#apocau

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Probably shouldn’t camp out in the middle of a road anymore. Just because there are hundreds of abandoned cars all around them doesn’t mean they’re safe, the whole group had become complacent to the entire situation: the lack of people, the lack of electricity, the lack of cars. They’d spent so long walking around on foot that they’d forgotten what a motorized vehicle sounds like. Jackie wants to yell raiders, but somehow he’s not sure that’s the case. Could be other survivors trying to make it, but the sound of an engine has all of his senses on edge.

The rest of his party is up and packing up, scrambling to move out of the way, because from what it sounds like, the engines are headed right for them. Jackie starts screaming orders to be heard over the ruckus, but his voice is starting to drown out.

Marvin is rushing as fast as he can. He has to yank on Anti’s leash in order to get him to move, because he’s planted himself right in the middle of the path, no doubt wanting to be hit and run over. “You dipshit,” Marvin snarls. “Jackie says no one’s left behind!”

“This isn’t some fucking Disney movie,” Anti says. He jerks his head toward the oncoming danger. “Hey look, there’s a whole motorcycle gang. Maybe you can sing your musical to them. Ohana means family, Marvin.”

“I’m going to strangle you.” Marvin bends down, trying to lift Anti up along with his own belongings. Anti is heavy and clearly not ready to budge. He’s already thrashing before Marvin can even get his arms around the AI, making it difficult for Marvin to do much of anything except scramble to keep his belongings on his back. “GET. UP.”

“Jesus, don’t get your magic books all torn,” Anti mutters. He’s moving, though a little too slowly. Marvin jerks his head back to look at the oncoming danger. He can’t see any of the others, and the oncoming traffic looks almost as if they’re all going to barrel straight through.

“Survival of the fittest,” Marvin mutters.

“What?” Anti’s finally on his feet, brushing off his pants, but then is shoved roughly back by a pissed Marvin. “Hey!”

Marvin dropped a book in his desperate -and possibly futile- attempt to save Anti, and he only has mere seconds to grab at it and run, but when his fingers grasp the cover, he feels himself being struck by a motorcycle going one hundred forty-four kilometers. He feels himself being knocked down, scraping against the road and rolling head over foot until he smacks into the tire of another car. He watches dimly as the parade of bikers moves right on past, some of them swearing at him for being in the way, but once they’re past, it starts growing silent once again.

Marvin finds it hard to move. A trembling hand finds its way to the back of his head, where he feels something wet. Pulling his hand down, he sees traces of red.

“Marvin! Marvin!”

Is that Jackie? Jacques? Marvin can’t tell anymore, he knows he’s blacking out. His vision is darkening too much to even see that Chase is on top of Anti, jabbing an arrow into his throat.

“Marvin!”

Jackie’s grabbing at him, hauling him upright. “Marvin, please talk to me! Say something!”

“....I’m bleeding,” Marvin manages to whisper. “I think I’m passing out.”

“Henrik, please give us some medicine, please?” Jackie looks off to the side. Marvin tries to follow his gaze, but he’s distracted by a shrill scream.

“Chase just ripped out Anti’s tongue,” Jacques calls out helpfully. “Do you need my assistance?”

“Yeah, can you draw blankets?” Jackie asks. “Please, we can’t move forward if Marvin’s got a concussion.” Jackie turns back to Marvin, pressing a hand to his cheek. “Henrik’s coming with first aid, Marv. Jacques already sketching, you’re going to be okay. Hang on, please.”

Reality fades out around him. Marvin can still feel things, but he can’t really tell who is doing what, or who is close by. He can feel himself being adjusted, a fresh sting against his head...

Then blissful oblivion.

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ROLE: Support

BEHAVIOR:

In modern times, Jameson can’t speak. He’s no longer astral projecting, he’s there, but so worn down and exhausted, he tends to lag behind, with someone else dragging him and pushing him forward. More often than not, it’s Marvin. Not to say he’s always down, he has his moments where he’s trying to make the others smile by either dancing, acting goofy, or just generally trying to be a source of positivity. It’s hard in an apocalypse and you have no voice though.

