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Madama Witch
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7 yrs ago
WHO DAT BOY, 911
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8 yrs ago
Stop and frisk me, daddy. Unf.
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9 yrs ago
Organize a strike in your school or workplace on the grounds that it does not satisfy your need for indolence & spiritual beauty.
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I'll repost/finish CS in the character section once I get a computer/free time in a day or two.
Also, Delphi is super glad she's appreciated.
**Ada - Bandera Pharmacy - Clayton**
Ada was lackadaisically shoving any bottle of pills with an interesting name into her bag, she was only half focused on the task however, and found herself more interested in what Clayton was doing-- this being Texas, she figured there was certainly a gun under the counter at one point, but that it must have been long gone, what he found, however, did surprise her.
Clayton held up the keys, winking at Ada, "Jackpot!" Ada herself couldn't hep but return a look that was part astonishment and part excitement, whether he could tell how surprised she was depended on his own vision in the low visibility of the dark pharmacy. He proceeded to walk through the doorway, under the broken fire exit sign. He gave a quick look back before exiting. "Come find me when you're ready."
Ada gave Clayton a quick nod, glancing around the emptied and storefront.
*--Wait, did he say there was a hardware store next door?*
**Ada - Bandera Hardware Store**
Ada knew hardware stores were some of the most scavenged areas after the End, just like any place with medicine, they had things people needed, weapons, supplies, the like. She didn't expect to find everything she could ever want to survive in the store, but at the same time, Bandera didn't seem to have many actual survivors...
Granted, it'd be smart of them to hide the car alarm out.
Still, Ada stepped into the small hardware store, and it's atmosphere of stale, rotting wood, with high hopes. The overturned shelves and broken supplies told her all she wanted to know about what happened here immediately after the End. Anything that could've been used as a weapon; shovels, crowbars, even saws, they were gone. That wasn't surprising.
She stepped lightly over the rotting 2x4s, the broken shelves, the trampled supplies. She wasn't particularly afraid of the sick, she had their scent and they'd blindly shamble toward the noise of the alarm, even from the back of this store. She was careful because part of her felt as if she was invading on some relic-- some perfectly preserved moment from the moment society was changed. Her eyes went loud as the sound of an empty can being kicked came from where she had stepped.
Looking under the shelf it slid under, she squinted.
A tired smile came across her face in the darkness. She had found what she hoped was still here.
**Ada - Roscoe's House of Chicken and Waffles, Cowboy Capital of the World branch**
After shaking the can of recently scavenged reflective spray paint, she painted an 'X' on the door of the hardware store. A message to anyone else looking to scavenge there-- or anywhere Ada would go from now on. She had developed the habit on her supply run for the Reservation, but after that failed... she just... stopped.
Clayton reminded her there were other people here.
Under the 'X' she wrote 'NOTHING BUT DUST'
Fitting the spray paint into one of her bag's pockets, she made her way left of the hardware store and pharmacy to the... she shone her new flashlight above the door of the supposed chicken place...
*Roscoe's? The have those here!?*
She quickly turned off the light and glanced around, hoping she hadn't attracted the wrong type of attention. After determining the coast was clear, she entered the restaurant mildly confused at it's presence. Apparently it had been fairly new, at least, according to the 'Grand Opening' banner that had drooped to cover the words 'Roscoe's' and 'Waffles.' Her time spent scavenging was expedited by the fact that she knew she was keeping Clayton waiting.
Ada made her way to the kitchen, and pocketed a couple bottle of stale soda and a few cans of pie filler. She was starting to reach the limit of things she could carry without the book bag's straps digging into her shoulders and becoming painful. However, something else caught her eye-- a Roscoe's Shoulder Delivery Satchel.
*Roscoe's delivers?*
Ada couldn't help herself. She put the cans, both recently scavenged and from earlier in her day, into the satchel and hurried out, figuring she had kept Clayton waiting long enough. She stopped only to quickly paint 'FOOD IN BACK' on the door of the Roscoe's and '??? PILLS' on the door of the pharmacy, before rushing back to the back of the pharmacy in the direction Clayton had gone. Going as fast as the weight of the two bags and the soreness of her legs would allow her.
