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

Jack didn’t have time to react before he was jerked backward by the backpack, terror immediately shooting through his veins. He barely heard the voice behind him, mind and heartbeat racing at the knowledge that he was trapped. He refused to turn around, refused to stare into the eyes of the person he'd just stolen from and who would most likely kill him, or worse. He didn’t have time to process the man's words (or the shakiness of his voice, which he was far too startled to notice) before the other man he'd crashed into spoke up.

”Okay, kid,” the guy began, and after that Jack completely stopped listening. He wasn’t allowed to call him that. In his entire seventeen years of life, only one person had ever dared to call him kid, and that person had abandoned him in the middle of the night after serving as the paternal figure Jack had so desperately needed for five years. He hadn’t been a kid since he was thirteen, violently forced to fend for himself in a world that would have gladly watched him die on the very streets he’d lived on since he was eight. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t a kid, not by a long shot. And the man in front of him with unruly hair and an unjustly-tall stature had no right to call him otherwise.

Maybe it was the raw terror at the situation he was in, or maybe it was the starvation threatening to turn his stomach in on itself at any moment that encouraged him to lash out when he definitely should have held his tongue. But Jack’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed as soon as the immediate shock wore off, entire body tense and assuming a slightly more defensive position.

“Don’t call me that,” he spat venomously, blue eyes wild with something vaguely resembling fury. Then something hairy brushed his leg and he jumped with a sudden yelp, releasing his death grip on the backpack as he watched a mottled cat sprint after the neon rodent from earlier, a fox-like creature joining the chase as he stared. He noticed the person with a bloody leg standing off to the side moments later, stomach dropping in dread. His eyes settled on the axe in their hand. Did they know the two men on either side of him? Were they all there to kill him, make him pay for ever thinking he could steal from them and get away with it? He certainly hoped not, because he could barely defend himself against one person, not to mention three. His pocket knife was tucked away as a reassuring weight against his thigh, and he almost took it out. Almost, because for once in his life he stopped to think before he acted and realized that might send off the wrong signal, and if they weren’t already planning on hurting him they certainly would if he whipped out a weapon.

Instead, he turned his attention back to where the cat and prey had come from, looking anywhere but at the people surrounding him. Lo and behold, a woman stood there, about his age (he supposed the person with the fox was also about his age, but he was never very good at guessing games). She had a… was that a sword? She had a sword on her hip, and Jack was convinced he had to be the unluckiest person alive. So he did the only thing he was good at: he talked. “Wow, this is, uh. This is certainly something, alright. I mean, what are the odds of all of us being in the exact same place at the exact same time? Hah. I’m Jack, by the way. Are you guys new to the city? It’s a great tourist destination this time of year, y’know. Lots of breathtaking views, especially through all the haze. I’ve come to really appreciate the color gray.” He tried to laugh to ease the tension (and hopefully cease whatever violent intentions they may or may not have towards him), but it sounded much more strangled than he’d intended. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure it counted as a laugh, but it was the thought that mattered.

××××××××⚠××××××××

[ Thiago da Silva ]
28 • Non-binary • Survivor
Location: Wastelands • Mentions: Niles, Greg

The world hadn't been kind to Thiago since the Plague. The world had never really been kind to him in the first place, of course, but before, he’d always been able to laugh through his misfortune, to take his pain and turn it into a way to help others. Even before the world ended and the survivors mutated to adapt to their surroundings, it was almost as if Thiago always had a superhuman ability: to find the silver lining in anything.

Now? Now, Thiago was living out of a concerningly unstable house that he’d found just a month or two prior, surviving entirely off of canned goods from the cellar of the house, water, and a limited knowledge of which wild berries were safe to eat from the very little time he spent in Boy Scouts as a child. Not that knowing which berries were naturally poisonous was helpful in the slightest - after the Plague, even once-safe plants were tainted by the toxic atmosphere, guaranteeing that even the most experienced survival expert would likely not last long. (Thiago had tested this theory - unintentionally, mind you - shortly after the apocalypse happened and nearly died of food poisoning. If it hadn’t been for his boyfriend, he wouldn’t have made it. Maybe Ignatius would have survived instead.)

The house, however close to collapse it may have been, was perfect. From the outside (and even the inside, really) it appeared to be just like every other abandoned building: completely ransacked and barren, with loose floorboards that threatened to cave with even the slightest pressure. But Thiago had found a hidden cellar in the artificial turf of a backyard (which certainly drew attention to the house, as it was the only yard still green after the great devastation), somehow undiscovered by any other survivor. The turf helped conceal it, as there was no dirt left disturbed when the cellar door was opened. He was a very lucky man to have found such spoils, but a room full of food didn’t hold a candle to companionship. Besides, he’d already gone through most of what was left, rationing it as best he could but unable to stop himself from sharing with the animals that sought him out in search of food. Since the apocalypse, animals - herbivores in particular - seemed to flock to him like moths to a lamp, perhaps because his abilities allowed him to bring life to an otherwise lifeless nature. Ironically, the creatures were far more pleasant and less parasitic than the vines sprouting from his wrists, apparently the source of his unwanted powers.

He’d spent the past week or so searching for any signs of other survivors, careful to avoid the ones that looked dangerous and unwilling to cooperate for the greater good. Unfortunately, those were pretty much the only people he’d found. Defeated and wary of the storm rolling in, he turned back to go home empty-handed, backpack far too light against his shoulders. He would rest for a few days, restock his carry-on supply, and head back out in the opposite direction to continue his search.

Rest seemed like nothing more than a distant illusion when he spotted someone standing inside the house he called home through the open door, apparently talking to someone else inside. Fantastic. He wanted to sprint around to the backyard to make sure they hadn’t discovered his hidden treasure, but he figured that would likely draw unwanted attention to its location.

Despite what many seemed to think from his eccentric appearance, he could protect himself in a fight reasonably well, even without drawing on his abilities. His confidence may have taken a decent hit with Ignatius’s passing, but it hadn't been decimated entirely, which possibly explained his decision to approach the stranger in his house directly.

”Who are you and why the hell are you in my house?” he asked once he'd reached the front porch, not daring to cross over it in case the intruder had a weapon and was eager to use it. He folded his arms over his chest in the hopes that it would make him appear more intimidating, but his expression was tired and he looked like he was on the verge of collapse after not sleeping for several days. Which was fair - if he didn’t take a nice long nap soon, he likely wouldn't have the luxury of choosing where he passed out.

××××××××⚠××××××××

[ Oliver Waterworth ]
31 • Male • Survivor
Location: Abandoned City • Mentions: Enzae

To be honest, Oliver wasn’t quite sure how he'd found himself in his current situation. One moment he was asleep on a shredded couch in some ratty old apartment he was staying in for the night, and the next thing he knew a freakishly large, freakishly mutated dog was crashing through the wall, apparently hungry for human meat. Oliver's meat, specifically.

He’d immediately shot up and bolted out the door, taking the time to realize he definitely overslept and this was nature's way of punishing him for it. He stumbled down the stairs to the floor level of the building, terrified of the very distinct sounds of the beast falling directly through the stairs behind him. This was it. This was how he died. All of his life's work, ruined by a dog the size of a cow with a voracious appetite for scientists.

The entrance doors behind him swung open as he backed into them, and he fell through them gracelessly. Scrambling to his feet, he sprinted down the street, the stench of wet dog overwhelming his senses even after he managed to put plenty of distance between them. God, why did it have to be a dog of all things? A giant cat he could deal with, but dogs had always scared him for absolutely no discernible reason. Well, no discernible reason until today.

