[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=steelblue]Ash Holloway[/color][/b][/i][/h1] [img]https://31.media.tumblr.com/bcfab66a674d39bfaaddc28bd62d4470/tumblr_inline_ne41kcr5UN1s5par2.jpg[/img][/center] [hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Building [b]2[/b] (Mess Hall) -> Building [b]1[/b] (Cells) [/center][hr][hr] The mildly unhinged Captain took stock of the people under his care as he shuffled forward in the line for chow. The occasional Newnanite waved to him, smiled every now and again. Some of them looked to him knowingly, with sadness etched into their faces. It was a recurring theme with these people, really. Fear, loss, strength, then picking back up and striding forward. The problem was, every time something like this happened, they got a little bit weaker. A few losses to manpower here and there added up. In Ash's military opinion, they didn't have enough people within the walls to effectively defend the area. Probably never did. Too many blind spots, too much land to cover. As time progressed and they lost more people, he became slightly more certain that the North American Newnanite was fast becoming an endangered species. Something gamechanging had to occur, and very soon. When Sally moved up to Ash to embrace him, all he felt was guilt. He did next to nothing, at least nothing that was effective in saving lives. No matter the defense, no matter the training, these people kept getting in. Doing whatever the hell they wanted, surrounded by guns and pissed-off people they picked off a few at a time, and they just kept coming. Contrary to Sally's words, Ash most distinctly did [i]not[/i] think that Leann would have been proud. Quite the opposite, Ash was pretty damned sure that Leann would be pissed that nothing else had been done. His voice was almost absent as he responded to the kindly older lady. [color=steelblue]"Agree to disagree, Ma'am. I don't think that..."[/color] Something clicked - his brain allowed him to address the second half of what she mentioned. [color=steelblue]"A show? What the fu..."[/color] He would not sound like Bridgette today. He would [i]not[/i] sound like Bridgette today. [color=steelblue]"...yeah. You know what? Sure. Let them have whatever they need, within reason. I believe Meghna handles that. Please let her know."[/color] Ash even caught sight of Meg, standing and talking to the Russian knife guy. She waved, he waved back in a detached manner. A lot was on his mind just then. So long as there was an armed escort in the room with the Russian, just this time, he could interview the strange man later. Ash smiled. It was forced, but he meant it kindly. He was absolutely sure that he was correct - something had to change or they would eventually be worn down to a point where they could not properly defend themselves. Suddenly, a light seemed to click on inside of his brain. He could make peach mash the next day, the quality wouldn't be affected by a handful of hours' wait. The Captain grabbed two trays, loaded them up, and left the building. He was going back to the Cells. In route, he called out a member of the Security team for the day, giving a quick order. [color=steelblue]"When you're done eating, report directly to the Cells to relieve the sentry there. Understand?"[/color] Satisfied that the message was taken seriously, he resumed his walk. A minute or two later, Ash returned to the holding area inside the main building. [color=steelblue]"Bridgette, you are relieved. Grab some food, get back to your duties. I need some quality time with our guest."[/color] Ashton set his tray down on the newly vacated bench and put his free hand on his pistol. Carefully he slid the second tray through the horizontal slot in the bars, then took a seat on the bench, away from the cell. [color=steelblue]"I have a little speech planned. You're going to shut up and let me say it, uninterrupted. We're going to have some civilized dinner conversation, Mr. O'Reily. As if we were both rational, thinking people with clear and open motivations. Sound good? By now, you've heard Zoie over the radio, and you know she's alive and conscious if not completely happy." "I believe that, unless you're here to sabotage us, you're here because you're scared and this was the nearest, strongest community that you are personally aware of. You already know what kind of people we are. I care a great deal about these survivors, as well you know. I suspect you also already know what I am willing to do to keep them okay. Provided you don't, let me fill in: I will personally dirty my hands with the blood of anyone necessary to ensure these people safe. I will burn, I will torture. I will break every oath of decency I have ever given to my Country, my God, and my Family. Hell, even those twelve points in the Boy Scout oath." "If you aren't here to harm us, then trust has to be established. So let's build on that. Eat up, Ryan. Let's have that talk."