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Post by Thomas Greene on Nov 22, 2010 23:56:43 GMT -5
"Jameson Bros Mechanics: The Real Fixer Uppers" read on the rundown sign up front. Broken down vehicles littered the parking lot. There were no workers in the vancant fading brick building.
The abandoned mechanic shop was most certainly a dead end for Thomas Greene: a man who was on top of the world only to collapse under the wake of the Green Flu outbreak. His suit and watch are the only reniments he has that show he was a wealthy man. His money was worthless; his power meant nothing. He was stranded to survive in this wasteland. With only a pistol and a baseball bat, he was going have to fight for his right to live in the world of the undead. Greene didn't know what he'll find in shop: a working car, a better weapon, maybe some people. Whatever he'll find, it wouldn't last him forever.
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Post by Dave Rowlins on Nov 24, 2010 21:26:19 GMT -5
Dave wouldn’t say he was exactly homesick, but here, surrounded by dusty old hunks of scrap and enough tires to bury the average family (and their little dog, too) past the tips of their heads, he felt a soothing sense of comfort. It was like a grandmother’s old pie recipe, something familiar in an entirely new state. (Oh, and also a zombie apocalypse. That factored in as well.)
The inside of the mechanic’s shop was a grease-monkey’s heaven. Everything smelled of a twinge of oil, grease, and sweat that had seeped so far in the walls that not even the stench of zombie could evict it. The fragrance only enhanced the mess, a worker’s mess, of tools and metal and bits and bobs that any old engineer would’ve called the ‘extra parts,’ the ones that came out but for some reason hadn’t gone back in. Dave had happily borrowed the wheeled-board (for sliding underneath a car) as a makeshift skateboard, and slid around a few laps, just enjoying the down-home memories (which, unlike many of Keith’s tales, had actually happened). At the moment, however, he’d retired it to the corner so he could see what there was to work with; finding Keith would be faster if he could drive from town to town.
He lifted a thick monkey wrench from a nearby shelf and gently gave it an inch-high toss in his hand. He already had a shotgun slung around his back (insurance from back home), but a little blunt weaponry couldn’t hurt. Well, it could, but that was the point.
Outside the wind picked up, tossing about the trees’ leaves and rattling the flimsy metal garage door. (That was the one thing Dave didn’t like about the place; tin foil would hold stronger than that weak piece of crap.) Curious, he glanced over at the window, looking through the only rectangular pane out of four identical ones that hadn’t been cracked or bled on. Through it he spotted a lone stranger, standing out on his lonesome looking dejected.
He’d already begun flipping the shotgun into his grip when he noticed that the loner didn’t actually look infected. Worn down, sure, but he didn’t have that half-dead look they usually had. He let the gun drop in his right hand, pointing the barrel to the floor while still gripping the handle as he walked over to the door, shoved it open against another, less violent breeze. “Hey, buddy!” he yelled, waving the man over. “Whatcha doin’ standin’ around out there? C’mon in!”
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Post by Thomas Greene on Nov 24, 2010 22:05:05 GMT -5
Thomas was caught surprise by the man's shouting. Didn't he know he was going to attract a horde? Either way, he tried to find the source of the talking, only it came from a man inside the shop. He didn't have anytime to judge the man, other than he had a silly southern hick accent. He scattered to the run-down building, hoping none of those "leapers" or "tongue-guys" would spot him. He made it pass the door, shoving the man on the ground inside, and processed to barricade it.
Upon locking up the door, he forgot he pushed his new "friend" on the ground. While the businessman thought he deserved it for protentally unleashing a horde, he needed to be friendly if there was going to be anyway he was going to help him.
"I'm sorry about, buddy," he said as he helped the southern get up. 'You know have dangerous the world is these days."
He examined the hick. He was a young felllow who wore green trucker cap and a Jimmy Gibbs Jr shirt. Nice to have a racercar fan, at least he'll have some conversation. He seemed fit too; he'll be useful.
"The name is Thomas Greene, what's your name?"
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Post by Dave Rowlins on Nov 24, 2010 23:00:27 GMT -5
Almost immediately, Dave started to feel like he’d made a Keith-decision; a bad one. The stranger looked up, dazed, then suddenly sprinted for the door, pushing right past and going straight to work on a barricade. In his haste, the man had shoved Dave out of the way, knocking him onto the ground. Dave wobbled for a moment, pinwheeling his arms for balance, before maladroitly falling back and plopping on the ground.
