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Post by Moro Ashford on Jan 27, 2010 20:10:57 GMT -5
As night fell, Moro feigned a light sleep and waited until her companions had been drawn away, being courteous enough to allow her peace. Times were hard, sleep was taken in shifts and never for very long, and the mechanic was grateful they understood.
Which is why she should have felt a bit guilty about slipping away.
She was coming back, of course. Though perhaps a motley, random group at best, her new companions offered protection, comfort, and companionship. Moro would have liked to think of them as friends, and would have, were she not fearing the possibility of having to leave them all, for good.
She left a back way, taking with her her loaded rifle, a field hockey stick liberated from Sports Authority, and an extra clip of ammo, just in case. The mall had, by now, been mostly cleared, and she was able to exit a separate way without being tracked...well, so she thought.
Zombies were hard of sight and relied on scent and sound more than anything. Keeping a careful distance from the main roads, Moro moved swiftly in the direction of the Horseshoe Tavern where, by all legal standards, she had no business. Seeing as it never seemed to interfere before, and how there happened to be a convenient shortage of police, however, the doors were wide open to her. The only obstacles she now faced were the random appearances of the undead, appeared randomly one-by-one and easily taken care of by the hockey stick.
Like she expected, there were a few corpses slumped across the bar and one sitting in the corner of the establishment, but other than this the place was quiet. Liquor was not, after all, a necessity, and while it was clear the place had been ransacked, Moro found no sign of inhabiting infected. Stowing her weapon, she crept around the side of the bar counter, found it deserted and, selecting a pricey-looking vodka and unopened bottle of Sam Adams, seated herself on the floor, clicking on her small flashlight and putting it between her teeth.
The light fell upon the bandages Tara had applied, nearly soaked through from days of containing blood. Grimacing, Moro carefully peeled them off, studying the broken skin. It looked normal, she felt normal...but the young woman couldn't help but worry. She was a possible hazard, now, and while she dreaded the thought of being banished from the new colony of survivors, she knew that, at the first sign of symptoms, it was her duty to leave.
She would not be the one to do them in.
The bottle of vodka had a hairline crack running from its rim; carefully tipping the bottle that so the liquor seeped out in a gradual strain, Moro clenched her fist and drew it over her wounds, sucking in a gasp as fire flared down her arms. Letting it tumble from her grasp, she closed her eyes against the pain of the makeshift disinfectant, her fingers trembling. A minute passed; glistening emerald eyes flickered open and the mechanic stared at the wall.
What now?
The thought occurred to her suddenly, but even as she thought it, the very emptiness of the tavern seemed to press upon her. What now is right; so what if they survive a day, a week, a year? What if they fend off the infected for that long? Then what? They'd run out of bullets, they'd run out of food, they were hopelessly outnumbered.
Was all this pain worth it?
Stop that, ignoring the beer entirely, Moro reached for the vodka. She wanted a release, and she wanted it fast. She felt suddenly sickened with her self-pity. You're going to die by your own hand or by God's, that's what. Live in the moment. Nodding meaningfully to the liquor counter in front of her, Moro swept down a mouthful of the firewater, grimacing at its burn.
There was a noise from behind the counter.
Frozen where she sat, Moro listened to steady footsteps cross the floor. They were precise, deliberate. A hunter? There was no growling, nor the hacking cough of a smoker. A jokey walked like a tapdancer and giggled like a pothead; she would have recognized a boomer's gurgle from outside the door.
Setting down the bottle and reaching carefully for her rifle, Moro crawled as quiet as she could to the end of the bar.
The tip of the weapon proceeded her; she poked her head out-
and stood up so sharply that she cracked her head on the underside of the table.
"Ow!- what the hell are you doing here?"
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Post by Mason Breaker on Jan 27, 2010 20:25:29 GMT -5
Mason laughed long and hard at Moro's surprise, making sure the door was closed behind him once he stopped to catch his breath.
