[h1][b][i][color=SeaGreen][center] Billie Atwood [/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[center][img]https://live.staticflickr.com/7524/15708766449_6e0923e331.jpg[/img][/center]
[center]Location: Paradiso Gym
Skills: N/A[/center]
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This wasn’t Billie’s first time on the supply runs for the group, but that didn’t make the horrors easier with time. Those [i]zombies[/i] used to be people. Do they still classify as a person? The distinction between living and dead remained unclear. Dead things don’t continue shambling around and consume food. How did digestion work with them? Do their stomachs still work? They must be swallowing the meat still. Billie maintained a few journals: a personal diary, workbook, and her casualty list. People quickly took to calling them zombies, which is understandable, but silly. It sounded comical. Childish. Immature. Instead, in her beat up, crinkled journal, Billie took to calling them casualties. Despite it all, they are victims too, right? 

Her private journal detailed things she could consider normal, for whatever that is now worth. Mainly it was used to vent about the people on the island without word traveling or June overhearing. The workbook contained plans for water collection, lab equipment, and other plans to help them survive on the island. The casualty list contained all her speculation regarding [i] casualties[/i]. It was less of a “scientific journal” and more so a way to keep her panic attacks compartmentalized in a separate location.

	During the trek, Billie would occasionally pull out her digital camera running on 53% to take pictures of anything out of the ordinary, casualties, or places of interest. If only she had access to a printer, these would be handy in her journal. Unless she wanted to sketch them out. There were more pictures she would have taken during the walk, but with June coming along, Billie didn’t trust leaving her unsupervised for longer than a minute. Once the team reached the lighthouse, she took one last picture before pocketing her camera. [color=SeaGreen]”June, you are sticking with me, understood?”[/color] It was less of a request and more of a demand.

[h1][b][i][color=lightskyblue][center] Diane Beaufort[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[center][img]https://cdn2.kennedy-center.org/images/slideshow/MerylStreep_slideshow.jpg[/img][/center]
[center]Location: Beachside Cabin
Skills: N/A[/center]
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Now what to do? She could trust AJ with the other children, right? Every day, Diane orbited around AJ to ensure no danger could come to her: staying inside after curfew, keeping her away from strange survivors, and if those freaks got any close to AJ, Diane could do [i]something[/i]. What could she do now though? The only thing that came to her mind to be productive that didn’t put her in harm’s way was to clean. Yes, that is it. Time to clean. Even though they were on the other side of the world, halfway across the world from home, she could still try to find a way to make living here as comfortable for them. 

Clean linens were becoming a scarce resource along with any cleaning supplies. [color=lightskyblue]”I’ll just have to make do.”[/color] Diane brought out the linen from their cabin to hang outside. It unlikely did anything to clean it, but it offered the placebo of airing out the stuffy sheets. With a bucket of water collected from the ocean, she began wiping down the surfaces inside her cabin. Afterwards, she began sweeping the floor for any bits and crumbs that found their way inside.