♟[ Pax Ricochett ]♟
:|: 25 Y :|: Female :|: Survivor :|:
:|: L- Wastelands :|: M- Cayenne ' Garnet ' Suren :|:
As the sky further darkened, sudden concern overtook Pax as she realized the storm was closer then she had at first thought...indeed, if her eyes were not deceiving her (and they could be with all the light dancing around) she could have sworn she saw a little bit of smoke rising in the air from random patches of ground. She had been so concerned with the lack of light (and therefore sustenance...at least for her) the cloud-cover had provided along with the discovery of these new, seemingly friendly, strangers....she hadn't really concerned herself with the subject of acidic rain. She could hide under Terragon of course and had done it before, the horse seemed to be immune to the deathly liquid, but that was a game of risk she wished to play only when at her most desperate.

Pax would reply to Cayenne's most pressing question, as things stood.

"I'm not familiar with the area and don't have a place to stay, though Terragon is immune to the acid...when in a tough spot I hide beneath it. However, if you are offering a place to stay I would gladly accept....to say that hiding under a living animal, especially one such as Ter, is difficult would be a vast understatement."

To say that the Ricochett was relieved of Cayenne's denial of ownership to the land would be an understatement in and of itself...people tended to become unpredictable during the apocalypse (A surprise I know.) even more so when grouped together with a sense of entitlement and with differing opinions and a need to stay on top of the metaphorical food chain. Nothing in the woman's aura hinted at intentional lying, so unless she was incredibly connected with her emotions, was insane, or had some sort of power to counter Pax's own....the former animator was pretty sure that this woman was being genuine...a rarity these days.

(Sorry for the shortness, I wanted to get something out in case I'm not able to post Wednesday or Thursday.)

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

Atlas bristled at the fact this stranger called him a "normie". The young man was about to protest when the other man stood and began walking toward him. Atlas immediately began to step back, but before he knew it, the stranger had placed his hand on Atlas's shoulder. He flare of resentment sparked within Atlas's chest, and he was about to shove the guy away, when he noticed the prominent changes within the kitchen. He looked around in wonder, when he spotted the two beasts in the doorway.

Atlas's breath caught in his throat when he spotted the pair, instantly panicking and tensing up. The two looked hideous, and even more dangerous. He only calmed when the stranger explained that they would do no harm, as long as he was around. Atlas gulped at the thought. He supposed he was a bit grateful that this man was around, but only because he wasn't particularly in the mood to be eaten.

"Alright, alright." Atlas said impatiently, pushing the man's hand off his shoulder. The room instantly went back to its former state, but Atlas didn't mind all that much. Anything to remove physical contact between the two of them. "So, this is you house I presume?" Atlas questioned, looking around. He glanced out the window, noticing the ever-increasing brooding clouds. A splat of water hit the cracked, dusty window and Atlas looked back at the man. He was so tempted to just up and leave. Leave the horrid dear-like creatures and odd man behind. But, as much as he wanted to, he wasn't quite ready to be burned alive. "If so, would I possibly be able to... stay here until this storm passes through?" Atlas cringed at his question, not really wanting to ask this stranger for anything, especially for a place to hunker down. The young man tapped his foot, impatiently waiting for the man's response.

(So sorry for the short and undescriptive post. I wanted to get something out before I went out to eat).

• Felix Kepler •
25 |•| Male |~| Survivor
|•| Location - Abandoned City - Department Store |~| Mentions - Marcus, Victoria (ID)

Oblivious to their silent on-looker, eyes even at one point blindly settling on where she had concealed herself as he looked around in passing, a similar laugh-like huff and wearily approvingly grin was soon mirrored on Felix’s own features as Marcus helped himself to the snack he had offered. His amusement was partly due to Marcus’ willingness in spite of how he’d described their taste, but mostly towards the question that followed. At which? He’d subject Marcus to a rather ironic look of concern, a look that suggested Felix was suddenly of the opinion that he was crazy.

As his laughter and the slight quirk of his brows indicated, though, it was no more than a joke. ”I mean, yeah. It’s a raccoon, though, so it’s not as if it could talk and tell...” He paused as if to emphasise this, for a moment, before offering only a mild shrug. ”-Considerin’ it didn’t often try to eat me, I figured the chubby little monster had something else on the menu, an’ so I sorta followed it whenever I left, y’know? Whatever it ate, I ate, since it didn’t drop dead, an’ I only ever got sick once or twice. Pine nuts are the safest thing to look for unless you get a bad one, though they only really leave you feeling like shit for a few hours. Tree bark can take the edge off if you’re starvin’, but you can’t really eat too much of that. Best to avoid weird trees, too.”

There had been others, of course. It just so happened that the raccoon he spoke of seemed to have better instincts than said others; because it had lived so far, just as he had. Soon opting to seat himself on one of many counters, it’s cash register long-gone, he offered only a rather blunt nod. ”Uh-huh. It’s a big place and mostly empty, so I don’t get many visitors. Haven’t explored too much of it, yet, but so far it’s been better than stayin’ out there, ‘cause it’s relatively put together.” He trailed, slightly, head lifting slightly at what seemed to be the faint drum of light rain, distantly tapping upon the ceiling of the upper level, as if to prove his point. ”Not many leaks...”

Inevitably, however, his reflecting on his residency would soon lead to a change of topic, oblivious to how insulting such could sound. ”What about you, then? What shallow grave did you crawl out of?” While such very well could have been a sly comment towards the fact no survivor ever looked like a million bucks, Felix seemed to mean such with a sincere and literal interest, blatantly unaware his question was more than a little odd.

