Glitter Guppy

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Focus. Aellyn breathed in deeply as she stared out the window of her taxi. She had forgotten how easily the neon lights got to her. Was there such a thing as too much unnatural light? Her fingers rubbed her eyes, trying to make the feeling go away. But images of him, seeing his face, seeing the disappointing look of her walking away again. This heist will be her, no, their ticket out, like she mentioned to him. No more fighting, no more running. Aellyn paused, digging into her jacket and pulled out her data pad. The list of places, stuck in her head for years. This was her path. The endgame was him. Focus.

“Miss…” The droid stuttered, his head twisted back to her.

Aellyn looked up and saw her ride had made it back to one of the many landing zones. She could see the UA in the distance. They didn’t leave her, that was a good sign.. Opening the door, she moved the crate onto the path and pulled out a few credits, paying her fare. As the taxi sped off, she kicked the crate forward as it moved ahead of her. Her thoughts back to the Helix job.

“Kid will be an undercover hotel personal. Big guy is security. Fel said something about another face and possibly a high roller to help.” Aellyn thought more. That would be two people on the floor, showing their faces along with hers. However, she managed to get something to help with that. Too many variables still. Too many things to go wrong. What about the stow? She was good at getting in and out of tight spaces. Wonder if she would be at all interested? Aellyn stuck her hands in her pockets. Though, the girl would probably be long gone by now.

Or, maybe she was lurking in the darkness, shadowing Aellyn with intent.

Eryn hadn’t made it half a mile before turning back. The idea that she’d walked away from a situation with a bag of goodies, well wishes and no work done to make up for it all sat in her stomach like a bad bowl of glowblue noodles. Not because she wanted to repay kindness with kindness, but because now, no matter what he’d said about it, she felt like she owed Fel something. The invisible leash of an unsettled debt clenched around her neck, ready to haul her back at a moment of his choosing. It didn’t matter that he didn’t seem the type to collect. She felt it, she hated it, and she couldn’t outrun an I.O.U favor for long.

So, she’d taken up a watchful position atop a low roof with some visibility of the ship’s surroundings and waited for a convenient chance to return. Because like hell was she gonna just walk back in and face the music without some kind of cover story for her throwing in with them.

That the cover story happened to be the redhead and her giant floating crate was just luck at this point. Eryn had watched the big one..Jet? She’d watched him leave, considered following him, thought he looked a little too much like he wanted to be alone. But this one? Well, she had a big trunk thing in tow, something she hadn’t had leaving the port, and didn’t seem particularly hostile. In fact, there was almost a satisfied determined spring in Aellyn’s step.

…Also, she was the only other one who’d left the ship, so this was probably Eryn’s only shot at this point. So, she packed up her bag, left her empty ration wrapper and the remains of a piece of jerky she’d stolen on the floor like any good denizen of Nar Shaddaa, and slid quietly to the ground floor.

And back like a bad penny, there she was, the stowaway suddenly at Aellyn’s side, keeping silent stride with the mysterious red-head. “What’s in the box, Red?”

Dank Ferrik. Where did she come from? Aellyn kept her stride but the thought of pulling her pistol and shooting the girl came to mind. However, shooting her would be the easy path and the way of the smuggler's moon. She tilted her head toward the girl and huffed, both acknowledging and annoyed. “None of your business..” She responded as they both approached the UA. Stopping just short of the ramp, she let the crate settle on the landing pad. “Figured you would be gone by now? Not sure why you’re sticking around.” Aellyn placed her hands on her hips, leaning to one side. She looked the girl over.

”Unless you feel obligated to stay…which.. “ She thought about her next phrase. ”Could be useful to us.” She shifted her weight to the other side. “How much did you hear about the Helix job? I don’t trust the pilot enough to pick out a side partner for me. You, on the other hand, seem like a person that can talk and sneak her way out of things. If you are interested, of course. Decent pay day. ”

“Not here for credits.” First time she’d ever said THAT one. But she meant it. “Any other crew would’ve sold me for parts or spaced my ass back in the ship. Your lot didn’t. Scales aren’t even now.” Eryn pushed the hood back from her face and turned to face the woman, unprepared for the metaphorical fist of painful nostalgia that hit her in the gut when she noted Red’s pose, hands on hips, weight shifted to one side. All hip-y confidence and ‘get back’ attitude.

Just like mom used to stand.

She blinked hard and swallowed the clench in her throat, drawing a clarifying breath. “Don’t want anything else from you people. Just here to pay off my debt. I don’t like owing anyone.” Eryn cracked her knuckles, letting the sensation pull away any lingering emotion. “So I’ll sneak ‘nd talk, and whatever else I need to do for this Helix job, and then I’m done. Heard a fair bit. Could use a detailed debrief, though.”

