Hidden 8 mos ago 8 mos ago Post by Die Shize
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Die Shize The Laughing Man

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OOC:

Character:
Charley

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2033

It was a surreal scene. Past the city of Atlanta’s spaghetti junction, the freeway was completely free on one side of the wide street. It was empty, at least for this stretch of it, with only those white lines on the black road, as alone as an angel flying in darkness.

Poetic nonsense, maybe, but the thoughts weren’t lost on the traveler. Adventurer. Wanderer. Explorer. She stopped calling herself anything, really. She just simply...was. She had a name, but for the moment she thought only of how empty these lanes were. Charley. She remembered. With a cowboy hat on my head, a rifle at my side, a pistol at my hip, and the basic will to survive...

It was a one-way road for traffic venturing forward toward the city proper. On asphalt paved, between amalgamations of concrete, blood and sweat, were those jagged edges, where the highway had long since been forsaken, and so it had split and cracked, and sagged into abandonment.

Yep… The woman sighed between her teeth. Poetic nonsense. At best. She hesitated, delaying in the moment, enjoying this dreamlike experience of nothingness on this road paved before her feet. And hooves, for that matter. She lowered her hand, patted the neck of her horse, who whinnied in agreement.

“Getting close.” She licked her lips, and they too were split, so she wet them with a bottle of water. Finally, she looked to her left, glimpsing the other street, where the freeway ran the other way, away from the city, and what a difference.

Rows and columns of cars and cars and cars. Back in the day, she mused, those cars would be moving, but today they did not move. They were still, stagnant, lifeless, without purpose, and as empty as her side of the street.

“Dichotomy…” The woman whispered. “He’d describe this scene the same way.” She looked away, focused forward. Forward, always. “Always forward.” So her steed trotted, taking the pair of them ahead into the city of Atlanta, as abandoned as this highway, though there were rumors that settlers had since established hideouts and fortifications throughout. We’ll see.
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Hidden 8 mos ago 8 mos ago Post by Atrocious
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Atrocious Pretty Little Addict

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The abandoned building, once a refuge for Quinn and her dreaded companion 'Greg,' nestled amidst the decaying urban landscape, stood as a weathered sentinel of a bygone era. Its timeworn facade bore the scars of time; its once-vibrant colors had faded into muted shades of gray and brown. Broken windows, their jagged edges like broken dreams, gaped open to the elements, allowing nature's relentless advance to infiltrate the structure. It had been sufficient for the duo to spend a few hours of rest, gather what little supplies were left, and plan their next move - would they traverse deeper into the city or remain on the outskirts where it was relatively 'safe'?

"Nothing out there anymore, girl," Greg grumbled, his voice etched with the weariness of the world, his rough hands pulling the laces of his rucksack tight, sealing it shut. Quinn couldn't help but despise Greg, detest his very name – it felt as if it stumbled and faltered on the tongue, coming to an abrupt halt.

'Greg.'

Yeah, she had hated it. Her response was defiant, a flicker of determination in her tired eyes as she gazed out over the sprawling, broken city from their temporary refuge. "There was always something out there," Quinn countered, her voice a whisper of unwavering hope in a world that had grown so bleak. She had been looking out of a broken window, watching in idle silence for any hint of movement. Of course, none had come; it hardly would unless there was a breach in the city's barricade or another traveler seeking refuge.

Quinn and Greg's paths had crossed not too long ago, a chance encounter in one of the desolate cities that punctuated their journey toward Atlanta. Fate, it seemed, had brought them together, and they both harbored a shared destination. Rumors of a small group forming for the perilous trek to Atlanta had ignited their hope, but that flickering flame was not without its setbacks.

Tony and Dave had joined their fragile alliance initially, but their resolve had crumbled along the way, and they had dropped off, lost to the unforgiving world they traversed.

They had not been missed. She had not been fond of them either.

"How far did we have left?" Quinn inquired, her voice carrying the weariness of countless miles and the weight of an uncertain future. Deep down, she yearned for rest, for a respite from the relentless march, but in this unforgiving world, such comforts were a distant memory. The specter of death loomed on the horizon, a constant reminder that they could ill afford to linger or let their guard down. She turned from the broken window and leveled her dark gaze on her companion, scowling, really.

Greg's response was as gruff and resolute as ever, a characteristic shrug of his powerful shoulders that spoke volumes about his pragmatism. This journey wasn't what he had envisioned, but the adage of strength in numbers held true in their world. Their destination held the promise of a community, something they both yearned for deep down. "Let's get going, kid," he declared, knowing full well that any response from Quinn would likely be met with resistance. He hoisted his rucksack and moved to unbar the door, leaving Quinn to ponder their uncertain path. "Not far," he finally answered her earlier question, offering a glimmer of reassurance in the midst of uncertainty. "Not far at all."





Two days had passed since the tense exchange between Quinn and Greg, but the unforgiving reality of their world refused to relent. In that brief span of time, the bitter taste of danger had revisited them once more. Greg had stumbled headlong into a pile of jagged and rusty debris, their notions of comfort shattered by the relentless decay of the world.

Now, an insidious infection seethed within Greg's leg, a grim testament to the ever-present risks they faced.

Desperation clawed at Quinn's heart, gnawing at her resolve as she confronted the brutal urgency of their predicament. Despite the bitterness that had festered between her and Greg, she couldn't deny that, in his own way, he had tried to safeguard her. Now, as his very existence hung in the balance, she had no choice but to set aside the tumult of her emotions and seek assistance.

The harsh truth was plain – time was an elusive wisp slipping through their fingers. Quinn needed to scour the desolate landscape, to seek out any vestige of help, any glimmer of civilization, or anyone who might hold the knowledge and resources to combat Greg's ravaging infection. In this realm where alliances were fleeting and survival paramount, she recognized that their fate rested upon her shoulders...