Becoming very winded very quickly (he had never been athletic in the slightest, and he was quickly learning why he should have participated in the personal fitness classes he took back in school), he ducked into an alleyway, violently flinching when he heard the doors to the apartment building shatter as the predator lunged through them. Maybe the molosser wouldn't be able to hear his heartbeat (which Oliver was positive was near-deafening), and maybe it wouldn't be able to track his definitely-trackable scent.

When he looked up to see if he could possibly escape by scaling the buildings on either side of him, his blood went cold. Someone was in the alleyway with him - a kid, from the looks of it, though he couldn't see much beneath his clothes. But what was most concerning was how closely he resembled the Plague Doctors, made especially apparent by the pitch black bird perched on the boy's arm. The lack of a mask was assuring at least, though he couldn't suppress the sharp inhale of shock at locking eyes with the assumed-teenager.

”Oh, hello,” he managed to say dumbly, only to be jolted out of his confused daze by a low growl somewhere down the road as his hunter continued its hunt. To any other, it would have gone unnoticed, but Oliver’s enhanced hearing was definitely a curse. ”We should probably get out of here. Whoever said dogs were a man's best friend lied, because there's a very hungry dog just down the street that wants to eat me. It'll probably eat you, too.” Another growl almost made him flee right then and there, but he needed as much time as he could possibly get to breathe and regain his energy. Plus, he couldn't let another survivor get eaten without at least warning him first. Oliver wasn't entirely adept when it came to social standards, but he was pretty sure that was what others often referred to as a “dick move.”

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

Enzae was acutely award of the moment Oliver entered the alley. Almost immediately, he was pressing himself back against the wall, more or less concealed by the shadows. Those silver eyes remained locked upon the older man, observing him with their eerie, unblinking stare. The beady red ones of his companion did the same, though they peered at Oliver with far more malice and hunger than what would ever flicker across Enzae's own. Ombre saw their new friend as a meal, it seemed. Thankfully, his owner didn't not share these thoughts.

The teenager's eyes narrowed lightly at the startled gasp, distrust causing them to glint sharply. It was almost as if he could read Oliver's mind. His greeting earned him a small frown, it seemed, by how those eyes crinkled. The bottom half of his face was concealed by a simple black fabric mask; hiding any true expression his features may of shown. It only seemed to add onto the creepy resemblance... but, truly, if Enzae had anything to do with the doctors, he would've done more than just stand here and stare, right? At the moment, he seemed completely harmless.

Gleaming orbs darted off to the entrance as Oliver mentioned a dog. A soft sigh, and he was looking back at Oliver. It was a long moment of silence which followed. Too long. Such a thing could've gotten them killed. But eventually, he was speaking. It was in a low, croaky voice that he spoke his words; his accent unfamiliar and unique, unlike any of those around. It was quite apparent that his voice was rarely used, for it was so badly damaged that the case could not be anything else but neglect. "Do you trust me?"

A peculiar choice of words for their first conversation, truly. They were almost startling in their appearance. It was just such an odd and out of the moment thing to say. Yet, they were not said casually, not just thrown out to fill the empty void that was the current silence. This became apparent in how alive those grey eyes suddenly were; how intense the flame that blazed within them remained, failing to ever once flicker or falter. "It will surely catch us both. However, I can prolong our existence for longer period of time. But I can only do so if you can bring yourself to trust me."

His mask shifted strangely as he spoke, clinging heavily to his lips and cheeks; extenuating the delicate curves of his face. His features were almost distinguishable in this dim lighting. Very slowly, one of those arms were extending, allowing its gloved hand to reach out to Oliver. Palm up, almost as if he was waiting for the man to take it. This limb happened to be the one the bird had chosen, and although it climbed further up and now rested upon his shoulder, the sight was still just as unsettling. Fresh blood dripped down the spanse of the scarred flesh, cutting a path through the other grime which coated its surface. Just visible underneath it all were a pair of chilling words, carved deep into the skin. Help us, They read.

His gaze never once faltered as it bore into Oliver's. A distant howl - perhaps of the same purser, or maybe more that had been attracted by the commotion - didn't make him do so much as flinch. He merely continued to stare at Oliver, hand out expectantly, awaiting his decision.

Atlas Knight
18 / Male / Survivor
Location: Wastelands / Mentions: Open

Atlas huffed as he trudged through the barren wastelands, the humidity causing beads of sweat to form on his browline. Using the back of his hand, Atlas assured that the forming water wouldn't fall into his line of sight. He dropped his hand to his side, acting as if it weighed a ton. It seemed as if the entirety of himself weighed a ton, as he was practically dragging himself across the apocalyptic land.

It had all happened too soon. He had a future ahead of himself. He had just turned eighteen and there was so much he had wanted to do. He was so ready to graduate high school, to be out of that dump. To be free to do whatever he wanted! Now he was free to do what he wanted, but not in the way he had imagined. His family was gone, and so was Nikolas. Oh, how he missed his friend. He wasn't sure how he was surviving this cruel world without him.

Atlas's hazel eyes shifted to look down at his plodding feet. He wasn't sure where he was going. Somewhere with shelter for sure. He could tell a storm was brewing, and he didn't want to be caught in the midst of it. He was clearly dehydrated and desperately needed something to eat. His stomach growled just thinking about it.

Atlas sighed, lifting his eyes up to view his surroundings. He'd been searching for a suitable place to stay for a few days now. He couldn't sleep, not in conditions like these. Over the horizon, Atlas could make out some sort of shape in the distance, a building no doubt. His heart began to beat a bit more quickly, a spark of hope igniting. He picked up his pace, desperately wanting somewhere where he could just lay down for a moment. Maybe this building would provide him with much needed supplies.

As Atlas drew nearer, he could see that the building had once been a home. It looked worse for wear, as half the roof had caved in and large, odd-looking plants had taken over most of the building's walls. Nonetheless, Atlas was frantic to find even the smallest bit of food and water. His stomach continued to growl at the thought of possible food.

Clambering through the knocked-in door, Atlas slowly made his way into the dilapidated household. As soon as he entered what appeared to be the living room, the overwhelming stench of death hit his nose like a brick wall. He immediately began to gag, and couldn't help but throw up some spit, as there was really nothing else to throw up. Quickly covering his nose, Atlas creeped around the building. He saw the source of the stench as he passed the tarnished couch. A human, or what was left of a human, sat there, decaying and rotting away. It appeared as if its face was melting off in the humidity as palm-sized flies buzzed around its head. Atlas had to look away and he continued on. He was itching to leave, but he needed to know if this place offered anything useful.

He neared another door, this one intact, and cautiously swung it open. His eyes widened when he realized he had stumbled upon the kitchen. He rushed forward, nearly ripping open the cupboard's door.

Jackpot

Atlas guessed that the combination of the deathly stench and appearance of the building had scared others off. Or that maybe other survivors hadn't found it yet. All thoughts left his mind though as he reached for an unopened bag of potato chips and a dusty plastic bottle of water. Everything seemed to disappear, even the smell of the rotting corpse that had made him react so negatively, as he began shoving his mouth with the crispy chips and warm bottled water. His guard, which he constantly kept up, suddenly disappeared without a thought in his mind.

(Ahh, I was planning on doing my other two character's entries as well, but it's much too late right now (practically 2am helpp ) Hope Atlas's start wasn't all too bad! )

⇻[ ZACHARY PARK ]⇺
19 |-| Male |-| Survivor
Location : Abandoned City |-| Mentions : Vincent, Verity, Thane, Jack, Adelaide, Echo


Out of all places, Zach had chosen the window ledge overlooking a situation.

Wonderful.