Eryn slung her rucksack off her shoulder and tossed it on top of the woman’s crate. All going to the same place for now, she figured.

“Name’s..Mal, by the way.”

Aellyn grinned. “Alright, Mal. Let’s stow the crate and your sack. Then you and I, go get a proper meal? Go over the details?” She turned and pushed the crate up the ramp, ditching it into her room. She headed back down the ramp toward the girl. Wrapping an arm around Mal’s shoulder, she turned them heading back toward the taxi station.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Time gets weird when you’re camping out in the guts of a ship.

…actually, everything gets weird when you’re camping out in the guts of a ship.

Each vessel had her own symphony of sounds and smells. Some were more forgiving than others. The bigger the ship, the harder to scrub all the O2. Pockets of foul air would build up in certain bends under the hull, collect in far corners or behind pipes in places usually inaccessible by anything bigger than a womp rat, knocking out anything unlucky enough to venture through. Often, there would be little piles of insect bodies in these spaces, dropping on top of each other the moment they hit the toxic air, unconscious until death arrived. They’d become familiar warning signs for Eryn over the years, just one of the many strange road signs of stowaway life.

She was passing one just now, wriggling between interior hull and a web of thick ducts, keeping well away from the slight open space behind the main duct. It wasn’t just the bad air. The further away from the interior you got, the closer the frozen black of space chilled the atmosphere and surrounding metal. Quite a few frostbite burn scars on her arms from the few times she’d fallen asleep against the wrong side of the hull.

She was on her way to a particular loose panel in the framework big enough for her to squeeze through, right under the hollow ‘storage’ seats of the galley table. At least, she hoped she was. This wasn’t a route she’d taken before. It wasn’t smart to use the same way too many times in a row. Better to change it up a bit if possible to avoid detection. Besides, that droid was wheeling around suspiciously near her usual pathways, and Eryn wasn’t interested in an introduction just yet.

The stowaway paused for a moment, ‘hmphing’ at the idea that she’d been here long enough to have a ‘usual route’. How long exactly? Not a clue. But she was familiar with the shadowed nuts and bolts, knew which sections to avoid and how to sneak in and out of certain areas without an issue. To her, that meant a long time.

Eventually, Eryn came to the colored nest of wiring she’d been looking for, marking the turn towards the galley. The scent of whatever the crew had whipped up grew stronger the closer to the panel she shimmied, and her stomach growled enthusiastically in response. She’d finished her last packet of ration paste long ago, and the idea of having actual food from a cooking pot for the first time since Ukio had taken over, from idea to desperate need. Eryn lay behind the panel for a long, cautious few minutes, doing mental gymnastics to justify the risk she was about to take while scanning the area through the warped mesh paneling for any sign of movement.

Silent patience under starved, dehydrated, exhausted pressure was a skill you learned quickly in her situation. You learned it, or you died ignoring it.

No sounds from the galley yet.

With grimey fingers, Eryn pulled the empty hydra-bag from her pocket, making sure the mouth was open wide enough to receive whatever she could grab. In one smooth, practiced motion, she carefully pushed the paneling away, slid through the opening, paused under the table one last time, and then slunk towards the stove. Eyes on the galley doors, she dunked her bag in the pot, noting it had cooled down, dragged the opening through the mixture a few times to collect what she could, and swiped a small container of polystarch bread from the counter.

She was slinking back towards the open panel before twenty seconds had passed, licking the stray food on her hand as it drizzled down the mouth of the bag, and she was back inside the crawl space with the panel replaced in record time.

After laying motionless to listen once again, Eryn tucked herself under the seat, managing to sit up a bit by compressing her spine against the back of the space that was surely used for smuggling, and began very slowly eating from her bag. She’d seen what lots of food very fast did to a stomach used to being empty. Even careful as she was, it was gone in four minutes, and she spent the next three painstakingly squeezing every drop from every corner.
Weird that it was so good. She didn’t expect a crew of this…caliber to have its own chef. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad after all.
…maybe they had more stuff like this in the chillbox? Chefs cooked a lot, right? She made a mental note to check out the cold storage next time.

Eryn allowed herself a few minutes to just sit and enjoy not feeling weak and dizzy, letting the thrum of the vessel vibrate through her with eyes closed.

Now maybe she could sleep.

