Bridgette Vinters
Location: Building 6 (Armory) --> Building 1 (Lobby, Office)
Ash didn't have to tell her twice. The feeling of being useless or helpless was maddening. She knew full well that she was useless in a ranged gun battle, her sawed-off notwithstanding. It was a fine weapon for house-to-house combat, and especially useful if an opponent figured that she, like her dearest friend and Battle Sister, stuck to archaic weapons. A shotgun hidden behind a shield played a nasty game of peekaboo, if the occasion called for it. But returning fire against an opponent attacking from a sniping position? Nah. Not within her zone of competence. Yet.
"Yeah, I gotcha. Sweep the Inner Wall, make sure we're all tucked away." said Bridgette, mounting her horse.
"Before I forget, there are a group of kids taking shelter in the Schoolhouse and that building across the lot from it. I'm going to check in with them while I'm out there, k?" "Good." answered Ash with approval.
"Check in with the Courthouse first, grab yourself a walkie. Regular updates, okay?" "Yessir, Cap'n Walldick." Bridgette affirmed, effecting a salute with her shield arm.
"We're going to have to have a talk about that, Bridgette." "Talk all you like, Bossman. Soon as everyone's safe." The lack of pithy response indicated the sudden termination of the conversation. With an odd feeling of self-awareness, Bridgette came to the realization that, while James had demonstrated an often peculiar sense of humor to help himself and others through stressful situations, the Neo-Valkyrie herself used sarcasm and playful antagonization to attempt the same effect. It was a coping mechanism, as well as an attempt to comfort. The difficulty in this pertinent psychological puzzle piece was that she used the same method (plus aggravated profanity) for nearly everything else.
She nudged Cadence through the doors from which they had both entered earlier, leaning far down on the saddle so as not to be scraped off the top of her noble steed by the upper reaches of the door frame. As soon as they cleared the building, Bridgette spurred her equine partner into action, exploding across the way in tiny seconds.
Nearing the Courthouse doors, the unladylike lady executed a low speed dismount and led Cadence inside. Yup, this was a day for her horse to see were the two-legged folk live, whether they like it or not. She lightly lashed the reins to a nearby fixture, and turned to the group of kids. Ok, the older students were fine. She noted that they had adult supervision.
"...kinda...", she mused internally. Niesha and Kristina were still pushing air past her teeth, she noticed.
Seemingly pressed for time, Bridgette spoke in a single, flowing run-on sentence as she walked.
"Good to see you're still alive touch my fucking horse and I'll impale you where are the walkies?" Her eyes darted back and forth for a moment, as if trying to remember something.
"Nevermind..." Bridgette twirled her spear into an underhanded grip and strode to a nearby office. She wasn't sure where she'd clip the thing, but that was Step Two.
Black James!
Location: Building 6 (Armory) --> Building 1 (Lobby)
James watched the choppy conversation between Ash and Bridgette, followed by the tall woman's equestrian exit. For a moment, he imagined what life would be like if he could drive his truck everywhere. Like, literally
everywhere. Of course, a newer model Silverado isn't as nimble as a trained mount, but he amused himself nonetheless with mental images of him behind the wheel of Chocolate Thunder (yes, it was a Dick-ism, thank you very much), making like the Kool-Aid Man - slamming through plate glass and mortared brick for such mundane tasks as grocery shopping or accessing a public restroom.
About the time his brain was playing the possible scene of slamming through the wall of a hospital room, screaming,
"Remember yo breathin, hon! Now, let's BIRTH THIS MOMMA! WHOOO!", Bridgette and Horse had already disappeared out of the Armory, the muffled sound of retreating hoofbeats the only evidence that she was even there to begin with. James gave a quick smile to Ash, and moved to carry out his orders. Jogging out of the building (and careful to keep a watchful eye out for unexpected movement around him), he saw the tail end of Cadence disappear around the corner of the Courthouse.
"Thanks for offerin' a lift!" he drawled out in his atypical South Georgian accent.
"I just can't believe this. Hot damn Apocalypse, anna Brother still can't get a cab. Aw, hell..." James wasn't a fan of running, unless he absolutely had to.
