Atlas Pan Booker | Male | Hunter | Heterosexual | M: Rowan Caddel, Calvin Borelson

“Naw, I mean both of y’all.” Atlas answered Rowan with a slight lie. He had invited both of them, after all, but now that Rowan was here he was a bit uncomfortable. Especially from what took place just a while a go, but he stuck to being polite and, hopefully, up-lifting.

Atlas watched as Calvin gingerly touched Wyn’s fuzzy neck and slowly gain more confidence. He wasn’t surprised that the ginger giant was recluse towards the horse. Already he felt himself more attached towards the blond one as he seemed more outgoing and able to put himself out there. Rowan seemed to be mistrustful and kinda scary, but he determined to become friends with him no matter how much his fight/flight instincts told him to avoid him. Fear is never a good motive. Rowan would, after all, not be a bad ally. When Atlas mentioned archery, he could’ve sworn that he heard a huff of mirth from him. For a moment he thought that maybe he was warming up to him. These thoughts were dishearten when it turned out that the giant was simply coughing.

“Allergies?” Atlas asked. “I get those too sometimes. Mainly during mid spring.” He was disappointed when Rowan declined his invite to shoot. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Maybe I’m not as good as you think.” He decided that Rowan wasn’t the type of guy who appreciated someone taking an easy on him during a competition. It was interesting that the guy had a sister. “Siblings are nice, I have a little brother. Huh, he’s going to be thirteen this summer.”

He had a thin but heavy layer of sadness fall upon him and it splintered his heart and chest. He wouldn’t see Timothy as he had promised him. He had promised him a horseback ride for this particular birthday because that’s when he was supposed to man up and finally learn how to ride. Thirteen is a man’s number, he remembered his mother saying that, but he vaguely remembered her soft, silky voice. Calvin’s voice broke his train of thought.

He forced himself to perked up when Calvin decided to take lessons. “Great,” he faked a smile, “we can get started tomorrow morning if you’d like….Maybe about 6 to 6:30.”

This whole conversation caught him in the blues, so he desperately searched for another conversation starter and noticed the jerky. So he started asking about food.

“Venison,” Atlas nodded his head, “that’s what all my stuff is made up of.” He accepted the piece and chewed it some, absorbing all the flavors. It was mainly salty, but not an overdose. It could actually use more salt, but that was just his preference. “Nice, I like that it isn’t too overcooked. I always burn mine. ‘Scared of catching some disease, I reckon.” He looked over at Calvin, “you like to cook, that’s excellent. I guess you could make more use of this, then,” he offered him the cumin. “I’d probably burn the taste out of the meat. I get to try some of the sport that you make with this though, okay?”

Atlas knew that gifts were rare during these times. Especially around strangers, but he could cut that out of his inventory because it probably would not help in a life-or-death situation. It would be useful in creating a friendship, however. He heard that Rowan hunted some. He can’t be too bad of a shot if he could take down a deer, he thought. “Cool, after getting some seniority, maybe Grayson will let you join the hunting team.”

———

Atlas reentered the house with Rowan in front of him. He had restrung his bow outside and kept it in his hand. He climbed up a rickety staircase and turned right to find a supply closet. Inside was nothing of any use. Just old, dusty, grimy boardgames and several ugly beetles and bugs. At the top of one of the shelves he thought he could recognize an abandoned squirrel nest.

Turning the opposite direction, he found himself in a bedroom that seemed to have belonged to a young boy. There were cheap, plastic participation trophies, torn kids books, crayons and markers were found in a desk drawer. But interestingly enough, there was a pair of kitchen knives tucked under the pillow. Poor child, he thought as he collected the tools. He didn’t want to finish that thought because he didn’t know how to. He entered the boy’s bathroom to find a small emergency kit. Most of the band-aids were gone, none of the gauze was left and the alcohol was spent. There was plenty of cotton balls, tongue depressors and first aid tape, however. He took the bandaids, first aid tape and some of the cotton balls. He couldn’t see tongue depressors being useful anymore. Because he didn’t want the medical supplies to be everywhere in his bag, he searched the bathroom for some type of little box. He finally found a little plastic soap container. Passing from there, he entered the master suite.

It was large and roomie with a nice king-sized bed. He always wanted to have a king-sized bed all to himself, but never had a chance and he knew that now wasn’t the right time. So he ignored it and searched the desks by the bed. One side held piles of socks in the bottom drawer and nothing on the top. The second side was completely empty. He checked out a desk facing away from the bed. It only contained blueprints of houses and different folders that kept track of taxes and sells. That was when he heard scuffling coming from the bathroom. Heavy breathing followed the noise. Atlas’ eyes grew wide and his breathing shortened some as he realized that he was about to encounter another nightmare. He tried his hardest not to and to get used to them being around, but his fear wouldn’t deplete no matter how much he was desensitized. Get ready! His mind shouted. Ready your bow! He didn’t hesitate in listening and quickly notched an arrow. He prepared himself to shoot whatever popped out from the bathroom.

