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thebreathing2017-06-15 05:10 pm
TEST DRIVE MEME #1.
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YOUR FRIENDLY MODS. (therunning) wrote in thebreathing2017-06-15 05:10 pm
therunning) wrote in thebreathing2017-06-15 05:10 pmEntry tags:
I see. Then we should see about finding someplace fairly self-sufficient. Even just a kitchen would be good.
[ He hasn't checked if there's running water yet and tbh he doesn't want to know if there isn't. He. He still has his moments but he knows he was spoiled as a kid... ]
[ He hasn't checked if there's running water yet and tbh he doesn't want to know if there isn't. He. He still has his moments but he knows he was spoiled as a kid... ]
waking up
[Georgia isn't nearly as bothered by the zombies as other people are. Honestly, the fact that it seems like it's supposed to be a surprise is weirder than anything else about it. But there's an alarming lack of infrastructure, far worse than it ever got even during the worst years of the Rising, and an even more alarming lack of internet. She hasn't gone this long without checking her email ever.
But she's supposed to be dead, so she supposes there's gonna be a whole lot longer.
Still, she's clearly pissed off, and happy to tell anyone who comes close enough exactly why.]
I don't know what fucking morality system judged me bad enough in my former life to condemn me to Los Angeles. Fuck that.
exploring
Georgia's not gonna let a little thing like death stop her from doing her job. She's a journalist, and if she knows anything about the Rising, and she knows a lot, it's that this is a story that needs to be told. She needs to write everything down if there's going to be any hope at a future. Humans can learn to live with zombies. She knows that from her own life experience. But first they have to know enough to allow them to survive.
When she approaches, her expression exudes serious professionalism under the sunglasses that hide her eyes. "Excuse me? Georgia Mason, after the End Times." She flashes the press pass she still has with her, the one that was on her when she died. "Do you have time to answer a few questions?"
network
People ask me sometimes, why do I bother? Why do I continue to write things down when there's no one besides us to read it? No one denies the importance of emergency broadcasts, of course, but why do I continue to write op-eds? Why do I do research and ask questions and chase down stories that aren't necessary for our survival? Aren't there better things I could be doing with my time?
Of course, the assumption being made here is that the greatest danger we face is the zombies. That assumption is false. Zombies are easy if you know what you're doing. If you want to know the real danger we face, look in the mirror. Zombies are straightforward. People are creative and clever and vindictive. Zombies just want to eat you. People want to make you suffer.
I continue to write down the news because I know that the world will never actually change that much. People still lie. People still make choices and then try to avoid the consequences. People still need to be held accountable. They don't get to hide behind zombies and apocalypses.
I've spent my entire life telling people the truths they didn't want to hear. I'm not about to stop now.
[Georgia isn't nearly as bothered by the zombies as other people are. Honestly, the fact that it seems like it's supposed to be a surprise is weirder than anything else about it. But there's an alarming lack of infrastructure, far worse than it ever got even during the worst years of the Rising, and an even more alarming lack of internet. She hasn't gone this long without checking her email ever.
But she's supposed to be dead, so she supposes there's gonna be a whole lot longer.
Still, she's clearly pissed off, and happy to tell anyone who comes close enough exactly why.]
I don't know what fucking morality system judged me bad enough in my former life to condemn me to Los Angeles. Fuck that.
exploring
Georgia's not gonna let a little thing like death stop her from doing her job. She's a journalist, and if she knows anything about the Rising, and she knows a lot, it's that this is a story that needs to be told. She needs to write everything down if there's going to be any hope at a future. Humans can learn to live with zombies. She knows that from her own life experience. But first they have to know enough to allow them to survive.
When she approaches, her expression exudes serious professionalism under the sunglasses that hide her eyes. "Excuse me? Georgia Mason, after the End Times." She flashes the press pass she still has with her, the one that was on her when she died. "Do you have time to answer a few questions?"
network
People ask me sometimes, why do I bother? Why do I continue to write things down when there's no one besides us to read it? No one denies the importance of emergency broadcasts, of course, but why do I continue to write op-eds? Why do I do research and ask questions and chase down stories that aren't necessary for our survival? Aren't there better things I could be doing with my time?
