[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=deb887]Hank Wright[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/dc4b11f8-7b28-49db-bc00-de00026ad91e.gif[/img][hr][b][color=burlywood]Location:[/color][/b] Quarantine (Conference Room)
[b][color=deb887]Skills:[/color][/b] Observation [hr][hr][/center]

	[color=deb887]"Yeah, what he said."[/color] Hank was speaking to Nigel but motioning to Wayne. His voice didn't seem to change much from his general steely yet painfully cynical tones, except maybe there was a touch more relaxation flowing from him. From a man like Hank, it very much sounded like he was not overly burdened with an excessive amount of fuck-giving. Maybe a more appropriate truth to the man hovered around the notion that he took things as they came and was very up front about how he felt about it. Those constant vents of steam that flowed from Hank in the form of sarcasm, cynicism, and creative name-calling seemed to keep him on more or less even keel in a world that seemed destined to knock everybody over. While he could still get genuinely pissed off, and did from time to time, it took an act of God, Congress, or Bobby Orr (not necessarily in that order) to make him fully lose his shit. That didn't mean that he couldn't act like an ass just because he wanted to, though. 

	Hank put on a fake exasperated look and began opening and closing his hand like he was working the mouth of a sock puppet, saying, [color=deb887]"And enough of this stuff, h-okay there, History Channel? For the love of good scotch and pastie tassels, you're [i]supposed[/i] to make fun of a serious situation. If it was already a [i]fun[/i] situation, I wouldn't need to. Geez, I thought you were a teacher."[/color] Yeah, Sportacus did have him nailed on the "Fuck It" attitude, although the motivations behind it were more complex than saying that he just didn't care. Stepping in a little closer, he dropped the volume of his voice and motioned behind himself. [color=deb887]"C'mon guy, this is something we can't help with. Really."[/color] He nodded knowingly. While massive loss was something that almost everyone who was still alive had to cope with, Hank's own foray into despair started before the apocalypse and very nearly broke him. 

	There were a few exchanges that piqued Hank's interest around the room, particularly from the pair of more feminine cueballs who were with Army Guy and Russian Mom's group. He even made it a point to turn his head to offer a well placed piece of sarcasm, given what he felt was a needed interjection. His opinion was based on what he witnessed in the other room, when they were all getting the Sinead O'Conner treatment. One outburst was acceptable, but the other apparently wasn't. Maybe she had something going on with Army Guy... what was his name? Nicknames he gave people were so much easier for him to remember. Ash! That was it. Kind of a girly name, but whatever. It didn't matter so much what he was going to say nor why he was going to say it, as the events transpiring put a hitch in his rant. 

	What happened next caused him to swivel around where he stood. No, not the coffee drop, nor Tatiana attempting deep breathing exercises following. What put the look of genuine worry on his face was the younger guy, the soldier type, suddenly exploding into a very wordy fit in front of the young mother (that Hank decided he was going to start referring to as Miss Congeniality, but for the love of all things holy [i]not right then[/i]). The yelling was a little delayed and highly unnecessary, but most of all it was a trigger for something that he [i]definitely[/i] had his eye out for. Hank turned his head to view Wayne, or more specifically, the look in his eyes. The blank, far expression of a man about to do something painful. He'd seen this a few times. More than a few, come to think of it. Well, more times than he could count on his fingers over the past few years. And more than that, he saw what was in the man's hands. 

	Given enough room and proper motivation, Hank's hetero lifemate Wayne could use damn near anything as a weapon. He seemed to recall a time that the guy expertly utilized a pair of leather soled loafers to beat down a press of Dead Assholes in a hallway, but time and alcohol might have influenced that. Suffice it to say, a bathrobe belt was more than enough for the guy to make life more interesting than they really needed it to be that day. Nope, this was about to be them getting tossed out, no questions asked. Hank took up a position right in front of Wayne and spoke quietly, with a highly false casual tone. [color=deb887]"Hey there, Maldonado. Hell of a day, huh? Listen... I kinda like it here, and that fuckwit isn't worth it. Tell ya what, buddy - how about you and me short-sheet the guy later on, huh?"[/color] He started to grin and nod his head, as if agreeing with his own idea. [color=deb887]"Or (wait for it), we put his hands bowls of warm piss while he's asleep. Double impact, baby. C'mon. Or maybe we can just, oh I don't know, [i]pants[/i] him and call it a day. Hell, we can think on it for a while if you like. You know me, I'm open to ideas. Whaddya say?"[/color] 

	For a brief moment, Hank wondered exactly how in the hell he became the voice of reason for his group. Maybe it was the Sheriff in him, still.




