Austen Ford

Closed RP Blog - NYFRPG Age: 28 Nanny to Matthew Hartwell

[viilified-blog]

Elliott let out a grunt, quickly looking over the hood of the car to make sure he wasn’t being chased before attending to the gash in his leg. He shouldn’t have attempted to make the jump over the rusted fence–now it would only slow him down.

“Don’t worry, they didn’t get me,” he grumbled to his compatriot, looking up and shooting a reassuring smile. “I’m gonna be just fine. Are you okay?”

He noticed a small patch of blood, but couldn’t tell if it was old or new.

“Do you need medical help?”

[austenford-nyf]

“I’ll live. Don’t die or your girl will kill me,” she half-joked, instinctively trying to lighten the mess they were in and keep them going. Her head turned, blues peering down the street lest the dead catch up with them. “How bad is it really?” Internally she cursed not having any makeshift bandages with her, but this hadn’t been a patrol. They needed to get off of the street, find some sort of shelter to tend to him and likely herself if they kept moving.

[upgradcd]

@austenford-nyf

Her apartment building was just up ahead, but there happened to be some of the infected shuffling around the entrance of the building. He wasn’t too worried about them getting in as he had been the one who helped fortify the place. If she insisted on living out here on her own, he was going to make sure she was practically under lock and key. From the outside, it looked like the place had been abandoned. There was debris all around the front of it and a few cars they had rolled over to make some of the access points inaccessible.  

After watching the infected wander off down the street, Marshall made his way to the building and carefully maneuvered over some obstructions they had put in place to hide the only access point into the building. Once inside, he pulled the objects back into place as to make it look like nothing had been disturbed. Walking up the few flights of stairs to her apartment, he was cautious to not set off any of the traps they had set up to alert her of any intruders.

Positioning himself at the foot of her door, he waited a few moments to listen for any movement around him. Even if this place was sealed up tight, there was still a chance of someone or something getting inside. He lightly rapped his knuckles in a particular rhythmic sequence on the door once he was satisfied that no one was around. It was code they came up with accompanied by a whistle of a song only the two of them would know.

[austenford-nyf]

She still insisted on staying in her own home as long as she could, but part of that depended on keeping it hidden which meant taking the long way home and keeping the door secret except for the select few (read: three) that knew their way around her precautions. It was far from bomb-proof, but they’d done the best that they could given the situation.

The sound of the floorboards on the landing outside creaking gave her pause, hand going slowly to the loaded shotgun by her leg until she heard the signals. Austen blew out a breath as she stood and padded to the door, nerves still making her carry the gun with her just in case as she undid the locks holding the door closed. You could never be too careful these days. The woman opened the door enough for him to slip inside, shutting it quickly behind him. 

“Hey. I was just about to go check on the roof.” The makeshift greenhouse garden cobbled from windows, plastic sheeting, and scavenged seeds was little and struggling, but she was trying to keep it going. 

[declancross-blog]

He leaned against the wall for a quick moment, trying to catch his breath now that he had dealt with the two zombies he had quite literally run in to. A simple supply run had turned out more complicated than Declan had originally thought. Of course, life had been nothing but complicated lately. It had been complicated for so long, that Declan wondered if he could even properly remember what a simple life was any more.

With a heavy sigh, he looked down to his arms and chest to see the remnants of the zombies he had killed smeared across his clothing. He started smearing it more, trying to cover as much as he could in the hopes to cover as much as his human scent as possible. This wasn’t a theory he knew had been proven, but if there was something that could help, Declan would do it.

Now that he was done, he stood back upright and looked around. His destination wasn’t that far off, maybe only a couple of blocks. Declan’s grip tightened around his bat, pushing off from the wall and starting to walk around the corner. But he pulled up short when he almost ran into someone else, his bat automatically going up in the air before noticing it was a normal human.

“Jesus, I almost brained you just now.”

[austenford-nyf]

Her patrol, for lack of a better term, had taken longer than she’d hoped and she’d been taking a round-about way home in case someone was watching. They’d gone through too much trouble to hide her home for her not to take care of it.

Austen instinctively brought the handle of the axe she’d been carrying up as she ducked. “Holy fuck. Well, thanks for not.” She breathed, heart in her throat as the fact that it was one of the living sank in. It didn’t mean that she was safe, but she had a better chance with him than the dead. Warily she lowered the axe but kept it handy, eying him and trying to breathe shallow around whatever stink was coming off of him. “No offense but you reek.”

[sourires-et-masques-deactivated]

Perhaps she’d spent more time blankly staring at that broken camera sticking out from the rubble than she had realised. Out there in the open, without any cover, lost in thought wasn’t the best state to be in. Hannah could’ve been a successful photographer but, with the gun in one hand the only thing she had been shooting for the past one year or so, were those blasted creatures that were crawling the once proud city.

“Yes, I’m coming. I’m coming,” she said reassuringly but, in a low voice to the person who’d called out her name, before turning her back onto the trinket from a past that was too painful to revisit. “We need water,” Hannah commented casually as she strolled down the street, one hand gripping the axe, the other a gun.

[austenford-nyf]

“You alright?” Austen asked as they set to walking again, senses on alert for not only the dead and unsavory types, but also on the vibes Hannah was putting off. The world had made them all harder these days, taken away some of their gentleness and light, but it didn’t make it any easier to see her like this. 

“Yeah, we do.” The jugs tied to her bag made soft sounds as she moved, faint rustles of plastic against plastic as they navigated the mostly empty streets. “We’ll have to boil it unless we get lucky with any more purification tablets, but I’m not holding my breath.”

