Donk — Roleplayer Guild

After shooing out the two deviants, Jones returned to his seat, crossing his arms as he deposited himself into the milk crate throne that was his chair. For a few moments he closed his eyes, simply thinking over things while the new arrival sat across from him. "So... What are you doing here, who do you associate with, and why shouldn't we just toss you out into the slush?" He winked, adding in, "Not that we'd do that, of course." Lucius cautiously took a seat and tried to subtly look around, wanting to take in as much information as he could. His hosts hadn't yet skinned him alive, so they were at least friendlier than the majority of individuals that one expected to meet in the wilds. Still, Lucius knew better than to let his guard down, especially when he had just been caught trespassing. "I was just looking for shelter on my way to Asylum. Got business there. I don't associate with anyone anymore, but I used to be DERB." Lucius smirked as he continued, "And to be honest I can't think of a single reason why you shouldn't throw me back out there. Kindness? If that's still a word people out here recognize?" Jones smirked slightly upon hearing the sparse used word once again. "Well you're in luck, then. I happen to have a shipment of Kindness on me right now, being delivered straight to the Lost so their black hearts will finally thaw." He waved a hand in a gesture to relax. "Of course, not that that would work, so I guess I've got a bit extra on me for the time being." He stood up, stretching his hands as he worked the kinks out of his body. The damp and the cold were getting to him slowly and the fire in front of them wasn't fixing much. He reached into a small sack, pulling out an old plastic baggy of dried meat jerky. He couldn't recall what it was, probably rat or pigeon. It didn't taste half bad, though. He tossed it across the fire to Lucius, smiling all the while. "The name's Jones Abrams, owner and proprietor of Abrams Caravan. Those two perverts in the hall that I kicked out were some of my crew. And you met Jim, our resident Hound Dog." Jones stopped to dump another folder of papers onto the fire to kindle it, watching the parchment burn as he sat back down. "And you might be?" "Lucius Fairfax, old-world detective and survivor," he replied as he caught the suspicious 'meat'. He realized that they might not have been old enough to even know what a 'detective' was, a grim reminder of how times had changed. "Detective..." Jones said, testing the word on his tongue. "Oh, oh!" he said, grinning with glee. "I remember when I was young. There was a show on the telly. 'Detective Whiskers,' I think it was called..." He frowned for a few moments. "They solved crimes, right?" Lucius couldn't help but smile at that, having grown up watching similar shows himself. "More or less, although you wouldn't believe the amount of paper work we had to do." he replied, giving a nod to the paper being thrown to the fire. It clearly wasn't the same kind of paperwork he ever had to do, but it was nice to be reminded that there were at least some mild positives to the apocalypse. Jones snorted. "I'm pretty sure paperwork is a thing of the past. Huge packs of that paper used to cost actual money but now it's just as common as dirt. And dirt at least has some value." He sighed, closing his eyes yet again. "You know, people don't get much chances to talk to their elders about the world before the Fall. Do you mind telling me about it?" ~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~ ..."I can't recall much more. It's hard for some of us 'elders' to remember things before the event. You try stretch your mind back but all you remember is the Hailstorm and the shit we had to survive. Believe it or not, things are easier now than they were when this shit all began." Jones nodded, happy that he could've listened to the old man speak of his travels. "Yeah, I guess they are. And the people like me who risk their hides trekking across the wastes are the people who've contributed to things getting better. As my ma' used to say. Trade will save the world. Thanks for the tales, Lucius." He reached out his hand to shake it with the older gentleman's. It was at this point that Catherine entered the room, oblivious to any stories Lucius had told and unable to care about them even if she had heard them. Her hoodie, while doing a decent job of hiding her injuries, couldn't hide the bloodstains splattered literally all over her; and not all of it was from those Lost she killed. She dropped her backpack down on the floor. "I found some stuff," she said simply, before slumping against a wall, looking utterly drained. Jones sighed, a deep sound that conveyed his concern and annoyance. "I thought I said to stay out of trouble? Or... was that, 'get the hell out, you fiendish succubi'... Not sure." He stood up, withdrawing his hand from shaking distance. He clicked his tongue as he walked over to her, taking in the sight. "You look like you got a boat dropped on you." "More like a fridge," Catherine replied, being annoyingly enigmatic. He snorted before changing his demeanor on a dime. "All right, take off that hoodie. Doctor Abrams is here to see to your woes." He walked back to his bags, searching through them for some medicinal supplies. "Do you want pink or purple string?" Catherine, too tired to be snide, obediently pulled her hoodie off over her head, exposing her bandaged arm and her other un-injured but heavily burdened half and a plethora of bruises that were barely covered by her white tanktop. He sat back down in front of her, running his eyes over her bounty of injuries. "Jesus, you're like a walking and talking bruise," he said, eyes widening a slight bit as he placed down an old fish and tackle box that had a red plus sticker on it. "And I'm barely doing much of either," Catherine replied, barely scraping the strength together for the most important task available to her: being a sarcastic dick. Gently beginning to unwrap her hastily attached bandages, he looked back at Lucius, "Oi, you mind coming over her and lending some 'elder knowledge' of yours? That and I could use a nurse." Lucius raised an eyebrow before climbing out of his seat. Given the time it took him and the noises he made, one may have thought he was in a worse state than the battered young lady. "I was always crap at first aid, but I'll do what I can" he muttered as he gave one of Catherine's bruises a small poke. She barely flinched. Jones swatted the hand away. "No antagonizing the patient." He rolled his eyes as he slowly grasped her arm, taking a good look at the main injury. "Those buffoons always scrape their knees and get papercuts, so I'm usually the one to fix 'em up..." He sighed, "You really made a mess of yourself. But... nothing's broken, far as I can tell." He pulled out a small sewing kit and a bottle. Fishing out two pills, he handed them to her. "That's some decently powerful stuff. Take only one for now, and if it starts hurting later, take it in the morning." "Alright," Catherine said, dry swallowing one of the pills. "I'll just put this second one, uh, in my pocket I guess." "Oh, and this is gonna hurt a lot," Jones said, suddenly having pulled out a bottle of peroxide and grabbing her arm firmly before pouring it on the bite wound. In a display of her tenacity, she only reacted with a grimace as the peroxide burned and sizzled on the open wound, having felt worse before and mostly being used to pain. After having cleaned the wound, he looked back at Lucius, saying "Hold her shoulders." Catherine rolled her eyes, not really sure this was necessary. As he did so, he produced the needle, manually beginning to stitch up her wound with a surprising display of speed, the needle pushing through her flesh with a practiced skill. And again, Catherine reacted with nothing more than a small, pained look and a single, clenched fist. Once he had finished up suturing her wounds, she let out a yawn out of exhaustion. "Gee, all this pain and almost dying is making me tired." "I'm not done yet," he said as he glared at her. He went through the rest of the motions of fixing her up. First was the rusty nail wounds that required more attention lest she develop a case of Tetanus. Then came the bruises, the checking for a concussion. After finally wrapping her up with gauze and bandages, he smirked, looking her over. Somehow by this point, Catherine had managed to doze off, and let out a light snore. His eyes softened as he chuckled lightly in amusement. "She's a tough nut to crack, eh, Elder?" "Hm?" Catherine sleepily replied. "Oh, you're done? I think I'mma head to bed." Another yawn examplified her sheer exhaustion. "Go on, get. And try not to use that arm, and don't move suddenly over anything." Catherine chuckled as she stood up and grabbed her hoodie. "I can still do this though, right?" She said, flipping Jones off light-heartedly as she left the room. "Give a little respect to the guy who fixed you up or I might 'accidently' give you an overdose next time," he said, grinning. Lucius gave a little wave to say goodnight but it didn't look like Catherine saw it, or at least she didn't care to respond to him. "Definitely a tough nut." Lucius replied warily. Whilst he had no objections to burdened (being on the fringe of such a term himself), there were few amongst the DERB outposts because of the stigma and fear that followed them. As a result it was easy for him to forget how tough they could be.

