thebreathing | TEST DRIVE MEME #1.

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TEST DRIVE MEME #1.

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WAKING UP

You wake up in a studio in an apartment building that's got windows all boarded up. You remember being sick, you remember dying, and you probably can't believe this is the afterlife. If you head out into the hall you'll see that others are heading out too, looking just as confused as you are. All of you died, most of you of the same thing. If you head down to the front office, you'll meet a native resident who will explain in brief that you're in Aqora, a settlement living among the undead and that people like you show up every so often. You'll be given an informational pamphlet, a shitty cell phone, and a walkie. Then you'll be expected to figure it out. No one has time to hold your hand.

EXPLORING

Miscellaneous things here: shops and restaurants turned into places to live, apartments full of people living day to day, the main focus (the library) being the hub where people come to learn and children go to school. Because school never ends, even in the apocalypse. Feel free to buddy up with other newcomers to figure out what the hell is going on.

OR, say you've been here a while. It's time to figure out how to get more supplies! Let's go on a supply run. You'll just be heading out past the barricades to start, and you'll have to dig through buildings to try and find things. If you're lucky, maybe you'll hit a cache. If you're unlucky, you'll find too many undead to fight. No one goes out alone though, so hopefully your partner can help.

"NETWORK"

Someone has set up a rudimentary network using the nearest cell towers. You can communicate with others in the area but only via voice and text. Anything further out is voice only via walkies. You can have a username or leave it blank.

Have fun, campers.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

waking up

[ death isn't what paul had expected. he'd known it was coming as soon as the crushing shredding rip of teeth had snagged his arm too high up to chop off soon enough to save him. he'd let out a rough and ragged laugh and jammed the ratchet he'd been using through the softening skull of the walker that'd done it. everything hurt like hell already but if he could just get the damn bike fixed before he died at least he could save daryl.

except saving daryl fell to the wayside when he realized he wasn't the only one bit. oh. so taking out the last ones left had become priority so that no one looking for them would come upon a horde of zombies (it'd be fine if it were someone from sanctuary, but if someone from alexandria or hilltop came around, well... no, they couldn't let that happen. finally it'd just been them, panting and feverish and pained and nauseated, burning up with fever and thirst and feeling like death and knowing the end was coming and paul had dropped down to the asphalt, tugging daryl down with him. or maybe it'd been the other way around. it didn't matter.

we have to figure out how to put each other down, he'd said, ragged. they both knew it was coming and it wasn't time to moan and cry, it was time to protect their loved ones--unless we want to get back as close to sanctuary as we can before we kick the bucket.

but that wasn't desirable either. no matter how it'd ended (it doesn't matter any more) waking up in an apartment building is not what he'd expected. instead of doing what he's supposed to he starts to tear down the halls, looking. he can't be the only one of them, right? what the hell is this? he needs to find-- ] Daryl? Daryl?

[ it's almost like he's hyperfocused. feel free to stop him and get him to focus on something else, steer him downstairs - or, you know, be daryl and give him something at least marginally familiar. ]

exploring

[ paul is, to put it lightly, made to go on runs. he's good in rural areas but he's even better in cities, and if you're paired up with him for a run you'll find out why. he's a runner and a climber, dragging himself easily up ladders and walls and climbing through windows to hand things out and literally existing as that movie trope of a guy that can hop from roof to roof. he's friendly too, calm and collected and smiling gently. even if he calls the zombies anything but and just looks kind of confused by the z word, he appears to be really used to the concept as a whole.

in any case if you want a fun, fast-paced run that's almost sure to get results or be hilariously yakety sax trying, paul is a great partner to have. ]

network

how the hell did anyone manage to get something like this up? all our satellites and towers are completely down even with solar panels. we're lucky to have batteries for walkies any more.

[Daryl was moving down one of the hall ways, slowly checking each door for trouble. One of Jesus' knives in his right hand while the left turned the knobs. He heard his named called and thought he must be hearing things. Saw Jesus appear at the far end, looking frantic and a little worse for wear. Figured he must be seeing things, too.

Wouldn't be the first time.

Still, he paused in his exploration to watch the vision as the man came toward him. Looking like he was almost searching his eyes for recognition. That, at least, was new. Merle had never acted confused and worried. He'd always been confident that Daryl could see and hear him just fine. Because he could.

After as second, his brows creased in confusion and he reached out to poke at the approaching man. Just tap his shoulder with a finger. Test how real he was.]

Jesus?