Of course, the assumption being made here is that the greatest danger we face is the zombies. That assumption is false. Zombies are easy if you know what you're doing. If you want to know the real danger we face, look in the mirror. Zombies are straightforward. People are creative and clever and vindictive. Zombies just want to eat you. People want to make you suffer.
I continue to write down the news because I know that the world will never actually change that much. People still lie. People still make choices and then try to avoid the consequences. People still need to be held accountable. They don't get to hide behind zombies and apocalypses.
I've spent my entire life telling people the truths they didn't want to hear. I'm not about to stop now.
No. But we had zombies where I come from. And the Rising happened three years before I was born.
[She shrugs a shoulder.]
None of this is new to me. [Except she's used to having a whole lot more resources.]
[She shrugs a shoulder.]
None of this is new to me. [Except she's used to having a whole lot more resources.]
So R's not exactly new to this corpse thing and he isn't exactly a vet, either. Veterans are withered, organs and skin pulling across a framework of yellowing bone that looks brittle but isn't. Newbies are so fresh-faced that he almost debates taking a test-bite, just to be safe, no harm no foul. He suspects he must be relatively new, though, judging by the fact he hasn't tripped on his intestines and he has both eyes safely in his sockets instead of bouncing against his cheek like yo-yo's. One bleary look at the mirror confirms that he can't pass for "ill with a serious case of the flu".
Depressing. These days he tries not to get too hung up about it.
R keeps himself busy. He shuffles from Point A to Point B, then back to Point A, and if he's lucky, he doesn't slouch into too many walls or slam into other zombies. Sometimes he gets sidetracked if he scents that lavender-electric sent of life, feels it fill his mouth, circle around his gray throat and guts like a leash. Then it's a feeding frenzy with strangers with no names - sometimes with no faces, just jaws - and R stumbles away with a beard of blood and the brief, sated feeling of a corpse who's gorged to the point where his maggot-ridden stomach distends.
He feels a little guilty, then. His stomach and rotting body, don't though, and they're insatiable.
So yeah. Days either either mind-numbing boredom or he's caught up in a corpse pack, playing follow the leader until...
Well. Good news is this isn't one of those days, or Georgia would've been red paste and bones not long after R stumbled upon her. What stops him is the sound coming from the other side of the apartment door: it doesn't rise and fall like a corpse. There are...patterns. Purpose. Rise and pitch that wants to make his dead lump of a heart quiver. A woman's voice. There's a question mark, a rise in tone he's never heard from others like him.
R dredges up a memory from the gray cobwebs of his skull. Wills muscle memory to do its thing. He lifts a stiff hand and he knocks.
"Hugh...hello?" He forces it out in a low, uncertain grunt. "Can I...come...in?"
Depressing. These days he tries not to get too hung up about it.
R keeps himself busy. He shuffles from Point A to Point B, then back to Point A, and if he's lucky, he doesn't slouch into too many walls or slam into other zombies. Sometimes he gets sidetracked if he scents that lavender-electric sent of life, feels it fill his mouth, circle around his gray throat and guts like a leash. Then it's a feeding frenzy with strangers with no names - sometimes with no faces, just jaws - and R stumbles away with a beard of blood and the brief, sated feeling of a corpse who's gorged to the point where his maggot-ridden stomach distends.
He feels a little guilty, then. His stomach and rotting body, don't though, and they're insatiable.
So yeah. Days either either mind-numbing boredom or he's caught up in a corpse pack, playing follow the leader until...