**Ada - Docking Station - Clayton**
Ada climbed into the passenger seat of the truck, more impressed at his luck than cautious of how many sick the noise of the truck would attract. "I hope you figured out a way to disable the alarm," She said half-heartedly with a dry chuckle, placing her bags under the glove compartment. She didn't mind that the seat were becoming stained with the damp blood and gore on her body, and she squirmed to make herself comfortable.
"Oh--" She reached into her satchel and pulled out the sodas, offering one to Clayton, "Want some stale coke?"
Here. Hoping what looks like the only active WD thread on this site is still alive!
Aww, sad to see you go, Gamzee.
To everyone still here-- this is still a thing, I've just been a little busy with an unforeseen family emergency that is now taking up a significant amount of time.
There's a shrimp sale at the crab crib.
To everyone still here-- this is still a thing, I've just been a little busy with an unforeseen family emergency that is now taking up a significant amount of time.
There's a shrimp sale at the crab crib.
Ada Cinet – Bandera Pharmacy – Clayton Burrows
“It should be alright, don’t let your guard down though.”
For someone who considered himself a loner, Clayton seemed to take naturally to the position of leadership, or at least the role keeping the people he had promises to alive. Either way, Ada appreciated the extra pair of eyes, even if only for a night. She gave Clayton a nod and moved in after him, noting that he walked over to the counter, Ada moved through the aisles of the small drug store, knowing that everything was gone, but looking anyway. Everything that could've gotten you high was gone within the first few months, things people knew could help with sickness went shortly after... what remained... while probably useful in some capacity was completely foreign to Ada. Names like Loxapine, Trilafon, and Brompheniramine (oh my!) littered the shelves. It reminded Ada how horribly out of her depth she could be at things like this, a doctor she was not...
Throwing down a now blood stained bottle of pills in disgust, she looked up at Clayton breaking the silence of the dark storefront.
“Alright Ada…what should be our next step?”
That... was a good question. Setting down her bag, she leaned on a shelf across the counter Clayton was at. "Well..." She paused, listening to the alarm still blaring, weaker in the distance, "Getting out of the city's about as easy as it's gonna get, 'till that alarm dies down, every sicko for a few miles is gonna hear it and come walking... May as well take advantage that we already smell like 'em, y'know?" She ended by leaning back further against the shelf, happy to take some weight off of her legs, even for a moment. The words Clayton had said, 'next step,' hit her hard in a way she hadn't anticipated as she finished, relishing again in the drowned out crowd of sick fawning over the car alarm.
She didn't have a plan.
Ever since New Mexico, and it's Reservation, she had just been wandering, surviving, improvising in the general direction of Louisiana. She didn't really have a plan beyond that... look for family that she didn't care was alive or dead? Her mother was probably alive... somewhere. Ada wasn't sure if she thought that was a good thing or not. She told herself that she should be hoping she can meet her mother again someday, that even though her brother was gone she'd still have a family. That was supposed to be a good thing. But despite herself, she enjoyed the solitude, or at least being away from people she was related to, and the thought of meeting her mother made her physically shiver, she caught herself before Clayton could notice. She relished in the opportunity to live like she was, alone, no plans, like a tumbleweed, much like her mother had lived.
Shaking her head, she thought of something else. "I vote heading east, running water'd be nice, but honestly I already got a couple bottles of water, I just need a towel and some new clothes..."
“It should be alright, don’t let your guard down though.”
