Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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James Grady

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Location: Stately Residence Driveway just off of Ralls Rd.
Interacting With: Alicia, Dexter, Jamie, Richard

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James looked in horror as his friend and confidant was pulled from her sniper perch in the window. One shot fired before she dropped her rifle on the roof and died, screams cut off by her own blood. James had tried to grab her, successful only in striking the toe of her boot with outstretched fingers. Then she was gone.

He snatched up his pistol, attempting to give her a clean death. Sadly, he was denied this. The horde massed around her, tearing, eating, preventing him a direct line of sight. At least she expired quickly. A few short pumps exiting her jugular she she lost consciousness, adrenaline and shock taking the largest portion of her pain away until Alicia's eyes closed to a world that did not deserve her. James sunk into his chair, heartbroken.

Alicia Gonzalez, a badass from a line of badassery, sniper, close combat specialist, friend. She was loved by more people than she realized. She would be missed.

Dear God, this meant James had to tell everyone.

He looked back at the man who jumped into the Hordebuster first. If there was any good that would come out of Alicia's death, it was that she gave her life for this man. James prayed that he was important in some way; prayed that his continued existence had meaning. It had better.

The intervening seconds between the first man entering and the last seemed impossibly slow. An eternity in a moment. Everything seemed to quiet in one detached space of indeterminate time. James's logical mind stayed sharp, covering the survivors' path to the 'Buster. His emotional mind betrayed him, fighting to express itself in blurry, myopic drops he had to blink away. Had to stay hard. He was surrounded by the Dead, backup just got eaten, and now taking on total strangers by himself. Stay hard.

The last horse crossed the finish line, and James wasted no time pulling the suicide door cable to slam it shut. Not that he actually believed that reanimated corpses had mastered Truck Door Opening skills, but he nailed the manual locks out of sheer determined habit. Immediately, he remembered Alicia's rifle and retrieved it, half standing in his seat by reaching his arm out and blindly groping on the roof. Luck had the barrel in his hand after two fast passes. He lay it the front passenger seat with the rest of Alicia's personal effects, using the action to disguise wiping his face with his sleeve.

James wasn't sure what he should say to these people. Ordinarily, there would be a witty comment, followed by a couple light questions to find out what kind of people they were. Then, he'd assess what he found out (or at least suspected), and either cut his ties to them or invite the lot back to Newnan. He was the official Recruiter, after all. It's what he did.

But this situation was all fucked up.

The question as to what he should say came to him in a flash of incredulous rage, following a weight pressing against his seat and a highly insensitive question hurled at him by one of the Ralls Rd. survivors:

" For the love of God, do you have a cigarette? "

James couldn't believe it. Really couldn't. Perhaps he should have thanked the guy, the sudden rush of anger snapped him out of his more immediate sorrow, bringing him back to the here and now. He yelled with no small amount Southern Accented Belligerence,

"Are you serious? Did you not just see what happened? Unless you wanna walk, you gonna shut up about CIGARETTE and sit the fuck down!"

For half a second, James debated putting a bullet in the man's hip joint. But that would be counterproductive, and it was very possible that events were putting him in a dark place again. Yes, counterproductive. Instead, he pulled the Hordebuster around, circling the roundabout in the driveway and getting himself reoriented to the main road.

The long driveway sloped up at a gentle angle to the street, and it was covered with the Dead. Ordinarily, this would mean the end. On the other hand, ordinarily he wouldn't be in the belly of Captain Ash's Custom Road Monster. Alicia convincing him to "borrow" the machine saved his life, and the lives of those they just rescued. Pity it did not save her as well.

Black James stepped on the accelerator, easing the powerful beast forward slowly at first. On he pressed, picking up speed. At first, he was merely pushing the walking corpses out of the way, but by the time he was fully a third of the way up the drive, a chorus of bone pinged off of the steel of the Buster's great, reinforced cowcatcher as putrid bodies were thrown and scattered like so many undead bowling pins. James sat, steering the Dump Truck of Death through a field of rotting meat, mowing them down like grass and flinging them about in a way that would have been comical, were one to not see the pain and rage decorating his face.

If he were very lucky, he would have rolled over Alicia's corpse and destroyed her brain. But luck didn't seem to be on his side today.

Back on the road, he hauled ass to get ahead of the horde.

The moment he thought they were home free, his radio crackled. "We'r un tack, all dow, mu pl dead,"

"Come again? Didn't readja, what was that about a tack?"