He should have been more careful in looking, walked along the halls in case there were walkers, but hell, he'd already been bitten once.

But that doesn't matter. There he is. Daryl is here, and looks whole, and not dying, and... what does that mean? Paul doesn't know what that means. But it means they're together, and it's better than nothing.

Daryl touches his shoulder and it's barely, just barely, but it's enough that Paul exhales in a relieved rush of breath and reaches out to clutch at his elbow like he's making sure he's still there. Real. Definitely nothing like the hallucinations of Merle.

"Daryl."

Daryl won't ever have seen Paul like this - it's clear he's trying to retain some semblance of calm but he's tattered around the edges, eyes flicking over Daryl's face like he still doesn't quite believe it. "I thought I was here alone."

Daryl blinks slowly, eyes following his arm down to the elbow where Jesus was clutching it. It takes him a couple seconds to process that he was here with Jesus. Alive. Wherever here was.

His hand flattened out on the other man's shoulder then curled in to a firm grip before pulling him into a tentative hug. Just the one hand on his shoulder and his head dropping down to the other as he breathed in a few deep breaths that had his body shuddering. He didn't know what was going on. He'd killed Jesus and now he was here, whole and breathing in front of him.

He pulled back once he got his mental bearings enough to deal with the new situation on even the smallest level. Nodded and let his hand drop but didn't try to break contact with where Jesus was holding him in return.

"Thought I was... thought I died," he said, keeping his head turned away like he was looking for something to tell him otherwise. But mostly it was so he didn't have to look Jesus in the face when he continued with, "Thought you died, too."

He was afraid his eyes would give away that he was the one to do the deed.

Paul is quiet for some time and he returns the hug tightly. He's not good at anything but superficial niceties usually because he keeps people at arm's length, but this is different. This is dying together. One arm around his shoulder, the other still at his elbow.

It's important to note that due to the circumstances, Paul can't even enjoy the gun show, and this is the most tragic thing of all.

"Thought we were both dead," he agrees, quiet, looking at his profile because he doesn't want to look away. It hasn't clicked yet that Daryl took him out before he could protest, luckily for Daryl.

"This can't be the afterlife," he says finally, "it looks too much like home." He'd recognized the way the windows were fortified instantly.

"Yeah. Thought I'd been found by someone and dragged here when I woke up," he agreed. Just not going to mention the part where Jesus had died first. "Know I got bit, though."

He took a deep breath, then reached down and tugged the edge of his pant leg up to show his ankle and the bite scar, "That cain't have healed naturally. I lost half the muscle there. Shouldn't be walking."

Daryl let the jeans drop back down, hiding the sight. Took another deep breath, rubbed at his nose and waved a hand around, "Let's see if we can find a room with some clothes in 'em. Want out of this shit. Gonna burn it."

Because fuck Dwight, that's why.

"Something like that," Paul says in agreement eventually, "but I knew my bite was..." he gestures vaguely to where he was bit - way too high, way too close to his heart. To then his brain, in turn. "Yours was far enough down they might have been able to save you."

Instead the wounds are just... healed? With the flesh and sinew and everything all put back together.

"We'll both need clothes," he replies at length, a little like he's normalizing it. He's not pandering - he's not going to do anything obvious like burn his own clothes too - but he does need a new shirt and coat. His vest is fine.

Let's go then, he says with his eyes, then licks his lips (they're never going to see anyone they care about again, and if they do does that mean they died?) and lets Daryl go so they can start to search the tiny apartments more thoroughly.

They're almost all studios, which makes it quicker work at least.

Unfortunately, the place they woke up in had been pretty thoroughly cleaned out by whoever had brought them there. And eventually Daryl gave up on finding anything appropriate in any of them.

So instead, in the last apartment they checked, he moved to the window and looked outside. What he saw surprised him some. Not because of the people moving about but because of the skyline. It looked like they were in a major city.

He waved at Jesus to come over, the knife he'd 'borrowed' still in his hand. Still ready to be used if they encountered any of the dead. He'd just forgotten to give it back already. Mostly cause a knife in his hand was normal for him. More so than a gun. Less so than his bow.

"Hey, you been around D.C. right? This look like D.C. to you? Can't see the Washington Monument. Might be behind us if it is."

It's a tedious process but there really is nothing left. Paul moves to the window when Daryl waves his hand, brow furrowing a little as he looks outside. No, it's completely unfamiliar and definitely in the middle of a city. That isn't anywhere near where they're supposed to be.