For someone who considered himself a loner, Clayton seemed to take naturally to the position of leadership, or at least the role keeping the people he had promises to alive. Either way, Ada appreciated the extra pair of eyes, even if only for a night. She gave Clayton a nod and moved in after him, noting that he walked over to the counter, Ada moved through the aisles of the small drug store, knowing that everything was gone, but looking anyway. Everything that could've gotten you high was gone within the first few months, things people knew could help with sickness went shortly after... what remained... while probably useful in some capacity was completely foreign to Ada. Names like Loxapine, Trilafon, and Brompheniramine (oh my!) littered the shelves. It reminded Ada how horribly out of her depth she could be at things like this, a doctor she was not...
Throwing down a now blood stained bottle of pills in disgust, she looked up at Clayton breaking the silence of the dark storefront.
“Alright Ada…what should be our next step?”
That... was a good question. Setting down her bag, she leaned on a shelf across the counter Clayton was at. "Well..." She paused, listening to the alarm still blaring, weaker in the distance, "Getting out of the city's about as easy as it's gonna get, 'till that alarm dies down, every sicko for a few miles is gonna hear it and come walking... May as well take advantage that we already smell like 'em, y'know?" She ended by leaning back further against the shelf, happy to take some weight off of her legs, even for a moment. The words Clayton had said, 'next step,' hit her hard in a way she hadn't anticipated as she finished, relishing again in the drowned out crowd of sick fawning over the car alarm.
She didn't have a plan.
Ever since New Mexico, and it's Reservation, she had just been wandering, surviving, improvising in the general direction of Louisiana. She didn't really have a plan beyond that... look for family that she didn't care was alive or dead? Her mother was probably alive... somewhere. Ada wasn't sure if she thought that was a good thing or not. She told herself that she should be hoping she can meet her mother again someday, that even though her brother was gone she'd still have a family. That was supposed to be a good thing. But despite herself, she enjoyed the solitude, or at least being away from people she was related to, and the thought of meeting her mother made her physically shiver, she caught herself before Clayton could notice. She relished in the opportunity to live like she was, alone, no plans, like a tumbleweed, much like her mother had lived.
Shaking her head, she thought of something else. "I vote heading east, running water'd be nice, but honestly I already got a couple bottles of water, I just need a towel and some new clothes..."
No sugar cubes?
"C'monnnn, it'lll be funnn!" The feminine figure stumbled about, spilling the rum from her flask as if it would never drain. It was there, but it also was not, everything appeared blurry.
"Brig, you're drunk," replied another shadowy figure, this one dressed in a suit.
"So??? Ahm always drunk! Everyone's always drunk! Fuck! Less juss do somethin'-- ANYTHIN'!" She wasn't human, she resembled a human, but her figure shifted as she moved, as if it was shaped by the background noise of existence, she appeared as though she was made entirely out of the things people dream of, and shadowy wisps wafted off of her being. "Pleeease Samedi???"
A few other figures laughed off in the distance, the strange dimension seemed to distort sound as well as vision. These figures weren't humans, they were something that existed beyond... spirits, maybe?
A low baritone voice boomed from darkness, "Sure Brigette, we'll play..."
La Croix and Brigette had asleep for a while, La Croix from the stresses of incarnating into a human shell, Brigette from a hangover. La Croix woke first, and found himself... more than dismissive of the company he found himself in. He could deal with Brigette, but some of these ruffians... gave him an 'off' feeling. People spoke, people moved, things happened, and La Croix observed, for now. Lighting himself up a cigarette, he took note that wherever he was, whichever realm he was in, his cross pin had been taken from his mortal shell.
He'd need to get that back.
After a few puffs, he took note of Count Helcrests initiative with the maid, scoffing, and throwing the cigarette onto Brigette's drunken human shell, he followed behind behind the Count, flattening out the creases in his suit as he walked up to the two, "Quite-- I'd like to meet with her as well. Sort all this nonsense out." Turning to Count Helcrest, observing his armor, La Croix offered his hand for a shake, hoping the mortal would take it as a sign of manners, "Baron La Croix, pleased to make your acquaintance,"
Meanwhile, Brigette woke to the sound of her own blood pounding against her head. She was a fan of the feelings of drinking in a human body-- not so much the human hangovers. With bloodshot eyes, she wearily observed the room, before feeling around her dress for where she had left her flask.