FIGHTING STYLE:

Brawler. Jameson is very good with his fists. He doesn’t need weapons, so he carries none, even though the others have tried to give him knives or pistols. He’s quick and light on his feet, and can maneuver fairly well. It’s not ideal, but it works well enough for quick fights and quick escapes.

EQUIPMENT:

There’s not a whole lot that Jameson carries on him. He wears loose fitting clothing, almost western style, as that’s loose and keeps him fairly protected against the elements. He has a canteen, a small pack where he carries provisions. He doesn’t carry spare clothes or any weapons, but Jameson does carry a compass, which he shows to Jackie often enough.

DYNAMIC:

—-

ROLE: Scribe

BEHAVIOR:

Tends to stay on his own, even with traveling with the others. He ignores them, since this isn’t the group he wasn’t to travel with, but he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He’s very bitter, sharp-tongued and snooty most of the time, only speaking when spoken to, or to throw out some insulting remark in his native tongue. He’s not always a pain to travel with, Jacques still has a tendency to bark out backwards encouragement in an attempt to keep people moving. He’s latched onto Chase the most, since Chase isn’t the one speaking.

FIGHTING STYLE:

He doesn’t. He doesn’t carry any weapons on him, because he’s not the fighting type. He’s armed with quick wit and sharp words that can get him out of trouble, or in trouble, depending on the situation. He’s more often than not the damsel in distress, but he can argue his way out of danger if it comes down to it. He knows he’s not the sharpest person in the group, that role could easily belong to Jackie or Anti, but Jacques is armed decently enough, because he has to make up for his utter lack of combat skills.

EQUIPMENT:

A backpack filled with basic foods, and clothing. He likes to change clothes whenever he can, because he’s still vain and cares about his appearance far more than he should. He carries around art supplies, such as paint, pencils, pens, whatever he can carry. As the scribe, it’s his duty to document most everything that happens, even if he doesn’t use his powers. He just wants to be able to leave behind a legacy for future generations to find and read/see in the form of words and pictures.  He tries his best to keep an unbiased opinion in his writings, but he writes and paints, all the same.

DYNAMIC:

There’s a mutual dislike on both sides. Jacques loathes most everyone he’s with, and in turn, they loathe him. His solace is knowing Anti is just as hated by everyone, which helps him feel less alone and isolated by the whole ordeal. However, they would stick their necks out for each other, because they are still part of the same clan, and it would be foolish for any of them to leave one of their own behind, especially during these trying times.

It’s clear that Chase has had another nightmare, judging by the way he’s leaning against the broken down car providing their only shelter from the wind. His hands are trembling too much for him to whittle a stick down. Jackie watches as Chase snaps the stick in half, then tosses the pieces to the side with a frustrated grunt.

He wonders if he should approach, or if he’d get that knife lodged in his shoulder. It doesn’t seem like Chase is in the mood for conversation, but these days it’s hard to tell anymore what Chase is in the mood for. 

He decides to risk his chances anyway. It’s Chase, how could he not?

He leans heavily into the car, moving aside the sketchbook that Chase has clearly stolen from Jacques, setting it on Chase’s lap. He doesn’t flinch when Chase lurches, gripping Jackie’s wrist and bending it backwards. 

“You can break my wrist again, I’ll just heal,” Jackie points out calmly. “You can’t keep using us as punching bags though, sooner or later you gotta open up.”

The hand is merely yanked back with a snort of disgust. Chase glares off in the opposite direction, dragging his blade through the dirt. It’s not Chase’s knife, but Jackie doesn’t recognize it either. Maybe he found one along their travels and kept it for it own. The movements keep Jackie distracted, focused on the state of Chase’s hands. The fingers are calloused and bruised, imprints of bandages and bandaids scarring his hands. But then again, Chase had always come equipped with injuries, it shouldn’t be surprising that his hands are worse off now. 

They’re all in terrible shape.

“I wish you’d talk to me,” Jackie says gently, trying to urge a conversation, even if one sided. “I miss hearing your voice.”