Because of course, he simply assumed that his experience was the experience of all others, never quite entertaining the idea of others to begin with, up until meeting the man now known as Marcus.

His optimistic mind did not pause to consider the fact that this former stranger, harmless and pleasant as he seemed to be, could have still been a danger if he wished to be. As a matter of fact - and rather foolishly - Felix had always been apt to trust easily, even before the technically ‘world-ending’ apocalypse. Thus, it was no surprise that he had been so brainlessly welcoming to begin with, and certainly did not consider that Marcus may not have wanted to discuss his circumstances as openly as he himself was inclined to.

((Sorry for the awkward post, guys! Typing them via mobile even in notes first is far clunkier than expected D: That said, I’m hoping to make Felix’s ability clearer shortly, so stay tuned I suppose? <:))

| Adelaide Victoria Thompson |
18 | Female | Survivor | Location- abandoned city | Mentions: Thane

The girl sighed inwardly as he grasped her hand, suddenly realizing just how small it was. And how small she was. She had to incline her head to meet the man- Thane's- eyes. Thane. A curious name. She didn't think she'd ever heard it before. As soon as he released her hand her gaze dropped to the calico cat winding around his legs, and the hand that slowly lowered itself to Ody. She watched with ill concealed curiosity. To be honest, she'd never seen Ody meet a new person.

He recoiled as the hand reached his face, sniffed it for a moment, looked to Addie as if disgusted that she would ever even let this stranger in their home, then, quite suddenly, pushed his face against the outstretched hand. He was a difficult cat to read, even to Addie, who had raised him. But should Thane try to pet him, the cat would leap back with a hiss and run, taking the stairs two at a time, running as if death itself has just rubbed his cheek. A strange cat, indeed. Addie grinned her crooked smile, indicating the now empty stairwell.

"He's a bit odd. His nickname fits, though that wasn't quite my intention."

She chuckled, but at the man's- Thane's- request, her smile faded, only momentarily. She could always lock her door, arm herself, and sleep with one eye open. Or, not at all, as was often the case.

"Yeah, sure. Follow me."

She then unconsciously took the greatest leap of trust a survivor could take to another- she turned her back. Leading the way up the stairs, Addie channeled the inner piece of her mother she kept within.

"Are you sure you're not hungry? I could use someone to try and open this damn jar."

Her voice in anger at the last sentence, but it was mock annoyance, followed quickly by light laughter.

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

Thiago decided to settle for something between irritation and mild amusement at his rescuee’s icy comment. ’Suit yourself,’ he retorted silently, ’Have fun being stuck in a tree.’ He was fully prepared to leave the man there, turning his attention back to the other stranger and his cat that Thiago could have sworn wasn’t there before. As was apparently the norm nowadays, however, his brief moment of satisfaction was quick to disappear in the form of even more complaining, followed by the sudden presence of the escapee at his side. He didn't even get a chance to see what had happened before it was over and the man was stumbling back into existence, and had Thiago been any less tired he likely would have offered a much more startled reaction than the exasperated glare he shot towards him (again, because that seemed to be the theme here). So the fool could teleport, but he conveniently forgot how to use said teleportation when he was falling out of Thiago's bedroom window?

He was drawn out of his annoyance by another voice, the other survivor speaking up again. ”Are these your cats?” the man asked, and Thiago frowned at the plural ’cats.’ There were multiple? He didn't realize he would be coming back to a barnyard when he left his shelter the week prior to search for other survivors.

”They’re not mine - I’m allergic. Why does everyone seem to be under the impression that this place is an open house as soon as I leave?” His question was rhetorical but genuine, although it wasn't like he truly cared who entered the house either way. No, his concern was whether anyone else discovered the hidden treasure buried in the backyard.

Thiago could feel the vines shriveling and returning back to their original size as the last of the adrenaline wore off, unfolding his arms to shake them in discomfort as the parasites shifted under his skin. He glanced up to the darkened sky above and muttered a curse under his breath, watching an acidic drop of rain splash onto a leaf in front of him and melt straight through. He knew nothing about meteorology, but he figured it would probably be better to spend the duration of the storm in the sealed cellar rather than in the house with a pitiful excuse for a roof. Which, unfortunately, meant he had to share (or, at the very least, offer and hope they declined, although he doubted that would happen given the situation). ”I'm not sure where two you came from, but there's no way you'll make it back before the rain starts. There's a cellar around back with food if you want to stick around and wait the storm out,” he offered, knowing he would regret it but unable to let the men fend for themselves in the unforgiving weather. He turned to head around the house without waiting for a response, tossing a quick “I hope you like Spam,” over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner of the house.

He located the entry hatch with ease, nearly imperceptible to even the most attentive of people unless they knew where to look. Before crouching down to lift the door, he glanced around warily out of habit, only to lock eyes with yet another survivor. ”Oh, fantastic. Now there's three of you,” he groaned to no one in particular, but his guard returned full force at the new unwelcome presence. Was this a gang ambush? He'd heard horror stories of lone survivors being attacked and killed in their homes by gang members, and his body tensed considerably at the possibility. He was in no condition to fight, especially not three men at once. That didn't mean he intended on going down without a fight if it came down to it, however. Another raindrop fell, this one narrowly missing his worn sneaker, but he ignored it. Mother Nature herself would have to melt him alive before he gave up his cellar.