A tack... a tack... attack. Shit. He turned back to the people in the truck behind them, still keeping his gun in hand.

"Aight, look. Ain't supposed to go down this way, ok? I'm a recruiter. This ain't the plan. I think home's gettin' hit, so I gotta cut this run short. If ya'll want to help, fine, follow my lead. If you don't, I'll let you folks out somewhere on the way. Someplace quiet. But I'm turning this bitch around and goin' aggro on some muthafuckas when I get there. Your call."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

...you understand I was just kidding about the Zomnado, right? Guess not. Moving on.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ashton Holloway

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Location: Hwy 34, just outside of Franklin, GA
Interacting With: Maria, Kristina, Lorna

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The highway was fairly straight and uninhabited, by the living or the dead. Ash took a few moments to study their two new companions, diverting his attention briefly to the rearview mirror as the road was level and clear. The sisters were acting like, well sisters, and Lorna was obviously tired, but bearing both it and recent muscle pain like a trooper.

Lorna had let drop several clues that she might be military, not including the color with which she fluidly extolled the less ladylike parts of the English language. The clincher came when she lay her head on her shoulder - exposing the graceful curve of her neck, and the USMC tattoo just behind her ear.

"Ma'am?" Ash began, glancing to Lorna, "Couple points of bad news: We're almost at where we're headed, that being Franklin. Need all of us on the clock. Best I can offer is freezedried MRE coffee. Also, can't help you with the painkillers, least not yet."

"The good news: We're scouting for supplies, medical being part of that. Franklin's a small town, low population, off the beaten. There might still be things worth having. Now, I promise, the first four Naproxen we find are all you."

He did feel like an ass, denying rest to people who very plainly had a crappy day. While he did have to maintain the mission, there might be some wiggle room for biological necessities, things like sleep.

"We're five minutes out of town. Another five to get to the downtown. Unless it's crawling, that's where we're setting up base camp. Three of the spots we're hitting are right around there, so it's a good place to start. I'll brief everyone on site, soo... you've got ten to close your eyes. Wish I could do you better."

Ash wanted to give the Smiths some time to catch up. Apparently, it had been a while. Lord knows if his brothers were still alive, he'd want a few minutes without his CO's attention. For this reason, he had kept his speech directed toward Lorna. Before she drifted off into the blissful but short world of catnappery, the stoic engineer passed his extra 5.56 clips behind him.

"Hey, Marine," he began with lowered voice, "hang on to that carbine 'till we're home, ok? I hope we can avoid using it, but if we have to leave fast and loud, I want someone screaming OORAH carrying the damn thing."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@SgtEasy
Always bet on the handlebar. Always.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Church Street - Whitesburg
Interacting With: Meg, Survivors

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Ceasar tossed his machete into the truck bed as he came close, followed immediately by a somewhat more gentle depositing of his human cargo onto the tailgate. A gurgled snarl, barely audible over the white noise of rain and the pounding of blood in his ears, alerted him to danger immediately to his back. He turned, hurling his inertia into a devastating left cross at the rictus corpse, catching and half-removing its mandible in a grisly parody of a broken marionette.

Rapt in his moment of personal carnage, he hopped up onto the open tailgate next to his living carry-on and planted both of his snakeskin boots into the ribcage of the semi-jawed walker, simultaneously knocking it to the ground and propelling the elder man farther into the vehicle. Caesar took a second to close up the back, just in time to hear Meghna chastise him:

"Fuck fuckity fuck! Dammit Caesar! You could've gotten yourself killed with your Jackie Chan bullshit!"

El Jefe looked to his traveling partner and replied with a low, casual tone as she pulled the truck back on course, "Jackie Chan is my bitch, Meg. Time to go."

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

Keystone

Location: Road North of Salarn, one day out

Interacting With: The New Girl, Kyra & Sona

More annoyed than alarmed by the turn of events, Keystone pushed his hood off of his head and returned his attention to the object of his guardly attentions, "the food".

Their little campfire had a guest for the evening, it seemed. Such a thing would generally be counterproductive to the concept of keeping a secure camp. On the other hand, knowing an unfamiliar someone was about in the woods (possibly just outside the reach of the firelight) wasn't very good for security or morale. The price for reclaiming the relative security they enjoyed earlier was a meal. Taken at face value, it appeared the best choice. Besides, Keystone had issues with turning someone away from the supper table, not when they had food to spare. He blamed his mother for that tiny habitual altruism.