The knife is jabbed into the car tire as Chase shoots Jackie a furious glare. Except, Jackie knows it’s not anger Chase is feeling, but helplessness. It’s all over his face. It’s all over his place as he snaps his fingers, looking around for a pen or a pencil. At least, that’s what Jackie’s guessing, since the sketchbook is gripped tightly, then picked up.

Jackie pulls a pen out of his own pack, handing it over.

you can’t convince me i’m not just a burden to you. 

Chase’s handwriting is messy, barely legible even without the trembles to make it worse. Jackie has to read it over a few times before he can make out the meaning, but he’s shaking his head anyway. 

“Course you’re not. Jacques is the burden. We like having you around.”

you said it yourself, i don’t talk. i don’t remember how to anymore. everything hurts, jackie, and i hate you all and i hate myself.

“I know, Chase. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to give up on you. We’ll eventually find a place to stay, permanently, and then we can work on you. Okay?”

He’s not sure what the expression on Chase’s face means, because it’s definitely not anything positive. Instead, Jackie’s dismayed to see tears springing to his friend’s eyes, before he blinks them away and resumes scribbling on the sketchpad, handwriting even more messy than before: 

do you think they’re still alive?

Oh 

Jackie blinks back his own emotions. The possibility had crossed his own mind, and Jackie had long suspected this was the cause of Chase’s breakdown. He just hadn’t expected it to still hurt him either.

He can’t tell Chase the truth, that he’s sure they all died. Most everyone they’d ever known and loved had died long ago, hence while Jackie kept his group on a metaphorical leash -- he doesn’t want to lose anyone else. 

He doesn’t want to dash Chase’s stale hopes, either.

“It’s possible, Bee. We can’t give up on those we love, otherwise everything we’ve got now is pointless. We’ll get you back up and running, okay? We love you.”

He’s only mildly surprised when Chase leans into Jackie, letting out a soft sigh. There aren’t any silent sobs, or a whispered thanks, just silent acceptance of Jackie’s words.

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ROLE: Scout

BEHAVIOR:

Chase lost everything that once made him Chase. He’s cold, withdrawn, doesn’t speak a word, and is ever on the lookout. He’s the self apointed scout, hunting for whatever food he can find, or using his skills in archery to keep enemies at bay. He tends to lean on the others when he’s tired, but when Chase is awake and alert, he barely looks at anyone, save to jab an arrow into the arm of whomever pisses him off the most. His behavior is this way because of his family maybe dying when the apocalypse hit, and he hasn’t taken it well.

FIGHTING STYLE:

Chase is a ranged fighter. He could use melee, but he’s found it easier for him to fire arrows from a distance. With so much rubble around, it’s been easy for Chase to craft new makeshift arrows that seem to pierce enemies just fine. He also has a pistol, but he rarely uses it, defaulting to his arrows over bullets, as bullets are rare to find, and making arrows is cheaper and even faster. It helps in a pinch if they come across a wild animal; Chase can easily hunt and bring the group back food for them to eat. 

EQUIPMENT:

T-shirt, with arm bands to cover his arms, a bandana tied around his mouth. A small pack slung over one shoulder, filled with arrows (either crafted or looted), spare clothes, food, medications. On his back is also his bow. The pack also serves as a makeshift quiver to make it easier for him to pull arrows out in a rush. It’s either replaced when he finds something better, or held together with string/tape. He has a water flask on his hip. He also keeps mementos of his past life with him: a picture of Stacy and the kids, his wedding ring, and his wedding picture. They remind him to keep pushing forward against all odds.

DYNAMIC: 

—-

ROLE: Medic

BEHAVIOR:

He’s fairly withdrawn in general, which isn’t out of the ordinary for him. But there’s another level of bitterness that he harbors, unable to look anyone in the eye much, unless he’s needed to fulfill his duties. It’s not that he despises the others, it’s that he despises that they have to roam around with Anti, with Jacques, and he can’t exactly voice his opinion. The group’s decided, and Henrik feels like he has no choice but to follow along with the decision Jackie’s made. He trusts Jackie, so Henrik keeps his head down and stays in his own corner, because it’s better than causing a fight over petty differences.