Dave had barely shaken off his confusion when the stranger flicked the lock on the door, finishing his safety precautions. Then followed another sudden motion from the newcomer; he turned around, seemed to realize that knocking someone on the floor wasn’t the best way to greet them, and reached out to help him up. Dave accepted the help gratefully, although he was still a bit flustered.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he mumbled, catching the apology but not much else. His head began to clear a bit, so he took a good look at his new ‘buddy.’ Definitely in some sort of office-type job, if the suit was any indication. He didn’t quite match the oily, slick scent of the garage; he just smelled like average apocalypse: blood, dirt, sweat, and a hint of decay picked up from the monsters.
By the time the official introduction rolled around, Dave had recovered from the hustle-bustle of the barricading and his unexpected fall. He nodded. “Alright. Thomas. I can call ya Tommy, right?” He grinned, a smile that was missing a canine and a chip of a front tooth. “I’m Dave Rowlins, just call me Dave.” He paused a moment, giving a little break before rolling right into business: “You happen to meet a guy named Keith? Little weird, wears a scarf and hat, can’t tell the truth to save his life, prob’ly causin’ a mess ‘a trouble?”
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Post by Thomas Greene on Nov 25, 2010 1:36:14 GMT -5
He shivered at the idea of being called Tommy. It was too unprofessional. Despite his poor dential hygine and his simple mindiness, Dave seemed like a good "friend." It was better than nothing, though he wished he was on island...with a hot woman...two hot women...with plenty of beer. Snap out of it
"Sorry, I don't like being called Tommy. However, I do prefer being called Tom. And no, I haven't seen your friend."
He was probably dead meat.
Thomas walked around the mechanic's shop. It was mess; tools were scattered around, a broken down car, the smell of oil fumed the air...not exactly a five star hotel. He turned to the lighthearten southerner.
"So, where are you from, Dave? You're definatly not a northern."
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noah
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Post by noah on Nov 27, 2010 21:32:47 GMT -5
Run away.
The man needed to run away. Not from the infected, oh no. They were, suprisingly, the least of his worries. No, his worry lied with another human being.
And speaking of which, he was still behind him, swinging that damn blade around like a madman.
Wait. A man just went into the auto repair shop.
Help.
Desperate hope filling him, he put on a fresh burst of speed. The door was shut now. They could re-open it. There weren't any infected. Maybe they could help him with his injury. He was immune, he was sure of it.
He was going to make it, he was going to make it, he was-
His hand on the door.
"Help me! For the love of god open the door! He-" His words were cut off in a bloody gurgle, a blade being slashed across his spine.
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The tainted blood was now spilled, the man now lying at Noah's feet. Blood dripped off the blade as the man stared down upon the victim, his face drawn into an emotionless mask. His eyes, however, held a certain glee to them, a sort of savage satisfaction.
The man pleaded for help. He would turn soon. His skin and veins were changing to the pale colors that the infected possesed.
The sword was raised.
The blade met the man's neck, the head seperating from his body.
"The demons will not take this one." Noah mumbled to himself, turning his gaze to the shop in front of him. The man seemed to have seen someone inside. Was there?
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Post by Dave Rowlins on Nov 27, 2010 22:13:16 GMT -5
Dave shrugged. He’d have to keep looking then. Chuckling, he moved on to Tom’s next question: “Well, you’re damn right I’m not from ‘round here. Flew up from Georgia so’s I could...”
He stopped mid-sentence when he heard a loud thump just outside, then screaming. Someone calling for help. Dave didn’t even think; he went straight to the door and pulled at the knob before realizing that Tom had gone and set up a damn barricade. “Aw, hell!” he swore, pushing at the huge metal drawer set that Tom had used as a defense. The squealing of metal legs on concrete floor screamed for a good twenty seconds as Dave pushed the drawer aside (and thanked God for football practices, even the humid sticky summer ones), then threw the door open...
...only to face one monk-like man wielding a blood-stained katana sword. Dave blinked once, then glanced down at the headless corpse at his feet. As though on a cue, the neck-stump pulsed, coughing up a spurt of blood that dribbled out and crossed the border between the dirt path outside and the cold concrete of the garage.
With a numb calm, Dave reached for the door and quietly closed it shut, locking out the apparent killer for a moment so he could think.
On the one hand, the monk-guy wasn’t infected. On the other hand, he was obviously frickin’ dangerous. But maybe dangerous was good in an apocalypse, because he could keep the zombies awa– oh dear God the blood was still crawling in from under the door.
Dave shivered. Sure, he had a maniac for a best friend, but that didn’t mean he was accustomed to such gruesome horror. Dave had never seen a dead body, no matter how close Keith had gotten to making himself one, and the decapitation only worsened the deal. However...He found a sick sort of curiosity. Something in the back of his head nagged him to look again. Motioning for Tom to wait, Dave walked, legs stiff, to the next door down (the tin-foil garage door) and knelt, pulling it up just enough to poke his head out and take another peek.