She was moving again shortly after, aiming for her ‘nest’, the warm spot she’d found during her exploration. It was tucked up and behind one of the scrubber ducts, hidden from sight but allowing her a vantage point into the hallways, warm enough to be comfortable, and the angle allowed for decent airflow and ventilation.
To GET to it, however, required a rather slow and precarious crawl up and across one of the main hallway ceilings through the ‘heart’ of the ship, and the only thing separating her from the metal ground below was a thin sheet of what felt like tin and a flimsy mesh paneling. But she’d figured out how to go slow and use her surroundings to distribute her weight, and as long as no one was below, she didn’t worry too much.
She’d crawled atop more precarious things and lived to tell the tale.

There was never a time she didn’t check below before she started. The mesh offered a blurry look at the hallway, but it was enough to make out moving shapes. Top down view showed none of those, so after another moment of waiting, Eryn began her crawl. Emboldened by her stolen meal and wanting a bit of shut-eye, she took it a bit faster than usual, hands and knees still careful but coming down quicker than they should have. Halfway there, the droid rolled around the corner, and she tried to stop where she was to let it pass, but the panel wobbled alarmingly at her sudden halt.

The stowaway knew it was coming milliseconds before she felt the mesh give way.

“..Oh SHI-” Eryn dropped like a rock, surfing the panel straight down as she landed right on top of the droid’s dome. She rolled on impact as the panel slid to the ground with a tinny clatter, coming to a crouch a few feet away.
She was exposed.
It sent her body into overdrive, eyes sharpened, adrenaline bright in her blood, but she didn’t draw a weapon. She didn’t run.
She just stared. Stared at the droid in front of her, frozen, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Wrench would have flinched, if it had been capable. Would have screamed like a little girl, if it had been a biologically inferior organism. Would have immediately called for help, and the rest of the crew, had it not been the better part of six years since its last memory wipe. And Wrench, was a very special breed of stubborn, single-minded, and oddly prescient. Couple that with a loyalty and determination to rival Fel’s, and a slightly self-serving streak, and Wrench could be… unpredictable. In circumstances like this.

Hell. In any circumstance.

They were in the central corridor outside twin (port and starboard) holds. There was no possibility at least part of the crew hadn’t heard the commotion. So before engaging, before moving or even speaking, Wrench swivelled his torso and engaged the fore and aft, port and starboard locks on the compartment. The only way out now was the twin gangways leading to the dorsal and ventral cannons. But that was no way ‘out.’ There was no way out, unless Wrench opened the airlock.

*do you comprehend Binary?* the little droid chirped…

Eryn didn’t need to look around to know she was karked, but she did it anyway, casting her gaze from clearly inaccessible escape routes to droid. She was careful not to look at the gaping hole above its chirping dome, in case she could use it for something in the next few minutes. Not escape, of course, she’d be flushed out quicker than a turd, but it would make a decent handhold for some leverage and a nice place to engage the spring-action blades in her boots. A handful of options flickered through her brain.
Sometimes the best exit is the botched entrance.
“Yeah…” Voice low, she cocked her head and set her jaw, picturing her knife in the droids ‘eye’. “I get you.”

The grimy stowaway had three modes.
One, violence. Fight, attack, punch-first-ask-later.
Two, run.
And three, play games until you got what you wanted and then revert to One.

There was no way the rest of the crew hadn’t heard the commotion. She fought the primal urge to pull every weapon out and cut anything that came near her, bucket of bolts or bio-beings alike. She’d seen bits and pieces of the crew when she could, watched and listened while they interacted. They weren’t the worst. No one gave off ‘I Wanna Wear Your Skin’ vibes or seemed particularly cruel.
Maybe Mode Three was the way to go here.

Quickly, before she talked herself out of the idea, Eryn drew a knife from her left boot and the one on her belt and threw them across the floor. They slid noisily, coming to rest before the droid’s ..uh.. rolly ’feet’. She stood, hands up in what appeared to be surrender. “Do you get me, Wheels?”

Wrench “looked” as she threw down the weapons. He saw everything (within reason.) There was no need to make a show of it. In fact, doing so made the little droid suspicious that in no way was that all of the female’s weapons. Thankfully, there was no outward show for Wrench to tip his hand. No raised eyebrow, no pursed lips. (Biologics were so problematic and smelly.) To Eryn, all she would see is Wrench’s radome turn two degrees, toward her. His computer interface arm was already coupled to the port on the Starboard bulkhead.

Truth be told, Wrench was a little surprised at this humanoid’s presence. He wondered how long she had been aboard.

