Futuristic Apocalyptic Territories (CLOSED)

[MalumMalice_]

Name: Willow Clarke

Age: 22

Race: Human


Weapon of Choice: Bow & arrows, switchblade

Strengths: Speed and agility, mid-range shooting, hand to hand combat.

Weaknesses: Long distance shooting, guns, larger scale enemies.


Hair: Golden brown

Eyes: Green

Height: 5’1

Build: Petite, thin

Scars/Birth marks: Long scar traveling across her left shoulder blade.

Tattoos: none

Face claim: Alycia Debnam Carey


Personality: Willow is a very quiet, mysterious girl. She isn’t shy, but she only really opens up around people she’s comfortable with, such as her own troop. When she does talk, however, she is quick witted and often sarcastic. She has a low tolerance for bullshit, basically, and refuses to put up with anyone who seems to be off-putting or dangerous. Willow keeps to herself for the most part, and is headstrong and independent. Sometimes she is a little naive, however, and thinks she can do certain things on her own or without help of any kind. She still has a lot to learn about survival and trusting others for assistance.


Bio: Before the sickness spread, Willow was twelve years old. Up until then, she had lived a normal life as a normal kid- attending the local middle school, having sleepovers with her friends, and crushing on boys. She was the daughter to Camila and Jet Clarke, and the sister to her younger brother Bryce. Camila was a school teacher, and Jet was a police officer. Unfortunately, when the disease started creeping upon humanity, Willow lost both her mother and her Bryce. Her and Jet were discovered to be immune, meaning the sickness didn’t affect their blood like it did for 90% of the population.


Over the course of the next ten years, technology became obsolete, groups of people around the globe rioted, and the government crashed. The 10% of the population left that were immune to this disease were now in charge. It was an “every man for himself” sort of movement. Many grouped, and others became rogues or killed themselves when they realized what their lives had become.

Willow and her father joined a group in their small town in Arizona to survive, and this group became their new family. It consisted of people of all ages- young children, a couple of teenagers, adults, and elders. They managed to collect weapons and gear, but they never found the time to build a camp. Houses and neighborhoods were too dangerous at this point- looters were breaking in, murdering, and simply going crazy under the conditions. There was even a point in the first year where Willow watched her father shoot three of those looters who attempted to rob their house.


Now, fast forward to the future, Willow is staying with the troop she originally banded together with. It had been six months since her father passed away- their camp was disturbed in the middle of the night and rogues killed three people within their group, including her father.

 

[Prizzy Kriyze]

Name
Carmine "Car" Moreau

Age
25

Hair
Brown

Eyes
Brown

Height
6'3"

Build
Wall of Muscles

Scars/Birth marks
Endless scars on knuckles, arms and hands from fighting, fires, cooking, accidental cuts and whatever. Several on his chest, and one through his eyebrow.

Tattoos
A line running along the outside of each finger on his right hand, crudely done.

Weapon of Choice
Hunting Knife, Bolt-Action Rifle, Pump-Action Shotgun.

Personality
Though Car likes to joke around, get drunk, party and generally fuck around, nobody can ever really say they're sure of what's going on inside that head of his. Sure, a few of his closer friends could definitely tell you that there's plenty of things that bother him and that he really doesn't like talking about it all that much, but he keeps it to himself and on the down-low.

He upholds his morals though, treating people equally and kindly, seeking peace of mind in his own quiet moments, not causing issues and leaving people to mind their own business. This unspoken kindness despite the physical superiority and reason for aggression he has for several of his peers is just what has netted him the respect he now has.

Strengths: Physically strong, tough and persistent with an inclination and talent for hunting in all it's forms. A capable chef and experienced but untrained melee combatant. Natural-born leader.

Weaknesses: Poor of hearing, mild PTSD, smoking addiction, lingering guilt, functioning nigh-alcoholic.

Bio
Car's backstory is a bit of a peculiar one. His dad was an Italian forest ranger and his mother a French crack whore, and that's not an insult. Out on vacation, his father accidentally knocked up a prostitute in France who just so happened to be a crackhead. His mother refused to have an abortion and instead managed to locate his father and press-gang him into an unhappy marriage in which shame drove him to part with his previous name in favour for her surname, Moreau.