Hair of the dog would fix this feeling...
Her search became more and more frantic-- she couldn't find it-- where was her flask!? Half-drunkenly stumbling to the center of the room, she fell to her knees, shouting. "WHERE ISS MYYY BOOOOZZZE!?!?!?!?!?!"
@Wiki
Left the first and second parts of my post pretty open so that I wouldn't be controlling your character, only thing set in stone is that Ada's following you as they make their way through the horde.
Left the first and second parts of my post pretty open so that I wouldn't be controlling your character, only thing set in stone is that Ada's following you as they make their way through the horde.
Ada Cinet – Gas Go Markets Gas Station – Clayton Burrows
a few minutes ago...
"Miss Ada, I'm 54 years old. I can assure you my sex drive died out years ago..." Clayton said, bending down to shower himself in filth and bowels, answering her question of whether or not he wanted her to do it for him "...besides...you're not my type." She gave a dry laugh at this, more of a smirk and a snort than anything, opening her mouth with her face covered in blood and what might very well be feces was never a good idea, even if it didn't seem to give you the sickness.
Her body language probably told him all he needed to know when she mentioned people trying to 'use' her... He got what she meant, and gave his reassurance to her that she didn't have that kind of thing to fear from him. Maybe it was some naivete surviving from before the End, maybe it was the lack of sleep, but something in her felt inclined to believe him. Ada had no idea the type of person that Clayton was, the two had just met, in front of an abandoned Gas n' Gulp on a starry Texan night, she didn't know what he'd done to survive and what he'd do to her if she threatened his, but she felt he wasn't a bad person-- she knew he wasn't that kind of person. Despite the muck that coated her face, the sickening smell coming off of both of them, and the low light that would prevent Clayton from even noticing the details on her face, she found herself smiling, it was a small one, and it only lasted a moment, but she smiled.
Ada tilted her head and watched as Clayton methodically went about covering himself in the gore and shit of the sick. She noted that he was tougher than her. Despite just being introduced to the concept, he already seemed to know which areas to cover and had no... digestive... qualms about any of it. It took Ada months to get over the smell, having thrown up her first, second, third... quite a few times while practicing this method of avoiding the sickos. Clayton, on the other hand, trusted her and just did it. He did it without vomiting or flinching, the man either hadn't had a very big lunch, or was simply used to this kind of thing by now, perhaps he had spent time observing them... wherever he had driven in from.
Knowing the world today, both of those were probably true.
Ada leaned against the wall and let the rancid ichor that had once brought the sick back from the dead drip off of her. She had given her jeans a once over with the muck, focusing mostly on her jacket, she was so soaked now though that her shirt underneath was probably fucked. Mostly for her own mental health than to actually clean anything, she rubbed her bloodied hand off on any dry spots she could find on her body, observing Clayton cover his face with the stuff. She had never been one to focus too heavily on her face, preferring to just soak some up in her hair, she didn't quite know why-- maybe she just didn't have the stomach for it.
As if reading her thoughts, Clayton said, "I'm fine to get my hands dirty. I'd like to meet the man who doesn't in this crazed world." Ex-military? Nah, too comfortable without direction, he was some kind of survivalist though, the gear... willingness to do whatever... maybe he hunted before all of this went down? Ada looked at the sicko Clayton was using, the one she had just cut open. One hunter covering himself in the blood of another. The irony wasn't lost on her. She knew it didn't matter what he did before, you were who you were now, the now is all that mattered... Still, she couldn't help but wonder things about him, the isolation of her past few weeks had left her with a desire to connect with other people. She wondered what his 'type' was? Crazy woodland widow ladies? Breaking her thoughts, Clayton cut in "I'd like it if you didn't too. You've got a lifetime ahead of ya, even if it is in a world like this."