Well. Good news is this isn't one of those days, or Georgia would've been red paste and bones not long after R stumbled upon her. What stops him is the sound coming from the other side of the apartment door: it doesn't rise and fall like a corpse. There are...patterns. Purpose. Rise and pitch that wants to make his dead lump of a heart quiver. A woman's voice. There's a question mark, a rise in tone he's never heard from others like him.
R dredges up a memory from the gray cobwebs of his skull. Wills muscle memory to do its thing. He lifts a stiff hand and he knocks.
"Hugh...hello?" He forces it out in a low, uncertain grunt. "Can I...come...in?"
[ paul is out on a run.
of course he is. he's built for it from the ground up and there's no denying that his oddly squirrel-like (or ninja-like, if you're feeling kind) abilities help out along the way. it's been a pretty good day with his partner, with whom he communicates mostly in gestures.
which would explain why beth wouldn't have heard paul or the woman he's working with - colleen - they haven't been talking. They split up at the doors of the store to go comb through aisles and pick what they can - it's slow picking and by the time he hears someone demanding things of him it's too late. stupid, stupid, stupid. should have been paying more attention.
paul steps out from around a corner slowly, hands at his sides but bent up at the elbows to show his open and empty hands. ] Hi.
[ nailed it. ] My name is Paul. Colleen and I are on a run from Aqora. That where you're from?
of course he is. he's built for it from the ground up and there's no denying that his oddly squirrel-like (or ninja-like, if you're feeling kind) abilities help out along the way. it's been a pretty good day with his partner, with whom he communicates mostly in gestures.
which would explain why beth wouldn't have heard paul or the woman he's working with - colleen - they haven't been talking. They split up at the doors of the store to go comb through aisles and pick what they can - it's slow picking and by the time he hears someone demanding things of him it's too late. stupid, stupid, stupid. should have been paying more attention.
paul steps out from around a corner slowly, hands at his sides but bent up at the elbows to show his open and empty hands. ] Hi.
[ nailed it. ] My name is Paul. Colleen and I are on a run from Aqora. That where you're from?
i'll take lessons
what do you want in return?
[ carey has learned how to use firearms and he can more or less bullshit it with any weapon with a sharp edge now, but he has yet to learn archery. might as well pick it up if someone's willing to teach him. and, of course, naturally, he's going to assume there's a price to it. ]
what do you want in return?
[ carey has learned how to use firearms and he can more or less bullshit it with any weapon with a sharp edge now, but he has yet to learn archery. might as well pick it up if someone's willing to teach him. and, of course, naturally, he's going to assume there's a price to it. ]
Georgia doesn't smile back, offering nothing but a curt nod as she checks the bullets in her gun. She flat out refused to give it up for community usage. She's all for sharing resources, but she's a journalist. If you think she's going to go around unarmed, even in the supposedly safe zone, you're fucking mad.
Once she's satisfied, she looks up at him, raising an eyebrow behind her sunglasses. "Georgia Mason." She doesn't offer a hand. She doesn't like physical contact here any more than she does at home. "How much field experience do you have?"
Once she's satisfied, she looks up at him, raising an eyebrow behind her sunglasses. "Georgia Mason." She doesn't offer a hand. She doesn't like physical contact here any more than she does at home. "How much field experience do you have?"
[Okay, this is a nightmare. Undeniably, undoubtedly. Johnny has been processing it the way he processes most things: crying, hiding, and crying a little more until he gets a dehydration headache and has to sleep. It's not that he's sad, especially, he just has to express things somehow. So it's with teary eyes and an incredulous wobble to his voice that he snips right back at Jolyne, more suspicious than anything else.]
You gonna make the guy who can't walk help you? Jesus.
[But he still gingerly rolls his way over to Jolyne, hurriedly dragging a hand over his eyes: an action that does little to hide the fact that he's both very tired and still sort of crying.]
Hell're you doin', anyways? Huntin' for worms?
You gonna make the guy who can't walk help you? Jesus.
[But he still gingerly rolls his way over to Jolyne, hurriedly dragging a hand over his eyes: an action that does little to hide the fact that he's both very tired and still sort of crying.]