*I am torn between offering to open the cargo elevator, thus solving the problem of You… and asking how you managed to get aboard …have you always been here?*

Wrench heard the banging on the hatch, heard Fel’s overbearing vox, knew the crew was going to be unaccepting of additional biologicals aboard. He re-checked for a microsecond that he had locked out the common area and engineering panels. Satisfied that he had bought himself a moment, he engaged the alarmed female – for so she was. Her heart-rate was elevated, and her body temperature had spiked. *My response is prescribed by my allegiance to my people. You do pose a possible threat. Give me a good reason why I don’t end your biological functions with the cold vacuum of the Black?*

“I..uh..” A good reason? She didn’t have one. But the fact that the droid was asking questions at all instead of just automatically blowing her out the airlock was a point in her favor. A small one, but one all the same.

Eryn was quiet for a moment, almost physically struggling to get words out. Not because she couldn’t figure out what to say, but because it’d been such a long time since she’d had anything resembling a thoughtful conversation with anyone that she’d just kind of…forgotten how to? Words stuck in her throat like fishbones, and she took a deep breath, trying to get them out. After all, her life DID depend on it, and while the droid was clearly not bloodthirsty or beyond fairness, it was definitely serious, and she didn’t want to push her luck there.

The last time she’d fragged up and been caught aboard was back at the beginning of all of this, before she’d completely lost her soul.
Before she’d seen nothing but the bad side of the ‘verse.
She’d only been allowed to stay after agreeing to work a job for them for ‘free’, thus paying off her ‘debt’.
Maybe…?

She swallowed, actually annoyed at her own sloppy handling of the situation. Being caught off-guard was bad enough. Rendered mute and floundering around for any shred of old social skills was just too much.

“I just. –Needed a ride. Off that rock,” she finally choked out. “I was… stuck. Couldn’t pay for it. I just…needed a break.” It wasn’t a lie, at least. “But I don’t want trouble,” she added quickly, trying her best not to look threatening. “I’ll-.. I’ll work, if that helps. For your people, or whatever. Labor for a ride. Drop me at the next planet, I’ll never bother you again.”

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

With more than a little hesitation, the motley crew atop the speeders flanking Abilene exchanged a few glances. No one seemed overly keen on approaching the loading ramp situation now that the spacer and his crew had back-up.
The lead on the left jerked his head towards the cargo, motioning for the right to go first.
The right just shrugged at him.

Given her situation, Eryn was a billion percent not fond of making moves that might attract any measure of attention, but the woman had a schedule to keep and she had no patience for gutless morons.
She pushed away from the speeder driver in front of her and slid off the vehicle, making sure her boots were heard hitting the ground. With the helmet on over the hood and the mask covering the lower half of her face, the only thing that set her apart from the others was her height.
As she suspected, the movement set the others into motion. Now all she had to do was follow the others and blend in.

Trailing close behind the speeder leads, Eryn kept her head down but her awareness up as she began helping load the cargo, studying the scene, making mental notes, looking for openings or things she might be able to use down the line.

The rival crew caught her interest. She noted the way they rallied around the wounded captain, the stubborn steel in his words as he stood once more, the sharp, calculating gaze of the older one. Eryn knew a soldier when she saw one. She could almost see the calluses on his soul, the weight of what he’d been through in the tension through his frame. The woman was the most intriguing, not much taller than Eryn herself, hair red as a laigrek’s eye. If Eryn hadn’t heard otherwise, she’d have assumed SHE was the leader of the group, commanding their back-up firepower with the unwavering diamond spine of someone who knew real power. But there was nothing…arrogant about it. If she was putting on a show, she was a damn good actor.

She caught sight of at least two others, but she couldn’t get a decent look without craning her neck, and the last thing Eryn wanted to do was draw more attention. She was hoping they’d have to board the ship to collect everything, giving her time to find a spot to stow herself…

Eventually, when all was loaded and the exchange had ended, no one would be able to find the short new member of Abilene’s cronies. Not that anyone was looking. She’d done a decent job of making herself forgettable. But the speeder crew would be short one grimey lackey, and nobody on that blasted rock would give a bantha’s ass about it…

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

She was up and moving long before the arriving ship’s metal touched the ground, leaving behind a mess of tarps and empty noodle packages stuffed into a corner of her shelter-pipe.

Watching the aircraft break clouds overhead after such a long stretch of waiting felt like hope again as she slid nimbly down her planned escape route, tempering the rising bubble of relief and elation in her chest. Best not to get ahead of herself. She hadn’t even seen the thing up close yet, nothing to be relieved about until she was hidden inside.
If she could even get inside. Personal starships and smaller freighters were tougher to get into than the huge star liners or refugee transports. The bigger they flew, the more space to go unnoticed. Run-of-the-mill spacers were either paranoid with great security, or stupidly overconfident with none.
Hopefully, this crew was the latter. Guess she’d find out soon enough.

Still. It was a chance off this rock. That alone felt good enough.

Adjusting the black mask over the lower half of her face, Eryn hastily stuffed her dark greasy hair into her hood and pulled it up over her head, sticking to the shadows as she looked for her opening to join the sparse flow of beings along the main causeway. A handful of them were armed to the teeth, probably looking more intimidating than they actually were. Much like her old crew, actually. Overconfident and focused on personal glory. ‘Gotta look the part’ kind of people. One or two were wearing long necklaces with what looked like a giant tooth at the end.
The same kind of tooth she’d seen buried in the captain’s face as the rest of ‘The Wyvern’s crew scattered in every direction.
Eryn curled her lip in mild disgust at the amulets. Far too clean and way too white to be something they’d actually ripped from the skull of the creatures prowling outside the city limits. Probably bought them in souvenir shops or paid for them from crafters.

She took a moment to glance at the small datapad she’d swiped from a bar patron days ago, scrolling past various galaxy-wide bounty postings to the more local information available to all. And there it was, right at the top.
Wanted: Dead. Credits for intact creature heads. Make money protecting the colony! Prices negotiable based on size of head. [Active]

The whole reason ‘The Wyvern’ had landed here in the first place. Crowing about how it would be easy money, how they could taste the credit chits already, ‘we’ll make this colony worship us by the end of the day’, etc.
Karkin’ dumb lot o’ trash. But, trash was easy to fool, and easy to control if you knew how. No one bothered her after she dismembered the Mon Calamari galley ‘cook’ who’d attempted to throw hands after accusing her of stealing ‘more food than she was worth’. She displayed random bits of him outside the small corner of the cargo bay she’d claimed as her own, and never walked the ship without both weapons drawn.
Certainly didn’t make her popular, but Eryn wasn’t there for buddies and comradery.

She tucked the screen back into the small pack on her back, eying the passing armed ‘bigwigs’ as they clinked and clattered past her, bristling with the same measure of cocky attitude that had seen ‘The Wyvern’ crew to their deaths.
Idiots.
She joined them, pulling smoothly from the shadows and blending unnoticed into the lineup, matching their stride and their attitude.
See? Easy to fool.

Her hunch was right. They were headed towards the exit, and by the looks of the groups they were joining up with, they were there to hunt.
If she could tail them safely, they’d make fantastic bait for what lay outside the city, and with the beasts distracted by such a large party, she’d have a chance at making it to that ship without too much risk.
Hopefully.
Maybe.
It was plan-as-you-go, fly by the seat of your pants for now.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

For what felt like the ninety-ninth time today, Eryn wriggled out from under the elevated concrete slab and propped herself up on her elbows, pulling out the broken binocs she’d swiped from the trash three buildings over. She closed one eye over the cracked eyepiece and dragged a hopeless, practiced gaze across Abilene’s surface with the other.
Nothing new. No ships. No way out.
Oh my god. What a surprise. She just couldn’t even.

Disappointment had died days ago for her. Couldn’t even muster annoyance anymore as she dropped the binocs back on the tarp next to her and shimmied back under the makeshift slab shelter like some kind of crab returning to its shell. It wasn’t comfortable, but finding the concrete outcrop atop one of the only three story buildings in this dusty outpost had been a much needed shot of luck for her. The area was undisturbed, playing wall-less closet to a collection of old mining gear long past its expiration date, and with the way the slab had shifted over the top of the building, it offered her a vantage point without risk of being seen. Not a bad protection from any elements, either. From there, laying on her stomach with binocs in hand, she could track anything coming into Abilene from land or sky, and track she did.

So far, the only thing even remotely interesting going or coming past the town’s edge was the young couple sneaking off to make out undisturbed every other night.

Stupid teenagers.
She stared up at the damp concrete above her, running a finger across the multiple slashes in the arm of her leather jacket. Traced how wide and jagged each one was. Felt the dried blood still flaking off the leather under her touch. Brushed at the thick scar marks now knitted into her flesh.
Remembered the screams of her old captain.

Really stupid teenagers. They knew what was out there, and they still snuck out.
Not like she actually cared, though. Not her problem. They’ll die or they won’t. No one here mattered unless they were a way off this rock, and Abilene definitely wasn’t bustling with off-world activity.

“Not. My. Problem,” she breathed quietly as she scratched another line into the tally above her head with a bit of metal, a shower of concrete dusting her like snow.
Thirteen days.
Thirteen karking days and no end in sight.
A very, very small part of her had hoped at the beginning that whatever crew had survived and taken ‘The Wyvern’ would realize she was still alive and come back for her. They’d seen her during the chaos, she knew a few had.
After day four, that hope fizzled out, replaced by vivid, violent scenarios of what she’d do if she ever saw any of them again.

A rogue gust of wind rushed over her hiding spot, toying with the edge of the tarp she hadn’t dragged under the shelter. The sound drew thoughts of the instant noodle packages she’d stolen from one of the kitchens down the street, and the way her stomach growled, there was no denying it.
Time for dinner.

The one problem with this slab-shelter thing? You couldn’t sit up. Or, it would have been a problem for someone else.
Eryn contorted like a worm folding in on itself, her flexible Sorrusian bones briefly turning her into something out of a horror film as she reached around her feet to grab one of the brightly colored noodle packages.
It was gone in under two minutes, raw and crunchy, and the tiny heating pack included for cooking was activated and tucked into the breast of her shirt. The tiny bloom of warmth felt nice.
Eryn tucked the ripped packages into the stack at the edge of the shelter, stacking the rocks atop them like paperweights just in case of wind, and flipped herself back around to war-crawl towards the outcrop once more, enjoying the heat of the spice at the back of her throat. Felt better than dust. Tasted better than dust, which was all Abilene had to offer her up here.

Soon, she was perched, binocs in hand for the hundredth time today. Maybe this time. Maybe this time, someone would come.
She panned down out of habitual movement. There they were, sneaking out again. Stupid. Ugh.

Maybe this time.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Introductions? Yeah. Introductions.

Bio data you probably don't need, but you're gonna get anyway.

List of crap I can do, and crap I can't do...yet.

TLDR: My life in a rotten nutshell, enjoy.

What your datapad looks like if you Holonet my mug. But don't. Seriously. Don't do it.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Hi guys!

Another one of deegee's old crew trickling in, here. <3 Just saying hi for now, I'm loving all the posts, it's been a long time since I read anything that excited me so. Looking forward to joining you guys next time a spot opens up! Working on a CS here and there. Meantime, just here to be the cheerleader and enjoy the story. ^_^

The Risen: Fear the Fallen

March 15, 2018 - Framingham, Massachusetts - Walmart Checkout Area

“Well, Ryan…” Bri huffed a little as she hauled Grant slowly to his feet, trying to keep her body upright, front-facing and one arm free in case their new ‘friend’ needed a stabilizing knife to the face. Struggling to support Grant gave her some verbal cover as she tried to come up with a polite response. Weird how fast your casual communication skills disappear when your only blessed source of chatting knows you like the back of his hand. They could have a whole conversation with a single look. Who needed words when you were that close?
She supposed a name exchange would be a good start.

“Briana, Grant,” she gestured in introduction, still keeping a wary distance. Cool and calm. Clearly Ryan hadn’t had much interaction either. “I guess thank you for the help with the rots.” She shot Grant an understanding look. “I don’t blame you for swinging at us first, asking questions later. Can’t be too careful. But we’re not here to hurt anyone or cause problems,” she finished quickly, in case he was rethinking his apologies for Grant’s attack. “Just needed a few supplies.”

The edges of Bri’s vision began to smooth out as the adrenaline faded. She hesitated a moment before sheathing her knife in a clear sign of ‘I’ll Trust You Enough For Now’, and nodded to the basket of items on the floor near Ryan. It had spilled, sending socks, spices and a few other items Bri had gathered rolling. “Promise we didn’t take more than we needed, but we DO need it, and then we’ll leave you in peace.”

Making sure Grant had a solid hold on the checkout counter, she very slowly went about gathering her strewn items and tucking them into her backpack, every movement deliberate as she narrated what she was going to grab next the closer she got to Ryan. As the last of the adult pre-moistened washcloths was zipped away, Bri gave him a small smile and backed away next to Grant. “Electronics, huh?” She threw her best friend a look, an ironic glint in her eye. “Maybe you know how to fix an old CD player? I found one a while back, got the batteries for it, just can’t figure out why it won’t work–”

Through the boarded up front doors of the Walmart came the sound of a vehicle, a voice following shortly.

Bri froze.

When she’d said she understood Ryan’s fear and uncertainty about strangers, she’d meant it. Because the only thing potentially worse than rotters…was other people.

She looked at Grant, then Ryan, who’d suddenly become part of their group in her mind because he was less of an unknown than whatever was outside in that car. Grant wasn’t much for a fight right now, and Ryan had proven to be something of a loose cannon…but he did know the store, and that was a point on their side.
“I’m assuming no one wants to meet the newcomers?” She quietly crept to the front doors, peering through a shard in the wood paneling, but the glass was too fogged and shattered to see anything. “Ryan? Know somewhere we can hide in here while we wait for Grant to heal up a bit?” she whispered.

The Risen: Fear the Fallen

Grant did his best to look around to where Bri was. "What are you doing?" His voice was a bit raspy when he answered her, "You need to get out of here." He could feel that he was getting colder and he knew that he was injured enough that he might slow her down and that was the last thing that he wanted. He knew that if she tried to untie him that it would leave her even more vulnerable to an attack from this guy and he couldn't have that. Of course he said he just wanted them to leave but could he really be trusted? He did hit Grant in the back of the head and then hog tie him.

He could still feel the blood trickling down his head and dripping off the side, and he was sure at this point there was a sizable pool that had formed, those head wounds always bled so much. To Bri it must have looked awful. "Take my bag and go before he gets you too." He knew that she probably wouldn't listen but he also knew that she would know he was serious. Even in his worst moment his only priority was to protect her from danger, it was all that he could think about at the moment.

@The DudeMan

Checkout Counter #6, Walmart, Framingham, Mass.

She was close. Close enough that he could smell her. (Degree Antiperspirant, $3.99, aisle 3A.) Wait. Was that her? Blood on the floor. His. Grant-package's. (Band-Aid brand plastic coated self-adhesive bandages, box of 50, $5.99, aisle 3B.) No. Nonononononono... Not her. Something else, smelly. His focus was on them, on her... but his ears were elsewhere. (St. Elsewhere, box-set, season one, $29.99, aisle 28) **quietly, almost hissing** "not NOW, dammit..." He could pinpoint a sound now. It was in women's underthings, just inside the main entrance. **still very, very quietly** "Your fault. Your fault. Your. Fault. Yours. Bad. Yourfault. You and Grant-package. 'least two of them. Stinkers in the naughty garments. Leaker needs new hosiery... cleanup, aisle 2 please..." Very, very slowly, with his off-hand, Ryan reached into a coat pocket and withdrew a set of dikes (Milwaukee, $11.99, aisle 17, Automotive) and as he swivelled the wavering gun barrel toward the ladies' naughty garment section, held them out for the woman to take. Held them as if touching her or touching them while she touched them would mean certain transmission of cootiees. "Cut him out. There'll be more coming. Always more. Always when there's fresh meat. Aisle 10. Delicatessen / Butcher..."

@The DudeMan @Lady of Lore

@deegee

Oh. Oh God, not NOW!! Dammit, they’d cleared the store! Where had they come from?! Of all the worst possible times…
But of course it was now. Long before the world fell apart, people thought it cruel and unfair. Little did they know how good things were.

“Quiet,” Bri hushed Grant as she swiped the pliers from the crazy-man’s hands and set them to work on the bonds holding her friend, whipping her head around every once in a while to check the surroundings… and the man with the gun. The way he spoke, the aisle numbers, something about him not being ‘done’ with something, made her wonder if he’d worked here before everything went to hell. Had he been here this whole time by himself? Could explain the severe mental instability—

A wet, ragged groaning from the ‘naughty garments’ aisle interrupted her musings just as the pliers clipped through the last of Grant’s bonds. She almost flinched instinctively as something knocked over a stand, worried Gunman might lose it and pull the trigger by accident. Bri stuffed the pliers in her jacket pocket and crouched over Grant, hands gently but purposefully checking him for injuries. “Pain? Nausea? Sleepiness?” She found the gash in his head, patting it with a cotton pad. “Can you move? You may need to move…”
Her heart was present, but her mind was already on the impending rotter situation.
Grant was down. She’d HAVE to fight. No way around it. Could drag Grant to safer place if need be. Leave basket behind, can grab it once the risen are taken care of. The addition of Gunman made it more complicated. Unstable. Unpredictable. Unknown. Can’t trust to help her. Had to protect Grant from him, too.

Her thought pattern ended abruptly, that adrenaline-fueled clarity kicking in. Hyper-aware of everything, she turned an ear upwards, listening.
They were getting closer.
“Stay down, G, I’ll be fine, ok?” she hissed at Grant as she tiptoed over to pick up her machete once more. Bri came to stand beside Gunman, but not too close, her movements slow and steady. “Hey,” she whispered, gesturing towards his gun with a shake of her head. “Too noisy. That’ll draw more, we need to stay quiet. Use something else. We need to hunt them down before they get to—”

Too late.

What rounded the corner looked more like giant moldy SPAM than something that used to be human.
And it brought friends. Just four. But even one was dangerous enough.