[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]

	This sure as hell wasn't an ideal situation to be stuck in. Well, except for the food, and the coffee, and the walls, and of course, [i]the food[/i]. Their little survivor's shut-in week was not starting off with the rousing success that she hoped it might. Then again, being around this many people at once wasn't her preferred situation, either. People tended to act irrationally. Hell, [i]she[/i] was on the verge of it, herself. All of these unfamiliar people around and she wasn't remotely as strong as she felt she needed to be in case one or more of them decided that they wanted to jump fully into the deep end and go on a wrecking spree. Now from the looks of things, that person was the ballerina. This could prove awkward. She had to respect the girl for that punch, though. Maybe not [i]why[/i], as she was still a little unclear on that point, but the actual hit itself was fluid and had excellent follow through. 

	Whatever the reason, the sudden application of violence had her guard up. She rose to the balls of her feet and cast a quick series of glances around, taking into account the people of Mexico Beach still in the room with them, nearest exits, bottleneck points, etc., as well as anything that she might be able to use for cover if necessary. But what got her, actually pulled on her sense of personal loyalty was the bare whisper of Alexander after he dropped his cup of coffee on the floor. They weren't exactly the closest of confidants and their relationship sure as hell didn't start out the best, but he was one of [i]them[/i], whatever [i]them[/i] meant now. Reliable, knowledgeable, and worthy of trust so far as she was concerned. Maybe this is why she began to get defensive when Tatiana approached the man. 

	Thalia didn't know how this was going to play out. The previously timid, redheaded mom had just instigated an act of violence, but she didn't look like she was about to continue on a rampage when she got over to Alexander. She even looked like she needed some help, herself. So which version of her was the act, and which was the real woman? Thalia eyed her carefully and, after she had stood from picking up the pieces of coffee cup (as she did not want to approach while Tatiana was low to the ground, possibly appearing as threatening), moved a step or two to stand next to Alexander. She positioned a shoulder in front of his, as if to symbolically shield him, and spoke with a soft but direct voice, [color=dc143c]"Thank you, Tatiana."[/color] Okay, that was the right name. Good. [color=dc143c]"We've gaht him. You good?"[/color] There was an eyebrow raise and some amount of guarded concern on her face, though the target of that concern was debatable. Whatever her story was, there was a whole lot of it that she didn't know about and probably wouldn't for quite some time, if ever. Thalia did get a good look at her back while they were in the showers, however, and could only assume that it had something to do with it. 

	She was about to ask another question when the klaxon call of yet more yelling sounded from very nearby, originating from the younger man who she was sizing up earlier. Thalia's eyes widened and she felt her nails furrowing into her palm, as instinctively her remaining hand curled into a fist. This was out of [i]nowhere[/i], and this was about to get punched back into it. Alexander sure as hell didn't need the extra noise right then, and there were probably a couple of people in the room who would play shank-a-bitch over Tatiana. But the woman responded to it coldly and moved on. 

	That moving on, and subsequent change into actual clothing, just showed anyone who had missed it the first time exactly what she had seen in the showers. It was one of the reasons why Thalia approached her in the first place. She had been through her own personal hell, and it showed. Thalia still had reason to stay a little tribal in mentality for the moment, though this was a reminder that they were supposed to be meeting up with this other group, presumably for support. Some of them needed it more urgently. Glancing down at her own severed forearm, she wondered right then which might have caused more lasting damage; her amputation, or Tatiana's ordeal? The fact that she couldn't answer right away, even not knowing the particulars of her trauma, quietly implied volumes. 

	She couldn't forget the reason she rejoined the group, however. [color=dc143c]"Hey, how we doing?"[/color] she whispered to Alexander. [color=dc143c]"Good to find a spot and sit? I gotcha."[/color] 






[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]

	[color=dimgray][i]Brushing him off and walking away after striking him to the ground. And for what? For declining to talk to her five fucking seconds after he just got hammered by the news of Thana's extremely likely death? No, to say "extremely likely" was still denial. She was dead. And before he could even fully process, he gets suckerpunched and screamed at like he was wrong somehow. Well, to hell with that and to hell with her; little Miss I-Have-No-Brother. Ash didn't have a brother either. He got to see one of them eaten right in front of him, some four or five years back. Never even saw the other one. And that bullshit about Newnan falling? Yeah. A lot of people died. Good people. It was a bitch play bringing that up.

	But the part that did stand out was the statement that Tatiana no longer considered him as a brother. Yup, one moment where he wanted to collect his thoughts, at the very least, and suddenly he's a pariah. They might not be blood, but they were as close as siblings might be after all was said and done. Ash sure as hell wouldn't have spent a [u]year of his life[/u] helping Jack follow Tatiana's breadcrumbs across south Georgia and parts of Alabama if they weren't.

