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Realistic or Modern 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 |𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯

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timshel

𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙨𝙩
[div class="tab selectedTab tab1"]introduction
[div class="tab tab2"]information
[div class="tab tab3"]cast
[div class="tab tab4"]relationships
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holocene
[div class="tabContents tabContents01 show"]
The television warps with sudden bursts of static and noise, struggling to maintain a perfectly clear broadcast. A blond woman wearing too much makeup beams at the camera—the gut feeling is that such a gleeful expression is very out of place during times like these.

My name is [UNINTELLIGIBLE, static] with Channel News 28, where we pride ourselves with providing the truth and nothing but the truth. I’m here today reporting on the ongoing research for the novel lyssavirus. I’m at Stanford Medical School about to talk to the chief virologist spearheading the international effort to find a cure.

The entire screen is reduced to static for a few seconds. By the time it clears, cliche shots of a laboratory and scientists pipetting are rolling as the virologist speaks.

What people don’t understand is the severity of this thing. He’s middle aged and looks exhausted, but something in his voice sounds desperate. Typically, neurotropic viruses like these take ages to establish an infection in a patient and cause symptoms. That isn’t what we’ve seen with the cases in New York City or our mouse model—they enter the furious phase within days of an exposure. I haven’t seen anything like this in my career.

The newscaster begins speaking again as a clip of the two of them walking down a hallway rolls. Neurotropic viruses have the ability to infect nerve cells. Closely related to the rabies virus, this new lyssavirus is known for its dramatic aggressive symptoms, but like many things, it begins with nonspecific symptoms of fever, aches, and chills. Then come headaches, and the excessive salivation, followed by neurological symptoms.

Confusion, anxiety, and paranoia beyond the normal are common, the researcher explains. This then turns into aggression, which as we’ve seen with the subway attacks… [FADE TO SILENCE, WHITE NOISE TAKES OVER]

But our research has shown this can be transmitted by most bodily fluids and fomites, or inanimate objects that an infected individual has coughed or sneezed on. We don’t know how long the virus can survive but [LOUD BLIP]

The television goes black and silent. Seconds later, all color and sound return, and the researcher and newscaster are siting across each other at his desk.

We need to be careful. If this lyssavirus gets out of control, it can send humanity back to the stone age.
[div class="tabContents tabContents02"]
Novel Lyssavirus Fact Sheet
Information courtesy of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention & the World Health Organization
This lyssavirus, unlike its relative, rabies, is highly contagious. Transmission of this virus can be achieved in multiple ways:
  • Infected saliva entering the bloodstream (ex: bite of an infected individual)
  • Infected bodily fluids entering the body through mucous membranes: airborne droplets from the cough or sneeze of an infected individual can cause disease if inhaled
  • It is not known whether or not this virus can be transmitted via sexual contact.
  • Contact with items that an infected individual has had contact with (fomites) have resulted in disease in laboratory studies

Progression of symptoms in an infected individual:
  • 1-3 days following exposure: fever, chills, body aches, chills, coughing, sneezing
  • 4-5 days: headache, excessive salivation, insomnia
  • 5-7 days: anxiety, paranoia, aggression, and other behavioral abnormalities
  • 7-21 days: demonstration of aggressive, often deadly, behavior towards others, extreme, insatiable hunger
  • 21-??? days: paralysis, coma, death

Note that the facts provided above may be incomplete or proven inaccurate later on, as vital research on the pathogen is still in progress. For the latest information on the novel lyssavirus, be sure to check the CDC and WHO official websites regularly.
[div class="tabContents tabContents03"]
the family
status: 4/4 open.
A rare nuclear family in the midst of this chaos, they have managed to stay together despite all odds, holding out in a remote rural ranch that was previously owned by an elder member of the family. This group consists of two parental figures and two children. The parents have seen the entirety of the lyssavirus situation from its inception, and their children may have some childhood memories of the first major events. Of course, no family is ever perfect, especially with the stress of post-apocalyptic life manifesting all too often, but they would quite literally do anything for each other.
Members: Josephine Dennis-Farrow (female, 61, timshel timshel ), Charlotte Dennis-Farrow (female, 59, oxytocin oxytocin ), Andrew Dennis-Farrow (male, 38, nevermind. nevermind. ), Dallas Kennedy-Farrow (female, 17, yousmelldead yousmelldead ), & Faye Meyers (female, 17, constellation constellation ).

the trio
status: 3/3 open.
This best friend trio assembled in the years following the collapse of government, and the bond they share is unbreakably deep: constantly relying on each other for survival has a way of forming lasting, trusting relationships. These three have helped each other with illness and injury, grief and heartbreak, and, most importantly, they've found ways to keep the air light despite all that's happened.
Members: Alexander Flores (male, 24, Plutoni Plutoni ), Leonas Thanh Vo (male, 25, vxnilla vxnilla ), & Beatrix Blythe (female, 24, blackout blackout ).

the pair
status: 2/2 open.
A stranger in desperate need and an exceptionally compassionate stranger coincidentally crossed paths and have remained together for only a short amount of time. One feels a tremendous debt towards the other. The other simply had the desire to help. That being said though, there is still much to be discovered, and the trust between the two is low while suspicion and doubt remain high.
Members: River Calhoun (male, 24, timshel timshel ) & Algernon Baker (male, 42, Macabre Macabre )

the loner
status: 1/1 open.
Almost always a solitary figure, this person is used to extended periods of isolation: they have learned that during times like these, they are they only thing they can rely on. Having been scorned and hurt by people in the past, their faith in humanity is almost entirely gone, and they are very hesitant to put any kind of trust in anyone.
Oliver Férez (male, 33, bad wolf bad wolf )
[div class="tabContents tabContents04"]
Relationships
Josephine and Charlotte are very happily married.
Andrew is Josephine and Charlotte's oldest child. Both of his parents are incredibly fond of him.

