**********Time Jump***********

Time: March. You have jumped approx 4 months forward. It is approximately a year since Z-Land hit. The Caravan have been making the industrial park home for just under 1 month.

Weather: Warm, Sunny. Its getting less and less cold every night.

Setting: Small, abandoned chemical industrial park, north of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Nearest civilization is the accompanying abandoned industrial town a few miles away. This town lies south of a state park/forest reserve that lies south of Jackson, MS, and between Interstate highways 20, 55, 10, and the Mississippi River to the west.

Supplies?: Find this info lower in the post.

Caravaneers : New additions have been made to the group over the winter, for not all survivors encountered over the winter were hostile. Some Caravaneers did not survive the winter, for varieties of reasons. A link to a list of current Caravaneers (link to a message in this game)

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With winter imminent, the Caravan began making their way south after the destruction of Fort Dixie and after reuniting with the other survivors of the battle. They established themselves in various winter camps as they tried to collect supplies and secure themselves a defensible, but potentially temporary base of their own.

After moving south, and encountering other survivors along the way, some new allies but others new enemies, the Caravan settled in an abandoned industrial town north of Baton Rouge. The place had been abandoned long before Zombieland became the new normal. A hurricane season had battered the area, and it was too inconsequential to pay to rebuild. The people left, and urban decay set in. Because there was no one around when the undead began to spread, the area remained forgotten.  It provided shelter for the Caravan as they rebuilt to wait out the frost, until the spring weather came, and with it prospective food.

The park is adjacent to a canal that still retains water, if dirty, and provides access to the bayou and Mississippi River should the Caravan repair or procure a boat.  Forest is found further out from the area, to the north, and there are highways visible for travel should ground vehicles be found and/or repaired/fueled, yet the roads haven't been kept up even before the apocalypse, and therefore are very worn.


FOOD/WATER : Limited rations, random canned goods, boiled water (you don't want to drink whatever is in the canal). Not everyone is going to be able to eat.
FUEL : No Fuel. It was all used during winter for warmth.
VEHICLES : An old chemical truck that was on the grounds when the Caravan arrived. It is in disrepair and rust, and is out of gasoline. The helicopter used in Chapter 3 has long since been abandoned by the group.
WEAPONS: A handful of small arms, and plenty of melee-type weapons.
AMMO : Rare. You might find a bullet on a dead body or in the back of a drawer. The stockpiles are long gone. If you have a bullet, don't use it unless you have to.
SHELTER : The Caravan has plenty roofs to sleep under, yet the structural integrity of many is questionable. Also, its not a good idea to sleep apart from one another. Besides that, some leaky roofs, no heating, but walls and plenty of places to hide, fortify, and look-out.
SECURITY : The Caravan can be as secure as they choose/try to be.









This message was last edited by the GM at 02:11, Sun 22 Feb 2015.

Rolling along pavement, the back wheel fishtailed.
The little red wagon, to which the wheel belonged, leaned on the other three wheels to keep itself steady. The whole thing thumped as the wagon was drawn over the cracks in the pavement. Once a child's toy, it had been repurposed by the survivors to fit their needs, usually to cart around wood or other supplies. After the fuel was used up during the winter, the group had resorted to burning what wood they could find in an empty oil drum. Bill had seen people do that in movies.

The blocks of concrete that formed the courtyard had spread apart over successive hurricanes and rain water, and the ground beneath them was uneven. Grass grew between the blocks. The humidity of the day hung in the air, as did the smell of the nearby bayou that lay to the south and east of the industrial site.

"Since we left Fort Dixie. So about four months, near as I can figure."
Bill and Brady, gathering firewood, were returning to the main building in the center of the site that the Caravan had made camp. Bill dragged the wagon with one hand and waved the other in explanation. "Everybody back then liked have a drink socially. My father drank. Even my mother drank. The problem is, I don't like to have a drink. I like to have ten." Bill looked over at Brady as they neared the building. "But that's not  me anymore."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:20, Mon 23 Feb 2015.

In reply to Bill (msg # 2):

Brady was wearing three shirts and a couple hoodies. The worst of the winter was over, but the morning air still carried with it a cool chill. His breath hung on the air as he replied. "Yeah man, that's great that you cleaned up. But, like, it's kinda shitty too. 'Cause y'know, it wasn't really your choice... to uh, get sober. You had to get sober. 'Cause there ain't any bars open around here. Ha ha."

Bill and Brady knew each other from back in the glory days of Fort Dixie. At least Brady liked to think of them as the glory days. If nothing, it was better times than that fucking winter they'd all been through. Anyways, Bill and Brady became fast friends back then. Now this whole Caravan they were a part of had bonded over the mutual Hell of surviving together.

Isabelle watched Bill and Brady from the doorway to the large main building of the compound, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. When the men neared she gave them a nod before shuffling forward and out of the building, using a lone crutch along with a hand to grip the wall as she entered the sunlight and brisk weather.
Her right leg, from the knee down, was gone. Her pant leg was secured to cover her stump, yet on the whole she was quite healthy. Being an invalid, she was allotted slightly more rations over the winter.

"Mornin boys." She greeted the two southerns, pretending, just like everyone else, that she wasn't missing a leg, as she smiled alittle. She'd lost it via sword amputation in the woods outside Fort Dixie about four months previous. She'd gotten caught in a bear trap, of all things, while they ran from the undead. It was the last running she would do. In her heart she knew that Dominic had only done what he had to save her, to help her. But as time went on she felt like a burden, and wondered if it would have been better if they'd left her to the walkers..

Her kids. She still had kids out there, she reminded herself. Constantly reminding herself. She'd first joined the Caravan what seemed like a lifetime ago because someone had dangled the prospect of a safe haven, a colony, out there in Zombieland. Like almost everyone she thought it was to good to be true.. But maybe, just maybe, her kids were somewhere safe. Whats more, she had been growing closer to the group, especially to Dominic leading up to the amputation, and is played on her mind that he wouldn't see her in the same light as she saw him.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:27, Mon 23 Feb 2015.

New Mexico cradled the back of his head in his hands as he laid back in a lawn chair out on the concrete of the compound, further out from 'the big house'. He was bundled in his hoodie, which concealed his thin build. The teenager like many others had gone without food for some time, only eating sporadically. The shaggy haired Caravaneer had even been notching extra holes in his belt to keep his pants up. Not fun.With supplies low, not everyone could eat,so they tended to rotate, though none of them were much better off than anyone else.

Hanging out as the group went about its general routines, New Mexico tried to think on the bright side, what with spring on the way. Right then he normally would have been listening to his ipod, which Kaidan had fixed, before the other boy left on a raid and never returned. But any battery power was militantly managed by the group every since winter began, and he was therefore left to entertain himself. Luckily there was the odd time one could manage to wank off in the trees,even though going off alone was risky.

His stomach grumbled as the strewn out teenager adjusted the sunglasses that previously belonged to 'Lime' Jefferson, a soulful old singer from Fort Dixie. The old, lively guy was assumed to have perished with most of the others. The man had kept singing as the undead and bandits came upon them. But eventually he couldn't be heard anymore. It was very Titanic. NM had picked up the glasses from one of the people who had survived the Fort, it had been a gift for his birthday, as he was close to turning eighteen. It was difficult to know for sure, as it was harder to keep track of what day it was, but he knew it was any day now.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:21, Mon 23 Feb 2015.

Hector stood atop of the primary building for the compound, rifle in hand, vigilantly on duty. The tallest building in the area, he was able to have a 360 degree view of the industrial park, though alot of that view was other buildings and the canal. He was always a quiet man. Always did his job well. Protected his partners, his friends. But he'd lost Aishe. She'd always been first priority. He always managed to keep her safe from the biters, the hostile survivors, but he couldn't keep her fed, or warm. And she died with her eyes open.

Now we watched over the Fort. Maybe he couldn't feed them, keep them warm, but he knew how to protect people from other things. The weather was getting warmer. After getting used to the cold, he wasn't sure what to expect. Reflexes, instinct, intuition would carry him much of the way. Don't break.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:18, Mon 23 Feb 2015.

Pulling up to the Big House, as it were known, Isabelle stood in the doorway and greeted them warmly. She was looking better, considering her circumstance. "Isabelle." Bill smiled at the one legged girl. "We brought some more wood. Should take the chill out of the air."

Bill looked over at Brady, placing his free hand on his shoulder and passing over the handle of the little red wagon. "Brady, why don't you take this on over to the fire pit." Letting go of the handle, he said "Thank you for coming with me. You're a good young man Brady, I don't care what anybody says."

Bill now looked at Isabelle, extending his arm. "Come for a walk with me, the sun is shining this morning." As he did so, he told Brady "Oh, and you better tell that brother of yours to let the doctor look at his arm again. I can't even imagine how that must hurt. For his own good, Brady."

Karen ran as fast as she could, carried by well worn combat boots across long neglected pavement. Her speed was limited by her deteriorated physical fitness and a next-to-no calorie diet. The winter had been hard on everybody. As she ran along the canal, Karen swivelled her head from side to side, forwards and back, constantly scanning for hazards and danger, making sure it wasn't creeping up on her.  Karen had spent a tour of duty in Iraq, a career with the Atlanta Police Department, and who-knows-how-long in Zombieland watching her back; it was just reflex now. But this time, there was nothing there. The caravan had settled down after a long winter of running and scraping by. With no danger, now they were left with the tasks basic survival and their own demons. And Karen's demons were not quiet.

A little over four months ago, Karen joined the Caravan under false pretences and facilitated an ambush that resulted in countless deaths of people close to the original group. They've never forgiven her. She did it though, as any mother would, to save her son, who was being held hostage to force her into this evil deed. She got her boy back but lost him again the day after arriving at Fort Dixie. He just ran off that day, never to be seen again.

Now, with the Caravan settled, Karen's mind ran wild, beating herself up for having lost him. Her head played it over and over. She failed. She lost him. Again. And all her efforts to find him were for naught. Kaidan was gone. So Karen ran. She tried to keep her body fit to make up for the fact that her heart was broken.

"Oh, fuck me!" she said out loud as she saw the disgusting, bloated, rotting, dead body in the canal. The very canal from which the Caravan had been pulling their drinking water.

"Hey!" Bill's comment felt like a slight against Brady, but he let it go. "Yeah, I'll go check on him. Later Bill."

Brady pulled the little red wagon to the centre of the Caravan's living space and tossed a log on the fire. "Ah!" he said loudly, extending his pelvis towards the warmth of the flame. "Y'see, I'm warming my balls." he then stated, matter-of-factly, pointing at his junk. Then he laughed childishly and moved on upstairs to the upper levels of the compound.

There he found his older brother, Benson Bohannon, still sleeping in a heap of blankets. "Benson! Get your lazy ass up and out of bed, y'jag-off." He shouted, kicking the bottom of Benson's boot. "Get up and go see the doc before your arm turns black and blue like your dick after you boned Marcy Peterson in High School... Or was that mine? Who knows? Ha ha ha ha ha!" Brady walked off giggling to himself like an idiot.

In reply to Bill (msg # 7):

"We all appreciate it, guys." Isabelle replied to the two before Brady departed from them, leaving her with the retired Sheriff. She listened knowingly to Bill's words about Brady, to Brady, raising an eyebrow slightly at the reaction the younger man gave before letting a small smile creep onto her face. Despite the issues with supplies, everyone had been getting on well enough together. Maybe it was the weather, and the thankful isolation of their new temporary home from the undead and other people.

Isabelle took a steady hold of Bill's outstretched arm, her crutch tucked under her other arm. "Thank you Bill." She offered as they began to slowly walk, enjoying stretching her leg, and just being out of the Big House. "I think the weather is putting everyone in a good mood. Its nice to see."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:32, Tue 24 Feb 2015.

Zipping his jacket Hank wondered how much longer the cold would keep the zombies sluggish. Well, they had taken plenty out on their way here, hopefully that would buy some time for the deer to return. He had been looking over the engine of the chem truck to see if there was anything useful for what he had in mind to deal with their electricity problem. Unfortunately while he had an idea of what he needed, he had no idea how to get to it. Maybe he'd ask Dom or Brady about later. Gripping the crow bar he had found to replace the one lost in the fort he walked around to the back of the 'big house'.

Spotting New Mexico, he hadn't seen a reason to push for the kid's real name yet, Hank smiled. Before the running into the strange French Maid and Brady they could have been the only two people left as far as he knew. A part of him had wanted to avoid people, and the incident with the bumkins didn't help that, still woke them up on occasion. The other wanted to have a group so if something happened...Well, now they did. Joe and Brady he could never thank enough, but with the other teen at least Tom had someone closer to his own age around. Making his way over he crouched down, using the crowbar to balance. Penny for your thoughts? Like the other boy the winter hadn't been kind to him, hopefully they could hunt soon. It would be the dead vs. the living for the deer, who apparently made a decent human substitute.

In reply to Hank Lucion (msg # 11):

New Mexico heard someone approaching, and already had grown so accustomed to people in the Caravan that he could tell it was Hank He kept his pose, laid back in the lawn chair, sunglasses hiding his expression as the other Caravaneer crouched down near him. "A penny? C'mon man, you have to pay at least market price for my two-cents." The teenager then broke a grin and tilted his head a little to look at Hank, the sunglasses riding down his nose a touch.

"I'm hungry, dude." He replied semi-serious, as he tried to hide a legitimate concern by mixing it with his usual levity. Also, its my birthday and every hour that passes by makes me suspect that Cookie isn't going to bring out an ice cream cake." The birthday boy glanced back towards the big house, as if he was still suspecting a cake, before resetting on his fellow survivor. "How have you been?" He asked genuinely, noting silently that the both of them had lost much weight. Total opposite of life before Z-land, when in the winter one packed on extra weight.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:26, Tue 24 Feb 2015.

Fred was carefully walking around on one of the rooftops. He was both checking for weak spots and for eventual vantage points the Caravan might want to use. If he could he would figure out all possible escape routes in case they needed to use them. That being said he didn't know if any would be open for the suggestion. Not everybody would be willing or able to make their way through higher ground. And even if they would, this kind of measure would mean they had to leave behind everything that they owned.

Fred was still very new. He was happy to find another group. Especially since he'd spent months alone trying not to go crazy. But he wasn't sure yet about his place between the members of the Caravan. He often had his duties to perform which he did. But the moment when he was done with them would be when he got nervous and felt like he had to do some more to prove himself. Looking down at the group he showed one of them a small but clear wave. A sign to tell them he was doing good, but also a way for him to prove he was indeed "socially adequate".

Dominic stared at the helicopter’s door; his eyes fixed on the bullet hole that he’d put in it during their frantic escape from the fort. Someone had cleaned the blood off and stuck an X of duct tape over it but Dominic still knew it was there and every now and then he would torture himself over not knowing what he’d shot. Had it been a Zed or a Person? And if it had been a person on whose side had they been on? He didn’t know for sure and never would. All he did know was that it was dead and that he’d done it without even blinking.
Breaking out of his macabre reverie with a shake of his head Dominic finished lacing up his boots before then buckling the sword about his now slender waist. Glancing back up at the helicopter door that was now firmly bolted over the large broken window along with a large chunk of its bodywork Dominic gave a weary sigh before heading for the doors.
 He missed the Huey, it had been great to actually do what he loved doing if only for a little while but alas he’d burnt his way through all the fuel in first finding the group and then scouting out the factories that they were now living in. The Huey was now nothing but a rusting hulk with much of its bodywork stripped or at least the bits they could rip off and carry away, in order to perform the much needed repairs to the buildings; many of which had seen far better days. He knew that the helicopter was completely useless without fuel and that it would be next to impossible for them to find anymore but it still seemed a shame for a vehicle that had saved their lives to end its days in such a fashion.

Blinking as the early morning sun hit him Dominic stepped into the courtyard; the cigarette out of his top pocket and in his hand before he even realised he’d done. He may have quit smoking, admittedly under the same circumstances that Bill had quit drinking, he still found himself reaching for one under pure force of habit. Twirling the now somewhat bent cigarette between his fingers, he takes a look around partly to see who was around and partly yet again out of habit. To one side he saw Hank and NM talking together and to the other he could see Isabelle and Bill walking together; the former sheriff helping the one legged woman along.
In truth Dominic was kind of surprised that Izzy was still speaking to him considering what had happened. Yet for some reason not only had their relationship such as it was before the amputation not suffered, it had actually improved. In fact from what Dominic had seen she seemed somehow happier these days and far more sociable with the rest of the group than before, her walking with Bill being demonstrating as such.
Tucking the unlit cigarette into the corner of his mouth he leans back against the rough red brick wall wishing he could have a cup of coffee to help wake him up. He’d give himself a couple of minutes to wake up fully before going in search of Loa and start his day.

Benson Bohannon rolled over in his heap of blankets and assumed a sitting position. With his good arm, he rubbed his face and scratched his now thick and shaggy beard. With no response to his brother's antics. Benson tossed his black gambler hat over his long greasy mop of hair. A painful winter with a broken arm had not been kind to the cowboy, nor had it improved his cheerful attitude and his sunny disposition. Bohannon had badly cut and broken his arm in the battle of Fort Dixie, and the lag time between the battle and meeting back up with Dominic and Loa, the camp's only medics, had not sped the healing process.