××××××××⚠××××××××

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

Oliver’s paranoia transformed into indignation at the boy’s bark of irritation. Despite what many seemed to think, Oliver wasn't a pushover in the slightest, and he certainly didn't appreciate being snapped at for having very legitimate concerns. ”You said you trusted me,” the teenager accused, and he was at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say? ’I trusted you to not let me end up as dog chow, not lead me to the scene of a horror film?’ Somehow, he didn't think that would go over very well. He was baffled that the boy would throw his ‘trust’ back in his face as if it were a decades-old promise, but he didn't get a chance to say something that would likely end horribly before he was being pulled along again.

Oliver followed the illusionist's blind gaze to the bottom of the staircase, confused and entirely prepared to flee at the first available opportunity. Architecture had never been a strength of his - he much preferred science to art and he didn't possess a single artistic bone in his body - so he could only hope that the stairs would suddenly swing open like a drawbridge when they approached. He wasn't a survival expert, but he was pretty sure going up in an unstable building would be a terrible idea, no matter how desperate the situation. Luckily, his acquaintance dropped into a kneel at the foot of the staircase, Oliver following his lead as he watched the teenager pry up one of the floorboards. He couldn’t see anything beyond what he assumed to be another set of stairs, frustrated that his vision was next to useless as a result of the monotone haze clouding his perception.

”Help me get these up. You can let go of my hand - but keep a hold of my arm.” Never one to shy away from manual labor (to an extent, of course, but escaping a man-eating mutt was definitely within that extent), Oliver released the boy's hand, carefully shifting his grip to the offered arm. He began to pull at the floorboards with his free hand, but even as more of what lay beneath was gradually revealed, his sight was too blurred to make out any distinct features. It was incredibly vexing to be rendered just as helpless and incapable of something as mundane as seeing clearly as he had been before the meteors hit the earth and sparked the virus that gifted him with superhuman abilities. Oliver had never thought himself capable of hate (nor of love, really, although a certain Doctor had recently proven him wrong), but this-- he hated it. Even despite being among the most mentally stable people he knew, it took all of his self-control to not let go of the source of his misery and rid himself of the blurry illusion. (And if escaping the torture meant dying, oh well. The urge was childish and irresponsible and primal, but it existed nonetheless, contradicting everything Oliver had raised himself to be and reacting purely on instinct.)

”Is this enough?” he asked after more boards had been removed, voice shaky from the toll the illusion was taking on him. An apprehensive glance sideways reminded him that his acquaintance was likely enduring far worse than a bit of mere discomfort, and Oliver silently cursed himself for being so self-centered. ”Are you able to stop the illusions? We should be far enough away from the dog now.” He strained to listen for any sign of the beast, but his hearing was deafened by the thundering of his own heartbeat. It had been a long time since he'd last felt so vulnerable, and he hated that, too.

(going to be replying with jack tomorrow, i just wanted to get these two up tonight since i finished them)

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

"You’ve been extraordinarily lucky in that case," Cayenne observes, pondering what must be running through the young woman’s mind as Suren’s thoughts seem to wander elsewhere momentarily. Despite her cheerful demeanor and seemingly unending optimism, the stranger crosses her as haunted by some detail she isn’t revealing. Cayenne doubts whatever's befallen her previous companions was pleasant, and so she wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case but concluded not to pry.

"Funny is putting it mildly. It’s turned acidic. Even the sky’s been poisoned," she murmurs, hazel gaze lingering on the clouds, noting their deep violet hue. That was never a good sign. "I live in a small town a few minutes from here, completely uninhabited ‘cept for Garnet and me of course. Sometimes people pass through and stay with us a bit. Haven’t had any company in a long while though." As first Suren and then Pax, the other woman with a tad more urgency, asked if she knew of anywhere to stay she offered both a reassuring smile.

"You can both come back with me. I’ve got plenty of room. You’ll have to sit in the backseat though, don’t think Garnet’s ready to give up passenger privilege," she replies, Garnet barking in confirmation. “You can move the gun onto the floor. The safety lock is on so it shouldn’t go off. It’s a bit heavy so don’t drop it on your feet,” she added warningly before leading both women back to the truck. She doesn’t seem terribly worried about either of them taking advantage of an accessible weapon. It was nearly impossible for anyone to use beyond her. If they tried anything, it would end poorly. For them.

She pauses with her hand on the handle of the passenger side door when Suren inquires whether a doctor would be fortunate to encounter. "You really ain't from around here, huh? Trust me. A doctor is the last thing you want to meet.” Swinging the door open, Garnet leaped onto the seat happily, craning her neck to peer into the back, waiting for Suren and Pax to get inside.

Cayenne moved to the back of the truck again as her new friends got settled, climbing into the cargo bed where she grabbed a dark tarp that had been folded in a corner, throwing it over the carcass to protect it from the rain. Her eyes drifted to where Terragon still waited for its owner in the distance and she felt a twinge of guilt despite Pax’s assurances the beast could withstand the weather. "You sure your uh...friend over there is gonna be alright out here on their own?” She asked of Pax once she returned to the driver’s seat. Just in time to, it seemed, as the downpour had picked up and the sound of sizzling intensified as deadly raindrops peeled paint off the truck’s exterior.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

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

"Are these your cats?"

Greg had nearly forgotten about the other man until he spoke, his gaze drifting back to where Niles stood in the doorway, Pumpkin making a pest of himself as he wound around the stranger’s legs, his purrs echoing. "That one never could read a room," he muttered under his breath. The guy’s anxiety was palpable and Greg felt pathetic for ever considering him a threat. ”Yeah, they’re mine. Sort of,” he responds reluctantly. They weren’t his. Not really. He’d found them after the fall of humanity, ownerless and afraid. He’d felt sorry for them. Fed them. Offered them some comfort. They hadn’t left him alone since.