More TBA.
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[div class=bkg] [div class=sidebar][/div] [div class=header]river calhoun.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]What woke him that morning was what always did—the peek of dawn light that cast a dull glow on his surroundings, followed by the first brave chirps of those tiny birds, cutting through the still, silent air. Truthfully, he’d already been sort of awake in their makeshift sort of tent for some time: at some point, the young man learned to rest lightly, nodding off just enough to get some recovery out of it, but managing this half-sleep, half-wake phase where he could easily spring up at a moment’s notice. Heavy sleepers were somewhat uncommon nowadays, and with good reason: the life or death situations tended to manifest out from under the cover of darkness, at least in River’s experience. But the dull but powerful throb in his ankle didn’t help him rest easy. He’d been downplaying its severity to his traveling companion: he knew if he shared how much pain he was in, the older man was no doubt going to dote on him until it resolved. River wasn’t going to have it. Algernon was irritating enough when things were perfectly alright—always offering advice and safety tips they both knew he didn’t need, regardless of how benign the task at hand was, sharing thoughts and opinions on topics he barely cared about and didn’t ask to hear. But what he loathed most about his companion was the way he knew he was being perceived. They hadn’t talked about their past lives in detail, but River had come to the conclusion that he must bear a convincing enough resemblance to one of Algernon’s children that it changed the way the other man saw him drastically. An invested, caring, thoughtful, paternal gaze was something completely foreign to the young man, who had grown up without any kind of consistent, responsible paternal figure. It rattled him, knowing that every action, every phrase he uttered was being scrutinized out of nothing but concern and goodwill. All his life he’d received nonchalance, and by this point, he preferred it. Truthfully, it made him nervous as hell and he didn’t want to trust his intentions in the slightest, despite convincing evidence that the other man was as genuine as he claimed to be. Ever since that fateful day where Algernon came to him in his state of dire need, he felt both an immense sense of guilt and unease about the older man’s continued presence in his life. Never had anyone he knew treated him this well, and his interactions with strangers were mostly transient, short bursts of shouting and flashing weapons to get what he wanted. Part of him still felt like this was all a very strange dream he just couldn’t seem to wake up from, because where else would a total stranger look out for him at his own expense? River slowly crawled out of the tent and stood, stretching his arms, taking mind to put most of his weight on his better ankle. As soon as he stood square on his two feet, he held back a slight wince, and his boot felt as if it had a throbbing heartbeat, with what was underneath it pushing fiercely at the laces and seams. The pain wasn’t bad just yet, though. Sometimes warming it up before heading out for the day did him wonders, but with how recent his last sprain was, it likely wasn’t going to help today. I’m gonna have to tell him how bad this really is at some point soon. The sobering realization hit him and he sighed softly, running a hand through his hair as he gazed down blankly at his boots. Maybe they would be come across a drug store in decent shape and find—what was it called? Ibu… Ad… Something. Hell if he knew, but Algernon definitely knew. When River had them, they never lasted long in his backpack: he popped them like candy, and his aches and pains subsided for a while. If they could find some of those, the scoldings about being irresponsible with one’s body would be well worth it. He finally worked up the resolve to wake the other man. “Nonni.” His voice was a bit hoarse from a dry throat—maybe they should find a stream before heading off for real. When he didn’t hear any of the telltale sounds of his companion rousing, he nudged his leg with the toe of his boot. “C’mon, get up. It’s daylight. We really oughta be heading out soon,” River added, more so to himself than anything. When he finally heard the other man’s bitter rumblings, he stepped a couple of feet away to rummage through his backpack for something to eat, which was a bit lighter than he usually preferred to keep it. His calloused hands sought out the cool, ridged shape of a can of food among the other items, and he felt a light grip of anxiety in his throat until he finally found some. He pulled the can out and squinted at its label, faded and worn with age. River could make out just a couple of letters, but his lips lightened into a small grin when he recognized the syrupy-looking orange wedges. “Oh, fuuuuuck yeah. Forgot I’d been saving these,” he murmured out loud as he wrestled with the metal tab, blunt fingers working hard to get underneath it. By the time Algernon stepped out of the tent, River had nearly finished off the can of cobbler-style peaches. He looked over his shoulder at the other man, expression immediately shifting from glee to suspicion. “Nuh-uh. Get your own,” he told him flatly before he could even ask what he was eating. “I’ve had these forever. They’re mine.” After sucking the syrup off his fingers one by one, he added, “Oh, and I’m out of cans. We probably need to go into a town or something, or set some traps.”[/div][/div] [div class=tagbar] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
Algernon Baker[/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]tags[/div]
Macabre Macabre [/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]location[/div]
somewhere in the Sawtooth Mountains, ID. [/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]mood[/div]
ravenous, just a bit territorial. [/div] [/div] [/div] [class=bkg] height: 475px; width: 555px; background: #ededed; margin: auto; [/class] [class=sidebar] height: 445px; width: 100px; position: relative; left: 10px; top: 15px; background: url('https://hips.hearstapps.com/hmg-prod.s3.amazonaws.com/images/cos070119clbheartthrob-001-1560790030.jpg?crop=1.00xw:0.668xh;0,0.137xh&resize=480:*'); background-size: cover; background-position: 70% 0%; [/class] [class=header] font-size: 30px; text-transform: uppercase; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: #708090; width: max-content; position: relative; left: 125px; top: -440px; [/class] [class=post] width: 320px; height: 405px; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 11px; text-align: justify; position: relative; left: 125px; top: -440px; white-space: pre-wrap; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; width: 100%; height: 100%; padding-right: 25px; [/class] [class=tagbar] height: 405px; width: 100px; position: relative; left: 445px; top: -850px; display: flex; justify-content: space-evenly; flex-direction: column; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=tagcont] height: max-content; width: 100px; position: relative; [/class] [class=tag] font-family: Abril Fatface; color: #708090; font-size: 13px; text-align: center; display: inline; [/class]
 
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image.png

Algernon had no idea how long it’d been since he slept in a real bed.

It had to have been years, at this point. Ever since he’d left that small group that had taken refuge in a hospital, it’d been tents and whatever empty buildings he felt safe enough. It was hard to complain, though. There wasn’t much room in his head for worries and thoughts when he burned his throat and liver; wasn’t any time to contemplate how he was sleeping atop a pile of grass and a few blankets when he was too drunk to recognize he was about to pass out. In some way, it was a gift. That he’d be able to keep from worrying about his position. Explained why everyone else was such a heavy drinker, these days. He just wished it also got rid of the nightmares.

They weren’t as bad as they used to be, at least. He vaguely remembered before that he used to stay up nights at a time, couldn’t sleep at all unless it was passed out wherever the hell his body fell. Nowadays it was...easier. Not really better, but easier. Easier enough that he could at least pretend. Algernon usually didn’t bother much with that sort of thing, but he had one obscenely tall, brown-haired, bad-mannered reason to try these days. River had been an unexpected addition. He was hesitant to even treat the man, what with the way he spoke to him, but he was a little bit tipsy and things had happened. Six hours later and they were awkwardly sitting next to each by a fire and Nonni was wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

There had been a voice in the back of his head that told him it was a bad idea. It was still there. Rough hands and tired eyes that were so unused to people, to caring, the concept of holding life in his hands like a father holding their newborn infants. To bring someone from the brink of death was no problem; to nurture and raise was an entirely different thing. Algernon had never been particularly gifted with words.

Still, his obligation continued.

