[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=4682b4]Ash Holloway[/color][/b][/i][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/5dbf48fc-3988-4c4e-81a5-122be7b76b2b.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] Victor was being led away. It was incredibly sudden. While the recently grizzled Frenchman seemed like he knew this was coming, what was likely surprising was that Ash looked like he expected this, as well. There were no words of protest on his part, no personally vouching for the man (as if his word had any weight with these people). There was just a look of disappointment on his face as a man who was once a friend and confidant was led away. Maybe it was the man's fault and maybe it circumstance, but Victor had changed. Ash saw it in black and white. This was not the man that he once knew. Maybe one day he might be again, after significant help and chances that CMB could not afford to gamble on a newcomer. They at least treated him humanely. Yes, Ash was disappointed. This is how it had to be. The rest of the people that he had considered family for so long were safe. That's what mattered. He did pay attention when it was immediately announced that Beatrice was leaving. They hadn't gotten exceptionally close, and she did also voluntarily leave Newnan, be it just before it collapsed, literally. She was a lone wolf type. Ash didn't mesh well with those. Still, seeing her meet up with the others near that chopper a week ago, leading her own group? He had assumed some serious changes had taken the woman over their time outside. Maybe it was temporary. Still, he thought it was a shame. He didn't expect a farewell from Beatrice. Maybe he'd see her again, years down the road. Who could tell? Everyone else was cleared. Including the batshit crazy and generally disagreeable older men who spent most of their time watching VHS recordings and making quips about the people around them. Even the paranoid and potentially violent kid. Ash couldn't claim to know what happened in their individual interviews, as his seemed pretty damned nonstandard, but they knew something he didn't, obviously. It reminded him of the time when he let a couple of Viking women into Newnan, plus their entourage. It required a leap of faith on his part and an act of goodwill on theirs, but they proved valuable to the community in the end. His evaluation card, on the other hand, did set him slightly uneasy at first. PTSD? Maybe. As much as anyone else that still lived, and had to do it out [i]there[/i] for any length of time. But if they were basing that on what followed on the card, well... Hearing voices, yes. A survival mechanism wherein he spoke to himself from a soldierly point of objectivity. The part of his brain that tells him to keep going when his body wants to lapse unconscious or when he had difficulties completing a necessary task due to various issues. [i]"Get up, soldier. Move. You made a promise. Stay calm, or you're going to die."[/i] His own voice speaking to him in the confines of his skull. But let's be honest: They didn't know him all that well. The people of CMB want to make sure that someone they invest in isn't going to do something bad, that might have been avoided with prudence. Well hell, [i]no problem[/i]. He'll spend his 30 days picking up trash and doing recycling, he'll attend therapy even though it wasn't required. Ash would let them get to know him. From there, he'd take what roads were made available. His big, knightly quest of a year and a half was over. He was reunited with the woman he loved after thinking that she was dead, and what few people he could find from their ruined town were safely brought to this settlement. Oh, he'd always be a soldier. When they believed he was clear, he looked forward to being a part of CMB's restructured military. It was part of who he was, and always had been. But for now, at least for a little while, Ash could just be Ash. With Thana. That wasn't bad at all. Ash folded his slip of paper and tucked it away. He listened to the remainder of what Thana had to say, and at the end, commented, [color=4682b4]"Seafood boil, huh?"[/color] He was a little bummed about Victor (which was fully on Victor), and just slightly put out about the psych section of his evaluation, but this wasn't going to make him regret any decision he made, nor was he going to sulk about it. This was a good day, period. [color=4682b4]"Count me in."[/color] It had been a long time since he'd been to a party. Ash really hoped he still remembered how to have fun. [hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=dc143c]Thalia Carmichael[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/d3b5fd39-04ec-401f-a25c-35f55d7ad76e.gif[/img][hr][b][color=crimson]Location:[/color][/b] Quarantine (Conference Room) [b][color=dc143c]Skills:[/color][/b] Spanish [hr][hr][/center] The more Thalia thought about it, the more an idea settled in her head. She was losing a friend today. This wasn't a new thing for anybody, but for her... Thalia had lost family. Lots of them. She had lost friends, too. She saw Lola shot down in front of her. Though she wasn't around for it, Bridgette and her cousin Alicia both got taken out by two different hordes of Zeds. Thalia herself had to put down Astrid's shambling corpse. Her uncle, people she worked with, that bitch up the road that made the really good cinnamon raisin bread, they all died horribly. But that was the point: [i]they died[/i]. They went out trying like hell to stay with the people they counted as friends. Beatrice... She was just walking away. She told her, and even told herself that she was cool with it, but it was wasn't fully true. She didn't want to make problems, and secretly Thalia hoped that Bea would give it a chance here. But no. After Quarantine, she was just opting to be dropped off at a random spot, hundreds of miles away, and keep walking. To be honest, Thalia felt a little betrayed. Maybe she didn't even have a right to feel that way. She still did. Everyone makes their own decisions, and yes, if certain boxed hadn't been checked off, she'd be right there with Beatrice. She couldn't do that now. And of course, she felt just a little like a hypocrite, seeing as she spent [i]literally years[/i] out there utilizing primitive survival and bushcraft, all by her lonesome, to survive. She didn't have friends then, though. No one to fight for. Or alongside. Beatrice was leaving, and it sucked, and she wasn't going to try to stop her. Oh yeah, and to hell with Victor. She had no idea what that guy's malfunction was. Provided that Bea was going to pick her out as one of the people she said goodbye to, Thalia was burying most of these new feelings, planning simply on telling her, [color=dc143c]"Desearía que te quedaras[/color][sub]1[/sub][color=dc143c], Killeh Bea. You take care of you,"[/color] with moist eyes. And a hug. Maybe a quick ass-grab, because we don't want things too saccharin. But whatever happened, happened. It was something she was going to deal with as a newish experience, losing a friend without death getting involved. Then back to guarding her feelings, as she tended to. She had her own life to get back on track, and she knew why she had to. Her evaluation and job recommendation put a couple of questions in her head, which she planned on voicing at the next opportunity. Did this mean that she was to be trained as a soldier? Or as a security guard? Was she training for escort runs or the like, or training to handle firearms again with one hand, switch up her melee style a bit? Walk the wall? Babysit newer people in Quarantine? Was she going to pick up new skills that she could use? Well, no matter. She was signed up now, and when she was ready to join up with whatever part she was assigned and/or steered toward. Learn what she can from others. Train. [i]Train.[/i] TRAIN. Ballet was kicking ass so far. Plus, where there was a barbecue, there was a fire. Thalia hadn't seen a decent crackling fire in over a week, and to be quite frank, she was getting a little itch about it. So great. Tour, little community party, and then she begins the infinitely more difficult task of re-acclimating to living [i]in[/i] a settlement rather than outside of one. [hider=Translations] 1 = I wish you would stay [/hider] [hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=deb887]Hank Wright[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/c8c5d962-6833-4611-be6b-8b3b5e8f6784.gif[/img][hr][b][color=burlywood]Location:[/color][/b] Quarantine (Conference Room) [b][color=deb887]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center] Much like Wayne, there wasn't a whole lot of caring or getting in a tizzy about the people who left. He didn't know most of these people here, and no tears were shed about the French guy. He might not have known it, but Hank was able to understand most of what the guy was muttering in his native language. It was called "being a Sheriff that close to the Canadian border", and sometimes it had useful little perks in hindsight like that. But that wasn't so much the big upset of the day. No, that honor went to the fact that not only was he cleared, but so was Wayne. That was heavy. Very heavy. A couple of older jackasses; one emotionally stunted and one batshit crazy, both starting out the apocalypse in a fucking loony bin, and now he's being recommended for... [color=deb887]"Oh, ah [i]myGod[/i], Wayne. Hey, Maldonado, you gotta take a look at this,"[/color] he urged his counterpart, showing him the slip of paper. He pointed to the part that recommended him to Psychiatry, and gave a little chuckle. [color=deb887]"Y'know, I'll do it. But I'm going to need some demands met, like a good pair of reading glasses and one of those couches for people to lie on. Ok, for me to lie on, until this beachside thing kicks off. [i]That[/i] sounds like it's right up my alley. And no, that phrase means I like it, not... that other thing. Whatever. I'm doing this."[/color] He did seem pretty certain. As if on cue to signal that the new people were their new countrymen, the guards around them lowered their weapons and became instantly more amicable. Hank guessed that this was retirement, then. In a manner of speaking, anyway. Now, he just had to figure out how many extra hours he'd have to shrink heads and/or yell at people who needed a good yelling before he could afford to live on a nice, sturdy boat. Goal Number 2. It was good to have goals.