Ash Holloway
Location: Outer Wall, Main Gate
Ash was mildly irritated at the man's refusal to reveal the location of his settlement, yet still show up unannounced, desiring trade. It left him at a bit of a disadvantage. Still, if the man really meant simple, peaceful barter, he couldn't blame him. This was a vastly different world than it was short years ago. This man, Beni, agreed to all of his stipulations and acted in a respectful manner. He had given no cause for concern.
Plus, if this was a legitimate meeting, they would need to cultivate friends and allies. Preferably, bring others into their walls and make their corner of Hell flourish. Hands to grow crops, hands to raise livestock. Hands to fight for their patch of dirt and the people residing upon it.
And, if this guy was intent upon starting trouble, he would serve as an example to the rest of his people.
"Fair enough. I'll introduce you to my Medical team. We have other resources, if anything catches your attention. I would also suggest that you bring samples inside with you."
The appointed Master of the Walls, Jim, looked to Ashton. "Um, Captain?" he inquired, nodding to the gates.
"Yes. Just a crack." he thumbed on his radio, general address. "Please be advised, we have guests outside of the Main Gate. They appear non-hostile, one is entering under escort, requesting Trade. Astrid, unless there is an emergency, please meet us in Mess."
The Great Bazhooli
Location: Building 7 (Rec Center)
The question. Ah, yes, it always came back to that, at least from his people native to the Motherland. If there was any one thing that made him vulnerable, it was the same weakness that plagued every conman and charlatan out there: The Genuine Article. As it turned out, the man was indeed an ethnic Cossack, mostly, at any rate. His forebearers were absolutely native to Russia, otherwise from nearby in the former Soviet Union. It was a big place, granted, but the accents were similar in nature, compared to the other countries of Eastern Europe and Asia.
But little Tatiana had a point. The Great Bazhooli had an unusual accent. Flawless Russian language, but an accent that deserved to be on the stage, not in the streets of Moscow. An older, cultured way of speaking, common to entertainers going for a classic, vintage feel. Not unlike a muted version of American actors of the silver screen, thusly were the vocal mannerisms of The Great Bazhooli, but effecting a Russian analog. Even so, it was still barely mixed. All the same, he did not want to lie.
"Da, da. Accent muddled. Peoples from Russia alvays say this. I have traveled many places, all of life. Family of Circus Folk, generations and generations. But, if I must pick one place, it vould be the great city of St. Petersburg. Vas born there, and family, clan - used to winter there in off season. Ve had a lovely home, out near the groves."
Bazhooli looked around for a moment, trying to find whatever small, oddly shaped objects he could; the goal being to locate things he could use to juggle. Seeing as his abilities as an Impaler (easily his best attribute) would have to be put on hold, he could demonstrate his skill as a juggler and acrobat. Lesser, but still quite formidable in his proficiency. It would have to do.
Bridgette Vinters
Location: Outer Wall, damaged section on the Eastern Side
"Yeah. He was a pretty-boy, but his shit got better after his "big boy hair" grew in. Hand me those metal snips?" Bridgette manually bent out the metal, just enough to get at the rusty parts on the edge. For some reason, she was sure it was a simple damaged seam - technically it was a damaged seam, but it wasn't so simple. There was more to do than torching up a strip of metal and getting back to her own workshop. She was glad to have company, even if it was this guy.
"Hey! Hey, I wonder if old Leo survived? I mean, wouldn't it be fucking hilarious? Biggest dramatic role EVAH!" she mused, trying like hell to cut away the corroding metal as fast as possible. For her sense of urgency, it really wasn't taking all that long. But a mind that is hurried imagines that time escapes, far faster than it should. Her face betrayed the random, twisted thought that sprang unbidden. "HA! He's probably so many piles of Biter shit as we speak. But at least we know what's eating Gilbert Grape, huh? Huh? Alright, hand me those pliers and my hammer. Back on the clock."
A thought hit her, and she voiced it in lowered tones, "Let's keep this "gun thing" our little secret. Just watch my back."
Black James!
Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall)
"Aw hells yeah, Miss Astrid. Jane Doe here is ready, willin', and definitely able. You grab a chunk and hang out. Soon as I get some of this goodness over to Miss Zoie and Dick, I'll be right back to do the same. Then you tell Black James all about your day."
He was ready to consume the entire beast right there, forks be damned. He had missed his meals today, at first because he wanted to look over his duties before breakfast, and then because of the attack. He had certain responsibilities to the community that took priority. The irony of that situation, considering his desire to stay far away from what humanity had become since the Outbreak, was not lost on him. James was always kind of a loner. He was very sociable, liked people, etc., but felt so much safer on the move, hunting hogs and living off, away from where groups would congregate. It was how he survived the first couple of years. Now, he had people who depended upon him.
Things do change. James was no leader, but he could pick a good one from a bad one any day.
"Ok, soon as Miss Sally gets back with the plates, I'll be just five minutes."
Being a lead, James had a walkie on his belt at most times. When it sparked alive, it didn't surprise him in the least. What did surprise, though, was Ash informing everyone that they had company. And specifically called out Astrid. Maybe he thought that she'd have a radio, maybe he figured that she was in the Infirmary, where one usually rests. Whatever the reason, it came through loud and clear on James's, and he was standing right next to the woman.
"Oh goodie. More drama." he said with obvious sarcasm. "Look girl, I'll be back soon as I can. Might even run." He smiled a little. While a man of laborious stamina, it was well known that he despised running. Unless it was toward food or away from Walkers, Black James Mandingo Grady didn't run, period.