The monk hadn’t moved, and neither had the corpse (phew). But at the second look, Dave noticed something different; the dead guy was paler than normal. He was almost at a zombie pallor. So...the killer meant well? Dave would’ve smiled, but then he caught sight of the head, eyes pulled open in terror, lips still trapped in that horrified ‘o’–
Dave pulled himself back inside, shutting the door behind him, and swallowed down a chunk of fear. Determined, he snatched a bright-blue, grease-stained tarp from one of the tables and strode back over to the front door. He swung it open and immediately, without looking down, tossed out the tarp, letting it billow out before he dropped it onto the corpse. Some blood still leaked out, but Dave tried to ignore it. He left the door only half-open, just to be safe.
“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Uhh...I know he...” Dave hesitated, nodding down towards the tarp. “...he’s not alright. How ‘bout you?”
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noah
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Post by noah on Nov 27, 2010 23:03:35 GMT -5
A tarp was laid over the dead man. Good; respect for the dead seemed to have been lost in the times. Although all things considered, some traditions needed to be overlooked. That was one of them.
His head clearing from the hunt, he turned to face the young man, noting that his appearence seemed to be the definition of the American "hick". Still, he wasn't flat out screaming in terror, so that accounted for something.
The young man was speaking to him. A response was in order, it seemed.
"I am indeed well. Nor will I become a demon, if that is what you are asking." He spared a glance down to the covered corpse. "I hope my work hasn't upset you."
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Post by Thomas Greene on Nov 28, 2010 0:46:23 GMT -5
What the hell was he doing? He's a being an idiot that's what. So what the man is screaming for help, whatever the hell its chasing him was most certainly going to go after them next. Besides, they didn't even know if the guy was infected or not. But does the hick with no brain thinks, no. He pushes away the barricade he just made, allowing whatever danger to flow in. Thomas wanted to stop him but it was too late.
The door opened, only to reveal a sword-welding monk next to a headless corpse. "Good God Dave, what sorta shitty situation did you put us in this time?" Five minutes into meeting this guy, and it seemed he wanted to kill him twice. It seems like the best option was to stay calm. Maybe this guy wasn't that crazy. If he was, they would of been dead already.
Dave, in a dumb matter of being respectful, decided to put a tarp over the recently dead person. "This isn't the time, Dave. We got zombies to worry about plus this guy." However, it seemed the sign of reverace payed off as the man seemed to have admired it and somewhat embrassed in killing the man in front of us. Still, the broker had to crack, "Well, it isn't everyday you see someone with a sword, slicing people's heads off. But then again, zombies aren't suppose to exist anyways."
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Post by Dave Rowlins on Nov 28, 2010 17:42:18 GMT -5
Dave opened his mouth to ask what all this ‘demon’ crap was about, then paused. The stranger still had a sword out. Dave pondered this a moment, then stifled his reckless side (what he liked to call his ‘Inner Keith’). “Upset?” he croaked, still pinning his gaze to a tree just outside. “No, no, I’m fine.” ‘Almost lost my lunch for a second there, but I guess since no one’s covered in puke I’m all right.’
And then Tom had to go and ruin everything; Dave would’ve thought that a man concerned enough to make a barricade would’ve known better than to provoke a possible maniac. (Hint number one: don’t make them feel awkward or out of place.) Suppressing his fear, Dave forced his lips into a smile, elbowed Tom in the gut, and promptly changed the subject: “So, uh, what’s your name, stranger?”
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noah
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Post by noah on Nov 29, 2010 22:31:30 GMT -5
The young man was respectful, but fearful. In normal terms, that would be a bad thing. But, as the rather rude man in the suit pointed out, these were some extra-ordinary times.
Noticing that the young hick was still wary, he glanced around for the problem. There weren't any undead around... A ghost, perhaps? No...
Ah, of course; the blade. But... Was it safe to disarm himself around these strangers? The hick seemed trustworthy enough, but the other...
It was worth a shot. If not, then he would simply reprimend them of their cowardly attemtps to kill him.
And by "reprimend", it meant "behead".
With several graceful swings, he sheathed the katana, flicking away some of the blood onto the ground.
Now for his name... A look of confusion began to creep onto his face. What was his name? He hadn't been called by his name in so long, plus the lack of normal human contact and a mental collapse, he couldn't remember it.
"My name is...My name is..." He stammered, his face contorting. "WHAT IS MY-" His hand unconsioucly reached for the blade again, his frustration almost getting the better of him.
Control yourself. Breath.
Taking a slow breath, he looked back to the other two.
"Noah." He answered with a rather unusual calmness, considering a few seconds ago. "And you are?" He questioned the hick, gesturing towards him.