Concern!? In this world!? Ada found herself blushing, under the sour blood and despite the darkness, at the thought that someone had her best interest in mind. Bandera was just full of surprises.
Ada noticed as Clayton got up. "Let's take it nice and easy. I'm assuming they're not stupid enough to ignore odd movements." He hesitated at the door for a second, Ada, with a grunt, forced herself to her feet behind him, he turned to her, "Ready?"
She waved her arms around a little, splattering blood and gore around before returning Clayton's gaze, something of a playful smirk on her face, "Bit late for that, ain't it?" She let out a stifled yawn, her face becoming serious as she finished, "Yeah, 'bout as ready as I'll ever be..." She tilted her head at Clayton, her southern drawl permeated her words to the man, "Although... You're down a car, right? Unless you planned on hot wiring another one in the dark... in the middle of all this... maybe we should stick together? For the night, at least-- more power in numbers and all that. I'm sure you already know that alarm'll attract more'n just the sickos."
Ada Cinet – Outside Gas Go Markets Gas Station – Clayton Burrows
the present
Everything's bigger in Texas. That was their slogan, that 6 months that was a lifetime ago, that everything was bigger. Ada hadn't really had time to see if that was true, that lifetime ago, her Mother and she, they had just kinda blown through Texas before, she didn't have family here, so they couldn't crash with anyone. Today though, Texas might not still be a state, but everything was certainly bigger.
Namely, the sick hordes.
Ada trailed behind Clayton, head down, shuffling slowly, and generally letting her eyes dart around, looking for the first sign of the horde ending-- or hostility. She couldn't help but wonder how this many people even lived in Bandera, 'bum fuck nowhere,' Texas. Had they not been evacuated? She bumped into a sicko, keeping Clayton in her sights, it kept moving, but it was reckless nonetheless. Nerves. She hadn't felt anxiety like this in a while, there was no reason for her to, but she did, the horde seemed unending, the stars could only provide so much light, and it'd be difficult to distinguish gunfire from any locals from the blaring alarm and the collective moans of all the sick that surrounded them. She'd work with the variables, but they made her uncomfortable.
Ada knew she couldn't let herself sweat though, they'd sense that. From under her bloodied bangs she focused herself instead on Clayton, the gun he had slung over his shoulder in a similar fashion to her own bag. She wondered how he was getting along? The defacto leader through crowd his car alarm had summoned. Keeping where he was on the back burner, she took note of the rotting faces that were going opposite of them, toward the noise they thought meant 'food.' They were unique, but the blended with each other, all in varying degrees of decomposition, they all seemed gray. They lacked race, religion, opinion... anything, except for a desire to somehow spread whatever it was that drove them. To Ada, to anyone that wasn't already one of them, that manifested itself as a collective hunger for human flesh.
Odd. What it took to completely unite people. A sickness that made them kill other people.
Some of them seemed to glance at the duo with their maggot filled hollow eyes, most just passed them, limping on legs with rotted skin. Like many people, the rise of the sick and the End of society brought most of Ada's beliefs in question. People too weak to resolve those crises of faith usually ended up becoming sick, others were just physically weak... or emotionally weak... or plain just unlucky, some people all of those things. Ada had resolved what she needed to to not end up like the sick... like the faces that passed her without a second glance as the pair made their way through the horde, unscathed. But one thing still bothered Ada and she was forced to think of it every time she looked at one of those sick fuckers with their slack jawed, unfeeling, faces.
Evil.
Were they some force of nature? Or were they evil incarnate? Something that consumed without purpose, without goal or need or, in some cases, even ability. Wikipedia had told her enough about parasites to last a lifetime from her curious nights before the End, but this sickness was... different. Or was it? Was this just nature being nature, and her placing an arbitrary label on it?
Did evil even exist?
