A Moments Refuge [open]

[TOM PENNYWORTH]

Tom couldn't rely on anything to be as they were in the movies or games he's played in the few years prior to the outbreak. Going to a small home doesn't always guarantee food, moving from location to location does not guarantee safety, and least of all, banding together didn't seem to be the best option. For Tom, the last one was the worst of the bunch.

Nothing could have fully prepared him for this, but as he made his way from point A to point B he started to get the hang of what could be expected of him. Not that anyone was judging his performance, save for himself. Even so, he was a tough judge.

"At least I got a bronze medal for this one," Tom muttered to himself as he pulled his 'pipe-sword' (for lack of a better term) from the neck of an undead straggler. This particular assassination didn't put up much resistance and luckily didn't attract any attention. "That puts the Pennyworth's at a staggering total of 17 medals so far since the Outbreak Olympics began. Too bad for the rest of the family."

Tom slowly removed his backpack and set it on the once happy family's kitchen table. He examined his surroundings now that he didn't feel imminent danger was afoot. Cupboards were open and messy, mostly bare; counter space was covered in dust and dirt; pictures on the wall were askew or missing altogether. "This place was hit hard and fast. Scavengers must have gotten the rest."

With the bottom clear and the area quiet, he decided his best action would be to make sure the house was 100% secure. He pulled his sidearm out, pointed it ahead, and moved silently and slowly. His pipe sword spun silently in his other hand preparing for another strike.

The living room, although slightly askew, seemed mostly in tact. No couches flipped, chairs in their place, TV surprisingly unbroken. Leaving that room, he found the hallway wasn't in the best of shape. A bullet hole in the wall, blood trailing down into a door on the right. Tom took a deep breath as he approached the first room. The door was left open to a small girl's bedroom, and even from the hall he could see anything valuable was taken. The next room caused Tom to take a deeper breath and hold. The blood trail had run it's course.

Hesitantly and carefully, he made sure not to step in the caked blood as he got into a breaching position. Tom closed his eyes and began to count. One... Two... Oh god wh-THREE, and with that, a swift kick to the door sent it hurtling open and he jumped inside. He checked all his corners but only found blood, blood, and more blood. "Well, that went better than exp-"

At that moment from the last room came an echoing groan. "Shit." Tom hefted his pipe, switching to a tighter quarters swinging stance and pressed forward. He could hear the monster on the other side of the door shambling at it, trying to get out towards the bang from down the hall. Tom reached forward, took a quick turn of the knob and kicked full force at the door. The zombie on the other end couldn't contend with such sudden force and fell over, however neither could Tom with the extra weight of the corpse. He got his footing after tripping back into the wall of the hallway and lunged forward, plunging the end of his spear through the eye socket of his newly downed foe.

"5.0 from the Russian Judge.. Bitch," Tom taunted as he pulled the weapon out and began cleaning it on the sheets. No other sounds were heard in the house, and the bathroom held no former humans when checked. Tom was thankfully secure. He composed himself and moved back to his items. Judging from the damage in the house, one or two people must have came through the kitchen, heard something in the back hall, fired their weapon at either a zombie or another survivor and got screwed up in the process. He or she then must have then dragged themselves, bleeding the entire way to the room, got ripped to shreds and was either the zombie that was just killed or just another one that was missed.

Tom liked seeing these scenarios play out in his mind, trying to piece together what happened in the moments before someone's grizzly demise. Helped him focus on any potential mishaps he could do himself while ransacking and scavenging homes.

With no where in mind to head, Tom decided it would be a good a place as any to get some relaxation. He picked up his items and slowly moved to the little girl's room. A bed is a bed is a bed now a days.

[DEMETRIUS KLINE]

Since he’s been dropped in the area, the grey haired man had advance from house to house, discreetly. People shouldn’t fabricate the wrong idea, even if they weren’t many living people around, this lone wolf wasn’t anything like Rambo, but comprehended how to maneuver without attracting too much attention. Most in the squad knew how but that isn’t the point. At the time being, Demetrius or Yanny as he allowed some to call him, acquired a mission. One that he requested and something no one else decided to be involved in.

Knock. Knock.

Knuckles softly rapped against the back door of what he believed to be a barricaded home. Of course that presumption came after digging his shoulder into the door, only to receive a dull pain cascade over his shoulder. There must’ve been furniture or something heavy blocking the door. Smart. He groaned lightly and backed away, eyes looking towards the window, which were concealed with heavy blankets. Still, he cupped his hands on the top half of his face and squinted as if that’ll help him gain x-ray vision.