Benson found his way down to the water barrel and took a few big gulps and splashed some on his scruffy face. Droplets still dripping from his beard, Bohannon made his way over to Dominic at the door. "Mornin' Doc." Bohannon said groggily, snapping the bent cigarette from Dominic's lips and popping it into his own. The cowboy dug in his pocket for a second and produced a silver Zippo lighter and struck a flame. The smoke was an unfamiliar scent in the cool air. Benson took a long, slow drag on the cigarette and pulled it from his lips, offering it back to Dom. "So how 'bout it Clooney? We just about ready to cut this cast off my arm?" The cowboy coughed, his good hand outstretched with cigarette in offer.

In reply to New Mexico  (msg # 12):

Hank smirked as he glanced at the other's response, glad there was still some humor left around. Do you take checks?

He could understand the other's comment on food, they all could. It was one of those things you either had to joke about or drive yourself crazy over. If she manages an ice cream cake...she's either a witch or an angel. But if she makes food I really wouldn't give a damn either way. Following the teen's gaze he added, Be kinda PO'd she'd wait this long to let us know though.

When NM asked about how he was doing Hank sighed.. Happy to have found a group to call home. He said honestly. Still getting used to not every noise in the dark belonging to something trying to eat me, almost there. He gave a "what are you going to do" shrug before letting himself drop to the ground. Mostly just glad Tom is someplace relatively safe.

In reply to Frederick Struve (msg # 13):

"Hey Fredieeeee!!! It's me coming up big guy. You don't have to throw another coat at me, okay?" Brady called as he reached the rooftop, not wanting a repeat of when they'd bumped into the guy. Things had gotten pretty heated that day what with tensions running so high over the winter, but hey, they were all friends now. And what's a Mexican standoff between friends? "What do you hear my man? All's well up here?" the man with the slight southern accent, but not a hint of class, asked friendlily, slapping the newbie on the shoulder.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:08, Wed 25 Feb 2015.

In reply to Brady Bohannon (msg # 17):

As Brady signaled he was getting up, Fred looked over his shoulder and couldn't help but to show a little smile. His beard probably covered most of it up but he wasn't aware of it. As he was waiting for Brady to get there he looked around. This roof definitely wouldn't serve as a vantage point at all but it was easily accessible. As long as people stayed in the middle it would be a safe place to be in case of an emergency. With each step he made to the center of the rooftop, he slowly shifted his weight to check if it would hold up.

A slap on the back reminded him that Brady was indeed on his way. Fred didn't startle but it did feel like he woke up from his thoughts as the southerner asked what he was doing up there.
"Just looking for soft spots, there was nothing else to do."
He pointed towards another rooftop that had a 3 foot gap between it and this one.  It also was a little lower. "If people are able to get in we could have them surrounded if some of us go up there then a bit further."

In reply to Hank Lucion (msg # 16):

Pleased as Hank played along, New Mexico chuckled lightly, reminded of how refreshing it was to have the Lucion' brothers in the group. They were closer to his own age, and had added some vitality much needed to their grizzled collection of survivors. There used to be other young folks in the group, such as Jack and Sugar. They didn't make it, in the end. He nodded in understanding as Hank mentioned the difference to being "out there" as opposed to "in here", the sunglasses hiding the knowing look in his eyes.

"Well we're happy to have you guys. I had sisters. Younger. I used to cook them breakfast." He replied, pausing noticeably as memories quick jolted him. Luckily he had the shades to hide it behind. The teenager never usually talked about that stuff. They were all too busy surviving.

"It's nice and quiet here. Maybe we won't have to move if the animals and plants come back. Where were you boys from again?" He was sure that Hank had mentioned it before, but the lack of sustenance had hampered recall.

With an arched eyebrow and a slightly amused expression on his face, Dominic watched as Benson plucked the cigarette from the corner of his mouth and lit it with a silver Zippo as he asked whether he could be finally rid of his cast. Taking back the proffered cigarette he takes single a long drag; exhaling a stream of smoke into the early morning air before replying “Sure, I think we’re safe to have that off of you now” he said handing back the cigarette before pushing himself off of the wall now content with his nicotine fix.
Knowing that the cowboy wouldn’t need to be told to follow him, Dominic crossed the courtyard to the building in which they’d set up a medical station within an old foreman’s office. The room was cramped even with much of the original furniture removed but it had served their purposes well; the single table within its centre having been used for more than one piece of minor surgery in the early days of them arriving. The injuries sustained during the fighting and subsequent escape from the old fort had drained them of much of their medical supplies leaving him and Loa to make do with what little they could scrounge or make themselves “Ok just lay your arm on the table and hold still” he instructed his patient as he collected the required tools from an old filing cabinet. Once the cowboys arm was upon the table it was a simple matter running a scalpel along the length of the cast to break the plaster before then cutting it off with a pair of heavy duty shears they’d found in one of the workshops. He’d been quite proud of the cast, the pair of them having managed to cobble it together using bandages soaked in plaster of Paris and judging from the results it had done the job admirably “Well...it looks like you’re going have another scar to add to the collection, but your arm looks to have healed straight” it had taken Dom around two days to link up with the rest of the group by which time the cowboys arm had been in a bad way, though thankfully they’d managed to stop the wound from becoming infected; one amputation was enough “...well let either Loa or me know if it causes you any pain or movement difficulties but other than that you’re good to go”

In reply to Isabelle (msg # 10):

 


Isabelle and the old sheriff walked slowly together, but had made it passed the Big House and were walking down a road toward the canal. Just as Isabelle described, the weather was beautiful, and the sun shone on their faces. Then, they saw Karen.

She was running toward the industrial site from the direction Bill and his companion were headed. She seemed concerned about something, for when Karen was concerned about something, she always became hysterical, and Bill recognized this at first sight. "Not everyone, I see." He smiled like the sun and looked at Isabelle to see if she noticed Karen.

Bill waved Karen down as if he had come across her in a squad car back in the good old days. "Hey now! What's the matter Karen?"

In reply to New Mexico  (msg # 19):

Hank's grin dropped slightly at New Mexico's pause. There hadn't been much time during the winter to really dig into pasts, any free time spent trying not to freeze to death. Nodding slightly he looked away to give the kid time to recover, or continue depending on how this rare insight went. It was an odd person who didn't last this long without losing someone, just a matter of how close they were.

Turning back when the teen started again Hank nodded. Maybe the kid wasn't ready yet to talk about what happened before. Maybe he never would be. Nature's gonna take back what belongs to it. Plus we can probably grab supplies from the town. Tapping his crowbar on the ground absently for a couple seconds he thought about just how far they'd gone. Jersey, about ten minutes east of Philly. Running a hand through his dirty hair he smiled absently. Hopefully the water is going to get warm soon, at least enough so we can wash without freezing our balls off.

In reply to Bill (msg # 21):

"Damn. Here we go." Karen's fast approach resulted in Isabelle gripping onto Bill's arm a little tighter. Something was clearly off, and she hoped that it wasn't that someone was hurt or god forbid, bitten. As they stood there, Isabelle decided to take the moment to have a drink. Whatever Karen had to say, they would probably have to hurry in some result. Pivoting briefly on her crutch, her hand left Bill's arm to gently unholster the man's liquor flask, filled with water. She smiled a little at Bill, in appreciating but also light jest for taking his flask. Unscrewing it carefully given her stance, she began to bring it to her lips for a swish.

In reply to Bill (msg # 21):
In reply to Isabelle (msg # 23):

Karen came running, sprinting really, towards Bill and Izzy. She was panting hard, wheezing even. Maybe it was the broken rib she'd sustained last fall, or the lack of good food, but she was pushing herself. "STOP!" She screamed out, further reducing her lung capacity. As she entered range of Bill and Isabelle, Karen smashed the flask away from Izzy's mouth. "The..." She panted, struggling to catch her breath. "The water!" Karen shook her head. "Don't drink it!" Her hands were on her knees. Sweat was dripping from her face. "There's a floater in the canal." Her air was returning. "Bill... Can you run back... and warn the others..? We need a couple strong pairs of hands.... To fish the guy out." Karen fell to her knees, placing her hand on her chest.

In reply to Dominic Dubreton (msg # 20):

"Thanks Doc" The cowboy uttered plainly, cigarette still perched on his lips. His wrist was stiff, having been in a cast that long. Bohannon did that move people do in movies when they get their handcuffs taken off. It felt like his handcuffs were taken off.. "Much obliged." was all he said as he ashed the cigarette on the floor on his way out.

What to do now? It was like after the winter and with his cast removed, Bohannon was finally free. And with his new found freedom, Benson walked back into the common area and found a spot next to the fire to warm himself. He sat on the floor and fingered the hairless patch of new scar on the bottom of his forearm.

But it was now more than ever that Benson Bohannon felt lost. His dream of starting a new life burnt with Fort Dixie. And his mission to find Brady and exact revenge for the shooting in Nashville ended when Brady turned up at the Fort and circumstances changed for the worse. Contrary to what old man Bohannon had always said about his son, Brady Bohannon was too useful to kill.

So for now, he sat by the fire and finished Dominic's cigarette, tossing the butt into the flames.

In reply to Frederick Struve (msg # 18):

"Sure, that makes sense." Brady replied, half sarcastically. "So I take it you're a "glass-half-empty" kind 'a guy, ain't ya?" Brady sat on an old air duct that ran across the roof. "How 'bout you help me with something a little more... Optimistic?" The camo cap wearing man pondered for a moment. "I'm going out hunting. I need to decide who to bring with me." Brady looked down from the roof, considering each member of the Caravan. "I want your first impressions. Who do you think?"

In reply to Hank Lucion (msg # 22):

Maintaining some of that swagger he normally tried to portray, the teen endeavored to pretend like he hadn't just fallen into the cozy past for a moment. Pining too much for the past could drive a survivor mad.

New Mexico nodded in response to Hank's ruminations concerning the near future , glad to find he wasn't the only person thinking of the possibilities open to them with the roads navigable, and everything in bloom. Hank's follow up to the origin's question drew a genuine toothy smile from the teen. "I was pretty sure but I didn't want to offend you if I was wrong. Cookie's from Jersey, too y'know." New Mexico himself was in the easy position of wearing his state of origin as his name-tag,  at least allegedly. The shaggy Caravaneer sat up in his lawn chair, turning then so that his legs hung off the side, facing Hank. "Now we just need to get our hands on some soap or shampoo in preparation." He noted Hank's dirty hair, and ran a few fingers through his own thick brown mess of tangles, wondering if he ought to finally cut it all down for a bit. He was turning eighteen after all. "Did'ya know it was my birthday?"

Cauldershore found himself, as he often did, in the Caravan's "kitchen." It was an employee break room, just off the main room a tad, and it housed all of their meagre rations. The cooking fire was set up in an exterior wall, vented nicely so as not to slowly suffocate everyone in an attempt to feed them. But on this morning, the fireplace was cold. Cauldershore and Loa were not preparing breakfast for the hungry Caravaneers. Rather, they had taken to the counting of cans and bottles and bags and boxes and individual snack items, the kind you'd have packed in your littl'un's lunch pail before sending him off to primary school. They were almost done the inventory, what with the distinct lack of actual food they had left.

"Ah, there is another can of peaches-and-cream corn, so make that two there on the page, if you'd be a darling."

Cauldershore stood and wiped the dust from his hands and reached out a hand to ask for the inventory from Loa. The thick bearded man with thin hair perused the single paper quietly, a look of discomfiture on his face. "Oh dear me. This won't do." Cauldershore passed the page back to Loa. "We've just three days worth of food. A little more if we draw straws again to sit a couple out. Though I daresay I'd prefer to avoid that, wouldn't you?"

Cauldershore turned to examine the table of food that remained. "Breakfast shall have to be a light one today. Anyhow, what do you fancy?"

Loa stood in the center of the kitchen, looking everything like an assistant-something, her dark hair tied back, her brown eyes intelligent but ever empathetic. In spite of the lack of food on offer, she enjoyed the distraction of running inventory, not that it wasn't a serious situation they were contending with. She stood in dirty clothes, though not as dirty as they had been without a cistern of rainwater. In her hands was a rough, brown piece of paper, re-used but surprisingly durable and pliable. Perhaps it was used for drafting in the in the factory setting. She wrote with a nubbed down little pencil, though it had a formidably sharpened point, like a mini-spear.

Marking down the inventory as Cauldershore took a count, "Check." She replied attentively, the pencil-tip scratching on the rough parchment. Upon offer, she extended the sheet to her companion, finding his scruffy reaction to the list somewhat endearing if it weren't so forlorn. Patiently waiting and observing, as if everyone were a patient to those of the Hippocratic profession.



"I'm open to suggestions, Mister Cauldershore." She replied, powerless but somehow reassuring at the same time. Her gaze followed his towards the scant display of food, her eyes shifting briefly to the inventory list as if there was some merchandising miracle to be discovered, but there was not.

"No need to draw straws, I'd be happy to go without for a day. I ate the day before last, I can go a little longer." She replied, fighting her immense hunger, knowing sacrifices must be made. "The hunters and the young should eat first, at least until a catch is brought back. I'm sure we're close.."

In reply to New Mexico  (msg # 27):

Hank waved away NM's concern about offending him, figuring the kid probably based most of his ideas of people from Jersey off Cookie and the Jersey Shore. My guess would be someplace in North Jersey. Oh, and a little overlooked fact, the Jersey Shore people were like, 99% New Yorkers. He couldn't tell people he was from New Jersey while the show was on without people asking if that was what they were all like.

Turning his body slightly toward the chair as the other repositioned himself Hank sighed. I'd be happy just to be able to go in all the way without worrying about freezing to death or coming out looking like a five year old again. Given the weather he could safely assume even just trying to do his hair in the river would be more hazardous then it was worth.

At the mention of it being his birthday Hank shook his head. The ice cream cake was the first I heard. Well, if no one else has, He put the crowbar down on the ground and wiped his hands the best he could on his stained jeans and held out a hand, sincerely finishing with let me be the first to say Happy Birthday. You should come by our tent later, we'll celebrate. I can't promise cake, but I should be able to manage something. He thought to the small bag of leftovers he'd been saving from his rations, set aside for an emergency or something special. So...how many birthday punches are you in for? He asked, a slightly mischievous smile starting to form.

"Don't worry about it Mon ami, I'll just add it to you're tab" Dom said with a wry smile as Benson took his leave; the paramedic taking the opportunity to run a quick inventory of their medical supplies. In short it wasn't good as nearly all of their pain meds were gone along with a sizeable portion of their medical dressings "We'll be using bits of torn shirt at this rate" Dominic muttered quietly to himself as he closed the cabinet door.
Perhaps it was time he took a walk into the nearby town and see there was anything worth looting. He was fairly confident that if he mentioned the "F" word he'd get a couple of volunteers to come with him. Speaking of which perhaps it was time he actually had something to eat.

Walking the short distance to the makeshift kitchen Dom found himself looking at Loa, Cauldershore and a rather small pile of food "That doesn't look good...how long have we got?" he asked quietly. Perhaps he wouldn't be eating today after all.

In reply to Brady Bohannon (msg # 26):


Frederick didn't really reply to Brady's question except for showing a little nod. He wasn't really sure about it anymore. He always liked to think of himself as a positive person. Yet being alone for so long made him think. And everyone knows that having too much time to think never is a good thing. He often wondered if he wasn't just running from his problems by coming to this continent as opposed to trying to start a new life. Also, the experience of loosing the first group he was with caused Fred to be prepared for anything.

When Brady asked him for his opinion or help, Fred was more then willing to. The group gave him a lot of things to do but often it wasn't enough. He still felt he needed to prove himself and had a hard time just enjoying his time. Looking over the people that were on the ground he pondered for a moment while rubbing his beard."I don't know. To be honest I don't know any of them well enough."
Fred turned his head to look Brady in the eyes. "I would offer you my help but all I have is my strenght and agility. We didn't have guns where I came from and I can't shoot for shite."

Cookie had in fact been busy, but it was a rather unusual sort of busy.  Looking in the containers for a specific item, she'd managed to find something not terribly awful and was now looking for something to wrap it in.  Possibly the oldest, stalest Twizzlers in the immediate vicinity were being wrapped by a piece of ribbon she'd done the best to wipe the dust off of, before going to find New Mexico.

"Happy birthday," she said to the young New Mexico, and held out the package.  She eyed the other Jersian and sat down.  Time to have a chat.

In reply to Dominic Dubreton (msg # 31):

"Good day to you Dominic!" Cauldershore greeted the medic cheerfully. He always tried to maintain his cherrie demeanour, even as the situation became more dire. "Looks like three days, give or take." He replied, matter-of-factly. "I think we'll have to draw straws again, though young Loa here has been kind enough to volunteer. Though I can't be certain it's your turn again darling." He said in protest to Loa's offer. "I suppose we shall have to ask Gary to organize another raid. Where's that man been off to, anyhow?"

In reply to Hank Lucion (msg # 30):
In reply to Cookie (msg # 33):


New Mexico raised his hands up a little as if surrendering. "In my defense I said nothing about Jersey Shore." He smiled as if he was pretty slick. The imagery conjured by Hank's follow up in regards to bathing caused a chuckle from the teenager, "It takes sacrifices to be the best, dear Hank. I do declare, I do declare.." N'Mexico replied in an imitated Southern Dixie type accent, likely making slight fun of the southerns in their group, as he ran a hand through his thick hair for dramatic effect.

When Hank pointed out that NM had already declared it to be his birthday the young man flushed lightly, "Yea I guess I'm a wee bit more stoked for it than I was trying to let on." He shrugged, lighthearted or at least pretending to be. Extending an equally dirty hand after also wiping it off on his jeans, NM accepted the shake of congratulations for living another year. "I'm gonna hold you to that promise." He winked, though it was hidden for the most part by old missing Blind-Lime's shades. "Don't even think of it, dude, I may look like a Southern Belle with my hair this long, but I'm street walkin' cheetah with a heart full of napalm." NM teased, bringing his fists up into a boxing position as if ready to duke it out with the other man.

With Cookie approaching New Mexico dropped his fists, one turning into a wave of greeting as his friend approached. He didn't quite see what she was carrying till she passed it to him along with a birthday congrats. His smile having had no reason to go away, he accepted the gift, and pulled off his sunglasses to examine the rare, delicious licorice Twizzlers. "Aw, thanks Cookie." He replied warmly, leaning over from his chair to the now sitting Cookie to give her a quick hug whether she found it awkward or not. It wasn't just for her gift, but other things she did and had done for the group and for him specifically.

"Here, I wanna share some of these with you both." The birthday boy offered, pulling out a strand of licorice for each of them, and passing them out before taking his first bite. "Perfection. I can say that, considering I'm the best cook the Caravan ever had. Hank, you should have seen me when we had bacon and eggs back in Illinois, Cookie can attest to my ability." He went on, cheerful and digesting sugar which gave the thinning youth some color.

"Y'know if this was Canada I would be legal age to get drunk. If Bill hasn't really stopped drinking maybe he'll bring me in on his shenanigans."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:46, Mon 02 Mar 2015.

In reply to Frederick Struve (msg # 32):

Brady shook his head, somewhat disappointed. "Well Freddie. That ain't very helpful, now is it? Maybe you should spend the rest of the day talking to people and learning to shoot. Might even be more fun than standing up here all alone, y'never know." Brady turned around and left the roof, leaving Fred to his own devices. For now, Brady had a mission of his own: find a good hunting buddy.

As Brady reached the main area he stopped, perusing the members of the camp. He was going to convince one of these people to wander out into the wild with him. But who would it be? Brady's eyes landed on old Joe. Now maybe he wasn't the best choice and maybe he was. On the one hand, He was still carrying that nice big bow, but on the other hand, he was somewheres around a hundred... But hey, teach a man to fish, right?

"Mornin' Joe. Mind if I bother you with summ'in?" Brady asked a bit formally, still not being too comfortable around the old man. There was something awful strange about Joe. "You're pretty damn good with that bow, ain'tcha? Here's the thing. I'm plannin' to go out huntin' and, well, even if we had enough bullets, I'd have to be pretty God damed stupid to go out into the woods making that much noise. Y'know what I'm sayin'?"

Hank rolled his eyes at the teen's surrender and imitation. When the fists came up the grin stayed. Tempting, but it can wait.

With the sound of another person approaching and his hand Hank instinctively reached for his crowbar again. Not the mad grab of it possibly being needed, more of him not wanting it out of reach for long. Hey. He greeted Cookie with a stretch, the sight her holding food stopping him for a second. Not ice cream cake, but still. Briefly he wondered how long she had been holding on to he candy, considering how long ago he had last seen them in their stock.

Thanks. He was slightly  Taking the proffered sweet he twirled it in his free hand a moment, before taking a small bite off the top and keeping it hanging while he found a relatively clean pocket. Folding it the leftover piece in half he tucked it in. There was enough for three semi quality pieces for later. Slowly chewing his piece he fought the urge to swallow it whole. Well, with any luck we'll find a wild hog and put that to the test.

At this point I don't think Bill had much of a choice. But I'll be sure to keep my eye out next town we hit. He shrugged, Not like they can charge me with anything at this point.

Turning to Cookie, What's up?

In reply to Karen (msg # 24):

Isabelle recoiled as Karen smacked the flask out of her hand, not immediately comprehending what Karen was getting at until Karen explained what the problem was. "Hell.." She responded with a sigh, understanding and grasping immediately the problem that was going to arise. The Caravan collected their water from the canal or from rainwater, and the cistern that held the rainwater had been getting low for some time.

The one legged Caravaneer wanted to volunteer to help, but she had unfortunately gotten used to being of little physical help. It was infuriating, but she knew she had gotten off somewhat lucky, even if it didn't feel that way. Frowning slightly, she looked to Bill, "You  can go ahead, Bill, I can get myself around. Best call a meeting after the floater is out, as well."

“Morning Cauldershore” Dom said with a slight nod of his head in response to the man’s greeting. It had taken Dom a little while to get used to the other man’s personality and realise that he wasn’t being sarcastic but was just naturally cheerful no matter how grim things got.
Upon hearing that Loa had already volunteered to go without in light of their dwindling supplies he turns to look at the former vet as he obviously performed some kind of mental arithmetic “did she now...Loa when was the last time you ate?” he asked; his voice automatically adopting the formal business like tones of “The Doc” “...look after yourself Loa, there are no prizes for martyrdom” he finished not wanting to sound like he was lecturing or god forbid his dad. Though if that was what it would take stop her from starving herself then so be it “I don’t know about Gary...but I can always take a walk into town and see if there’s anything still kicking around” he volunteered. He somehow doubted that he’d hit the mother lode and solve all of their problems but every little helped and it sure beat hanging around here all day with an empty stomach.

Tessa was perched on the rusted railing of a fire escape.   She sat there looking down on the comings and goings of what she called the courtyard.  It was just the area in front of the building they had all taken refuge in during the coldest month of the winter but, hey, it was easier to say courtyard than 'that place we all gather outside'.  Her auburn hair was braided and hung down her back.  It was neat and easy and stayed out of the way like that.  She'd met this group a little over a month ago, after having escaped from another group she had unfortunately met.  Her suitcase and purse were long gone, but she still had her backpack, and in that she had transferred all her essentials.  When everything first when to hell, she'd dumped the entire contents of her purse into the backpack so she could use the purse, filled with rocks, as a weapon.

It had worked rather well, until the strap broke.  Her pack already had most of her most important items within and then she shoved what clothing she could from her suitcase into it as well and the case was left behind, with a nasty surprise.  She may not have approved of her families trade and tutelage before but it sure came in handy now.  Her ability to climb and get into tight spaces, as well as secured ones, had made searching the upper floors of some of the buildings her domain, since a lot of damage had made traditional means to the upper floors near impossible.  She didn't mind, the chance of finding a Creeper, as she liked to call them, was slim, seeing as the place had been abandoned.  There had been a couple, though, as vagrants had probably used the place while passing through.

It was not the sort of place they would settle permanently as there was nothing around it, therefore no people to beg a buck off of, no garbage to root through for goodies.  She was a quiet one, she smiled, they had thought her deaf and dumb at first, but she finally told them her name.  She didn't have much to say, they didn't seem to either.  Oh, they'd all exchanged names and such, she knew who they were and they knew who she was..we they knew each others identity, knowing a person, and knowing their name were two very different things.   She looked up when Karen came running in all out of breath and panicky.  Floater in the water?  Ewwww.  She made a face and was glad she'd not drank any of the canal water.  She listened in to see what they would do.

In reply to Isabelle (msg # 38) & Karen (msg # 24):

"Oh-" Bill knew why Karen was so upset. "That's terrible." He imagined the worst, and frowned. Who knew how long that body had been in there? What would happen, if they had already drank the contaminated water?

Karen fell to the ground exhausted. Bill let go of Isabelle's arm, her leaning on her crutch, and picked up his old flask. He tried to remember where he had gotten the water, and couldn't. He dried it off and put it back in his jacket pocket. "Alright" he said, "I'm going." Bill hurried off toward the main building.

He saw Tessa, the red haired girl, sitting on the fire escape. "Tessa!" Running out of breath himself, he waved at her, calling her down. When she came near, he said to her "I need your help. Find Dominic or Loa, and meet me over there, in the courtyard." Bill took a deep breath, and wondered if the girl had any idea what he was talking about. "In the water, there is a body or something. It's dead. They're doctors, we need to ask them if we should be worried about getting sick or... never mind." He didn't want to worry the young girl yet. "Can you find them for me?"

Gary Szymanski was enjoying the fire in the main room of the 'Big House', which looked like it used to be a factory or chemical plant, but now all of the machinery was gone, and all that was left was this oil drum and an awkward pool of water running down the middle of the room. A lot of the windows were smashed out, but they all let in the light of the spring morning, casting rays of yellow in the mostly grey room. With the combination of sunlight and warmth, Gary tried to think positive. Things could be worse.

He looked at his map. Gary had been worrying about their food supply. If he had to guess, he'd guess they had three to four days worth of food left. The last raid they went on, in the nearby town of St. Francisville, had been successful. There was only minor trouble with walkers, and they found enough food to last them this whole last month. There was probably something left there, but they had taken most of the remaining food and medical supplies they could find. Next time, they would have to go somewhere else, somewhere farther. They had options, but with no fuel and a greater distance to cover, this would be more difficult than the last raid.

Gary looked up, rubbing his head. He saw Benson Bohannon staring into the fire. "Hey!" Gary said, smiling "You got your cast off! Bet you feel better now, huh?"

"Sure." She said simply and went to do as asked.  She knew very well what was going on, she'd been taught lip reading, it was very useful in gaining intel on marks.  Now it was very useful to keep up with what was going on around her.  It was what had saved her from the plans the previous group had in store for her.  Or at least one of them. She supposed she should not be surprised at how base some people would turn when the yolk of society was lifted from people's shoulders.  She moved quick and quiet, heading to the kitchen. She tried to stay on top of who all was where at any given time. She had seen the Doc heading towards the kitchen, so she went there first.  Lucky for her, she found Loa present as well.

"Doc, Loa, Bill need's ya, floater in tha canal."  She stated in her soft accented voice.  With her mission succinctly stated and completed, she turned to head back to Bill, assuming they'd follow.  Her soft soled black boots barely made a sound as she lithely traversed the distance between the kitchen and Bill.  She was wearing well worn jeans, a dark purple tee and a black, teal and purple flannel shirt under a black leather jacket.  She had her hands shoved into the deep pockets of the jacket where they remained toasty warm in a pair of gloves.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:59, Wed 04 Mar 2015.

In reply to Gary Szymanski (msg # 42):

Bohannon looked up at Gary, his trance now interrupted. His bushy beard and scruffy long hair concealed most of his face, but his eyes held in them a deep forlornness. "Yeah Perry Mason. I can use both my arms again. Let's invite all our friends over and throw a shindig. Unless every one we know lives here with us... That's right! Our lives are all just a continual soiree." Benson got up out of the lawn chair, kicking it across the room and storming out the front door. There, he lingered for a moment.

As she walked past, Tessa heard the grumbling of the Grizzly, a nickname she'd given Benson, though no one knew but herself, of course.  She had no "Marnin', Sunshine."  She quipped softly, her slight Scottish accent adding a lilt to her words, as she past by on her way to meet up with Bill.  Benson, she had discovered, was always rather grumpy.  One did not usually poke the Grizzly, but this morning, she was feeling a bit daring.  She did not look over her shoulder to see if he heard her, or if Doc and Loa were behind her.

In reply to Cauldershore (msg # 34):
In reply to Dominic Dubreton (msg # 39):

Loa smiled as Dominic entered the kitchen, effectively the entire Caravan's medical team in one room. Compared to some folks they were lucky. Though she didn't like being considered weaker perhaps because of her gender, she appreciated the concern voiced by both Cauldershore and Dominic. "Two days ago." She answered the native French speaker with the truth, though she had been doing a good job of hiding the discomfort that walked hand-in-hand with hunger. "Don't worry, Dominic, I know we need to stay strong for the group. I do thank you gentlemen for your concern, I suppose chivalry isn't gone quite yet." When word was raised of a possible raid, she was willing to be cautiously optimistic. "I think some of our people could use with stretching their legs on raid. Just remember we need not only food but medical supplies as well."

In reply to Tessa Lawrence (msg # 43):

Tessa's sudden presence did not bode well and the former veterinarian exchanged looks with Dominic and Cauldershore, "We better go." She hardly needed to say it, but there it was, and she moved towards the door as Tessa moved off once more. A floater in the canal? Had they gotten to this problem in time? She would gather a couple of their scant supplies just in case, before moving with Dominic and Cauldershore, if he wished, to see what exactly was going on.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:27, Wed 04 Mar 2015.

In reply to Brady Bohannon (msg # 36):

When Brady approached Joe the older man was sitting on an old semi-truck tire, hood of his winter coat pulled over his head, long white strands of hair peaking out from the fur trim inside. He was huddled over, chiseling an arrowhead out of stone using a similarly sharpened rock.  His pliable, reliable bow leaned against his legs from a propped up position on the ground. When the younger male's voice interrupted him he replied with a grumbling noise, pausing briefly from his work before continuing on, half-listening to the former Fort inhabitant.

"Say what you mean, peckerwood, I'm too old for guessing games." Joe answered gruffly, turning to look at the man, piercing green eyes staring into the other man testily. He was the oldest man in the Caravan yet he was strong as sinew, with experience of many years ossifying itself within a wiry, surprisingly durable frame.

Dominic was glad that Loa had taken the reprimand...if that was the right word for it; the way it had been intended and hoped that she would be good on her word and not let herself starve for the rest of them “Hey we’re just looking out for you is all...you’d do the same for either of us” he replied with a friendly smile. He liked Loa which was a good thing seen as they had spent a lot of time working together over the past few months and it helped having another person with medical skills around.
It was at this point that Tessa; another new face they had recently encountered entered the kitchen with news of a floater in the canal the implications instantly becoming clear to those within the room. Oh great! That’s just what we need! Dom silently exclaimed wondering if anything else could go wrong as he followed the others out of the door.
They had only three days worth of food and now it sounded like one of their water supplies was now potentially poisonous. They’d just have to hope that the body hadn’t been in the water long and was still intact else they would be in a world of trouble.

The ambient sound of a light breeze shuffling the nearby foliage and the hum of friendly chit-chat was occasionally interspersed with the splashes of soapy water, as one of the less familiar faces amongst the Caravan worked in one of the far ends of the courtyard. It was a rather warm day, at least comparatively speaking, and Nevada wasn't one to waste the opportunity to do something productive. Their blankets and sheets had been needing a wash for some time, but the bitter chill of winter left them unable to clean them without freezing. But today, if it wasn't for the cool water on her fair face and slender arms, and the denim skirt she hadn't had a chance to wear much during winter, the petite brunette might have actually worked up a heavy sweat. The sheer number of sheets, blankets, pillow cases and the occasional shirt, jacket, and pants left a reminder that she'd been doing this a while. Some people just liked to keep themselves busy.

Though, if one were to ask some, others might suggest the girl had a reason to prove herself such a work-horse. Her start with the Caravan was a bit troublesome. A few weeks earlier, the scavenging party said they'd run into the girl in the Nevada jacket at a convenience store in town, hording some of the dried goods. Like a deer caught in the headlights, she froze initially, but as soon as the group tried to approach her, she yelled at them strangely and bolted for the rear exit. They managed to lose her in the ensuing chase as she disappeared behind a behind a narrow opening behind in an iron gate. However, after their scavenging run, they found the strange youth watching them from afar, trailing them for some time. A bit of clever tactics forced her to reveal herself and let them approach.

That's when they discovered the second obstacle; "Nevada", as her faded blue sweater labeled her, didn't seem to speak English. It lead to a fair amount of frustration as they tried to communicate with the young woman, but they got her to follow them to the Caravan, where a number of survivors struggled to communicate with her for several days. Just when they seemed to be getting the hang of it, and getting her to come around to them, she revealed that their added difficulty was for naught. She could speak English just fine, and she came clean that she was just pretending not to so she could learn what kind of people they were when they thought she couldn't understand them. She has apologized for the deception, but she had learned that they didn't mean her any harm, and were not looking to manipulate her, so she felt she could be honest with them. Understandably, there was still some annoyance lingering about the trouble she'd caused, amongst other hesitations, but Nevada has since promised to be honest and declared she will do her best to earn their trust, much as they had earned hers.

Nevada balanced briefly on tips of her sneakers as she adjusted the next sheet on the clothesline, but as it finally held steady to her satisfaction, pausing to step back and look at her handiwork. It had taken up most of the morning, several rows of cloths of different sizes, shapes and varying mostly drab colors waving lightly like the flags of poverty stricken regions, but nevertheless, a content-filled sigh escaped her lips. She didn't have long to appreciate it undisturbed, as a discerning echo came from the other side of the compound bit of commotion caught her eye on the far side, drawing her attention. Nevada picked up the ragged cloth she was using to dry herself, absently wiping the water and suds off her forehead and arms, as she stood herself up and watched a concerned Karen rushing off to deliver some kind of news to Bill and Izzy. The reverberations from the compound walls didn't exactly have good acoustics, so it was difficult to understand what they were talking about, but it was obvious it was something important, losing herself momentarily in thought-filled deliberation.

A door burst open suddenly, giving the distracted brunette quite a start, causing Nevada to actually leap briefly in fright, before she recognized the disgruntled cowboy, eliciting a relieved sigh from the small teenager, complete with her left hand coming to rest over her pacing heart. Not that a pissed off Benson was harmless in and of itself, but her instincts had trained her to expect less discriminating threats. She took a few moments to calm her lingering anxiety from the scare, and approached him, briefly sparing a momentarily uncertain glance to the snickering Tessa. "Morning, Mr. Bohannon." She called out, offering him a polite smile, presenting herself before him in her reserved manner, her bare-hands clasped before her lap. "Sorry to i-ahh...bother..." The girl paused a moment as if to choose her word carefully, obviously knowing she was treading on thin ice as it was. "...But seeing as you're up, would you mind if I adds your bed sheets to wash? I mean, I'm cleaning many of the others already, so it would be no trouble." She offered, as lightly as she could. Naturally, her almond-shaped eyes darted downward towards his freshly cast-free arm, but she didn't make any overt mention towards it.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:19, Wed 04 Mar 2015.

In reply to Tessa Lawrence (msg # 45):
In reply to Nevada (msg # 49):

"Howdy Jolene." he said with a smile as he and Tessa passed each other. In his Georgian accent, the nickname sounded sweet and flirtatious, despite his rough appearance and brooding mood as of late.

The cowboy turned to Nevada. The youngster had joined the group a little while back, but he hadn't been there for that. He wasn't really any too sure of the girl at this point. But she seemed earnest enough. Bohannon's long shaggy hair and beard blew in the wind. At this point he looked more like Tom Hanks at the end of Castaway, or during the running scenes in Forest Gump than he did himself. He sighed. "Sure thing Tokyo Rose. You can do the stuff from my bag while you're at it. Just don't mix the lights with the colors, I don't want my white socks turnin' pink." The cowboy had turned the charm back on, insofar as he could. But it still had a bite to it. "Go on. Laundry ain't gonna do itself. Now scram!" He snapped at the young girl to compensate for almost seeming nice for a moment.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:14, Sat 25 Apr 2015.

In reply to Isabelle (msg # 38):

Karen sat there next to Izzy as she caught her breath. "It's always something, huh..." She said, not really knowing anything better to say, and trying to avoid the thing she really wanted to ask. "How are you doing, with your leg? Good?" Now Karen was making thinly veiled small talk. She shook her head, realizing that she must have seemed pathetic. "Isabelle, does it ever get easier? Do you ever go to sleep at night, or wake up in the morning, or spend any part of your day without thinking about your kids? How they're either out there somewhere or they're... not...? Without wondering if they're okay? Can you ever stop hating yourself for losing them?" A tear welled up in Karen's eye. Clearly she wasn't coping well with Kaidan's disappearance, but, what mother would, right?

"I miss him so much."

Tessa smirked, but never stopped or looked back.  She'd dared the Grizzly's wrath once, best not to do so again.  At least not for a while. She met up with Bill and waited with him for the others.

"Told 'em."  She said, as usual, succinct and to the point. She only really got chatty once she was comfortable with people.  She was still settling in with the group.  So far she'd only spoken a little bit to each person, nothing in depth, mostly because of her own..shyness...she supposed.  She kept busy.  Either by climbing about the upper levels that were inaccessible with ease die to damage or being available for raids,or what ever else was needed. When she was not doing something for the group, she was either sleeping or snuck off to an area no one else was at and exercised and danced to keep in shape and, of course, sang.  Not too loudly though, she didn't want to draw unwanted attention, but, she loved music.  It helped her cope.

"Well?" She asked Bill, wondering what he was thinking.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:32, Fri 06 Mar 2015.

Ricky had taken the early night shift for guard duty so he was still asleep until the echoing crash of Benson's chair woke him. Half asleep, he threw on his glasses and boots and rushed to the common room with knife in hand. After realizing what the commotion was, he put away his weapon with a sigh and stretched to help wake himself fully. "Jeez, thought we were getting raided or something." he mumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He took a seat near the fire before realizing his boots were still untied, quickly solving that issue before looking around the main building. "Where's everybody else at?"

As was par for the course with her dealings with Benson (and anyone else's exchanges with him, for that matter), he replied to her offer with his usual brand of sass and flair. Normally, one was to simply grin and bear it, as was how she usually dealt with it. But, for some reason, as her dark-brown eyes peaked up at him on this occasion, there was a slightly skeptical arch to her left brow, her head tilting slightly to the side as she did, as if she was questioning his reply. Nevada wasn't one to speak her thoughts freely, so it was difficult to say what it is she was that struck her oddly. Perhaps it was the nickname for her, or the unexpected thought of handling the cowboy's intimates, the audacity that the gruff man would offer her unsolicited advice on how to do basic laundry, or if his ragged beard at this point was just distracting enough for her in an unapproving manner. Whatever it was, something seemed to strike a slight nerve in his response, prompting a slightly sarcastic, if silent, glance from the normally passive teenager.

Nonetheless, despite her momentary defiance, his loud dismissal definitely caught her attention, striking her into an upright stand as he suddenly switched from calm acceptance to assertive order, responding as if he was a teacher that caught her daydreaming in class during a lecture. "Ah~!...Y-Yes sir! Right on it!" She quickly followed up after an initial falter, scurrying for the stairs leading up to his room. Even if his attitude might had been in the dumps of late, his presence at least still had enough spark to light a fire under the little newbie, as evident when she worked her slender legs up the stairs in mere seconds before disappearing behind the alcove above.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:16, Thu 05 Mar 2015.

Bill gulped air as he waited for Tessa. He was sober, but he was still an old man. The girl, in her twenties but looking younger on account of her short stature, came back almost as quickly as she had left, her mission completed. "Great, thank you." Bill said as he finally caught his breath.

"Now we have to get that body out of the canal." He said as he eyed Cookie, New Mexico and Hank on the opposite end of the courtyard. "Come with me Tessa, you can help."
Bill and the girl walked the length of the courtyard toward the trio. Bill interrupted their chat.

"Cookie, we have a problem. Karen found a walker in the canal." He paused, awaiting some sort of reaction. "Now, we don't know how long it's been in there. We don't know, but it could have contaminated our water supply." Bill looked at the young boys. "We have to get the body out, I think. It can't be good, leavin' it in there like that. Let's go, you boys too."

Entering the courtyard Dominic although not running at this point moved with purpose wanting to get to the source of the problem and deal with it as soon as possible.
Hearing the cowboy’s raised voice coming from across the courtyard he couldn’t help but smirk as one of the new girls; Nevada he thought it was caught the brunt of his “wrath” though Dom suspected most of it was simply for show “I’d jump to it if I was you girl, you don’t want to know what happened to his last slave!” Dominic called jokingly over his shoulder, chuckling softly to himself as he did so.

With Bill busy talking to Cookie, Dominic decided to head along the canal to where Karen and Izzy were instead, rather than waiting for the former sheriff to finish “Morning Izzy; Karen...so where is this...oh...” realising that he had inadvertently walked in on something Dominic’s mind ground to a halt as his face took on that uncomfortable look all men get when confronted by tearful women “....Sorry...I’ll...erm...go and ask Bill or something” he finished awkwardly. Perhaps waiting for Bill was a good idea after all.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:04, Sat 07 Mar 2015.

In reply to Dominic Dubreton (msg # 56):

Karen wiped her cheek off and stood to greet Dominic. "Sorry." She composed herself and went into work mode. She didn't know how many times in her career she'd stood at a crime scene and greeted the paramedics or the coroner. This was routine.

"Caucasian male, dead a while. Probably a zombie. Bloated and coming apart at the seams. There's... lots of stuff coming out of him." Karen began walking towards the spot in the canal where she'd spotted the floater. It was as she'd described. He was big and soggy and oozing everywhere. Karen wasn't sure if the body would hold together if they tugged on him. She'd have to defer to Dom's experience for that one. "Here he is. What do you think?"

Cauldershore left the kitchen with Dominic and Loa. A body in the canal? That would be a heinous sight. And if the water was contaminated, that would stress an already thin supply of food and water. "I shall offer my services as well." He chose to stick with Dominic and not wait for Bill to gather up some help, wanting to get the issue resolved just as soon as possible.

In reply to Joe (msg # 47):

"Um." Brady was a little intimidated by Joe. It was at this moment that he really started to second guess himself and think that maybe Joe was not the best choice. "I want to learn to shoot a bow." He said, looking off to the side and scratching his neck. "We need to go hunting and I want to try bow hunting. Can you teach me?" Brady felt awkward. And he was usually cocky and confident. But there was something odd about Joe...

In reply to Hank Lucion (msg # 37) and Cookie and Bill:

While they conversed NM felt that things were going to be okay, even if just for that short time. He took his time with the licorice, relishing the peace while he still could. Nodding in response to Hank's sentiments, they were soon interrupted by Bill's commotion and silent beckoning for them to help deal with some issue of a body in the canal.
With Bill addressing Cookie primarily but all three of them in general, N'Mexico sighed lightly, "Just when I thought it would be a nice relaxed day." He commented to no one in specific, gauging Cookie and Hank as to how fast they ought to jump-to to help with the grisly task of fishing out a corpse. It all boded ill, and NM hadn't survived this long by volunteering for every icky task, as lazy as it sounded.

"Happy birthday to me."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:35, Sat 07 Mar 2015.

"That’s ok" Dominic replied awkwardly as Karen wiped away the tears from her cheeks.
As Karen gave a report no different to the many previous ones he'd received from cops Dominic listened attentively despite looking ready to bolt the second it looked like Karen would start crying again.
From what she had told him it sounded like the canal was screwed as a water supply, not that the canal was the best of choices as he was sure his step-mum had once told him something about not drinking stagnant water. Either way he felt he owed it to everyone to at least have a closer look and so moved over to the canal's edge to do just that.


----> The Canal 

In reply to Bill (msg # 55):

Bill's announcement brought Hank's hand to his temples as he shook his head. Lovely. When was the last time we filled our bottles? He and Tom had kept a few bottles so they wouldn't have to go back to the water barrel whenever they wanted a drink. Tell you what, he rolled his neck back, eyes closed to the sky and tilting slightly in NM's direction, You go find Tom, tell him not to drink the water from the canal and dump the rest of our bottles. He said something about helping Joe make arrows earlier after he was done fiddling with some things he found in an old office. He shrugged, not knowing himself what his brother was up to.

Sighing he got up, hoping it wasn't too bloated. If that's ok with you, of course. He directed the comment to Bill, not knowing how many others had been drafted to help with the removal.

*snap* The branch he had sawing through finally gave, eliciting a small grin from the young teen. Making one final check to make sure it was straight enough for an arrow or two. Nodding he tossed next to the few he already had. Giving a small sigh Tom glanced back over his shoulder where Joe was working on the tire. The smile widened when he saw Brady had joined the other man. Out of all the people in the Caravan, besides Hank obviously, they and New Mexico were the ones he felt most comfortable with. Although the new girl...the world may have gone to hell but his hormones didn't seem to care. Shaking his head back to his current task, there would be time for those thoughts later, Tom got back to choosing his next branch.

In reply to Brady and Tom:

Turning his head back to his task as Brady sputtered, Joe would inwardly grin, pleased with his efforts to make the younger buck uncomfortable. With Brady behind him, the old spitfire would match eyes with Tom, sending an inside-joke wink to the young apprentice of sorts. He continued to chip away at his arrowhead as Brady spoke before ceasing the action. He lifted the piece to inspect it with an expert gaze, quickly blowing at it like it was a birthday candle, causing dust to lift from the finished work.

Having kept Brady waiting, Joe slowly stood, running a couple rough weathered fingertips over the arrowhead, testing its pointedness and shape. "Well why didn't you just say that to begin with?" He asked Brady rhetorically as he walked towards Tom, back still to Mister Bohannon. The elder scrutinized Tom's work, his brow furrowing as he made up his mind, finally giving a nod of approval to Tom before finally turning to address Brady face to face.

"I can teach you. Whether you retain anything is up to you. I don't want to waste both of our time if you're just going to drop the bow for a gun the moment we find ammunition." It had been a cold four months and Brady hadn't shown much interest in learning the way of the bow. Joe chalked it up to over-reliance on firearms by survivors, which only served in his mind to attract biters and hostile folks. Perhaps he was old school, but he had tactical reasons for his choice of weaponry.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:11, Sun 08 Mar 2015.

In reply to Hank Lucion (msg # 62):

The teenager lackadaisically laid back in his lawn chair, signaling to Bill through his body language that he was not going to be enticed to participate in any water-drinking dramas. He continued to nibble slowly at his licorice, wanting to ensure what he had would last as long as possible. NM was ever appreciative of Cookie's present, and Hank's welcome company, and only begrudgingly accepted that events were shifting around them that didn't include the procurement of a cake for his birthday. The birthday boy was silently sure that there was a cake out there, so inundated with sugar preservatives, that it was just waiting for him, perhaps literally, if unlikely, penned upon it in icing.

Looking to Hank through Blind Lime's shades, NM appreciated the out from floater-duty. Sitting up, he extended his arms back, giving his slim form a hearty stretch complete with the requisite groan of satisfaction, right hand clutching his licorice bag. "I suppose I can do that." The teen was curious about what Tom had purportedly found in an old office space, if he even needed more motivation to avoid icky work that Bill was trying to press gang them into. "Alright dude, I'll go track down Lil' Lucion and see whats up." NM didn't want to wait for Bill to pull him back into the event and the teen rose up from his chair, then tucked his licorice bag into his back pocket.
"I'll catch up with you in a bit." N'Mexico started off to where he knew Joe usually worked on his gadgets, betting that Tom would be in tow. The old guy and the Lucion's were thick as thieves. "Later Bill."

---
>>> Over to Joe, Tom & Brady

New Mexico slowly approached the other three Caravaneers, who appeared to be mingling away from the main building, near the outer area of the compound, but still within the ring of buildings that formed the border of the industrial park.
"Hey guys, don't drink any water if its from the Canal, they found a floater. The Cistern's rainwater is still good though I think." He gave a small wave as he entered their pow-wow, moving more towards Tom as Joe and Brady seemed to be talking something over. "Yo Tom, look what Cookie gave me for my birthday." The shaggy haired teen withdrew the old Twizzlers bag from his back pocket, displaying it like a valuable artifact to the younger boy. "Here try one." He held the bag out to let Tom take his pick of the two dozen licorice strands still left. "Hows the arrow business these days?"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:50, Sun 08 Mar 2015.

Loa was never sure how to best deal with Karen, as the woman tended to get worked up quite a bit. Though she was only a veterinarian, she wondered if there was some chemical imbalance that could be treated in the other survivor. She knew that Karen was still worried about her son, and secretly Loa was of the mind that the Kaidan boy she only briefly met was likely dead. Since she didn't know the truth, she knew better than to voice such things, especially to a grieving mother. Isabelle had admitted a similar issue with her own missing children, while Loa had been treating her. For her own part, Loa had never had any children. Tim wasn't the kind of man she wanted to have them with, and especially not in the world they now found themselves.

"Cauldershore, if you want to help Dominic, I will stay here in case I'm needed by the others." She let her inventory-mate go, while she turned to view Bill pressing Cookie, New Mexico and Hank into assisting. They had many people about, so she was confident they could handle it without her, and that she and Dominic could establish a water safety regimen once the body was removed from the canal.

In reply to New Mexico  (msg # 65):

Tom gave himself a rare moment of focus, figuring with the others relatively near by and a lookout on one of the roofs he could loose himself in the task at hand. It certainly helped distract him from the hunger. Mentally checking off finding an actual saw for this instead of his knife he started at NM's greeting. Spinning around, knife at the ready, he relaxed when he saw who it was. Shaking his head he gave a small laugh, trying to hide his embarrassment. He didn't want the other to think he was just some kid after all. Shit, you almost gave me a heart attack.

Quickly regaining his composure it took a moment to process what the other said, his focus on the candy. Are you sure? I mean we don't know when we'll find those again. Closing the knife one handed he clipped it onto his jean pocket. Happy birthday. So, when do you want your birthday punches?

Well, I've only got one customer and I'm using a knife as a saw. He answered with a shrug. Glancing at the small pile he'd already cut, At least the branches aren't that thick.

Much to his apparent delight (as well as a few others who were idling nearby, judging but the short chorus of chuckles), Nevada could only spare a moment for a concerned glance over her shoulder towards Dominic at his call. Whether by the gruff cowboy's original order, or by the encouragement of the paramedic's "warning", she was far too focused on scrambling up the stair way to offer much more response than that. Even with the lack of proper nutrition they were suffering of late, and the diligent hours she'd put into work this morning, she still had enough energy to rush up the stairs without a hint of any pause or delay. Even with the extra motivation, it was still surprising that she had much stamina left in her. Of course, it helped that she was one of the few who actually had the privilege of eating the previous night, if only because it was her turn. She wasn't going to let it go to waste.

It wasn't more than a couple of minutes before the raven-haired girl returned to the top of the railing. The blanket in question, mingled in with a sheet, was half folded and draped around her head and shoulder, while the aforementioned bag of laundry was lugged by her hands over her shoulder, creating a semi-hunchback impression from under the blankets. She seemed a bit overloaded, but it would seem the young asian was intent carrying both loads in one trip. However, she took her time getting down the stairs this time, keeping her eyes focused on her feet, at least aware that it was too hazardous to rush it in this situation. A heavy set of breaths were audible to the she made it down the path, passing by much of the courtyard as she made her way to the pair of tubs and rows of clotheslines that they'd set up for this purpose. She dropped the bag in their general vicinity, along side the blanket and sheets, breathing a hefty sigh of relief to take the weight off her.

Having returned to her station with a new load secured, Nevada took a moment to linger, stretching her arms up high and back straight with a deliberately exaggerated yawn, eliciting a muffled moan as her joints cracked in a mildly pleasant manner. As she rolled her neck back and forth idly, wiping a bit of sweat that was collecting on her forehead against the arm of her sweater as she stretched, her brown eyes peered over the facility grounds, noticing that there were a lot fewer people lounging about in the minutes that passed. Whatever was happening this morning evidently had stirred some of those around. A force laugh caught her ear, turning her attention towards Tom as he played off his momentary scare with New Mexico, although a bit of a smirk briefly graced her lips, recognizing it for what it is. At least she wasn't the only one who was a bit jumpy. As was her habit, she appeared to linger in a thought for a bit at the strangeness of the morning, although she could equally just be enjoying a moment or two of the warm, peaceful day before getting back to work.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:13, Sun 08 Mar 2015.

Thanks. Hank sighed, giving the birthday boy a half-hearted wave as he went off. The last thing they needed was a contaminated water supply, but that didn't mean dragging a body out of it was something he envied doing. He didn't know how many people were aware of this development, but was sure NM would warn anyone he came across on the way to Tom. Well, let's get this out of the way, shall we. Rotating his shoulders he turned headed toward the canal.


--->To canal

In reply to Nevada (msg # 68):

Cauldershore paused before heading to the canal. He had heard Bohannon's remarks towards Nevada and saw the way she scrambled upstairs obediently. The older gentleman wandered over to the young girl, knowing that there were plenty more capable hands to pull the body from the water.

Cauldershore took a stool next to Nevada as she watched the others milling about. "Good morning Nevada." he said politely as he took up one of the blankets in her pile and dipped it into the wash water, scrubbing as he spoke. "So now, are you from Nevada, or do we just call you that due to your sweatshirt?" Cauldershore wondered, wanting to get to know the girl better. Cauldershore was a man who liked to get people to tell them their life stories. It somehow comforted him. Like, if people still had stories to tell of lives having been lived, then maybe all of this wasn't for nothing.

The petite asian teen's gaze shifted quickly as she caught Cauldershore in her peripheral. Unlike Benson's dramatic and sudden entrance into the courtyard, the asian teen was hardly surprised by the approaching bartender. She flashed him a brief smile, sighing softly before she took her a seat neat the tub on her knees underneath the folds of her denim skirt, readying herself to get back to the laundry. "Good morning." She replied, with a respectful nod from her position, one he no doubt was quite used to by this point. However, her thin brow raised a bit more curiously as he seemed to join her, clearly not expecting it. "O-oh, you don't have to do that..." She said meekly, trying to be as considerate as ever, although she wasn't quite rejecting his presence either. Once he took a seat and started scrubbing the soaked blanket, she seemed to ease herself once more, and joined in, leaning over the tub as she fed more of the cloth in the lukewarm, sudsy water.

The British survivor's question gave her a brief pause as her dark-brown eyes instinctively looked down at the sweatshirt in question, while she absently pulled on the heavy texture of the blanket. A soft chuckle escaped her lips while she as she held herself steady on her raised thighs. "I suspect most know me by the label. It's been my title long before I joined with the Caravan. I don't talk much about what came before. Not many of us do, I noticed." She stated, her high-pitched tone taking a bit of an serious tone as she spoke, pulling the rest of the blanket into the tub with the sheets with some effort. However, as she leaned back to a more comfortable position, a more affable smirk wears on her lips, as she looks up at him. "It's a nice name, though, isn't it? I think it flows well off the tongue. Ne-va-da~..." An almost light-hearted voice emerge with her latter pronunciation as she takes her time with the name, ending with a modest giggle. "It's a bit easier to say than, say, Wisconsin, or Massachusetts."

After her brief tease, Nevada dips her hands back into the soapy water, helping him with the task of attending to Benson's blankets. "Forgive my ignorance, but I can't say I'm terribly familiar with the name Cauldershore. Not that it's a bad name, but I just don't recall it from anywhere. Where does it come from, if you don't mind me asking?"

Cauldershore pondered a moment, elbow deep in wash water. "I can't say I'm too terribly certain my dear." Cauldershore sported a frown. "If I had to guess, I'd say maybe the early Caudershores made their homes on the coldest parts of the coasts and were named for it." The bearded man shrugged off the etymology of his surname. "I never really felt at home in the Cauldershore clan back in England. And when my father moved us over to America, well I still didn't feel at home. Not until I found and fell in love with New Orleans. Once I got there, everything just felt right."

Much like the helpful Brit, Nevada kept her work up while they discussed, only momentarily peaking up from time to time. His frown was met with an understanding, sidelong nod, seemingly not minding his lack of knowledge about his family surname. It just happened to work out that way sometimes, a conversational dead end. However, as he described his feelings of home, a small but genuine smile arose on the edge of her lips, a gentle sigh escaping her mouth that seemed to resonate with the idea. "Yeah. I think I get it." She said, somewhat mysteriously, peeking up at him as if she could relate to his words.

A brief silence returned to the pair, aside the sounds of the water splashing about, and the subtle song of hearty breaths that accompanied a good bit of work. After a few moments, an inquisitive glance found itself on the quiet girl, her short black hair draping around the right side of her neck as she turned her head to face him. "So, what was New Orleans like? I've never been." She asked innocently enough, although her thoughts seemed to analyze the statement a couple of seconds later, disturbing her enough to actually set a pause in her manner. "...Well...you know, not before all of...this..." She clarified, with a strong tinge of awkwardness in her tone of speech. She forced a bit of a smile and tried to carry on with her work. "I mean, I've heard things, but not from the most reliable of sources, I think. Debauchery and what have you, but I think they were conflating Marti Gras with the day to day life." She said, followed by a bit of a feigned laugh, almost as soft as a sigh, obviously dismissing the later description.

Cookie kept her distance and her vigil on the rest of the camp, letting the new ones sort out the canal mess.  She'd been considering their options.  They had access to water here, and if they followed the waterway soon enough they'd come to some kind of building that may be suitable to stay a while.  She didn't know why NM was so quiet toward her; maybe he'd seen her conniption fit in the fort.  Reflexively she touched the baseball bat, and did all-round sweep again for signs of trouble.

In reply to Cookie (msg # 74):

Mahmoud had been up the usual tasks of the compound, arriving late to the canal issue but hearing of its developments up to and including the warning about drinking any water that came from the canal rather than the rainwater cistern. He had a pistol tucked into the back of his trousers, only containing a few bullets but enough to maintain some security when walking around camp. The winter had given him time to practice his aim and he'd gotten better despite having been firearms averse for most of Zombieland, in terms of skill not necessity. In one hand he idled a golf club driver, his usual up-and-close weapon, again constantly armed like most of the others, just in case. They'd been through too much already to be taken unawares, at least those of the group that knew better.

The longtime Caravaneer approached Cookie at the gathering of lawn chairs, passing by NM on the way as the teen was heading to some of the other group consolidated around Joe and Tom.
"Hey." He greeted his longtime friend, stopping when near her, remaining standing, stretching out his back a little with the help of his golf club. Despite his hunger, he felt safer than he had in some time.

"Looks like Joe is training up some of the others to take up archery."Mahmoud mentioned this to fill dead air as he tried to gauge Cookie's disposition. Cookie had shepherded the group through much of the last months through a sheer force of will, and he consistently yet silently worried for her physical and mental wellbeing despite her reputation for looking after herself quite adeptly. At times he wondered if she thought she was held back by the group, collectively. "How you doin? And be honest."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:25, Sun 15 Mar 2015.

In reply to Nevada (msg # 73):

"New Orleans simply was New Orleans. It was home. It was family. It was friends. It was the girl you slept with and never telephoned. And it was the woman you wanted to marry. New Orleans lived and breathed with the people who walked it's streets. It was every bit as alive as each one of them. And it still is. Though her personality may have changed a bit..." Cauldershore shrugged off his conceptual response. "Are you from Los Vegas?"

The chatty Brit pulled the last of the blankets from from the wash basin and draped it over the line.

In reply to Benson Bohannon (msg # 44):

Startled at the sound of the lawn chair crashing against whatever it was that it had collided with, Gary remained silent as Benson walked away from the fire. As a boy, Gary had broken his arm falling out of a tree in the front yard of his family's home, in the same upper-middle-class neighbourhood that Gary now lived with his wife and two children. Or rather, 'had lived', past tense.

When a young Gary had his cast removed by Dr. Schitlist he was overjoyed, even if only to have the ability to climb the same tree again and fall out again the next summer. That's what he expected from the Cowboy. Instead, Benson's reaction reminded Gary of his son Reilly, the younger one, on the last weekend of August before school started again. Life was hard if you had no hope.

"Wait." Gary put his map away and followed after Benson. He listened to the snarky response Benson gave Nevada as she ran away, presumably fetching laundry. Catching up, Gary spoke quietly so as not to be overheard.
"Are you hungry? When did you last have something to eat?"

In reply to Gary Szymanski (msg # 77):

Bohannon laughed an exhausted laugh in Gary's face, shaking his head. He fumbled in his pockets for a cigar that hadn't been there in over four months. "I ain't hungry Johnnie Cochran. I'm not your cranky kid. I'm unhappy. Am I not allowed to be unhappy?" He threw his arms up and pointed out their surroundings. "Look at this place! Look at the daily Hell we're livin' in!" Bohannon turned his gesture into a shrug. "What is there to be happy about?" Benson ran his finger nails through his scruffy beard and hung his head. "I don't want to do this any more. Zombieland stopped being fun a long time ago." Bohannon started walking away from Gary only to stop and turn around once more. "I should be dead. You know that? I was s'posed to bleed to death at Fort Dixie. But instead, I'm here. With you." Bohannon walked up close to Gary and looked in his face. "And the only reason I'm still alive is 'cause I failed." The cowboy shrugged like he didn't care anymore and started walking away again.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:40, Fri 20 Mar 2015.

What had started out as a fairly smooth day, as far as days go in Zombieland, was getting rougher. Gary was caught off guard by Bohannon for the second time, but he had come to understand that was the effect Benson had on people. As Benson got in his face, his attempt at swagger reminded Gary of his daughter, Samantha, the older one. His veneer of diplomacy began to crack.

"That's so selfish!" Gary said to Benson as he shrugged. "Oh, you're not happy? You're not having fun anymore? This isn't supposed to be fun!" Gary took a step toward Benson, his voice raised. "And you don't strike me as the kind of person who was all that happy before Zombieland. All of us" Gary gestured around the campsite to indicate the members of their group "are missing someone. Every one of us has been separated from our families, but not you. You've got family right here and you'd rather be dead in Tennessee." It was now safe to say that Gary's good mood was gone.

"So, pull up your bootstraps or whatever you Southerners say. This isn't about you. Any one of us would die out here on our own. We need each other. That's the point- we need you. You don't have to be happy."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:32, Sat 21 Mar 2015.

Although she smiled at Cauldershore's attempt to answer her question, it was obvious she didn't quite connect with this reply as much as she did the previous. A color arose on her cheeks as he mentioned one of the more colorful descriptions for his lovely city, but she didn't seem particularly offended so much as uncertain in it's meaning. "I can't say I get most of that...but, it does seem like it meant a lot to you." She replied, in her polite way, the suds working up her arm as she reached deeper into the soapy water, fishing it out, while being careful not to let it fall on the floor. "Oh~! Over here. Gotta space the blankets out a bit." She said, guiding their soaked blanket to the of the more open spots amongst the improvised clotheslines.  It was a much easier task with two of them. "We should let the sheet soak a bit longer. It's probably a fair bit dirtier. We can use the other tub."

Nevada briefly chortled at his question, her shaking head waving her shortish hair about her neck. "Heh...No, thankfully. I was in Reno, and I barely left the city in-one piece. I heard from a few I met on the road about Las Vegas, though. Reportedly, the Strip is so congested with bodies, cars and wreckage that it would be nearly impossible to pass. I might not had made it, if I were there. I wouldn't advise a trip. Plenty of other casinos elsewhere." She teased, lightly, although a certain heaviness in her voice made her attempt at humor feel a bit hollow. Once again, she played coy with his question, not leading her to answer his query, being as elusive as ever.

The awkward moment was broken by the echos of two men arguing in the courtyard. The structure for the exterior didn't provide the best clarity into their every word, even with their loud voices, but it wasn't hard to piece together what Gary and Benson might had been arguing about. The petite brunette keep watch from a distance with a bit of a lingering side-long glance, but she seemed to avoid looking directly at them, keeping her focus down at the bag of the cowboy's laundry. After a moment, she huffs a small sign and takes a seat at the tub, reaching for clothes to feed into the water. "...Mr. Bohannon might be a bit...crass about it..." Her normally high-pitched voice explained, now quite subdued and hushed, once again being careful about her choice of words. "...But I don't blame him. He's not the only one. Even I find myself finding more and more to do. Keep myself busy, you know?" She explained, her almond-shaped brown eyes peeking up towards the English barkeep with a rather uncertain expression. "I was hoping it might help with the spirit of things, but I think it might have just made things worse. It's those who keep busy who seem to be hanging on. Those who can't...well, they just languish, don't they?" She asked, a bit of thought-filled heaviness to her tone, as if she were pondering what she was saying.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:06, Sun 22 Mar 2015.

In reply to Mahmoud (msg # 75):

Cookie paused to eye Mahmoud for what became a somewhat uncomfortable (for him) moment, then did the all-round look again.  Her face was poker-playing blank as she didn't try the fake 'tip me' smile on Mahmoud.  "Hey," she said at last, breaking a silence that had lasted for quite a while.  There was another pause, but Mahmoud was made of sterner stuff these days.  "Thinking," she said, in the low tones that implied serious concerns. "Thinking the Caravan doesn't need me so much now." There was another pause, this one shorter. "You - we can't stay here," she said, hazel eyes fixed on his face like laser beams.  "The horde will come and we have a serious impediment to escape - the water."   The vigilant look again, sweeping all round, and now, up and down to the water.  Perhaps it had bothered her a little that New Mexico wasn't speaking to her; perhaps it no longer bothered her that few of the Caravaneers did, at all, unless they were listening to her when she organised or directed.  Leadership was important, and while she'd never inspire love and blind obedience, she was all about survival of everyone, not just herself, and that showed in many ways.

In reply to Nevada (msg # 80):

"Everybody has their purpose. We all have something, however small, to drive us forward... keep us going." Cauldershore stopped scrubbing laundry for a moment and turned his gaze to the members of the camp. "Cookie has the Caravan. Karen and Isabelle have their children. Hank has Tom to keep safe, and Tom has Hank. Dominic and Loa have the health of the camp to motivate them. Brady has hunting to keep him busy, even if he's not turning up anything. And Benson, well I'm not sure that brooding counts." As a bartender, Cauldershore had made a habit of sizing people up rather quickly. "I think you're right. Once you lose that thing that makes your feet hit the floor in the morning, you become lost. And in this world more than ever, it's harder and harder to find your way back."

"How did you manage to find your way south from Reno, I wonder?" Cauldershore inquired about the girl's journey, shifting topics once more.

Bill hoisted up his jeans.

He had hoped that no one noticed that he hadn't followed the boys as they went to help Karen fish that body out of the canal. It wasn't that he couldn't deal with a bloated, decaying cadaver. As Sheriff he had seen more than his share of bodies in canals. Bill reckoned he'd seen a great deal worse than that in fact.
Still gulping down air, Bill didn't think he could make another trip back across the small patch of gravel and tufts of grass that separated the main compound area from the canal.

In his day, Bill had been a fit young man. He even served in the armed forces for a time during that conflict with the North Vietnamese. When he came home, took a job with he Lauderdale County Sheriff's department back in Tennessee, and started driving around in a car all day, well- Bill began to put on weight.
As he grew older, the weight remained, and did so until the dawn of Zombieland.

Now, as Bill contemplated putting another hole in his brown leather belt, he missed those days. He missed eating food everyday. He thought about it more than drinking now. Since he and the others had left Fort Dixie, and their food had been so scare (and the winter so cold) Bill's weight had began to drop. When he saw his reflection in the pools of water that hung around after a rain shower or when the snow melted, he hardly recognized himself.

In this state, Bill had almost no energy. He had woken up with the sun and gone with Brady to gather wood. Now by mid-day he was already beginning to crash. Bill took a seat in the lawn chair that New Mexico had recently occupied. He shut his eyes, 'just for a minute', Bill thought, as he fell asleep.

In reply to Cookie (msg # 81):

At first Mahmoud wasn't entirely sure whether or not Cookie was going to respond or deflect the moment. He shifted his weight, fiddling with his golf club in his hands as he for the most part patiently waited his friend out. Cookie's tone of voice caused his attention to pique, knowing they weren't just 'shooting the shit' so-to-speak. His dark eyes matched her own as he let her say her piece, realizing as she did that the times became shorter as the months went on when Cookie could speak candidly without some backlash from outsiders or new people in the group.

Lowering down to be eye level with her, using his club as a support, he kept his own voice low as hers to ensure privacy. He seemed to be assessing her like the studious academic he might have been, once upon a time, when he was not yet the man he'd become in Zombieland.
"What do you mean that the Caravan doesn't need you?" The dark skinned Caravaneer had not missed the slip of the tongue Cookie had made, at first replacing 'we' with 'you'. Mahmoud knew her concerns, the concerns many of them harbored, but he also knew the reason everyone had let their guard down over the last month, which was the need for peace even if temporary.

"Cookie.. We're friends, you aren't thinking of leaving us are you? Isabelle, myself, Dominic, Hector, Ricky, Jay, New Mexico.. We've all got your back, always. You know that right?" He kept his gaze unblinking on hers, not wanting to waste a moment of reflection that rarely came when the group was constantly running.

NM raised his hands in a gesture of surrender when the little guy spun around, knife in hand as if fixin' to misbehave. When realization emerged on Tom's face NM would crack a toothy smile at the ridiculousness of the moment, "Man oh man that would be a crappy way to die. Friendly fire." He ran a hand through his thick hair, sighing alittle in relief.

"Well they aint getting any fresher. And you're assuming we make it long enough to find more." He replied with a chuckle, his eyes indicating that he was joking, hoping the other boy didn't take his morbidity too much to heart. It was just a way of coping with the world. "As long as I get to dictate the severity of the punches, I will take them whenever you all want. Only eighteen though, not eighteen per person in our group." The teen laughed a little, glancing towards Joe and Brady then back to the Caravaneer he was closest to in age.

"Well you're definitely paying your way, I'm sure Joe Sixpack appreciates it. I don't know if I care for the prepwork, but I wouldn't mind learning how to shoot a bow. Pretty badass when you think of it, and people always said it was fairer to hunt with a bow than a gun. Maybe you can teach me?" NM nipped the tip of a twizzler, chewing slowly and taking his time to savor the sweet. He held out the bag once more to Tom, "You sure you don't want one? C'mon.. I won't tell your brother, hehe. If you want you can share this one I just started"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:06, Mon 23 Mar 2015.

Ya. Tom scratched his neck absently, a slight scar the only physical reminder of the run with the hillbillies. His tone wavered slightly, despite the smile he kept. Like I need any more nightmares. He knew the other teen didn't mean to spook him, if anything it was his fault for not paying attention to his surroundings. Just like last time...except this time if anything happened he didn't know if he could forgive himself.

We've made it this far. Tom shrugged, regaining his composure. When the punches were limited to just him he pouted in mock disappointment. Spoil sport. I was going to get a line going.

Tom cocked his head in slight confusion when NM asked to learn to bow hunt. Oh, ah, actually I don't really know anything about using a bow. I mean we did a marking period or two in gym once, but other then that. He shrugged again, So far I've just been helping collect the parts.

Biting his lip as he eyed the proffered bag he tapped his fingers against his leg in thought. But just for a moment, reaching out and separating the shortest piece. It's not that I worry about Hank finding out. Taking a bite he shuddered, that's a lot stronger then I remember. You should just make these last as long as you can.
This message was last updated by the GM at 04:30, Wed 25 Mar 2015.

In reply to Cauldershore (msg # 82):

Nevada nods along with his description, idly keeping her hands busy with the rinsing and scrubbing of clothes in the soapy water as she ponders his examples. Once again, the observant barkeep seems to be resonating well with her thoughts, although she couldn't say if all of those examples were indeed true, the spirit of it seemed rather clear. "I have heard it said, by wiser people than me, that idleness is a disease. When I was younger, I did not understand that. I was kept too busy to ponder it much." She explained, offering a brief bit of a cheeky smirk that she didn't bother to raise her head for, ever intent on keeping her hands working.

Her momentary light-heartedness is mildly disrupted by the echos of a rather angry voice, escaping from the inner factory. It was impossible to hear the details of the debate, other than it was a woman and a man having the exchange, but it served as a reminder that gruff cowboy was hardly the only possessing frustrations to the point of hostility. In an earlier time, she might had rushed to check it out, but of late, such arguments were so common that it was harder to justify responding to it than to just ignore them and carry on. Indeed, that's what the petite teen did, save a hearty sigh. "...I think I get it now." She added, her voice somewhat ominous, before she sighed, and redoubled her efforts. However, a moment later, her dark eyes did peek towards the Brit, offering a small smile, her lips just slightly tinged on the hopeful. "...Well, it has been a harsh winter. Maybe the Spring will provide more clarity. It is the season for renewal, after all."

Cauldershore's shift of subject gave Nevada a moment's pause, but she seemed to have no trouble in going along with it. "Back then, in the early days, it wasn't unusual to find people traveling along the highways. Not all of them were looters and raiders either." She replied, lifting herself off her knees after feeding the tub full of as much clothes as it would reasonably soak, and took some of the piece they had laid around the tub hang. They didn't have many clothes pins, so they she took her time to made sure they would drape on the line in a way that they wouldn't fall off so easily, even getting on the tips of her sneakers to do so with her short frame, but she managed. "I can't speak for every area, of course, but there was a lot of good, decent folk in Mid-West. It is not all Vegas and Reno. I am from a much smaller town myself." She said, with a bit of a playful smirk, as she continued on. "I have been offered a ride more than a few times. It was enough to get me to where my home was, at least. Just off helpful souls, good will, and a healthy dose of luck, I guess."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:50, Thu 26 Mar 2015.

Lizzie wanders over from some building she was roaming about in. The little girl was on an adventure to find something useful and found a dead rat that probably starved to death. She was hungry enough to think of eating it but wasn't sure if it would be safe. Her blue eyes scan the courtyard looking for someone who could help figure this out and looks and spots Benson the Cowboy. She bet he would know this kind of thing.

The small little blond wanders his direction and sees Gary as well and smiles. In her always bold voice she looks Benson straight in the eyes and spews her tale. "Benson I was looking in the abandoned building on the far side and found this." She holds up the dead rat and gives a confident look. "I was wondering if it was safe to eat or not because I was hoping to share it with Mortimer and you to if you want."

It was widely known that Lizzie arrived with Father Mortimer the priest and they were practically family, or at least what passed for it. She wasn't sure what drew her to Benson but she tried to talk multiple times with her being turned away by the grumpy man. She was not going to give up on making him her friend just yet.

In reply to Joe (msg # 64):

Brady rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah, you bet! That sounds good, man." he replied to the offer of instruction from Joe. As Tom and New Mexico chimed in and broke the tension he let out a breath of relief. "Hey kid, happy birthday!" Brady punched New Mexico in the arm and swiped one of his twizlers. "Thanks." he said with a mouthful.

"So, are we going, or what? I'm ready."

In reply to Lizzie Daniels (msg # 88):
In reply to Gary Szymanski (msg # 79):

"What!?" Bohannon was interrupted before he could reply to Gary. The scruffy, brooding cowboy looked down at the little girl in disgust. Upon seeing the dead rat he smacked it out of her hand. "What is wrong with you? That look like lunch to you? That's the grossest damn thing I seen all day." Bohannon looked back to Gary for a moment before returning to Lizzie. "Well, go on now. Run along, Minnie Mouse. The grown-ups are talkin'. Beat it." He shooed the little girl and walked back to Gary.

He got into Gary's face, keeping his voice low like a growl. "You ain't got the first clue. I was happy. I was the best I'd ever been until my brother, my own family, turned around and shot me. You got any idea what that's like? You talk about family like it means everything to you. So you tell me, what am I supposed to do? What options do I have? Because the way I see it, I only got one. And it ain't pretty." Bohannon backed off. Maybe Gary would actually say something that would help him, but then again, probably not.

In reply to Brady Bohannon (msg # 89):

Tom looked up in surprise at Brady's arrival, caught up in trying to recover from his earlier lapse and talking with NM. He didn't have the "go with the flow" attitude his brother put forth, he preferred to let things bounce off him. At least when others were around. It had served him well after Hank went to college, and when he came back after the crash. He just hoped the other man hadn't caught the slip. If asked he wouldn't have been able to say why Brady seeing through the façade was a bigger concern then NM. Age, maybe? Where are we going? Looking past the others he tried to see if Joe had followed the short distance from the tire to the tree/weed thing growing through a crack in the pavement he had been hacking at.

Lizzie dashes back in the direction of the rat but continues to listen as she grabs it off the ground. So Brady shot Benson and that was why he was mad all the time. The little blonde looks Benson straight in the eyes as she speaks hoping to give insight, "I've been through what you have Benson. I've had my family turn on me too. Blood is not always what makes family though. Mortimer and I are proof. He is the dad I always wanted and..." she pauses trying to find a way to say her next words, "I want you to join my family. I need someone like you to help me survive and teach me things. People still care about you Benson."

Lizzie begins to get emotional and starts to cry, "I care about you. I don't want you to leave... or hurt yourself... or kill your brother... I-I want you here... Please..." She begins sputtering and just begins sobbing. She really wants to hug him and wants to feel close to him in an innocent kind of way but waits for a response. She tried to act tough in front of the man all the time and make him like her but she didn't want to loose him. Not now or ever.

In reply to Mahmoud (msg # 84):

Cookie tilted her head, giving Mahmoud the 1000 kilowatt stare, that could stop a man in his tracks, or at least inform him he'd stepped over a boundary.  Her voice was low; she was clearly considering the matter.  "This place is okay," she said, which was not the answer to the question, and once again flicked her gaze all round, unable to stop watching for any signs of trouble - dead or alive. "You'll be all right here, for a while, then you'll have to move fast, so don't forget how to run. Me - I want a few days away.  Scout ahead.  See what's going on."  The feeling that big trouble was brewing was bothering her, but she couldn't tell anymore if it was just nerves from everything that had happened suddenly coming home to roost, or a real 'storm sense'. With an unconscious motion, her fingers tapped the grip of her faithful Louisville slugger.  The relentless hazel eyes returned to Mahmoud's face; she could outstare a rattlesnake. "Will -you- be all right ?"   
This message was last edited by the player at 00:30, Mon 30 Mar 2015.

In reply to Lizzie Daniels (msg # 92):

The cowboy ran his fingers through his scruffy long hair and flopped his head backwards. He muttered to the sky "You gotta be kidding me" and rolled his eyes. Clearly his conversation with Gary, which had been far too candid anyways, had drawn to a close. Now there was something else to deal with. Bohannon outstretched his hand towards the little girl. Benson was unsure of himself around her. "Uh, come here. Stop crying. Come with me." He began walking away, beaconing her to follow, hand held out for her to take if she would. He walked briskly and without saying another word.

-----> Caravan Canal

The little girl takes the cowboys hand though shyly at first but then it grows a bit more confident as she follows along relaxing after her breakdown.

To Canal--------->

-in reply to Tom, Brady, New Mexico

Joe followed along after Brady by a few steps to join the younger fellows, Brady earning the wary ire of the archer as he watched the younger man snag a treat from New Mexico without asking. If he hadn't been curious in how the nominally laid back teenager would respond he might have slapped the food out of Brady's mouth before it reached his gullet.

The tall wiry Joe broke a weathered smile down to Tom, ignoring Brady's manners for the time being. "The forest, boy, going to practice with the bow a little while. You lot need to start using muscles you'll need for later.This.." Joe emphasized his point by reaching out and giving Tom's shoulder as slight squeeze; muscles that would be strong and lean after plenty of bow-shootin. Not anyone could fire a bow adeptly without the conditioning and training. Removing his hand he would tap his temple lightly , "..And this."

Turning to address NM, who had just arrived, the old fellow would shrug, "You come if ya want, Sante Fe." The grizzled survivor turned from the others, expecting them to follow as he gathered up the few things they needed. He had one extra bow he'd crafted besides his own, and two quivers of arrows. Joe carried both sets himself, unsure of who he wanted to give the weapons to first.

Before leaving he made sure to notify Luke of where they were going and why. The mustached millennial had been walking through their part of the compound on his way to the Big House.

->>> Homochitto National Forest, Ch.4
This message was last edited by the player at 06:44, Fri 03 Apr 2015.

In reply to Nevada (msg # 87):

Since first arriving with the Caravan, Cauldershore had always been intrigued by people's stories of survival, his own being rather uneventful. "See there, some say they've had nothing but bad run-ins with worse folk. But you're telling me that most people out there have been kind to you? Tell me, with supplies finite, such as they are, were people rather willing to share what little they had with you?"

In reply to Brady, Tom, and Joe:

New Mexico found himself getting caught up in an adventure out of the compound. He was a careful cat for the most part, yet he'd grown somewhat more relaxed over the course of the last month at the industrial park and with Joe and Brady they would likely be alright. His tentative thoughts were broken by Brady stealing a twizzler, promptly stuffing it in his dumb face. The shaggy teenager rolled his eyes and tucked the pack of candy deeper into his backpocket, making sure he was facing Brady as well to affect more security for his tasty treats. "Fuck off Brody." NM intentially messed up the guys name. He didn't have much against him personally, it was just that Benson's brother was a bit of an alpha male, big shot personality sometimes. Maybe in highschool Brady had been a football player, whereas Benson was a goth kid. The thought brought a knowing little grin to his face.

"Sure why not, I'm in."

>> To Homochitto National Forest


This message was last edited by the player at 22:29, Wed 22 Apr 2015.

Tom frowned slightly when Brady stole one of his punches and one of NM's Twizzlers. He was sure the man could have just asked for one, but the punches were his alone. Though it seemed like the other teen had it under control. He'd just count Brady's stolen punch as the "one to grow on"...or live on, given the circumstances.

The frown turned upside down as Joe elaborated on the plan. Resisting the urge to squirm under the poking and prodding he nodded. Sure. Taking a step he remembered his pile to arrows to be. Turning he scooped up the branches and the pipe he found to replace his bat. They went next to the tire so hopefully no one turned them into fire wood. Seeing Joe talk to Luke he ran over and asked the man to tell Hank where he was going, not wanting his brother to worry.

--->To National Forest

Cookie nodded a farewell to Mahmoud.  It was completely out of keeping for her to give any displays of affection, especially lately; she went to the supplies, drew out her essentials - two bottles of water and some rather stale crackers, with a can of something the label had worn off, but she expected it to have green beans or perhaps fruit cocktail, if she was lucky, inside.  Then she shouldered her bat, slung the shotgun and bedroll over her shoulder with a coil of rope, a small tarpaulin, and her handbag, and set off on foot.

It was time to find some wheels, for one thing.  It simply was not done that a Jersey Girl had to WALK places.  Whew, the idea !

Luke saw the group of would-be archers off, stroking one tip of his somehow well-maintained mustache in a thoughtful gesture as Joe and Tom left him with some messages for the others. The mustachioed millennial saw no problem with the excursion based on what he knew Brady and Joe were capable of. "No problemo Tom, I'll let him know." he assured the youngest before they were entirely off.

As they disappeared out of sight behind some buildings he turned away, planning on letting Cookie and Hank know of the respective messages. No sooner had he walked a dozen steps when he got sight of the fearless leader-apparent heading off on her own with telltale supplies in tow.

"Yo Mahmoud, should she be goin on a walkabout alone like that?" He asked the brown skinned dude Cookie had just walked away from. Mahmoud was becoming the equivalent of a Caravan uncle to him and some others, and since the Fort had come to casual terms.

Mahmoud knew how Cookie was and obliged her exit as she went away with little more than a nod as a farewell. It was often better that way, as making a big fuss about someone going on excursions was almost a bad omen. Better to assume that the other person would come back in one piece even if they usually didn't.

Luke's approach earned a nod from Mahmoud and a modest smile, as he stood leaning on his steel golf club with both hands propped upon the top of the leather grip. "Cookie can handle herself I'm sure. She needs some time alone anyway." He spoke casually, glancing to Cookie's retreating form one last time before turning more fully to the young former Fort-member.

"So what's up? I see Joe took some people off somewhere there." Mahmoud hoped that New Mexico wouldn't be too taken aback when he returned to find that Cookie was no longer with the group, even if the intention wasn't long term. Despite Cookie's beliefs that NM was giving her the cold shoulder, he knew for a fact that NM was quite close with their erstwhile leader.

"Come on, lets let Dominic know whats up."

-to Caravan Canal and Perimeter.

Luke shrugged off his own question when Mahmoud easily brushed off any concerns. No matter what Luke thought, he was happy to ease off any misgivings. Those who could relax despite the world they were in were better off. "Oh well Joe is taking Brady, Mexico and Tom out for archery lessons in the forest. Didn't say when they'd be back but they were traveling light so back later today I reckon." The hipster crossed his arms over his chest, his shirt some dirty apparel with a witty saying on the front. He was unarmed except for a machete which rested in a sheathe, strapped to the side of his right thigh.

"Alright lead the way boss."