That obligation was about to die by his hands, though, as the rough voice of River awoke him that morning. There was a sharp and displeased noise that came from the older man as he was nudged. Thin green eyes cracked, only looking at the other for but a moment before he was all but shoving him out of the small tent. His head hurt. His body hurt. When a large hand ran down his face, he grimaced, cringing into his own body at the shockwaves and pressure that prepared to bust his skull like a watermelon. Hah, now that was a novel thought - he wondered how many people knew what those were, nowadays? Air brushed past scarred lips. It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten used to River waking him up. God knew if he didn’t, he’d manage to sleep in until noon during the damn end of the world, but every single time he felt himself inching closer and closer towards walking into the nearest gunfire just to rid himself of this post-wake up grogginess.

Algernon rested in his tent for a sizable amount of time after that, warding away the headache and chills that threatened to overtake his body. By the time he’d gotten up, it was to the sound of River talking to himself, breaching the border between their tent and the outside world just in time to be told off. River was immediately leveled an unimpressed stare filled with half-sleep and bad temper. His eyes shifted for a moment to his ankle, the one he knew to be injured. It was habit, he figured, that he was something near doting. Surely his bedside manner wasn’t the best. He said nothing at the other’s attempt at provocation - or was it genuine? - and instead scanned the area. Difficult, considering his height, but necessary nonetheless.

“Heard there was a town somewhere around here.” He said suddenly. His voice was rough and gravelly, betraying both his hangover and the lack of water he’d had. “Probably rural. If we’re lucky, there’s still supplies or farms.” Agriculture was the cradle of civilization, after all. If he was lucky they could find a place where they could barter with someone who knew how to farm properly and secure a place to come back to. Farming wasn’t his science, but it was a science nonetheless. As he spoke, the short man moved to star gathering their things, shuffling and packing efficiently and quietly. he’d let River pack their things once. Once.

He wasn’t quite sure how long a travel it was from where they were, but he figured that if they had any chance of making it by the day’s end, it was best to head out early. He couldn’t make River walk until sunset, not with that ankle. Honestly, the fact that the other was trying to hide his injury from him was kind of insulting. he wasn’t born yesterday, the other’s expressions of pain weren’t lost on him, but he wasn’t about to say anything to some smartass kid who thought the epitome of being a man meant hiding the fact you hurt yourself until you became a fucking invalid. “If it’s more than a day, we’ll set up around noon and set traps overnight for food. Still have a few things in my bags.”

All of the noirette’s words were always spoken with finality, a deep baritone that left little room to argue. He didn’t even look at the other until he was done pulling their tent down. It was a little difficult, considering the aforementioned headache and small stature, but he managed. “And keep that can. We’ll use it later.”



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[div class=bkg] [div class=sidebar][/div] [div class=header]river calhoun.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]The young man listened with little as Algernon began to fill in the details of his plan and gather their things. In all honesty, he still didn’t understand why the other man had been so insistent on taking over morning packing duties after the first night they had spent together; what difference did it make how precisely everything was put away if it didn’t matter much to begin with? The folded tent and balled-up tent took up essentially the same space in his backpack, but his companion didn’t see it that way. It was a matter of pride, he’d told him dismissively at some point. But it bothered him for two reasons, the first being that it was just another one in the series of actions that made him feel utterly infantilized. Never in his life had River been treated like he was a child or less than capable of doing something, but here was Algernon, denying him the simplest of tasks, and even attempting to instruct him on one occasion. He saw it as incredibly patronizing, and also—reason number two—it reinforced his obligation to the other man just a little bit more. What other chore would he have to pick up for the two of them of Algernon constantly insisted on doing things himself? It filled him with a strange kind of dread and uneasiness that he had difficulty shaking, even when he did lay some traps well or catch a few fish. He had only a vague, idealistic concept of what a farm was, or more accurately, what they used to be, never having actually been to one in his short life. That being said, River didn’t question him—the other man knew what he was doing, as hard as that was to admit when he was being stubborn and difficult. Visions of an idyllic pasture, peppered with pastel wildflowers, cows munching idly and vivid green grass as far as the eye could see, filled his head for just a moment. That couldn’t be real, especially in a harsh place like this: looming timber forests, rocky plains, and lakes all surrounded by jagged mountain peaks didn’t seem like the optimal setting for a farm like that. They probably weren’t like that anywhere. Once he caught sight of the other man finishing the last of the tent breakdown, River wiped the lingering stickiness on his fingers off onto the thigh his jeans, looking at the empty can in his spare hand with a doubtful expression. He opened his mouth to ask the question of what exactly this was good for, but quickly thought better of it and changed his mind. It was too early to come across like he was already defying or questioning the other man, and frankly, it wasn’t worth the risk in his mind. He’d find out in some time. Cmon. He’s getting to you. The thought, true as it was, bothered him deeply: normally he would’ve done and asked and said whatever he wanted. That kind of behavior earned him respect with the old gang—the very same type of people that Algernon claimed to have run with back in the day. Since when was he opting to walk on eggshells for the sake of someone else? Since when had he ever cared about upsetting someone else that much? Sure—it was only because he didn’t love being yelled at. That was it. The two set off into the wilderness only a short while later. Algernon lead the way after taking a couple cursory glances at his annotations on an ancient, soft-worn paper map of the area they’d lifted from a dilapidated Sawtooth Wilderness National Park office, and River stayed a pace or two behind him. He was glad to be mostly out of his companion’s view so he could bear the full feeling of his injury without going to great lengths to hide it. Things were fine until they faced a mildly challenging, rocky climb that the young man would have normally done just fine with. Algernon turned back and met his eyes just as he grimaced at one point, but thankfully, he didn’t say a word about it. They continued on. Even as his steady pace gradually melted into a bit of a significant limp, he couldn’t help but admire his surroundings with more interest than he ever thought he would. Not typically one to stop and admire, he found himself thoroughly enjoying the views and the natural colors of this place—fields of wild grass beating in unison with the winds, purple and red wildflowers lighting hillsides ablaze with colors he hadn’t ever seen outdoors before, crystal-clear streams meandering along their path. It was picturesque, probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life. If only his old group hadn’t spent most of their time in decaying skeletons of towns and cities, they could've gotten to see this too. Maybe they'd say the very idea of it was sissy, but he knew they would appreciate the views. And suddenly, there it was. The two were making their way down what was once a dirt highway, which had been reclaimed by the nature and weeds to the point where it was barely recognizable when they came across a surprisingly intact metal sign, the paint on it only slightly chipped and worn. With the sun high overhead and glare intense, River had to squint to make it out. “… Son of a bitch,” he murmured once he was able to discern the general meaning of it. An arrow pointing to their right, with the phrase ‘Farrow Farm, 2 mi’. “You were right, Nonni. Guess there really was a farm around here.” He put a hand on the back of his neck, privately very grateful for the brief moment of rest; his ankle was throbbing almost constantly at this point, and the pain, although dull, was certainly growing stronger the longer they went on. “So we’re heading right, then?”[/div][/div] [div class=tagbar] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
Algernon Baker[/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]tags[/div]
Macabre Macabre [/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]location[/div]
somewhere in the Sawtooth Mountains, ID. [/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]mood[/div]
suffering in silence. [/div] [/div] [/div] [class=bkg] height: 475px; width: 555px; background: #ededed; margin: auto; [/class] [class=sidebar] height: 445px; width: 100px; position: relative; left: 10px; top: 15px; background: url('https://hips.hearstapps.com/hmg-prod.s3.amazonaws.com/images/cos070119clbheartthrob-001-1560790030.jpg?crop=1.00xw:0.668xh;0,0.137xh&resize=480:*'); background-size: cover; background-position: 70% 0%; [/class] [class=header] font-size: 30px; text-transform: uppercase; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: #708090; width: max-content; position: relative; left: 125px; top: -440px; [/class] [class=post] width: 320px; height: 405px; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 11px; text-align: justify; position: relative; left: 125px; top: -440px; white-space: pre-wrap; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; width: 100%; height: 100%; padding-right: 25px; [/class] [class=tagbar] height: 405px; width: 100px; position: relative; left: 445px; top: -850px; display: flex; justify-content: space-evenly; flex-direction: column; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=tagcont] height: max-content; width: 100px; position: relative; [/class] [class=tag] font-family: Abril Fatface; color: #708090; font-size: 13px; text-align: center; display: inline; [/class]
 
