czechmate46

Dust To Dust (czechmate46 & badfool)

May 20, 1934
The dust was everywhere. In his hair, in his teeth, in his clothes. It was in the floorboards of the now empty home, the empty beds of his family, on their silent corpses, in the empty cabinets of the kitchen. For twenty year old Jack Reed, dust was all he had left of the life he once knew. Both his land and his family were nothing but dust. It swirled around him, attempting to swallow him up and take him away with the rest of them. The hand gun in his father's holster called to him. It coaxed him to join them all in the fate that they met. What was left for him? There was no money nor food left for him to live off of. There was no family to love him, no education to carry him. All that was left for him was dust.

With a trembling hand, Jack held the gun to his temple. It had been a good six or seven hours since the events of the night had occurred. The bodies of his brother, sister, and father had gone cold and their blood was turning a brownish color. And Jack had spent those hours sitting against the wall, in a daze of confusion and devastation. In the swirl of it all, this seemed to be the only way out. A bullet in the brain would do him proud. Or would it? What would his father think? His brothers? God? Jack scowled at the very idea of it. Why would God do this to him?

In a sudden fit of anger, Jack straightened the gun and squeezed the trigger, only to hear an unsatisfying click. He slowly opened his eyes and pulled the gun away from his temple. He checked the chamber only to find it empty. Of course. His father had fired all of the bullets at the band of criminals. Leaning back against the wall once more, Jack let out a weak whimper as a stream of tears began to flow down his face. It seemed his face was permanently damp from all the crying. What else was he to do?

"What did I do to deserve this?" he cried out, his fists clenched and his eyes swollen shut. He had called out many times during the past few hours. To whom, he wasn't sure.

Jack's hand let go of the gun, letting it slip onto the wooden floor. He couldn't bring himself to fetch the bullets to fill it. He knew, regardless of what had happened, he didn't have it in himself to take his own life. Would his death mean nothing more than that of his family's? No, he couldn't let his family die like this. He was the last of the Reed children, still breathing. He would make things work. As Jack sat against that wall, the desire for vengeance became much stronger than the desire to die. He decided he would live. He would set things right, he would go after those men. His body filled with an undying rage as he slowly got to his feet. Jack Reed was going to avenge the death of his family.

"Broken Souls" - Zombie Survival (Closed)

Petra froze on the spot, facing the man as her left leg was on one step and her right leg was extended back on the step above. Upon seeing the main aim his gun at her, she raised her hands slightly in the air. This is what she had feared would happen if she handled this clumsily.

Although her head was slightly lowered, her eyes were glaring up at the man, maintaining eye contact with him. She cocked her head in the direction of her belt which holsters her axe and knife. "What you see is what I have," she said calmly. "I heard a noise come from the stairwell. I came to see what it was," she explained, her voice holding a noticeable Slavic accent. When communicating with strangers, she forced herself to speak slowly so she wouldn't mess up her words. And right now, a slip up could cost her a bullet to the head. "I used to live here," she finally added.

Petra knew the key to keeping this situation under control was to remain calm. She didn't have the best people skills but she also wasn't stupid. She figured, best case scenario, this guy would come to his senses and lower his gun. Perhaps join with her to find some place with resources. Or answers. Or maybe he had a camp. Petra wasn't entirely optimistic but she knew she had to justify her reasoning for surviving alone on that rooftops for weeks. It had to be for something. She also knew what the worst case scenario would be for this situation: she didn't need to amuse that thought.

No man's land

Despite being able to read people like a book, John did not foresee the scene that played out infront of him. At best, he expected the stranger to fire a few bullets into the ceiling before sauntering out just as calmly as he came. But no, he emptied his revolver on the outlaws, causing everyone to file out of the saloon in a panic. But not John. He remained in the same position, appearing unshaken by the conflict, as he watched the stranger exit the saloon and the bounty hunter stomp out after him. The native from before was now dragging out the bodies of he outlaws. For the first time this afternoon, John showed a sign of expression. The corners of his lips twitched upward in a dark but light smile. He knew those boys would get what was coming to them.

Seeing as it was now just him, the barkeep, and the native still left in the saloon, John decided now was the time to exit the scene. There was no point in sticking around. Emptying the contents of his drink down his throat, his stood from the table and then placed the empty glass on the bar counter. He gave a brief nod to the barkeep, then the native, before sauntering out of the saloon.

By the time he got outside to the bodies, all valuable possessions had been taken from them. John just glared down at them, examining their death ridden faces. He would remember them. After a good few minutes he continued on down the dusty road. He knew this was only the beginning of bigger things for the town of Solomon.

Desert Island

Very interested.

No man's land

This town sure was a strange one. With folks cut from many different cloths and funny characters who contrasted like night and day. This was only supposed to be a hideaway town for John Ryder. A place he could live in solitude, live anonymously for a few weeks until taking off again, heading further north. Yet the simple town of Solomon had seen three years of the two faced outlaw. To the public, he was a blacksmith. Mostly fixed firearms and equipment. But who could survive on that? When the public eye was turned, John would take to the plains to do his own dirty work. The only thing being in a gang had taught him was that he didn't need one. It was safer to keep a low profile and run solo.