Hell're you doin', anyways? Huntin' for worms?
[Merlin lets out a short laugh.] No worries, if there's one thing I'm good at, it's running and hiding. Anyone from back home would tell you that.
[That's a big fat lie but acting the fool is second nature and a defense mechanism.] Oh, right, I'm also a medic, so short of someone getting bit, I can handle most wounds a person might get out there. Again, not implying anything, just, y'know. Sharing relevant information.
[That's a big fat lie but acting the fool is second nature and a defense mechanism.] Oh, right, I'm also a medic, so short of someone getting bit, I can handle most wounds a person might get out there. Again, not implying anything, just, y'know. Sharing relevant information.
She quiets immediately, though she leaves her recorder running, slipping it into her pocket. She doesn't know what's going to happen, but dammit, she'll have a record of it. She pulls out her gun instead, clicking off the safety. Zombies don't talk, of course, but that doesn't mean she's going to go around being trusting to strangers who ask to come into the room she secured. It has a solid door, and a fire escape, ladder pulled up but easy enough to get down in a pinch. She has a good enough line of sight to give her warning if she might need to vacate quickly, and she has bullets. It's not guaranteed safety, but nothing ever is.
The door is, of course, locked from the inside. She glares at it, gun pointed down for the moment. "Oh yes, I love letting strangers into rooms with me when I'm alone. It's up there with splitting up in a haunted house in top ten great ideas I'll never have. Who the fuck are you?"
The door is, of course, locked from the inside. She glares at it, gun pointed down for the moment. "Oh yes, I love letting strangers into rooms with me when I'm alone. It's up there with splitting up in a haunted house in top ten great ideas I'll never have. Who the fuck are you?"
[Fortunately, plants were right in Merlin's wheelhouse. He'd found a book on the uses of the local plant life and had spent an entire night studying it. It wasn't exactly the same as hunting for medicinal herbs in the forest for Gaius, but it was sort of similar.
Merlin handed over his phone without a second thought, though he did peer over Daryl's shoulder to see for himself. Just to know how to do it, and in case he wanted to change it again later. Merlin'd gotten a flip phone, small but surprisingly sturdy.] I did figure out how to change the picture on the, uh-- the little window there. [He changed the home screen background. It's a stock picture of a basket of puppies.]
Merlin handed over his phone without a second thought, though he did peer over Daryl's shoulder to see for himself. Just to know how to do it, and in case he wanted to change it again later. Merlin'd gotten a flip phone, small but surprisingly sturdy.] I did figure out how to change the picture on the, uh-- the little window there. [He changed the home screen background. It's a stock picture of a basket of puppies.]
[Well, Merlin's from a time before the average citizen in his area has ever even heard of a country called Japan, much less phones, so...
He looks up at Daigo, expression both grateful and utterly forlorn. It's like his first day in Camelot all over again, even the constant threat of death.]
If you're offering! I've never seen anything like this before.
He looks up at Daigo, expression both grateful and utterly forlorn. It's like his first day in Camelot all over again, even the constant threat of death.]
If you're offering! I've never seen anything like this before.
Peter shuffles back, his ratty shoes with their treads, worn from all the shuffling, squeaking slightly. He starts to hold up his hands and he can't tell if he wants to grab or he's trying to show he's unarmed.
"I'm....R," he says and he's actually relieved he not only can remember his name today, he can get it out it one shot. Barely any groaning. Go him. "Heard...talk...ing. Curious."
And this probably won't help, but he's pretty full from the zombie buffet last night - while he had time to scrub his face clean of gore in a street puddle, it hasn't been long enough where his permanently dry mouth starts leaking black fluid instead of spit. For a corpse he figures he's presentable. Hopefully conversation-decent if the door opens. Can't even remember when he had one of those.
"I'm....R," he says and he's actually relieved he not only can remember his name today, he can get it out it one shot. Barely any groaning. Go him. "Heard...talk...ing. Curious."
