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rosalesernesto:

“Ah si, si” he agrees, “And I usually am not one to be ‘collected’, as you say, but who knows. Maybe you will change my mind.” In reality he of course needed no convincing, but coming off as too eager would definitely not help him sell this. Joining a faction was not some quick and simple process for most survivors, not when who you trusted meant survival or death. Besides, getting charmed a little more was just too tempting a thought to give up. Focusing back to the task at hand, he clicks his tongue twice against the roof of his mouth, the sound immediately pulling Loba’s attention from Stonewall to her owner. “Loba, el campamento. Ve ahora.” Given a job to do, Loba licks Ernesto’s hand as a silent acknowledgement to the command before trotting off into the woods behind him.

“Well, that is a very good idea,” Ernesto chuckles, as he turns to follow his companion. "How is this, I will not kill or rob you, if you do not kill or rob me. Sound fair?” Stopping in his place he looks back at the man, smiling as he waits for him to catch up. The ease of their conversation does take him by surprise, so far it was taking very little effort on his end to establish a connection with the man, if any effort at all really. It almost made him forget where he was at, and the circumstances of the world surrounding him. It felt nice, like his old life wasn’t as far away as it seemed.

With Loba serving as guide, Ernesto follows her again deeper into the woods, relying on her heightened sense of smell to lead them back to the campsite. It is just when his current dwellings are within sight when he suddenly stops dead in his tracks, his hand reaching out to stop Stonewall as well. Resting his palm on the man’s chest, he leaves it there for a moment, looking up at him with a grin before glancing down at the reason of his actions. Lifting up one of his boots, he sticks it forward and just beneath what looks to be a thin fishing line that ran along the perimeter of campsite. “Warning system,” he clarifies, lifting his hand from Stonewall’s warm chest to point at the line resting above his foot. “It is not explosive, not what you would call… tripwire? But it will make noise. Good for letting me know when people are around.”

Stepping over the small line, he heads for the small makeshift campsite he’d been staying at for the last week. It was not much, just a small fire and a green tarp held up by a few more feet of fishing line, but it served its purpose. He made a point of never settling anywhere so long that he couldn’t up and move within a moment’s notice. Setting his pack under the tarp, he tosses a few logs onto the fire while Loba begins chewing on an old bone she’d set aside for herself. “I do not have chairs so sit wherever the ground looks most comfortable” he calls behind him, as he returns to the tarp to retrieve the bottle he’d mentioned earlier. When he goes to grab a couple mugs from his pack he stops himself short. Sharing the bottle would be more beneficial to him in the end really, he thinks to himself, would force them to stay within arms reach of each other. Yes, definitely more beneficial.

Stepping out from the tarp, he uncorks the bottle with his teeth. Spitting the cork onto the ground behind him, he takes a swig before handing it to Stonewall. “Ay dios mio”, he coughs out, his face twisting as the strong liquor burns down his throat. “I will never understand Russian’s taste in drink. But here, take,” he says, shaking the bottle in his hand, “it will get easier to drink after first few sips. By then your tongue will be numb.” Laughing at his own expense he settles himself down by the fire, stripping his coat off behind him as the flames began to grow.

If changing his mind ended up including what he thought it might, then he would have no problem giving it a try. And, hell, even if the attempts ended in nothing but a bit of entertainment for the two of them tonight, he certainly wouldn’t be upset about it. It’s been too damn long since he’s even thought about anything like this, a little bit of charm, some flirtations, maybe a little more. The risk of opening himself up would’ve already been worth the reward just of coming back to the compound with another member, but he can’t deny that it feels even more worth it with the possibility Ernesto seems to be getting at. As he calls Loba back to him, giving the dog instructions to lead them back to the camp, he shakes his head to himself slightly, still completely surprised by this turn of events. He only hopes that luck keeps moving in his favor, one way or another, as it would be even more disappointing to have to pull a gun on such a handsome and charming face, now that they were getting a bit more friendly.