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[class=dallas] position: relative; box-sizing: border-box; width: 700px; height: 500px; background: url(https://imgur.com/WxN5VZ7.jpg); overflow: hidden; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 0; [/class][class=tab1] position: absolute; overflow: visible; width: 19px; height: 17px; left: 203px; top: 266px; z-index: 5; cursor:pointer; [/class][class=tab2] position: absolute; overflow: visible; width: 19px; height: 17px; left: 222px; top: 266px; z-index: 5; cursor:pointer; [/class][class=tab3] position: absolute; overflow: visible; width: 19px; height: 17px; left: 241px; top: 266px; z-index: 5; cursor:pointer; [/class][class=tab4] position: absolute; overflow: visible; width: 19px; height: 17px; left: 260px; top: 266px; z-index: 5; cursor:pointer; [/class] [script class=tab1 on=click] addClass show tabContents01 removeClass show tabContents02 removeClass show tabContents03 removeClass show tabContents04 addClass selectedTab tab1 removeClass selectedTab tab2 removeClass selectedTab tab3 removeClass selectedTab tab4 [/script] [script class=tab2 on=click] addClass show tabContents02 removeClass show tabContents01 removeClass show tabContents03 removeClass show tabContents04 addClass selectedTab tab2 removeClass selectedTab tab1 removeClass selectedTab tab3 removeClass selectedTab tab4 [/script] [script class=tab3 on=click] addClass show tabContents03 removeClass show tabContents04 removeClass show tabContents02 removeClass show tabContents01 addClass selectedTab tab3 removeClass selectedTab tab4 removeClass selectedTab tab2 removeClass selectedTab tab1 [/script] [script class=tab4 on=click] addClass show tabContents04 removeClass show tabContents01 removeClass show tabContents02 removeClass show tabContents03 addClass selectedTab tab4 removeClass selectedTab tab1 removeClass selectedTab tab2 removeClass selectedTab tab3 [/script][class=mood] position: relative; overflow: auto; width: 91px; height: 141px; font-size: 10px; font-family: Avenir ; line-height: 16px; color: #000; padding: 8px; [/class][class=moodcontainer] position: absolute; overflow: hidden; width: 91px; height: 141px; left: 188px; top: 301px; [/class][class=tabContents01] opacity: 0; width: 700px; height: 500px; position: absolute; background: url(https://imgur.com/WxN5VZ7.jpg); overflow: hidden; transition: all 0s; [/class][class=tabContents02] opacity: 0; width: 700px; height: 500px; position: absolute; background: url(https://imgur.com/WxN5VZ7.jpg); overflow: hidden; transition: all 0s; [/class][class=text] position: relative; overflow: auto; width: 302px; height: 300px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Avenir ; line-height: 16px; color: #000; padding: 8px; text-align: justify; [/class][class=textcontainer] position: absolute; overflow: hidden; width: 302px; height: 300px; left: 303px; top: 140px; [/class] [class=tabContents03] opacity: 0; width: 700px; height: 500px; position: absolute; background: url(https://imgur.com/WxN5VZ7.jpg); overflow: hidden; transition: all 0s; [/class][class=diary] position: relative; overflow: auto; width: 305px; height: 200px; font-size: 12px; text-align: center; font-family: Avenir ; line-height: 16px; color: #000; padding: 8px; [/class][class=diarycontainer] position: absolute; overflow: hidden; width: 305px; height: 200px; left: 315px; top: 250px; [/class][class=tabContents04] opacity: 0; width: 700px; height: 500px; position: absolute; background: url(https://imgur.com/WxN5VZ7.jpg); overflow: hidden; transition: all 0s; [/class][class=pill] position: relative; overflow: auto; width: 230px; height: 300px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Avenir ; line-height: 16px; color: #000; padding: 8px; [/class][class=pillcontainer] position: absolute; overflow: hidden; width: 230px; height: 300px; left: 330px; top: 140px; [/class][class=show] opacity: 1; z-index: 1; [/class][class=tag1] position: relative; display: inline; width: auto; height: auto; margin-right: 2px; color: #d5c59e; font-family: baskerville; font-size: 12px; padding-right: 0px; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 1px;[/class] [class=tag2] position: relative; display: inline; width: auto; height: auto; margin-right: 2px; color: #000; font-family: baskerville; font-size: 13px; text-align: center; padding-right: 0px; font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 1px; [/class][class=tag3] position: relative; display: justify; width: auto; height: auto; margin-right: 2px; color: #000; font-family: baskerville; text-align: right; font-size: 13px; padding-right: 8px; font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 1px; [/class] [div class=dallas] [div class=moodcontainer][div class=mood] [div class=tag1]mood.[/div]
calm
[div class=tag1]location.[/div]
white oak tree
[div class=tag1]outfit.[/div]
here
[div class=tag1]mentions.[/div]
the whole family. ( timshel timshel constellation constellation nevermind. nevermind. oxytocin oxytocin )
[/div][/div] [div class="tabContents tabContents01"][/div] [div class="tabContents tabContents02"] [div class=textcontainer][div class=text] It was breezy.