Ada quickly looked down as blood from her dripping bangs slid past her eye. She caught herself getting philosophical, she shook her head lightly, as if physically ejecting those thoughts from her head in the moment, anything other than focus could get her killed here. That being said, over the slowly fading noise of the alarm and the constant hum of sicko noise it was amazing she could think at all. Ada's focus returned to trailing Clayton, following his steps, she kept her eyes on his pants. The only pair so evenly covered in gore in the crowd. She noticed him increasing his pace and increased her own in kind, shuffling to avoid hitting any sickos. Perhaps they'd finally reached the end?
a few minutes ago...
"Miss Ada, I'm 54 years old. I can assure you my sex drive died out years ago..." Clayton said, bending down to shower himself in filth and bowels, answering her question of whether or not he wanted her to do it for him "...besides...you're not my type." She gave a dry laugh at this, more of a smirk and a snort than anything, opening her mouth with her face covered in blood and what might very well be feces was never a good idea, even if it didn't seem to give you the sickness.
Her body language probably told him all he needed to know when she mentioned people trying to 'use' her... He got what she meant, and gave his reassurance to her that she didn't have that kind of thing to fear from him. Maybe it was some naivete surviving from before the End, maybe it was the lack of sleep, but something in her felt inclined to believe him. Ada had no idea the type of person that Clayton was, the two had just met, in front of an abandoned Gas n' Gulp on a starry Texan night, she didn't know what he'd done to survive and what he'd do to her if she threatened his, but she felt he wasn't a bad person-- she knew he wasn't that kind of person. Despite the muck that coated her face, the sickening smell coming off of both of them, and the low light that would prevent Clayton from even noticing the details on her face, she found herself smiling, it was a small one, and it only lasted a moment, but she smiled.
Ada tilted her head and watched as Clayton methodically went about covering himself in the gore and shit of the sick. She noted that he was tougher than her. Despite just being introduced to the concept, he already seemed to know which areas to cover and had no... digestive... qualms about any of it. It took Ada months to get over the smell, having thrown up her first, second, third... quite a few times while practicing this method of avoiding the sickos. Clayton, on the other hand, trusted her and just did it. He did it without vomiting or flinching, the man either hadn't had a very big lunch, or was simply used to this kind of thing by now, perhaps he had spent time observing them... wherever he had driven in from.
Knowing the world today, both of those were probably true.
Ada leaned against the wall and let the rancid ichor that had once brought the sick back from the dead drip off of her. She had given her jeans a once over with the muck, focusing mostly on her jacket, she was so soaked now though that her shirt underneath was probably fucked. Mostly for her own mental health than to actually clean anything, she rubbed her bloodied hand off on any dry spots she could find on her body, observing Clayton cover his face with the stuff. She had never been one to focus too heavily on her face, preferring to just soak some up in her hair, she didn't quite know why-- maybe she just didn't have the stomach for it.
As if reading her thoughts, Clayton said, "I'm fine to get my hands dirty. I'd like to meet the man who doesn't in this crazed world." Ex-military? Nah, too comfortable without direction, he was some kind of survivalist though, the gear... willingness to do whatever... maybe he hunted before all of this went down? Ada looked at the sicko Clayton was using, the one she had just cut open. One hunter covering himself in the blood of another. The irony wasn't lost on her. She knew it didn't matter what he did before, you were who you were now, the now is all that mattered... Still, she couldn't help but wonder things about him, the isolation of her past few weeks had left her with a desire to connect with other people. She wondered what his 'type' was? Crazy woodland widow ladies? Breaking her thoughts, Clayton cut in "I'd like it if you didn't too. You've got a lifetime ahead of ya, even if it is in a world like this."
Concern!? In this world!? Ada found herself blushing, under the sour blood and despite the darkness, at the thought that someone had her best interest in mind. Bandera was just full of surprises.
Ada noticed as Clayton got up. "Let's take it nice and easy. I'm assuming they're not stupid enough to ignore odd movements." He hesitated at the door for a second, Ada, with a grunt, forced herself to her feet behind him, he turned to her, "Ready?"