“Sounds fair as hell to me,” he chuckles slightly, following after Ernesto and his dog. It’s almost jarring just how normal this all feels, almost like he’s back at home again, going out for a few drinks, meeting a handsome stranger. Not that that was even the sort of thing he ever did back at home, but it made him think of a life where that might’ve been possible. The sort of life where even before he had found Max, he would’ve been able to feel safe going out on his own, meeting someone like Ernesto, and doing what he was doing now. Strange how the apocalypse had changed that, but how could anything like that matter when they were all worried about just getting by at all? It’s nice, though, to be able to be open about who he is, even if it makes him wish he still had Max to be open with him. Following Ernesto through the woods and towards his campsite is nice, though, even better when he suddenly presses his hand to his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

He follows the other’s line of sight downward to the thin, nearly imperceptible string of fishing line lining the campsite. A little smiles slips over his lips as he looks back at him, giving him an approving nod. So he knew what he was doing, that was becoming increasingly clear the longer he stuck with him. “You know how to survive, that’s for sure,” he comments, following Ernesto and stepping over the line, heading towards the camp. It’s a small set up, very clear he’s not planning on staying long, which is another smart thing when traveling alone, but it’s more than he’s seen a lot of other survivors with.

Stonewall finally puts his own rucksack down, rifle as well, taking in the surroundings as Ernesto heads under the tarp to get what they’d come back for in the first place. By the time he’s settling down by the fire, enjoying the warmth of it, something so normal about sitting at a fire with a dog, about to drink, making it even easier to relax than it already was around the other. His reaction to the drink isn’t promising, but it’s been so long since he’s had any drink that he can already tell he won’t mind too much, especially with the chance to get a little closer to Ernesto. “Well, here’s to our health, and shitty Russian hooch,” he laughs, before taking a swig of his own.

“Jesus, Mary and Jospeh, that’s worse than donkey piss,” he says, unable to keep himself from shuddering at the taste. Sure, it leaves something to be desired, but if it does the job then he can’t complain, especially if it gets things loose enough to do a few other jobs, too. It does make him miss good liquor, though, makes him think back to what was so easy to get before. Hell, when he thinks about it, he realizes it’s been years since he’s had a taste of anything strong enough to do its job, yet alone good. He looks over at Ernesto with a grin, though, all the same, holding the bottle back out for him to take.“Makes me miss bourbon even more than I already did. But at least the company’s good.”

#( ernesto. )#( ernesto 001. )

emiliyalebedeva:

It was pathetic, she thought, how little control she had over her own body. Once upon a time she was able to manipulate every limb, every muscle, into behaving exactly how she wanted them to, now she’d lost that as she lay sprawled across the floor staring wide eyed up at the man before her. Once upon a time she would’ve been able to hold a rational discussion with him without feeling pricks of fear stabbing up her spine leaving her paralysed and useless to do anything. Once upon a time she hadn’t been betrayed by two different men that she’d trusted beyond anyone else.

Sometimes she questioned how she’d managed to survive so long. Sure, she was resilient and had adapted fairly well to the current state of the world, but when she froze in front of the men she’d come across she wondered how she’d not been ripped apart by them. She wondered how she hadn’t been stripped off and robbed, left frozen and starved, as she cowered powerlessly before them. Clenching her free hand into a fist, Emiliya’s eyes closed tightly as nails dug into the calloused palm. She wanted to get better – to get over the irrational fear that gripped her crushed heart whenever she came across men in the wild. Shaking her head for a moment, the brunette attempted to pull her unsteady breathing under control. Reopening her eyes, she found herself once more focussed on the man before her.

Emiliya snorted before she could stop herself as she heard his words. ‘Nothing out here is free.’ The words came out with a bite that inflected itself without her control, some of the venom from her previous words lacking as she kept wary eyes on the man and continued to focus on steadying her breathing. ‘What do you really want?’ Though her eyes narrowed slightly, the brunette thought it was clear that she was attempting to be accommodating to him, that she was trying to look past the maltreatment of her past and look at him with somewhat untainted eyes.

Shaking her head again, Emiliya took in a deep breath as she briefly glanced down at her hands, wrecked from the nails that dug into her palms. She winced slightly as she unclenched her fist and saw small drops of blood clinging to the dirt that had embedded itself onto her nail bed. Glancing back up at the man, the brunette attempted to force a smile across herself but managed only a shaky grimace. ‘Sorry- I just-’ The words caught in her throat as she tried to explain herself. Exhaling slowly, she refocused herself. ‘Sorry. I just don’t have anything to give you for your-’ Emiliya cringed as the last word spilled from her lips, ‘help.’ Shrugging, the brunette glanced back down to the floor, her free hand absentmindedly running across the dusty ground before she refocused on him. The smallest hint of a smile curled up one corner of her lips.

It was probably dumb to try and trust this man – any man, for that matter – but she at least had to try.

