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Bounty Hunter
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Bowie Knife
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Post by Charlotte R. Wilder on Dec 11, 2014 5:45:02 GMT
This place is so unforgiving And somehow it’s another winter open word count: 639 outfit notes: Have at it. She remembered a time when a trip to the mall had sent a jolt of giddiness through her. The chance to get together with the fake bleach bottle blonde bimbos she'd called friends and spend mass amounts of money that hadn't been hers in order to buy things she didn't need. Even in realizing that those days had been wasted, Charlie found a certain nostalgia to the memories that were sensory triggered by the sight of the pick over shops like the bins at Neiman Marcus at a Last Call sell. The mall held a peace to it that Charlotte had never experienced before the First Night. All was quiet, the ghosts of former shoppers lingering in the ether to haunt the halls.
Sun beamed in from the skylight giving her a clear view of what she was walking into. There wasn't much that could be found here that others hadn't already snagged first, but Charlie was only really there for one thing- a thicker coat to last her through the winter. Before the freeze came in, her leather jacket was fine but it wouldn't suffice for much longer. Maybe she'd gotten here ahead of the crowd. Most people still living didn't think too far ahead- Charlotte was different. If she wanted to survive for the long haul, she needed to plan for it.
People had differing opinions about what the worst thing about the zombies were. For Charlie, it was the smell. You couldn't get it out of your system once it was there. The stench of death held onto you until you met it yourself. It was sickly sweet, to the point that it made your mouth water as bile rose. Charlotte could smell it here in the mall too but couldn't distinguish whether it came from the corpses left behind or the looming threat of zombie idling just around the next turn. To be set on edge so often gave her twitchy fingers, always ready to reach for her knife at a moment's notice or make her boots work hard to carry her as far away as possible.
Nothing needed to be said in most cases. It was perhaps a contributing factor to why Charlie always found herself going back to Gameland, the simple pleasure of conversation to be had. Sometimes on these raiding missions or trafficking runs that she did, Charlie missed the sound of her own voice, rarely speaking unless the actual need arose. It was better to listen. Her reflection in one of the store windows caught her attention briefly, staring back at a sad excuse for her former beauty. It was vanity claiming her in a moment of weakness but she couldn't help but to recognize the lack luster of her own appearance. Her hair was flat, her cheek dusted with a bit of dirt from having slept on the ground the previous night, or what passed for sleep as the dark circles under her eyes were testament to.
Charlie shook her head before pushing past the barrier of the glass door and into the awaiting clothing shop, descending into the dimmer light of the establishment to browse through the minimal selection that it had to offer. She hadn't wanted to linger long but was captivated by a memory of Senior prom. The beautiful dress that was on display had been left on the display mannequin to gawk at. Her fingers lightly traced the stitching going off somewhere in her own mind. It was a rookie move to make, but no one was perfect. She didn't even hear the small noise behind her of someone approaching. Charlie stiffened when she did realize it a few moments later, hand slipping to her hip where she kept her Bowie Knife but wouldn't strike, not without knowing what the danger was, if any. |
made by remi of isc
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Post by Evan R. Morgan on Dec 15, 2014 4:48:28 GMT
These places were always overly large structures with plenty of places to hide in. Evan had never really been a fan of shopping malls preferring to buy gear at smaller stores to support local businesses or just buying things online cause you could get prices closer to cost which when it came to buying gear was a good thing. Quality stuff was ridiculously expensive but that was the nature of things. If a company was less likely to sell you what they make more then one time they'd have to get their money's worth out of you. Most of the gear he was currently carrying or wearing had been things he'd actually bought before First Night and it had served him well up to this point. One particular item, however, had seen better days and would soon need to be replaced: his boots. While the leather on the uppers was holding well the tread had started go bald about fifty miles of walking ago and had become annoying when dealing with wet surfaces. So the mall was where he was hoping to find a new pair.
He'd walked around the outside of the large building about three times to get a good feel for the area and make sure nothing was lurking on the fringes. A zombie or two may or may not have been dispatched in the process but he'd finally become ready to enter the building. He looked around himself once more before heading over to one of the doors and pulling. The beauty of the First Night to the eyes of the survivor was that it was fast. Once it hit an area it didn't take long to wipe the population out which left a lot stuff places. The population these days was slim and there were only so many people brave enough to venture into places like this where the undead might potentially be around any corner in order to obtain new stuff. Fortunately Evan was one such person and he full intended to find new boots before leaving the place. Maybe a jar of pickles too. The monks would love that. Not that he'd complain because those crazy old pacifists always found something awesome to do with whatever he brought to them. He'd acquired a whole box of seeds from an abandon Lowes once and they'd grown all kinds of awesome things in the green houses. He'd been particularly fond of the tomatoes. Something about a sliced tomato in the summer time reminded him of home. It was refreshing. He'd scout around a little while he was here and see if there was anything fun left around.