She waved her arms around a little, splattering blood and gore around before returning Clayton's gaze, something of a playful smirk on her face, "Bit late for that, ain't it?" She let out a stifled yawn, her face becoming serious as she finished, "Yeah, 'bout as ready as I'll ever be..." She tilted her head at Clayton, her southern drawl permeated her words to the man, "Although... You're down a car, right? Unless you planned on hot wiring another one in the dark... in the middle of all this... maybe we should stick together? For the night, at least-- more power in numbers and all that. I'm sure you already know that alarm'll attract more'n just the sickos."
Ada Cinet – Outside Gas Go Markets Gas Station – Clayton Burrows
the present
Everything's bigger in Texas. That was their slogan, that 6 months that was a lifetime ago, that everything was bigger. Ada hadn't really had time to see if that was true, that lifetime ago, her Mother and she, they had just kinda blown through Texas before, she didn't have family here, so they couldn't crash with anyone. Today though, Texas might not still be a state, but everything was certainly bigger.
Namely, the sick hordes.
Ada trailed behind Clayton, head down, shuffling slowly, and generally letting her eyes dart around, looking for the first sign of the horde ending-- or hostility. She couldn't help but wonder how this many people even lived in Bandera, 'bum fuck nowhere,' Texas. Had they not been evacuated? She bumped into a sicko, keeping Clayton in her sights, it kept moving, but it was reckless nonetheless. Nerves. She hadn't felt anxiety like this in a while, there was no reason for her to, but she did, the horde seemed unending, the stars could only provide so much light, and it'd be difficult to distinguish gunfire from any locals from the blaring alarm and the collective moans of all the sick that surrounded them. She'd work with the variables, but they made her uncomfortable.
Ada knew she couldn't let herself sweat though, they'd sense that. From under her bloodied bangs she focused herself instead on Clayton, the gun he had slung over his shoulder in a similar fashion to her own bag. She wondered how he was getting along? The defacto leader through crowd his car alarm had summoned. Keeping where he was on the back burner, she took note of the rotting faces that were going opposite of them, toward the noise they thought meant 'food.' They were unique, but the blended with each other, all in varying degrees of decomposition, they all seemed gray. They lacked race, religion, opinion... anything, except for a desire to somehow spread whatever it was that drove them. To Ada, to anyone that wasn't already one of them, that manifested itself as a collective hunger for human flesh.
Odd. What it took to completely unite people. A sickness that made them kill other people.
Some of them seemed to glance at the duo with their maggot filled hollow eyes, most just passed them, limping on legs with rotted skin. Like many people, the rise of the sick and the End of society brought most of Ada's beliefs in question. People too weak to resolve those crises of faith usually ended up becoming sick, others were just physically weak... or emotionally weak... or plain just unlucky, some people all of those things. Ada had resolved what she needed to to not end up like the sick... like the faces that passed her without a second glance as the pair made their way through the horde, unscathed. But one thing still bothered Ada and she was forced to think of it every time she looked at one of those sick fuckers with their slack jawed, unfeeling, faces.
Evil.
Were they some force of nature? Or were they evil incarnate? Something that consumed without purpose, without goal or need or, in some cases, even ability. Wikipedia had told her enough about parasites to last a lifetime from her curious nights before the End, but this sickness was... different. Or was it? Was this just nature being nature, and her placing an arbitrary label on it?
Did evil even exist?
Ada quickly looked down as blood from her dripping bangs slid past her eye. She caught herself getting philosophical, she shook her head lightly, as if physically ejecting those thoughts from her head in the moment, anything other than focus could get her killed here. That being said, over the slowly fading noise of the alarm and the constant hum of sicko noise it was amazing she could think at all. Ada's focus returned to trailing Clayton, following his steps, she kept her eyes on his pants. The only pair so evenly covered in gore in the crowd. She noticed him increasing his pace and increased her own in kind, shuffling to avoid hitting any sickos. Perhaps they'd finally reached the end?
Jesus Christ, Buck's got some big balls.
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