	Suffice to say, a lot was going through Ash's head right then. None of it was good, wholesome, nor family friendly. But the kicker; for a moment - just a tiny second or two - an [i]even darker[/i] aspect of Ash's personality flared, giving him the idea that if he hadn't done that; hadn't kept his promise to Jack to find her above the one he made to Thana, there was a possibility that he might have been there for Thana. Maybe she'd even still be ali- [/i][/color]

	Sitting there, Ash came to despise himself. Nothing within his thoughts were genuine. They were petty and childish and designed to avoid true emotion. He balled a fist and slammed it into the floor. What the hell was wrong with him?  

	He felt his face where Tatiana's wedding ring had ripped the skin. No. He was not going to do this. He was not going to make himself hate Tati because he didn't want to face losing her. That was what he did, over and over. Not hate, mind you. He pushed people away, shut them out. The fewer people he cared about, the less he had to risk losing. Fear was, and always had been, fueled by love. And that was the point of it. It was also the reason why he did a lot of the things that he did; why he insisted on breaching doors first and eating last, why he maintained a resolute stand on following through on promises made out in the world. He had already lost so much; as much or more than the people around him, and it seemed that anyone who got close was living on borrowed time. He would do anything he possibly could to keep from losing them. Once they were gone, it was a matter of coping. Coping with loss was a whole different animal than fearing it. That was where he began to shut down. 

	Tatiana was still alive. She had her family back. Ash had not failed her, nor Jack, though it did take so much longer than he wanted it to. But the very last thing he wanted to do right then was play a game of "what if" where it came to the lives of people he cared about. And Thana? In a remarkably short time, that woman found a way to get close to him. And fate ripped them apart again. Ash wondered if he had failed [i]her[/i]. It certainly seemed like it, but the two second slip to blame Tatiana just slammed into him like a freight train. The stupid and toxic psychological efforts at self-preservation made him sick to his stomach. Literally, physically sick. He dipped his head forward as his stomach made its first somersault, bringing an amount of what he had previously consumed up with him. 

	Ash clapped his hands onto the floor in front of him and desperately clung to what little control he could exert on himself and rose, finding his way to the trash receptacle near to where they were serving the food earlier. He stood over the container, precariously balancing with one hand on either side as a marginal amount of what he had recently consumed splatted below. The actual act took next to no time, but a coldness crept along his skin accompanied by a bout of severe lightheadedness, prompting him to remain where he was until it passed. 

	It was during this time that he heard something off to the side. He was powerless to affect anything in his surroundings, but he distinctly heard more yelling. At least it gave him something to focus on besides the mild shock flooding his body. The more he listened, the more he understood that this was someone screaming at Tatiana. Something crystallized in the man; jagged pieces of the last few minutes coming to form a hard and sharp whole, its sharp tip aimed into Ash's heart. Grim resolution held him together only as well as an inexpertly taped package might be, with the ragged ends of his emotion peeking out at the sides. What feeling struck him at that moment was anger. A low fire of profound heat burning within him. Anger at himself, and anger at that kid who just bitched out Tatiana for whatever reason he had - perhaps it was his own psychological insecurities, or perhaps he was a glutton for punishment. The anger energized and motivated him enough to break out of his momentary shock and walk slowly in the direction where Tatiana had just stood. She was walking away, but he had business with others in the group first. 

	As Tatiana started to change, Ash looked to Riley and then to Jack, and settled on looking forward. [color=4682b4]"I'm very disappointed in the both of you. We have acted shamefully."[/color] He continued forward. It was about this time that Ash got his first look at Tati's back. He had remembered long ago being shown her tattoos. They were like the woman herself: graceful, delicate, art. What they had become showed much of what she had to endure over the year that they were apart, though he figured that it was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. It was horrible and grotesque abuse that was heaped upon the woman, and a testament to her resolve to survive regardless. She had always been stronger than she let on, but damn if someone didn't try very hard to test her limits. 

	Ash's gaze was transfixed at the scarring and damage when he stopped directly in front of Hunter. He didn't look at the man when he began to speak, but there was no mistaking to whom the words were intended. [color=4682b4]"This is your warning."[/color] His voice carried with it a rough edge that promised certainty. [color=4682b4]"That woman is a gem. Talk to her like that again and I will feed you to the fucking corpses myself. Is that clear, soldier?"[/color] 

	Some men might have waited for an answer. Ash might have, if something more significant didn't have priority. The nanosecond the final word left his lips, he continued in the direction of the petite, asskicking ballerina. She had turned again and moved to their guards, asking where her gown and robe should be placed. When she completed her question, Ash spoke to her. [color=4682b4]"I'm sorry, Tatiana. You were right. I was wrong."[/color] His voice betrayed rising emotion, accented by hard stops between sentences. She talked Ash through a similar difficulty a while ago. Between her and his friend James, they were able to get him back and functional. If anyone else alive could read him and put his head back where it was supposed to be, it was Tatiana. Pushing her away was stupid. His voice cracked as he half-whispered, [color=4682b4]"Please, I need your help."[/color]