Not breezy in the sense that you couldn't enjoy being outside, but breezy to where your arm hairs would raise slightly as the cool air hit your skin. It was perfect. There was a white oak tree on the farm found about an acre from the house itself, by the meadow and the small pond. The white oak tree was almost always where you could find the red-haired girl called Dallas.

As the breeze hit the pale girls cheeks, her lips parted slightly as she leaned her head back against the bark of the tree. It had been two months since she had decided to cut her hair to it's current length and she was still getting used to the way the wind felt in it. She had felt free for the first time in a long time when she ran the sharp edge of the scissors through her hair. Almost 10 inches had come off and it was liberating.

With a soft grunt Dallas leaned forward on the large tree branch she was sitting on, her legs swinging back and forth as her gaze shifted from the pond water to the outline of her home. She had been up in the tree for almost two hours and she knew she had to go back to check her blood sugar levels. The last thing she needed was her mother, Josephine, coming out there to yank her out of the tree to make sure she checked the levels. Or worse her mother, Charlotte, worrying sick over it. Both options seemed unfair to the two she called her parents.

"Alright, time to go." Without another thought the red-head started her decent down the side of the tree, her shoes gripping the bark as she continued to scale down. Half way down, her right foot slid farther than she had anticipated causing her left knee to slam into the rough bark. "Crap.", she hissed slightly as her feet finally hit the ground. Bright green eyes moved to the now red stain on the perfectly white tree, her lips pulling downwards as she took in a breathe. Her mom's were going to freak out.

Dallas bent down, holding her left leg out as she rolled the fabric of her pants up so she could get a better look at her scraped up knee. It wasn't too bad but it needed to be cleaned out and wrapped. The girl grabbed onto her small bag, tossing it over her shoulder before heading back through the meadow to her home. Maybe they wouldn't notice the red blotches on her pants. Or just maybe she would run into Faye or Andrew before her mother's and they could help her before the word even got to Josephine or Charlotte. That sounded like the better option.

[/div][/div][/div] [div class="tabContents tabContents03"] [div class=diarycontainer][div class=diary] [div class=tag3]blood sugar levels[/div]
HbA1C : currently at 72
Status: good
Blood Glucose: currently at 135
Status: good


[/div][/div][/div] [div class="tabContents tabContents04"][div class=pillcontainer][div class=pill] [div class=tag2]slim angles paint brush[/div]
two count
[div class=tag2]assorted paints[/div]
blue, yellow, red, white, black
[div class=tag2]black journal with a pen[/div]
journal is 3/4ths full pen is low on ink
[div class=tag2]photos of her birth family[/div]
three of them
[div class=tag2]solar-charged flashlight[/div]
one count
[div class=tag2]bow and arrow[/div]
eight arrows left
[div class=tag2]grey rabbit[/div]
in mint condition
[div class=tag2]insulin[/div]
four shots left
[div class=tag2]test strips[/div]
a pack of twenty

[/div][/div][/div] [div class=tab1][/div] [div class=tab2][/div] [div class=tab3][/div] [div class=tab4][/div] [/div]
 
Oliver Férez
[class=picture] position: relative; display: inline-block; [/class] [class=text] position: absolute; width: 100%; height: 100%; top: 0; left: 0; opacity: 0; background-color: rgba(0,0,0,0.2); color: white; z-index: 2; [/class] [class name=text state=hover] opacity: 1; [/class] [div class=picture] [div class=text]
location: heading out of an abandoned house
mood: miserable and a little delirious
tags: n/a
There was no start to this shit show. For the life of him, he honestly could't think of a definitive moment, some memory he could look back on and blame the whole shebang for. This picture, the good and the bad, had been downright regretful. It was a mad decent with no end, a pit that just got deeper and deeper the farther you fell in. It was that feeling in a dream where you're plummeting downward, except instead of waking up or dying, you just get left in between. That's all things have ever been. Traveling from one place to the next. You couldn't stop, you couldn't catch your breath, because that'd mean the end to this feeling, and he was truly terrified of whatever lay beyond it.

Oliver had come to the conclusion that there were no bad choices, because everything was a bad choice. There was only shit luck and he'd found himself at the brunt of it. That feeling in his dream, the nausea and scared thrill of falling, was fading. There may be no start but he felt himself edging closer and closer towards an end. That moment where he'd shut his eyes and wake up on the other side.

There was a pressure in his chest he couldn't shake, a building tension that made his hands electric. Whatever he laid them on became truths, those things which rooted him in his dreamscape. The doorframe gave him splinters, his backpack kept him busy, his face made him real. Every time he curled up on his side, he'd trace the scar over his nose, the lines under his eyes, the border his beard refused to cross. He'd shut his eyes and see himself whole in a world that did its damnedest to make you feel shattered, like bits of broken glass, discarded and useless.

He didn't think about anything but that which lay in the between. How he'd get from one suburb to the next, how he'd find food and clean water, how he'd treat himself if he got sick... And sick he was. The plan was ongoing, steps added one after the other, after the other, after the other. That was his use. He'd no other mission than following those steps without diversion. That was what he was good at.

The space he occupied was a world of its own. He had his head curled up in the corner of a closet, tilted so that he could watch sunlight pour in over his shoes. He wasn't sure when he'd opened his eyes, how long he'd been staring, trailing particles of dust that were caught in the sun's bright and yellow beams. Perhaps it didn't matter. His mouth was parted and he gulped at the air like a yawning toad. That pressure in his chest might just be the lack of fresh air, the must of his confined quarters settling in his lungs like drying cement. If he laid there long enough, he wondered if he'd turn to stone.

Trying a breath in through his nose, he sucked in mucus and sat up coughing. Laying his head against the doorframe, Oliver squinted with one eye toward the window. The sun shown behind a grouping of trees, too bright to stare at even then. He shut his eyes and slumped to the floor again, resting his head on his backpack as he stifled another cough.

He didn't normally do this. Lay for hours in a some decrepit homestead, especially in the country. You were certainly asking for trouble in cases like those. The farther apart houses became, the more likely they were to be ransacked and picked through, visited by travelers just trying to survive things while between city suburbs and large towns. He took one look at this place and thought, "That's a bad idea," and waltzed in anyways. Bad choices... Everything was one terrible mistake and, thankfully for him, this one hadn't bit him in the ass yet. That pressure had traveled. He could feel it in his head. It settled there like a bird pecking at tissue, tearing bits of brain matter away. That was the only reason he could explain his being there. The damn bird had ate what little sense he'd had and made him stupid. He was a zombie, his heart barely beating.

Pressing a hand against the hardwood floor, he sat up again. The bird beat its wings against the inside of his skull and he gritted his teeth in defiance. Pulling his backpack alongside him, Oliver tried first to stand. His legs shook violently and he relented a little, opting instead to crawl his way out of the closet. When he managed to make it to the bed, Oliver pulled himself up to sit on it. His pack rested between his feet and, staring at it hard, Oliver commanded the next step: Food.

