ersatzdivinity | Open Musebox Post

apocalypse.

He doesn't know how long he's been separated from the others. He doesn't know how long he's been unconscious, either, only that his heart is racing as he jolts upright and scrambles to his feet, wincing at the pain in his temple. Fingers lift to the side of his face, come away sticky, but the scream that woke him comes again, leaving him no time to do anything about it, he can move, so he does, grabbing his fallen rifle and heading for the noise, eyes peeled for anything else on the horizon, human or not.

it's in tents.

A fire might not be the best idea, never know who you're going to attract these days, but 10K knows without it they're both going to end up with frostbite or worse. As long as they keep an eye out, everything should be okay; the Z's hate the cold, if undead monsters can hate anything, so they shouldn't have to worry too much. Not that that'll stop him.

Putting another small log on the fire, he lifts his chin at his companion. "You should sleep. I'll take first watch."

hit me with your best shot.

Whatever you want here!

Scream is one good descriptor for it: yelp is another as Amos twists his ankle (hard to do in combat boots but he's always been special) and takes a tumble, rolling through the dry grass to scramble back up in a crouch, twist, and bring his 1911 to bear on the zombie that's waaaaay too close to grabbing him and snacking on him. Undead are gross and disgusting and Amos hates zombies with a passion. Despite his grossed-out disgust he is quite capable of shooting them dead again and as it falls, sits and pants for breath before motion in the corner of his eye makes him flinch and look.

Kid with a gun and a headwound. Amos blinks wide dark eyes and says, in a voice far calmer than the situation suggests, "Please don't shoot me, that's not fun."

His rifle is already up and at the ready, finger on the trigger, when he hears the shot and sees the source of the noise: one zombie, down and not getting back up, one human on the ground blinking at him, looking far too calm for the situation. He guesses it could be shock, maybe, but by now he's pretty sure that anyone who could die of shock already has. He doesn't lower the gun just yet--never know, this guy could be part of the group his had tangled with. He'll ask in a second. There's something more important than that to deal with first, though, and that's:

"You bit?"

"Nope." Amos answers in a New Orleans accent, snappier than the typical Southern drawl. He eyes the kid, then very slowly moves to check his gun, before holstering it at his hip. He starts dusting out his hair and his jacket, all the while keeping a weather eye on the gun and moving as nonthreateningly as possible.

"You alright?" He returns the question. "Not hurt?"

Asking after the wellbeing of a stranger might be odd, but Amos can't help it.

"I'm fine." An automatic response, but it's more or less true. There's some aches and bruises, a lingering headache, but he's pretty sure there's no concussion. He's not dizzy, no double vision, no nausea, and that means he can keep on going. The rifle stays for a moment longer as he examines what he can see of the guy, and seeing no bloodstains he finally lowers it, shrugging the strap over his shoulder. "Hey--have you seen anyone else around here? I was with some friends, but we were attacked--I'm just trying to catch up with them."

"Jess you," Amos answers, relaxing his shoulders as the rifle lowers and shifting to a more normal tone instead of the carefully calm one he had been using.

He really doesn't like being shot.

"I got separated from my friends, too." He got to his feet and tested out his ankle. A little twinge but it still held weight and Amos nodded. "We could stick together for a bit until we find somebody, maybe?" He glanced up and grinned, bright and friendly. "Promise I'm not usually so bad at escaping zombies." Well, on occasion. But he was really lucky, so that mostly made up for it? Sometimes.

Hope doesn't scream. She learned a long time ago that there's no point. And it's not like she didn't know this was going to happen. That this is always what happens. So even as Emil screams again she aims and takes another shot. She does take notice of the figure moving toward her, potential threats (and far, far more rarely, potential help) has to rated higher than another person lost.

He's close enough now to hear the sounds of Zs, a rasping, guttural thing that still makes his spine crawl no matter how many times he's heard before. No time to really look at who they're attacking; it's human, because that's all Zs go for, and that's all that matters. Bringing the butt of the rifle to his shoulder, he lines up his first shot, lightning-quick eyes assessing targets. He picks off the one that looks like the biggest threat to whoever they're attacking, then starts thinning the crowd. Five of them, and three are down in as many seconds with clean shots to the head. The last two he can't afford to waste ammunition on and the angle's bad, anyway; catching a glimpse of red hair, he quickly shoulders the gun and moves in closer, pulling his slingshot out to aim.

"Duck!"

She does, though she lets off another shot as she does, taking down one even as she allows herself a moment to look at his work, considering possibilities as she retrieves her knife.

"Thank you."

With a lower core body temperature, Liv seeks heat like moths seek light. These days, she goes from camp to camp, a mysterious stranger on a personal quest. (A quest that she can never speak of, a quest that would get her killed at best, or lead to her turning monstrous and killing innocent people at worst.

The company is a nice bonus.)

She's slow as she approaches, cautious. In the firelight, she looks paler, even if she's eaten recently.

"Hey." Liv crosses her arms and shivers. "Mind if I join you?"

There's a hand on the rifle beside him as the footsteps come closer, though it doesn't exactly reach for the trigger. She's just a girl. Not that that means anything, he's met a lot of girls who could and do kick ass. But she isn't holding a gun. And she looks cold. And he's not cruel, even if he is cautious. So he lifts his hand away from the weapon, shrugging his shoulders in agreement.

"Go ahead. It's cold out here." He gives her a minute or two to get settled, eyes habitually scanning the trees behind her and seeing nothing. "What are you doing alone out here? Nearest town is miles back."

Her shoulders relax a little as the heat from the fire starts to warm her. The fact that the boy doesn't point his rifle at her also helps. God, the world's a mess, and Liv is no surer which side she belongs on than when this all got started. Sure, he won't prey on lone strangers, but she still has to eat brains. Better to be able to choose when and how she eats than to become a mindless husk of herself.

"I don't like to stay put." The answer comes out easily, practiced but natural after all this time. "I'm-- I'm looking for some old friends."

Maybe. It's hard to say where they might've wound up. Liv had started hiding as soon as possible, afraid of being quarantined and doomed to become a Romero.

"What about you?"

Robin wishes that he could say he's surprised to wake up somewhere he doesn't recognize, with no sense of time or how he really got there to begin with... But at this point, his thoughts are mostly, "Oh, this again," followed by systematic observation from where he's sitting in the middle of everything.

The screaming seems pretty important. Just his guess.

He blinks hard, clears his eyes, and gets up to his feet. He's dressed way too well to be a proper denizen of the apocalypse (nice suit jacket, fancy leather gloves, shoes that have never been on a hike), so that may make him pretty weird looking when he finally comes in sight of someone else heading in the same direction he is.

Any motion around him draws attention, because any motion around him could be a fresh Z on its way to devour anything nearby. He's on high alert as he runs, finger along the trigger guard of his gun. Movement out of the corner of his eye draws his attention to another figure heading the same direction as him, and he's got the gun up to his shoulder before he even thinks. But the figure he sees isn't moving like a zombie, fresh or old. It moves like a human, and while he does lower his gun, he doesn't lower his guard.

"Did you hear the screams?" he calls out, waiting for some sign that this newcomer is still human. Or at least able to speak.

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Apocalypse

Re: Apocalypse

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apocalypse

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in tents + my own shot + bonus questionable science, yolo

yolo away boo

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hello I heard there was an apocalypse

I THOUGHT I'D REPLIED TO THIS ohmy god