On most days, the young man stayed effectively away from all remaining traces of living, breathing humanity. He was quite fine with Zeta as his only companion. Despite the cat's chilling silence and even more unsettling sight of her mutated form, she had provided him with someone to whisper to during long nights avoiding storms and faraway gunshots. Even before her eyes grew white and her tail wasn't lined with quills, Zachary had relied on Zeta to be what kept him sane. She was doing her job rather well, her slender, lazing form wound over his shoulders with her prickly tail occasionally twitching against his collar, like a bristling black fur scarf. The only sign of life she gave off was the subtle up and down of her body as she breathed and the irregular purr that sounded more like a dog's growl.
Following his cat onto a closed dumpster and up a rusting ladder, the boy had found himself perched on the sill almost feline-like himself, with his legs dangling idly over the edge and his hands resting casually at his sides. The apartment building had been abandoned long ago, before the virus hit and tore destruction through the world. It was one of his preferred getaways when he messed around with the street gangs, a haven that only his limber, agile structure could get to. It's just that he never expected to return to the spot.

His position also offered a magnificient view of the forgotten store across the street. Which also housed a fair number of survivors playing a little bit too loud for his liking. He had first been notified of human presence when a young man had stumbled in with another person hot on his trail. Zach stayed uninterested until a panicked voice passed by his ears and the store emitted a faint amber light as well as a strange growing heat. With it's crumbling walls and steady warmth, Zachary immediately thought of one of those old stone ovens, a memory that made the corner of his mouth quirk just a bit, an almost undetectable smirk that disappeared soon after the pursuer had left with few items held in his grasp. The light and heat had died down, yet the first man who entered the shop did not emerge. Perhaps he had missed him? But no, from his hidden place cloaked in the buildings shadows and a tearing, old black bandana concealing the lower half of his face, whatever was left on the boy's scrawny frame would have noticed if the redhead had exited the building. No, by the subdued noise and periodical racket of argument, it seems that the red-headed light source had been joined with a few other survivors.

After a while of tentative listening and stroking Zeta's delicate ears, Zachry caught an odd laugh, and spoke up in a murmur, leaning his cheek against the still-silky black fur that constrasted so unusually with her thorny tail. "Would you like to scout for me, Ze? If you don't get into any trouble." He had suspected that the disease had also granted the she-cat with more intelligence than she usually had, as the creature reacted to every time he talked to her as if she understood. This time, she lifted herself onto small, nimble paws and arched her back, stretching as if she was agreeing drowsily. Her human partner simply clicked his tongue at her relaxed, informal attitude and set her on the window ledge beside him. Zeta wasted no time leaping down to the first rung of the ladder, not slipping in the slightest way, and preceding to leap straight on top of the dumpster and to the cracked concrete road. Show off. Zach's unnerving eyes followed the creature as she entered the building, melting into the shadows with a flick of her tail.
Zeta, despite her discreet entrance, promptly decided to socialize the minute her blank white eyes landed on the fox and calico cat. She watched them chase off after a yellow rodent, deftly turning around and lifting her head with an arrogance that should be unnatural to animals. She brushed up against what appeared to be the fox-creature's companion's legs, letting out some kind of mewl that clearly said 'Beasts, y'know? Animals these days.'

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

Echo sensed the high tension and wondered if he had stumbled across the right party. Perhaps it was better to leave. He was about to turn away when the boy spoke. “Wow, this is, uh. This is certainly something, alright. I mean, what are the odds of all of us being in the exact same place at the exact same time? Hah. I’m Jack, by the way. Are you guys new to the city? It’s a great tourist destination this time of year, y’know. Lots of breathtaking views, especially through all the haze. I’ve come to really appreciate the color gray.” He winced as he heard the boy's forced laughter. Fake things weren't exactly something he was fond of. Echo didn't know what he was expecting when he walked up to the group, but some kid talking about tourism in these parts wasn't quite it. Echo looked at the grey sky with unveiled distatse. Something about the grey haze made him feel uneasy. He couldn't see the sun, feel it on his skin, or see anything coming from the sky. No one knew how thick the haze was. Maybe it was about as thick as a cloud would be, but you could never tell. "The haze? Who would like the haze? Grey is such a drab color. Like ashes of a burnt building, it promises nothing good. This world needs the sun to to truly flourish." He looks at them solemnly. " Don't you guys miss the sun? " He then chuckled and shook his head. Reminiscing wasn't going to help anyone survive. "I'm Echo, by the way." He says, somehow managing to pull of a friendly tone without smiling.

Echo tensed as something brushed against his legs, but it was only a familiar mutated black cat. "Oh, hey, you! It's been a while." He said with pleasant surprise as he bent down to stroke the feline like creative's head. He had met the cat at the same lab where he got Kai from. He managed to get in there with another boy, who decided to take the cat along, (or was chosen. There's no telling with cats.). He never asked for his name, but he never forgot a face. Especially that silver eye. Echo had almost felt it piercing through him when he had first saw it. Talking about the boy, where is he? Echo looked around, and spotted him at looking out of a window across the street from them. He gave him a discreet nod, figuring he would prefer to stay hidden. As the poor rat and it's adversaries raced by once more, Echo looked helplessly at the cat. " I don't suppose you'd mind fetching Kai? " She asked, feeling somewhat embarrassed about his behaviour. "I'm sure he'd be glad to see you again."

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

”Don't call me that,”
Thane was admittedly caught of guard by the sudden heat behind those words. He hadn't really thought it possible but the boy tensed up even more and the look in his eyes could only be described as intense . 'Okay', he thought, 'Touchy subject. Duly noted.' Cautiously, Thane decided togive him a bit more space, stepping back a bit while doing his best to not let the frustrated sigh escape. Somehow this was really not going well.

Today was apparently full of surprises because although neither the brightly colored rodent running by nor the fox and feline chasing it startled him much but the unexpected yelp made Thane outright flinch. He had become aware of the newly approaching survivors a few seconds ago (sometimes it still amazed him how far such weak vibrations could travel) and he had really hoped that they would take one look at their little situation here and make the smart decision to just quietly pass by. Well, clearly he wasn't that lucky.

Therefore their newest company consisted of a girl and another survivor, both seemingly around the age of the young thief standing in front of him. The survivor's leg was bloody – the fabric of one pant leg ripped and stained – probably wounded, although thane was certainly more concerned about the ax he was holding in his hand. This day just got better and better. So, there was the ax person and the girl who was reaching for... a sword. Okay then. But maybe the chances of this not turning into something very ugly weren't too bad. No one currently wielding a weapon looked overly aggressive. No, their stances, their body language; All of it was mainly defensive. The man with the backpack didn't strike him as a fighter type either and he suspected the boy, who had tried to steal said backpack, would have much rather escaped this situation a while ago.

Speaking of that teen: He had started talking again . Just like before most of it seemed pretty rambled, only there to fill the empty space. But Thane quickly caught onto what he was trying to achieve: He was attempting to get rid of the tangible tension in the air. Well, Thane at least hoped that's what the ki- Jack. He hoped that's what Jack was aiming for.

Was...was that suppose to be a laugh? Yeah, let's just go with that.

Still, it looked like it worked to some degree. Echo, as he had now introduced himself, went along with the talk about the weather before getting distracted by a second cat, this one black instead of calico. Thane was honestly glad that the worst almost appeared to be over. Maybe today wasn't going entirely downhill just yet. He decided to join the conversation that was seemingly happening now. ”Since we're apparently doing introductions now: I'm Thane.” For a few seconds he paused, silently arranging his next words before continuing calmly and with confidence, ”Additionally, I'm really not in the mood for any kind of fight today, especially if it's for no reason at all. So I'd greatly appreciate it if we were all in one piece at the end of the day and I'm sure that would be in the best interest for all of us. Speaking of that”, he turned towards Echo and pointed to the leg that looked hurt, ”Your leg okay?”