Unzipping the front compartment, he sought after something small to start the day on. His fingers glanced a package of dried oats and he pulled it out. He'd no urge to take his time with breakfast, having wasted enough already, and opened the package with little thought, chewing at his first mouthful questionably. Dry and brittle, mushed together by saliva and turned to a thick paste, the bite was hard to swallow and he cursed Lady Luck for not having blessed him with the luxury of clean water.

Step two then: A drink. Be it a stream or dew straight off the fucking grass, he'd lap it up like a dog and be none too shy about it either. If only he could get his legs to work. They shook and he coughed and he trailed his sleeve under his nose, all with the same distant look he'd bestowed upon everything this fine morning. Zipping up his bag, he stumbled to his feet and turned toward the bedroom door. He swayed forward and he swayed back and he swayed forward again too far and took a step.

Great! That was progress.

"You're doing fine, Oliver," he whispered, offering himself words of encouragement since everything else seemed to stare at him with the opposite. "You keep moving, find some water, and we'll be right as rain." Right as rain... That didn't sound right. He waved at the air around his head, trying without much success to shoo the bird away.

He was stumbling through the house one moment and the next, he was face down in the dirt outside. He turned his head to breath in and nearly broke into tears when he couldn't sense any difference in the air. He couldn't taste it on his tongue, or feel it fill his head with a sense of ease. It had no smell, fresh and earthy and somehow clean. Curling his hands into tight fists, he pressed them into the ground and stood with a whimper. Adjusting the straps on his shoulders, he wiped his hands down his face and started down the driveway, long and winding, till it met the road. Though his feet dragged, head beat out a drum solo, and lungs felt heavy despite feeling so empty... He continued onto the country road.
[/div][/div]
codedbycrucialstar | hidden scroll
 
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momma
charlotte.
Charlotte has always considered herself unbelievably blessed.

Countless individuals had lost their entire existence to this cursed pandemics. Families separated, livelihoods destroyed, health sacrificed, sanity diminished, happiness eliminated. But Charlotte, knock on wood, was not one of them. And, for likely the seven thousandth time over these last three decades, she thanked God or whatever other cosmic entity there may be for that fact. She lay, breath soft, admiring the gorgeous woman she shared this life with. Restless, she watched the subtle rise and fall of her wife's chest, basking in the delightful, dull warmth that was a living being. She felt whole.

But alas, she was a liar.

During the day, she was soft. Affirmations, coos, lullabies, laughter. She was smiles, kisses, paint stains. She was dirt-coated soles from barefoot dancing on too-soft soil, gentle palms, gentler eyes.

At night, however, she was angles. Bags, nightmares, tears, anxiety. She roamed the halls, a ghost in a cotton nightie, checking the status of her family. She awaited the rumbling snores of her star boy, the whistles of her princesses, and remembered that this haven was just that. Damned be any who tried to ruin it. Content, she floated back to her bedroom, soft footed as to not cause any disturbances. When her head came in contact with her pillow, she slept, and was at peace.

The sun was high when Charlotte woke up, alone. Eons ago, in the relationships infancy, this would have terrified her. Now, though, she rose groggily, drifting lightly through the house, as she had mere hours before. Much of the household routine was like clockwork. For that reason, directing her body directly to Josephine's was like second nature. Gently, Charlotte wrapped her arms around her wife's waist, and buried her face into her shoulder. "Good morning," she breathed softly into Josephine's skin, pressing her lips delicately to the surface area directly surrounding. "Do you know where our beloved gremlins may be hiding?"

[div class=tag]location
the farmhouse

[div class=tag]mood
domestic; enamored

[div class=tag]interactions
josephine

[div class=tag]tags[/div] timshel timshel

[div class=tag]finished to[/div] running - nicotine [/div] [/div] [/div][/div] https://www.rpnation.com/threads/❀-—-𝘵𝘩𝘦-𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘦-𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯.466575/[/div] [class=variables] cursor: url(https://66.media.tumblr.com/232c090ebdd37ae4bc17adb54e1e0344/tumblr_inline_ol4nwhvSwg1uxxza6_75sq.png), auto!important; --color: #b0e0e6; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 20px; color: var(--color); font-family: Abril Fatface; [/class] [class=link] display: inline-block; cursor: url(https://66.media.tumblr.com/6fb38fc5e97353c67e3fc3a2e2b29bf9/tumblr_inline_ol4nwisGdu1uxxza6_75sq.png), auto!important; font-size: 10px; font-family: Avenir; color: #999; [/class]
 
[class=link] display: inline-block; cursor: url(https://66.media.tumblr.com/6fb38fc5e97353c67e3fc3a2e2b29bf9/tumblr_inline_ol4nwisGdu1uxxza6_75sq.png), auto!important; transition: 1s; font-size: 9px; font-family: Avenir; padding-top: 5px; color: #999; [/class]
leonas vo
location
their makeshift camp.
outfit
shirt. pants. shoes. the works.
interactions
n/a for now
tags
mentions blackout blackout and Plutoni Plutoni
Leonas couldn't remember the last time he woke with the sun already up.

The merits of having an annoyingly consistent internal alarm in the apocalypse could be debated; on the one hand, the lack of timely obligations (things that he only knew through passing mentions of schools or jobs from his parents) meant that now was as good of a time as any to sleep in—but on the other hand, the consequences veered less towards things like the ire of authority figures and more towards grievous bodily injury. Whether good or bad, though, the fact remained that Leo's body strove so stubbornly to beat the dawn every morning that it was like it held some personal vendetta against the sun.

Which was why he found himself stirring awake, blinking bleary eyes open to a murky sky, a canvas caught somewhere in between night and day. The morning was quiet—but, then again, it was always quiet until you found yourself misstepping, always quiet until it was broken by the rattle of a bullet or some other hostile sound, and quiet wasn't really the word he was looking for, anyway. Maybe peaceful, should such a thing exist. If he'd been ten years younger and a thousand trials more naive, he'd say it felt like every living thing had entered some kind of tentative peace.

But he wasn't 15 and sheltered, and it never took him long to kick his mind into gear or wipe those vaguely wistful thoughts from his head. He was alert within minutes, rubbing the sleep out of his face and sitting up to survey their camp. It was basically instinct, now, to look over at his two companions before he checked anything else—make sure they hadn't died or been spirited away in the middle of the night. They were there and unmoving, but there was the definite rise-and-fall of their chests to indicate that they were, indeed, alive. He wasn't expecting either of them to be up yet; Bea would wake soon enough, and Alex after her. If he deigned to wake himself up at all, that is.