[austenford-nyf]

Austen Ford Age: 28 Affiliation: None Occupation: Rescue Team

@marshallford @sourires-et-masques

Maybe she should have joined up with one of the gangs when the world went to hell. There was part of her brain still telling her that if there was ever a time to compromise her beliefs, it was now. Yet she’d still stubbornly refused, holing up in her apartment as long as she could. 

It wasn’t pleasant, but it beat the chaos on the streets and the doors had multiple locks along with boarded windows thanks to some help from Marshall. He’d damn near tried to drag her out of the place more than once. Telling her he had somewhere ‘safer’, but wouldn’t give details so she refused. Not that it stopped him from dropping in to check on her occasionally with some little something he’d scavenged. 

She’d hated that he’d reenlisted, but it gave her an idea. Austen wasn’t the type to sit idle when people needed help, eventually joining up with a group of civilian search and rescue so to speak. They prowled the city, being careful to avoid the undead while helping those in need as best they could. Admittedly there were more close calls than any of them liked and more than once they came home wounded and missing some group members.

Maybe she should have felt bad for drawing Hannah into it but it gave her a sense of purpose not to mention a way to try to keep her friend safe.

Austen always worried about her family back home, thoughts gnawing at her that she couldn’t get word to or from them... This only served to make her hold tighter to those that mattered. 

[austenford-nyf]

@sourires-et-masques

The gift box would be delivered via city courier since Austen was with Shilo that day, but she had taken the time to wrap it on her own. Taped to the top was a card that read: “Happy Birthday, trouble. Love you! -Austen”.

Inside the shiny wrapping was a box containing a coffee mug shaped like a camera lens, a red leather camera strap embossed with Hannah’s initials, Rose flavored/infused gummy bears, and a bottle of Blanton’s Special Reserve Bourbon.

[austenford-nyf]

Austen: Are you supposed to be drinking with your pain meds?

Austen: #bigsistermode

Hannah: Pain meds? How long has it been since you've seen me, my dear sis?

Hannah: I'm on my feet without a cane and my stitches have been removed. So, no need for pain meds.

Austen: Longer than I thought, apparently. Whoops!

Austen: I'm glad to hear it though. Though now I have to stop imagining you waving your cane about like a little old woman, cursing the youngins lol.

[austenford-nyf]

Hannah: My neighbours are snobbish and aloof so, I am safe.

Hannah: I'll have you know that I've almost finished my bottle of Merlot so, you being 'facetious' isn't that easily comprehensible for my tipsy brain.

Austen: Are you supposed to be drinking with your pain meds?

Austen: #bigsistermode

[austenford-nyf]

trcnsitory:

Altair let out a small, choked noise as an elbow made its way into his gut. Completely sober Altair would have understood her reasoning–he probably would have done the same thing in her position. Any creep could just come up and try to be drunk on subway platforms this late at night. 

But Altair wasn’t a creep. He was just… about to be sick.

He had the luck and sense of mind to turn before he hurled, mostly liquid spewing onto the concrete. The elbow definitely did it for him.

Maybe he just had been a drunk guy..  Well, that made her feel like an ass.

It was partly about being grabbed after all that mess at the Gala, and partly about the fact that her stitches were supremely unhappy at being abused. Her whole arm and shoulder ached as she spun away in time to see him lose the contents of his stomach. 

Her good hand went over her nose and mouth, muffling her own dry heaves. What was it about people throwing up that begged a sympathetic reaction from one’s own stomach? Either way, her innards roiled in protest. 

“Are you al--” she had to pause and turn, fighting her own gags again. This was going so well..

[austenford-nyf]

marshallford:

There were a number of questions he wanted to ask her about the sudden change of employment. He knew how hard she worked to get her license, even if he wasn’t there for most of it, so there had to something that caused this reprioritization. But, he realized that what she did with her life wasn’t any of his business anymore. It stopped being his business when he decided to completely shut her out and, instead, submerge himself at the local bars.

Marshall decided to move off the subject of their professions. More for his own sake. He had no desire to explain to his ex-wife that he protected a gang leader for a living. Or that he had moved her into a city that was tearing itself in three different directions.

“Well, I guess I haven’t been too good at that of late.” It was a not so subtle dig at himself. At the falling apart of their marriage. No hint of sarcasm. He’d been more attentive back then and always knew what to say. He never felt like he had to hold anything back from her in those days.

“You did what? Austen,” he looked at her, incredulously. He felt the anger clenching at the pit of his stomach. Not at her, but at these people that had claimed to be the Kings. Wasn’t their whole mantra about protecting the city and those who didn’t involve themselves in the gangs? “Look—-“ he started, paused, and then decided not to go into another one of his lectures on how she needed to be careful. Instead, he released her hand and reached for the remote off to the side of the bed so he could notify the nurse to come in. “We’ll get the nurse in here to get you patched up and then I’ll get you home in one piece, alright?”

Sometimes you needed a change, right? At least she had. Shilo was a Godsend, giving her something to focus on and she absolutely loved that baby. There wasn’t much that she wouldn't do for her. Though she had no delusions that the child wasn’t hers. Consider her a protective adopted aunt or something. 

She didn’t touch his first comment, letting her hand rest in her lap once released. “I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing,” she replied, rubbing carefully a bit under her wound where the ache was starting to rebuild. “Deal.”

[austenford-nyf]

[austenford-nyf]

@marshallford

[dayzea]

[justahome]

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[thegoodvybe]

[austenford-nyf]

@marshallford

[thegoodvybe]

[ferretfyre]

Melissa Benoist in Whiplash (2014, Damien Chazelle)