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

Vincent regretted his actions almost immediately, sensing the boy’s panic even without having a clear view of his face. Guilt twisted his stomach into knots, and his grip on the backpack slackened, his formerly severe expression morphing into one of shame. Hadn’t he just concluded he would never allow himself to end up like the man who cornered him in the store only mere minutes ago? Now he was out here being rough with a kid? Despicable. Vincent barely heard Thane as the other man attempted to smooth over the situation, more concerned with catching Jack’s eye, but it seemed he was pointedly avoiding meeting his gaze.

Once the bag was released, it nearly dropped to the ground before he managed to get a better hold on it. Vincent found himself utterly speechless. How could even begin to apologize for how he’d behaved? The notion his reaction was possibly understandable at the time considering he was being robbed didn’t seem to cross his mind. Now that Jack was standing still and he could get a better look at him it quickly became apparent the teen was dreadfully thin and that only made him feel worse. "I...forgive me, I didn’t realize you were-" He paused after Jack seemed to react poorly to being called a child, glad now he hadn’t had time to finish that sentence. "I didn’t realize you were starving."

He might have said more, but the appearance of not one, but two new survivors, both in possession of a weapon, one of which was being brandished, saw the beginnings of panic begin to creep up on him again. The previous confrontation had been stressful enough; he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could handle in one day. Vincent couldn’t recall meeting this many people in the same place since the virus destroyed the majority of humanity. The rush of the calico cat that had once stood perched across the girl’s shoulders chasing after a glaringly bright rat, soon followed by a fox-like creature, was the straw that broke the camel's back. He was suddenly acutely aware of being surrounded. There were too many people, too many animals, too many weapons. It was too much.

"I’m sorry," he wheezed before abandoning the bag, allowing it to drop at Jack’s feet before promptly fleeing into a nearby alley, only stopping once his constricted breathing wouldn’t let him go any further. With his back pressed against the cold brick wall behind him, he slowly slid to the ground and put his head in his hands, desperately trying to remember what his aunt always told him whenever things became unbearable. 'Breath Vincent. Don’t forget to breathe.' At first, the deep, shaky breaths he forced did little to ease the wild thrumming of his heart or dizziness swimming behind his eyes, but as the seconds ticked by the near constant fear and anxiety that made up his current state calmed enough for him to function.

He didn’t expect anyone would follow him, there was little reason to now that he didn’t have the bag on him any longer, and he remained slumped against the wall a while longer as he considered what his next move should be. The thought of returning to the storefront was unpleasant. The rest of them were probably still lingering around looking for scraps at best and duking it out at the worst. While he felt some genuine concern for Jack’s safety, it still wasn’t enough to get him moving in the direction he’d come from, and his cowardice sickened him. Feeling utterly miserable, he finally pushed himself off the ground and peered back toward the alley entrance, indecision immobilizing him.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

⇺ [ Gregory Black ] ⇻
30 |:| Male |:| Survivor
Location - Wastelands |:| Mentions - Niles, Thiago

Greg barely dared to breathe, straining to listen for any signs the newcomer had followed him upstairs. The closet door and numerous musty coats he’d hidden behind muffled every noise, but he could still detect the faint creak of the floorboards below. The hope he had gone unnoticed was wishful thinking, he knew. His presence, however small, had disturbed the dust and grime that had settled over the house in the absence of its owner. Unless this person was remarkably unobservant, they would notice someone else had been occupying the room before them.

The cats were growing impatient with being held and eventually he was forced to release them, letting them slide to the floor as quietly as possible. A voice suddenly calling up to him caused Greg’s heart to skip a beat. His options were truly limited now. He could either face the music and head downstairs to meet whoever this was, hoping their assurances weren’t intended to deceive him, or he could give up on this place and risk facing the approaching storm. He pushed the door open, glancing out suspiciously.

Of course, the cats took the opportunity to barge past him and squeezed out through the slim opening. Pumpkin and Ember immediately made a beeline for the steps, in a hurry to greet the newcomer while Blink padded over to the nearby bed and hopped on top of it, making herself comfortable. Cursing under his breath, Greg supposed the choice had once again been taken from by these stupid, stupid cats. If he didn’t know they’d find him no matter how much distance he put between them, Greg would have left them behind a long time ago, or so he told himself.

He was on his way to follow them when a new voice caused him to freeze in his tracks. "Who are you and why the hell are you in my house?" Oh fucking fantastic. Just great. Greg might have liked his chances against one person, but two? It wasn’t worth it. There was a possibility the first stranger was sincere about not wanting trouble, but honestly, Greg would rather take his chances with the storm at this point. The cats were on their own. He turned to scan the room, relieved to find a window beside the bed Blink was currently rolling around on. He thought about taking her with him since she was still within reach, but that would leave the other cats stuck here at the mercy of the house owner.

Tiptoeing over to the window, he peered through the dirty, broken glass. It sounded like the first man was probably out front, but he couldn’t see him from here, and once he used his power it was unlikely to be an issue. Prying the window open unnoticed would be the real problem. He wondered whether or not he could just slip through the cracks in the glass, but he didn’t have much time to think about this. Ultimately, he decided to pull apart the rest of the glass until there was enough space for his whole body to fit through, grateful the sound of it snapping wasn’t painfully loud as he set the broken pieces against the wall one by one. It was likely the house’s owner would be too busy focusing on the visible intruder to notice this.

By the time he was finished his fingers were covered in bloody scratches, but he barely noticed the pain, so intent on escaping a possibly violent confrontation that such minor injuries barely registered. The ground was a long way down, and for a moment he hesitated. His ability didn’t always work when he wanted it to, perhaps because he spent most of his days in denial, and if it failed...if it failed he was probably going to break his neck at worst or both of his legs at best. Taking a deep breath he braced himself before closing his eyes, trying to focus on the vast shadow the house cast across the lawn, but he couldn’t feel himself changing, and frustration caused his fingers to tighten around the window frame, tiny pieces of glass digging into his palms. 'Come on damn it! The one time I want to use you, you don’t want to work!?'

Giving up, he searched for other options, noticing more than a few thick vines were creeping along the house's exterior. He could probably use them to climb down. Shooting one last glance at the ground to make sure the man outside hadn’t noticed him yet, he leaned halfway out the window, grabbing one of the vines and tugging. It held. Hopefully, it would be able the handle his full weight. He hadn’t considered how hard getting out of the window would actually be though. His bad leg was being insanely difficult. If he tried to use it to brace himself while swinging his other leg over the edge, it gave out, but he couldn’t lift it high enough to get it over first.

Just as it was starting to seem hopeless, he finally managed to get one of his feet on the windowsill, clutching the vines for dear life before preparing to swing free, but nothing in his life could ever be simple. His other foot caught on the frame, and the vines weren’t as sturdy as he’d thought, and suddenly he was falling at an alarming rate. The only thought he could muster through the panic being how this was possibly the stupidest way any person could die after surviving a literal apocalypse. Squeezing his eyes shut, he prepared for impact. It didn't quite feel as expected. In fact, while it still knocked the wind out of him, it almost felt like he hadn't hit the ground at all. He was alive, and nothing was broken beyond his pride, though he suspected he might be covered in bruises later.