-to Caravan Canal/Perimeter

Isabelle took a few steps with the one leg she had left, one crutch under an arm to supplement the part of her where she was missing below the knee. Stopping and leaning against the outside wall of the Big House she caught sight of the raiding part out near the perimeter, and couldn't help but feel powerless. She'd been a fighter, a raider, and valued member of the group and now she felt like a simple cripple. Izzy couldn't blame the others for leaving her out, for she was indeed a liability on raid, yet she held out hope that somehow she could overcome her obstacles and become valuable once again.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she remained propped up against the wall with her good leg, her stump was concealed by pinned fabric, and she left her crutch to the side, glad to be rid of it for the moment. Dominic had chopped her leg off when it had been caught in a bear trap four months before during a raid. He'd saved her, but sometimes she wondered if she'd have been better off dead. Spotting Dominic amongst the gathering of raiders, she couldn't help but but hypothesize if Dom would make the same decision if an accident happened again. The deceased Christopher's cavalry sword that Dominic carried was a constant reminder.

In reply to Isabelle (msg # 104):

---> The Big House

Karen came out to stand by Isabelle, all suited up and ready to go. With her thumbs hooked into her duty belt she said "hey..." After having cried to Izzy earlier, she wasn't sure what to say now. She felt now was in inopportune time to rehash what she asked before, but didn't think cheap small talk was appropriate either. Karen could ask about the leg, and how she was doing, but the forlorn look on the woman's face told that story plainly enough. At this particular moment, "hey" was all she could manage. But Karen lingered none the less, wanting to offer Isabelle her support in some small way.

Isabelle didn't outright acknowledge Karen's presence as she came to stand near her. They were both women of dignity but only one of them had the ability to enforce the fact. Izzy had been part of the original Caravan, and had carried with her the memory of how Karen had betrayed them all, but it had been to save her boy, Kaidan, and while he was now lost, at least Karen had a fighting chance. For her own part, Isabelle's children were in parts unknown, and she was even more unable to find them then she had been before. The only reason she'd stayed with the Caravan so long, she told herself, was to angle them in the direction she felt her kids were. The Colony..

"I wish I could go with you on the raid. Instead I'm stuck here, trying to figure out if being left alive like this.." She lifted her stumped leg for emphasis, glancing down at it in disdain but silent contemplation, "..Was a mercy or a punishment." She knew she was clearly feeling sorry for herself, and managed a faint smile to put Karen hopefully somewhat at ease. Looking to the other woman, who was hobbled in a way different than her own, there was some kindred spirit underlying the both of them together. "All I ever wanted was to find my kids. When I last spoke with them, I sent them away to the Colony, or at least where we thought the Colony was.. I should have stayed with them, but I was selfish." Isabelle continued, sorrow in her words, but her features were neutral and almost eerily vacant, like she felt like an apparition nowadays. "What the hell are we doing out here Karen?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:58, Sun 26 Apr 2015.

Karen pulled her hair back and shook her head. "I don't even know. I like to think we're just doing our best. But we both know our best isn't good enough. Never was. Otherwise our kids would be here with us." The words left a bad taste in Karen's mouth. Was this place really a home for Kaidan? It was barely a home for her. No, Karen had failed as a mother her whole life. None of the decisions she'd made seemed to be the right ones. She always pretended she was doing her best, but what good was that? It was all bullshit. When Kaidan's dad died, she joined the army and went to Iraq. That was certainly not "her best." Karen really had a long history of her best never being good enough. She lost Kaidan when she went to Iraq, she almost lost him when Atlanta fell, she lost him to that bastard Ferguson back in St. Louis and massacred the Caravan to get him back, and then she lost him to Lyle when they disappeared from Fort Dixie. Karen punched the door frame they were standing by. "Not fucking good enough..." She repeated as her mind filled with failures.

Isabelle watched Karen closely as the other woman tried to keep her composure and only partly succeeded, her fist lashing out and punching the rotten door frame of the entrance to the Big House. She didn't know how to make it better that Kaidan had up and gone and never came back. Maybe it was worse that Karen had done what she'd done to protect her boy and then he'd never returned from a raid. Izzy had a separate story with her kin, also traumatic but with more distance from the present. "Karen; we don't know what happened to Kaidan, so whatever you think has happened, you don't know for sure. Neither do I with my own.. We need to focus on what's going on right now, right here. I always tried to keep the group moving, it didn't matter which direction." The broken-winged survivor would have kicked idly at the dirt below her had she had the foot to spare. In her heart her aims had never changed, yet she had been hobbled in her efforts to find her loves ones. Sure it was a big country, but somehow she knew that if she kept at it, she'd find what she was looking for.

"We need vehicles and fuel for them, bottom line. I don't mean to tell you what you should do, but I can't do it myself. We need to get out of here as soon as we can. Moving is living." She added, her thoughts a mix of varying doubts and dreams, her eyes drifting down to where her right leg should have been as she mentioned that 'moving was living'. "Just do what you think is best. We both want the same thing, I think.."

Karen sighed a very large sigh. A sigh of complete and utter frustration. "That's what I try to do. It's like every time I stop moving, even for a second, it all comes back. I go out on the road every time there's a raid. I dunno, maybe I'm hoping to bump into him. Like, maybe he's out there, just around the corner, and all I have to do is be in the right place, at the right time. Is that stupid?" Her opportunity for an answer was cut off by Dominic's signal. At least he waited for me. "Talk again another time?" Karen liked feeling like someone understood what she was going through. It made here feel like she wasn't alone in this Caravan.

Karen ran to catch up with Dominic and the raiding crew.

----> To Perimeter

-----> From Big House

Lizzie looks around the courtyard as she moves to go see Hector and waves to him before she climbs toward the roof he occupied. Hector was someone she trusted and considered a friend even though he was closed off more often than not. Most times she would sit near him with Mortimer and watch things. Sometimes they would talk and she felt like he may need that today so she stands by him, "Hey Hector. I found a dead rat today and was wondering if we could eat it." She was still curious about it and wanted to give Mortimer something to make up for taking his food.

In reply to Lizzie Daniels (msg # 110):

Hector stood up top of the Big House with a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. It had few if any bullets, but it had the scope for viewing, and it looked dangerous enough. He leaned over the stone edge of the rooftop as the raiding party departed, the tall former SWAT member dark against the sparsely clouded spring sky. His eyes were caught by Lizzie down below, one of those left over when a large contingent of their group disappeared behind the outer edge of the ramshackle buildings dotting their perimeter. He remained resolutely at his post, though the stoic watchman heard her assent as she neared the roof top from the precariously stable staircase below.

"Hi Liz." Hector's voice was deep and strong yet conveyed an introspection. Shifting his body to more fully face Lizzie, yet remaining at his post at the corner of the rooftop, ever vigilant, he would tilt his head slightly as he considered her question. "Probably not a good idea. If a rat dies out here then it might have eaten or drank something bad. Rats can always find food, and rarely die of old age." The tall, dark man answered, glancing out to the perimeter again before his gaze shifted back to his young friend. "Good thinking though. If only we could find something bigger. One rat wouldn't feed anyone very much, anyway, not even you, Liz."

Lizzie looks to Hector and then follows his routine by looking around. She considered his words and nods at his comment, "I never thought about diseases and stuff like that. That's really smart." She thought a little bit before pulling the rat out and holding it. "Do you think we could use it's blood and guts on our bullets? Wouldn't that spread the disease the rat had into the things we shoot at?"

Lizzie always was as curious as her mom and liked thinking about things which didn't end with that as she faces Hector to ask another question, "Why are you always up here all the time Hector? Other people can keep watch you know. Like Bill or Benson or maybe Joe. Why are you keeping watch by yourself? Doesn't it get lonely?" She was more concerned about him than anything and it showed.

Hector may or may not have grinned a little at Lizzie's reply to his advice, his countenance on the whole stable and attentive, not giving too much away. "I like how your mind works, but such a thing is more likely to cause a misfire in the chamber of the gun, and hurt whomever is holding it. Though you might want to run that idea by Joe. It would be more practical to coat an arrowhead, as it cannot explode in your hand." Was it an attempt at humor mixed in with the suggestion? "You should put that thing down, you are more likely to get sick from touching it, and we don't want to stress out Loa and Dominic if they catch you playing with such things." He understood she was bored at times, so such risks were expected. They would not be able to conceal the true nature of the world from Lizzie much longer, in that she would soon have to learn how to defend herself, and not just be protected.

With her next question he glanced to her again, back from the perimeter, noting the concern on her features and in her young voice. He was silent for a moment, assessing what words to use, especially given his company. Though he'd been trained to be quiet and strong with enemies, he also knew that children needed to be spoken to like adults, especially these days.

"Because I am sad, Lizzie. My best friend died."

Lizzie listened to Hector's advice and put the rat back into her back pocket watching it hang out there. Satisfied it wasn't falling out looks back to the big man, "I'll ask Joe then. You're pretty smart Hector."

When he answers her question though about why he stays away she can't help but go to the man and hug him, "I'm so sorry your friend died. You must have been close. If Mortimer died I would be sad too. What happened to your friend?"

"Well, I'm not sure I ever quite said that. Just that it was back when I left Reno." The scrawny brunette offered in a playful retort, flashing him a slight smirk as between the fold of the ragged dress shirt she was hanging up on the line. She took a silent moment to consider her explanation, as she shuffled on her toes to work on the next wet article draped on the shoulders of her sweatshirt. "Mind you, this was early in our new phase of contemporary life, just a couple of weeks after the major outbreaks, and maybe a week after the overtaking of Reno. There were still a number of people who were cautiously optimistic about their chances. Power was still available, and the famine hadn't really been realized yet"

"I happened upon a group of them...." She explained, as she furthered into a task, pausing a moment as a distracted, somewhat sarcastic smirk arose on her features, one that seemed not to be aimed at the curious Brit, so much as to herself. "...Well, I suppose it's more like they came upon me. I was holding out in an abandoned rest stop motel off the interstate, when they came in from a break from the road. A sorry sight I must had made. Just a fifteen year old girl, scared out of her mind, half-starved, wearing dirty clothes, and desperately threatening them off with a broken broomstick. Maybe that's why they pitied me as much as they did." A half-muffled soft chuckle escaped her lips, resonating with a bit of reservation over her disclosure, finally peaking down a moment at Cauldershore. "They shared their food with me, talked to me, even offered me a place in their vehicle. I was always told not to take rides from strangers, but I think I was just too weak to reject such a kindness at this time. They took me as far as they could. I was very fortunate, even by those early standards."

Her story was interrupted by the rather distracting sight and sound of a number of people making for the exits. The bulk of which were the able-bodied men, both young and matured, adorned in their roughest gear, much of which they wouldn't bother for just another lazy day in the Compound. Most of them carried their firearms in sight, if they had any, or their hand-to-hand weapon of choice fitted on their bodies or packs. It would had been enough to be concerned, especially for a day that began with a bit of excitement, but there was no real sense of emergency in the way they carried themselves. To the accustomed, it appeared like they were gearing up for another scavenging run. Nevada watched them quietly as they passed by in loose groups, chatting amongst themselves in the distance, while she continued her work setting up the lines quietly. Her features seemed a bit distracted with a private thought as they passed, though she managed a small polite smile at those who were leaving, as well as for her laundry companion.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:57, Fri 08 May 2015.

In reply to Lizzie Daniels (msg # 114):

If Hector had any qualms about the rat going into Lizzie's pocket he did not show it. When complimented on his intelligence, he stoically, or modestly, downplayed the comment with a respectful nod as if he were talking with another adult. When she moved to hug him he was slightly surprised, his tall lean form shifting as the young one wrapped her arms around his midsection, unsure of how to respond at first before he slowly returned the hug with his own long arms returning the affection. "The cold, starvation, we don't know. She went in her sleep, and never woke up." he replied quietly, his voice still even and neutral, no tremble or change in his tone, a far-away look in his dark brown eyes as he stared nowhere in particular.

In reply to Nevada (msg # 115):

Cauldershore managed a friendly wave as the raiding party left sight of the park. He sighed as he returned to the scrubbing, listening to Nevada. "I traveled up to see my father when news broke of the spreading epidemic." The Brit paused a moment, inexplicably. "He had always feared some horrid fate would befall America. And in hindsight, we both know how right he was. He built a shelter, below his basement. He stocked it with food and weapons and supplies of all kinds. But he had only enough for a couple people for one year." The seated man handed a flannel shirt up to the girl to drape on the line. "We never really got along, my father and I. There was respect of course. We were civil mostly for my mother's sake. But when the dead rose he took me in. I was his own, regardless of our lifetime of squabbling." Cauldershore paused again, taking a long, slow breath in. "When the food ran out, he simply up and left. Took some weapons with him. He disappeared without a word. And with no food to eat, So did I. But I wasn't like you. I hadn't spent a year on the road, as you all say. All this still feels pretty new to me. I feel like I'm behind, you know? I don't have the skills you all have picked up, and I certainly have not acquired the cold heart or strong stomach that most of you have, that gets you through the things we have to do to survive."

Naturally, as the commotion died down, and they were left with but a skeleton crew in out the courtyard, Cauldershore found the quiet girl attentive to his story, as he laid out how he came to survive the first year, one without much incident. It was a bit of rarity to have such a smooth transition into the new world, and it showed in her expression, with a mildly intrigued arch of her brow. She smirked as he explained his father's emergency provisions, although the subtle nature of her smile seemed to suggest less of a humorous take, airing more out of familiarity. "Sounds familiar." She mused softly, a matter she left enigmatically unexplained, ushering him to continue as she took the flannel shirt and made for a separate clothesline, getting back up on her toes to drape it over as she listened.

A touch of modest humor did grace her lips as the older gentleman bemoaned his perceived inadequacies, laughing off his notion with a bit of a friendly giggle. "I think you might be overestimating us a bit." Nevada stated, her almond-shaped brown eyes peeking back towards him from her position, as she moved down the line to hang more clothes he handed her. "The most capable people I have come across are those who had already the proper set of skills and capabilities, and have been studying them for years. Cornerstones like Miss Cookie, Mister Warren, and the brothers Bohannon did not just sprout up. They were tough customers well before any of this happened. You can be assured that is case with Miss Loa, Mister Dubreton, Sheriff Bill, and Master Joe as well." A somewhat playful smirk arose on her features momentarily, as she tried on the latter title. The drifter known as Joe was a strange case, so it called for something different, but she didn't muse on it long, before following on her explanation. "Even I have a little bit of experience to fall back on from before, but only modestly so, compared to them. In that sense, you are no further behind than I am. It will be years of flailing around like a simpleton before I can even do half of what they are able to."

"As for the rest of us..." Her speech lingered a moment or two silently, as she thought about how to explain her experience, her moist hand coming to rest on her lips briefly, in a thought-filled manner. "Well, I suppose it is more important learning the proper mindset than a particular set of developed skills. I mean, we should all try to develop what skills we can, but no skill I have found is more essential than simply accepting what the environment is like now. Abandoning some of what you're used to, and adopting more modest means." She tried to explain, although a frown on her features seemed to hint at a bit of difficulty grasping how to put her own understanding into words. "Not that I lived extravagantly before, but even so, I've had to redefine what I consider to be acceptable and to lower my expectations. Being picky now, too concerned with cleanliness, not taking opportunities granted to us...those were luxuries we can't often afford now, even if we never thought of them as such before. ...Hmm...but, you cannot simply take every opportunity that comes your way, either...That would be bad too..." She huffed a bit of a huffy sigh as she paused in her effort, seeming rather unsatisfied with her description, her meagerly groomed short locks waving about as she shook her head, and offered a shy smile. "Forgive me. I suppose it is harder to put to words than I thought."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:41, Mon 18 May 2015.

Lizzie looked up to Hector as he answered her question felt a little sad but not as sad as she was when she saw friends torn apart or shot at. Of all the horrible ways people could die his friend died peacefully the way she wanted. She hugs Hector tighter before releasing, "At least she died peacefully in her sleep. It would have been worse if you had to watch her suffer a painful death to zombies or people. I never saw my mother die and personally I don't wish I was there to see that. She was bitten and sent me with Mortimer. I didn't see mom suffer and I can remember her as she was. You should do that too Hector."

The hug broken up, Hector listened patiently, registering the truism of Lizzie's words, but finding no consolation forthcoming. Hollowness inside, so much he felt echo's within himself, though he had not always been that way. Thinking as he stoically stared back at the girl, he managed a small, fraudulent smile in an attempt to assure her he was alright. "I understand. You are correct, of course.." His words drifted off as he turned to once again view the bleak, foreboding metal and cement landscape around them, once again sectioning himself off from all. "I need to be alone, Lizzie."

Time Change:

Time has passed and it is now the evening, late in the day that the raiding party left to scavenge the nearby(ish) town of Slaughter.
Although the raiding party is late, they are due to be trickling back into camp soon.
Most of the survivors that stayed behind have gathered out front to await the raiding party's return.

They are also waiting for Joe, Brady, New Mexico and Tom.

Cookie's lack of presence has been felt throughout the camp dwellers, and rumors are beginning to percolate. However, most uninformed group members are expecting she will return before nightfall.

Food is as scarce as it was upon the raiding group's departure.

All player-characters within compound thread; your positions are reset. Locate yourselves out front of the compound awaiting the return of the raiding party or elsewhere within the compound grounds.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:26, Tue 14 July 2015.

Lizzie lingered out in the forefront of the Big House with Mortimer beside her. She sat upon a large tire that lay on the ground. Her heels bounced against the rubber as she imagined the shiny, heroic figures of their group, arriving back at camp with the most wonderful food.