Fast forward a couple of years. It's Car's fourth birthday. His father made the choice to move to America to get as far away from his family as possible since they abhorred the new relationship as well as his newborn son. His father was doing the best he could to take care of his new wife and child, and owe up to the mistakes of his past rather than cut the ties and live the life of a lesser man. His mother was doing her best to get clean and live a stable life, despite having little to no conventional skills and have survived this far by spreading her legs and being pretty.

Four years pass, Car has shown a great interest in sports and his father is supportive. The marriage is stable, but neither of his parents is particularly happy. His father is burying himself in work to try to forget about the fact that his wife is very likely back to doing drugs and whoring, but he isn't letting it show. Car is old enough to realize something is off but tries to ignore it by making new friends and going to school.

Two months before Car's tenth birthday his mother ODs. On his birthday he first meets his only paternal uncle, who finally wishes to see his family once the mother had died. His father, who had been cheating for years on the side, starts slowly drinking himself to death. Only finally sobers up when Car turns thirteen, but feels so guilty that he cuts his losses and leaves everything to move to the coast with the woman he used to cheat on Car's mother with.

Not that it changed much; Car's uncle had taken a liking to him when he was eleven and had allowed him to stay at his place for prolonged periods of time when he didn't trust Car's father with him. Car, who had had plenty of time to become a rebellious teenager did just so, and in the end he only spent time with his uncle when it came to their hunting trips.

In the end, yeah. When he was 15 the plague came, and it killed everyone he'd ever known. Well, as far as he knew his father could still be out there, but he wasn't about to go looking. Unfortunately, those like himself who had learned emotional independence, no matter the cost, were very suited for the barbaric world that followed.

Or at the very least, he didn't let it show.

 

[MalumMalice_]

It was hot, to say the least. So hot, in fact, that it was slowly killing the small brunette who was trudging along under the Arizona sun. Her face and body was almost completely covered to protect her easily burned skin, the only part of her visible being her piercing green eyes peering out into the deserted wilderness. The land was desolate, and Willow was alone with limited supplies and quickly running out of the precious water sloshing around in her canteen- most likely boiling by now from the heat. It was almost painful to drink, and didn’t seem to help much anyways. She assumed that she was better off saving it for nightfall, when it became cooler and there was time to regain her strength. Her rations of coyote jerky and grains were dissipating as well, and the energy to hunt and replenish was severely lacking. Willow was going to die out here.

The girl paused in her tracks, glancing up at the sun in attempts to tell the time. It was only mid-afternoon, and nightfall was still several hours away. She turned her head in every direction, desperate for any kind of shade to hide away under like a small animal. The only possible shelter that was nearby was a medium-size overhanging rock, but it would have to do for now. There was no way that Willow could keep going, especially in her condition. She found herself taking more and more breaks with less time in between- a dangerous game to play in the desert- but she didn’t have a choice.

Slowly, Willow shuffled toward the shade, the unmerciful, blistering sun draining every ounce of energy within her body with every passing second. No animals were hardly ever out in this heat- even they knew better than that- so she was completely alone aside from the circling vultures above. It was almost as if they were a sign from God; death was not too far away. In fact, he was extremely close. However, Willow was a fighter, and as she came upon the small sliver of shade, she decided within that moment to push even harder to survive. She would come out of this. She would make it. All she had to do was continue pep talking and she was sure that she would prevail.

Now underneath the overhanging rock, with the shade barely covering her entire body, Willow pulled down the dirty, sweat-stained bandana that was covering the bottom half of her face. Her lips were dry and cracked, desperate for any kind of moisture. If there was a time for chapstick, now would be as good of a time as any. God, how she missed chapstick, and all the other small, trivial amenities from when she was a pre-teen before the virus. How did their world come to this so quickly? It was something that she pondered every single day as she reminisced of the times she spent with friends and family, and of her once normal life. Ten years later, and she was half dead in the middle of the goddamn desert. It was almost tantrum-worthy, but where would that get her?

