Ash Holloway
Location: Wewahitchka, FL (C8 -> C8, Transport)
Skills: N/A
Skills: N/A
A lot to talk about. That was an understatement. The first thing that he wanted to ask concerned the whereabouts of Thana. It would otherwise make sense to send a scout down first, if they were unsure. Hence, the young woman with the very familiar eyes that he remembered from almost a year and a half ago. Before the Outbreak, he likely wouldn't have given her a second thought. Nowadays, meeting new people was a much rarer occasion that tended to stick out in one's memory. Though he remembered her with both arms fully intact. What the hell happened to them over these long months? Was Thana even alive?
The ultimate goal was Mexico Beach. These people were the way in. Either Thana was there, she was going to be there, or she wouldn't ever be. Ash was going to do his part, for his people and for himself. Until those he cared about and for which he responsible were in relative safety, his concerns were secondary. It was best to try to put it out of his mind entirely (good luck) and push forward. "That we do. Brief me in the truck." This aimed at the familiar hazel-eyed lady with the missing hand. This Colonel Martin (which he was sure was not a coincidence) was in control of this situation, but Ash still had his own agenda and duties to fulfill. He didn't stop being who he was because someone promised them a meal and a safe place to sleep.
Ash had already removed his pack and fully disarmed. If they wanted him to personally place his items into the chopper, no problem. That was the price for admittance. He was careful and open with his movements, keeping to what was the standard for military protocol when there was was still a military to speak of. There was one point, however minor: Ash removed the dog tags from around his neck and held them out. There were two sets, slightly different in appearance. As he was given his cursory search, he said, "I gave my word I'd return one of these personally." He looked to Maddog and nodded solemnly, then dropped them both into the back pocket of his pack and stepped away. "I'm responsible for the people behind me. The ones coming up that road," he motioned in the direction from which the Eden group were arriving, "were supposed to meet up with us at Mexico Beach. The cat's kinda with us too, but he makes his own decisions. I don't know them," he continued, nodding in the direction of Wayne, Hank, Nigel, and Erica, "and the kid with the dog is not one of mine. Thank you, sir. I'll be in transport."
The jog over to the obviously modified vehicles was paused only for a half second as he paid admiration to the lead truck; a thing that was very much like a spiritual relative to his own dear, departed, post-apocalyptic roadbeast. He missed his Hordebuster. Already his mind was churning with possible design modifications that could be done on the moderate quick, such as a reinforcing exoframe connecting the front wedges to the greater body of the truck that would take two, maybe three days to implement; such a thing would increase the impact velocity that the truck could withstand at minimal cost to visibility, and when coupled with additional ballast would actually make the truck handle easier over rough...
Ok, he had to stop. Ever the Engineer. No, Ashton continued to the middle vehicle and climbed aboard, giving one last look out to his fellow survivors. This was it. Time to go.
Thalia Carmichael
Location: Wewahitchka, FL (D7 -> C8, Transport)
Skills: N/A
Thalia was a little more hesitant than the rest of her group to just give up everything she had at the drop of a hat. As it turned out, it was really just a token second or two before she fell in line herself, and this after Beatrice had caught up and began unloading, herself. It was with a heavy sigh that she also began to remove her gear, mostly just stuffing it into her green denim backpack. She unslung her shield fully and set her pack down upon it like it was a shallow bowl full of survival gear, then scooped the whole thing up. Thalia gripped one side of the rim in her functional hand and let the other side rest on top of her otherwise pointy makeshift prosthesis as she carried it over to the growing cache of everyone else's belongings.
Finally, as she could not remove the sharp implement from her artificial arm without an investment of a little time, Thalia unbuckled the whole apparatus from her transradial stump and set it with the rest of her belongings. There was less trust than the others likely had within her, but Beatrice was right. This was their best shot for survival. That was one thing that Thalia had become: a Survivor.
She almost died a few times since all of this started. A couple of times before as well; one in the car accident that did claim her mother's life and another when she first started to work for her uncle. She was very green, a little naive, and got herself shot. After the Outbreak, she was mostly on her own, for a long while. Her underdeveloped wilderness skills almost claimed her life again. Were it not for the intervention and disciplined training of the Shieldmaidens of Fairburn, she would likely have been another victim. Since then, she had thrived out in the world, so long as she kept her head about her. The fact remained though, that she had been away from civilization for a very long time. Longer than anyone else on this stretch of road they all stood upon. Literally years. And the last place she called home was fairly primitive, though with some technological perks.
Could she even be comfortable behind walls anymore? Would she be able to trust food that she did not forage, scavenge, or kill for herself? Or was it finally time to come in from the cold? When the world knocked her down, she had people to pick her back up and teach her what she needed to survive. Ranger, Pathfinder, Survivalist. Now she was missing almost half of her arm. While she had gotten better, there was a way to go before she was at her best. And her prosthetic was not exactly cutting edge. Thalia needed help again, as much as it pained her to admit it. A better arm, and a weapon that could fit effectively with it. New skills. She needed time to train her old skills to compensate for her new limitations, too.
Oh yeah, and she could see that damned can of SpaghettiOs peeking from Bea's pile of stuff. She was getting Dem O's. "Ahright, I'm in. Let's give it a shot." Thalia submitted to a patdown like the others before her, though she was not a fan of being manhandled by unfamiliar people. Well, it was what it was. As she made her way to and into the transport, she made a request, "Heya, Bea? Introduce me to your friends. We all gaht stuff to talk about." The woman she affectionately called "Navy" was part of that, and additionally these people shared their lives with her friends and family during their last days. She wanted to know more.
Somehow, that goddamned rubber duck got itself stuck to her bag in the confusion. This was a thing she might not be rid of for a while.
Hank Wright
Location: Wewahitchka, FL (D8 -> C8, Transport)
Skills: N/A
The nanosecond that Panama referred to Nigel as "Sport", Hank felt a overwhelming obligation to cough out the syllables, "...acus. <ahem> Sorry there, it's ah, seasonal. Allergies." There were maybe two tense seconds of quiet from Hank before he couldn't contain himself any longer, giving a quick and simple, "Sportacus," just for clarification in case he guy at the gun couldn't decode his ever so masterful cypher. There wasn't a whole lot that was going to bring him down right then, even the sudden, nigh psychic insight of the fellow old guy barking orders by the helicopter.
"Yeah. Roger that there, 20/20. County Sheriff - Cheshire, New Hampshire. Deputy before that." There was a touch of impatience in his voice, but it didn't stop him from forking over his belongings for later perusal. Hank held his arms out to allow for an easier search, continuing, "Ya know, this is a hoot and a half, let me tell ya, but I've got a real hankering not to get my ass chewed on by the multitude of Dead Assholes that I'm sure think that chopper's a dinner bell. If you ladies and gentlemen will excuse me, I'll be over there with the caravan of badass vehicles." Hank began his own quick and easy saunter, eager to get inside of something metal now that he was unarmed.