"Ahhhhh.... Little late to be going off on your own for a drink, ain't it?"
He gave a warm smile, walking over to the counter and taking a seat, but not before grabbing an unopened bottle of whisky and taking a long swig the way that only an Irishmen could. Setting down his bottle and clearing his throat, his expression changed from joking to serious.
"I'm serious though, what do you think you're doing, eh? It's suicide to wander about on yer own."
He paused, taking a moment to observe Moro's bloodied arms before taking another drink and returning his attention to her.
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Tara Luketic
Junior Member
Witch Hunter and Pack Rat
Posts: 71
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Post by Tara Luketic on Jan 27, 2010 20:43:37 GMT -5
Tara had been falling in and out of conciousness ever since the group layed down to sleep, and so she'd heard when both survivors snuck out of the safehouse. Well, she decided, if others could go out and do what they wanted, then so could she. Getting to her feet, she slid on her jean jacket over her T-shirt and then grabbed her bags. Tara had changed out of the bloody hoodie as soon as the safehouse door was locked, and she decided to leave it for now. Grabbing a flashlight she'd found in the safehouse (and they said she was crazy, digging through those boxes), she too made her quiet way out into the mall.
The going was easy until she got outside, and then she had to be far more careful since it was more open than the mall. Not wanting to waste any ammunition, Tara beat the brains out of any infected she came across with her frying pan. She'd almost gotten pounced by a Hunter when she was looking into a car, but she'd gotten lucky and it'd pounced right into the swing of her pan. She'd then, of course, beaten the snot out of it and run like Hell for a few yards. Stopping to catch her breath, Tara spotted the tavern and used the necessary breather to think.
'Okay... front door, back door. Front door, back door. Fr... if I go through the front door, a Tank'll come in right after me. I just know it... back door it is then!' she thought cheerfully. Straightening, she quickly made her way around the tavern, using her flashlight to guide the way. It didn't take Tara long to find the back door, which had been propped open with a cinder block; likely by the last survivor to ransack the place. She entered slowly, finding herself in the back storage room of the tavern. In other words, Heaven on Earth for a pack rat like herself.
"It's... beautiful..." Tara whispered; one could swear her eyes got all sparkly. She instantly began scouring the shelves and boxes, having set her bags to the side so that they wouldn't inhibit her. She didn't even realize that she was making quite a bit of noise for how quiet the place was; noise that could be mistaken for infected. It probably didn't help that after opening an especially dusty crate, she started coughing and hacking like a certain special infected.
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Roy Bivenmeijer
Junior Member
"Because I'm used to killing animals"
Posts: 76
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Post by Roy Bivenmeijer on Jan 27, 2010 20:54:14 GMT -5
'Damn, do they think they're sneaky or some shit? I've tracked bears that make less noise then mason... then again, they weren't as big as him I suppose... But Moro should be like a freakin mouse... maybe it's just me" The thought train had slowly turned to words as he reached the tavern front door. He's seen Tara earlier, and had silently finished off her Hunter friend, cutting him into itty bitty peices. The only kind that Roy found acceptable.
"So're you guys supposed to be sneaky or what?" Roy leaned againse the door frame, smirking at Mason cuttin into the booze right away. Walking in past the discarded bottles and cand of raiders past, Roy jumped the counter next to Mason and grabbed a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Lable.
"Who the hell said you could drink without me Mason, hmm?" He jibed, hiding a smirk against the stonewall face he'd put on. He locked eyes with Mason, hoping for something to make his drinking more fun tonight. Flipping a glass from his hand to his elbow and back onto the table (Sadly upside down), he turned it over and poored his whiskey. Dropping 2 ice cubes in from the barely functioning cooler built into the bar, he sipped his drink, still looking at Mason.