This is precisely what John was doing that day in the Solomon saloon, amidst the smokey air and drunken gamblers. At a table in the corner, his feet up on the table and a glass in his gloved hand. His eyes shifted from behind the brim of his hat. Observing, intaking, understanding. Nothing escaped this outlaw's eye. The voluntarily naive bar tender, the quiet native by the piano, the group of drunken gamblers near the door. And the stranger who walked through the door. John could tell just by one glance, there was something different about this stranger. He was not threatening nor pleasant. It was some bizarre mixture of the two - something you didn't see a lot of in Solomon.

Taking a sip of his drink, John kept his eye on the stranger, trying to read him. It wasn't long before a new set of characters entered the saloon. First it was the posse of infamous outlaws, practically stumbling into the establishment and claiming a table for themselves. John's eyes narrowed at them. They were foolish, clumsy, irresponsible, obnoxious. He had met men like them, he had run with men like them. And he knew they were only going to get themselves killed. Sooner or later, their arrogant demeanor would come back to haunt them. It was men like them who made problems for him; corrupting deals, dishonoring boundaries. They would get theirs.

Next was the ego in a suit. John didn't even have to hear the man speak to know the kind of man he was. Watching from his corner, he watched as he charmed the gamblers and bartender alike, cleaning the gamblers out of their money and getting them to turn on each other instead of him. All this and more was captured in the outlaw's eye. And then he took another sip of his drink.

No man's land

Name: John Ryder

Age: 31

Occupation: Outlaw

Species: Human

Apperance:

Personality: John is a quiet and over all calm man. He keeps to himself for the most part and has few companions. He avoids all possible confrontations and is very independent. However, he is not shy to make it known when someone is getting on his nerves or needs to mind their place. Despite his seemingly submisive demeanor, John is far from kind. He is out for his best interest and that alone. He will not go out of his way to be cruel but if he needs to kill a man in order to succeed, he will do so.

History: As the son of a prostitute and a mysterious frontier man, some could say that John was doomed from the start. He had little adult supervision as a young boy as his mother worked during the day. He would run about the town and explore the surrounding plains then return home at night. Many life lessons were learned this way. When John was 16, his mother was killed in a saloon shooting, rendering John homeless and practically broke. This prompted him to become a bounty hunter, killing or turning in the kind of men that killed his mother. However, in his work of retrieving outlaws, he befriended one who got him interested in the lifestyle. At age 20, John gave up bounty hunting to join a gang. He remained with this gang for seven years until a deal gone wrong rendered every member of his gang dead besides him. Since then, he has been flouting from town to town, doing his own dirty work independently. He currently has been living in Solomon for 3 years.

Weapons: Schofield Revolver, High Power Pistol, Henry Repeater, and a knife

Skills: excellent marksman, persuasive, appears trusting at first, ability to have apathy towards almost anything, horse taming skills, survival skills.

"Broken Souls" - Zombie Survival (Closed)

Once in the stairwell, Petra heard a series of noises sounding from farther down the stairwell. Not clumsy noises like that of the undead. They were short noises, measured noises, careful noises. Noises of a human. Now, Petra was not a people person. If she could avoid an interaction, she'd make damn sure that she would. It wasn't fear - it was apathy. She didn't want to be wrapped up into other people's problems. However at this point, she was running out of options. If she had to approach another person, so be it. But, these days, the living could be me dangerous than the dead.

Following the noises all the way down the stairwell, Petra made sure to keep her steps light incase the person got the bright idea to come back up or shout to her. There were no animated walkers all the way down, so she assumed whoever was below her had cleared them out.

Petra neared the ground floor. That's when she saw him, peering out the window at the parking lot. What was he looking at? She held her breath, standing just a fee steps above him, not ready for a confrontation yet. Spending weeks alone on a rooftop with little to no human interaction was punch in the gut to Petra's social skills. She let the moment linger, watching the man as he glared out the window. She had to say something, do something. The building was not safe to scavenge anymore and if she was going to go out on the streets, she was at least going to attempt to gain help before going it alone. Petra was an introvert, however she wasn't stupid. She wasnt going to let her preference for solitude get her killed.

The right phrase couldn't seem to form in her mind. Should it be a snarky remark, a fair proposal, or just a simple greeting? Before she could decide, her stomach growled loudly, prompting Petra to try and take a few steps up, only resulting in more noise.

"Broken Souls" - Zombie Survival (Closed)

The air was crisp, the sky clouded. However, the late fall chill was not the only thing that filled the air as Petra Novak sat perched on the rooftop of her apartment building. The groans and howls of the undead flouted upward from the streets and reached her ears on the rooftop. She had been camped out there for the majority of the time after the outbreak. After fleeing from her apartment with whatever supplies she could gather, she raced up to the rooftop, baracading the door shut. On occasion, when food resources were in the red, Petra would unblock the door and reenter the apartment building to scavenge before returning to the rooftop. However, as time went on, more and more people were turning and the weather grew colder and colder. Both the rooftop and the inside of the apartment building were becoming eliminated options for Petra. She knew she had to move soon - she just didn't know where.

