Thalia Carmichael
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room -> Bedroom 1)
Skills: N/A
Thalia didn't remember any of her grandparents. She had heard stories, but if she had ever met any of them she was too young to remember their faces. She had been raised among many elder members of a community that was really more of an extended family, by blood, marriage, or close association; all her father's people. But her biological grandparents from that side of her family were assumed to be dead. Downside to having an older parent. As for her mother's people, she barely saw any of them at all, having left them as soon as she hit double-digit years. All the same, she would have liked to have thought that the demeanor of at least one of her hypothetical grandparents would be similar to this General that made his appearance.
The genteel manner of the man was, admittedly, comforting. It was like his personality was designed to put people at ease while maintaining velvet-gloved authority. Tactically, that was an excellent starting place if someone wanted to yank the rug out from under you with very little notice. Thalia was already uncomfortable being in this place, even if it was the best chance they had for survival as a whole, and the best opportunity for her to grow stronger before continuing on her own way. Her trust was a hard thing to earn. Until it happened, even if presented with yummy food and clean clothes, Thalia was going to keep much at arm's length.
When the grand introduction had concluded, she was still wary. But this was the choice she had made, and they had a couple of older people with them that needed walls and security. A purpose, too. But they all needed that, she supposed. Thalia would be a good girl and wait to see what happened. While she was doing just that (seeing what happened), she noticed that the General had a few extra words and a slip of paper for the Army Captain.
"Great," she mumbled. It seemed that everyone except for her got to speak to people. She gave a low, quiet growl that was reminiscent of another of her bloodline.
All that was left now was to get to sleep. Fine, she could probably use it. The day had been eventful - frustrating, but eventful nonetheless. She had been reminded that she lost people. Beatrice was pulling farther away than she usually did. She was presently of compromised means and in a condition that was, for her anyway, sub-optimal. But she did have a full stomach and had less worry about random groups of Zeds wandering into their campsite.
Thalia got in line behind Tatiana and Riley as they filed into their assigned room. The ballerina was curt, to say the least, barely speaking and snatching the top blanket off of the bed, only to set up a little nest for herself with chairs in the corner. She considered waiting to see what the other woman was planning on doing; an act that was more survival instinct than courtesy but might be passed off as such. They did come in together, after all. Maybe they had some arrangement. But after a few seconds, Thalia made due with carefully climbing onto the bed nearest the door - the same one that Tatiana had taken the top blanket from. She didn't respond to either Tati or Riley verbally, just a simple motion to acknowledge extended to each of them.
Thalia brought herself to a seated position with her back resting on the headboard and pulled the top sheet up to shield her arms against the bracing air of the AC unit. Otherwise, she merely allowed herself to rest in that position, instinctively ready to wake quickly if the occasion called for it.
Hank Wright
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room -> Bedroom 3)
Skills: N/A
...who knows French? Funny. Hank wasn't in the volunteering mood just yet. As it turned out, someone else in the room did. Good.
There was mild but annoyance as Wayne shut the television off. It was understandable, granted, but this was the first time he'd been able to sit and enjoy an actual, working television in a very long time. Not that he hadn't gotten to view the occasional TV during the years between the outbreak and present day; mostly it took the form of him breaking into an abandoned house for temporary shelter, salvaging a warm beer from inside a refrigerator otherwise occupied by prehistoric leftovers, and planting his ass in front of the TV while impotently hitting the button on a nearby remote. Hank would then make excellent use of his time sipping his warm, flat beverage and staring at a blank screen, letting his mind wander. Maybe he thought about a good hockey game. Maybe his family, wife and daughter mostly, and allowed sorrow to take him. Sometimes he would even bitch about "what was on" and use it as a means to vent some of his less obvious irritations. It was amazing what the human mind would do to either confuse or heal itself. Lucky for the man, he knew a little bit about how the human mind operated.
Well, even though his first decent (read:
actual) movie in years was cut short by things of arguably more importance, it was okay. It wasn't like it was live. It was a frigging VHS, which meant that it could be picked right back up later on. Or tomorrow. They had quite a bit of time on their hands - seven days of it, if the guys in charge were to be believed. But again, hey, n problem! This was their pleasant tropical retirement community in the open arms of Florida, and run by whatever remnants of the U.S. Military was still around or not, he didn't care; every good community for the more mature citizen needed an Activities Director to let them know when it was time to break out the shuffleboard. Or in this case, shoot you if you got out of line. Worst case scenario. Hopefully. They were about to find out one way or another, seeing as the headman was being ushered in at that moment.