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Post by Moro Ashford on Jan 27, 2010 21:04:19 GMT -5
Rubbing her head, Moro chuckled and rose to her feet. "Yeah, well...old habits die hard, huh?" she said, diverting her eyes from his out of faint embarrassment. So much for alone time.
Rummaging for a shot glass, the mechanic slowly poured and downed one, bidding for time. She didn't have a good explanation, really; one that she was willing to share. 'I think its possible I could become an infected, Mason,' did not seem the best way to keep a friendly atmosphere.
Somewhat fortunately for her, at that moment they were interrupted by Roy, who loudly announced his presence and sauntered up beside Mason, mostly ignoring Moro's presence. Lightly jumping onto the counter, Moro downed another shot, hating both the taste and the burn but relishing the distant, foggy feel.
There was a sudden crash to the group's left, and a series of thick coughing.
Moro leapt down from her perch, wavering and nearly pitching forward into a case of wines. Reaching out, she snagged a grip on Mason's arm, steadying herself while trying to reach her rifle over her shoulder. "What was that?"
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Post by Mason Breaker on Jan 27, 2010 21:16:55 GMT -5
Mason had a feeling that Moro was hiding something, and was about to dig into it when two things happened at once.
First, Roy burst in, jokingly demanding on how Mason started to get a drink without him. Second, it sounded like a Smoker was in the storeroom, which led to his arm being used as a support by Moro.
Not letting any panic set in, however, he simply took another swig, turned in his seat and called out.
"If you're one of ours, come out now, quit being a sneak. You have ten seconds before I pull out my gun and shoot you regardless."
He also turned to Roy "And as for you, I said I could have a drink, thank you very much. And don't even think of trying to challenge me to a drinking contest."
Finally, he turned his attention to Moro. "And you, slow down yer drinkin'. No point tryin' to shoot drunk, and I've got a few questions fer' you."
Finished with his statements, he began counting down.
"10. 9. 8..."
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Tara Luketic
Junior Member
Witch Hunter and Pack Rat
Posts: 71
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Post by Tara Luketic on Jan 27, 2010 21:34:40 GMT -5
Tara, having been very absorbed in her scavenging, hadn't heard the chatter going on in the next room. At least, not until a familiar voice called out to her; okay, it was definitely more of a threat. Blinking a few times in surprise, she sent a furtive, longing glance at the part of the room she had yet to search. However, Tara decided that she could always come back, and that the last way she wanted to die was by the bullet of someone she called friend. "All right, all right, don't get all worked up over little old me, Mason!" she called back.
Tara opened the door leading to the front, and her eyes widened when she saw Moro and Roy as well. Not to mention the fact they were all drinking some kind of alcohol; there were so many bottles open that the general area wreaked of the stuff. Scrunching up her nose at the smell, she walked around the bar to stand in front of the three with her hands on her hips. Had they known Tara longer, they would recognize this as her "lecturing pose."
"Guys! You're drinking?! We're in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, with infected around every turn, and you're sitting here getting wasted?! What if a Tank shows up, or a horde? You'll probably be too drunk to notice, let alone shoot right! And another thing-" Luckily for the three, she was interrupted by a very familiar roar from across the street. It was as clear as day, seeing as Roy forgot to close the doors behind him, and she whipped around with wide eyes.
Oh yes. It was another Charger. And guess who it had its eyes on?
"...Fuck my life." Of course, Tara had left her bags in the storage room. With her weapons. In a desperate attempt to stop the Charger, she ran forward and closed the doors just as it began its charge. "Please hold, please hold, plea-" CRASH. The doors shattered into thousands of splintering pieces that flew through the air, along with a certain brunette. Tara screamed in mid-air, but it was cut-off as a large hand gripped her around the torso and pinned her arms to her sides.
"Fu.. uch.." It was as close to the word as she could get, seeing as she could barely breathe, before the Charger slammed her down through one of the many tables and into the wooden floor. Stars burst into her vision, and... ooh, what a pretty white light.
