CURRENT EVENTS

The day is still early, not that anyone could tell through the ever-present haze that blots the sky from view, leaving the world in a permanent state of dismal grayness. The temperature is warm and humidity high, not even a hint of a breeze carried on the wind. It seems a storm is imminent, and you never do know what kind of storm it will be these days. There's no telling when the rains will arrive. All the same, most of the survivors can't afford to sit around doing nothing all day. Those with proper shelter may choose to remain near it while others risk seeking out supplies and better opportunities.

⇺ [ Cayenne Willow ] ⇻
21 |:| Female |:| Survivor
Location - Wastelands |:| Mentions - OPEN

The hum of tires against blacktop was the only sound to be heard as an old pickup truck moved at a steady pace down an abandoned road, its driver careful to avoid potholes and cracks in the asphalt, at times straying into the surrounding dirt to get around large gaps that might threaten the vehicle's condition. The woman at the wheel kept her attention trained on the path ahead of her, seeking out any sign of life. A flicker of pale movement caught out of the corner of one eye a few minutes later had the truck creeping to a halt, the low rumble of the engine silenced as she pulled the keys from the ignition and pocketed them. "This is it, girl. Ready?” She inquired of the dog sitting in the passenger seat, enthusiastic golden eyes turning to meet hers with clear determination.

Cayenne smiled, reaching forward to ruffle the canine’s ears affectionately before quietly opening the door, ushering her companion out before carefully closing it. “You know what to do Garnet,” she whispered, and without a sound, the dog slunk away. The disease had changed everyone, even animals, but it was less apparent with Garnet. Her changes weren’t physically visible. She looked like your average Doberman Pinscher, albeit not always recognizable to those who weren’t dog savvy. She wasn’t black and tan, nor did she have the sharply cropped ears or docked tail typical of the breed. Instead, her sleek pelt carried a reddish hue with rust colored markings. Her ears were floppy, her tail long and slightly curled near the end.

With Garnet out of sight, Cayenne’s attention returned to the herd. They weren’t close enough to notice her yet, absorbed in their feast. The grotesque creatures, once deer if she had to guess, barely resembled their former selves. They were hairless, their bodies fleshy and a pink-tinted white. Curved bone sprouted from their heads to form antlers and their mouths were filled with teeth adapted to tearing flesh, the canines so long they poked from beneath their upper lips. She knew from experience their hides were tougher than they appeared, but could still be pierced by the right sort of weapon, and their meat, despite the repugnant scent it gave off while being cooked, was edible. Hints of movement in the tall grass signified Garnet’s approach, but the deer-like beasts were too busy stripping the carcass sprawled at their hooves clean to take notice.

Abruptly the Doberman launched herself at the herd, emitting a powerful bark. It was strong enough to shatter glass and rupture eardrums at full volume, but for now, it was just enough to startle the herd toward Cayenne, her own ears protected by the plugs currently inserted into them, blocking out all sound. An odd weapon was lifted into the air, appearing to be solely a sword from a distance, until the loud crack of a gunshot filled the air, a bullet whirling forward before meeting its target, embedding itself in the buck’s skull. He dropped immediately, left behind as the rest of the herd scattered.

Garnet rushed to stand over the fallen creature as Cayenne made her way over to it, tail wagging and expression triumphant. Her unusual bark wasn’t the only thing the virus had gifted Garnet with. The dog appeared entirely cognitive, capable of intelligence she hadn’t possessed before. It'd unnerved some of the other survivors who'd stayed with them for a time, but Cayenne considered herself honored. Garnet was fully capable of caring for herself in every way now and still chose to stay by her side. “Great job girl! That takes care of our protein stock for the next month.”

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

⇺ [ Vincent Peirce ] ⇻
24 |:| Male |:| Survivor
Location - Abandoned City |:| Mentions - OPEN

Fear and panic swelled inside of Vincent as a knife slashed dangerously close to his face, leaving a shallow cut behind as he did his best to dodge the deadly strike without releasing the bag he currently clung to for dear life. He could feel warm blood trickling down his cheek, and the first flickerings of anger began to stir in his chest. "Please sir, this isn't necessary," he pleaded, hoping the man wielding the weapon would see reason. If anything, his appeal only seemed to anger the stranger, who lunged for him once more. Vincent only narrowly avoided being sliced again, the blade catching on his right sleeve and tearing through the fabric instead.

"Please stop!" He asked again, his voice carrying a bit more of an edge. The man paused, one hand still on the pack they gripped between them. Vincent had wandered into the store first. Out of sheer luck, the place was still decently stocked with usable supplies and food that hadn't expired. He'd stuffed his backpack full and prepared to leave when he encountered this gentleman, who'd seemingly followed him in unnoticed. Vincent attempted being friendly, offered to share without being asked, but it appeared the fellow wasn't interested in his generosity and would rather take the whole cache for himself. Desperate times called for drastic measures, but Vincent was having a hard time seeing this as much more than greed.

The man looked him over for perhaps the first time with a critical gaze before abruptly bursting into laughter. For a moment Vincent hoped he was done with the needless violence and was willing to come to a compromise, but the unadulterated mockery in his tone once he finally spoke saw those hopes come crashing to a halt. "Pitiful." Again, a small flash of anger. It must have shown on his face this time because the man laughed again. "What's wrong Red, the truth hurt? I'll give you one last chance to hand over the goods and after that? Well, you can't say I didn't warn you." Vincent’s grip on the pack tightened, perhaps out of pure stubbornness. He had no idea what kind of ability this man possessed, but chances were it wasn’t anything special, or he would have used it already.

”I didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me with little choice,” Vincent replied seriously, eliciting a snicker from the man. It started with a soft humming that grew louder and louder with every breath he took. His eyes began to glow until ambery light illuminated the darkened room, heat emanating from him. The infuriating smirk quickly dropped from the man's face.

”W-what the hell are you doing!?”

”You really don’t want to find out. Let go,” Vincent demanded stiffly, and this time the man had few qualms with releasing the pack and backing away. Vincent was thankful that was all it took, the strap he was holding on to was beginning to sizzle and his fingers would have burned through it in another few seconds. It took a moment for the energy to fizzle out, his eyes returned to normal, and steam seemed to drift off his form as his body cooled. The man’s eyes had grown fearful, and while Vincent knew logically he probably shouldn’t feel sorry for the guy, pity moved him to open the bag and pull out the items he’d initially promised before the altercation. ”Here.”

There was, understandably, some hesitation before the stranger stepped forward, quickly swiping the supplies before rushing toward the entrance. ”I hope you’ll remember this the next time you’re in a similar situation! It doesn’t need to be this way. There are so few of us left, and we should help each other.”

The man stopped in the doorway, spared him one last glance, and scoffed. “You’re going to die with an attitude like that kid. One day you’ll meet someone stronger than you and find that mercy isn’t a word in their vocabulary.” The door made a jingling sound as it opened, and that quick the man was out of sight, fleeing somewhere in the twisting alleyways of an empty city. Maybe he was right, but Vincent wasn’t willing to become like him to survive.