(Leo never stopped giving him shit for it, but sometimes he was willing to admit to himself that he was sometimes maybe a little endeared by Alex's ability to remain dead to the world for a truly impressive amount of time.)

Where they'd set up camp was a good enough place. There was a little overhang that provided some protection from the elements, and it was secluded enough that the chances of anything alive and malicious happening upon them were relatively slim. But Leonas always got a little anxious and a little stir-crazy, convinced that spending more than a couple of days at most in one place would bode terribly; putting down roots, after all, always made it that much harder to run when the time came. And where they'd set down camp was good, but it wasn't excellent, and he rather thought they should keep moving as soon as they could.

He packed up what little he'd unpacked the night before, careful to keep all sounds to a minimum, darting quick glances here and there to his companions to make sure they were sleeping undisturbed. When he was done with that, he looked over to the makeshift fire they'd hastily gotten ready the night before. They always kept it small, for safety's sake, so it'd long since died and had little kindling left—but the structure was there, which was better than nothing, and they were going to have to eat before they travelled anywhere. They had some store of dried foods, he was reasonably sure, but he'd rather save that for an emergency, and he'd be damned if they all made it this far only to die from raw meat.

The good thing about roughing it in the wilderness, 24/7, was that they were never too far from good materials to use to build their fire back up. Which was great, because he didn't think he could stomach going so far to find dry twigs and leaves that he couldn't look back at whim to reassure himself of Bea and Alex's safety. Call him smothering or paranoid or (heaven forbid) co-dependent, but they'd all had too many bad things happen to ever rely on fate keeping them well and whole. He'd never be willing to gamble their safety on the bet that they'd probably be okay, asleep and unguarded and defenseless, for him to find some fire fuel.
[div class=link]coded by christy.
[/div]
 
[class=variables] --accent: #f0d790; --image: url('https://i.pinimg.com/originals/26/99/c4/2699c441c7089307e1f9cee3357b5e96.jpg'); --texture: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/asfalt-dark.png'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=post1][div class=header]beatrix blythe.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]Even before Bea's eyes fluttered open, the soft warmth of the sun danced across her skin and the singsong teases of birds echoed in her ears. She flopped over with a groan, desperate to cling to the last fleeting remains of her timelessly peaceful rest, but the rocky ground dug into her skin through her thin blanket and she knew that the effort was fruitless. Even so, Bea stayed, squeezing her eyes shut, savoring the peaceful fog of sleep before it left her completely. Getting up meant more than just abandoning it: no, it was slipping into another day of exhaustion and mindless searching just to earn another day of all the same. Work to live. Work to work again, to see the next sunrise before doing it all over just to entertain the thought of maybe catching the next. But Bea couldn't be bothered by such thoughts. Quietly, her hands found grips in the rough surface of the ground and she pushed herself up, eyes stinging as they adjusted to the morning light and back stiff from her huddled position. Even so, she was infinitely thankful for the little overhang. Maybe it wasn't what she'd known with her mother, or what her mother had known even before then, but such fickle things as security and stability had slipped through her fingers long ago. Now all she could do was try to grab the fading wisps before they were gone forever and craft the best imitation she could, to find what small light existed in the years-long blackout that had become reality. As her mind emerged from the murky clutches of sleep that had held it, the rush of panic and adrenaline that she had become accustomed to flooded in. It was like clockwork. She would wake up, reality would kick her free from her stolen bits of peace, and then she'd remember everything that kept her alive. Her pouch, there: her knife, there: her companions? Maybe. She turned, eyes glittering against the obsidian shadows stirred by invasive morning light. What she saw might've just been a gently stirring mound of blankets to anyone else, but it meant the world to her. That was one. Her eyes slowly moved past it with the kind of caution that only came with the knowledge that seeing the wrong thing could mean death for the both of them. The sight of who she presumed to be Leo huddled by the fireside was brought her an unfathomable rush of relief. Each morning she was terrified at the notion either Alex or Leo might be gone, and despite what felt like an era spent with them, she still hadn't gotten used to Leo's early wakings. She could only assume that the awake one was him—perhaps it would be more concerning if it was, in fact, Alex. Allowing her eyes one last moment lingering over the little haven they'd roughed for themselves, she forced herself to a stand and brushed the smudges of dirt and dried leaves that clung to her off. The knowledge that they'd inevitably be forced to move, likely by Leo, was bitter to Bea, but she'd learned perhaps the hardest way possibility that stagnation meant death. If it wasn't the poor-intentioned roamers that always made their rounds, it would be the animals that got to them, and neither was all too pleasant of a fate in Bea's eyes. A gentle smile spread across her lips as she watched him, the figure who'd become all but a brother to her. The simple sight of him or Leo brought a warm feeling to her, a kind of familial security that she knew she would've been a fool to ignore. The memories of her mother had become murky with the ticking passage of time, but whatever she had found in Leo and Alex was oddly familiar. She gently scuffed her boot against the ground, leaves crunching under her feet and crackling in the dawn air. "Leo," she murmured happily. Bea had no intention of frightening him, but she knew whatever she did would inevitably shake him. Leo seemed perpetually ready to run—even when he was asleep, his muscles were tensed, and if anyone knew how jumpy he was, it was her. It had become infinitely familiar to her: she'd wake, he'd inevitably already be awake, and whatever sound she made would make him jump. It was a simple routine but she'd give it all just to see it continue. Her mother had told her that it was the small things that would keep her alive through it all. Of course, water, food, shelter, and the likes couldn't be ignored, but it was waking up to see someone smile or to eat another meal in silence with them that made the day's toils worthwhile. For her mother, she would've walked to the end of the earth, and now she'd do the same for Leo and Alex. She crossed over to him, footfalls light as snow. A dirtied bag sat clutched in his hands, and her lips pursed as she saw how full it was. Not full by any means, but certainly not empty, and the area where he'd slept was free of any signs of human life. "We're leaving today?" Her voice was soft and gentle, but the exhaustion beneath it was almost melancholic. She knew that staying anywhere for too long was nothing short of a gamble, but she'd never found leaving to get any easier.
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
leonas [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
alexander[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
vxnilla vxnilla Plutoni Plutoni [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
"i'm alive, i guess"[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]outfit[/div]
we stylin'. [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
the camp[/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div] [class=back] width: 99%; background: var(--texture); background-size: 20%; background-color: #fafafa; margin: auto; height: 400px; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=bkg] width: 1100px; height: 400px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; position: relative; top: -400px; [/class] [class=poly] height: 400px; width: 300px; clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); background: var(--accent); position: relative; [/class] [class=poly2] clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); height: 400px; width: 300px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; position: relative; left: -45px; filter: brightness(90%); [/class] [class=post1] height: 300px; width: 600px; position: relative; top: 50px; margin: auto; [/class] [class=post] height: 250px; width: 570px; background: #f5f5f5; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; position: relative; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=header] font-family: Abril Fatface; font-size: 25px; text-transform: uppercase; color: #454545; position: relative; left: 15px; [/class] [class=tagflex] height: 251px; width: 350px; display: flex; content-justify: space-evenly; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; left: 850px; top: -192px; font-size: 12px; color: black; font-size: Inter; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 15px; display: inline; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); [/class] [class=tagbox] height: max-content; width: 125px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 10px; padding-right: 25px; width: 99%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=dialogue] color: var(--accent); font-weight: bold; display: inline; [/class]
 