It didn't stop Hank from responding to Wayne's last comment about fine and not-so-fine drug store literature,
"Danielle Steele? God, I hope she's a walking corpse right now. Won't hurt the quality of her work any." The old man looked a lot like ...an old man. But seeing how he commanded the respect of everyone in the room, there had to be a ton more to him than just being old. Maybe the "being kindly" thing had something to do with it, but Hank doubted that, too. Kindly people were chewed up and spit out by the world now. He sure enough seemed like a decent guy. It seemed like a standard sort of extended introduction, more sizing up the new people than letting people know more about him. There was something quietly pragmatic about The General, mixed with a great understanding of who he had under him. Of course, with those names, nepotism might have a little to do with it. Still, if your family has the best qualifications for the job at hand, you'd be stupid to pick someone else to handle it. Hank did hope that was the case. Otherwise he'd have an awful lot of fun getting the hell out of Dodge in the middle of the night.
When he was finished, no fresh bits of torture were brought out to ease their boredom. Hank called it a win. He also noted the passing of a slip of paper to Ash, after he was referred to by his old Army rank and his last name. Did they know each other? How could they? He looked a little young to have been in direct service of the General, unless Ash was fetching him coffee back in the day. And he wouldn't have had to ask which one Captain Holloway was. Still, brownie points from the old man? Asshole must work fast. Hank agreed in part with his fellow asylum refugee, supposing,
"Huh... Must be an Army thing. Or he knows something we don't." He shrugged. Didn't really bother him in the slightest. Besides, there was a rumor that a bed lay somewhere nearby that he had an appointment with.
The room would have been considered simple five or so years ago. Spartan, even. The made Hank chuckle a bit, thinking that Nigel would probably feel right at home, that being the case. But before he could get a customary verbal dig in at the guy, Wayne decided to be more
himself than usual right then. The unceremonious flop onto the bed, followed by the shirt-ruffling expulsion of colon fumes and profuse snoring definitely cemented the sleeping arrangements. A look that seemed to scream,
"Really, Wayne?" could be read on his face, followed by a shrug of a man who simply accepted life as it came to him.
"Yeah. Loud and clear on shared bunks." It's not like it was the first time they had to sleep in cramped conditions. Not that this was
cramped in the least. Plus, clean sheets!
Hank took to his side of the bed with a little more grace than Wayne did his own.
"G'night there, Nigel," he responded, drifting away into his own dreamless sleep.
Ash Holloway
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room -> Bedroom 4)
Skills: N/A
The exchange between Victor and Tatiana was heartwarming. Especially the part where he got to see a tiny sliver of the Tati-That-Was peek out from behind the hardened woman that he had come to know over the past few months. He was particularly fond of the part where Froggy exclaimed with some disbelief that Tati would never have done such an unspeakable thing like belting someone (oh, say, like
Ash for instance), and she backed up that assertion by sticking her tongue out as an embellished childlike taunt.
He almost felt bad when he gave the young Russian lady a sarcastic smile and surreptitiously extended his middle finger, giving her the international symbol for "You're Number One!", though he was pretty sure the meaning of the gesture might not actually mean that. She was basically his little sister by this point, so a little sibling nudging never hurt anyone.
Fun and games, such as they were, would have to wait for a while. The man in charge of this place was entering and while Ash had no personal stake in the man's presence, he did understand and respect the decision to inspect the new arrivals personally. From what he understood, it was supposed to be time to play
Taps and call it a night following the inspection, or introduction, or whatever this was supposed to be, in whatever state of formality or informality it may take. Though considering that the man coming to see them was referred to as "The General", Ash was going to assume it was something with a greater air of formality than to which they all had been exposed so far.
The entrance of the man led him to the conversational equivalent of a ballbat to the back of his head. This was a man who was highly informal, from the looks of things, yet he still had the rapt attention of the personnel in the room. He gave a polite smile which allowed Ash to get a good look at the man's face. Particularly his eyes. It was a curse; had to be. Another set of familiar eyes on an unfamiliar face, but these were blue, just like the Master Gunnery Sergeant. If he was another of the Martin Clan... The man introduced himself officially:
Aeron. Mr. Martin to most. Referred to as The General.