“Helloooo.” he whispered, extending the greeting. Fingers moved around the seal of the window and that’s when he heard it. Everyone knows that sound if you watch movies or is a gun lover. That audible click of steel; the hammer in some sort of gun is pulled back, seemingly saying hello. Ears twitched, catching the sound. “Whoa whoa.”

[/b] Quickly he backed away, hands raised in surrender, assault rifle dangling. Luckily he wasn’t too dumb, he knew creeper status had been gained and he had a little time to explain.

“Demetrius Kline, SFG private, err, military.” He felt so dumb and open right now. Telling them he was part of the military didn’t hold any sort of weight. For a second his head swiveled left to right, making sure none of the dead were gradually shuffling his way. Maybe if he flaunted his dogtags he could feel like a cop and then they have to pay attention. To his surprise a head shifted between the black blankets. A Caucasian woman, blond messy hair, red puffy eyes, perpetual frown, daunting expression – this is the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse, it’s the new skinny. “I’m jus’ here to help you; I’m trying to find out how many of the living or still around. So I could maybe move you guys out of the area, somewhere safer.”[/b]

She never said anything as if this new era removed her voice box and blinks were her only way of speaking. He sighed; disappointed this mission wasn’t going so well. Although he couldn’t blame these people, why trust him? Finally she did something, pointed to the left and mouthed zombie. Suppose she wanted him to take care of it. An eyebrow raised and he bit his bottom lip in contemplation. ”Fine.”[/b] That’s all he mumbled while the head in the window retracted. Simultaneously, Demetrius turned, sneaking off towards his new destination.

Cautiously he pushed forward, slowly opening the entry point and closing it quietly behind him. A few seconds were wasted as he stared down at the inert corpse; swiftly he booted it in the side, testing if it was alive. Nothing. He continued on, weapon rising, readying himself for the supposed zombie. He stopped, looking in the cabinets. ”Aww. Nothin’ to nibble on.”[/b] he pouted. Trailing past the living room and entering the blood stained hallway accompanied by bullet hole. There must have been a skirmish here, blood was shed, and surely a zombie prevailed.

Before he set his mind on opening the bloodiest door, another sound was acknowledged resonated from different room. Creeping, making sure to dodge the caked blood, Demetrius halted in front of the door accused of creating the noise. There were many wars he could have tackled the situation, like rush in and start shooting. Americans favorite style. Yet he steadied himself, knocked on the door, and then flung the it open. The barrel was aimed at the human inhabiting the room. Again an eyebrow rose before lips parted to speak.

“You sure don’t look like a zombie to me… You aren’t bitten are ya’?”[/b][/center][/size]

[AMELIA HAMILTON]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:350px; padding:6px] The days seemed to drag on more and more as of late. At least, because they were longer. It was summertime, after all. Amelia had been trudging along for a good part of the morning, hunting. For what, she hadn't quite decided. Honestly, shelter and food sounded good to her, but it didn't seem like she was allowed even those small comforts on even the best day. Her fear had set in long before her strive for life and it had left her as an aimless wanderer who could use the comfort of a friend. Whether it animal - of which she hadn't seen any - or human - of which she saw very little - she didn't care. The touch and comfort of another creature was something Amelia could find comfort in. Especially with so many of her human counterparts having caught the disease that sent them into a rabid rampage. Unlike most survivors, Amelia had hope for the human race. So far, they were the only ones afflicted with the disease. It had to mean something, right? Over population or perhaps nature's way of clearing away for a new species. Amelia could only hope. As she walked along, she tried to listen for life. Real life. Nature. But other than the occasional crow, she hadn't seen a single dog, cat, or even a mouse. The only things seeming to be around were infected humans and the rare uninfected human. Her thoughts were torn when she heard a soft bang. What could it be, she wondered, moving toward the sound curiously. You see, Amelia wasn't the brightest survivor. How she'd lasted a year baffled others at times. Anyways, she made her way down the street and to a door. Blinking a little, she heard muffled speaking and then the sound of metal on bone. It was familiar to her, from back when she was a veterinarian. Flinching, all the same, she tried the door. The handle turned with ease. But, thinking twice, the green-eyed girl decided to draw her weapon. It was a small gun, one she'd picked up when she was working in the ER. A gentleman had given it to her and said she'd need it. And, she supposed she did. Had she ever used it? Nope. Was she going to? Unlikely. Either way, she stepped into the house and closed the door behind her. She moved further into the house, taking in the fact that it had been raided. Amelia had avoided raiding houses for a long time, trying to hold onto the last bit of morale she had until she ran out of supplies. So she understood the human need to destroy and find. What she didn't understand was why there was still noise going on. By the looks, it'd been sacked a few months back. A slight stench of soiled food wafted from the refrigerator. The young lady crinkled her nose and moved from the kitchen toward a hallway. It seemed to be the source of a lot of commotion. Taking slow, practiced steps, the dirty blonde followed the trail of blood to a door. And a corpse. And voices, it would seem. Cocking her head to the side, Amelia took in the scene before her. One male, looking a few years younger than her was having a gun pointed at him by another male, who seemed older. And here she was, pointing the gun at the apparent suspects of the noise. The blood in the hall was old, caked into the carpeted floor, but the blood from the corpse was as fresh as anything from an infected person could be. She lowered her weapon slowly until it was at her side. Then, she waited for a moment, unsure of what to say. What could she say? She tried to imagine them as animals, but couldn't conjure puppy faces on these men. They were killers, by the looks of them. And animals didn't kill in cold blood. So instead, she tried a smile and pointed to the corpse. "He must have had a rough day." A bit of humor to lighten the awkward air, she hoped. Her smile faltered and she felt as though she'd failed. But, nonetheless, she did her best to appear non-threatening. Which couldn't be hard for her. I mean, she was the definition of awkward. Clearing her throat, she pointed to the hall once more. "I, uh. Did either of you make a loud...bang?" she wondered airily, turning her large orbs on the gentlemen. If they had, then they could be sitting in a hot zone. And as stupid as she'd been to get into the situation, she wasn't going to let the two stand around as bait.