"I'm from D.C.," he admits, "and this isn't D.C. I don't recognize it at all."

Growing up in the home like he had, it isn't like he'd had many opportunities to travel - money is always an issue when you're a ward of the state and even after they kick you to the curb because you're still poor. So Paul knows D.C. and the surrounding areas and that's about it. He sighs, moving over to the couch of the room they're in and leaning against the side of it with his arms crossed over his chest.

"None of this is adding up. We're not in the right place, we're healed up, we're alone, we weren't restrained, so what are we supposed to take from that?"

"Ain't Atlanta, neither," Daryl added under his breath as he stayed at the window just watching it all. He leaned against the frame and let himself relax for a second.

"They don't think we're a threat or they don't know we're here. One or the other. This place is cleared out, but it ain't dusty so they still get use outta it. Can't really see any way they didn't bring us here, so best guess is the first. We ain't a threat to 'em as far as they're concerned."

"They left us our weapons," he says, straightening and walking back over to Daryl. He looks down to the knife in his hand and reaches down to pull out one of his other ones, turning the handle over in his palm thoughtfully. No one does that.

"It's so empty. We should probably head the rest of the way down and get out of here, get the lay of the land, figure out where to go from here. There has to be somewhere we can scrounge up some supplies."

There aren't many floors, so they can just head on down and out unless there's something or someone to stop them.

Daryl finally realizes he has Jesus' knife in hand, but doesn't offer it back. Jesus had clearly seen it and hadn't asked for it. So until they found another one for Daryl to claim, he was going to use it.

He moved past the other man, heading for the door to lead the way. Taking point like he was used to doing. The other floors were empty right up until they got to the bottom and found a person sitting at a desk, looking bored out of their minds while they went over some paperwork.

They looked up upon noticing the movement out of the corner of their eye, sighed, and sat back, "Good. You're awake. Take a phone, a walkie, and a pamphlet. Then get out of here."

Daryl stayed where he was, looking confused by the reaction and the words.

Yeah, Daryl's keeping Paul's knife until they find him something else. It's better than having him unarmed when they don't know what's going on or who they're with.

Everything is quiet until they see someone and Paul stops dead briefly and then--

--riiiight. Okay. "What?"

A beat before the person at the desk replies. "Welcome to Aqora. You each get a phone, a walkie, and a pamphlet. If you have any other questions leave here, hang a right, and stop in at the dentist's two blocks down. The doc will answer you."

Paul just looks kind of nonplussed before moving to take one of each item slowly and hold them out toward Daryl, one hand still clutching the knife. Once he finishes that, he gets his own. Might as well if they're offering.

But still, "this is ridiculous."

Daryl takes the items only because Jesus is the one handing them to him. Like they'd passed some sort of rite of trustworthiness just because the other man had touched them. Mostly 'cause he trusted Jesus. The phone got shoved in his pocket, the walkie attached to his belt, and the pamphlet turned over in his hands.

He squinted at the person before lifting his chin stubbornly, "Why can't you answer questions? Ain't no one else here?"

"I have things to do," they said, obviously annoyed, and gestured at the paperwork in front of them. It looked like a list or schedule of some sort. Then they went back to it, practically ignoring the two.

Daryl stared at them for a second longer before moving closer to Jesus and actually opening the pamphlet to start reading,"'If yer reading this, you have probably died. Most of the people who show up in that building claim to have so we're assuming you have, too. We don't know how, we don't know where. We don't care. You're here and if you're going to be here, you might as well help keep the rest of us alive because you can still die all over again if you get bit.'"

He locked eyes with Jesus briefly, "The fuck kind of bullshit is this?"

Paul's quick as a pickpocket making his own supplies disappear into his clothing, turning toward the conversation and narrowing his eyes just a little. Just enough for it to be odd for anyone that knows his usual mild expressions.

Once the talk is apparently over, Paul leans in to read along with Daryl, but it really doesn't make anything clearer. He lifts his gaze at just the right time - they're oddly in sync, he thinks, before shoving it away - and then cards his gaze away, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest (carefully, owing to the GIANT KNIFE).

"You ever see the movie Beetlejuice? This reminds me of that, except at least they got a book."

If you get bit sticks with him. "You mean we die, which I know by now, and go from one place with the dead to another?"

A pause as something in particular catches his eye in the writing - "who the hell calls them zombies and what does it even mean?"

paul (jesus) rovia. the walking dead.

waking up

casually switches to prose nbd

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network

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exploring;

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