A hand moved to touch his cheek. The bleeding had clotted and stopped on its own, leaving a dried mess of red smeared across his face. He would clean it later. Better to get out of this place before someone else came in looking for trouble.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

⇺ [ Gregory Black ] ⇻
30 |:| Male |:| Survivor
Location - Wastelands |:| Mentions - OPEN

A storm was coming, Greg could feel it in his bones. Or his knee, rather. It always ached fiercely whenever one was on the way, and that seemed pretty frequent nowadays. As per usual, he was fresh out of luck, surrounded by literal nothingness. Just gray, dusty ground with patches of dead grass and withered, black trees stretching every which way. He had no shelter, nowhere to hide within sight in this barren landscape, and even without the impending weather that was a problem. He was alone, an easy target for plague doctors or anyone else who might wish to take advantage of a lone man. He lacked height and size, possessing only an intimidating gaze, and that was unlikely to deter anyone desperate or sadistic enough to come after him in the first place.

The only thing that might hold them back was the strange creature currently insisting on keeping him company. The beast, undeniably a horse at one point, had been trailing him for several days now. The change was quite noticeable. The thing's face had mutated slightly into an almost dog-like muzzle, containing some sizeable, sharpened teeth, the canines especially prominent. It still grazed on occasion when the opportunity presented itself, but he had also witnessed it stomping a hare to death and then proceeding to consume the body in its entirety. He was more than a little suspicious of the animal's intentions, especially when its gaze drifted to the three cats that were also rather persistently following him. They always remained close, as if they thought his presence could prevent the beast from tearing them to shreds.

The horse appeared to be tame at least, and that gave him an idea he was reluctant to test out. He moved toward the horse cautiously, keeping an eye out for any negative body language. The horse appeared delighted by his approach, a friendly whinny beckoning him closer. His heart began to race. Horses weren't exactly his favorite animal. They were large and imposing, and the teeth this one sported were less than welcoming in his opinion. The beast's pelt was smooth and jet black, suspiciously well kept, and its eyes an unnerving white. Clearly, someone had been caring for it before it started following him. Greg wasn’t sure he wanted to know what happened to them.

He hesitated for a few more seconds as he halted at the horse's side, tentatively reaching out and placing a hand on its side. Nothing particularly painful resulted in the touch, only the horse's head turning to peer at him encouragingly. Now he just had to get on. It took several clumsy jumps, scrambling to climb onto the horse's back and awkwardly sliding back down before the horse took pity on him and laid on the ground. Pushing back his embarrassment and grateful no one else was around to witness this, he finally settled on its back, nearly slipping off as it immediately stood. Greg clutched its long, dark mane and did his best to balance himself, hoping for the best as the horse started at a steady trot. Displeased meows followed them as the cats were left behind and he almost felt guilty, but he knew they’d find him. They always did. The horse made a chortling sound as if it found their abandonment amusing. He wasn’t sure he wanted to think about a flesh-eating horse being self-aware, so he pushed the notion from his mind.

In less than an hour he caught sight of something in the distance. Steering the horse toward it, they arrived within minutes. A rickety two-story house towered above them, painted black with white window sills, all of which were broken, and a roof that wasn’t in good shape. The door hung loosely on the porch, swinging back and forth with the breeze. He supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers. Shelter was shelter. Sliding clumsily from the horses back, he was surprised to see it race off into the wastelands, uninterested in sticking around the building. Greg was unsure whether to feel relieved or anxious over the strange creature's departure.

He stepped inside cautiously, searching the shadows creeping along the walls for any sign the place was occupied. The thick layer of undisturbed dust and cobweb seemed to imply no one had been here for a while and he relaxed, collapsing onto a rather ugly and colorful couch placed against the far wall after finally managing to get the door shut. As expected, a popping noise alerted him to the return to the cats, all three landing on top of him and knocking the wind out of him. ”Was that necessary?” Blink, the cat closest to him, tilted her head as if the answer should be obvious. All three of them proceeded to leap down to the floor, far keener than the horse to explore their surroundings. He watched them idly, beginning to feel drowsy. He hadn’t slept in...what? Three days? Perhaps it was finally time he allowed himself some rest. Not much else to do with a storm on the way.

Blink grew bored and returned to the couch, staring at him blankly for a second or so before hopping up and curling into his side. She appeared almost normal, covered in pitch black fur with no visible mutation until you looked into her overly large, pupil-less violet eyes. Her specialty was teleportation. Over short distances, that is, and she couldn’t seem to move anything beyond herself and her companions. Ember was the most unusual. Her pelt was a patchwork of black and ginger, her fur turning to smooth scales along her legs, paws, and tail. Two little red horns crowned her head, and small, dark leathery wings folded across her back. When she was especially worked up, she could spew tiny embers, hence the name. Then there was Pumpkin, the largest of the trio and the only male. He had a long, dense orange coat with marbled tabby stripes and tufted ears, a Maine Coon if he was correct. If he had a power, Greg didn’t know what it was. He’d never actually seen that one do anything beyond meow incessantly whenever he was hungry.

The sound of Blink purring and the warmth of her side against his lulled Greg into a doze, and he likely would have had a fine rest if creaking on the old porch hadn’t jerked him back to wakefulness. The footsteps were too light to be the horse, and that meant one of two things, a smaller predator or another person. ”Shit,” he cursed under his breath, rising to his feet as quickly as his leg would allow and looking for anywhere he could hide. The staircase seemed like the only option, and he hurriedly limped toward it before remembering the cats, rushing around to collect them, three wriggling felines soon captured in his arms. Using his power to get to the top of the steps would have been quicker, but the last time he’d did that with them they’d yowled their heads off and clawed him up pretty good.

Miraculously, he still made it to the next floor before the door opened, slipping into the closet room and spotting a closet, Greg reluctantly shut himself inside it, the cats still clutched close to his chest. Pumpkin grumbled, and he shushed the tom, feeling utterly ridiculous, but unwilling to confront whoever had interrupted his nap.

• Felix Kepler •
25 |•| Male |~| Survivor
|•| Location - Abandoned City - Department Store |~| Mentions - OPEN

“Shoo you furry little bastard, I’m armed!” The agitated threat was nothing other than literal, in light of current circumstances, the climax of an admittedly bizarre skirmish having rather reached a stand-still.

The raccoon was no more than a mutated amalgamation of it’s former self, if it was even ever a raccoon to begin with. With only patches of discoloured fur still in-tact, otherwise hairless and sagging in all the wrong places, it was perhaps more easily likened to roadkill re-heated. A botched taxidermy. Some twisted artist’s half-melted rendition of what a raccoon should have been. Misshapen but not entirely disfigured - for he still had the impression it had once been a raccoon at some point - it appeared their uneasy ‘truce’ had ended.