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Post by Keith the Great on Jan 27, 2010 22:08:18 GMT -5
Keith woke up to an unexpected silence. Thinking that life had been just a bad dream and he was back in Georgia, he slowly began to wake himself up. However, he soon realized something terrible: he was in a sleeping bag.
Quicker than an overpowered superhero on adrenaline, Keith bolted upright and shrieked, “DON’T BOMB ME!!!”
He was met with more silence. By this time, he’d opened his eyes and noticed that he wasn’t in a poor choice of camping spot; he was just in the middle of a Sports Authority safehouse. (He resisted the urge to sigh “Oh, it’s just a zombie apocalypse.”)
However, the silence wasn’t too comforting. A cursory glance of his surroundings revealed a discomforting lack of teammates. Concerned, he struggled out of the sleeping bag (damn thing had been trying to eat him alive), removed his hat and poked at his head-bandages (completely soaked through, but he didn’t care), then tugged his hat back over his head and packed his bag (which was actually imaginary, but it’s the thought that counts).
Keith trotted out of the Sports Authority like an over-excited Boy Scout, taking the back way because it was cooler and more likely to have been his friends’ chosen exit. (Front doors just didn’t cut it.) A quick jog down a stair case, one that almost became fatal when he missed a step thanks to a still-cloudy mind, lead him to a side exit of the mall that opened onto a wide street.
Using his brilliant deduction abilities (a.k.a. Ennie-Meenie-Miney-Moe), Keith turned down the street and began his new-found adventure. His quest was basically the same (find some random friends whom he’d lost thanks to oversleeping [his first instance had been on a bus trip to Whispering Oaks that landed him in Kentucky somehow]), so he hummed a tune and went about as he had been the past week.
Fortunately, Keith couldn’t whistle very well (at all), so when the maniacal laughter of a vertically-challenged zombie pierced the air, it was quite noticeable. Feeling the 5% of his unburned skin pale, Keith broke into a run, making a break for the nearest building (which just so happened to be a bar named after the footwear of Ellis’ favorite animal).
In this case, the front door’s lack of coolness took a lesser priority. Keith burst through the doors with the subtlety of a tropical narwhal landing on the shores of Australia. The first thing he noticed was that there was a One-Arm-Zombie attack getting more attention than he was. Since that just wouldn’t do, Keith’s first move was to handle that.
Two hunting-rifle shots to the thing’s back softened it up, then Keith snatched a nearby fire-axe, dashed over, and slammed it into the thing’s back as hard as his scrawny arms would let him. The thing fell on top of Tara like Roy onto Kameko in the man’s dreams.
As an after-thought, Keith ran back and slammed the door closed before turning around and realizing that the crew of survivors he’d assumed to be a band of strangers was actually his group of previous travel partners.
“Oh, hey,” he said while the dwarf-zombie attempted to leap at him and smacked into the door with an audible thud. Suffering a slight memory loss (the source of which ached and reminded him to duck next time a boulder was thrown at him), Keith stared at the group in confusion. “I...I know y’all, right?”
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Post by Kameko Hoshi on Jan 27, 2010 22:33:03 GMT -5
Panting heavily, Kameko looked up hopefully as she found the place she was hoping to find. Horseshoe Tavern was the name of it. She had caught sight of Keith heading this way after she had woken up from a rather comfortable sleep back in the safe room in Sports Authority. Her dark blue eyes narrowed to angry slits as she walked–rather stomped–her way over to the front door of the tavern.
“You…JERKS!” she snarled as she swung open the door and stepped into the room, slamming it behind her. “You all left me to die didn’t you?!”
She scanned around the room angrily. Keith was looking around in confusion, Tara was lying on the ground for some odd reason, Moro was latching onto Mason’s arm for support since she was still weak, and Mason and Roy were….drinking?!
“What the helicopter guys?!” Kameko yelled, going into motherly-mode. “Are you two on crack? Drinking during a zombie apocalypse! A freaking zombie apocalypse! Have you no sense of smartness in you and…ooo! Is that Saki?”
