Look, let's be honest. Most of the people here are going to die, anyway. And it's hardly like anyone will mourn them.

Notice I said them. I hardly intend to be one of the zombie fodder.

Although wouldn't it be lovely if someone came up with an actual plan? Do you think that's too much to expect?

[Most people, given the event of what seemed to be an apocalypse and a world full of people that were trying to eat you, would be depressed. Angry. Scared. And all of those, Sebastian figured, were natural responses. He was scared too. He was upset that he wasn't going to just wake up and find that everything had gone back to normal. He was definitely not happy at, well, everything.

But right now? He was happy.

Because there was a little group of survivors that had somehow made it out alive. There was a hotel where he'd claimed a room, an actual place where he could sleep that wasn't littered with tiny dead bodies, and people--actual people--that he could talk to. People that weren't, uh, kind of angry with him. Not that Finn shouldn't be angry with him, but. Well.]

So does anyone have any idea where to find a radio around here? Does someone have one? Because either we'll manage to find a frequency that other people are broadcasting on, or we'll find some radio station that's still automatically playing.

And I really miss music. Even if it's just pop music, it's got to be better than silence, right?

[The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Angelique was harboring what must have been the single worst headache that she had ever gotten the displeasure of experiencing. She had a thin book-- some short instructional guide on hunting and cooking birds-- gripped in her hand, but looking at the page only made her head pound even worse. Her stash of painkillers was long gone, and there was no tea to be spoken of. And, despite her possession of the still prominent stash of coffee, there was nothing it could do to help. So she paced quietly, head bowed and book in a vice-like grip (no one would be taking it from her until she had comprehensive knowledge of it, cover-to-cover) and trying to think of other ways to cure it.]

You'd be best advised to leave me alone. I'm not in the mood to be around anyone.

[Irritated, Ned stormed into the hotel where all the lower lifeforms seemed to gather.

He was hungry. And yet no one in this pathetic excuse for a settlement had seemed to think far enough ahead to make sure there was adequate supplies for their growing numbers.] 

I do not know which one of you has made the decision we should sit around and wait for heavenly mana, but I assure you, you are wrong.

We need to send someone out for supplies. Short of that, we should decide which one of us is the least worthwhile and take them out back to shoot them for food.

[There were shops. Useless shops, nearly empty shops, shops with broken windows and battered doors and shelves mostly cleared off. But at least there were goddamn stores.

Ned was picking through one, grimacing at a spilled bottle of detergent, stepping over the squished packages of unidentified snack cakes, just looking. There was something useful here. There was always something useful, after the commoners had finished their rutting.

And sure enough, near the back, he found several undamaged bottles of wine. A corkscrew was discovered as well.

Then, miracle of miracles, an unbroken glass, one out of a set of four. Fastidiously cleaning it out and then wiping off a stool, Ned took his seat behind the counter. He poured himself a generous portion of the wine - a disgustingly cheap white, but it would do.

Glass held lightly between two fingers, Ned surveyed the shop.

He could set up here. There were supplies, enough to be worth a small amount of power. And power was the only currency that mattered. Favors given and exchanged.

Yes, this would do nicely.] 

If we're runnin' low on food, 'den why don't ya' shitheads go get some more?