Said ‘truce’, of course, had been entirely circumstantial to begin with. They had shared the same dumpster, frequented the same haunt and raccoon or not, Felix had swiftly come to learn it possessed a far better sense of ‘what was edible’ and ‘where to find it’ than he did even if it refused to share. Neither felt nor feigned any compassion for the other but since Felix hadn’t tried to eat it? An odd sort of understanding had come to light. Usually, it didn’t want to do the same.

Yet, here they stood, the fibreglass arm that he had threatened it with still attempting to swat at the creature that was equally riled. Both hissing as loud as the other dared, simply on account of the fact the vicious little monster was growing bolder by the day and even more aggressive. The standoff itself could have been endless if not for the rather jarring bang somewhere distant, at which point? The creature abruptly turned tail, Felix practically diving behind the relative cover of the store’s counter in quick succession. It was only after a few tense moments had passed, the distant echo of the sound long faded, that he even dared to peer from behind it.

Despite the store itself being almost entirely gutted, it seldom ever provided much comfort, skittish eyes wearily still settled upon the half-caved door as if he still expected something to emerge nonetheless.

...Nothing, apparently. While the sigh wasn’t audible, his body physically seemed to deflate from where he had dipped behind the counter; then and only then, did his confidence return.

“Thanks, Darce. Not exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to lend me a hand, but I appreciate you’ve got a funny b-...Appendage.” He chuckled rather uneasily as he waved the arm in question, rather displeased to find that it did not happily slot back onto the mannequin’ damaged body once he finally ventured over. Like most things in the store, the mannequins themselves were in a state of ruin, fibreglass bodies stripped of whatever clothing they might have one showcased.

They were damaged and dirtied, but unlike the latter of the store shelves and displays? Relatively left alone. As a matter of fact, the only thing to have separated them from what others sparsely littered the floors were their crudely drawn faces. They were no better than the art expected of a young child, really, but he has never claimed to be Picasso. Either way? They didn’t often seem to mind.

Felix seemed flustered for a moment or so, cursing and still seemingly insistent on having it fit, though eventually he’d muster only a sighof defeat. Ultimately? There were more important things to put his energy into. “I guess I’ll just keep hold of it then, yeah?”

⋰ | Verity Cieśla | ⋱
26 | Female | Survivor
Location: Abandoned City | Mentions: Vincent [Open]

The small, black figure of a fox-like creature darted across the empty street, moving like a shadow over the pavement and disappearing into a nearby alley. Verity had no idea where he was leading her, and, in all honesty, she shouldn't be trusting it. The animal which she'd come to call 'Pooka' was only slightly bigger than a chihuahua and appeared entirely harmless, yet he'd proven himself to be a shifty trickster. There had been several instances now where it had stolen food from her while she was asleep, and she'd also discovered that he was extremely dangerous. She suspected that he had developed the ability to produce highly corrosive acid in his mouth, as she'd witnessed him bite the paw of a mutated cat twice his size clean off.

She would have chased him off a long time ago if he hadn't been such an amazing scavenger. Occasionally he led her to huge stashes of food that he'd managed to sniff out - which was exactly what she hoped he was doing right now. Considering she was low on supplies and it looked like there was an incoming storm, he was her best bet at the moment. Sighing and adjusting the strap of her rucksack, she followed him into the alley.

When she came out onto the next street he was already sitting in front of a store, his ridiculously large ears turned towards the door as if he was listening to something. He turned his head to stare at her expectantly as she approached, reminding her of an impatient child. "Wait," she whispered to him, peering into the shop window. Two men were already inside. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but they were obviously in some sort of confrontation. They were clinging on to a bag and one of the men was armed with a knife. This didn't look like something Verity wanted to risk getting involved in, but when she glanced back to Pooka he was still staring up at her eagerly. "Alright, if you're sure about this," she murmured.

She opened the door for Pooka and the two of them slipped inside noiselessly, quickly ducking behind a shelf. She remained still for a moment, listening to check if either of the men had spotted her, but they still seemed to be focused on each other. "Please sir, this isn't necessary." Verity rolled her eyes. One of the men was pleading with the other. Whatever pity she might have felt for him vanished. Begging wouldn't get you anywhere in the apocalypse, and it looked as if he was about to learn that the hard way.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Pooka's form disappearing around the corner of a counter. She followed after him, trying to move as swiftly as possible while still remaining crouched behind the shelf. When she rounded the counter she found him in front of a cabinet, chewing at a thick metal padlock that was keeping it closed. It clinked softly to the ground as she reached him, nothing but a fizzling hole left in the spot that Pooka had bitten into. The cabinet swung open to reveal its contents; a decent amount of extra stock, most of it canned food. A smile spread across her features and she gave Pooka a scratch behind the ears. "Good boy," she whispered, swinging her rucksack over so she could zip it open.

She'd only grabbed a few cans before she became aware of a low humming noise which definitely hadn't been there before. It was getting louder, too. Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, her curiosity eventually got the better of her, driving her to peer over the counter at the two men to see if they'd noticed it as well. She was surprised to find that one of the men was the source of the humming, and even more surprised that his eyes were glowing. She'd seen some strange abilities since the beginning of the apocalypse, but glowing eyes was a first for her. The room was suddenly a lot warmer. Was he also the cause of that?

This was usually the point at which she'd get out of there as quickly as possible, but she was unable to peel her gaze away from the situation unfolding in front of her. Though she wasn't sure if she herself was safe with nothing but a counter between her and the glowing man, she found herself curious about what would happen if he continued.

She wouldn't get the chance to find out, however, because the man with the knife was quick to let go of the bag and sprint out onto the street. His departure snapped Verity back into reality, and she realised that she should also be leaving quickly. She reached for another can, but as she moved it she revealed the scent that had probably drawn Pooka to the cabinet. A huge rat that had been hiding behind the can let out a surprised squeak, and within an instant Pooka had leaped into the cabinet after it, knocking down several cans as he did so.

The clanging noises that resulted were deafening, and every time another can fell Verity cringed at the sound. The rat sped out of the cabinet and into a nearby vent, Pooka right on its tail. With the two animals gone, Verity was left with nothing but the sound of her own breathing and the knowledge that, unless the man was completely deaf, he'd definitely heard the commotion. 'Nice one, Pooka,' she thought, watching as a stray can rolled past her, 'Real subtle.'

Enzae Mercier
18 | Male | Survivor
Location; Abandoned City - Alley | Mentions; Open

Silver eyes peered out among the desolate wasteland, taking in the sight of what once was a bustling city. He could remember it so vividly - the noisy cars, flashing lights, and the dreadful crowds of people, so impatient in their eagerness to reach their destination. Enzae never had been able to understand this dynamic of the city life - why everything had to be so rushed. What was the point of it? Did they truly think screaming and shoving would get them to their house or work any quicker? What was the point in running that red light, if you would only be stopped by traffic? Everyone was always in such a hurry to get somewhere. He could not understand why - and perhaps, it was best he couldn't. Yet this led to him dwelling upon this fact, even though there were far more important things that could be occupying his mind. He couldn't help himself, truly. Enzae had always been a curious soul.