Bri didn’t hesitate as the small pack of rotters broke apart, two heading for Gunman, one with arms stretched out towards Bri in a death-hug. The last one gurgled from behind the others, awkwardly attempting to move forward. She glided towards ‘hers’, noting the ‘new item, half price’ tags dangling from its clothing, the way its gaping mouth hung at a weird angle as if its jaw was broken. She punched a hand against its chest to keep it at arms length, feeling its ribs give beneath her palm with a soggy SCRUNCH as she jammed the tip of her blade through the bottom of its jaw. It was an easy push upwards into the brain.

Gore drizzled downwards.
Bri waited for it to fall, smashed its head with her boot heel just to make sure, and turned around.

The Risen: Fear the Fallen

There she was. klak. klak. Her boots on the tile. Her light wasn't helping the matter, and for a moment, he considered just pulling the trigger. Two of them. Two would mean trouble. Two would mean more will come. More would mean the stinkers. Trouble. Trouble... he couldn't trust her. Sure, sure. Not looking for trouble. klak.

"Like the others. Right..." Easy... easy... game-face. (cosmetics, foundation, $6.99, aisle 6 -- 'beauty products.') "Shut up!" Sometimes that voice was just too present. too close. Bad timing. Did I say that out loud? The light... her light (C-cell batteries, checkout #3 display -- place where you just whacked Dude with an Edger -- $24.99, aisle 17 -- 'garden implements') "I said cut it OUT!" ...was still lingering close at-hand, so that he couldn't focus. klak. The gun wavered in his hand a little, aimed at her (general location.) The barrel of the gun looked big... dangerous. Dirty. Like it was ready to deliver infection and pain. The fact that it quaked slightly in his (nervous? sick?) hand did her no favours, though the fact that he wasn't pointing directly at her, but only vaguely at her, was of some consolation.

"y-you just need to go. Away from here. Take your friend and leave. I-I just don't want to have to kill him. Or you. But you can't stay. Can't. I'm just not done, see? If I was done, you could stay, and it'd be swell." His face loses all emotion. "But I'm not. So you can't. Go." (bullets, security counter, no listed price [NFS!] -- you can always replenish...) "SHUT. UP!"

@deegee

March 15, 2018 - Framingham, Massachusetts - Walmart

The room was spinning and he felt the cold on the open wound beginning to seep in as the blood began to drip all over the tiles around him. He blinked a few times as his eyes finally came somewhat into focus and he looked up to see his attacker crouched holding a gun and he could hear Bri approaching. He tried to free himself without gaining too much attention from the gunman but he was still kind of out of it and the more he struggled the more he felt himself losing consciousness. He had to help her, he had to do something but at the moment he was completely powerless to do anything. He could call out to her, he could warn her of the gun, but what would this guy do if he did that? He could try to tell her to run but would this guy shoot her in the back? He did hit Grant in the back so it's possible. He was getting desperate to step in, he struggled once more to no avail. His eyes began to well as the image of Bri being shot ran through his mind over and over again. He couldn't let that happen, he wouldn't. "Please--" his voice was weak but sincere, "Sir. Please. Don't hurt her." He pleaded. "Tell her to go. Do what you want to me, but please don't hurt her." He didn't know what else to do, he wasn't strong enough to break his bindings and he didn't want to risk her safety by calling to her or allowing her to do something heroic. So he pleaded and stared at the man as he laid in a growing pool of blood becoming dizzier and more light headed by the second. He felt tired, he felt weak, but he fought the urge to close his eyes and sleep until he knew that Bri would be safe. At least for now.

@The DudeMan

March 15, 2018 - Framingham, Massachusetts - Walmart

Bri crouched momentarily, placing the flashlight on its end, beam reaching for the ceiling. It cast her immediate surroundings in a dim, dusty grey light, brushing the edges of each shape in a soft blur.

Somewhere under the layers of adrenaline, her heart sank a little for the man with the gun. The way he spoke, the tone in his voice… she’d heard it before, or at least variations of it at work. There was something broken about it. But then, weren’t they all a little broken now? Survival changed you. For better or worse, it changed you no matter who you were before. Those that say it doesn’t are lying.

“We’ll leave, you have my word,” she reassured him in gentle tones, leaving her machete on the ground near the flashlight. She couldn’t see details, but the way his hand lightly shuddered was enough for her to put her weapon down. Any sign of a threat from her wouldn’t be received very well, for sure. “May I go to him? I’ll check him over and make sure he can walk and then we’ll be gone before you know it.” The young woman didn’t wait for an answer. Prudent to be cautious, yes, but she had no idea the extent of Grant’s injuries. For all she knew, he could have minutes to live. Slowly, casually, keeping her hands in a meek way, she knelt next to her best friend and tried to assess without touching him. “Grant? Where does it hurt? Can you move?” she asked calmly.