© OXYMORON

[TOM PENNYWORTH]

Tom was about half asleep when he heard the movement in the house. His first groggy thought was just his mind playing tricks on him in his paranoid and fatigued state. Everyone knew their own brains were there just to mess with them on a day to day basis, anything from school to survival. Either way, he reached sleepily over the side of his bed and withdrew his pistol. His arm dangled over the side of the bed, sleepily playing with the weight of his weapon.

The sound was slow but mostly even. Properly placed footfalls of a boot or two (people can lose shoes at any time). He heard what could have been mutterings coming from the kitchen area. These put Tom into panic mode. Damn, real people. He positioned himself in such a way that seemed like he was still sleeping, but he could easily pull the mattress onto himself if the attacker would leap at him with a handheld weapon. He didn't meet many people with actual firearms around these parts and decided it could be his only chance to slow a baseball bat coming to his cranium.

The footsteps were coming closer now, slower as they rounded into the hallway. They were noticing the scene that happened previously, they had the cognitive capacity to caution, which only sent Tom into overdrive. He toyed with the thought of hiding under the bed or in the closet or jumping out the window, but he didn't want to give away his position, he didn't know what they were capable of.

His head was a mess, each second seemed like an hour with whoever lurked outside his door. Then came the knock. Tom flipped off the bed, pulled the mattress off and over top of him with a struggle and popped his gun and head up to the stranger in the doorway. He hardly seemed phased by the kid behind the mattress. Although seemingly young, his semi commanding voice did betray his rugged carefree look.

"I was only bit once in my life in grade 6 by some asshole who didn't know how to fight," Tom replied with, just spewing words now and trying to keep his bladder under control. What the hell brain!? What kind of bullshit response was that!? Worst of all was the barrel being pointed to his retarded brain. And of COURSE he has a high powered weapon. "I can only assume you're in a similar situation; the uninfected?"

Tom kept his pistol aimed at this newcomer, but could easily tell the difference in their experience. Any hope of getting the jump on him and taking him out was pretty much null. This man was quicker with the trigger and a better shot for sure. Tom gave a little sigh and put his weapon down. "My name is Tom." He pushed the mattress off of himself and exposed his entire frame. If this guy wanted to kill him, he would have already. Instead of defense, his best idea was to at least make some trust.

He was too busy with this newcomer to notice the other presence enter the household. Her voice made Tom jump and raise his gun, the hammer a hair breadth away from being released and causing even more panic. God damn it no more peopleIjustwanttoBEALONEDON'TKILLME!! Tom could barely gather his nerves, he recovered just enough to lower his gun, but still stood there scared and dumbfounded as an older female came into view. He had thoughts that couldn't find his voice and simply stood there with almost a tiny low hum coming from him.

[DEMETRIUS KLINE]

Words spilled from his trap before he could even contain the random bullcrap flinging. Why would he entertain the unknown male’s random facts? ” He sounds like a winner to me.”

[/b] He deadpanned; nonchalant facial expression remained intact alongside the unflinching barrel. Obviously the threat he had come to slay had been terminated, evidence rotting motionless on the floor. Although accustomed to the foul odor of death radiating, constantly polluting the atmosphere, Demi nose still crinkled and a stream of air rushed through nostrils while his head shook gingerly, sort of resembling old yeller sneezing.

”Yep. Zombie aids free since 1978.”[/b] Demetrius answered, banter persisting almost subduing the deadlocked situation. Usually he despised guns aimed at any of his precious limbs, however, putting pet peeves aside, fault of initiating a showdown laid on him. Complaining seemed out of the question, one could only sigh and hope someone would be sensible here. To his disdain, paranoia wrapped him its sticky web, which he reclined in comfortably. These damn dead bastards were making everyone mental in the tiniest way. Trust didn’t come so quickly these days. Depend on a comrade one day and the next that same person may be pushing you infront of a zombie. It was purely survival of the fittest in its finest, here in the zombie jungle.

A snort crackled and broke the silence when Demetrius realized the young man utilized a mattress as a shield. Smart in away, but never has he witness someone using a bed in that fashion. ”What now…” the thought waved over him as the two ogled at each other. Finally, albeit Demi was soon to lower his firearm, Tom tucked away his weapon. And his steadily declined, soon to be dangling by the strap clinging to his torso. Relief came in the form of a sigh, and a shake of his weary old head. ”Glad we didn’t go full speed into stupid.”[/b]he breathed out, eyes closing briefly, relaxing. With guns and paranoia shelved, the time was nigh to begin a beautiful bromance or something of the sorts. Introduction time. ”I’m Deme –”[/b] Neglecting the fact that the two words didn’t seem to mesh together, the gruff baritone tone vanished, replaced by something more feminine and high-pitched.

”Aahhh!! Holy Hell!”[/b][/i] His heart drummed lividly against his chest as he flinched visibly enough to fumble with his weapon. Life or death situation, he’d have died. Never shall he snort a!t the protective mattress again. It was a woman voice that frightened the man out of him. He pressed his palm against a wall, propping himself up and his other hand grabbed at the silver metallic tags, head hanging. He had to compose himself, meaning ignoring her attempt at being a comedian.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Considering Tom failed to mumble a word, Demetrius had to speak up or it’ll be awkward. This wasn’t an all-boys fort anyway. ”A loud bang?”[/b] Apparently he was part parrot and echoed her words with his right eyebrow raised in contemplation, attention following her pointed finger into the halls as he turned around. Lightbulb ”Oh you mean the bullet holes in the wall…”[/b] Gears in his mind rotated, grinding through memory before processing an answer. ”No, I don’t think so or we’d be in deep crap, yanno?”[/b] A gun shot did not lead him here; rather a skinny finger from an unknown woman did that job. If Tom so happen to have fired his weapon, infiltrating this home would have been difficult because of all the zombies trying to gnaw a hand and or face off. After giving the attractive woman a look over, Demetrius was surprised she made it here anyway. She must be a good runner, because her façade didn’t appear as hardened as the opposite sex in the room, more naïve and innocent if anything else. Most of the time those types didn’t last long unless in a group. Then again, they still died in those movies over their missing dog.

”Eh…I’m Demetrius by the way. Since you here lady might as cough up your name, likes, and hobbies.[/b] This moment of refuge actually felt nice for once, it was better than inhaling smoke all the time and listening to soldiers talking about their guns. Yet these occasions were like a tease, sweet in the beginning but once you realize that time is a factor – no touching – everything turns sour in the end. Such a bittersweet flavor. [/center][/size]