With weak arms, she shrugged away her backpack and bow and leaned against the rock, taking a deep breath before unzipping the front pouch, digging around the contents until her fingers grasped onto a cool, metal tin can. Thank god, at least she had some decent protein other than the stale jerky she’d been rationing for the last five days. She didn’t even realize what she had left. . Willow pulled out the small can of beans, quickly cutting away the lid with her switchblade until it was peeled back and opened just enough to get her fingers in. Tossing the thin layer of metal to the side, she desperately scooped some of the nasty, moist beans into her mouth, realizing that they had never tasted so good until now.

“God, if you’re real and looking down on me right now, send me a sign,” she called out to the desert, knowing that nobody would answer. Silence. Obviously. “Thanks a lot, dick,” she added with a roll of her eyes, taking in another bite of the cruddy beans. She was going crazy- she knew it. Willow had been doing just fine up until her group had disappeared, seemingly without a trace. She wasn’t starving, dying of dehydration, and too tired to even move her legs. All of the times she had a full stomach and a good night’s sleep, she had totally taken advantage of.

Rewind to eight days prior. Willow had gone to sleep that night in her little tent, not too worried about much. She had pretty good dreams, dreams of her family being together again and things going back to normal. The next morning, however, wasn’t so normal. The brunette awoke to her entire camp being deserted. Ha, desert pun- hilarious, right? Anyway, all of the twelve others that she had been traveling with over the last six months had completely disappeared. Willow had checked every tent, every sleeping bag, but nobody was to be found.

At that point, she had assumed that maybe they went on a gathering trip, to see if they could find any more supplies nearby or to hunt. However, that didn’t necessarily add up. Not everyone would have left at once, especially without telling Willow. Her father had been the leader of their group, and the torch was almost passed down to his daughter when he passed away not too long ago. The last thing she wanted to do was leave the campsite, however, so she waited. She waited for two days before finally realizing that they weren’t coming back, and that she had to find them.

Willow had cursed herself for waiting so long- her group was definitely long gone, but she had to try and recover them anyway. So she gathered all of the supplies she could fit into her backpack, including whatever food and water was left in stock, a blanket, and clothing materials other than the basics she had already had. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might be longer than a couple of days, so she didn’t bother packing a tent. Now, it was biting her in the ass. What kind of explorer did she think she was, anyways? Obviously not a very good one- she was lost in the desert, low on supplies, and nearly dead. It was a miracle that she’d made it this far.

Now back to the present, Willow realized how disappointed her father would have been in her if he were still around. The thought was horrifying, and the failure was resonating within her tiny chest. God, she had one fucking job, and that was to survive. As she miserably cursed herself, she barely even noticed that her eyes were fluttering shut, and the heat was overtaking her.

(wow okay that was so much longer than I expected it to be- obvs yours doesn't have to be a million paragraphs too I just got carried away)

 

[Prizzy Kriyze]

From the vibrating air and dusty mesas four shadows grew in the distance. One short but wide, seemingly dragging something behind himself. Another more average-looking tall one seemed to carry something large over his shoulder, and a shorter slender figure walked near the front with his head warily whipping back and forth. Leading them all was a big, distinctive character. A gun was slung over his shoulder, and a long tattered coat whipped in the wind. His eyes gazed over top of a piece of cloth, there to protect from the merciless warmth of the sun.

"Fuckin' Christ, we should've brought more water. Who was the shithead who thought we wouldn't need it in the waterworks? Shit's been drained for years." The slender lookout muttered. Wesley Hunter, ex-bandit. If it wasn't for his keen eyes and ears he would probably have been relieved of them months ago. However the camp knew all too well the unfortunate circumstances that led one to that life, so when he came crawling for a chance at an honest road in life his wish was granted.

His moaning was met with a guttural sound from the short man pushing a sleigh filled with bits of machinery and rusty metal. "Quit your bitchin' Wesley." Boris growled. Boris Atkins wasn't a fighter, even if he regularly thought so under the influence. Regardless, he wasn't afraid of hard work and was undeniably strong. Crowley, the tall scarecrow-like man carrying a coyote over his shoulder, sent a murdering glare at both of them but said nothing. Crowley wasn't known by any other name, and he hardly ever talked to boot. On the other hand, he never did anything to anyone except generally scaring the shit out newcomers just by being himself. Excellent gunman, though.