This would be the last day she could scavenge through the building. Every time she went in, there seemed to be more walkers and she constantly ran the risk of raiders or residents of the building being less than hospitable when she barged in their door. This was the last time.

As Petra entered the building, she had her fire axe at the ready. She cursed the fact that she didn't have a firearm - she could never seem to come across them and after leaving her old life behind, she vowed never to own one herself. But times had surely changed since then. Slowly, Petra stalked through the hallways, flattening herself against the wall whenever she heard the groan of a walker or the creak of the floor boards. As she gingerly made her way across the top floor, the sound of gun shots from the floor below her caused her to jump. It had been a while since she had heard gun shots in the building. She cringed at the thought, knowing it would sturr up the walkers. She picked up her pace now as she made her way to the stair well and onto the next floor.

"Broken Souls" - Zombie Survival (Closed)

Name: Petra Novak
Nickname: N/A
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Background: Petra was born in the most eastern point of Czechoslovakia, in 1983. When the Berlin wall was knocked down and the USSR dissolved, her family moved to America. Being new immigrants that spoke little English, they did not have the most luxurious life. Up until the time that Petra moved out, she and her family lived in a crummy apartment with cracks in the wall and flickering lights. When Petra was still in high school, her brother had graduated. Not having the money for college, he got involved in a gang. By the time Petra had graduated, her brother had gotten her involved with it as well and they were working together. However, some years later, during a deal gone bad, Petra's brother was killed. This prompted her to give up the lifestyle and lead a straight life. She used the money she had made to move to a different part of the city and finally enroll in college at the age of 26. Since graduation, she had been working as a cook and living alone in her apartment. This is the life she had during the outbreak.
Age: 35
Height: 5'7
Body Type: Average
Hair: Blonde
Eye Color: Blue
Personality: Being from Eastern Europe, Petra is naturally on the colder side. Smiles are a rare commodity and laughs are even rarer. She speaks only when she feels it's necessary and has little patience for nonsense. Her temper is somewhere in the middle; she knows not to snap over petty things but will not let others walk all over her and will not tolerate people wasting her time. She is rough around the edges and will not lie for your benefit. She will call things as she sees them. She is usually independant and will not ask for help unless she truly needs it. Another thing she takes from growing up in the Soviet Union is her communistic views. These will be prominent when in a group setting.
Unique Abilities: trilingual (Czech, German, and English), cooking skills, street experience, and negotiation skills.
Knowledge of Combat: while Petra was involved in street life, she did little fighting herself. That was up to the men and she was smart enough to avoid such confrontations. She has basic knowledge of guns as her gang dealt them and she knows how to properly wield blunt trama weapons. Despite this knowledge, she is not extremely experienced with it, but can hold her own at least for a little while.
Weapons: Fire axe and pocket knife
Equipment: backpack containing: bag of crackers, canteen of water, three cans of soup, some medical supplies, a dead phone, wallet, and a change of clothes.
Conditions: her English isn't exactly up to par and despite being in the country for twenty eight years, she still mixes her words up sometimes. This is mostly due to the fact that her family is still spoke Czech at home and she would only have to use her English when outside of her house. Can also be a little hard to understand.

No man's land

Name: John Ryder

Age: 31

Occupation: Outlaw

Species: Human

Apperance:

Personality: John is a quiet and over all calm man. He keeps to himself for the most part and has few companions. He avoids all possible confrontations and is very independent. However, he is not shy to make it known when someone is getting on his nerves or needs to mind their place. Despite his seemingly submisive demeanor, John is far from kind. He is out for his best interest and that alone. He will not go out of his way to be cruel but if he needs to kill a man in order to succeed, he will do so.

History: As the son of a prostitute and a mysterious frontier man, some could say that John was doomed from the start. He had little adult supervision as a young boy as his mother worked during the day. He would run about the town and explore the surrounding plains then return home at night. Many life lessons were learned this way. When John was 16, his mother was killed in a saloon shooting, rendering John homeless and practically broke. This prompted him to become a bounty hunter, killing or turning in the kind of men that killed his mother. However, in his work of retrieving outlaws, he befriended one who got him interested in the lifestyle. At age 20, John gave up bounty hunting to join a gang. He remained with this gang for seven years until a deal gone wrong rendered every member of his gang dead besides him. Since then, he has been flouting from town to town, doing his own dirty work independently. He currently has been living in Solomon for 3 years.

Weapons: Schofield Revolver, High Power Pistol, Henry Repeater, and a knife

Skills: excellent marksman, persuasive, appears trusting at first, ability to have apathy towards almost anything, horse taming skills, survival skills.