[AMELIA HAMILTON]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:350px; padding:6px] When the gunman nearest to her jumped, Amelia followed suit. In the process, she released her weapon and fumbled with it for a moment before it clattered to the floor. For a long moment, she stared down at it, debating bending to pick it up. When she decided not to, she slowly lifted her gaze to the two gentlemen and smiled faintly, giving a nervous laugh. The room seemed kind of awkward as both men recovered their sense of calm. The closest one spoke first. He thought she meant shooting a gun. She gave a gentle shake of her head. "No. It wasn't a gun. It was like...someone crashing through a door." She glanced from one face to the other before smiling. Her hands fiddled with a strand of her hair, twirling it lightly. Amelia was a little nervous, but not so nervous that she wanted to ditch the men and run. We'd be swarmed if it was a gun, Demetrius." Her tone was like someone speaking to a child, but she didn't mean it. The woman was used to treating animals, and thus spent most of her years speaking to them like they were children. It was a calming method she'd learned, but it didn't have the same effect on humans. Turning more so she could see the younger gentleman, she passed him a smile and said, "I'm Amelia. Are you alright?" The question was directed at the younger male, as she'd noticed the frightened look in his eyes. He reminded her of a few animals she'd had to deal with. One was a horse who'd been abused. She'd befriended it in the short examination she gave, even giving him carrots. She didn't think this boy would take carrots, though. He might, but it wasn't like she had any on her. She hardly had any food. Clearing her throat she said in the same kind voice, "I didn't mean to scare you. Do you need anything?" Amelia probably wasn't helping the case. For all she knew, he was going to attack. Animals did that a lot. She'd been kicked, stepped on, even bitten. Who said humans couldn't do the same? Taking a moment to turn to the gentleman close to her, she said, "Did you try to kill him or something? He looks like he's been beaten with a shoe." She gave him a hard stare before moving into the room. "He didn't hurt you, right? I'm a veterinarian, I can help you if you're injured. Did he throw you?" She took in the mattress and made assumptions. Moving into the room might not have been a smart move, but what could she do? Stand and let him look afraid? She knelt down near the bed and gave a small smile. "Do you have a name? Where are you from?"

© OXYMORON

ooc. ack. short and ugly. sorry. also late. -shot-

[TOM PENNYWORTH]

Tom kept looking back from one person to another. Demetrius and Amelia... And these people don't look like crazed serial killer folks... But.. I can't be so trusting. Tom's mind was a whirl but at least he could always count on at least his trust issues to break through to the surface. He tried to take a step back but he was already at the wall.

"I'm... I'm alright," he breathed out, just a little bit more audible than a whisper would be. He could feel himself grabbing a hold of the reality at hand. If this were a fight or flight moment, Tom would have had no issue with either fighting or flight-ing, but this was a peaceful negotiation. A negotiation where everyone had high powered weaponry. This was something Tom wasn't prepared for despite last time. The first thing that came to mind to do was jump out the window, but he'd sacrifice his belongings in the process. He couldn't do that.

Tom's mind sparked with a better idea. As soon as he saw a chance for cover he was going to take off. Luckily the boy was quick to lose. Not exactly the fastest runner, but a logical runner so to speak. A simple jaunt through the woods could lose a good chunk of people, which was something he could potentially count on in the future. However there weren't too many woods around these parts and Tom would just have to make do with the housing around his location.

Tom realized he was asked a bunch of questions while he was thinking of a plan and perked up, snapping back to reality rather abruptly. "There weren't any shoes, I'm perfectly fine and my name is Tom," he spat out the chunk of information as if he were reading from a text book. "Where I'm from doesn't matter. I apologize for not wanting to divulge." Tom didn't exactly feel like he owed them a book of his life and instead decided to keep quiet. Sharing was caring, but he had no sharing plans, nor did he care about others. It was really the only taste of full control he had on the situation even if it isn't pertinent information. It was his information and not theirs.

"Any sort of banging around was probably me. I had a few 'friends' to deal with a few moments ago but that's all done now." He looked to his pipe sword and then to everyone else. "If you guys want to leave me be I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. I've been alive this long now, haven't I?" Tom became more comfortable as time went on in this tense situation. Clearly he wouldn't be the leader in this awkward trio, it'd be Demetrius, the guy with the big gun. Tom was young and hardly a leader, but he could think on his feet and was rather adaptable at that. He was a leader, but only to himself. His confidence didn't extend as far as it could to reach others.

Tom's breathing began to steady and soon he could function like a normal human. His legs didn't feel like the solid form of utter betrayal and his arms were no longer feeling as if they were noodle appendages. He took a deep breath and finally decided to holster the weapon that was beginning to fatigue his already lousy arms. Free from weapons, maybe the man would do the same, seeing as how the woman already dropped hers to the ground in a state of panic. He downed a mental drink of courage and took a few steps towards the two, arms visible and above his torso. Seeing as how, despite asking nicely, he probably would have to deal with these folks for at least the next few minutes, he decided to at least not seem like a complete dunce. "In the mean time, it's nice to meet you two. Even nicer is the fact that I don't have a bullet in me, so I suppose I should thank you both." He offered his hand slowly to show he wasn't ambitious in the slightest in this situation. Ambition around now means death in one way or another.