With a utilitarian lack of emotion, Keystone dropped a sausage and two smallish yams onto a plate of noodles and set it down beside him as part of the group made their introductions to the newcomer. He mixed a pinch or three of raw flour with a small amount of flower oil and mashed them into a tan paste, before vigorously mixing it into the sausage grease still in the pan. Keystone looked at the mixture, regarding it for just a moment before adding a touch of ale from his provisions to thin the budding sauce.

Keystone topped the plate of food with a liberal helping of pan gravy and absently held it out at his side. "Said you were hungry. Here you go." The massive pugilist narrowed his eyes against the gloom, trying to take in details of their guest. Still staring at the veiled lady, he addressed the other for which he was cooking. "Sona, supper's ready. No sausages for the Elf."

He cleared his throat and motioned with the plate once more, "Any more of you out in the woods we ought know 'bout?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Holy crap, that was unexpected. I don't have a speech ready or anything... umm....

"This is a great honor. I'd like to thank my Mama and Elvis. Thank you."

-The Brain

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Church Street - Whitesburg
Interacting With: Meg, Survivors

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Their journey up Highway 27 had to be diverted, if but a bit, owing to a concentration of dead people on the road. Luckily, Church Street ran almost exactly parallel to both 27 and the train tracks leading into Carrollton, and was significantly less populated by rotting, shambling, former humans.

At least, for the moment.

Caesar's eyes were open before Meg's nudge made connection. As an older man with a lifetime of conflict resolution experience behind him, he knew the value of getting rest at every opportunity. Likewise, he knew the value of getting that rest very lightly. Within a second, he had appraised himself of the situation and sprung to immediate action.

An only slightly suicidal plan forming, he slid open the back window and tossed his weapons into the truck bed, following close behind. "Get ahead of the herd! Cover me if you can. I'll be right back." He kicked open the tailgate and moved out with pure physicality which defied his advancing age.

The two survivors were tired. Hurt. They were barely moving faster than the Walkers pursuing them, and sweet, merciful Bacon it was a LOT of them. They'd be outmaneuvered by pure numbers and, sometime the next day, be excreted as so many useless lumps of zombie shit unless someone intervened. This was the precise recitation of Caesar's job description, down to the asterix-marked footnotes. It was time to intervene.

Caesar hit the ground, rolling once before springing back up, trademark machete in hand. He hauled much ass.

Now, ordinarily, when a man who looks very much like the indomitable El Jefe runs dead at you with a long blade, it's best to run the other direction as fast as humanly possible. There were extenuating circumstances to this situation, granted. Nonetheless, as Caesar neared, he lowered his weapon and extended his free hand.

"YOU! Give her to me, and get in the truck. MOVE."

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Ashton Holloway

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Location: Hwy 34, just outside of Franklin, GA
Interacting With: Maria, Kristina, Lorna

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Before speaking to his new companions, Ashton retrieved and holstered his sidearm. "Name's Ash. Engineering."

He accepted Kristina's hand, shook it once, and pressed a little harder on the accelerator. He wanted to put some distance between himself and the Dead; with luck the thunderstorm would cause them enough confusion as to make them forget about their Meals On Wheels. Ash didn't give any response to their polite intonations of gratitude. For all he knew, he just postponed their horrible, tearing death by an hour or two. That, and he would need their help coming up here in a bit.

Shaking his head, Ash mused that he'd feel a lot better when they were done with this run and back to the relative safety of Newnan. Much more work to be done. The upside to this meeting: The newcomers were friends and family with someone he trusted not to immediately shoot him in the back, Maria. With that, the likelihood that the survivors would try to rob and/or kill them lessened, he could breathe a little easier. In that realization, he was very glad that their newest member volunteered to come with him.

"I think I can help you out with the drinks," he began, regarding Lorna, "if you don't mind homemade, that is. But that'll have to wait, we're actually out this way on task. Can use some help, if you're up for it."

"Hey, do either of you need food or water? Medical? Oh yeah, mind my M4, if you would please. Just set it to the side."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ashton Holloway

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Location: Hwy 34, outside of Franklin, GA
Interacting With: Maria

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Ash suppressed tightening his jaw and balling his fists (as best he could anyway) at the mention of James driving away with his 'Buster. It was best to ignore it for the meantime, anyway. Being as there was nothing he could do, it wasn't profitable to dwell on it. Still, he had a connection with that vehicle; it was sentiment for the most part. If it were possible to have loyalty to an inanimate object, that would be the best description.