As he took in his surroundings, Greg realized he was now sprawled across a large branch, which he was fairly certain hadn't been there before. The only tree in the yard had been withered and spindly like all the rest, but he couldn't find it looking around now and was beginning to wonder if he was losing his mind. How the fuck had he missed a whole ass tree? Glancing down, he found himself staring at a disgruntled face, as one of the men, the house owner most likely, was now glaring up at him. For a moment the mortified screaming in his own head was still too loud for him to form any kind of coherent speech, but as his heartbeat slowed to a normal rate and the reality of the situation crashed down on him he managed to find his voice. "So this is your place?" He questioned, glancing between Thiago and the open door where Niles presumably stood. "You really live like this?"

[Giving Moe a chance to reply before making a post with Cayenne. Hang tight Peachy!]

⇻[ ZACHARY PARK ]⇺
19 |-| Male |-| Survivor
Location : Abandoned City |-| Mentions : Vincent, Verity, Thane, Jack, Adelaide, Echo

Zeta let out one of her rumbling purrs, pressing her head into the boy's hand as her quilled tail swung leisurely behind her. She remembered him, as well as his fox companion that had kept her company at the lab. Mere days after the virus had passed, the creatures had adapted and found themselves stranded in the building. Zachary had stumbled in in search for supplies, and exited with a furry friend. He also remembered that distinct silver hair and reddish eyes that had picked up the fox mutation on their way.

Zachary gave a curt nod in return, shifting silently in his seat as the straps of his worn backpack chafed against his neck. The young man had ditched his torn black hoodie in favor of a dusty white t-shirt, the fabric cool and dry against the warmth and humidity growing in the environment. A storm was nearing, no doubt. Yet, he couldn't care less. The apartment building had become his hideout, so Zach shrugged out of the bag and tossed it up against a wall. Nobody tried to steal his stuff. Not with the remaining stock of the store across the street.

One could say that curiosity finally got the better of him. He stayed away from most human activity all his life, but the incident sent a spark inside him that was once a flame in his teenage years. The fire that let him fall into the world of gangs and vandalism, the tattoos lining his arm a solid reminder. Zachary pulled the corner of the bandanna down just enough to hide the marking settled between his collarbones. A precaution; too many people mistook the boy to be younger than he was. Sure, he was newly and adult, but his lithe, lanky structure made him look like a teen hitting puberty, and he could still use it to his advantage.
Unable to stay away any longer, Zach slipped down from his ledge and crept along the walls of the alley, about to enter the store when a figure dashed past into the next passageway. That red-headed guy, and the suspected source of light. Narrowing his eyes, Zachary followed, his footsteps barely whispering against the ground.

"Dead end alleyway. Clever hideout, isn't it." The man stood immobile partially down the backstreet, as if torn with indecision. Zach crossed his arms, hoping his expression visible from behind the scrap of fabric was unreadable. What was he doing? It was not like him to walk up to a fellow survivor with a casual 'hi, what's you're ability?' But he really was curious, and besides, Zeta would find him later. He carried only a silver switchblade tucked into his pant pocket, only that and his own mutation to serve as defense.

| Adelaide Victoria Thompson |
18 | Female | Survivor | Location- abandoned city | Mentions: Thane, Jack, Echo, and Vincent (I think that's everyone?)

This day kept getting better and better. Not only did Addie find herself faced with the largest group of survivors she had ever seen, one of them had an ax. At his appearance, she drew her rapier slightly out of the PVC sheath, just enough for onlookers to see the glinting steel, and assumed her en garde position, but still unwilling to draw the weapon and provoke these people. Then, the boy talked. He spoke in a way Addie had attributed to young boys who thought more of themselves than was good for them, but the tone of his voice spoke louder than his words. He didn't seem to have that cocky air many ten year olds did. Perhaps it was because he'd just been caught stealing, or maybe he just wasn't cocky, but his words seemed empty and rushed. Something about the sky. Addie glanced upward. It was grey, as always, and disgustingly humid- her varsity jacket was sticking to her arms, but she wasn't about to take it off. Instead, she straightened up as the ax kid began to introduce himself- Echo, and let the weapon drop into its sheath with a clatter.

Then, the tall man, who had nearly a foot on her, introduced himself. She nodded at his assessment of the situation; she, too, would like to stay in one piece. And honestly? She's never fought more than one person at a time. The idea was a little scary, she couldn't lie, especially with the ax. How could she possibly parry that? She glanced around at the four- no, three, the nervous man had just run away. Who could blame him? She watched him vanish into an alley, but made no move to go after him. What, after all, did she owe him? At this thought, the girl grimaced inwardly. What did she owe him? The first survivors she ever meets, and she's trying to count favors? Was this how her mother raised her? But Addie couldn't just invite them to her corporate building to escape the oncoming storm, not with the ax kid and the thief.

She adopted her usual stance, one leg straight and bearing most of her weight, the other slightly bent, her faux-leather clad arms crossed on her chest. She watched as a third animal appeared, this one slightly resembling a cat, prompting her to look around for her own furry idiot. The neon mouse had vanished, most likely into some hole, and Ody, the calico, was now evading the fox chasing him. When Thane pointed out the injured leg on the boy called Echo, she let out three notes in a whistle, one high, one low, and another high, that caused the cat to turn sharply and bound towards her, staying just out of the fox's reach. In one jump he was on her shoulders, hackles raised, tail poofed, teeth bared, a hissing scream rushing forth from his slightly open jaws. Before this Echo boy could respond, Addie butted in with some of the first words she'd spoken to a human being in a good, long while:

"Is your dog going to eat my cat?"

She stood ready to kick at the canine should it attempt to make a meal out of Odyssey, who, all cards on the table, probably deserved it. He wasn't exactly the nicest cat. Of course, that didn't mean Addie was about to let it eat him. She'd raised this cat, and she'd be damned if he died in her arms.

♟[ Pax Ricochett ]♟
:|: 25 Y :|: Female :|: Survivor :|:
:|: L- Wastelands :|: M- Cayenne ' Garnet ' Suren :|:
Even as she was hastily trying to tug Ter away from the stranger, Pax's former suspicions were realized, deep-throated barks echoing across the dead landscape with an ease that almost hurt the ears. The sound was clearly aggressive, at least to the former animator, her hand gripping Terragon's reins with more force as she tried to lead him away at a speedier rate...approaching another survivor had been foolish. Her day had just taken a turn for the worst, and to add upon that...Ter was digging its hooves into the ground, the distant canine's tones setting off the beginnings of a deep-seated rage the former equine held deep within its soul. Pax could see that rage, that hunger, start to build, a sickly red - edged in black, decimating any other emotions the horse might have been feeling beforehand. It was to be expected of course, karma so to say, that Pax had been partnered to such an inherently vicious creature. She shivered at the thought that more of Ter's kind wandered the lands, in herds rather than alone. Terragon wasn't the most friendly creature under normal circumstances, but at even a hint of aggression? Something awoke within the scaled creature as hard and unforgiving as the landscape that surrounded them...and god save her, Pax didn't care.

"Ter, stop." The words were unnaturally hard and loud coming from Pax, her normal tones usually soft. The horse took notice, it's slight rearing calming down and it's ears switching direction from her to the semi-distant canine. Pax could see the struggle within Terragon, cooler colors waring with darkly shaded warm colors; it pained the woman to see that the main force of power fighting against Ter's rage seemed to be fear. For the horse, fear manifested itself as a light blue, almost white light crawling down the equine's spine like cracks in an icy lake. Pax could almost convince herself that the fear wasn't caused by her, there could be many other possibilities. Ter could be afraid of itself, of its emotions, heck it could even be afraid of something she couldn't detect. It didn't necessarily have to be her it was reacting to, right?