And this probably won't help, but he's pretty full from the zombie buffet last night - while he had time to scrub his face clean of gore in a street puddle, it hasn't been long enough where his permanently dry mouth starts leaking black fluid instead of spit. For a corpse he figures he's presentable. Hopefully conversation-decent if the door opens. Can't even remember when he had one of those.
"Peter Quill," he says and shrugs. "With walking corpses? Zero. But I know my way around a fight and I also know when to book it instead of playing hero."
He figures that'll have to do. Besides, it wasn't like scout duty had a big volunteer pool to pick from.
He tips his chin at the gun. Now that he's had actual practice with an Earth-style gun, he has to admit the sheer kick surprised him. The kick and the sound, both which were loud, probably because Earth is light years behind the rest of the galaxy who understand how to suppress sound so it isn't like a firework going off a foot in front of you.
"You got something quieter?" Not that Georgia shouldn't bring the gun. He figures she's a better shot with that one than he is, but he figures if it's just a few corpses out there, they can handle it quietly between the two of them. Channel their inner ninja instead of their inner Rambo.
He figures that'll have to do. Besides, it wasn't like scout duty had a big volunteer pool to pick from.
He tips his chin at the gun. Now that he's had actual practice with an Earth-style gun, he has to admit the sheer kick surprised him. The kick and the sound, both which were loud, probably because Earth is light years behind the rest of the galaxy who understand how to suppress sound so it isn't like a firework going off a foot in front of you.
"You got something quieter?" Not that Georgia shouldn't bring the gun. He figures she's a better shot with that one than he is, but he figures if it's just a few corpses out there, they can handle it quietly between the two of them. Channel their inner ninja instead of their inner Rambo.
Edited 2017-06-21 05:30 (UTC)
[ it's all good, Merlin. At the very least Daigo might not know who you are because he's obviously not super big on the English myths. Plus, judging by his clothes, it's not too surprising that he can't work a phone. ]
Of course, it's no trouble. The phones we had back home were a bit more advanced than this.
[ He steps over and pulls out his own phone to demonstrate. He's probably shown some of his elders how to do this too... ]
So each phone should have a unique number assigned to it. You can store those numbers in here by pressing this... and then typing in their name. If you dial that number and press the green button, that will call that person. The red button ends the call.
[ He's probably going too fast isn't he. But he'll go ahead and hold his hand out. ]
Do you mind if I see your phone? I can show you how to save my number if you'd like.
Of course, it's no trouble. The phones we had back home were a bit more advanced than this.
[ He steps over and pulls out his own phone to demonstrate. He's probably shown some of his elders how to do this too... ]
So each phone should have a unique number assigned to it. You can store those numbers in here by pressing this... and then typing in their name. If you dial that number and press the green button, that will call that person. The red button ends the call.
[ He's probably going too fast isn't he. But he'll go ahead and hold his hand out. ]
Do you mind if I see your phone? I can show you how to save my number if you'd like.
"R." She sounds skeptical. It's not much of a name. And he might be talking, but you can hardly call what he's saying full sentences. And while she's curious herself, she's also not interested in dying today. Indulging curiosity isn't enough of a reason to be stupid. Not without Shaun here to watch her back, anyway.
"Why haven't we met before?" The settlement only has so many people. It's not impossible there's someone with a single letter name that she hasn't run into before, but he sounds like she'd remember him. Slurred speech is a sign of amplification, at least where she's from, so it's something she'd pay attention to. Unless it's new, and that's even more worrying.
Goddamn, does she ever miss blood tests.
"Why haven't we met before?" The settlement only has so many people. It's not impossible there's someone with a single letter name that she hasn't run into before, but he sounds like she'd remember him. Slurred speech is a sign of amplification, at least where she's from, so it's something she'd pay attention to. Unless it's new, and that's even more worrying.
Goddamn, does she ever miss blood tests.
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