It emerged as ugly and hideous beyond imaginable. The flesh seemed to be rotting off in a grey, dull mush. Dried blood was caked to the lacking clothes of the once-human beast. Part of the skull was showing and the undead thing’s teeth were orange. The eyes were what got Atlas. They were blotchy, one was stained with a weird murky yellow. It could’ve been from eye boogers, but it has yet to be confirmed possible.

Atlas took a deep breath and automatically stepped into a good archer’s stance. He aimed the arrow tip straight between the creature’s hideous mix-matched eyes. It was less than ten meters away which was way too close for comfort. He fired the shot and the creature dropped dead. He didn’t retrieve the arrow, it would be too risky. If even the tiniest bit of monster blood still remained on the tip, every creature he shot would carry the disease to its consumer. If he cut himself while cleaning it, he would turn. A single carbon arrow was not worth his life.

“I bid you farewell, old friend.” He said sadly to it as he climbed on top of the bed to avoid getting close to the creature. “We shot well together. May the Time-Weavers receive you well.” He wasn’t sure if his beloved and treasured arrows were accepted into the ranks of a Time-Weaver like a human soul would. He wanted to believe that, however, because if a lowly arrow could get in, surely he could.

He searched the bathroom only for a med kit, he was scared to touch much of anything, but he opened a few cabinets to find not what he was looking for, but some things that could help. One was a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and another was a little tankard of iodine. They seemed safe enough, but he didn’t take the washcloths. For some reason he was paranoid of it. He stored them away and left the master suite. Only thirty arrows left. He thought gloomily, Calvin better not loose any.

Louis Lee Jackson | Male | Gay | Observer | M: Jimmy, Billie, Quinn, + Ateaia (Dir)

Louis was determined more than anything to get this barricade set up. He didn’t even know why he cared so much about a stupid barrier that held no real significance rather than potentially protecting them for a little. Finding a car would have been more useful or barrels would have been great, but nope. Just fences. Fucking fences. He didn’t know why, but as he tore apart these white, cliché fence posts you see in your average Southern suburban neighborhood, Louis was hit with a memory that flooded and clouded his vision.

Peddling on his bicycle down the road and past the bright white painted fences, Louis was the only one his age who even remembered what a car was. All the other kids at the time were brought to the Colony too young to remember the outside world let alone cars. You either learned to ride a horse or a bike. Louis was still hilariously bad at both at the time hence why he was having to use training wheels to get around on the red and black simple bike. Same bike all the others his age had. His parents wanted to get something pink and ‘more feminine,’ but for once Louis was glad the Colony enforced its unusually strict rules.

Louis would get punished in school for talking about the ‘outside world,’ so overtime he learned to speak of Louisiana and all the things he remembered about it to the other kids whenever the caretakers weren’t around. One thing that marveled everyone the most, and that Louis was proud to share, was how different people’s yards were. In the Colony, every front and backyard was always the same: fresh, green lawn with that cut grass smell, stone steps leading to the porch, and that white fence that divided each house’s yard from the next. Louisiana, from what the young child could remember, was so much different. One lawn with a dog house and a scary yet friendly dog prancing around without a fourth leg. Meanwhile, the one down the street had an almost red wall and blue window shutters like a colorful painting the younger children would make with gnomes and weird art in the lawn like an art museum, also something he told the kids an extensive amount about. His favorite lawn that he told of, the lawn he had played in the most as a kid, was his old one that belonged to his old house and old life. There was a wind spinner that displayed a brilliant green and blue, an ancient grill that created the best summer foods in the world as you said patiently on the grass for more, and, his most beloved, a plastic, pink flamingo that wore a worn out Santa hat all year long because Louis and his family were too lazy to remove it. There was no fence surrounding the yard either so Louis and his sister liked to pretend the whole neighborhood belonged to them. It was so stupid and idiotic to think that, but no one told them otherwise and they were just dumb kids. Louis liked being a dumb kid, but Louis had to grow up too fast.

Louis never got caught when telling his extravagant tales of the pink flamingos. Except the few times he did of course. One time, he was punished so much for it that he barely managed to hobble home. He wasn’t even ten yet so his strength in such a beaten and bruised state was non-existent. Louis leaned on the fences the whole way home as his vision blurred and he couldn’t open his mouth to breathe. Louis hadn’t realized it at the time, but he had been smearing his tainted blood all over the perfectly white fences when he did so, ruining them. The next day, his dad made him apologize to all the neighbors whose fences he nearly destroyed, his words hardly making sense from his cheeks and lips being too swollen and sore to form words. Later, his bloodied, busted, and shaking hands took a wet sponge in hand as he slowly cleaned the fence posts, one by one, for the rest of that day till he collapsed and had to be dragged home. Apparently, it wasn’t even his parents that took him home, but his sister and a neighbor who just didn’t want to deal with burying a child that day. The worst part was that Louis hadn’t even finished making the fences pure again.