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Post by Thomas Greene on Nov 29, 2010 22:51:29 GMT -5
Did the hick just elbow him in the gut? Yes, that bastard just force his elbow into his stomach. Thomas would strangle that son of the bitch, but that wouldn't be the right thing to do at this time, especially since that stranger may behead him if layed a hand on Dave. However, it seemed the monk realized they weren't any threat, thus he sheathed his sword.
"At least I get to live a little longer"
The stranger was trying to introduce himself, however it seemed he forgot his name. How does somebody forget their own name? Did he hit his head hard on something? Was he mental? Great, they're going to be held hostaged by a insane nutcase. However, the man was able to give his name, Noah.
"You mean like that biblical guy with the big boat"
While Noah addressed Dave, Thomas stepped in before the hick could say anything. "His name Dave. I am Thomas, Thomas Greene."
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Post by Dave Rowlins on Nov 29, 2010 23:07:02 GMT -5
Dave shivered, and he momentarily recoiled when the blade swept forward and Fear shook Depth Perception so badly that, for just a second, Dave was sure the katana had lopped off a piece of his nose. He released a sigh of relief, bad impression be damned on that one.
And speaking of impressions, the stranger wasn’t making his any better. As the little fit of amnesia set in and the madman reached for the sword again, Dave stepped back, bumping lightly into Tom. Fortunately, the name was drawn faster than the sword. Noah; like the guy in the Bible who was the only good person on Earth, who was meant to pick the best pairs of animals for the boat, who had the patience to live for forty days and nights on a boat in the middle of nowhere...Damn irony.
Tom stepped forward to answer the return question, for both of them. Dave set aside the fears of beheading by katana (setting aside fears was something he’d learned from Keith) to prod the businessman in the shoulder. “Hey, I can introduce m’self, you know.”
Afterwards, he turned back to Noah. With the tarp hiding the corpse and the sword hidden in its scabbard, the monk wasn’t quite as threatening. Sure, he was still a little nutty, but he’d managed to calm himself down to give his name. Dave mulled over the pros and cons for a moment, then decided he could let Inner-Keith step out a bit. He took one deep breath (now he understood why that helped Noah so much with the name), then smiled and offered a hand for a shake. “S’ a pleasure, Noah.”
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noah
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Post by noah on Nov 29, 2010 23:57:10 GMT -5
'Noah' scowled as the man in the suit, "Thomas Greene" shoved past "Dave", answering for the young man who seemed to be more than able to speak for himself. (In fact, the young American voiced this as well.). Regardless, the names mattered, even if it was delivered rather rudely.
Deciding to address Thomas first, since he was so eager to be acknowledged. "A pleasure, Thomas Greene.". He responded coldly, meeting the other man's eyes.
Now turning his attention to Dave, his gaze softened a bit, wiping his hand off a bit before accepting the handshake. Respect to elders; yet another thing this youth had done well. "Well met, Dave.". He spoke with a bit more friendlyness than he had with Thomas, adding a small bow as a sign of respect. He didn't really expect the gesture to be returned, but since he had already done a fairly good job, he could let it slide if it happened.
Releasing his hand, he took a moment to take a look at the covered body, realizing that in front of a door might not be a great spot.
"Excuse me for a moment while I move the body. Resting in front of an entrance may not be... Wise.". Inclining his head, he turned towards the body, tucking the tarp under the body as he lifted it up, a small grunt escaping him. He wasn't a giant, this wasn't exactly an easy task. Granted, he was in shape, but a human body was heavy.
Carrying the dripping corpse away from the doorway, he moved it to the other side if the building, out of sight for them. Granted, he had a good deal of fresh blood on his robes, and another nasty pile where it was, but it could be worse. He could have disemboweled the man.
The body and severed head moved and covered up, the monk turned to return to his new aquaintences.
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Post by Thomas Greene on Nov 30, 2010 0:31:18 GMT -5
By the way Noah greeted him compared to Dave, he could tell the guy didn't him much. No big deal, he didn't trust Noah much either. He was a nutcase ready crack; just any moment and he'll pull out that sword and masscure anything that is living in a 250 ft radius. But then again, maybe he shouldn't be a jerk to him. Afterall, if he does push him too far, he would be the first one Noah will target. For now, Thomas was going to have to be nice. Especially since the ratio of zombies outweighed the number of humans, he couldn't push wrong buttons if he was going to survive.
After Noah disposed of the body, Thomas felt he should make himself useful rebarricading the door. This time, he took a bit more time securing the door, not only placing the metal drawer, but piled several tires and rims to support it. It was hard work, but he was sure that nothing could come in or out of the workshop.
Besides fixing the barricade, he also figure he should fix the relationships. He went over to Noah and decided to see if he could meld those seems. "Look, I'm sorry if I came to you on the wrong foot, Mr. Noah. You know how dangerous this world and how I reacted was wrong. So, are we cool?"
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