"Right." This word was softer, firm, a response to the question she posed to herself.

Shaking off her clinging thoughts, Pax dared to glance in the direction of the stranger and their canine half expecting the dog to be almost upon them. It seemed though, after a second surprised glance, that the two were standing their ground. The colors emanating from the dog were unnaturally bright for its species, signifying something Pax couldn't quite yet understand having never really interacted with the animals she had seen that displayed such color. Either way, the colors circling the dog like a mini-twister did not encourage optimism. She would have left then, jumped on Terragon's back make for the horizon. The colors she saw in the human though, had her pause, gloved hand on Ter's quivering scales. There was suspicion, of course, it was rare these days meeting something alive that didn't display such shades of color. There were other colors though, ones hauntingly similar in behavior (though inherently unique), to what Pax herself saw drifting around herself on days she craved a conversation with another human...just one. She could be reading it wrong, sometimes the instinct she had for these things malfunctioned....usually during the worse possible moments. There were so many things that went into what a person did, the choices they made....emotion was only one of them as Pax so dearly knew.

Putting a hand on Ter's head, Pax looked into its vibrant irises giving it a simple command. "Wait." What she was about to do was certainly high up on the stupidity list, something even Terragon seemed concerned about as a streak of purple shot through its aura before the fear, anger, and unnatural hunger returned.

Turning her back on the horse, and hoping to whatever deity may yet exist in this desolate world whether it be a God, something else, or even the devil himself, that Terragon didn't suddenly recover it's 'courage' for lack of a better word, Pax Ricochett started walking to the unknown stranger and their companion, giving a slight wave as she got closer a gesture of greeting and hopefully one that showed she was unarmed. She didn't know how they would react...she sometimes forgot that other's couldn't see the color she could, couldn't use it as a way to determine how to act.

"Hello." That was all she was willing to give, for now, slowing down her approached as she squinted trying to better see through the colors and get a glimpse of a face and body. If she hadn't been so wound up if the day had been brighter, and the situation less tense it wouldn't have been an issue. For now, though, it seemed as if her body...soul...mutation?; wanted her very aware of what these strangers were feeling. Nevermind that it prevented her from seeing if they were holding any kind of weaponry. Why was her life like this?

[(Pax hasn't yet seen Suren, little to focused on Cayenne and Garnet for the moment to realize someone in the distance is coming. FYI, in case it wasn't obvious Pax has a sort of empath-esque ability....for the most part I'll be gauging the colors she sees after what a post says the character is feeling or base it off of how they are acting. If you want her to see a certain emotion when the characters are interacting, one that yours might not be showing off through body language or the post otherwise and is trying to hide, please pm me or contact me...that being said if you feel uncomfortable with how I interpret a post please feel free to tell me...I don't want to misrepresent a character nor do I want to stomp on any toes when writing through Pax's eyes!)]

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

Jack had said his short monologue as a joke, and he thought that was clear enough. Unfortunately for him, his definition of ‘clear’ involved brutally deadpan humor that had a tendency to fall flat on most audiences. ”Like ashes of a burnt building, it promises nothing good. This world needs the sun to to truly flourish.” Jack barely stifled a laugh at the stranger's preachings. It was probably the equivalent of laughing at a funeral, but he had never been very concerned with what he found to be funny. They had survived an apocalypse, and the person (did they say their name was Echo?) was worried about how gray the sky was?

Thane. That was the name of the second man Jack had crashed into, and he didn’t seem like he was about to drive a knife through Jack’s collarbone, at least not right then. The observation helped ease his fears a bit - not quite enough for him to relax his posture, but enough for his eyes to unglue themselves from Thane’s hands (his wary gaze never stopped flickering between the two weapons on either side of him, however, even after the sword had been sheathed).

He had flinched at the statement of the man behind him when it had been uttered. ”I didn’t realize you were starving,” he'd said, tone laced with… pity? Concern? Regret? None of those options were particularly appealing, so Jack had elected to ignore the ginger at the time, neither needing nor wanting his pity, concern, or regret, whichever it may be. It was for that reason that Jack couldn't quite bring himself to care when the man sprinted off, focusing all of his attention on the backpack that had been dropped at his feet. Years of having to scavenge for food encouraged him to just take the bag and run, but at the same time, he wanted nothing to do with the bag or its owner. This wasn't a fair steal, it was a pity point. If Jack had been anyone else, he doubted the guy would have left his belongings behind, and he despised the very notion of it. The idea that perhaps the abandonment had more to do with the man that had fled than himself never crossed his mind, a heavy weight settling in his gut as his mind told him to just kick the bag away and not give in to the gesture of pity. But he was hungry, so hungry, and-

’Is this what they mean by mind over matter?’ he wondered silently as he kicked the cruel joke of a bag away from him, not nearly as hard as he wanted to, but with enough force to send it skidding a few feet away from him. His gaze left the discarded ‘gift’ when the girl spoke up, and any thoughts he had regarding the bag's contents quickly vanished as he snickered.

”That's a cat, not a dog,” he interrupted pointedly, as though the cat girl clearly should have recognized the creature to be feline. His delivery gave no evidence as to whether or not he was joking, especially not with the eye-roll accompanied by an exaggerated scoff.

××××××××⚠××××××××

[ Oliver Waterworth ]
31 • Male • Survivor
Location: Abandoned City • Mentions: Enzae

Oliver had begun to shift anxiously in the awkward silence, awareness of his surroundings and the man (and his rather terrifying bird) staring at him with an unreadable expression gradually returning. While he had come to appreciate and even develop a keen interest in his newfound abilities, he cursed them now, his acute eyesight traveling over the bird and taking note of the intricately woven feathers and hungry piercing stare. It almost felt like the creature was trying to scare him, but surely that was impossible. Why was it, Oliver wondered, that most animals suddenly gained an understanding of humans after the virus? There was no logical explanation, no possible reason for the sudden sentience. And yet there he was, staring into the eyes of a fate much worse than the raging canine behind him.

He was startled out of his worry by a raspy voice, having almost forgotten about the person upon which the bird was perched. ”Do you trust me?” he had asked, and Oliver couldn't help the frown that creased his expression. He would be lying if he said he wasn't the slightest bit offended at the insult to his intelligence. All at once, Oliver regretted ever slipping into the alleyway, rationalizing that the dog, at least, would have been a much quicker death.

He almost made to leave, but then the boy spoke up again, words croaky and nearly painful to Oliver's sensitive hearing. He understood, though, eyeing the outstretched arm cautiously. In barely a few seconds of hesitation, he was able to pick out each faded scar and fresh wound, gaze lingering on the ominous black warning carved deep into flesh. It certainly wasn't promising, nor did it exactly scream trust me.

A howl from somewhere deep in the city made Oliver's decision for him. He grabbed the man's hand, perhaps a bit too desperately, eyes widening with panic as his pursuer’s ragged breathing drew nearer. ”I trust you. But we need to hurry. I'd say we've probably got about thirty seconds left before we're dog food.” Another growl resonated behind him, and he gulped. ”Ten seconds.”

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

Echo left Zeta to her own devices as the one named Thane introduced himself. He felt a vast amount of relief as the man made it clear that he had no intention of fighting. Based off of everyone else's stances, it seemed that nobody wanted to fight. Echo gave everyone a long cautious look before putting his axe back in its loop. Normally, he wouldn't put his weapon away so quickly, but these people didn't look like they would be much to fight, unlike the last group of survivors he had met. Just thinking about them made him wince. When the red haired guy ran off, Echo watched him with concern, wondering if he should follow and see what was wrong, but he abandoned that idea when he saw the owner of the quilled cat stealthy follow the red head "Your leg okay? " The Thane guy asked. Echo looked at his leg with embarrassment and silently cursed himself. First impressions were a big think for Echo, and he would have like it if he hadn't looked like he'd fallen off or out of something. "Oh, it's fine. It looks worse than it really is. " If Echo was being completely honest with himself, it didn't look okay at all. It would probably become infected if he didn't treat it soon. The scrape was looking a bit nasty. The edges were already dried, but also an unpleasant shade of red. Echo merely shrugged it off, relieved that the pain was something he could push to the back of his head.

