Ash Holloway
Location: Arnco Mills Safehouse (E10)
Skills: Leadership
There was a calm sort of reassurance in having a plan. Even if that plan was horrible. That was a life lesson that Ash had picked up from his years in the Army. It could be argued that he was simultaneously in
and out of the military at this time, never having been relieved nor discharged from active duty, while at the same time pretty damned certain that there wasn't a United States, persay, let alone a United States Army. But that was an odd, passing thought. The central theme to the evening, aside from the utter loss that everyone was suffering, was that they had something akin to a plan going on. With that plan came a sense of movement; they were working together toward a common goal. And contrary to his first musing, the plan was not horrible. It was solid, thought out in advance, and so far bearing results. Just not as many results as he would have preferred. That part was disheartening.
But not everyone had their entire life ripped away from them. Ash nodded soberly when Guy asked him to hand the mic to Tiffany.
"Copy that, Guy. Keep those people safe, will be in touch at sunrise. Standby for Legal." A silly nickname, he was aware, but with potential hostiles a few miles down the road (that he was aware of), not to mention the mystery caller on their frequency (if garbled), he wasn't fully comfortable using uncoded names or locations. Ash and Guy were already mentioned, and Tiff could go either way. Well, damage done. Maybe they'd be more careful the next day.
"Tiffany, you're up. Keep it brief." he said, setting the mic down and rising from his knee.
"Anyone else, make a line." His voice was weary. Not tired, but truly weary. He was worried beyond sense, deep beneath his surface, though something inside of him wouldn't let it bubble up. Miles away, Thana and a cast of mildly disturbed players were launching an assault that he really wished he could be a part of. He walked to one of the boarded up windows by the door with slow, heavy footsteps, pausing briefly to give Jack's shoulder a squeeze. Ash understood a lot of what he was going through, though likely not as keenly as the man was feeling it right then. He exhaled heavily and pulled a random crate to the window, sat, and peered through a separation in the boards. The Hordebuster was still there, motionless in the evening air. His was the first watch.
Absently, Ash pierced his MRE with his knife, a painful looking thing that seemed more at home in a backwoods bar brawl than as an eating utensil, and pulled out the main entree. Chicken with dumplings. Why the hell not?
Thalia Carmichael
Location: Eden, top of stairs
Skills: Stealth, Pistol, Sharp Weapons
A slight growl escaped Thalia's lips. She was channeling her bloodline hard, a thing that she rarely found herself doing since her time in Fairburn with the Valkyries. In a very short time, the number of people she had personally killed had shot up dramatically. In an odd way, it was much more satisfying than spearing Zeds, like they had only been practice for the real event today. Thalia had thought that the very idea would have troubled her in some way, and maybe it would yet. But right then, it felt like she was slipping into a comfortable leather jacket. The kind of jacket that belonged to a mother or an aunt; someone with similar tastes and body type that had already broken the thing in, classic and completely badassed. This was a righteous cause and calling, moreover she was more dangerous now, more apt to do what must be done since the Apocalypse. Thalia honestly felt like a shadow of the souls of her fallen, a reflection perhaps, was passed onto her after their deaths. Alicia, Caesar, Astrid, Bridgette... and now Lola. She wasn't family, not like the others were. But her friendship saved Thalia's life. That was probably what family meant these days. She would remember and she would celebrate, be they in the Halls of Valhalla or the Land of Remembered Dead.
Before the remembering and celebrating, there would have to be more killing, motivated by quiet passion.
Thalia heard the gunshots from the next rooms over, heard Gavin's proclamation of "Clear", a thing that while cliched, she participated in herself downstairs. She also picked up the noise from elsewhere nearby, more gunshots and shouting. Meanwhile, the other members of her group, such as it was, were elsewhere in the same room junction she was or coming up the stairs. They were in danger of getting too spread out, which is exactly how people without the benefit of stealth training got themselves killed. The place where most of them were positively reeked of killing ground; a place where one did not want to be for the benefit of survival. To many points of entrance to cover, unfamiliar territory, and out in the open. She didn't like it. Thalia carefully slid her machete into her back sheath and drew her company issue Glock from its holster. Two guns at the ready, she quietly, stalked up behind Thana. As she neared, Thalia pointed one of her weapons back the way she came, the other at the stranger with the shotgun.
She must have been quite the sight: Spattered with blood from several close-up machete kills, face painted grey and black as the face of Death herself, the ash marred by twin lines of drying tears. Her expression was that of horrifying apathy backed by smouldering intensity, a flame waiting for its moment to rage. Edged calm permeated her voice as she spoke quietly,
"Your call, Navy. We gaht things to do." From her tone, Thalia was good either way.