About a minute later, Black James(!) found himself entering the front doors of the Courthouse. The first thing he noticed was that the kids from earlier had made it in. Well, all except for the one that had his heart ripped out by gunfire. (Damn, he just made himself sad.) The second thing he noticed was the great warhorse standing to the side of the Lobby. It threw him off for just a second, a horse in the Courthouse Lobby. Any other day, that would be weird. Back to the task at hand - he had a job to do. But he could spare a second or two to see to his people.
"Kris, Niesha, y'all and the young'uns alright?"
Ash Holloway
Location: Building 6 (Armory) --> Parking Lot between Building 6 (Armory) and Building E (Apartments), heading South to the Mess Hall
The reports kept coming in, passing along information as requested. It was a little maddening, however. Though the network of information was flowing as expected, very little of it was useful. All clear, all quiet, no one noticed whatsoever. People dead, zero trace of the ones responsible. He wanted answers. More than that, he wanted the people who had dared to fire on his people on their knees in front of him, offering up any reason why they shouldn't get the Red-Handled Machete treatment. His own rage was buried just underneath a veneer of responsibility; duty to his people was still more important than chasing down his own bloodlust.
But you want to, don't you, Captain? It was his primary duty, at that time, to process incoming information and belt out the best course of action, to his judgement. Formulate a plan, give orders, maybe even shoot a few people if he could line it up. It was more difficult than it looked.
Then one message came through his radio, lending a more suspicious aspect to the attack. "Boss, we got a problem. Our sighter is dead, single bullet to the head but that makes no sense. We only heard four shots and all are accounted for. Think they used a silencer?"
A silenced shot? If that were the case, and the others were loud and dirty, then this was a message. Psychological, maybe, or a distraction. But a distraction would have already been followed up by the exploitation of their actual target. Well, he couldn't know enough to make a decision without more and accurate information. Ash spoke into his radio,
"I've got Mr. Grady headed up to the Tower to take over. Until he gets there, I want you to look around for the bullet, if there's an exit wound. Get a trajectory if you can. I want to know where that shot was fired from." Ashton shook his head. There were vulnerabilities to the Newnan Safe Zone. He knew this going in, but it represented the best chance for survival at that time for himself and his people. Now the debate raged in his head: Does he order the all out assault on Eden? Or does he have the town bolster their defensive measures? A thing that can be exploited now is a thing that can be exploited later, and there will always be people who want what they have.
Priority dictated that he see to the town first, so that's what he intended on doing. The other question could wait for a little bit. He had to gather more information before settling on a decision like that. Luckily, there was a guy in the Courthouse holding cells that might be persuaded to give up some of that information. Ash was a little fuzzy on what form or persuasion he wanted to use, but it likely wouldn't involve flowers.
Suddenly, his choppy train of thought was interrupted by the first piece of good news he had gotten since this thing began. It was Astrid, imparting a sweet, three-word chunk of relief: Zoie is stable. Good. Damned good.
"THAT is excellent news, Astrid. If she's awake, you make sure she stays resting. If she isn't, don't wake her. I've got this for a while." Ashton nodded to himself, glad to get the message. Most everyone was doing exactly what they needed to, the cogs of the great machine that was Newnan were fixed to each other and turning, at least as well as can be expected. It was time for him to do what he said he was going to, when he was passing out assignments. Stepping back out into the sunlight, Ash began jogging back down to the Mess Hall, to see to the new arrivals.
The Great Bazhooli
Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall)
From what the girl in the wheelchair said, it appeared that a hostile group took advantage of the damage from a storm, rolling into Newnan and causing general mayhem. But it did not explain why an armed group would be waiting for such an opportunity. This was something to discuss with the guys in charge, certainly. Now a month later the same people were back, taking pot shots at whomever they pleased. Yeah, this warranted a talk.
It was the mention of the word "performer", such as it was, that caused his face to brighten somewhat. The other man in the room had said it, with an accent almost as uncommon to the area as his own.
"Da, da. I am Performer, yes. Family for generations, going back to Old Country; I am last survivor of Russian Bazhooli Family! We have done fantastic feats of Cutlery Prestidigitation; exhibitions of Impalement Arts which dazzle and amaze. I am, last and only, The Great Bazhooli." The showy, moustachioed man gave a sweeping bow in Jack's direction.
"Now," he began, looking to those present,
"...who are the all of you, and vhat did you before... vell, Before?"