"Easy boys, we're halfway home. I'll treat you all to a fresh glass." Carmine finally chimed in. He was the assigned leader for the group and could hardly let them kill each other before they got back. Understandably, they were on edge. One of the few pick-ups that the camp had managed to keep functional broke down and they got sent to trek across the desert to scavenge parts at the waterworks, a junkyard/wastewater treatment plant. The place was an infamous spot for bloodshed, but luckily they hadn't run into anything.

"Ay Car," Sounded Wes once more with his thick British accent, "can't we at least take a break?" Car turned and looked to the group. They all seemed exhausted, not very surprising considering the circumstance. "Fine, fifteen minute break. Y'all better be ready."

----
​

Car chewed on a piece of jerky whilst leaning against the pile of metal. Fifteen minutes had passed, and everyone was getting ready to move again. Everyone except Wes. "Where the hell did that kid run off to now?" Boris was impatiently tapping his foot in place, slowly flattening a dead bush. "I'll take a look." Car muttered and sparked up a cigarette. "He can't have gone far."

About thirty steps down the hill they stopped on the desert stretched out for miles. The only landmark you could spot was a small rock jutting out of the sand. Car took a drag then placed his hand over his eyes to block out the sun. Gazing into the distance he definitely saw something moving by the rock. "Hey! Wes?" He shouted and started making his way over. A head poked out from behind the stone. "Ay, boss! Look what I found!" Wesley replied, and Car's eyebrows rose in curiosity. "What've you found?"

"She's dead, isn't she?" The stout man wondered, crouching in the shadow of the rock. "I honestly don't know, Boris." Car replied. "She's alive. Barely." Crowley uttered as he stood back up. Wesley, who'd been standing off to the side rummaging through her belongings, stood up and said: "Well what's it matter, let's just take her things and make off." Before he could react Car grabbed the bag out of his hands and turned to Crowley. "Hey-" "No we don't. Prop her up on the sleigh with the coyote. Here," He loosened the canteen on his belt and tossed it over to Crowley. "Keep an eye on her and try to give her some water." "What, are you going soft for a girl now?" Wes chimed in. "Shut it Wesley, she needs our help." Boris retorted. "Quit it." Car cut in, "If she dies on the way, you can keep her stuff. Now get a move on, we're late enough as it is." "Aye." Said Crowley and lifted her body off the ground. Despite his slender frame Crowley's strength never failed to surprise. "Always gotta make things harder..." Wes muttered under his breath.

----
​

A few hours later everything was said and done. Wesley never ceased to boast about what he'd trade her stash for, but in the end she was still alive at the destination of the trip. The camp was a community set up in the middle of the desert, built around the wreckage of a crashed plane. The camp was started by a woman known only as Precious. Word around was that she had been the ex-criminal owner of a shelter for the homeless before the plague, but regardless of her actual past, she was exceptionally good at keeping the little community from falling apart. Most people there were invited by friends or family, and they kept themselves alive by being divided into groups and doing necessary work in return for rewards or social standing. Car was generally known as one of the most competent leaders around, and his group (Not actually including Wesley nor Boris normally, but the scavenging mission was a bit of a special case) were one of the most effective ones.

Rusty plate shacks made up the majority of the camp, but Car had been a little more ambitious about it. His "shack" was two stories tall, complete with a diesel generator that pumped electricity into one of the few functional refrigerators around. People often slouched on the couch he had on the lower floor, but calling it a couch might be a bit too romantic. It was a couple of shipping pallets sporting a few layers of rugs and blankets, but this was where the mystery girl had been left after the camp's doctor took a look at her. She only seemed to be over-exhausted and dehydrated, given some time and water she'd be fine.