It was impossible not to be curious at every little action she took. He had run across hostile strangers before, but he couldn’t recall a reaction to his presence quite like hers. That didn’t mean he didn’t understand it, though. Still, he knew what to do in the face of a gun, a knife, a makeshift weapon staring him down, suspicious eyes aiming his way. He had been trained for that, after all. This wasn’t like that at all, though, and it was hard to know if the right thing to do was keep trying, or give up and let her be. There must’ve been something going on in her mind, a private debate of sorts, as he watched her close her eyes, clench her fists. This was something more than just not trusting a stranger, this was something bigger than the usual wariness with which everyone greeted strangers out in the world now. He had to wonder if maybe he reminded her of someone who had hurt her, or if it was something else entirely.

Either way, the longer he stood there, the more convinced he was that he was wasting his time trying to get through to her, when he could’ve been keeping on his search for supplies, for other survivors who might want to join up.

He raised his eyebrows at the venom behind her words, but wasn’t too surprised. It only made sense to be wary of strangers out here, and she was usually right, after all. If he had been someone else, he would have been expecting something in return for offering aid. But he wasn’t someone else, even if at times he wished he was, wished he was the type of person who could care less, whose heart was a little more hardened than it actually was. It would’ve made everything a lot easier, that was for sure. But he wasn’t; instead he was the type of person who cared too much, to the point where he felt his whole purpose now was to keep a group of people from harm as best he could.

“Usually, you’re right, but I don’t want anything. I travel with a group of people who believe giving a little help to those you find along the way if you’re doing alright yourself is for the best. We’re just all trying to survive, and a little kindness goes a long way. So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’d do the same for any other friendly survivor I met out here,” Stonewall said with a little nod. It seemed like she was trying to give him a chance. He was surprised to realize how much that meant to him.

Her shaky smile, more of a grimace, confirmed that. He shook his head, and offered her a small smile. “Don’t you worry, I’m not asking for anything in return, just wanted to offer the little aid I can. You don’t have to take it if you want, though. I’m more than happy to go on my way now, if you’d rather that,” he said.

#( emiliya 001. )#( emiliya. )#ikr a WHOLE CONVERSATION i'm shocked and impressed tbh!!

daryavolkov:

They let their hands linger on his, for a moment, and then brushed an invisible speck of dust off of his shoulder, looking him over for a moment as if to ascertain that everything was right as rain with him, too, that he wasn’t so caught up in taking care of the rest of them that he’d forgotten to take care of himself.

He looked well, all things considered. No worse for wear than anyone else. And he looked determined, as he looked at them, calm and strong, as strong as anyone could look in the apocalypse. As if something was on his mind but, then, they were sure something was on his mind. He was always thinking through the practicalities, the reality of the situation, always making plans and putting together puzzles, always keeping things in order, like by keeping every detail in order he could account for some of the disorder around them, inside them, and keep it all at bay.

“Da,” they answered him. “No turning back, now. It is in God’s hands, now, and I trust that He is guiding us.”

They stood, again, finally, taking one last look to make sure they weren’t leaving anything behind on the floor where they’d been sitting, patting their pockets quickly as if to make sure they were still loaded up with the useful scraps and sentimental objects they kept there, filling the deep pockets of the worn green jacket with a comforting kind of clutter, a reassurance that even when they didn’t have everything, they had something, and that God would always provide.

It would be hard, for all of them, to leave this place, which had been so good a home to them for three long weeks, but it was time to get on the road. It was time, now, to go.

The familiar gesture was comforting, but being looked at so closely, when there were so many things he was holding back, gave him the urge to avert his gaze. That was an impulse that he had long been broken of, though, instead allowing them the glance over without any words.

No matter what his worries were, no matter how concerned he was for how things were progressing, what was to come, there was no way to deny just how much they all cared for the well being of each other, especially Darya. It was clear that they were doing exactly to him what he had just done to them. It was a good day, though, the baseline of aches and pain that he had become used to over the years, no changes recently, the rest having helped slow things for now it seemed. He only hoped that the dozens of thoughts he was having weren’t written as clearly on his face as they looked at him as it felt.

Their words gave no indication of that, though, so he put that concern out of his mind for now. There was too much else to think of as they prepared to move on, after all. He raised an eyebrow, but merely nodded. It didn’t matter if he disagreed with that particular sentiment. Whatever helped them feel capable of doing what needed to be done as they moved forward was their own business. And something as simple as faith wasn’t anything to write home about.

It was where it got a little more intense than just thoughts and prayers that had him worried, always had him worried.