...please put your seats and tray tables to their original, upright position. In the event of sudden cabin depressurization, masks will descend to provide you with oxygen...
Ash knew this name. Four Star General Aeron Martin, United States Army.
The Dragon. The man was literally a textbook example of behavior fitting an Officer in the service of his country. Highly decorated, career man starting from the ranks of the enlisted and commissioned after six (
SIX) years of dedicated service. He had leaked more blood in more mud than Ash had visited in his lifetime, and he was a man who saw some travel time for his country. Add to that the last name and certain physical traits... Thana had told him that her father was a Gunny. She mentioned nothing about her paternal grandfather being
The Dragon.
Thana's family or not, Ash felt his posture reflexively come to a more rigid position. For a career man, it was difficult not to. Even now, years after the concept of a central government or organized, nationwide military had blown away in the wind, after they had to do dip into some of the worst impulses of humanity just to survive, the training had a funny way of sticking with a man. Seeing as it was impossible to hide the sudden coming to attentive stance, Ash threw the man a salute the second that his name was mentioned aloud. Way to play it cool.
Aeron's voice and almost cheerful demeanor reminded him very much of the supportive way that Thana had spoken to him, just as much as the distant, brooding stare of Macsen was reflected in the woman. And the eyes shared among the Martins. It was enough to sink a fishhook into the flesh of his heart and pull, sharply at first until the initial surprise of the realization had worn down a little, then a turned to a steady tug that slowly ripped at his insides. Maybe he shouldn't have come here. No - he should have. But maybe he shouldn't stay. Thana was gone and all he had were reminders, most especially in the people he would have to call "Sir".
Still, Ash held his ground as only a commissioned officer in the service of Uncle Sam's noble order of Combat Engineers, remaining upright and stony of expression as he was able, considering the unintentional emotional javelins hurled in in his direction. Many of them seemed aimed at others, but each of them seemed to find him.
Called to war. Yeah. That struck with him. Unlike Alexander, Ash had signed on the dotted for it. He wasn't drafted.
Day a child was born. It was a thing for which he might remain envious; a joy he would never know.
Or when you fell in love. That one cracked the exterior he was so good at maintaining. But it was just a crack. Perhaps that was what the General was watching for. Ash was a boxer being expertly taken apart by a superior pugilist, one crushing, concussing blow at a time. While he could endure better than anyone he personally knew, no matter how much he had prepared himself for the extreme possibility that she might be dead,
Ash had limits. His limits were being challenged.
He barely heard Aeron speaking to him due to the blood in his ears thundering. Ash caught his rank and surname, snapping to full alertness again out of a reflexive measure, though it was fleeting. Discipline of upbringing and experience kept him rooted and standing, eyes forward as the older man spoke, and in a way it felt like there was someone else behind his eyes taking notes on what The General was saying. He just couldn't process until they were staring at each other, and Aeron handed over a slip of paper. The understanding was that she would have wanted him to have it.
"Thank you, Sir," he responded politely, an unbidden rasp coloring his words. Ash could tell that his eyes had misted over, looking down at the rectangle of thick stock now in his hands. Again he barely registered the physical connection made to his shoulder.
The next thing he knew, the priest was leading everyone to their rooms. His feet shuffled on autopilot, grabbing his assigned belongings and filing into step behind Manny and the kid, Hunter. This was a lot like Officers' Training back in his native Virginia, except that he didn't have the same level of trust in his bunkmates. Ash didn't bother claiming a spot to sleep, instead moving straight to the bathroom the second he stepped inside. He closed and locked the door behind him and turned on the bathroom vent fan, then sat down on the closed lid of the toilet.
Ash promised himself five minutes. Just five minutes. He could do that. He could take time for himself, time that he needed to assess and allow his feelings to express - quietly, discreetly, and alone. For the first time in a very long time, Ashton Holloway wasn't responsible for anyone except for himself. He wasn't a Captain, nor an engineer, or even a survivor. Ash was a man who had traveled hundreds of miles to find a woman he loved, only to find that he had already lost her. He sobbed quietly, letting the white noise of the fan cover anything that he could not suppress himself, all the while holding onto the paper he had received from General Martin. A double-edged gift. Any comfort it may have provided was questionable, though he was grateful to have it nonetheless. It was an old picture, and Ash cradled it like it was both precious and fragile.