A piercing shriek distracted him from his thoughts, causing that gaze to shift abruptly. A piece of darkness seemed to detach from the sky, spiraling downwards at an alarming rate. Immediately, he was throwing his arm out to the side, almost skimming his knuckles against the wall of the alleyway which he hid in. If he could still feel this limb, pain surely would've jolted through his body in accompany to the fresh blood. The thing - which proved itself to be some sort of sleek, black bird - had practically lunged at the landing point, gleefully digging its talons deep into his exposed flesh. Red bubbled up at the edges of the wounds, escaping where claws were not stuck within the punctures. The entirety of this limb was covered in similar injuries; some still coated with fresh specks of scarlet.

He lifted a gloved hand, running two fingers delicately down the spanse of the creature's neck. It let out a soft purring sound, enjoying the feeling, though it was not long before it was nipping at him, tired of this petting. Enzae merely dropped his hand and brought his attention away, allowing his gaze to finally return back to the streets. His eyes narrowed until they were but slits. Silence. There was nothing but a tense, eerie silence. How very peculiar. It'd been so loud in the days prior to now, even during this apocalyptic state. Something about this was not right. But Enzae's exhausted mind could not figure out what. He could just manage to accomplish the feat of staying alert. The teenager had not slept in several days time. His hallucinations had been particularly... vivid as a result. He had a feeling rest could not fix this, however. His thoughts had been left to fester for far too long.

[ Thane Percer ]
27 |:| Male |:| Survivor
Location – Abandoned City |:| Mentions - Verity, Vincent [Open]

Thane had finally made it to the city. The walk from the place he had been resting at might not have been a long one but he couldn't arrive soon enough. He knew a storm was coming and he wasn't keen on getting caught in it without some proper shelter. And a quick check of his backpack had revealed that he could also use some more supplies since he had no idea how long the storm would be lasting.
Yeah, today seemed to be looking real good.

So there he was now, strolling through the empty streets and searching for a store that hasn't been striped clean yet. Some debris was cluttering the asphalt here and there and he could feel every single stone through his shoes. Thane really started to regret wearing shoes with such thin soles when a particulary sharp piece dug itself into his heel. The short spike of pain came so surprisingly that he cursed out loud. Today really wasn't his day.

But the pain was fading as fast as it came and he had to continue onwards if he was planning to get anything done. His eyes scanned the buildings surrounding him up and down trying to figure out if there was a reasonable chance of finding food in any of them. He would think about shelter later.
Unfortunately for him, none of them looked very promising in that regard. Thane had to keep searching.

He was just about to round another corner when he suddenly noticed something. Someone – or perhaps something was coming this way, he could feel it. Whoever it was they appeared to be in a hurry. Thane quickly ducked into the narrow alley nearest to him and pressed himself close to the wall. Normally he wasn't of the shy kind but one had to be cautions around others especially during times like these.

Soon he was able to hear the footsteps. They were fast but definitely human. That realization made him relax just the tiniest bit. Survivors could be just as ferocious as wild animals but Thane was more confident in dealing with other humans than he was with mutated beasts. The footfalls got continuously louder until he caught a glimpse of a running man. Said man passed the alley without stopping and immediately disappeared from sight. Slowly Thane crept towards the edge of the wall he was leaning against and peered down the street.

The man hadn't spotted him, hadn't even looked around. 'Careless', was all he thought as he watched the stranger disappear around another corner. Then Thane simply walked back onto the road to continue his way. He didn't know why this other survivor had been running but he hadn't seemed too panicked. Whatever the reason was, it didn't appear to be imminent danger.

Thane strode around the corner and passed onto a different street.
”Finally.”, he breathed as soon as he spotted the store front further down the street. It didn't look too broken down and ravaged so maybe there were still some things left inside. He was quick to approach this opportunity but hesitated only a few steps away from the entrance.
Someone was inside. In fact, he was pretty sure more than one being was inside.

[ John “Jack” Peterson ]
17 • Male • Survivor
Location: Abandoned City • Mentions: Vincent, Verity, Thane

Jack had been headed towards one of the only places he knew of that still had edible food (one would think ‘edible’ would be implied when talking about food, but Jack knew from personal experience that wasn't always the case - just as he also now knew that brown and wrinkled apples were not to be trusted under any circumstances), but something stopped him in his tracks. Perhaps it was the fire-breathing cat stalking a neon yellow mouse down an alleyway to his right that grabbed his attention, or maybe it was the stranger running towards him with an armful of supplies. Oh, shit.

Jack ducked off to the side right as the man barrelled past him, throwing a vicious watch it, kid his way before disappearing down another street. He recognized the man as one of the more unpleasant scavengers even before the apocalypse, a particularly nasty street rat with a bad reputation (and not in a good way). They may have had an interaction or two at some point before the world ended, but if they did it certainly wasn’t memorable enough for Jack to remember his name, nor him Jack's. That was how most of his interactions went, he supposed, but it never quite occurred to him that maybe he should be bothered by that.

If Jack had a bit more sense, he may have stopped to consider why, exactly, the idiotic give-me-all-your-lunch-money of a man was running from the store. Unfortunately, he was severely lacking in the self-preservation department, which was made apparent by him continuing towards his original destination after the other survivor was long gone. Some people though with their heads, others thought with their hearts. Jack, however? He thought with his stomach, which was currently growling so viciously he was surprised he couldn’t hear the damaged buildings echoing it back at him.

Two things happened the moment Jack entered the darkened building: one, he immediately collided with another survivor upon walking through the doors (the man had a backpack that was presumably full of supplies and food, he noticed instinctively, wondering if he could get away with just grabbing the bag and sprinting away before he was caught), and two, there was a deafening clatter of cans falling off a shelf somewhere vaguely to the right. Did he do that? No, there was a girl back there, expression shocked or maybe mortified, Jack wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, however, was the fact that he was probably a couple days from starving to death, and he couldn’t afford to wait around for the other two survivors to leave so that he could grab as much food as he could possibly carry before sprinting away again.

Really, he had no other choice.

Barely a few seconds after running head-first into the taller man (who was also strangely warm, almost concerningly so), Jack subtly reached for the backpack, wielding the element of surprise with deadly precision to swipe it out of its owner’s hands. Before the nerd-type could react, Jack was gone, stumbling his way back through the doors he’d just entered through in a desperate escape. He might have gotten away with it too, but his own trust in himself was his great downfall. He figured he would be fine rummaging through the bag’s contents as he ran, having lived on these very streets his entire life and instinctively knowing where he was even while running blindly, but he forgot to account for the unfairly tall man standing just a few feet outside the entrance.

The impact upon crashing into the brick wall of a man (at least, that was what it felt like to a frantic and frustratingly small Jack) was enough to leave him somewhat dazed, not quite concussed but definitely startled out of his escape attempt as he fell backwards and landed with a dull thud.