The sun was disappearing as Car sat down by the table he'd placed by the net-window on the lower floor. The desert winds caused the cloth that served as his door to sway gently. A short glass, half-filled with bourbon, stood next to an ashtray where fresh embers slowly died out. Car took a drag and raised the glass to his lips, effortlessly swallowing a mouthful of the burning liquid. His eyes shifted over to the quiet girl on his couch. He wondered where she came from, what she was doing in the middle of the desert, countless other things, but all he could do for now was wait. On a regular day he wouldn't be drinking alone after hard work, but to be honest he didn't trust most of the men willing to drink with him in the presence of an unconscious lady. Sad, but the end of the world didn't bring out the best in people.

"No, those who are left all have issues." He thought, then took another drag and looked out over the desert scene once more.

 

[MalumMalice_]

Dreams always seem to be more vivid when one is close to death. That was the case, at least, with Willow Clarke. Her near death experience seemed to heighten her senses in the lullaby-like dream world, making things seem more real. Her sense of smell, touch, sight, and hearing was completely dramatized as she walked through the desert once again. There was hardly any differentiation between the two worlds- real and not- aside from the clouds. The large, billowy clouds in the sky hid away the sun and ceased the unmerciful heat upon Willow’s face as she stood amongst the never ending sand and desert life. Really? Even in her dreams, she couldn’t get away from this hellhole. Her brain couldn’t conjure up some sort of beautifully crafted paradise for her to float about in as she was dying? Clearly some higher power was punishing her for whatever unknown crime or wrong doing that the girl had committed in her life.

Up until the age of twelve, Willow had never done anything too terrible in her life other than hit her brother or lie to her parents. She was a good kid, and her parents knew that. Everyone did- her teachers, her youth group leaders, her friends and friend’s’ parents, everyone. She was pure, and kind, and loving- hell, she didn’t even know what sex was about until someone in her class informed her right before her twelfth birthday. She had gone home to her mother and asked so many questions; for some reason the thought had blown her mind.

She had never truly done anything wrong until the virus came. There were many times where Willow was forced to protect herself, steal, and kill to survive. The first time she had ever taken a life was three years after that day. A couple of rogue had attempted to steal from their group, and hey happened to stumble upon Willow’s tent, where she lay sleeping with blade in hand. It had all happened so fast, and the next thing she knew her father scrubbing blood from her clothing in the wash bucket. It was almost as if she blacked out, and that thought terrified her. It had happened four times after that. The tiny blonde had murdered five people in her twenty two years of life, and it still wasn’t something she took lightly.

And now, in her dying dreams, she was being punished. Maybe it was the slapping of her brother, Bryce, maybe it was the fact that she had literally killed multiple people or because she was a thief. Either way, there she was, once again trudging around in the desolate wasteland in her brain. Was this hell? Probably not, but then again, she had heard that Hell was personal to one’s own fears and thoughts. Maybe she was dead.

Before she could figure out just what was going on in her “dream”, Willow’s eyes fluttered open and she awoke with a start, springing up from her laying position on a...couch? Her fingers immediately went for the switchblade that was in her pants pocket, but it wasn’t there. Panic spread as her eyes darted back and forth, taking in her environment and surroundings. She was in some sort of hut, and it was growing dark outside of the windows nearby. The lighting was dim, but her gaze fell upon a figure sitting at a table several feet away. A large, well built man facing in her direction.

“Where the hell am I?!” Willow cried, her voice a dry rasp. Her outer jacket and bandanas had been removed, leaving her top half bare aside from the dirty, sweat stained tank top that clung to her chest meekly. Her brows furrowed as she tried to explain to herself what was going on. The last thing she remembered was sitting beside the rock out in the dry, disgusting desert. So she wasn’t dead.

Her eyes burned a hole through the man before her, a million questions flooding through her mind. “Who the fuck are you? Why did you bring me here, and where the fuck are my supplies you... you...” her voice trailed off for a moment as she tried to think of an insult. However, her wit was severely lacking at that moment in time.

 

[Prizzy Kriyze]

The sun slowly slid down below the horizon, leaving the desert a cold, unforgiving landscape. Car muttered under his breath, then pulled a sliding door over the window. Outside the hut he could hear someone from the neighbouring shacks starting up a generator, and slowly but surely a light dangling from the middle of the room started spreading a comforting light. Using his cigarette he lit the wick of half a candle at the center of the table. It was a quiet night, unlike most others. Usually at least one of the boys were out making some kind of nice, but it had been an all-around exhausting day for everyone. It was nice, to be frank.