But for now there were plenty of more concrete things to focus on, preparing everyone for travel, searching for more to add to their numbers, keeping everyone safe and healthy as possible. And he’d be there to make sure as many of them made it as far as they possibly could, no matter what it meant for him.

#( darya. )#( darya 001. )#the end!

rosalesernesto:

From his own inquiries into the Days faction, Ernesto had heard of the man who called himself “The Colonel”. A man who looked and talked as if he’d just stepped out of some John Wayne picture, who knew his way around a firearm and wasn’t afraid to use it when the time called for it. In these stories Ernesto had began to paint a picture of this man, imaging him as some battle-worn gruff war veteran, and while Stonewall did possess some of these qualities he was far from the man Ernesto imagined. For instance, he’d never have imagined flirting would be his way to earn his trust, or that he’d enjoy doing it as much as he did. Especially when that flirting was aimed back in his direction.

He’s sure somewhere his old dialect coach is turning over in his grave at the sound of Ernesto dropping his j’s once more, a bad habit that took months of work to get him to lose. There is something freeing about doing it though, even if it were for the purposes of making himself more endearing. If he actually tried, he easily could be speaking in a less thick accent, but it was rather fun not trying for once- especially when it earned him a grin such as the one Stonewall was currently giving him.

It isn’t too much longer before Ernesto finds himself grinning as well, not realizing how pleasant it would be hearing Spanish spoken by someone other than himself. Even if not spoken perfectly, he finds a great comfort in the familiar words, that remind him of a place he hadn’t been to even long before the bombs. It strikes him then that he isn’t the only one attempting to win over the other with a bit of charm, and he has to hand it to the man, he’s doing a damn good job of it. His grin widens before he speaks again, deepening the laugh lines that curved around the corners of his mouth.

“Muy bien, muy bien” he praises, before switching back to English for Stonewall’s sake, “It has been so long since I have spoken Spanish to anyone other than Loba. It will be fun to see how much you do know.” As before, there is a hint of a suggestion to his tone, implicating the “fun” he had in mind wasn’t that of the PG variety. Although there was a goal in mind to his flirtations, he finds himself having to put little effort into them. Even if Stonewall wasn’t aligned with the Days, Ernesto has little doubt he wouldn’t be doing the same thing he was now. It was hard not to really.

“For the moment?”, he asks, meeting Stonewall’s raised eyebrow with one of his own. “Ah, I see. Si, I know of the Days. I hear you have been growing in size lately, no?” He already knows the answer to the question of course, but that’s not what he wants to know. The fact they’re growing isn’t what worries him about his own faction’s safety, it’s why they are growing in the first place, and what they plan to do with those numbers once they have them. Which is the very reason why he’s here of course, to learn, to understand more about what could help or threaten his own faction.

“Maybe it is your lucky day, we will see,” he smiles, playing coy as he shrugs his shoulders casually. “Is that why you are here, Stonewall? To see if I could be of use to you and your people?” Resting his hands on his hips, he looks at him curiously, as if he were trying to make out his next move. “If that is so, then we can talk business elsewhere. It is getting dark, and I would much rather talk over a fire than out here in the cold.’ There are of course a hell of a lot other things he had in mind besides talking, but for now he keeps that to himself and Stonewall’s imagination. “My campsite is not far from here- and I have drink too, ” he offers, his lips curving back into a grin. “It tastes like goat piss- like all Russian drinks, but it does the trick. What do you think?”

He can tell that the Spanish is a good move, just by how the other’s grin grows as the words leave his mouth. It’s not perfect, but it’s more than enough to charm. And maybe even a better move than he was expecting, considering the implication behind his words. Sure, he’s got a reason for trying to charm Ernesto in the first place, just for the chance of coming back with another member, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy what he’s got going on right now. It isn’t the kind of thing that he’s usually thinking about when he’s out searching for other survivors. Hell, it’s never what he’s thinking about anymore, not since before the blasts, but the flirtations and implications make him realize just how much he still craves all of that. And if he gets a little reward himself for the work he’s trying to do, all the better.

It’s funny how he didn’t realize quite how much he missed this sort of thing until he was faced with it again. If it had been another time, another person who was offering such implications, he would’ve been more skeptical than he was about the intentions. It’s easy to forget that there are tactics of manipulation besides sticking a gun in someone’s face out there now, but there are. But there’s something about Ernesto, and the banter going on between them that feels a lot closer to real there than it seems either of them might’ve been trying for, at least at first. It’s as much of a game as every other interaction he’s had with a stranger he’s stumbled upon, but this time there’s the potential for the unexpected, with the win. He’s not quite ready to put his guard down completely, though, especially not with Ernesto’s next question.