[div class=bkg] [div class=sidebar][/div] [div class=header]josephine dennis-farrow.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll] Despite the circumstances, Josephine felt like she didn’t have any more or any less on her plate than the times before now. She was always one to commit herself to absolutely anyone and everyone who needed help: taking on extra shifts for exhausted or burned-out colleagues overseas, volunteering when Andrew was still in kindergarten and elementary school, offering to take over household chores so she could get Charlotte off her feet. Her mind was always moving, half-present in each activity, forever thinking ahead to the next thing. And she loved being busy—it made her feel wanted. One of the biggest losses she continued to feel every day after this all started was the inability to plan ahead. Sure, she could make plans to take a trip to the town or attempt setting traps in the surrounding woods, but no matter how well Josephine prepared, the day’s circumstances could change drastically, for better, but usually for the worst. The constant ache in what was left of her arm was a painful reminder of just how quickly things could spiral out of control, and she thanked God that particular situation didn’t end up worse than that. But without patients to follow up with, teachers to check in with, shifts to sign up for, and friends to call, she decided that developing this piece of land was going to be her magnum opus. When they arrived at the old Farrow Farm, Josephine was taken aback by how derelict the place had become: this wasn’t the idyllic summer paradise her much wealthier aunt, uncle, and cousins had described to her over the phone all those years ago. Maybe they weren’t prudent enough to think that a place as remote as this would logically be the best place to shelter away in. Maybe they got unlucky rather quickly. The land, harsh as it was, had some kind of vitality it seemed only Josephine could perceive. Even her ever-faithful Andrew doubted her at first, resigning to the fact that this terrain would be mostly unusable to them. But as Josephine tirelessly, diligently weeded and tilled the soil, hacking away at a decades’ worth of neglect and abandonment, beautifully dark and rich, she felt a future stirring somewhere beneath them. She just had to crack at it with constant attention and patience and care. It took a couple of years to finally get the farm off the ground, but she was more than pleased with her work: she’d been lucky enough to find a garden supply store with enough cold weather crop seeds to get a steady rotation of broccoli, spinach, and beets going, traded ammunition for several chickens and a rooster and a dairy cow, and even got lucky enough to find a couple of horses, terrified and abandoned without their owners. A couple of borderline feral cats showed up, and they started controlling the mouse population well. Her new existence as a farmer was unrelentingly difficult, but when victories like those finally became apparent to her family, she couldn’t be any more satisfied with her work. And then came the girls, years later. She decided when both Dallas and Faye ended up in her care that they were too young to go through life, even how it was now, without any kind of formal education, so on her raids into the nearby towns, Josephine made it a point to rifle through the bookstores and arts and crafts stores, looking for anything that hadn’t aged too horribly to bring back with her. And she began sharing with them what it meant to read deeply, write clearly, analyze things scientifically, and about what the past was like. Wife, mother, farmer, teacher. Just like that, her hands were full again and she felt satisfied. This morning was much like other mornings: Josephine dragged herself out of bed when the rooster cawed, welcoming the dawn with his tone-deaf decree. She pulled on a pair of jeans, her work boots, and a thin jacket to wear before the sun was high enough to warm the land up, and began her morning rounds. The crops had to be watered, one by one, with frequent trips to the well to refill her watering can. Once that was done, she let the chickens out of their coop to wander around and feed on the grass, and then sifted through their hay bedding for eggs. And after milking the cow and letting her and the horse out to graze, her farmer duties were temporarily done. The mom hat was now on. After rinsing her hands off, Josephine left her boots at the door to keep from tracking all the muck back indoors, and began thinking about what she could make them all for breakfast. Today (a Sunday) seemed like a pancake kind of day: she had fresh eggs and milk, and she and Andrew found a large amount of untouched flour the week prior. With the little bit of sugar they had left, she could whip up enough to feed five easily. If only they had some fruit or maple syrup, but at least the kids wouldn’t miss what they didn’t know anything about. (But she hoped they had some preserves hiding somewhere in the pantry.) She was just beginning to start the dry ingredients when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist. Josephine sunk into them, grinning, a warm blush spreading across her cheeks. Oh, Charlotte. She always had that touch and tone to her voice that just made her absolutely melt, and never in the last decade did she doubt that she’d found her soulmate in this woman. “Morning, Charlie.” She put her hand on top of where Charlotte’s crossed over her stomach and squeezed them. “Oh… That I don’t know. I think Andrew is awake by now, but I don’t know about the other two. It’s still so early.” Josephine gently freed herself from her wife’s tender embrace, gesturing to the mixing bowl and whisk on the kitchen counter. “I’m making pancakes this morning,” she revealed, grinning. “When’s the last time you had those? We had the flour, and I—“ She gestured as she trailed off. “I wanted to do something special.”[/div][/div] [div class=tagbar] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
Charlotte Dennis-Farrow[/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]tags[/div]
Macabre Macabre [/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]location[/div]
Farrow Farm, ID. [/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]mood[/div]
contented. [/div] [/div] [/div] [class=bkg] height: 475px; width: 555px; background: #ededed; margin: auto; [/class] [class=sidebar] height: 445px; width: 100px; position: relative; left: 10px; top: 15px; background: url('https://i.pinimg.com/474x/b3/c0/a2/b3c0a282a227fefdcf3df32681d2fc62.jpg?crop=1.00xw:0.668xh;0,0.137xh&resize=480:*'); background-size: cover; background-position: 70% 0%; [/class] [class=header] font-size: 30px; text-transform: uppercase; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: #874E4E; width: max-content; position: relative; left: 125px; top: -440px; [/class] [class=post] width: 320px; height: 405px; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 11px; text-align: justify; position: relative; left: 125px; top: -440px; white-space: pre-wrap; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; width: 100%; height: 100%; padding-right: 25px; [/class] [class=tagbar] height: 405px; width: 100px; position: relative; left: 445px; top: -850px; display: flex; justify-content: space-evenly; flex-direction: column; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=tagcont] height: max-content; width: 100px; position: relative; [/class] [class=tag] font-family: Abril Fatface; color: #874E4E; font-size: 13px; text-align: center; display: inline; [/class]
 

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