[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]1[/b] (Cells)
[/center][hr][hr]

	[color=steelblue]"You're missing my... Nevermind."[/color] Ash's hesitance to speak about Zoie dealt mostly with the inhumanities she had to endure, rather than things she had done to others. It was of little importance now, anyway, so long as the topic shifted to something other than his new Second. At least directly. Zoie wasn't exactly Ash's initial choice for a Second. He just didn't know her at all, and her arrival shortly following Eden's first attack/Zombnado. But, seeing as his other choices were shot or eaten (or both), and of course the [i]highly[/i] unexpected approval of Ceasar, Ash offered her a leadership position. 

	It seemed to make sense; there was a massive influx of new people at that time, choosing some from among their ranks bolstered solidarity. The last thing he wanted was to worry about was the sudden factioning of what remained of the Newnan survivors. Something similar happened to the first group he was with, just following the Outbreak. It was a collection of military personnel, mostly Army and Air Force. Disciplined men and women, adherents to a strict chain of command, and they broke apart like shredded wheat in a paint shaker. 

	Ash had almost finished his meal, indeed was somewhere in the vicinity of scraping together tatters of cabbage into a bite suitable to being scooped up with his fork, when he spoke again. [color=steelblue]"Don't care about breaking Adamm. I'm not partial to manipulation nor mind games. If it's all the same, I'd rather put a bullet in his skull and burn his body in homebrew. But I'm not picky."[/color] 

	Thinking briefly on what the prisoner had just mentioned, concerning pulling people back to the Inner Wall and getting more spotters together, Ash sighed just a little. Yeah, they needed a lot more people to hold their community effectively. On the other hand, they kept their growing crops and livestock out there. Some people had homes just outside the Inner Wall, too. They had structures, work structures, out there as well. From a standpoint of Civil Engineering, they had made the right decision setting it up this way. Even from a military standpoint, they had made the logical decision. But there was always that scenario that screwed up the plan. Always. And it wasn't like he could radio for reinforcements. 

	Ash was eager to discuss this conversation with the other Leads. [color=steelblue]"Thank you for your time, Mr. O'Reily. Good talk. Let me know if I can get you anything, within reason."[/color]



[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) -> Building [b]E[/b] (Apartments)
[/center][hr][hr]

	The Great Bazhooli knew that Meghna, and through her the higher-ups, were just being careful. The goofy Cossack could be some manner of eyeball chewing maniac, bent on doing things to all of them unmentionable in polite society. So yeah, he got it. [color=c0c0c0]"Da, da... Rec Center. Let us see vhat we have to vork vith, yes?"[/color] 

	He began to follow Meg back out of the apartment. Her question as to his abilities caught him slightly off guard - Bazhooli had discovered a couple of interesting and useful talents since all hell broke loose worldwide, but in the strictest sense nothing that should be performed on stage. [color=c0c0c0]"Great Bazhooli vas trained since child as Impalement Artist. Also I juggle, also am acrobat. There are other things I do, for certain. But they are not for entertaining."[/color] He let that last sentence sink in for a moment before continuing, [color=c0c0c0]"Not for worrying! And do not bother metal worker. Dull knife still sharp enough to sink into vood. Will make nervous. I do not vant to go vithout my knives too long, someone finds this Ashton soon, da?"[/color]

[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]

	[color=firebrick]"Well then, lawdy lawd..."[/color] mused James, intentionally voicing a bit of a stereotype, [color=firebrick]"I do believe that our Jane Doe is ready. Now, if you went and sprained that ankle, maybe you ought not be out and about messing with the likes of this bigass pile of meat. How's about you fetch us a cart from Mess while I stare down this feline, makin' eyes at our deer, huh?"[/color]

	He knew why the cat was there. Same reason anyone else would be gathering around his smoker - the small creature could smell the savory, smoky goodness and wanted some for himself. Couldn't say as he blamed the little guy, his work with wood and meat was famous (around Newnan, if that counted now), and James was tempted several times to grab a huge chunk for himself. [color=firebrick][i]"...definitely shoulda grabbed breakfast..."[/i][/color] he thought to himself, closing off the smoke chamber on his massive apparatus. This action marked the end of his workday, everything else was a simple scrapedown and delivery of succulent, smoke-preserved venison. In all likelihood, they would grab a little now, and save the rest for supper tomorrow. On the other hand, he wouldn't hold it against anyone to jump on the entire beast immediately. It had been a very trying day. 