”Oh, uh, shit. Sorry, I swear I didn’t actually mean to run out here and knock you over. Or knock myself over, I mean, because clearly you’re, uh. Not knocked over. Right? This isn’t what it looks like. I-I mean it is, probably, because truth be told I have no idea what you’re thinking right now,” he stuttered nervously, not even entirely aware of what he was saying. Talking usually worked for getting him out of tricky situations, but this? This was definitely more ‘tricky’ than anything he’d ever gotten caught up in before. That didn’t mean his unfiltered habits were suddenly going to be blocked by a filter, of course. ”I should uh - I should definitely get going,” he said dumbly, already scrambling to his feet with the stolen backpack gripped so tightly his knuckles were white.

♟[ Pax Ricochett ]♟
:|: 25 Y :|: Female :|: Survivor :|:
:|: L- Wastelands :|: M- Cayenne ' Garnet :|:
Pax's grip tightened around her makeshift reins, the leather and chain digging into cloth and skin alike as a gunshot echoed through the wastelands with the ferocity of a lightning strike. The sound was uncommon these days, bullets having been mostly used up within only a few months of the world's end. Terragon, with it's usual disregard of danger, perked it's ears in the direction of the sound. How odd the creature was, having the physique of a clydesdale horse but the skin of a reptile and teeth the devil himself would be jealous of. Pax still remembered the day she had met Ter....it'd had tried to stomp her into mincemeat and eat the flesh off her bones....luckily, she'd been able to grab onto it before it had gone through with it's plan. Such a huge creature was a bountiful source of energy...though on that particular day it hadn't had much to spare, half-starved and wounded to boot. Over the last few months, they'd reached an agreement, she suspected that it was even growing attached to her despite it's overall less than charming demeanor. Heck of a challenge to feed though, which was why Pax wasn't already urging Terragon in the opposite direction of the unusual sound.

Today hadn't been much about sun...or fire for that matter. Colors danced and swirled around Terra, of course, undetectable to any eye but her own. She didn't particularly like leaching off her friends though, and like it or not Ter was pretty much it when it came to friends. She wasn't particularly 'hungry' at the moment....but if this haze continued for much longer things could become quite difficult...for her 'horse' and for her continued sanity, for lack of a better word.

So, taking that all into account, one couldn't really pass by without checking out what was going on over the ridge. At least, that's what the Ricochett told herself...if she was being completely honest, the decision had roots in the need to see another human being, no matter how foolish that may be, it had been months since she had seen let alone talked to another soul. It hadn't ended well than, but there was always the possibility it could end up better now. Right?

Lifting her foot up and over Terragon, Pax jumped down from the large creature, having decided to lead it forward slowly rather than continue forward on mount. Several feet from the ridgeline, Pax would drop the reins, gesturing for the horse to wait while she peered over the hill.

The source of the sound was closer then she had expected. A lot closer. A dog and a human...or at least, that's what Pax surmised from their general shapes. The colors she could see emanating from them were obstructing them from view...times like these had the former animator cursing her ability. All she knew for sure, was that at least one of them was excited or at least experiencing an emotion similar to excitment....vivid yellow dashed around the two, little bolts of lightning painting the air with geometric shapes. Now, what could have them so hyped up?

Pax wasn't the only one who was curious it seemed, Terragon...in all it's infinite wisdom...had snuck up behind her while she had watched the strangers and was now pushing her forward with it's scaled nose, impatience crawling up it's hide in vivid lines of lime green. Cursing under her breath, Pax grabbed hold of its dangling reins, attempting to pull it back behind the ridgeline....because unlike her relatively small frame, Terra's silhouette would be all too obvious if the stranger and their dog happened to take a look around.

(I promise Vesp accepted me and I'm not being weird...also, for clarification, the colors eminating from things in Pax's post are something she can see only because of her power...they are not physically present for other individuals.)

⇺ [ Cayenne Willow ] ⇻
21 |:| Female |:| Survivor
Location - Wastelands |:| Mentions - Pax

Cayenne walked back to the truck, leaving Garnet to stand guard over their kill as she placed the gunblade across the back seats and closed the door, then moving to unlock the cargo bed. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Garnet unexpectedly began barking, her startled gaze shooting to the bristling dog. She winced as the barking continued, her ear plugs long since removed. It was a warning, enough to cause an unpleasant pressure in the ear-drums. She rushed to Garnet's side, placing a hand on her back to soothe her and the barking subsided into suspicious growling. Whatever she'd seen had certainly spooked her.

Following Garnet's line of sight, she could spot a form in the distance, but couldn't quite make out what the hell it was. It was large, and something smaller and vaguely humanoid seemed to be leading it away. As much as the unknown creatures rattled her, she decided not to engage unless they ventured closer. "Keep an eye on them for me," she requested of Garnet before returning to the carcass, hefting it up onto her shoulders and beginning to carry it back to the truck. It was hard work, the damned things were heavier than they looked and the strain of it caused beads of sweat to dampen her forehead by the time she dropped it into the cargo bed.

Wiping her hands on her pants and trying not to think about what the wet feeling creeping down the back of her neck was, her gaze drifted back to the strangers as Garnet's growling had never ceased. Moving to stand beside her again she crossed her arms and watched the wandering silhouettes, wondering what they'd do next. She could easily herd Garnet into the truck and leave, but in all truth...it'd been way too long since she'd encountered another human and part of her hoped against the odds the figure in the distance really was a person.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

⇺ [ Vincent Peirce ] ⇻
24 |:| Male |:| Survivor
Location - Abandoned City |:| Mentions - Verity, Jack, Thane

Vincent reached for the door handle, eager to leave the store behind, but the sound of several cans crashing onto the tiled floor saw him swing back around in alarm, his heart pounding from the sudden clatter. He could have sworn he was alone, but apparently at least one other person or animal lingered here. "Hello?" He called meekly, unsure whether he actually wanted an answer. If he were smart, he would just leave, but admittedly curiosity had always been one of his more foolish qualities. He peered back into the room, his gaze landing on a woman standing behind a counter at the other end, something dark zipping past to hide in the more shadowy areas of the store before he could decipher what it was.

The jingle of the door opening resulted in a delayed reaction, still attempting to make out the worrying creature lurking in the darkness. Vincent barely had a chance to turn around before another body collided with him and his pack was unceremoniously snatched from his shoulder, the thief pivoting on his heel and fleeing right back out the door before he could even do anything to stop him. Vincent stared after him for a moment, completely dumbfounded, before coming back to his senses, the woman and her odd companion momentarily forgotten as he rushed after the bandit. It seemed he didn't have to go far. The boy was on the ground, another man standing in front of him.