"Oh I'm excited for everybody to come back. I bet they found such tasty stuff. We'll have to be very thankful." She beamed up to Mortimer who stood placidly beside her, smiling just a little to her, though he was slightly unsettled for some reason.

In reply to Lizzie Daniels (msg # 122):

Mortimer thumbed the paged of his Bible as they waited for the imminent return of their people. Despite his faith he suspected that the return of the raid would bring forth not the food they desperately needed, but darkness. All he wished for the safety of Lizzie, and of their friends in the group. With so many survivors away, he'd prayed privately for the safe return of all. Joe and Tom and the others, and the larger party, not to mention Cookie who was still oddly missing.

"Lord willing everyone will come home safe. Try to give them some space when they arrive, Lizzie, they may be quite tired."

Mahmoud stood near the outer fence, sweater-clad for the oncoming evening, a rifle slung from one shoulder, both of hands cradling a set of binoculars that dangled from his neck. The way the terrain was he wouldn't see much with what was in his way, but he knew from experience it was better taking too much precaution than too little. He had assembled much of the group out in front of the Big House to meet their people around the presumed time of return. This was much less a meet and greet than for the purposes of having medical attention, water and general help available for whatever state a raiding party returned in.

----> A town called Slaughter

The combination of the exertion used in fighting the dead, a lack of food and the added weight meant that the walk home was a long one that was only broken up by a pair of rest stops for the group to catch their breath.
It was during these stops that Dominic sorted through the medical supplies he'd scavenged and tossed the useless stuff as well as repeatedly reassuring Karen that her skin hadn't been broken by the bite and that she would be ok; though Dom silently decided to keep an eye on her all the same.
By the time they staggered back into camp the sun was beginning to set and Dom knew that with Cookie gone that his work wasn't done for the day just yet. However despite this he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief when he caught sight of the small crowd of people gathered waiting for them "You did good today Luke, see that the food makes its way to Loa whilst I go and talk with Mahmoud" he said to the young man and meaning every word of it. For someone who hadn't been on a raid in a long time and had been conscripted at the least minute he'd performed admirably and Dom trusted that he'd be more than capable of carrying out the simple task.
Breaking away from the others Dominic approaches Mahmoud with a smile on his face "Well mon ami we may not have hit the mother lode this time but we found food, meds and more importantly nobody died out there" he said; cheerfully sharing the if not good then better than average news "So any problems whilst I was away? If not we'd better go and find Izzy and discuss the...erm...Cookie Situation" he said dropping his voice at the end not wanting anyone to overhear and get the wrong impression. Besides which with everyone currently distracted by the arrival of raiders now was as good a time as any for the three of them find somewhere quiet and get things sorted out; assuming of course there were no urgent crisis' to deal with first.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
---> Slaughter

---

Lorenzo eased the rattly shopping cart to a stop and watched the stragglers eying the raiding party. He had stubbornly refused any help offered in pushing the uncooperative cart. The exertion had at least burnt off most of his pent-up energy and the frustration from what he saw as a largely unsuccessful trip. He was left just feeling tired, sore, and hungry, and was seeming a bit more subdued than usual. All this picking up scraps was going to starve them out. It was absolutely pathetic. If they really wanted to get a big haul, the "leaders" were going to have to nut up and take it from whoever else had beat them to the punch.

"This shit's for fuckin' bozos," he muttered darkly to himself, watching Dominic scurry off over the cigarette he was lighting up. It wasn't Lorenzo's place to dole out any rations. With an annoyed sounding sigh, he broke off from the rest of the group and with some difficulty steered the cart up to the bystanders.

"Heya, Father," Lorenzo grunted in greeting, stopping a little ways from the priest and Lizzie. He took a drag off his smoke then gestured grandly to the cart. He forced a lopsided grin to his face. "Can't give you nothing. But shit's all messy if you wanna help sort it and see what we're working with."

Lorenzo did not seem troubled by the fact his sleeves were caked in dried gore. He simply rolled them up to his elbows to reveal full arms of dark tattoos, and moved his broad shoulders in a small shrug. He dropped his backpack and rifle to the ground, then began to unload the crates in order to fix their contents from their current haphazard state.

"Found a little notebook, and a couple'a comics for the kid. They're just shitty gas station ones though," Lorenzo commented, without looking up from his work to either Mortimer or Lizzie. In fact, he had yet to directly acknowledge the girl's presence.

----> Slaughter

Karen dropped off whatever load she was carrying to whomever was waiting to receive it, acknowledging them with simply a "Hi, here" before she walked off. Her moment of near death panic had really put her in a quiet mood. Karen proceeded past the welcoming party straight to the wash water left over from this morning's laundry. The bloodied woman poured some of the cold, soapy water over her head, scrubbing her arms and face with her hands as the soap ran down over her limbs, soaking her shirt.

Karen missed her son and was shaken by almost being bit, but she didn't want to cry and mope anymore. Really what Karen wanted was what she'd have done back in the days of civilization. She'd call up her girlfriends and go to the bar, get really drunk, and then find some stupid one night stand to distract her and be forgotten.

Karen stood, cold and dripping, considering the possibility of this happening now...

--->From Nat Forest

By the time they made it back "home", Tom had calmed down back to his usual end of the world mode. Spotting the fence he took off, calling over his shoulder. I'll get the others. Running as fast as he could while still holding onto everything he looked for first people he could find. Help!...We need Loa!

In reply to Karen (msg # 127):

Bohannon was leaning against a metal column off to the side of Karen. "A wet t-shirt contest all to myself, I'm pretty sure I made that birthday wish when I was thirteen..." He joked with a sly grin, eying Karen's dripping body. The cowboy took a few slow steps towards Karen as she shook the water off her arms and wrung out her hair. "I think you're the winner." He added as he got within a few feet of her. Karen laughed, tossing what was left in the wash bucket at Bohannon. "I don't know, I think I have some pretty steep competition." Karen reached up and knocked the hat off Bohannon's head, flinging it across the room.

Hank trudged back along with the others, hoping his prize of wire could turn out to be worth it in the long run. At least if the food in the cans was still good they could work it into a stew and maybe get a meal out of them. As long as the horde back in town dispersed making another run for the houses wouldn't be too far fetched. That's probably where he'd pick up a majority of his supplies. If they could secure the area it might make a good place to move camp to.

Dropping his box when they finally made it to the compound he looked around, trying to see if Tom or any of the others were around. Sighing at the realization they weren't he grabbed the wire box, looking to drop it off in his room. Hearing the call for help he cocked his head, Tom? The box forgotten he started toward where the call came from.

Luke's usually immaculately styled hair was a mess as the the raiding party trudged back into camp on tired feet. He was a bit worn out but was still available in the mental sense, responding to queries quickly enough. Despite the intense nature of their outing, he'd survived and that in itself was miraculous enough to rejuvenate his spirits. It had been a while since he'd used his raiding-legs.
"Sure thing, Dominic. Oh and..thanks..y'know, for looking out for me, out there...Dude." Luke replied to Dominic with a small, awkward smile, his mustache shifting as his facial features did. He accepted the responsibility given to him, moving on to the others as Dom and himself had scavenged meds and grooming supplies mostly.

"Alright y'all bring everything to Loa for inventory before rationing!" Luke called out to the party that had just arrived back, hoping for compliance as he eyed Sam. For his own part, he moved towards Loa who was foremost among the awaiting camp dwellers. "Hey beautiful!"

In reply to Dominic Dubreton (msg # 125):

"Welcome back, Dom! Man am I glad to see you all again."Mahmoud smiled in response to the Frenchman's, clearly happy with the success of the mission, figuring any supplies were a boon to the group, but mostly relieved that everyone was okay and accounted for. The somewhat-Steward of the Caravan lowered his voice when Dominic did, to, temporarily, conceal some facts from the others. "Right. Izzy's in the Big House waiting for us." Mahmoud didn't mention why Isabelle wasn't with the others out front, leaving that bit out.

"You must be exhausted. Here, drink.' The man presented Dominic with a canteen of cold water from his belt, "Don't worry, its not canal water." Mahmoud added with a knowing, if dark-humored grin that was becoming less awkward by the month.

"Lets go."

-to the Big House w/Dominic to meet Izzy
This message was last edited by the player at 05:12, Sat 29 Aug 2015.

In reply to Lorenzo (msg # 126):

An unsmiling Mortimer acknowledged Lorenzo's grunt of greeting with a nod, his hands resting on Lizzie's shoulders in front of him as if to keep his companion in place or to protect her, maybe both. His stomach growled fiercely as he contemplated the contents of the cart Lorenzo was hauling, tensing in response to the comment that they could have nothing. He bit his tongue.
The priest looked the younger man over, noting the egregious amount of blood adorning Lorenzo's elaborately tattoo clad arms. "I pray that you did not have to hurt anyone to come upon these goods." Mortimer commented, perhaps sounding a little morally righteous.

"Please watch your language around her. And her name is Lizzie."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:22, Sat 29 Aug 2015.

In reply to Lorenzo (msg # 126):

Lizzie was elated with the arrival of the others, beaming, the starving girl vibrated with excitement as Mortimer gently held her in her stance. With Lorenzo breaking off from the main group towards them to peruse his finds, she couldn't help but gaze in awe at the deep red coating his upper body. The tattoo's and overall image was intriguing more than frightening, making Mortimer's protective presence at times frustrating, despite their bond.

"A comic book? This is the best day ever!" Lizzie exclaimed with complete sincerity as Lorenzo mentioned one of his finds, the girl darting out from Mortimer's hands towards Lorenzo and the cart to help sort through, if he let her. It didn't seem to faze her that he wasn't addressing her presence directly despite her being right there.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 05:29, Sat 29 Aug 2015.

-from Homochitto National Forest

Joe grimaced as he, Tom, Mexico and Brady plus a cougar carcass arrived back into town. He'd been helped along with Brady acting as a walking stick, but it was clear the hunter/tracker was in rough shape. Multiple lacerations over his body from his toes to his cheek revealed lines of blood in his sinewy frame. Without any context it would look like he was possibly wounded by a lurker. However, the presence of the mountain lion carcass revealed the real cause.

"Careful you oaf." Joe snapped at Brady, the old feller wincing as they neared the doctor who was talking with Luke prior to this scene.

"Kitty jumped us out in the park. Made a mess of me. We need to watch our borders now- ah fuck!' Joe spoke in a gruff, uncomfortable voice, trying to warn everyone as Brady helped him stagger along.

In reply to Luke:

Loa was quick to disperse her helpers to provide water to the arriving group, acknowledging them each with a smile, wave or vocal hello that did not betray the immense relief that they were well and together. Luke's presence and comment brought a very subtle grin to the veterinarian, "Save it, Lucas." She replied in a mock-stern voice, winking once in case it was not clear. "People are going to be protective over their finds, please use restraint and convince everyone to combine resources, or else fights might break out." She told Luke in a soft but politically cognizant fashion, her deep brown eyes sending look to the others first one way then the other. Everyone was starving, and with resources not only scant, but right before the majority of the groups' gaze, desperation might change the happy moment to something darker.

Tom's voice drew Loa from Luke, who spotted the foursome who'd left earlier scrambling across the cracked pavement of the compound square. She sprung into doctor mode immediately, closing the distance and leaving Luke to carry out her instructions as she met up with Joe, Brady, Tom and New Mexico. "Thank you Tom, I can take it from here. You should find your brother, he must be worried sick."

She stopped their moving so she could very quickly assess Joe's wounds, at first terrified they might be walker scratches but soon realizing it was from an animal, or so they were told.
"Brady, please bring him as gently as possible inside to the infirmary room." With that she was turning to lead the injured man and the de-facto orderly of Brady towards the Big House, walking quickly alongside Dominic and Mahmoud who were doing the same. She sent a brief, warm-as-she-could smile considering the circumstances towards Dominic, her arm hiking the bag of medical supplies Luke had passed to her shoulder before movingi indoors. She was immensely grateful.

-to Infirmary
This message was last edited by the player at 06:27, Sat 29 Aug 2015.

"Merci, Mon ami" Dominic spoke gratefully as he accepted the canteen of water; giving a slight smirk at Mahmoud's dark humour as he does so. After taking a couple of mouthfuls he hands back the canteen, opening his mouth to tell the other man that he was ready to go when Tom came rushing in shouting for help.
Dom hesitates for several moments waiting to see if he would be required as Joe and Brady hobble into camp only to thankfully see Loa take control of the situation leaving him free to attend his meeting "Bon...lets go" he says to Mahmoud before handing off his pack to Loa and heading to where Izzy was waiting for them inside.


---> The Big House

Lorenzo paused from his work and looked at the priest incredulously, raising an eyebrow. He only gave the commotion from Joe and the others a cursory glance, and seemed more or less unaffected.

"Watch my language? Really now? Hah! That's real fuck- friggin' rich," Lorenzo chuckled. He looked back to the cart, shook his head in apparent disbelief, then took another drag from his cigarette.

He exhaled slowly, smoke billowing lazily in front of his face. His dark eyes locked onto the priest again and he smirked.

"Father, I ain't sure if you've looked around lately, but I can assure you a coupla eff-bombs here and there are the least of the kid's worries," the stocky man retorted in a slow, patronizing tone, as though he wasn't certain Mortimer would be able to keep up. "I doubt it's nightmares of me swearing that keeps her up at night... Oh, and don't you worry 'bout the supplies. We didn't have to hurt no one- too bad, anyway. I'm sure you'll gobble 'em up regardless."

Lorenzo's wolfish grin widened at Mortimer before he refocused on the cart, still smirking to himself. Of course, they hadn't actually hurt anyone to come by the supplies. He just thoroughly enjoyed teasing Mortimer and his holier-than-thou attitude. What? Like the priest would suddenly refuse the supplies if Lorenzo had hurt someone to get them? As if. For all of Mortimer's Jesus freak act, Lorenzo was sure he was just like the rest of them, priest robes or no. Lorenzo knew firsthand if you were hungry enough you'd take what you could get, no matter how you had to get it, and you'd shut your mouth and be happy you were going to be able to scrape by one more day.

He allowed Lizzie to assist with re-packing the messy cart, though he had still yet to directly acknowledge the girl. He seemed to be working around her more than anything, and it wasn't until he came across the comic and notebook that he even looked at her. He held the items out to the kid with a grubby looking, callused hand and gave them a small shake.

"Voila," he said dryly, handing them off to the kid. "So, chicky, when the Father ain't protecting you against swears, he ever teach you to shoot or anything like that? Or are you up shit- fuck-" he cussed, ironically cursing at his failed censorship. "- I mean, up 'sugar' creek without a paddle."

He looked between Lizzie and Mortimer, fully expecting either one of them to answer despite having addressed the girl.

Tom skidded to a halt as Loa came up to him. Nodding as he tried to calm his breathing he watched Brady help Joe follow Loa. It took a moment to realize even with Luke telling his brother where he went off too, Hank may still be a bit miffed he didn't tell him in person. Slowly making his way to a nearby weed tree he crouched down and placed the supplies he had been carrying down. He stayed down, taking a moment to try and compose himself.

In reply to Karen (msg # 127):
In reply to Benson Bohannon (msg # 129):

Karen and Bohannon manoeuvred awkwardly through a profound sea of sexual tension. Coming to terms with the inevitable outcome of their efforts, the two kissed. At first, it was slow and playful, soon devolving into a hot and heavy raucous make out session. And as expected when two emotionally vulnerable, predictably unpredictable adults are presented with an opportunity such as this, Karen and Bohannon slipped away into one of the unpopulated sectors of the immense factory building and fucked.

...Twice.

Hank turned the corner as Joe and Brady shambled in after Lola. Scanning his next sight was NM carrying a mountain lion. What the hell? he muttered, the brief glimpse of Joe's new collection of bandages he had suddenly making a sickening sense. That just left...Tom! Rushing to his brother he knelt down.Tom, you ok? Reaching out he placed a hand on the kid's knee, feeling the slight tremors radiating from his kin.

In reply to Lorenzo (msg # 138):

Mortimer's stomach churned hungrily as she eyed Lorenzo with the wariness of a shepherd to that of a wolf. His posture stiffened and he clenched the spine of his bible in one hand, inhaling traces of the acrid odor, a small grimace forming that he tried hard to defeat with forced neutrality. The patronizing tone from the younger man was hard to miss, and Mortimer took a step forward towards Lorenzo and Lizzie as if to spirit the girl from the man's influence.
The man of God had no response to the assertion he would eat any supplies regardless of the origin, though he hoped he had the fortitude to maintain himself before the challenges of the sinful world they now roamed.

"Go show Tom your things, Lizzie, we'll be able to eat soon alright?" As Lizzie accepted the gifts from Lorenzo, Mortimer was already gently guiding the girl away, replacing her presence with his own as if he were a not just a moral barrier but a physical one. He smiled gently to his ward, before turning back to Lorenzo.

"LIzzie won't need to learn those things, I'll be here to protect her." Mortimer stated tensely, a hint defensively, "Her name is Lizzie, not 'chicky', and I told you to watch your mouth around her." The priest may have been pushing himself, standing as close as he was to Lorenzo, but nevertheless infused his words with some passive aggressiveness.