The sword girl whistled, and to Echo's relief, Kai came came back as well once the cat returned to its owner. "Is your dog going to eat my cat?" Both Echo and Kai turned in sync towards the girl with offended looks on their faces. Echo was about to correct the girl when Jack chimed in, claiming it was a feline. Once again, Echo and Kai shot another pair of offended looks, this time with some annoyance laced in. "I don't suppose you two have ever seen a fox before?" He asked dubiously, making it sound more like a statement than a question. He flicked the cat a glance. "And you don't have to worry about you cat. I don't think Kai could make much of a meal out of him anyways." He paused, thinking for a moment before continuing . "Besides, I've never seen Kai harm anything that wasn't a threat. I have to collect twice as much since he refuses to even hurt a mouse. Kai is just friendly and a tad bit playful." The fox looked at the the girl and her cat with apologetic eyes as Echo mentioned the overly playful part.

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


The seconds ticked by in Niles mind as he waited for something, anything to happen. Right as he was thinking he'd just rather pass on trying to get some form of mutual benefit, he saw two small creatures begin to pad their way towards him from the top of the steps. They seemed like cats- at least, one did. The other seemed to be some mix of a dragon and a cat, which would be amusing if he wasn't so taken aback by it. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised, but many of the mutations that the animals he'd seen had gone through had turned them to the more grotesque side. Being able to make out a feline was a welcome change. Judging by where they come from, he wanted to assume that they were with whoever was at on the second floor. He slowly leaned down a bit, a somewhat pleased smile on his face- he hadn't seen a normal, pet-able animal in so long- when a voice seemed to boom in the quiet of the house. Niles jumped back so hard he nearly fell backwards down the steps, quickly turning to grab the railing to steady himself.

The first thing that caught his eye about the person who apparently had claimed the house as theirs was the stark green of their hair, next moving to their eyes. Niles froze up, his own eyes widening as his brain tried to process the best decision to make. His first instinct was to run, but he really didn't have anywhere to run. His gaze darted all around the room for some kind of idea of what he should do, but nothing came up. He stammered out, "Oh, uhm- I, I'm not here to steal anything. I just- it's about to storm and there doesn't seem to be any other shelter for a long while and I thought it was abandoned so-" He had held up his hands as he began talking, trying to show he didn't mean any harm, and tried to keep eye contact with the other. Niles figured that perhaps they also had gained unnatural abilities from the disease, causing their appearance to change. He supposed he was lucky his ability's manifestation wasn't physical.

He planned to try and talk his way out of this awkward situation, but before he could get out anything more or even hear if he got a reply in the first place, there was an incident of sorts. He couldn't really explain what he saw from his narrowed vantage point at the bottom of the stairs, but something had certainly happened, and it seemed thanks to one of the strangers. While their attention seemed elsewhere, Niles risked walking briskly towards the door, only to finally see the full scene of what happened.

There was a man with dark hair and bright eyes in a tree, of all things. He must've been the one upstairs, then. Niles was able to meet his eyes as he looked back and forth between Niles and the so called home owner. Upon his question, Niles couldn't help but feel a twinge of amusement, but hoped it wouldn't actually cause the one it was directed at to become violent. He observed both of them- at least, what he could see in a few glances- and decided they all looked like they could use a minute. He hesitantly spoke up, voice so quiet that he worried it might not carry, and asked, "Why don't we try and talk this out..? I don't think any of us are in the condition to fight- or make a break for it- so let's try and settle this civilly." He was certain he sounded weak, not only physically, but in will too. Regardless, he didn't back down or even move, his fingers lacing and fidgeting in front of him.

________••••________

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


Marcus began to regret his decision almost immediately, the casual greeting from the other man putting him on edge. Usually there was more mutual tension, but after a moment of startle from the other, he welcomed him like an old acquaintance. Marcus grew more hesitant to step through the rest of the way, but he did against his better judgment. He had trouble reading the other- was this some sort of act to scare off other people? He doubted this as the man seemed unsure of what exactly his role was before civilization fell apart. As he seemed to focus his attention back on the mannequins before him, Marcus figured that it might be best if he just slipped away quietly- however, he was unable to do so, jumping a bit as the other asked the mannequins if they saw what he did.

Marcus could feel his frown deepen as he was asked, so positively honestly, if he was real. He resisted the urge to sigh, instead letting a slow breath from his nose as he shifted his gaze aside momentarily. Of course one of the first survivors he'd ever met who hadn't tried to attack him on sight was insane. The real question was had it been the apocalypse that had left him as such, or if he had always chatted with inanimate objects. Despite the fact he felt like this was overall a bad idea, he supposed he should be pleased that he didn't seem to be a threat so far. He'd just stay vigilant and wander off when he could. His eyes snapped back towards the other male when he spoke up again, giving his name along with a little other information. Felix.. He'd file that away to try and remember if what Felix mentioned about being able to show him to supplies was true. The addition that it was from a raccoon made him feel a bit nervous about the credibility, but he knew it probably wouldn't hurt to try.

After letting everything sink in, Marcus closed his eyes, finally letting out a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He then proceeded to cross his arms, trying to keep any traces of doubt off his face as he supplied, "I'm Marcus, and I'm certainly real." He left off the unfortunately he wanted to add and ignored the introduction to the mannequins completely, taking a few careful steps towards him. "I would very much appreciate some help, if you'd offer it to me. I'm more than willing to trade if there's something in my possession that you'd be interested in, but I admit I'm a little lacking right this moment." He kept his voice steady, approaching and holding out a dirtied hand. "A pleasure to make your... Acquaintance." He wondered for a moment if he himself was going mad to give even an ounce of trust towards what the other said, but he was tired from walking and seeing no other living creature besides the mutated animals that threatened to eat him. He figured that there wasn't quite enough on the table for him to actually follow this guy, so he asked, "You're pretty sure there's food or water around here?"

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

At once, those eyes flashed. Enzae seemed to almost recoil at the touch, flinching harshly as if he had not been expecting it. And perhaps, he had not been. Oliver was a bit too eager for his taste, and he had not expected such an intense level of desperation. Still, he was allowing his fingers to curl around the larger hand of his companion, closing with a firm grip less Oliver try to part the contact. It surely would not end well for the man if he so chose this option, so Enzae was voicing advice moments later; in the low, rough way of his. "If you let go, you may die." May. Because, truthfully, Enzae himself did not know. The extent of his knowledge was the definite result of insanity. His abilities left strange... side effects on those they influenced if contact was parted too soon. Bits and pieces would linger in one's mind if he did not fully retract his powers.

Alas, he was continuing, for the beast was drawing quite near now, and Enzae did not particularly enjoy the idea of getting eaten. A soft, shaky breath was inhaled, and those dark lashes were fluttering, allowing his eyes to temporarily fall shut. When they opened, they would be a beautiful, albeit somewhat terrifying, shade of scarlet; so pitch in hue that the red seemed almost black. The world begun to flicker hazily around him, and he could only assume the same was to be for Oliver. Knowing the man would be quite startled, he tightened his grip on his hand; squeezing in efforts to stabilize him, less he begin to freak out. Enzae was not sure he was strong enough to restrain such a large man. Oliver may very well end up clawing his own eyes out. Sadly, it would not be the first time Enzae witnessed such a thing. However, since then, he'd grown very accustomed to his abilities, and had discovered a way to keep the darkness far from the minds of innocent peers.