“That we have. We’ve got a philosophy of giving aid to those who’d give us aid; people like a little kindness in such a bleak world, and it feels good knowin’ it’s still possible. Everyone we’re travelin’ with, they’re like family,” he says with a shrug, as if that’s all it is. Sure, that’s part of it. Lord knows Darya gives out aid to any damn person they come across, whether deserving of it or not, and he’s taken some of that to heart, offering a little more than he would have on his own, for sure. And it feels like he’s got a duty to protect them all now, just like he felt about his cadets back at home. But he’s not going to give a stranger the whole of it, no matter how charming. There’s no need to tell him about their plans quite yet, even if there’s no danger for another survivor in what they’re doing. Now, if he decided to make his day and join up, then he could have whatever he wanted to know. But until then, he’s more than happy to leave it at that.

He already has a strong feeling that it’s going to be his lucky day, though, whether it ends with him bringing Ernesto back to the Days with him or not, and the smirk on his lips as Ernesto shrugs says just that. The look he gives him is appraising, and he doesn’t mind one bit, even if he is trying to figure him out just as much as he is trying to charm him.

“I’m not in the business of collectin’ people without good reason. But suppose my intentions became a little more selfish once I saw who I’d stumbled upon? Either way, both would be better discussed in comfort,” Stonewall agrees, with a little nod. There is, of course, the very real possibility that agreeing to go back to his campsite is going to end in his own death. An ambush, a greeting of a few friends of his, or even just a simple murder once he is comfortable enough to let his guard down even more. But that doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Ernesto is looking for from him. On the surface level, it’s pretty clear exactly what he’s looking for, but he knows better than to just think of the surface. Still, he’s too interested not to take that chance, for his own sake as well as the potential aid he might be able to offer the Days. And, hell, if it hasn’t been too damn long since he’d had a drink of booze, goat piss or not. Even better when it involves someone who looks like Ernesto.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re either planning on getting me drunk and looting me. But I think that sounds like a better night than I’ve had in a long while, Ernesto. Lead the way.”

#( ernesto. )#( ernesto 001. )#binging s2 of santa clarita diet this weekend really fucked w my perception of what's stonewall appropriate #so i blame that if this reply is a little off lmao

beverlymcneil:

She’d thought that she’d done what she could, to keep a measure of civility in her life. A faction that held hope that they could start again as a community, as families. But it was such work, and it showed when she saw how easy it could be to talk to somebody who spoke her language so effortlessly, who knew her home. If was such a relief, that she knew it would be a struggle all of its own to walk away, to begin the lonely trek to where the rest of her companions were, to prepare to move on yet again in search of that perfect home that was waiting for them somewhere.

“I’d hoped to—do good work, I mean. Seems hard to believe that it mattered at all now, though, you know? Might as well have just stayed home.” She smiles like it’s a joke, but she can’t help but show the bit of strain. And feel a little guilty, as well: she’d saved a life other than her own. Who knows what would have happened if she hadn’t been there. That had to count for something. That did count for something.

There were times that she wondered: did anyone else survive the horror that orphanage had become? It seemed hard to imagine. They’d been so afraid, so unprepared, it had been all carnage and panic—and, when she’d emerged, all stillness, the dead that had risen had cleared out, presumably, when there was nothing left alive to sustain them. (And then she also couldn’t help but wonder: did she do the right thing, shutting the doors when she did? Could she have saved more of them, children and staff alike, if she’d kept a cool head, waiting to see if anyone else could be pulled inside? Or, if she had waited, would she had just damned herself and the one life she did manage to save? Sometimes, she could accept that she did her best. What she would never be sure of, however, was whether her best could ever be enough.)

There were people she wondered about, of course. She’d lived as full of a life as she could, and when she thought of the sheer number of people she knew t felt overwhelming, starting from the children and staff in the orphanage and moving outwards to her next-door neighbors in her Romanian apartment, to the grocer that she chatted with once a week when she did her shopping, and on and on from there. But though it could seem overwhelming, trying to count up all the lives that hers had brushed up against, they lacked a certain weight. The people that really mattered to her were back in the United States—her parents, mostly, her sponsor, the friends from college she’d managed to make and keep. She wondered about them, she ached to know if they were alright, but she resigned herself to never knowing, to having no way to know.