Louis finally snapped from his delusions as he heard his name and felt a sharp pain. His skin had snagged on a nail of the rotting, wooden fence and ripped part of his palm open. His crimson blood dribbled from his hand and he hissed in pain. His shaky hand closed into fists as he swallowed down the agony of the deep cut. It wasn’t wide or long, but it hurt like hell. At least he was lucky it was his non-dominant hand. Louis stopped before looking to whoever said his name with a glare as if they were responsible for his zoning out and painful misfortune.

It was Ateaia. Some resident lady who had been pointing for Louis to go over to some other members. Their relationship, in briefest of terms, was as if an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Both of them were stubborn and downright mean at times, but there were points Louis appreciated her help and clear headedness. Now was not one of those times as, in his mind, not only did she get him to cut his hand, but was now forcing him to socialize. Yeah, no thanks. He’d take a hard pass on that one. Given the state of his hand though…

Louis had only managed to collect seven posts, a good number, but not good enough to set up a bunch of barricades. He had the rope and metal fence so now all he needed was the large sharp sticks. Louis grumped as he dropped his bag and crouched down beside it while thinking. Taking out an old map so he wouldn’t waste any bandages to wrap his cut, Louis thought about Ateaia’s suggestion of going and asking for help.

“They would be annoying to talk to,” Louis noted to himself n his inner dialogue while pouring water on his cut. Louis sighed as he wrapped his hand in the degrading and stained map. “But now that I cut my hand… fuck it. I might as well. Ateaia, this better not go poorly or I am blaming this on you!”

Louis picked up his bag after wrapping his hand, suddenly getting very nervous at the idea of having to talk to someone. Louis hated it when he randomly got anxious about this stuff. It wasn’t anything big. Louis swallowed hard. Why did he have to make everything more complicated? Of course, it’d be fine. Louis stepped one foot in front of the other to reach the trio: Jimmy, Billie, and one girl who he didn’t know the name of. He’d known Jimmy for a while and Billie for a long time too. The new girl not so much, but still. There was nothing to even worry about. They were both pretty chill and he was okay with the both of them that he knew. Louis looked at the for a moment, his glare looking angry as always despite his foot tapping nervously on the floor.

Concern flashed across his face when Billie said she'd encountered infected, but it quickly faded into relief as she claimed she was clean. They'd have to see about that, though, and hoped to the Lord above that she was fine.

"I'm surprised you managed to keep that pew pew a secret this long," Jimmy said, a teasing smirk flashing across his face in a taunting way. He looked it over, spotting the tiny engraving that indicated it needed 5mm ammo. Towards the larger end for a handgun, but decently sized as far as guns go.

"Sure, I'll teach you. You're right, that knife won't last, and it doesn't help much when there's already a googlie on you," he said with a chuckle. He would prefer her shooting the googlies before they reached her rather than scrambling to stab them when they were on her. Even though ammo was precious, a bullet on a googlie was never a waste. "We're gonna need to find you some ammo, though, Goat. But I think I can at least teach you to hold it, posture yourself, and aim until then," he said, somewhat thoughtfully.

"I guess we'll start out with-" Jim's sentence was cut off as someone landed heavily nearby. He looked over, seeing the pale skinned, brunette haired newcomer.

He stared at her, scrambling for a name while keeping his expression friendly. His mind, of course, blanked. No name to put to the face, lovely a face as it was. He threw her a - slightly flirtatious, in all honesty - smile as she approached. "Yep, you've got it down," he said with a smile. Finally, in all of the universe's mercy, her name came to him. "Quinn, right?" At this point, the full charm was on. He couldn't turn it off. She had such pretty colored eyes, and he maintained eye contact while waiting for her to respond.

Just then, of course, Louis decided to tramp over. Not the person you wanted barging in on you in the midst of flirting. That guy could probably kill the mood if he stumbled into a club. However, the good sport he always is, Jay showed none of his irritations as he turned a dazzling smile on Louis, equally as flirtatious as the one he had given Quinn. Could anything melt the ice around this guy's heart? Or are there just metal walls?

"Dude, that looks like an ouch," Jay said with a laugh. "And, of course we'll help! Right, BG?" he said to Billie with a nudge of his elbow. He stood and walked over to Louis, slinging an arm around his shoulder without a thought - or care for that matter - as to how the man would feel about it. "No need to be bitter, we'll do the job, and do it well. I've been sharpening my knife on these sticks for just such a job, not messing about or anything like that," he said teasingly with a poke, from the hand not around Louis' shoulder, to Louis' chest. "Team work is the dream work," Jay said in a sing song voice. "That's what I always say. We'll have it done in a flash. Heck, I'll race you to see who can sharpen the most large sticks, Goat!" With that, he turned towards some of the surrounding trees with exaggerated narrowed eyes, looking for some large sticks to turn into a barricade.