Vincent's eyes drifted to his bag, still clutched in the boy's hands. He was quick to get to his feet, preparing to run after a rushed apology and excuse were offered to the other stranger. Vincent recoiled at the thought of being confrontational for the second time within the span of only a few minutes, starting to feel nauseous with the stress of it all, but even he knew he couldn't afford to lose those supplies. Before Jack could take off, he grabbed one of the bag's straps and jerked him backward mid-step, a little more roughly than intended, doing his best to appear stern. "It's not polite to steal. Please unhand my belongings. I'd hate to have to make you." His voice quivered near the end of the threat, and he winced. Wow. He was really terrible at this.

°Niles Quinton°
28 :×: Male :×: Survivor
Location :: Wastelands || Mentions :: Gregory



Niles felt the urge to groan, feeling something amiss. His mission to find supplies was easily summed up as a failure- he'd passed through what could barely be called a small town, completely barren and bone dry, and he had even gotten into a fight with a rat the size of his head. Luckily he avoided any scratches or bites, but he was lacking a good enough weapon to take on more than one if the other called for his buddies. So not only had he not come across any form of water, food, or shelter, but something just felt wrong. He hoped it wasn't another storm, especially with how terrible he was feeling, but based on the humidity he placed his bets on there being one. He hadn't slept in a few days and a combo of hunger and creeping dehydration was wearing him thin. He was almost thankful that there wasn't any sun beating down on him, though it still wasn't cool by any means, his bangs sticking to his forehead as he tried to keep up a steady pace. Although his pack wasn't filled to the brim, it was still a hassle with his slight frame.

He had been walking for what felt like hours, including his little stroll that ended with his rat encounter, and his body was really starting to ache. The heat wasn't helping his dehydration, but from what he could tell, he'd be able to last at least a day longer without water. That didn't mean he wanted to, though. Niles huffed out a breath to himself, scanning the barren area once again for any kind of sign that would tell him that he could rest, bright eyes skimming over the dark lump in the distance before focusing on it. It seemed to be some kind of building- a house or business perhaps? Either way, it filled him with a little extra fire, the male getting excited at the chance of just getting off his feet for a little bit and being able to wait out the storm.

In about an hour, Niles had finally reached his point of interest, taking in the old house with mixed feelings. Although it was definitely shelter, he wasn't sure how well it would actually hold up in the storm. However, he also figured that since it was still standing, that in itself was a good enough sign. He decided to check around the outside first, making sure nothing was already using a nook or cranny as a hiding place, and made his way to enter the house. The front porch creaked as he slowly made his way up it, cringing a bit as he climbed up the old steps. He didn't hesitate to swing open the front door, not quite stepping inside, but first peeking in. He looked over what he could see a few times before deciding it was safe to step in.

The inside of the house wasn't as bad as it could've been, but Niles noticed with a fair amount of alarm that there were faint shoe prints on the floor that didn't belong to him, and they seemed fairly fresh when compared to the layers of dust everywhere. There were a few drags through the dust in certain areas that looked more rushed, and he followed this trail to the stairs. More areas of thick dust had been seemingly disturbed along the banister not too long ago, leading up the staircase. He felt his heart pick up speed, chewing the inside of his lip while trying to decide if this was worth a possible fight. It wasn't a plague doctor he was fairly sure, and if it was, he was done for now anyway- he'd never seen one alone. That being said, aggressive survivors were a very real possibility, and his old pocket knife wouldn't do anything against basically any weapon with more range. Whoever was here had retreated though, so Niles figured that maybe this was something he could handle for once.

Gathering up whatever courage he had, he swallowed and spoke up, "Hello? I know there's someone up there. I don't really want trouble, I just-" He paused, trying to find the right words, and ended up sighing and finishing off with a softer note, "This seems like the only shelter for a while, and it seems like there's trouble rolling in. So I'm not going to try anything if you won't." He hoped his voice would travel to wherever they were without a full out yell and waited tensely, thumbing over the knife in his pocket.


________••••________


°Marcus de Brodeur °
31 :×: Male :×: Survivor
Location :: Abandoned City || Mentions :: Felix



The heat and humidity combo was really getting on his nerves, along with the ache of his feet from walking. One would think that the body would get used to constantly having to move to stay alive, but obviously that wasn't the case. If he wasn't in need of some form of wash before, he certainly needed it now. Marcus knew the city wasn't likely to have anything for him, almost certainly long wiped clean, but he had trudged a while to get to where he was and with a storm pushing in, he wasn't taking his chances turning around now. His hair was beginning to fall loose of his hair tie once again, random strands tossed in different directions by his annoyed fidgeting. Most of the store fronts he passed were completely barren, some shops even being seemingly scorched inside, all being ignored by Marcus. His main goal was to first look for old convenience stores and mini marts to see if perhaps some fellow survivor had been kinda enough to drop their items in a mad dash from some group of doctors, all while trying to avoid such a fate himself.

Marcus was apparently not so lucky, however, as he came up empty handed. He figured that at least he could use some of the buildings as shelter, but a creeping anxiety of the creatures he couldn't see cornering him during an acid rain didn't really seem ideal. He gave an audible groan, kicking a nearby bottle, a scowl playing across his face. It really would be just his luck that every place he'd been to so far had been completely wiped clean. A nearby commotion caught his attention, scowl quickly shifting into something more like curiosity with alarm, as he heard nearby yelling. Marcus knew that perhaps heading towards commotion would lead to more bad luck, but he really didn't have much of an idea of what else to do at this point.

That being said, he made a slow, cautious pace towards the sounds of what seemed like conflict. He rounded an alleyway carefully, now taking in the sight of a basically destroyed department store. The entrance was damaged, like most places, and all windows seemed to be shattered. Despite this, Marcus couldn't really get a clear view of whoever was in the store. Things seemed to have died down, as there wasn't any yelling going on, and he found himself thankful for that at the very least. The real question came as: is whatever that's in there worth dying over? Marcus thought so, as his bag was getting lighter by the hour is seemed. Giving a firm nod to reassure himself, he made his way towards the door, giving it a sort of knock when he reached it. He opened it up slowly after knocking, unsure of the weapons status of the other, and said, "Hello? I'm not here to steal anything of yours. Unless you'd be willing to share, of course." He was only partially kidding. He poked his head in first, immediately spotting a man attempting to reattach a mannequins limb to its body. Huh. That's certainly not something you see often. He kept just his head visible, eyes raking over the other to see if he had any other weapons- or a bag of supplies- on him. He was ready to bolt at a moment's notice if things seemed like they were going south.

[ Thane Percer ]
27 |:| Male |:| Survivor
Location – Abandoned City |:| Mentions - Jack, Vincent

Usually, Thane liked to think he was decently prepared for most things thrown his way. But what he definitely wasn't prepared for right now was some teenager sprinting from the store and straight up crashing against him. The forceful impact made Thane stagger back several steps but somehow he was able to maintain his balance. The boy on the other hand fell down with a thud. Still slightly perplexed, though careful not to let it show on his face, Thane starred down at the stranger.