She cut off from her rant as she spotted the bottle of Japanese alcohol. She raced over, grabbing hold of the bottle and holding it up to inspect through wide, curious eyes. A giggle escaped her as she turned back to the others.
“My parents never let me drink this whenever we had family parties. They said they didn’t want me to turn out to be a drunk.” She gave an evil chuckle. “Well let’s see someone stop me now!”
Kameko then proceeded to open the bottle, but, as fate would have it, she couldn’t open it. She looked up in embarrassment.
“Uh…could someone…open the bottle for me…please?”
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Roy Bivenmeijer
Junior Member
"Because I'm used to killing animals"
Posts: 76
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Post by Roy Bivenmeijer on Jan 27, 2010 23:05:14 GMT -5
Finishing the last of his drink, Roy smirks. "Jeeze, haven't I done enough for you today?" Laughing ever so slightly, Roy walked over to the little oriental (only stumbling once from his headwound coupled with a minor buzz) and popped the cork out of the rice wine for her. Grabbing a shot glass from the bar, Roy offers it up to her and pours himself another glass of Walker.
"A toast to surviving then everyone? And for Tara, a toast to attracting Hilbillys. May god watch over Keith." He offered a slight nod to Keith and raised his glass, happy he didn't have to dispatch another hulking Overalls-zombie.
"To Mason, for bein louder then most bears and lettin me come out here, and to Moro, for tryin to drown her troubles. And finally one to Kameko, for giving me a reason to drink." He laughed at the last remark, referencing the throbbing headache that was now slightly dulled thanks to the Black Lable.
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Post by Moro Ashford on Jan 27, 2010 23:22:30 GMT -5
"Not drunk," Moro mumbled, "tipsy...not yet drunk." But her heart sputtered sadly to the pit of her stomach as she considered these 'questions'.
In a faint haze she watched Tara burst from the storeroom, fought back a grin at her lecture. "We're not two, Tara," she said, and at that moment cocked her head at the gutteral howl of a creature she knew, but couldn't place a name.
Second's later a Charger crashed through the door and had wrapped its massive hand around Tara's midsection; taking a moment for her delayed reactions to process, Moro released Mason's arm and reached for her rifle, raising it unsteadily to her shoulder. Wait, a reasonable part of her piped up. Perhaps that's not the best idea....
Before she could decide one way or another, however, her rescuer burst through the door in the form of Keith who, taking one look at the infected, swiftly went to work. Moro blinked once, twice, and the creature had fallen, smothering Tara beneath its bulk. Not gone enough to realize that did not look comfy, Moro slipped past Mason and Roy, stumbling once into a barstool, and fell to her knees beside the infected. Pressing her back against its massive side, she gave a heave, attempting to shove the thing off of the woman. Just as she opened her mouth to request assistance, however, another figure burst through the door.
Kameko was pissed. Rightfully so, for being left by herself, but Moro was left blameless for her rant. Hey, they didn't have to follow her here, right? Despite the predicament, the young woman had had enough to find faint amusement in the way that, of the group, it was the two other women that had found fault in drinking.
"...and to Moro," she glanced up at the sound of her name. Roy had lifted his glass in a toasting manner, "for tryin to drown her troubles." Awesome. Now you're the girl that can't handle the end-of-the-world situation, Moro thought bitterly; this sobered her a tad.
"Hey, some help before Tara suffocates?"
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Post by Mason Breaker on Jan 28, 2010 17:46:39 GMT -5
Mason made no comment, but simply did several things. The first thing he did was walk over to the fallen Charger and, gently moving Moro aside, grabbed the overalls on the beast and pulled it off with a loud grunt.