The horse was a similar story. Greg came across the beast stuck in some mud and against his better judgment helped the odd creature free himself. Once again left with an unwanted shadow. He wasn’t even an animal person. He’d had a dog growing up until...until he hadn’t, and he’d never had another pet since. Thiago once again lamenting the fact his home has been invaded results in Greg’s eyes rolling, but he decides against another snarky comment for once. The darkening skies above were a more pressing matter, and it seemed he might need to locate another shelter in a hurry if this guy wasn’t willing to share. Even if he was, Greg was loath to be stuck with either of the two men.

It seemed Thiago was determined to prove him wrong; however, inviting him to stay until the storm passed. He considered it and his expression made it abundantly clear he was less than pleased to be at the mercy of a stranger, but he reluctantly relents with no other viable options present. ”I’ll leave the cats in the house. They should be ok. If not, they know how to find me,” he mutters, privately hoping Thiago wasn’t so allergic to cats he’d go into anaphylactic shock considering their hair was likely scattered all over his belongings by now.

He lagged behind a bit as Thiago led the way into the backyard between his persistent limp, made worse by the whole window fiasco, and searching the desolate landscape for the horse, pondering whether or not it would survive the storm. He concluded there wasn’t much he could do now with no sign of him. Catching the tail-end of Thiago’s newest complaint, his gaze snapped sharply in the direction Thiago was staring as he moved to stand beside him. As his eyes met Elijah’s he was, needless to say, less than impressed. The man wasn’t exactly menacing. Of course, that didn’t always mean someone was safe, but nothing about the guy exactly gave off threatening vibes.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

NPC ENCOUNTER
For: Atlas

"Something like that," he confirms once his hand is brushed aside, thankfully moving back a step or to two to give Atlas a little breathing room. "Found this place uh, a few weeks ago? Or has it been months? A year? Couldn’t really say," he concludes, seeming unbothered by his apparent inability to tell how much time had passed. "Those decorations out front weren’t just for show when I first got here. They were real, much fresher too," he adds, referring to the corpses Atlas encountered when he first arrived as if that would help clear things up.

The tapping of Atlas’ foot against the floorboards and obvious impatience seemed to amuse him, and the stranger leaves the question unanswered a little longer than necessary. "Make yourself at home," he offers at last. He seems to consider something for a moment before shrugging and snapping his fingers. The illusion crumbles, the world distorted for the briefest of seconds before Atlas can see everything the way it truly was, just as he had when the man’s hand was on his shoulder.

"Have to admit, been a long time since I’ve had guests. So where you from?" He asks casually, though he half expects Atlas might want to put some distance between them. He’s nothing if not self-aware, and experience tended to leave him with the impression he creeped people out. He wasn’t sure if that’s how it’d always been. He didn’t have much recollection of who he was before the plague anymore. Just snippets of memory here and there.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

⇺ [ ‘Venom’ ] ⇻
19 |:| Male |:| Diamondbacks Gang Member
Location - Abandoned City |:| Mentions - Kato, Alex

Side-eying Yuki as the hawk saw fit to nip at Kato after being silenced, Venom could see why he might not be so quick to claim her as his own after all. Sam was clearly the better-behaved pet of the two. "Alright, here we go. Stay close," he whispers before creeping down the alleyway at the lead, eyes searching for heat signatures as they moved forward. "If you guys see anything suspicious, gimme a poke. I can usually tell if there’s something warm-blooded around, but otherwise, my vision honestly ain’t the best. There’s the price to pay for more or less being a human rattlesnake I guess. God had to nerf me somehow."

Several streets were traversed without incident and Venom was beginning to think perhaps they might make it after all. He couldn't claim this had been his best recruitment attempt, all things considered. Hadn’t even gotten around to giving his speech yet, but the fact he had not only one, but two people in tow had to count for something. Once things had calmed down, he had a whole list of pros and cons to offer, and the pros really did outweigh the cons! So convinced was he that they were home free, he missed the signs of impending doom.

"Well, well. What do we have here?" A familiar voice drawls and Venom freezes in place, really, REALLY hoping he’s mistaken. Of course not though. Why would luck ever be on his side? He risks following the sound of the voice and finds a man standing on the roof of an old shop similarly to the way he had earlier upon first greeting Kato. "Hey man. That’s my entrance," he grumbles, but the dangerous smile and sharp glint in the other man’s eyes seem to keep him from saying much else.

The newcomer slides down until he’s standing in front of them, effectively blocking their path as several other people creep out from the surrounding alleys to back him up. "Sorry guys. Can’t promise I can get you out of this one. My powers aren’t the most useful in a big brawl," he admits ruefully. "Kinda requires getting up close and personal, and that’s Draven. His powers are fire-based, and most of his goons have long-range abilities," he tries to warn both quickly as to what to expect, his previous confidence seeming to all but evaporate in the presence of someone so imposing. At first glance, it might seem absurd. Venom is taller and stockier and could probably knock the dude out with one solid punch to the head. The other guy, Draven apparently, was decently tall, but far leaner in comparison.

His skin was olive-toned, a faint dusting of freckles scattered across his face, barely visible in the dim lighting as thick purple clouds covered the sky. His eyes were the color of roasted coffee beans and held a nasty gleam. A long scar stretched across the bridge of his nose, and the wind ruffled subtly wavy brownish-black hair. Small flames danced across his blackened fingertips and he wore an expression that very clearly suggested he had little issue with setting them ablaze if they made one wrong move.