The area around them would be tinted grey, with shadows of red creeping in upon the edges. Everything would be blurred; just enough off focus to make one uncomfortable. Things looked... strange, to say the least. That small hand was shaking where it clutched Oliver's; overcome with light tremors. They traveled up his scarred arm, leaving his whole body with a faint shivering sensation. Black leaked from the corners of those deep red eyes, trickling down and disappearing beneath that mask. His companion, the bird, was no longer anywhere to be seen; though there were a new set of tears in the shoulder part of his shirt where it'd been roosting. Fresh blood stained this area, showing that those claws had indeed punctured skin.

"We are invisible to it." He was explaining before Oliver could question this too far. His voice was weaker than before, and what was visible of that face had already lost much of its color. Obviously, holding up this cloak was taking a lot out of the young boy. "We will remain so as long as I remain." A new glint in those eyes would warn the man that it was perhaps time to get moving; to a form of shelter, far from their current pursuer. It seemed it was just outside the alley, judging by the faint growling and sniffing. To the creature, they would've simply just disappeared, without leaving even the slightest traces of where they might've gone.

There was no mistaking in how that grip had already begun to weaken. Enzae's eyes were taking on a sort of distant, clouded look; as if he was seeing something else rather than the tall man before him. Never once did his hand slip away, though. Nor did that red etch very far into ones vision. If it completely overtook ones sight, they would surely succumb to the madness that Enzae's true abilities could cause. He was currently doing an excellent job at keeping it at bay. Enzae was left completely blind, however; the entirety of the world cloaked in the deep red mist that he struggled to keep away from Oliver's own mind. It would be a shame if the man were to suffer as a result of his own actions - especially when, for whatever reason, it seemed this situation was his fault. Surely Oliver had attracted the animal here, and it was only bad luck that they happened to bump into each other. But such dreadful events seemed to just follow Enzae wherever he went. It was hard not to blame himself for it.

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

Cayenne couldn’t say she’d ever seen Garnet react so strongly to another survivor, though it was likely the distant figure’s odd companion fueling her fury. She couldn't claim to know what the hell that thing was either. The creature appeared massive despite the distance between them, its hulking frame vaguely equine. Something about it wasn’t quite right, but it wasn’t close enough yet to pick out any distinct features that might set it apart from another horse save perhaps the unusual gleam of its silvery body. That acknowledgment alone had her feeling a little unnerved at the thought of it approaching them, especially considering the beast seemed agitated, rearing and struggling against its owner’s hold on it. "You need to calm down Garnet," she warned her friend gently, placing her hand on her back again.

Reluctantly, the growling stopped as Garnet turned her head to peer up at Cayenne. She could see the dog was genuinely concerned for their safety and did her best to meet Garnet’s fearful gaze with a calm, reassuring one. "Whatever happens, we’ll be alright. We always are. Let me handle this," she implored in a soothing tone. Cayenne could still sense hesitance in the Doberman’s body language, but eventually she bowed her head and backed away, a watchful eye still kept on the strangers, but otherwise quiet. Cayenne shot her a grateful smile over her shoulder; a sudden movement caught out of the corner of one eye diverting her attention to another person drawing nearer. She squinted to get a better look at them, the wind starting to pick up, stirring up clouds of gray dust. A young girl, or perhaps just a rather short one, with pale blonde hair pulled back into twin braids was walking towards them, the lower half of her face obscured by a billowing scarf.

A low growl rumbled in Garnet’s throat, and Cayenne raised a hand to silence her. "Don’t be rash," she advised, noting the girl wore a rather oblivious expression, it didn’t seem as if she’d noticed them yet. "Hey!" She called, hoping to grab Suren’s attention. "Do me a favor and stay right there. We’ve got some concerning company on the way!" she added, waving a hand toward Pax and Terragon. While it was possible the girl could prove hostile, right now the weird horse creature seemed to be the main threat, though it looked as if the person had managed to get it under control. It was no longer bucking, and the owner was making their way over to them now.

The other person, another woman she realized as she came closer, offered a friendly wave which Cayenne returned, her own hand raised in welcome as an easy-going smile slid across her face. She wanted to make it clear she didn’t have any ill intentions, as it seemed the newcomer didn’t either. There wasn't much use in automatically assuming someone was aggressive or unfriendly when there weren’t any signs of such to be found. If things took a turn for the worse, well, she’d take care of it when and if happened. "Howdy," she replied once the woman uttered a verbal greeting, her voice light. "Mighty fine weather we’re having, hm?" She added jokingly. The sky had darkened even further, the wind blowing a bit too rough for her liking. They’d all need to move on soon, but for now, the sky was still clear of rain.

Her eyes drifted over Pax’s shoulder, watching the horse-creature for a moment and feeling content it would remain where it’d been left. "You can come on over now," she called back to Suren now that it seemed the worst of the confrontation was over, motioning for her to join them. "What brings you two out here?" She inquired curiously once both women were within hearing range. "Don’t see many survivors this far from the city very often. Y’all lost?" Garnet inched closer to her, leaning against her left leg as her gaze switched between Suren and Pax with thinly veiled suspicion, Cayenne’s head lowering to comfortingly stroke her head. "Don’t mind Garnet here. She’s a bit protective, but she won’t bite unless you give ‘er reason to."

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

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

The barely audible rustle of approaching footsteps went entirely unnoticed by the redhead, so consumed with his thoughts and inability to make a final decision on the matter at hand that even a far more noisy pursuer likely would have gone undetected. He regretted abandoning the bag, of that much he was sure. Vincent might not be as bad off as Jack appeared, but his stomach ached with emptiness and the use of his ability, however short it’d been, left him feeling unreasonably hot and parched. If he’d handled the situation better, there would have been enough in that pack to share even with half of the original contents gone. Now he would have no part of any of it, and perhaps that was what he deserved.

"Dead end alleyway. Clever hideout, isn't it."

The unexpected voice startled him from his musings, his alarmed gaze settling on Zach seconds later. The man was thin and not all that shorter than him. He couldn’t quite tell how old he was either, but none of these factors seemed to diminish the level of intimidation the stranger possessed. Vincent cleared his throat nervously, uncertain if the comment was meant to be mocking. "I-I suppose…" He hadn’t noticed the alley was a dead end when he’d chosen it, he just needed to get away from the crowd and hadn’t cared where he ended up. In retrospect, it’d been foolish, which was more than apparent now that he was cornered.

He hadn’t spotted Zach watching him and the other survivors before fleeing the scene, and thus it felt extremely worrying that of all the people to come after him it was someone he’d never even seen before. "Is there something I can do for you?" He asked, doing his best to keep his voice steady. Something flickered in his eyes, the iris’ impossibly bright for a brief flash, but he pushed down the urge to release the energy pulsing beneath his skin. It was too soon, and unnerving or not, the man hadn’t yet done anything to warrant a combative response.

"I have people waiting for me," he lied, nodding toward the alleyway entrance, the dull gray light seeping into the darkened pathway feeling beyond reach. "I should get back to them. They’ll be missing me." Vincent searched his mind for any feasible reason anyone would have followed him down here and couldn’t come up with anything that wasn’t extraordinarily unpleasant, promptly deciding to stop trying to find a logical reason for Zach’s actions. He supposed it would become clear soon enough.