"Heavy sonofabitch...." He muttered, going over to Tara and hoisting her up, setting her back down on one of the chairs, announcing "Tara, I'm Irish. Yes, it's an apocolypse, but I can almost promise you that I'll still sober once we leave. And Roy; I'm not just a bear. I'm an IRISH BEAR!" Grinning at the last comment, he sat down again.
"Now, I think we should all just sit down and chat, hmmm?"
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Tara Luketic
Junior Member
Witch Hunter and Pack Rat
Posts: 71
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Post by Tara Luketic on Jan 28, 2010 18:04:21 GMT -5
After the Charger had fallen on top of Tara (again), the feeling of deja vu and desperation were lost to blissful unconsciousness. After all, this time she'd been slammed through a table and into the ground; a girl could only take so much abuse. As such, she didn't really come to until Mason dragged the Charger off of her and pulled her onto her feet. It was a good idea to set Tara down in a chair, seeing as had she been left standing, she would have fallen over. Groaning and laying her head in her arms on the table, she tugged off her cap and tossed it to the side.
"Fine, fine. You guys drink to your hearts' content. Just leave me out of it; alcohol makes me pass out faster than you can spell 'drunk'," she stated with a slight muffle. Besides, Tara's head hurt way too much for her to even consider drinking if she'd been tolerant to the stuff. Well, everything on the backside of her body hurt, too, but that had nothing to do with drinking. However, they were in a bar, meaning there was probably a kitchen that maybe had some leftover food. At the thought, Tara's stomach growled, and she decided that as soon as her headache went away she'd find and ransack said kitchen.
"What exactly did you want to 'chat' about? Our life stories?" she couldn't help but ask sarcastically.
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Post by Kameko Hoshi on Jan 28, 2010 19:52:21 GMT -5
Looking up from her bottle of Sake, Kameko gazed quizzically at Tara.
“Why would we want to talk about our life stories?” she asked loudly, taking another sip of her drink. “As far as I’m concerned, the sooner we get done drinking and all that good stuff, the sooner we should be heading off again.”
As she finished her glass, she decided to refill it. Her dark blue gaze raked over the other survivors in the tavern and her expression was serious. To some it might shock them to see usual happy-go-lucky Kameko looking so serious.
“The most important thing we should be doing is finding out where the military is evacuating people.” The black-haired girl said logically as she raised a finger to tap against her chin. “I don’t know about you guys but I would like to get my diploma. When the infection started all my teachers and classmates were calling in sick that they finally canceled school until it blew over. Well…looks like it didn’t blow over after all now did it?”
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Post by Keith the Great on Jan 28, 2010 22:12:20 GMT -5
Keith grinned at the mention of life-stories. “Aw man, I got a helluva life story!” he bragged, strolling over to the bar and grabbing a bottle of plain old beer. (Fortunately, unlike all the ladies, he was plenty old enough to drink himself into a stupor with no law-trouble besides the guys trying to get him to pay.) “I tell ya, I’ve done all these crazy stunts; m’ local hospital wen’ an’ gave me my own ‘mergency number!”
However, after Kami’s opposing rant, Keith could do nothing but stare at her like she was crazy. (Considering her last statement, it was quite possible.) “Wait,” he began. “Yer in th’ middle of a zombie ‘pocalypse an’ all you care about is goin’ ta school?!?” he gasped. “Man, I was in school before the zombies came an’ I didn’t worry ‘bout finishin’!”
Rolling his eyes, Keith took a good swig of his drink before continuing to grumble: “I don’t getcha. Education sucked and I ain’t never goin’ back.” He blinked, looking down at his drink and recalling an obscure memory. The reminiscence made him grin. “Aw, man,” he whistled. “This reminds me of this one time Me an’ El an’ Dave were at this party playin’ ‘I Never’, an’ I got drunker than a goddamn sailer ‘cause El couldn’t keep his mouth shut so ev’ryone knew what ta say t’ get me.” He shook his head with a cheery chuckle. “Good times, good times. Damn, I miss the South.”
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