FIGHTING STYLE:

He’s not. He’s got his weapons still: his bonesaw, a hatchet, and a handful of needles he’s collected and sterilized for his own purposes. But since his main role is to heal, he likes to keep to the background and only jump in when absolutely needed, since no one else has the skills he has. Henrik could be a battle medic, he has enough rage to tear apart someone threatening his friends, but his efforts are better spent fixing people up, rather than tearing strangers apart.

EQUIPMENT:

Medical supplies, of all kinds. Torn bandages he’s found, rusty needles that he sterilizes and hopes they work, bandaids, various medications that have been left behind, Henrik collects it all. In a wasteland such as this, nothing goes untouched, everything is used up and carefully cleaned up before use, because where the hell are they going to find anything fresh and clean in this dump? As long as everyone’s still alive and moving, Henrik will use whatever he can find.

He can perform primitive surgeries as well, and he has, multiple times, on himself. He’s not perfect at it, what with the tools he’s forced to use, and such methods have left him with discolored skin, stitches that are still in him as well as several scars that have healed and scabbed over.

DYNAMIC:

—-

ROLE: Looter

BEHAVIOR:

Calculating, tends to be the voice of reason, or tries to be. He’s very distrusting of other people outside his group. This leads to some conflicts where he tries to sway the others to his way of thinking, even if it doesn’t often work. He’s the first to suggest they don’t help anyone new, because it could easily be a trap, and the very last to (reluctantly) agree to take on anyone new. His priorities lie with his group of friends and their safety rather than trying to help any poor survivor they cross paths with. He doesn’t have a whole lot of trust and charity to offer, and not without good reason. He can gauge someone’s actions and deem them trustworthy, and often be proven correct, so even if he comes across as argumentative, the others still rely on his judge of character.

FIGHTING STYLE:

He doesn’t actively fight. Marvin’s magic has gotten rusty, with him spending more time on helping his friends survive rather than relying on magic. What skills he does still use are quick bursts of energy that more keep enemies at bay rather than actually fighting. The others are also more adept at combat than he is, and he tends to prefer to stay back with Henrik to make sure people aren’t getting too injured. 

EQUIPMENT:

He carries a backpack that holds things he’s looted. He can use his magic to compact things down to fit, but he carries most of the goods. Food, clothes, sleeping bags, medication, medical supplies, even money if they come across it. Marvin will store anything he deems useful, because hey, you never know when any of it will come in handy!

He keeps his hair pulled back in a messy bun, never lets it hang loose anymore. The clothes he wears here are more practical, wearing jackets and jeans than anything else. 

DYNAMIC:

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ROLE: Wild card

BEHAVIOR:

Since his glitchy powers would probably not work as well as he’d like them to, he’d take on a more human appearance. Part of said appearance is even adopting a ‘punk’ fashion sense, because the elements don’t bother him and he still wants to look intimidating. He’s full of rage and angry all the time, including turning on his own allies if it meant letting out some of his pent up frustration. Not much appeases Anti, and he’s quick to lash out, even quicker to go for the kill. He hates everyone and everything and as long as the world’s burning, he’s happy. Because of his unpredictable nature, Anti spends a lot of time being dragged around with bound hands. No one can trust him, and it’s easier to keep track of him when he can’t escape.

FIGHTING STYLE:

Anti’s the brawler of the group. He jumps headfirst into a fight and punches, bites, kicks, and claws at anyone who gets in his way. The only weapon he carries is a butcher’s knife that he makes sure is covered in blood and rust. The grosser it is, the better a weapon it makes. He has no qualms about using it against any attackers or even his own allies. It depends on what kind of mood he’s in.

EQUIPMENT:

Anti wears all black, with lots of spikes and chains. Typical punk style. The elements don’t bother him, and he likes to appear intimidating, or at least intimidating enough to keep people off his back. He doesn’t carry much in the way of supplies on him, as he doesn’t need any of it. He’ll carry items if he’s forced to, but otherwise, he only wields his knife.

DYNAMIC: