut de..."[/color] He paused, he'd forgotten how to say the word and lost his focus. [color=khaki]"Sorry, I try again. I went back to my native tongue."[/color] He tried to crack a small smile but could not muster himself to do it. His eyes remained closed while he swallowed what moisture remained in his mouth to ease his throat. His tongue darted out to lick his lips but found only salty moisture which caused him to begin to cough and his cracked lips to sting.

Doubling over as the coughs wracked his body, Victor balanced himself upright as best he could, his grip tightening on his walking stick as his knuckles grew white while his other hand clung to his knee. Spittle flew from his mouth as he coughed up what was caught in his throat. Feeling the slimy glob sliding up his throat and into his mouth, Victor retched but stopped himself from vomiting. Turning his head to the side he spat out the remnants of his coughing fit and tried to calm his breathing. He looked up and, once his breathing had calmed he spoke again. [color=khaki]"Excusez-moi. I am not een best 'ealth."[/color] Victor corrected himself and stood upright and took in a gentle breath, ignoring the tightness that he felt in his lungs. [color=khaki]"I am alone. I 'ave little food an' water. I am sick. I am looking for ma famille."[/color] 

His eyes began to sting as he thought of those that had kept him moving for the last 10 months. Kris. Tatiana. Jack. Jamie. They were his family and he hoped they were here, that he could see them again, that they had all made it along with their friends... He saw all of the people of Newnan in his mind, each and every face he had cared for in physical and mental health. He ached to see them all again but he knew that a lot of them would be dead. He felt what little moisture he couldn't stop rolling down his cheeks before his voice cracked once more as he spoke. [color=khaki]"My name is Victor, can you please 'elp me?"[/color][hr]