Aurellius tugged on the luxurious red tie that adorned his chest as the viewing came to an end. The tie fit well with the rest of his black suit, and it made sure he didn't stand out too much. White just wouldn't have worked when held up to the standard Beacon Academy uniform, and he sure as hell wasn't going to wear something unsettling like green or purple. He was bored as hell, though. Aurellius had been expecting something more akin to a gala, but all they had was a decent ceremony. Sure, their romp through the forest had been a helluva ride, it all just felt a bit short. He looked over his 'teammates.' Their reveal as Team MODA was an amusing one. The guy with the tank being their leader was the punchline, and he sure packed a punch. Their battle had been a whopping success. Aurellius' bullets ripped bark to shreds, but it just wasn't as good as regular Grimm. Brown really wasn't as good a color. He supposed the sap technically counted as its blood, but that was a stretch. Looking back to his squad, he chuckled. They weren't all that half bad. Sure, Oswald was a git, and Marcus' only redeeming factor was the tank, and Diamond's cane was hideous, they had their bonuses. Oswald worked well as a meat shield, Marcus had the tank, and Diamond had a fancy hat. It all worked out in the end. Having only been half listening to their conversation, he looked up just in time to see Marcus leading the way with a marching gait. Aurellius grinned slightly, stretching his arms out as he began to walk himself. "Our Glorious Leader has found the way, has he? What a joyous occasion! We'll have to celebrate. Who's for wine and caviar?" He snorted. "You don't have to assume the position so literally, Marcky. 'This way,'" he muttered, copying Marcus' voice. "I'm sure we would've found our way on our own without your fancy psychic powers of knowing where to go."

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