[ Weylyn Hayse ]
23 || Male || Survivor
Location: Abandoned City || Mentions: None - [Open]

A light pattering of acidic rain sounded on the roof of the old shed Weylyn took refuge in, he wasn’t sure if the thin metal paneling would hold if it got any heavier than this drizzle, but there wasn’t much he could do either way. The only other shelter nearest him was a house, so decayed it could barely be called a shelter. The roof was completely caved in, even missing a few walls that had finally givin in to erosion. He was stuck here for the time being, which for now was fine by him, he didn’t have much to go by for entertainment, all except a worn book with the cover missing. Mysteries were always kind of his thing anyway.

Still, an escape plan was ideal, and taking the time to look around, all he could land on was the car across the street. It looked to be in pretty decent shape, could probably still run, but he always preferred to stay on foot. Maybe if he could get it to start, he could drive it down to the shopping district, suitable cover as well as a quick run for supplies wouldn’t hurt. Yes, that would be the plan, but only if things were looking to get worse. If not, he was hoping to get out of the city, a rumor of gangs had managed to reach him, and he’d rather face whatever mutants lie in the wastelands than the hellhole this place would turn into in the next few days. Still, a quick suply run before he moved on didn’t sound too bad.

⭑✦Rey Ricochett✦⭑
29|⭑|Male|⭑|Survivor|⭑|Location-Abandoned City|⭑|Mentions-Weylyn, OPEN

The dark figure fidgeted in the alleyway, staying under a barely standing awning. It was ripped and shredded,the blue color faded beyond recognition. The rain was burning through the thing plastic. He winced and tried to find better shelter, but couldn’t spot any but a rundown house with missing walls and a caved in roof. He could see a figure moving about in the house, although they were tall he wasn’t scared of them.

He glanced up into the sky as a raindrop hit his broad nose. He winced in pain and ran for it. He ducked into the house, raindrops still sizzling through his skin. He shook violently and then looked at his fingertips. “Jesus. The rain has to be acid. Nothing can ever be normal anymore?” he asked himself and then looked further into the house. He followed the figure with his eyes, not knowing what to expect from them. He hadn’t been in touch with humanity for a while. I mean, he had seen multiple people on the way to his current situation, but hadn’t talked to any of them

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

Even now, with two hands available, Enzae wasn't able to pull up but another single board. He was distracted as a violent coughing took over him; forcing him to lift a gloved hand to his mouth. The stain on the front of his mask was darker now, showing the startling presence of blood. His state was deteriorating fast, it seemed. That breathing was labored; each inhale rendering as nothing more than a painful struggle. It wouldn't be long now before he was losing consciousness. His ability truly had a horrifying effect on his body.

His eyes darted over to Oliver as the male spoke, although it was quite obvious that he couldn't exactly see him. The man wasn't anything more than a blurry blob of red and black. Dull, absent , black orbs bore into his own, staring with an unsettling amount of intensity. It was a long, tense moment of silence before he was finally answering. "Yes. I could stop them." But instead of doing this, he was standing up; shakily rising to his feet. His hand closed its firm grasp around Oliver's wrist, allowing their contact to remain, even after it would've been almost parted by his sudden movements. He pulled gently, trying to get the man to rise as well. He was not strong enough in this state to force Oliver to his feet. It was all he could do to remain stable on his own.

A gentle kick scattered the now useless boards, effectively moving them out of their way. "You'll want to wait until you're able to lay down, though. I can't promise you'll feel very well after this." His voice was monotone now, lacking any of its previous emotion. There hadn't been much feeling in it to begin with, but it was still chilling nevertheless. Oliver's hazy vision would perhaps, now that the floorboards were out of the way, allow him to see a small, dimly lit staircase. Even if he didn't notice it, it would come to his abrupt attention as Enzae began to walk down it, dragging the man along with him.

Only a few seconds would've passed before they were reaching the bottom. His freehand shot out, fumbling blindly along the wall until it hit a knob. He grasped it, turning it quickly and allowing the door to swing open. Oliver was, again, pulled inside, and the door was shut abruptly behind them.

Lights flickered on moments after, illumating the room which they now stood within. A quick glance around revealed these were automatic, battery-ran candles. It was rather small; not much larger than the average bedroom. A sink, a tattered couch, a neat stack of towels, and a small, cabinet-like storage unit were the most noticeable features of the basement. There were some more... unsettling factors that stole ones attention, however. The walls were covered in various bits of paper, all of which had crude, unintelligible writing scrawled across them. Each seemed to have been marked with black ink. More than a few were splattered with an ominous dark liquid; of which could only be blood. What... were those? What could they possibly say?

The origin of such a place would be explained later on, perhaps after both had a moment to rest. Because, at the moment, more important things were on Enzae's mind. He was unsuccessfully trying to get his glove off, an action that was impossible with only one free hand. An irritated sigh, and he was suddenly pulling off his mask, which allowed him to catch the edge of the glove in his teeth and yank it off as well. The exposing of his identity was so startlingly sudden. His face was smeared with blood, and it was quite hard to tell beneath the shadows of that hood, but Enzae seemed to be a younger boy; not quite out of his teenage years yet. His skin was deathly pale, absent of the caramel coloring that his now exposed hand possessed. If he was not so sick in appearance, he could be considered a pretty being; with those features that were far more delicate than most. At one point in time, perhaps he had been beautiful. But now, he was little more than an empty shell; a shadow of who he once used to be.

Now, he faced Oliver again. He held his hand out, delicate palm up, as if he wanted Oliver to take it once more. "This might hurt." He was warning. "So brace yourself. I can't promise I'll be able to catch you if you pass out." In the best case scenario, Oliver would be stable enough to make his way over the couch, and rest until his head stopped spinning. On the other end of the spectrum...