His mouth was going a mile a minute, strings of words tumbling past his lips without stopping. Even without taking a breath as far as Thane could tell (which, he had to note, was quite impressive). But only half of his attention clung to the rambled apology. The other half was busy closely examining the other survivor. Noticing some erratic eye movement and how tense his entire body seemed, readying itself for a fight-or-flight response, or recognizing how everything about him basically screamed 'frantic' and 'nervous'. Only then did Thane spot the backpack he seemed to be clutching at for dear life.
Maybe the teen was afraid that Thane would snatch his bag from him, which he could understand, really. Thievery stopped being uncommon a long while ago. On top of that, he knew that he could look intimidating to some people because of his height alone, even though the humidity had turned his curls into one truly ridiculous mess.

Still, there were other reasons to be running away this frantically while clinging to a bag. And many of them weren't all that innocent.

”I should uh - I should definitely get going,”

Thane's head snapped up from looking at the backpack. The boy scrambled to his feet in a hurry and was definitely about to flee the scene. Thane was about to call out to him to wait just another second when suddenly a second survivor came bolting out of the store. Another male, this time closer to himself in height and age, making a beeline for the teen, immediately grabbing the backpack and pulling on it roughly.
Thane decided to stand back and observe the situation for a bit longer.

The new stranger seemed to be putting some extra effort into trying to look tough. Emphasis on trying. Sure, at first glance someone might fall for the grim expression but look close enough and you could already see it crumble.
"It's not polite to steal. Please unhand my belongings. I'd hate to have to make you.", he warned the boy but Thane certainly didn't miss the (very) audible quiver in his voice. Maybe the words could be considered threatening. The delivery however was absolutely lacking in that regard.

It was at this point that Thane decided to step in. He moved only a little bit closer, keeping a careful distance and not stepping too close. His attention was mainly on the younger of the two. Thane kept his voice as calm as possible as he spoke: “Okay, kid, how about you drop that bag, that clearly isn't yours, and we'll go from there.”

Suren Forsberg |19|Small, Pixie-like girl with a perpetual whimsical expression|Survivor|Wastes|Mentions: Cayenne Willow | (ID) Pax

The wastes were the same empty landscape they had been for the past day. Suren hoisted her backpack more snugly on her shoulders, stifling a yawn as she buried her lower face into the dusty scarf twisted about her neck. Warm or not, it at least protected from some of the more troublesome particles and bits in the air. That, and it was cozy, almost like having constant access to a pillow. She smiled slightly at the thought. It was too bad she couldn't sleep standing, then it would all be perfect.
Her mind wandered on such thoughts for a while, head tilting this way and that as she followed the quiet muttering only she could hear, hoping for once it would lead to a destination that was more suitable than an empty expanse of dirt for bunking down, especially with the way the air had started to change. There was a storm coming, and Suren had very little desire to be out in such weather, even if she liked splashing in puddles as much as the next girl. Her pale gaze flickered upwards at the clouds, as if trying to judge how long she had, before the sound of barking echoed across the ground, followed shortly by gunfire. Her head returned level, gazing over the earth for a moment. It was difficult to tell the direction of the shot, but a few moments later she could hear the sound of hoof beats, watching a mutated heard run past to the west of her.

"Interesting. So that was real then." Another smile. It had been a while since she had met someone along the wastes, the last 'crew' she had spent any sort of time with coming to a rather unseemly end a week, or was it several weeks ago?

Suren began to move forward, towards where the deer had come from, as she pondered how much time had passed. It couldn't have been more than a month. Definitely not more than two. Perhaps it had only been a few days? She really needed to find a calendar. Though then that led the question of, how she would know which day to start on. So lost in thought, Suren hardly realized the movement of the figures, one tall, one definitely four legged and smaller, ahead of her, though focused in the opposite direction as if they had noticed something in their own horizon, making little effort to conceal herself as she muttered quietly under her breath, now completely invested in trying to identify just what day of the week it was, and if that meant Christmas had already passed.

| Adelaide Victoria Thompson |
18 | Female | Survivor | Location- abandoned house | Mentions: Thane, Jack, and Vincent

Grimy fingers brushed over boxes concealed in the cabinet, many well past their prime. The girl doing the browsing was crouched on the counter, too short to reach the shelves otherwise, her lips pulled inside her mouth in an expression of absolute concentration. She worked in as much silence as she could muster, unwilling to face what may appear if she made too much noise. The rapier that hung at her hip was a comfort, but a cold one. She removed a jaw of pickles with the same precision a brain surgeon might exercise, placing it on the counter as if it might explode at any moment. The expiration date on the dusty blue lid read '2/12/09'. No good. The next box she pulled out was covered in mold, leaving her to only wonder at what the box contained looked like. She grimaced as she rested the box on the table and spores took flight. She wiped her grey tinted fingers on the sleeve of her varsity jacket, the faux leather adopting the dusty color. Addie was close to giving up, when she spotted a jar in the very back of the cabinet. Jars were always promising. She pushed boxes and bags aside to reach it, and when she pulled it out, her face lit up.

Honey.

Not only did she love honey, the sweet food lasted forever, even in the apocalypse. This was the last cabinet in the once charming house that had yet to be sacked. The girl, confident in a job well done, twisted her foot so as to jump lightly from the counter. But her toe collided with the jaw of pickles, which tipped, and by the time it hit the floor Addie had dropped below the counter, her heart leaping in her chest, her right hand clutching the grip of her rapier, the other hanging tight to the handle of a drawer. She had already been sweating in the humidity, uncomfortably hot, but now she could feel heat rising to her cheeks in fear. As the girl listened, nothing else made a sound. Slowly, she rose to her feet, only to come face to face with a pair of bright golden eyes.

Aaah!

She fell back, landing hard on her backside, already drawing the rapier from its sheath, when a plaintive meow stopped her dead in her tracks. Her face suddenly adopted the exhausted expression of a pressed mother, listening, with no intention of taking action, to her kids begging her for a toy. Of course, Addie was no mother, and this creature was no child. He was a cat, a calico cat, to be exact. He leaped gracefully from the counter and padded to Addie, rubbing against her legs as she attempted to calm her galloping heart. She pulled herself to her feet, staring at the cat winding around her legs, golden eyes holding her stare. She sighed, and with two hands around his middle lifted he large cat to her chest.

She held him there as he climbed to his favorite perch, and draped himself across her shoulders like a scarf. Addie then made her way back to the counter, the jar of pickles beginning to smell, and swept her honey off the table, tucking it into one of her oversized pockets. Then, she moved in near silence to the door, pushing it open and stepping outside. The weight of the atmosphere hit her immediately, and she registered the heavy feeling with an oncoming storm. Better hurry.