His steps were careful and light as he moved around casually through broken glass and shadowed corners. Some signs were obvious and others were dark and hard to make out. The smell was like it usually was in places like this. The smell of death lingered in the still closed air. Evan preferred the woods for a reason. You could still smell it when a walker moved through the woods but it didn't linger like it did in these places. The putrid smell would never turn the old soldiers stomach, he was far to used to it, but it didn't mean he enjoyed it. His large knife slipped easily into his hand as he stalked the tiled halls until he found a shoe store that looked promising enough. Thankfully there was a boot section and they had some decent steel toes as well. He tried a couple pairs on silently and left the ones he had picked on. He tied the laces of the old pair and laid them across the top of this pack. Hopefully one of the monks would take an interest in the cobbler trade and be able to resole them for someone less fortunate. On his was out he snagged a few pairs of wool socks and shoved them in his bag for good measure before stepping back out of the store. He heard a noise on the upper floor. Instantly he was on high alert. It could be dead or alive or animal but he had to go check it out. The smart thing would be to just move on and let whatever it was be but if it turned out to be someone hurt or in trouble he'd be a pretty big dick not to have checked on them. He moved in the direction of the noise steadily.
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Bounty Hunter
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Bowie Knife
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Post by Charlotte R. Wilder on Dec 16, 2014 2:07:46 GMT
This place is so unforgiving And somehow it’s another winter open word count: 618 outfit notes: Classic case of D.I.D. Memories didn't silence an empty stomach's angry protests or quench thirsts. They didn't keep you warm in the winter or safe out in the open. For all intents and purposes, memories were one of the least useful things to have from a survivalist's standpoint. However, a part of Charlie still found them to be precious. Remembering something good from her past helped keep her sane when insanity had a pretty firm grip on the world that she lived in. The things that she had done and would do in order to stay alive for one more day, another hour or minute- she had never pictured herself doing before.
She might have been self-serving in the past but never to the point where her life was held at a higher regard than another person's. Now though, things were different, she was different and Charlie had learned to use her skills from before First Night and thrive in an outlaw lifestyle that likely would have swallowed her whole previous to the current necessity for it. The girl looking at the dress no longer existed. Charlie would never put something like that on again with the intent of indulging in youthful whim or ritual.
In fact, her mind darkened to the inhabitants of her home in Gameland. Someone wanting her in a dress like that was probably far more dangerous than the dirty hound dog that would have preferred her in nothing but her birthday suit and taken her roughly from behind. Why? Because the formative could hold promises and spin false hopes like she did to the people that she met out on the road to lure them in and Charlie was well aware of the fates that they befell. No, emotions and optimism got you killed out here and she had no intention of dying any time soon.
The sound behind her had her poised to defend herself and upon seeing the striking figure heading in her direction, Charlie was forced to make quick assumptions about him. He was handsome, tall, strong, and approaching without any malice in him that she could spot. The way that he carried himself suggested other things to her as well. He had form, a distinct vibe to him that she had seen time and time again in military men- hell it had been part of what she'd studied all those years at college and had been working on her doctorates for so Charlie should have known one when she saw one.
It had her making lightening quick decisions as to how she needed to come across to result in the most favor from him. Given that she was in a section filled with pretty dresses and the instinctual need to protect from most soldiers, it was the damsel that Charlie would choose. Feeding into his role as protector could probably get her much further than going against him every step of the way. She let out an audible gasp and took a step back, fully aware that she would stumble into the mannequin that she had been admiring.
The clumsy gesture had Charlie turning to catch the teetering model before it made much noise and intentionally exposed vulnerability for him to take advantage of if he waned to. It was to test her theory about him, gauge his responses. Charlie had more than enough experience with this sort of thing. The game was on for Charlie and whether or not the man knew it, he was already playing. "Please, don't hurt me." Charlotte let out in a trembling whisper, eyes watery and wide looking back to him, imploring once the mannequin was righted and the risk of too much noise being made, safe. |
made by remi of isc
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