[Prompt]

The mocking tone was either lost on or ignored by the merc, who reached out and grasped Mason’s hand within his own, eyes wide with childlike wonder as the entered the Combat Zone.

“Why have you never brought me here before?” Chase asked, tearing his eyes away from the brawl long enough to glance at Mason before turning back as a particularly pained scream came from the cage and a cheer rippled through the crowd.

[Prompt]

Name: Hagan

Gender: Male

General Appearance: Tall, dark and terrifying. At a glance, Hagan is nothing short of intimidation: standing at six-foot-three with a piercing blue-eyed glare. Buried under mountains of self preservation walls is a caring, passionate individual.

Personality: Rational; controlling; ambitious; sarcastic; adaptive; impatient.

Special Talents: Embroidery. Intimidation.

Who they like better: Mason.

Who they take after more: Mason.

Personal Headcanon: Hagan grew up an independent and rational child who was blunt, sarcastic, and wasted no breath on those he didn’t respect. In his teen years, he’d take to fighting in the Combat Zone to let out his frustrations and hone his combat skills before he’d move on to mercenary work. In his spare time, Hagan has picked up various “grandmother skills” - as his father once said - which include embroidery, crocheting, and sewing. Hagan also likes to collect figures based on comic book characters and tiny porcelain animals.

Faceclaim: Zac Zedalis

'What the hell for?' Holly thought, failing to control her face for just a moment as her features formed a skeptical frown.

There had been a time when she would have shut such a comment down. Told her there was nothing worth knowing. Nothing she was willing to tell. Now, while she still felt that way to some degree, Holly gave a short, half-hearted laugh.

Slim stared at the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his face and ears turning a deep shade of red.

Every time he felt like he had gained some understanding of sarcasm and jokes, someone new would say something that left him as confused as ever and he was right back to feeling as dumb as a post.

Grant sat in an old wooden chair, a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. His feet propped up on the railing of the porch, and Buttercup, a small, curly haired dog, lay across his lap sleeping peacefully. His eyes shifted to look at Mason, and a hand raised to take the pipe from his mouth, which he then used to gestured vaguely at himself.

[Prompt]

[Prompt]

“There could still be people,” she countered, her voice low as they walked, eyes checking every half-boarded window or gap in a wall for signs of life. 

[Prompt]

The question caught Ben completely off guard, and he probably looked dumb with his mouth hung slightly open. He hadn’t ever thought about it before - but then again, it had been less than a month since the first time he had seen a feral ghoul with his own eyes, and he hadn’t quite processed their existence fully.