"It's like your bow. Used to belong to Dad." Ashton's voice was soft, but his face was anything but. "My father started a distillery. We 'stilled before, it just wasn't what you'd call legit. Anyway, the startup wasn't exactly enough to get a fleet of shiny new trucks, so our motor pool was ...eclectic... One of which was an old Canadian Freightliner with a sleeper cab, used to belong to a brewery. Last owners outfitted it custom as a dump truck, if you'd believe that. Fucking massive dump truck with a sleeper cab, I got no clue what they were thinking. The good Captain was feeling wistful. Relaxed even, talking about something near and dear to him, from before the world collapsed. He gave a good chuckle before continuing.

"But, it's easy to fix, dump truck or not. Damn near every part can be made to fit in the damned thing, and it's easily machinable. The old diesels, I tell ya. Anyway, we installed a soft cover and a loading ramp, and BAM, we had ourselves our cargo truck. It was the most out-of-place monstrosity you'd ever see at a truck stop, but the old girl kept Dad's business alive. Kept us alive. Ugly truck or not, it did what it was supposed to and would not die."

His demeanor changed, shifting back to the harder with which the Newnan Group was familiar. "After Atlanta fell, me an a few my men left out of Dobbins. Turned into a real shitstorm. Trekked back home to Virginia, settled in for a while. Good people, mostly. Had a setup - not as good as Newnan, but good."

"A megaherd came at us from the direction of Charlottesville. Had us pinned in for seven fucking weeks. We had food, water, walls. Just didn't have a way out. I figured, if we could get everyone into the trucks, we could get out, maybe outrun the Herd. We just didn't have anything that could make a hole for people to escape from. But we had that old rebuilt Freightliner."

"Well, I'm an engineer, goddamnit. I know how to use a wrench and a blowtorch, and the damned thing already had monster pushbars installed. Reinforced, converted to run on alcohol (had plenty around), bigass cow catcher on the front. I turned that machine into a BEAST. Took me over a month, working with the tools I had, but when I was done, the Hordebuster was birthed. The old girl kept us alive again, and I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't take perverse fucking glee seeing all those dead bastards flying around like rag dolls."

"We didn't all get out, owing to the stupidity of a few. But that's a different story." He fell quiet for a long time, absorbed in his own thoughts.

His thoughts were abruptly cast aside. The number of Walkers had increased significantly. They seemed to be coming out of the woods, some with particular interest in an RV. The reason was obvious; fresh meat on top. They were sparse around the roadward side of the Winnebago, which looked like the best place to make an extraction. The SUV was a large personal conveyance. While not as large as the RV, it would be the spectacularly lucky Walker that would get on top. He thumbed open both power sunroofs, front and backseat.

Ash pulled his Detonix .45 and handed out to Maria. "I'm betting they need our help. I'm pulling alongside. Cover them up front, they can hop in through the rear. Ready?"

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James Grady

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Location: Ralls Rd, Stately Residence Driveway just off of.
Interacting With: Alicia, new Survivors

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"One little, two little, three little Deadians..." sang James, watching the occasional Walker get struck by, and immediately flung away from, the roadbeast that was The Hordebuster. "Four little, five little, six little... Hot damn, Alicia, those're people! The breathin' kind!" He laughed with joy and triumph, be it possibly premature for either.

"Let's go say hi!"

The jovial boar-wrangler readied his pistol and swung the 'Buster in the right direction to come alongside the survivors. He gunned it, smashing the occasional corpse into its component parts, until he was within spitting distance. Reaching back, he opened the suicide door leading to the cab and yelled, "Ya'll better RUN!"

Gun in hand, he had no intention of being taken unawares by the random walking medical cadaver. Of course, he was no fool; he had no intention of being taken unawares by some random asshole who wanted the truck, either. Whatever the case, there was a MASSIVE horde on the way, and James had no intention of being there when they showed up.

From the looks of things, that would be in about ninety seconds. "Tick tock, gentlemen. Tick muthafuckin' tock.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

And after the Carrollton Run Team update is posted, Maria may get a little insight into the origin of The Hordebuster, and why Ash is the way he is. Unless they all die first, of course.

Hint: It involves booze.