It was more than five minutes before Ash could compose himself. When he stepped back out into the room, he noted that one of the beds was unoccupied. Manny had one bed, Hunter the chairs. Ash didn't make any sort of nighttime bid for camaraderie with either of the men. He simply lay down on the unclaimed bed and stared at the ceiling.
"If anyone has a mind to try something stupid," began Ash, his voice stone yet still colored by his Virginian upbringing,
"now... is your opportunity." There was finality to his voice; a very believable quality backed by a wiry edge that hinted at a distinct lack of consideration for self. Ash continued to stare distantly above him, inhaling and exhaling slow, even breaths. Even he wasn't sure when sleep finally took him.
Everything was so cold and wet. That kind of bone chilled damp cold you feel in the middle of a long winter that isn't quite cold enough for snow but the precipitation just keeps coming. Your veins feel like sludge as they try to move blood through your system and everything hurts. It hurts in a way that makes you want to weep but even the slightest cry would send a shock wave far worse through you so you hold it all in. That is what she felt as she lay there, too afraid to even breathe. What kind of pain would rip through her ribs if she took too deep a breath?
"No, it won't hurt. Not here," a voice came to her ears. It was a feminine voice. Soft and soothing. Reassuring like a mother telling her child everything would be alright. And she felt calm just hearing it, taking away the fear that had flooded her. The gray skies above was the first thing her eyes could see when they opened. It was so bright compared to the darkness she had been in but slowly she adjusted as her body did. The pain melted away as she lay there, but the cold and moisture remained. "You don't want to be here do you?"
"No..." she said as she sat up and looked around. Finally spotting the source of the voice that soothed her fears but didn't take away her pain. "I don't have a choice do I?" It really wasn't a question, more like an acquiesce to something she felt deep in her bones. Gun-metal blue green eyes looked sadly at her, this woman before her looked every ounce the motherly figure the voice portrayed but there was something more. Something sad and distant. Was she this way because of the rain that fell around them or was the rain falling because of her pain? Did the sky weep for this mother or did it weep for her? Perhaps it was both.
"We all have a choice, just sometimes no matter what we chose there will be pain we cannot fathom." There was a sigh as a slender arm slipped around her shoulder and pulled her to her feet. She could only nod at the statement made. Either choice, she may never know. Either choice could bring a life time of what if's. Yet wasn't that with all things? "Walk with me." It wasn't a request so she stepped with the darkly dressed enigma. The mother seemed enveloped in a shadow that was consuming her.
"Why am I here?" That was a question that perhaps was better left unasked and even so better left unanswered as they traipsed over the ground. A shadow passed over the woman's features as a look of remorse did. There was no answer. "You... did this?" There was a reluctant nod. Pushing away, she didn't feel reassured anymore but as the arm left her body she felt empty inside and closed the distance once again. Like a hurt child wanting a parents reassurance even after they were scolded. "Why?" Her voice cracked when she asked. Why did this happen? Why here? Why now?
"Perhaps sometimes we don't have a choice after all." Perhaps we don't. Perhaps in the end, even Fates fate is sealed. The rains were coming down more now. A few flakes of snow were mixing in and slush was forming at their feet. Taking a breath she looked up at the sky. Darkness was taking over gray. "Make your choice child. Yours may be the last I have." Choice? What choice? To keep a promise? Or was it to see another's promise was kept? Even then, it wasn't guaranteed.
"Is he there?" There was no answer. "Is he here?" Still no answer. Just patience waiting. A mothers patience. Looking around, she knew she had to decide. She could feel it in her gut that was tied in knots that there was not much time. So many questions and there would be no answers. She had to make a choice, even if she didn't like the possibilities. A choice had to be made. Parting her lips she couldn't even answer. In her mind she didn't know what to chose.
"Very well..." She hadn't said anything but when she heard the words she knew the woman was right. Some things we just know. Even if we fight against it, even if we deny it. We know when something begins. We know when it ends. We just, know. The light brightened for a moment and the woman was alone as the rain poured down. Maybe the Grim Reaper was a more appropriate title for the Lady Of Luck? Even if it wasn't in her hands, it felt more on point in this moment than it ever had before. Life wasn't fair. Neither was Death.
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