With rapid footsteps she moved to her hideaway, a small corporate building she had taken over. It was only two stories, but it had several exits and high windows, meaning she could see and not be seen. But a need for food had driven her farther than she usually went, and she would have to move quickly to beat the often violent storms. The cat purred ever louder, deafening her to the sounds of the streets, and it was, perhaps, this that caused her to turn the blind corner and fall upon the scene. Three men, one frighteningly tall, the second just a bit shorter, and the third no more than a teenager. She might have slipped away unnoticed, had the cat curled around her neck not noticed the neon yellow rat sprinting across the street. He dug his long, powerful claws into Addie's neck, catching her completely by surprise and drawing a pained gasp and sharp intake of breath. As he dashed towards the men, sights set on the rat rapidly vanishing into the distance, Addie's hand strayed to the sword at her hip, teeth clenched in fear as small droplets of blood crept down her shoulders, hidden by her oversized jacket.

The shit had hit the fan.

♠|| Echo Wilders||♠
18 |:| Genderfluid: Currently male |:| Survivor
Location- Abandoned City |:| Mentions: Thane, Vincent, Jack, and Adelaide

A loud clang rang out, making Echo wince. He shoot a nervous look at his mutated fox companion as watering cans and flower pots fell to the ground. Echo and Kai had come across a garden shed on the outskirts of the city, and it only made sense to investigate.Echo had spotted an axe with a red and silver blade on the top of one of the shelves. Perhaps trying to stand on a lawnmower wasn't the best idea. Especially when you loose your balance. Echo tilted his head, unintentionally copying Kai as he listened for any noises. Only silence. Apparently not learning his lesson, he tried to climb the lawnmower again and ended up loosing his balance once more. He hissed as a bottle of weedkiller hit his head. A sigh from his right prompted him to look at Kai. "What?" He asked, feeling like the fox was judging him. Indeed he was. Kai gave him a pitying look before turning to look at a rotting wooden chair. Echo looked at it doubtfully. "I suppose that will have to do." He mutters. He dropped his backpack to the ground and placed the stool in front of the shelf. He climbed up and let out a successful trill as his hands closed around the weapon. He admired it for a few seconds before a sharp yelp from Kai brought him to alertness. Before he could react, a loud snap was heard as the chair broke and he fell with it. He scraped his leg leg hard on a piece of the chair, causing him to cry out in pain. Kai tried to lick his face and see if he was okay, but only succeeded in giving him scrapes on his face from his overly elongated canines. Echo patted Kai on the head as he gently pushed him away." I'm okay!" He said ignoring the stinging in his leg. His pants were torn and bloody,and he gave a groan as he noticed this. He shook his head before grabbing his axe and his backpack and walking out to his car.

He looked at the grey haze as he stated the car and started driving. "There's going to be a storm soon." He mused. Kai snuffled in agreement before settling down in the passengers seat. Echo drove for a brief time before parking his car behind and abandoned building and locking the doors. The buildings looked lifeless and worn, as if they had been standing there for several decades. Or maybe that was just Echo's mind. He looked at Kai and motioned for him to do his work. Echo followed diligently as Kai let him a few blocks from the car to a store. A sharp nip from Kai stopped him as a clattering rang out from the inside. He crept in and hid behind some shelves, he stuffed a few beat up cans of food in bag as he crept towards the commotion. To his relief, it was only a large rodent like creature. He looked over the store and grabbed a few things before heading out. As he walked around aimlessly, a yellow rat dashed past his feet, followed by a calico cat. Kai gave an excited yelp before chasing after them as well. Echo called out for Kai to come back, but with no avail. He turned looking for the owner of the cat, but instead saw a small bunch of survivors, two looking about his age and two maybe older. Not sure was he was facing, he tightened his hold on his backpack and pulled out his axe from the back of his belt.

• Felix Kepler •
25 |•| Male |~| Survivor
|•| Location - Abandoned City - Department Store |~| Mentions - Marcus

“Mother of fuck!” The alarmed outcry came almost as unexpectedly as the knock that had initially startled him, so firmly involved within the rather meaningless task of fixing poor Darcy that while the sound was neither loud nor particularly sharp, it had startled him nonetheless; consequently left juggling both the rather sad attempt at a raccoon-deterring weapon and the mannequin from which it came, having almost knocked such and dropped the arm as the sudden sound rather literally jolted his concentration. It was only after Darcy had found her footing again - having clumsily managed to juggle her slippery arm back into a half-decent grip - that he turned to address the source.

“-Hello? I’m not here to steal anything of yours. Unless you’re willing to share, of course.”. The reaction that followed cautiously spoken words was perhaps considerably unexpected in light of the circumstances. In spite of the fact he had never before seen the face that wearily peered around the door, both his tone, body-language and the grin he greeted it with seemed to suggest the pair were already the best of friends as he scoffed. ”Awfully bold of you to assume I own anything but the clothes on my back, y’know. Can’t remember what I was before, but I think I’m a homeless...”

He shook his head as he mused over the word for a moment, grin now half amused and almost thoughtful, still half-holding Darcy, it appeared he returned to his work. If only briefly. Within a matter of seconds it seemed he’d come to his senses, practically double-taking as if he suddenly expected the stranger to have vanished entirely, he offered only a shaky chuckle, eyes almost nervously flickering to Darcy and Klaus as if expecting them to pass judgement. ”A-Are the two of you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Mannequins being mannequins, of course, they neither confirmed nor denied their current company, therefore attention swiftly turned back to the stranger himself. ”You...” Came the rather uncertain pause, ”-Are you...Are you real?”. Felix couldn’t be blamed for the rather blunt and entirely sincere question he had offered in return. Sure, he occasionally saw and heard ‘others’, but when your best friends were mannequins?

Sometimes, the lines between what was ‘real’ and ‘not real’ got a little blurred. Sometimes, he could have sworn that Darcy and Klaus spoke back. Moved. Or perhaps he moved them. Either way, it was rather plain he was entirely confused as to whether or not the stranger was actually real. Dangerous as it might have been to believe, most of the time, he was all-but-entirely convinced that he was the only survivor.

Though he seemed apprehensive, it was rather clear he feared that the stranger was a simple figment of his imagination over anything else; and Darcy’s arm was swiftly dropped as he instead raised his hands, likely hoping to show that he himself wasn’t much of a threat. Physically, at least.

Overall? He remained entirely uncertain of the situation, more than a little out of touch when it came to being social. His body language suggested that he was equally readying to vanish at a moment’s notice, though the fact he attempted to continue suggested he was trying, interested in the idea there were others. Real others.

He looked to Klaus for a moment, nodding as if the mannequin had suggested something, before tentatively speaking once again. ”-I’m Felix. A-And these are my friends, Klaus and Darcy, but they’re mannequins...So...They don’t really talk much. I visit them, though.” Murmured he rather quickly, before his wandering attention came full-circle, back to the man’s original question. ”I don’t...I don’t actually have anything to share, I think. But! But! I can help you find something, if you like? A raccoon showed me how - what’s edible, I mean - but we aren’t really friends, ‘cause it bites. Sometimes.” He scratched rather awkwardly at the back of his neck, then, inclined to gesture to the arm he’d dropped on the floor. ”...Had to get rid of it.”