Out of instinct, almost as if he knew, his eyes shifted over to the sleeping girl just moments before she awoke with a jolt. Judging by the tone of her voice you'd almost expect her to go mute after screaming like, and it would've alarmed his neighbours if they didn't already know what was going on. She seemed confused and startled, judging by her immediate glare and aggressive voice. Car didn't let it get to him, this wasn't his first rodeo, after all. Instead, he took another drag from his cigarette and calmly blew smoke out between his teeth.

Then, when she found herself at a loss for words, he pointed a finger towards a box next to the front door atop which her backpack stood. Her bow was leaned against the wall across from Car though, beneath the shotgun and hunting rifle mounted on his wall. "It's right there." He calmly spoke, then took another mouthful of bourbon. He swallowed it with a sigh, then motioned towards the chair before him. A glass of water stood ready there. "I figure you're pretty thirsty, help yourself."

She was pretty, he had to admit, though clearly the time in the desert must have taken a toll on her. He hadn't taken any closer look at her, but now he could tell that her lips were parched and her skin was dry. There was dust caught in her hair too, but her eyes had a very rebellious and spirited fire behind them. This girl was more alive than anyone he'd met in a long long time, despite whatever hardship she'd just been through.

He looked away from her, out through the cracks in the makeshift sliding door he'd crafted for his window, and remained silent for a few seconds. "My name is Carmine Moreau, but you can call me Car. Everybody else does."

 

[MalumMalice_]

Willow followed his gaze first to where her backpack sat, to her bow, and then the glass of water on the table in front of him. All of this seemed extremely suspicious, but who was she to read too much into something at this moment in time? She had almost died in the desert, and whoever this man was saved her ass. This place, though...It hadn't been anywhere near her path, so she must have been out for a decent period of time. She was indeed very thirsty still, but she couldn't just blindly trust this random savior of hers- that would be foolish.

The girl stood slowly, keeping an eye on this so called "Car" as she took a couple of steps forward toward his table. Oh, how that water was calling out to her- it almost made Willow even more thirsty than she was before just thinking about it. A couple of moments later, she found herself standing directly in front of Car, but instead of grabbing the glass and downing the entire thing, she slid it toward him. "You drink first," she instructed him, her gaze still as intense as ever. She could feel her heart hammering inside of her chest with the silence that followed.

At that moment in time, Willow also realized how hungry she was. She turned quickly, heading in a beeline toward her backpack sitting on the other side of the room. She glanced over her shoulder toward this new stranger as she unzipped the bag, digging around inside until she pulled out the rest of her jerky. It was one thing that didn't go bad so quickly, which she was thankful for. Willow didn't expect these people to take care of her, so she figured she might as well eat while she had the time. Before too long, though, she'd be heading out back into the desert to find her troop.

"My name is Willow," she told Car, biting off a piece of her dried meat as she approached him once more. She waited for him to take a drink out of the glass like she told him to, chewing thoughtfully, "It's just Willow." The brunette never gave her full name out to strangers, especially when she didn't know who to trust and who to avoid. She had no idea who this man was or what his goal was in bringing her back to his little shed, but she didn't plan on sticking around for very long.

 

[Prizzy Kriyze]

She reminded him of a cornered animal, the way she walked up to the table and slid the water over to him. His calm gaze followed her all the while, and a faint smile he raised the glass. "Fair enough." He softly spoke and took a mouthful of the water. The water was cold enough that the condensation from his breath left an imprint of his lower lip on the edge of the glass that slowly disappeared as he placed it back on her end of the table. It would've been much easier to drug or kill her in her sleep, but he could hardly blame her for being careful. Any maniac could've brought her back here.

