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Post by `` Ashe on Mar 18, 2012 19:41:44 GMT -5
The deserts of what was once North America, seemed to swallow whole anything living that dared to show it's face. If the sand didn't pull you into it's tight embrace, then the heat that fell from the sun and pounded against your body would certainly do you in. Rarely was there a breeze to ease the pain of the desert, shade was even harder to find. And if you did manage to somehow survive the terrain of this new world, then your end would be met at the point of a pirate's sword, or the dirty claws of some bloodthirsty monster. If however, you managed to stay alive through all of that, and trekked long enough to find it, then you would eventually come upon one of the last strongholds of humanity.
Chicago was not the same as it had been when the world was intact. It's perimeters were reinforced by tall, stone walls, topped with barbed wire and broken glass. Barricades occupied the first few miles inside the city limits, men with crossbows, what was left of guns, and even swords stood at the ready. Prepared to take on whatever threatened their lives at the moment. But once you passed the men and women dressed for battle, and made it into the cities main section, you would be free. Free to breathe once more, knowing that in this sanctuary nothing could hurt you.
There are no more false hopes in this land, no heroes will save you, no idols to pray to. Though you can if it suits you. But who will answer?
In the center of the Quarters, groups of people and creepers alike busy themselves at the different stalls, buying small tidbits of food, bread, clean water, meat if they could afford it. Taking it home, where ever they called home, and sharing it amongst how ever many of them were left. It was here that the small, red-headed woman tried to acquire some goods. Makyah wasn't used to having to fight for food, she'd been luck enough to live in a home where she never went without, and even now, with Jediah's money, she could buy more then most everyone else on the street. But she wouldn't let them know that.
She'd escaped Jediah's gaze for a brief moment, knowing he was somewhere, watching. He was always watching. Mak didn't know what to think of him. Something small inside her trusted him, felt safe being around him, but aside from that, Jediah was a complete stranger. She didn't understand his protective nature over her, it felt like he owned her. But Makyah wasn't owned by anyone. She was her own person, and thought perhaps it was time that Jediah understood that.
For now though, she was happy picking out the slim amounts of fruits and vegetables available. She'd take them home to Destiny, and they'd cook something up, something healthier then the slop the restaurants tried to pass off as food. Behind her, the street picked up in preoccupied customers, and before she knew it, Mak was surrounded by creatures of all shapes and sizes. She didn't mind it, but it made it hard for her to walk, and keep her bags and pockets in check.
Struggling to make it through a group of, what she assumed were heartbreakers gawking at the prices of some donated blood, Makyah tripped. Sending a bag of her goods rolling over the street before her. Silently cursing her bad luck, she began to pick everything up, ignoring the hushed voices of others around her watching. She was in a very vulnerable state, crawling on the ground, and the laws may protect her legally, but that didn't stop people from killing.
Hoping someone would either help or come to her rescue, Makyah tried to pick her goods up quickly. Trying her best not to seem panicked.
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Post by PAVO JURIĆ on Mar 19, 2012 3:03:04 GMT -5
Two instincts waged a long war in an instant.
One part of him knew he was only nominally safe here. Pavo Jurić's shopping list, scrawled on an index card, was half complete but so short as to be meaningless (cigarettes, wintergreen oil) and he'd given up on the rest. The truly safe thing to do was to look straight ahead, ignore the redhead in her pitiable state and carry on with his business, one hand on a six-shooter. But the other part, the part with social graces, the half of who read Debrett's and Emily Post, he thought himself a coward. I'm not so paranoid that I can't help someone pick up their groceries. Least of all a pretty (probably human) girl.
But if he was going to help he was going to do it very quickly. He put away his don't-fuck-with-me scowl and replaced it with something amenable, a meaningful look. Pavo silently set about working at a measured allegro pace, without haste or panic, and by the time he suspected it was some sort of trap he was crouched gathering up groceries in his arms - a pomegranate, a tub of something, probably yogurt, anything it looked like she coudn't reach - but was of course very ready to drop the food again if the need should arise, and he comforted himself with the reminder that he'd turned the guns' safeties off. This place is as good as lawless.
With practiced nonchalance he looked half over his shoulder, then offered the groceries to their rightful owner, his expression something between 'don't let it happen again' and 'we're in this together.' Admiring her bravery for coming out here alone (among other things) his amused tone caught him by surprise, "Having some trouble?" [/blockquote] |
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Post by `` Ashe on Mar 19, 2012 15:01:59 GMT -5
Her heart was beating faster the wings of a hummingbird. Makyah must have gotten farther away from Jediah then she normally did, usually he would have been at her side in an instant. Grumbling about how she was a foolish, silly child and should be locked up in a padded room with books. It was kind of funny really, the way he seemed to guess exactly what it was she liked, and fussed over her well-being. Like a very large, archaic mother hen.
Only now she was out here by herself picking up fruits that were probably ruined from the dust and rocks that littered the ground. She could feel someone watching her, though the streets had gone back to its usual commotion. Still, something irked Mak, something she couldn't quite place. Then she noticed a hand, then another, picking up her groceries. Annoyed and scared, Mak raised her head to yell at the person trying to steal her goods. But stopped short when they were being handed back to her.
"Th-Thank you." Her red eyes twinkled lightly in appreciation, as she tried to stuff the remainder of her goods back into the bag the way they were before. Not quite setting them in right, but it was all collected so she didn't mind much. As graceful as she could, she tried to stand up on her own, looking more like a baboon then a swan as she tried to master her own balance once more. After a moment of concentration she offered the stranger a smile, at least someone still showed a shred of humanity.
"I'm not normally this clumsy, but the ground seems to hate me today." She shifted her shoulder, the strap of her backpack clinging tightly to the oversized, light pink jacket she wore. "I'm Makyah, by the way, or Mak." She offered him her hand, a sign of friendship. "I really do appreciate your help."
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Post by PAVO JURIĆ on Mar 26, 2012 4:47:21 GMT -5
Hers was the first smile he'd seen in a long time; he shook her hand - she felt small - and decided not to give a false name. "I'm Pavo."
He stood with Makyah and, looking past her, again flashed his hostile keep-away snarl at the vague threat of the everything-else.
"And don't mention it. You've got these groceries under control?" He tried out her name in his head, decided he liked Mak better than Makyah - mak meant "poppy" back where he was from and it wasn't an altogether ugly-sounding word. He nodded to the girl once, briskly, and took a few steps for home, quite finished with the conversa--
"Or, hey, actually, this is probably a weird question, but I'm looking for something called wintergreen oil? Also called methyl salicylate? Don't worry, I'm not making, like, bombs or anything." It was a shitty half-joke he'd used back in school, a line designed to lead into conversation - you have an accent where are you from, what are you making with wintergreen oil, et cetera. Pavo wanted to establish rapport, maybe even trust, and wondered if maybe this person knew some sort of safe place, somewhere safer than his houseboat at least. Somewhere humans lived in (something that could be called) peace. And he wouldn't be upset if there were more cute redheads there. Wishful thinking.
God, what if there was such a place? The things I'd do for some peace of mind... to sleep without worry... Hah, more wishful thinking. [/blockquote] |
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