Well, such a thing had only occurred about a dozen times out of the hundreds that he'd done this. The possibility was so low that he preferred not to dwell upon it.

Shadowed eyes continued to observe Oliver. The moment his bare skin was touched, the process would begin. Until then, however, it was merely a matter of waiting for Oliver to decide. How annoying it was that he could not initiate it himself. He wished he could simply get it over with.

Kato Arashi
20 | Male | Survivor
Location; Abandoned City | Mentions; Venom, Alex, NPC

He found himself beginning to relax as they went along the streets without any issue whatsoever. Still, he could not shake a particular nagging feeling; one which told him he should not allow himself to become too trusting with either of his companions. He'd already been stupid enough to let an attachment form in the brief time they'd known one another. At least he hadn't told them his name. If things went south, he could escape quite easily, and they'd have no way of tracking him. Why, they didn't even have a clue of what he looked like. They couldn't be sure about his ability. Certainly, Venom at the very least had caught sight of his hands... But that could've been the product of someone else; perhaps a bit of trouble he'd gotten into earlier on. He held onto this thought, allowing it to soothe the anxiety which consistently jolted through his body.

But then a new voice was cutting into his mind. His eyes snapped in the direction of the man, mentally cursing Yuki for not alarming them of his presence sooner. Granted, he probably would've chucked the creature halfway across the city for screaming in his ear, but it would've been nice to have a bit of warning. Subconsciously, he was bringing his hands up, allowing them to tug at the edges of his hood. It was a habit of his; the act of attempting to conceal himself. Kato was not one who particulary favored unnecessary attention.

Blue orbs flickered between the man, and his various companions, who seemed to be laying in wait in the shadows, ready to pounce. Immediately, they darted to Venom as he began to speak. Fury lit them in a brilliant icy blaze. "You know him?" His tone was vicious and accusing. What little trust Venom had built up evaporated, dissipating into nothingness. Befriending Kato suddenly seemed like an impossible feat. He glared at him for a moments longer before turning abruptly away, facing this... Draven once more.

He was tugging at his gloves, seeming as if he was almost going to bring out those icy hands. But what could he do against the heat and power of fire? He cursed himself for having such a useless ability. If only - If only this was before. Then he could wipe out Draven with ease. Hell, he wouldn't of even needed water nearby. The man's body was full of enough liquids. This interaction would've been over before it'd even started.

But, of course, he'd been a dumbass. And now look where he'd ended up. Unable to protect himself from some shitty gang.

This could've been prevented. He should've just killed Venom when the man had approached. He should've killed Alex whenever she'd exposed herself to them.

There was a lot he should've done. But now? It was too late to do anything but face off against this man, and pray that Alex's ability was even somewhat useful.

(sorry these are both so bad ^^' )

Alex Matson | Female | 24 | Survivor
Location: Abandoned City | Mentions: Kato, Venom, Draven

"Fire, huh?" Alex seemed rather unafraid of that for some reason, even though anyone else would have assumed she should be. Honestly, she seemed... amused? At least more confident. Venom probably thought she was crazy. "Don't worry, Venom, you can't control what sorts of abilities you get." She looked over at Sam, who looked around, searching out where the other goons were in the mix. "Let me try something." The words were quiet and kept from carrying as best she could. She looked at Kato and Venom before speaking louder, directed towards Draven.

"Just looking for shelter from the storm, same as any sane person out here." Alex called out to Draven, taking a step forwards with her hands held up in a pacifying gesture, so that she could be in front of the others and speak face to face with this newcomer. "I figure you all would be doing the same. Once this really gets going, it'll melt skin off if you aren't careful, acid isn't something most people like to mess with." She smiled good-naturedly at Draven. "If you'd let us pass, it would be appreciated, perhaps you'd be interested in a trade for us to go through safely, rather than a fight, despite clearly being set up for one?" Sam seemed to have figured out where at least some of the man's goons were hiding, tail stilling and his paws shifting every now and then to indicate to where they were, though it was likely that only Alex would be able to pick up on the subtle shift in body language in her companion, to any others it would likely just look like the beast was fidgeting.

[ Thane Percer ]
27 |:| Male |:| Survivor
Location – Abandoned City |:| Mentions – Adelaide

So... Thane wouldn't exactly describe his interaction with Ody as successful. He wasn't sure what to make of the cat's behavior. To be fair, he didn't really have much experience with cats to begin with. Close to none if he was being honest. But Ody had butted his small, furry head against Thane's palm and for one moment that had felt surprisingly nice. Well, until he moved his hand in what vaguely resembled a petting motion and Ody was immediately storming off as if stung by an adder. Thane took a mental note that he apparently didn't like to be pet. When Addie labeled the feline's mannerism as odd he hummed softly in agreement. But hey, he had neither gotten scratched nor bitten, so Thane was counting that as a win.

He quickly straightened himself back up to his full height and set out to follow Addie through the building. It hardly went unnoticed that she had blindly turned her back to him. As she lead the way towards the staircase, Thane was left wondering if she'd done so intentionally or without thinking about it. This was certainly an unusual amount of trust put into him by another survivor. Arching a brow almost skeptically, he followed a few steps behind her. Trusting or not, she probably wouldn't appreciate him breathing down her neck. Addie's mention of the “damn jar” made his amused smile reappear. ”A jar? Yeah, I might be able to be of some assistance. That's the least I can do to repay you for your hospitality.

Their journey up the stairs wasn't a long one. The oh so familiar smell of coffee became continuously stronger until the staircase suddenly ended and Thane stepped away from the stairs and onto the mostly empty corridor. Many doors lined the hallway, some closed off and others wide open. His eyes started roaming almost instantly, eager to take in every last detail, even though there truly wasn't much to see. Thane was just about to pass the opened door to his right when he glanced inside and what he saw made him slow down.