As she walked back to her bag he downed the rest of his whiskey and took a last drag from his cigarette before putting it out. She had grabbed a piece of jerky out of her bag. "Resourceful, independent." Car quietly thought, but didn't say anything rather than wait for her to approach. An antiquated coin clirred against glass when he raised the bottle of Four Roses to fill his glass again. As if by pure habit he pulled another Marlboro and sparked it up, just to leave it between his middle and index fingers smoldering away from the glass he so tightly gripped.

"My name is Willow, It's just Willow." She suddenly spoke, and was for the first time met with a real smile from Car. He leaned back in his seat and looked at her over his glass. "Welcome to the camp, Willow. Southernmost place you'll find that won't blow your brains over the sand." With his free hand he indicated the bottle at the end of the table, "If you fancy yourself a drinker, then help yourself. Considering your state I wouldn't suggest braving the nightly sandstorms." He took a sip and waited for her to either sit down or remain standing.

"So if you don't mind me asking," He leaned forward onto his elbow as he spoke, "what're you doing in the middle of nowhere?" Despite his large stature, his posture was anything but threatening. Leaned onto his left arm with his tilted head in his palm, right hand clutching the glass of bourbon and the cigarette. His expression had returned to neutral, and his deep brown eyes reflecting the dim light of the candle on the table. "I lead the group that found you. Nobody in their right mind would take a route through there voluntarily."

 

[MalumMalice_]

Willow smirked as she turned back toward him, chewing thoughtfully on the flavorful jerky as she took the seat across from him. Before she said anything, however, her hands reached for the water that Car had drank from, finishing off the glass in just a few short gulps. She leaned back, running her fingers through her messy hair with a small shake of her head, a bit of sand being shaken to the floor. "My daddy told me not to take drinks from strangers," she told him with a raised eyebrow, her eyes glimmering with amusement, "but I feel like this might be worth the risk."

Biting down on the last of the jerky between her teeth to free her hands, Willow reached for the tall bottle of dark alcohol, tipping it over into the glass she had previously held her water. It was definitely much taller than the short one that Car was drinking from, but that didn't stop her from filling it almost halfway. "I appreciate it," she continued, removing the jerky from between her teeth before clinking her glass against his own without warning, holding it up, "cheers." The bitter, foul smelling alcohol slid easily down her throat, but that didn't stop the tiny brunette from making a face. Her sour expression was almost laughable, aside from the fact that the girl in front of this large man was barely five feet tall and downing a few swigs of whiskey like a champ.

When she had regained composure, she sat forward, leaning her elbows against the table gingerly. "My troop disappeared out of thin air," she informed him with a sigh, running her thumb over the ridges in her glass to distract herself from becoming upset, "I woke up six days ago and they were just gone. Ashes still burning out in the fire pit, clothes still hanging from the lines..." With a shrug, Willow took another sip of her drink and continued, "I don't know what happened. I've been searching for them since, but I haven't had much luck. You run out of supplies pretty quickly out here, especially if you were as far out as I was. I should have known better, but..." Her voice trailed off with a roll of her eyes, silent as she continued to fiddle with the glass.

"I probably would have died if you didn't find me," she murmured after a few moments, her gaze reaching his. It was true, even if she hated to admit that she needed help. That had always been a big issue, personally within herself- she never could admit when she couldn't do something alone. "I'm not sure who or what took them, but they left me behind for some reason. I still can't figure it out."

 

[Prizzy Kriyze]

Perhaps he'd gotten ahead of himself in making that judgment. As soon as he'd proved the water wasn't tempered and just said a few friendly words her demeanour changed. Perhaps she realized the nature of the situation now, or maybe she realized she couldn't get away from here. Regardless of reason, she sat down and finally showed a bit of humanity.

"My daddy told me not to take drinks from strangers, but I feel like this might be worth the risk."

With that slightly-inebriated gleam in his eye, Car smiled warmly. "Heh, maybe. There were times before I found this place where I often wondered if I'd ever get calm moments like this again," He started while she prepared to pour herself a drink. Maybe it was because of his impaired perception, but she moved so gently. The people around here moved so suddenly, so fearfully. Instead, the hand gripping his bourbon spoke of heartache but determination. "those moments outside of time where you don't have to care." he concluded his thought.

Despite the size of the glass she didn't hold back. More than halfway full. "That's not how you drink bur-" Was all he managed to think before she brought her glass together with his and toasted. A little bit of ash fell from his cigarette as he watched on in shock. Then he broke out laughing "Pfff-hahaha what the fuck? Ha- It'd be an awful shame if you drank yourself to death right after we brought you back pffhahaha!" Judging by her expression she wasn't used to drinking hard spirits. Almost as if to show off he downed what was left in his glass and swallowed it with pleasure, then stood up and turned around to bend his step towards the refrigerator in the corner of the room. "I can't just let you die now, I'll get some water too." He mumbled.

It was about 3 steps behind the chair he'd been sitting in, so it wasn't like he went far. Her words reached him fine, and what she said turned his alcohol-fuelled happiness to ash at the back of his tongue, as if he'd put the cigarette in the wrong way around. Another case of people going missing. He tried to shrug the bother out but it stuck to his spine like needles, so instead he chose just to ignore it. Placing the cigarette between his lips he proceeded to grab a jug of water and another bottle, only this time vodka. Nothing sugary, the hangover could literally kill her.

He hadn't actually found her, but it didn't really matter. Had it been Wesley on his lonesome then anything could've happened, but she definitely wouldn't have been saved. Back towards the table he moved slowly, and he made no attempt at faking his earlier smile. "Well, sounds like you have plenty reason to drink, then." He said, took a drag from the cigarette in his mouth, then placed the bottle and the jug down on the table, pouring himself the last of the bottle that he'd now finished with a little help.

"I don't know and I can't say for sure, but we could probably help you find them if it was around here. Granted, you need rest."

 

[MalumMalice_]

At Car’s attempted stifled laughter, Willow rolled her eyes and continued to fidget with the glass as she told her story of how she came to be lost in the middle of the desert. She waited for his reply as he rummaged around in the small, generator powered refrigerator a few feet away, her eyes fixed on the jug of water and new bottle of alcohol. It was going to be a good night. Drinking with this random stranger that had saved her life- this wasn’t something she normally would do, but what the hell? It wasn’t like she had anywhere else to be, and she clearly couldn’t set out back into the desert just then. Admittedly, Willow was letting her guard down, and she was even a little shocked with herself.


“I guess that’s true, I’ll be alright, though,” she told him, her face returning to one that was expressionless. Willow leaned back in her chair, scooping up the glass in her hand before she could decide to pour more of that bitter fire-liquid for herself. She knew that she could be quite irritating when she was drunk, so there had to be a line drawn. “I’m just honestly so clueless as to where they might have disappeared to- it’s mainly just desert, you know? They couldn’t have gone far in just a few hours…” her voice trailed off as she became lost deep in thought for a moment, focusing on the woodwork of the table in front of her. The lines were almost completely symmetrical and straight, meaning that it wasn’t real wood. He must have found this somewhere while scavenging.


As she sipped at the glass she was tightly clutching, she pondered among her options. There didn’t seem to be much of a threat by staying here for a few days while she recovered, but she had to remain vigilant as much as she possibly could. Her family group was out there somewhere, Willow just knew it- and she wouldn’t stop until they were found. Her hopes had definitely dropped over the last few days, but now they were resurfacing with this newfound opportunity at hand. Maybe Car and his encampment could help her out, but honestly Willow didn’t expect much. What was she to do, just go up and ask “hey, I know it’s a longshot and I’ve only known you for about three hours, but would you mind traveling across the desert, possibly wasting away your lives in unknown territory to help a stranger?” Brilliant.


For now, all she could do was rest and hope that the troop was okay. Willow turned her gaze back toward Car as he took his seat again, and finished off what the whiskey in her glass before reaching for the jug of water. She still was very dehydrated, and the alcohol wouldn’t help- however, it did slightly settle her nerves. Her stomach growled, and after taking a few sips of the glorious, clean water, she realized how hungry she was. “I know this is probably going to sound like I’m being a pain in the ass,” she started, fiddling with a thread hanging from her shirt, “but is there any chance you could spare any food? That jerky was the last of my rations, so other than this and a can of beans, I haven’t eaten in a couple of days.”