[/color] Ash picked up his fork and began digging into his meal. [hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=orangered]Bridgette Vinters[/color][/b][/i][/h1] [img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d5/b4/78/d5b478ac0063ce48f5bab3cb5648b0a1.jpg[/img][/center] [hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Building [b]1[/b] (Cells) -> Building [b]2[/b] (Mess Hall) [/center][hr][hr] Bridgette listened to Ryan talk about the upcoming, human-established End Of Days planned for Newnan, from which only he could save them. Maybe he was right, and something else horrible was going to happen to her and these people. Or maybe he was just vying for the attention of the higher ups, in an attempt to seem more valuable. Fact was though, bad things [i]were[/i] happening, and probably wouldn't stop just because they wanted them to. All the same, she really didn't want to hear the smug fucker speak anymore. Taking Ash's suggestion (it was an order, but don't remind her), Bridgette decided not to engage verbally. The one concession she did make with herself was that, as Ryan spoke about time ticking away, she held up a fist. With an almost circuslike expression, she raised the index finger of her other hand, and with great ceremony poked the side of that fist as if pushing a button. The result was, were one to look at her face, utter, comical surprise as her middle finger shot upward, apparently violently springloaded. Afterwards she rather unnecessarily checked to make sure her shotgun was loaded, snapping it back together with a slightly hollow, satisfying clack, and resumed her watch. When Ash arrived, Bridgette was more than happy to hoof it. A minute or so later, Bridgette arrived at the Mess Hall. She clattered her arms and shield down upon a mostly unoccupied table and saw to her nutritional needs. The line was thinning out, but it didn't stop her from cutting through it, hurriedly grabbing a few things, and flopping down with a full plate in front of her weapons. Bridgette ate noisily. She contemplated firing off a snot rocket, but decided against it. These people had been through enough. While stuffing her face, the violent lady looked around the room, trying to find a suitable [s]sucker[/s] assistant or two to help her [i]finally[/i] fix that seam on the outer wall. She would make a scene to get that help. Oh yes, she would make a scene. [hr][hr][center][h1][color=firebrick]Black James![/color][/h1] [img]https://v.cdn.vine.co/r/avatars/6AE78329E91063505631975227392_pic-r-1396533712688c4afde8ecf.jpg.jpg?versionId=ZnGOSit0zozlhxpJk0w6QVx4cSozVRdq[/img][/center] [hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Parking Lot between [b]10[/b] (Medical Garden) and Gilbert Street - Present location of his Smoker [/center][hr][hr] Whoa momma, what a day. James had a knack for bouncing back from tragedy. Most especially, James could bounce back from tragedy if he had a project into which he could throw himself. Prepping deer hide and slow smoking its meat definitely qualified. the bucket of deer fat and snippets of carcass would hake an excellent addition to either the pig slop, or alternately, the compost heap. He did like a good compost heap. Made the best growing soil known to mankind. But that was really another concern. Black James gave a wave up to the Sniper's post up top of the Courthouse, making sure that Guy was doing his thing and keeping watchful. Guy hadn't been up there in about a month. Maybe he was rusty. The thought was quickly abandoned; Guy was a hell of a guy (no pun intended). He knew his stuff. He was just glad to have a seasoned rifleman back up where he belonged - looking after their community. He checked the deer again, adjusted for heat and smoke, added to the water level. This was coming along well. If only there were some greens or potatoes he could throw in with all of this, he could make a hell of a stew. Probably still could later on, as the whole point to smoking something was to preserve it. Time would tell. He still wished that there was a more steady supply of animals like this. There wasn't quite enough in the way of livestock to keep everyone fed with fresh meat as needed. Hunting parties would have to be organized in earnest to make up for this shortage. Not that he wanted to personally be in charge of this; he had enough duties as it stood, but someone... Maybe if he interviewed some of the new recruits, they could work out a plan. But for now: Venison. By his reckoning, it should be good to go by nightfall. [hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=c0c0c0]The Great Bazhooli[/color][/b][/i][/h1] [img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/0c830ac3-637e-4722-a654-d4192b0bd4c2.jpg[/img][/center] [hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Building [b]2[/b] (Mess Hall) [/center][hr][hr] [color=c0c0c0]"Black James?"[/color] inquired The Great Bazhooli, his strong but muddled Russian accent emanating from behind his very prominent moustache, [color=c0c0c0]"Sounds like pirate. You have pirate here? Vould love to meet him."[/color] He smiled a genuine, toothy smile, trying to indicate that he was, in fact, trying for humor. Maybe he was trying too hard. It had been a while since he was around people that didn't want to shoot him. He was no stranger to violence, certainly. As it turns out, his circus training actually made him pretty good at it. He learned that lesson the hard way. But not being a stranger to violence did not mean that he was a huge fan. All in all, The Great Bazhooli would much rather be on his train, in a fully populated United States, plying his trade to a few hundred or so onlookers who would then shower him with applause and pay his expanses. Even deeper, he wanted to bring others with him, start a family, and pass on the mantle of The Great Bazhooli to the next generation of little Bazhoolis. Moustache optional, of course. In a grandiose voice, The Great Bazhooli addressed Meghna's second question with some gusto, [color=c0c0c0]"Vhere from? Hard to say. I have lived many places. If I had to say one, it vould be place of birth - The awesome city of St. Petersburg! Ve would still vinter there, too, vhen season grew slow. Not [i]in[/i], but just outside, next to the Great Citrus Groves of historic city. St Petersburg mailing address, though. Da, city with long history for my people, for obvious."[/color] [color=c0c0c0]"Vhere are you from, kotenok[/color][sub]1[/sub][color=c0c0c0]?"[/color] [hider=Translations] 1 = Kitten [/hider]