There was nothing special about this room. Whoever looked at it would only see a boring old, abandoned office because that's exactly what it was. But Thane was hit by an odd wave of nostalgia regardless. Frankly, this was a far cry from a newsroom. Newsrooms were always big and full and busy and loud and alive. They used to be absolutely amazing. This little desk was nothing in comparison. Hell, Thane had never even spent much time at the office in the first place. And despite all of that, he still felt himself reminded of days long passed. Of hours arguing with editors and frantically writing to meet deadlines. His fingers twitched lightly, itching to dance over the keys of a keyboard once more. It had been a long time. ”Never thought I'd say this, but sometimes I really miss my old office.”, he muttered, unsure if the words were directed at anyone other than himself.

[ Weylyn Hayse ]
23 || Male || Survivor
Location: Abandoned City - Neighbourhood || Mentions: Rey Ricochett

The rain wasn’t letting up, in fact it looked like a big storm was heading straight for the city. He sighed, packing his things into his bag, still hoping the car would work. When he looked over his shoulder back at it, all the way over there across the street, his stomach tightened. It looked like it had moved a few feet away, his mind playing tricks on him because of his nerves. He didn’t have much time left before the rain would start causing real damage, so he packed faster, making sure to leave no trace behind.

If he used his power he’d be there in a matter of seconds, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to exert himself before going deeper into the city, ultimately following the storm. Yeah, it would have to be something he’d just stick out, maybe a few holes here and there in his clothes from the rain, but that never hurt anybody.

So preparing himself, he pushed off the wall of the shed and across the yard, jumping the white picket fence that wasn’t so white anymore, and ran into the street. Rain beat down on him, singeing any exposed flesh, and tearing through clothes to get to more of it. By the time he got to the car, a beat up pickup, no real damage was done, as he expected, and the passengers door unlocked, he slid in and over to the drivers side to the find the keys in the ignition.

”Thank god.” he sighed, letting slip a disbelieving chuckle. As he went to turn it, the shadow in the shape of a person caught his eye. They were roaming around the house, or at least what was left of it, not the best place to be in the coming storm. As he watched closer, he made out what looked to be a man, no strange deformity about him as far as he could see, so maybe, just a survivor. God, he hoped they were just that.

They looked distressed, like they new the rain and how deadly it was, or was going to be. Wondering to himself if he should, somehow announce his presence, he thought about what would come after. Theft, murder, something worse. Reaching around to the back of his waistband, he pulled his handgun to hold in his lap.

Just in case, he’d let them know he was here, maybe they were just a survivor needing help to survive. So he started the car, and to his surprise, on the first turn the engine roared to life. That had to have been heard by the man in the house, any minute now he’d notice the car sitting in the street, waiting, and make a move.

| Adelaide Victoria Thompson |
18 | Female | Survivor | Location- abandoned city | Mentions: Thane

As Addie lead the man- Thane- up the dim staircase and into the narrow hallways of the second floor, she realized just how lonely she'd been. She couldn't keep referring to him as simply 'the man'. She'd known him for the grand, long time of an hour, and already she had trouble using his name. Thane. Thane. Thane. Remember. She repeated those four words to herself over and over as she led the way, grinning at his offer of assistance. However, before she could reply, the calico cat had made an appearance again, this time at the end of the hallway, just outside the room Addie called her own. His actions were obvious by the almost mechanical twitching of his tail and the way he had dropped himself to the floor. This sudden, not- too- concerning development was interrupted by Thane's- there, she remembered- voice, quieter than before. She glanced behind her at him. He'd come to a standstill outside an open office, nearly identical to the two they'd already passed. Had he worked here before?

His answer did little to answer her question, though she managed to reach the shaky conclusion that he must have worked somewhere else. She managed an awkward laugh, keeping one eye on the enraged cat down the hallway. He couldn't do much harm aside from scratches and bites, but those weren't especially fun. She managed a reply, searching Thane's body language for any clue as to what might happen next.

"I feel the same way about school. Senior year was stressful, and I don't miss the work, but I miss my friends."

Of course, the bristling, 'hangry' cat chose that moment to begin his wild sprint down the hallway, his steps none too light as he bounded towards the two survivors. Addie caught the hissing cat as he charged past her, gritting her teeth as outstretched claws latched onto her arms, his back legs uselessly paddling the air. An enraged growl rumbled from somewhere within the rather small creature, and Addie pushed him against her like a mother comforting a child. Within moments, the claws retracted, leaving small beads of red in their place, and all that remained of the hunger fueled episode was the rumble of annoyed growls from the cat in her arms. She then turned to face Thane, a slightly embarrassed smile on her face.

"Sorry about him, he hasn't eaten yet. As if he's not like this all the time. Just... not as bad."

Perhaps she'd come to see this strange cat as a child, making excuses for him, coddling him, even lecturing him at times, though at the moment she only issued a stern reprimand to the grumbling ball of red, black, and white fur.

"That is no way to treat a guest. You should be ashamed."

Then, back to Thane, still gently rocking Odyssey as she felt him relax in her arms.

"Pretty much all these offices are ripe for the picking. There are few in bad condition, one has some... colorful... mold..." Addie was, of course, referring to the seemingly alive patch of obnoxious neon green on 'Dean Carfield's' office ceiling. She'd come to refer to the small rooms by their mysterious occupants, often reading off nameplates. "Most of them are good, though. You can settle down anywhere you'd like."

⇺ [ ‘Venom’ ] ⇻
19 |:| Male |:| Diamondbacks Gang Member
Location - Abandoned City |:| Mentions - Kato, Alex

The accusation in Kato’s voice stings and Venom finds himself at a loss for words before his shock fades and his eyes carry a hint of vexation, his mouth set in a taut frown. "Well yeah. Everyone in the Diamondbacks does. That’s Draven, leader of the Wolverines. He’s an enemy, not my best friend," he hisses, grateful that at least Alex wasn’t misunderstanding the situation. He notes she doesn’t seem all that frightened and doesn’t know whether or not he should feel reassured by her bravado. Draven’s army surrounds them in a circle and edges closer, forcing them to stand close together at the street’s center. There is no break in the line of people, nowhere to run to. Guilt starts to creep up on him. He’d been stupid, and now his companions were going to pay the price for it.

Alex suddenly stepping forward to try and reason with that asshole nearly had him reaching out to pull her back. Draven couldn’t be talked down. He lived for this sort of thing. Venom could remember the last time he’d had the misfortune of meeting him in a street fight. It hadn't been pretty. Draven’s head tilts as she begins speaking, and it’s clear from the start he’s humoring her. Venom isn’t sure if that’s a good sign or not. Draven is hard to read. One minute he’s calm and the next you’re on fire and praying to whatever god you believe in that the flames don’t burn you alive.

Alex’s request is rational and sensible, delivered in a confident yet respectful tone. For a split second Venom thinks it might just work. Draven’s expression changes, and for a brief moment some of the malice in his eyes seems to ease, but then his gaze shifts to Sam and though he can’t possibly know what the dog is doing, Venom doesn’t even know what he’s doing beyond an awful lot of fidgeting, he can see the hard edges making a quick return. "Alex-" he starts, but it’s too late.

Draven thrusts his hand forward before anyone can so much as blink, spiraling flames rushing toward them rapidly. The inferno takes shape, resembling a tiger with an open maw and outstretched claws as it prepares to crash down on them. There isn’t much time to move, and Venom finds himself frozen in place as a memory floods his mind, one he’d hoped never to remember. Smoke choking his lungs, the scent of burning flesh, the feel of flames lapping mercilessly at his skin…

Before the fire can consume them, it suddenly splits, yielding against Alex’s upraised hand before breaking in half. The men and women surrounding them jerk back to avoid the leaping flames as they fall to the side, evaporating and leaving behind puffs of orange smoke that drift away on the wind. Venom stares between Alex and Draven with a slightly agape mouth, wondering what the hell just happened. "Holy shit," is all he manages as the last of the smoke vanishes.

Venom expects Draven to lash out again, but surprisingly he looks rather impressed and closes his palm, the small flames still flickering on his fingertips extinguished. "Alright girl. What do you have to offer?" He asks, referring to the aforementioned trade. Venom still isn’t quite so sure he trusts that Draven is willing to let them pass unscathed. Too many months of fight after fight left him with the impression this guy lacked empathy entirely and only had his own interests in mind. What could Alex possibly have that would appease someone like that?

[I have Dez’s permission to assume how Alex responded to this attack. Was discussed via pm.]

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

Jack’s eyes narrowed critically as Echo admitted to getting his leg injury from ”a bit of a tussle with a stool,” thoroughly unimpressed that he just wasted his time bandaging a well-deserved wound. Had he known the cause of Echo's cut beforehand, he never would have agreed to dress it for him. No, actually, he would have, as long as there was food involved (unless of course the wound was fatal, in which case he would have stuck around just long enough for Echo to bleed to death and then stolen all of his belongings, but apparently that was considered “Morally Wrong” by people that never had to struggle to survive). A stool, though? Really? Echo could have at least lied and said he fought a bear to make it more interesting.

Jack rolled his eyes at Vincent’s reaction to Nadia losing control of her abilities (although he deliberately avoided looking directly at the man). Kindness only lasted as long as the food did, and soon enough they’d all be at each other’s throats. It was only a matter of time, although something told Jack the other three survivors would not be nearly as eager to accept their fate. He’d already deduced that Echo and Vincent were far too generous for their own good, and he almost felt bad for them: they were setting themselves up for failure in an unforgiving world that didn’t give a shit about whether or not they were good people. It wasn’t admirable or inspiring - it was careless. Moronic, even. And Nadia (from what Jack could tell so far, at least) was naive and aggravatingly friendly, and he had no idea how she'd managed to survive this long after the apocalypse. Her explanation of her abilities didn’t help Jack in the slightest, either, so he decided to settle for a paraphrased 'the ground is too thick’ as an acceptable answer to his question.

For some reason, Vincent seemed to think they were all friends now and should stick together because of a bit of rain. ”We need to go,” he said as though he had any authority whatsoever, and Jack didn't bother to try and restrain the irritation blossoming inside him. He wasn't a part of any sort of ”we.” Nadia seemed eager to blindly follow Vincent like a stray dog, but the way she looked at Jack made his skin crawl. It was as if she was studying him, assuming things about him, and all he wanted was to go off on his own and never see her (or Vincent or Echo either, for that matter) again. Unfortunately, he had never been someone to get what he wanted.

”Go where? I hate to break it to you, but it's a bit too short notice to book a hotel room right now,” he scoffed, rising to his feet and reaching out to hand the first aid kit back to Echo before remembering his injury and deciding to just carry it himself. The unopened can of pineapples was gripped tightly in his other hand, pressed against his chest to guard it from thieving hands (as though the odds of him being the most likely thief were anything other than “extremely probable”). He was really, really not looking forward to this.