	James sure as hell knew he was having a chunk of Bambi's Mom in a few minutes. Euphemism not intended. 


[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]2[/b] (Mess Hall) -> Gilbert Street, in front of Building [b]1[/b]
[/center][hr][hr]

	The quiet throughout the Mess Hall when Bridgette politely (for her) requested the assistance of anyone in the building was not taken well. Point of fact, her temples began to throb ever so slightly and she began tapping her knuckles on the table in front of her. She could feel a subcranial welling of many, varied applications of the word "fuck" bubbling ever closer to the surface, threatening to spill out of her mouth and into the Mess Hall, splattering vile, profane sarcasm on any and everyone within verbal splattering distance. 

	And then it happened. Someone volunteered. 

	It was a new guy, someone she didn't think she had met just yet. There were rumors that new people were settling in, but obviously she hadn't come up close and personal with this one just yet. Well, time for introductions. Kinda. The first thing she noticed was his accent. She'd spent a little time in New England, following the Reenactment and RenFaire circuits, and knew enough to recognize his Massachusetts accent. [color=orangered]"Well hello there, Marky Mark!"[/color] she began, anger fading quickly. [color=orangered]"Aren't you the tall, handsome one, eh? Look, don't worry. Patch job, stressed seam. All I need you to do is hand me what I need when I ask for it, and put shit back when I don't, mmkay?"[/color] 

	Quickly, Bridgette gathered her weapons and slung her shield across her back. She took Jack's hand and began to lead him to the door. [color=orangered]"Oh, one thing sweetie,"[/color] said the blonde Valkyrie in a singsong voice. The more musical note took a harsh downturn as she continued in a venomous whisper, [color=orangered]"Fuck with my horse and I'm keeping your fingers. Got it?"[/color]

	Her voice returned singsong as she continued to the door. [color=orangered]"C'mon! Shouldn't take more than an hour!"[/color] She began walking happily, almost dancing, across the way to Cadence, as if her sudden Smeagol moment had never happened. 



[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=FF8C00]Schrödinger[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
[img]http://coverphotosite.com/thumbs/young_orange_tomcat_stalking_in_the_grass-t1.jpg[/img][/center]
[hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Parking Lot between [b]10[/b] (Medical Garden) and Gilbert Street - Present location of the Smoker
[/center][hr][hr]

	The fuzzy orange bastard known to parts of humanity as "Schrodinger" sat patiently, waiting for more bits of smoked venison and/or fat to drop groundward. Yes, the cat knew patience. Patience and hunger. While he had gotten a little something earlier, the aroma of cooked meat was too much for him to simply stay away from. These people weren't so bad, really. Not as a whole, from what Schrodinger could sense, though he hadn't met this particular Human before this moment. So yes, settle back and play the role of a good, cute, sweet little furball. Let the younger two-leg pet him. It always seemed to give them as much gratification than it did him. Even purr a little. Yes, be cute and wait for the food to come to him. Purrrrrfect. 

	Schrodinger even gave a couple of tentative steps forward, toward the dark-skinned food guard. He sat back down on his haunches, pawed the side of his face for a moment, and issued a quiet, trilling [color=FF8C00]"...meow[/color][sub]1[/sub][color=ff8c00]..?"[/color]

[hider=Translations]
1	=	"I am extending requisite cuteness, Human, and demand that you pay attention to me. You currently have in your possession something which interests me a great deal, and I am trying to barter for it with my adorableness. Do you not understand how this works?"
[/hider]