Just as the clamor of approaching hooves reached her ears, Quinn's heart danced a delicate waltz between hope and caution. Hooves? A horse, perhaps? In this forsaken realm, such a creature was a rarity, an anachronism. Her instincts led her to retreat into the shrouded depths of shadow, senses sharpened, eyes scanning the horizon with wary curiosity.

Her disbelief surged as her gaze fell upon the improbable sight. It was indeed a horse, noble and untamed, and astride its back, a woman, an enigma amid the desolation. A whirlwind of questions and possibilities swirled within Quinn's mind. Who was this woman? What had brought her to this bleak landscape? Could she be the lifeline they so urgently sought for Greg's infected leg?

Quinn needed to approach, but the challenge remained: how to do so without endangering herself and Greg? Screaming for help was too risky, as it could easily be mistaken for a trap and draw unwanted attention.

In her desperation, the dark-haired young woman lifted a piece of scrap metal and angled it to catch the light. It was a hopeful and silent plea for assistance, a signal only someone observant might notice amidst the desolation.
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Hidden 8 mos ago Post by Die Shize
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Die Shize The Laughing Man

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Charley had been to enough rough 'n' tumble places to recognize dangers when they stared her in the face. Vehicles on the street to her left, abandoned, while a stretch of emptiness looked at her forward, beckoning her onward, deceptive, like the very asphalt might take the breath from her chest and call her an asshole for falling for it or into it.

On her beast, her steed, the woman trotted forth, one hand on reins while the other hung at her side, waving in the breeze, ever ready to reach the handle of rifle or pistol, whatever the occasion might call for in her untamed adventure.

Amid her backpack, Charley carried all manner of things, from bottled water to ration packs, flashlights to spare batteries, ammunition and knives, whatever tools and utensils to stay alive, and there was no difference amid her person.

She carried a pocket mirror. It was useful to signal but, in that very instance, as she ruffled her fingers through the feathery mane of her horse, the desperation came from somewhere else. The woman caught on in an instant.

Sunlight in the sky, high and mighty, oblivious to the torment of the denizens of this planet beneath it, reflected off the woman’s visage as she squinted. It could be someone in need. It could also be a trick.

“What do you think?” The horse just whinnied in compliance as if already making up its mind. “Agreed. We’re too close for it to make a difference.” There was no blockade at her position so she had the freedom to make a decision to risk it.

Either way, she would find out one way or the other whether Atlanta was a city to seek shelter, and what better way than at the perimeter? “Bueno, amigo.” Charley snapped the reins. “Yah!” The horse cantered forth, galloped, into the city, toward the direction that the reflection had come from.

Horse and rider rounded street and alley. Charley cradled a rifle in her arms as she barked, if quietly. “Injury?” She beckoned at whatever makeshift entrance in the street. Too hidden to see anyone or anything from either end of the section. “If infected, better make your peace.” She clicked spit between her teeth. “Or I can send you to it in one piece.”

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Hidden 8 mos ago 8 mos ago Post by Atrocious
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Atrocious Pretty Little Addict

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The desperation in Quinn's voice was palpable, and it was clear that she was struggling to maintain her composure. "Please!" Her cry for help wavered despite her best efforts to stay calm. Once more, she flashed the piece of scrap metal in an attempt to signal her location. Hidden behind a large tarp in an alleyway, barricaded for protection, she pleaded, "No infected beyond these parts, just a friend who is in need of help."

As panic threatened to overwhelm her better judgment, Quinn's mind raced at a dizzying pace. "Crap, okay, think of a plan. Think of anything." Her desperation was evident as she continued, "My name is Quinn, Quinn Finch - it's my 25th birthday next month. Please - my friend cut his leg, and he has a fever."

The gravity of the situation hung in the air, and Quinn's words carried the weight of their desperate circumstances. Tension filled the alley. Then, there was a rustle behind the tarp, the sound of shoes climbing up and fabric stretching. Finally, the dirty face of a younger woman peered out from behind the tarp; she had dark hair and even darker eyes. "It is a horse!" she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of surprise and relief.


@Die Shize
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Hidden 8 mos ago Post by Die Shize
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Avatar of Die Shize

Die Shize The Laughing Man

Member Seen 2 mos ago

Music OOC (Recurring)



The woman had asked, and a voice had called back in answer, in earnest, even as the former readied her weapon to blast back at an attacker or an infected, whichever. Nothing else mattered at this moment but protection, survival, even if it meant forfeiting a life she might otherwise save.

These words? Nonsense, really. Recited poetry. Regurgitated creed. Little and less. Long since lost and bereft of definition. Save who you can. Slay who is damned. An old friend had taught her, and Charley had wandered this dead earth as its daughter who defied the birth of its curse.
Words. Words are wind.

“So you say…” Charley responded to ‘no infected’. Alas, she had heard those words before, only for infected to almost get her killed moments later. A name came the next moment. Quinn Finch. Obviously she did not recognize it. Didn’t much care for a 25th fucking birthday either. Leg. Friend. Fever.

Charley pursed her lips, determining a decision as much as her position in these circumstances. She was not so callous as to abandon someone who genuinely needed help and would not hurt her in turn. Hell, might just help me. We'll see.

She debated the situation as the tarp opened just then. Training her weapon, finger on the trigger of a rifle not to be trifled with, another woman came into view, though no telling if infected.

“Dollar,” Charley offered across the distance. “That’s my horse’s name.” She ruffled his mane. “Good boy. What about you?” Rifle aimed. “You a good girl or you gonna make me wish I left this world and hell by shooting myself?”

@Atrocious
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