There was nobody for her to ask about. Nobody that she held hope of some stranger running across. He did have someone, and she didn’t know if that hope was a bad or a good thing—right now, it seemed bad to her, because she knew she could only dash it, though she wished it were otherwise. “I’m sorry, I haven’t. But—if I ever do, I can tell him that you’re looking for him. And I have companions, I can ask them to do the same. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

The smile didn’t hide the reality of that thought, no matter just how hard she tried. It was something he understood well, although maybe in a slightly different way, something he thought about over and over again.“Sometimes I think it might’ve been better if we had just stayed home, too,” he admitted, a little laugh in his voice, humorless, though.

He had done his best here, had been doing his best with what he was working with before everything had been destroyed, too, but it felt a whole lot like if he had just stayed put, refused that one last order, maybe he could’ve done more. Or at the very least, maybe it would’ve felt more like everything he had done mattered. If they had stayed home, he would’ve been there to protect the people he was meant to be protecting. If they had stayed home, at least the world would’ve come to an end while he was holding the hand of the one person he had ever loved. Now, a lot of the time, when he looked at what he had lost, it just felt foolish to have left so easily. But what was the point in thinking like that, when there was no way to change what they’d done before? And he had to think that she must’ve managed to do some real good beforehand, just given the little bit of her he had seen, the selfless offering of food and warmth, maybe even something that had helped someone survive.

“It mattered, though,” Stonewall said after a pause, with a nod of certainty, as if that might convince her, and himself. He was tempted to step closer, to reach out and put a hand on her shoulder, the instinct strong like he was back in his office at the Academy, having a talk with a cadet who needed a bit of help. He stopped himself, though. “What we did before, it mattered. The people you helped, hell, if any of them are still out there doing their best to survive, I guarantee they think of you and the kindness you gave them, if what you’ve shown me is any indication.”

He hadn’t really been expecting her to have any information about him, he’d long ago stopped asking other survivors he met if they had seen any traces of him, but there was just something about the sense of home that came from her that made him have to ask. It wasn’t a surprise that she hadn’t seen him. Stonewall knew full well that he was likely long gone by now, one way or another, considering where he had been during the blasts, but there was that little sliver of hope that he just wasn’t able to dash. How could he let go of the one person who had made him feel like living could be freedom, when there was a small chance he might’ve survived? The answer was that he couldn’t.

“Don’t you worry about it. Just had to ask. That’s awfully kind of you, though, if he does turn up. I’m traveling with the Days, so we’re not so hard to find. You could let him know I’m still here, that I miss him, still love him more than anything,” he said, voice a little softer. It was almost cathartic, in a way, to say it out loud, to pass the message along, even knowing in the back of his mind that it would never get to him. Just being about to admit it to someone else was more than he’d been able to do in the past five years. Stonewall nodded silently, mostly to himself, as if to say that was that.

“You said you’ve got traveling companions, too?” he asked, trying to make the question sound a little more casual than it strictly was, trying to fall back into something a little less emotional.

#( beverly 001. )#( beverly. )#i am Emotions

rosalesernesto:

At first he is fearful that maybe he was being too nice to this Stonewall. That in his attempts to come off as friendly and unassuming he’d taken it too far, and that instead of lowering the man’s suspicions he’d only raised them. It is with this in mind that he steps cautiously closer to him, his hand not leaving the grip of his crossbow, but not pointing it either. What stories Ernesto has heard of him do not make him believe he’d intentionally hurt him or Loba, but that could change if he had a good reason too. Which he did if he knew Ernesto’s true intentions.

These fears soon dissipate as Ernesto gets close enough to him so that he gains an easier read on the man’s face. A face, he thinks, isn’t half that bad of one now that he’s got a better look at it- but what was even better, the face was smiling. Once again it appears Loba has served one of her many purposes well, her all too rare, friendly demeanor causing even the most skeptical of strangers to lower their guards. Looking down at her, he lets out a soft chuckle as she begins nudging her muzzle into Stonewall’s hand, letting him know she was not quite satisfied yet with the amount of contact he’d given her. Yes, she was definitely earning the extra bit of rations that would be coming her way that evening.

“¿Un coronel?”, Ernesto asks, intentionally making sure to place a heavy emphasis on the r sound as it rolled over his tongue. Loba may have been the cute one out of the two of them, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t without his own charms. Which clearly seemed to be working, as he notices the man’s gaze appear to linger on him in a way that suggested he was interested in more than just his dog- a realization that brings a lopsided grin to Ernesto’s face. He had been looking for an in with this Days faction for some time, perhaps this- or more him, was it.

It’d certainly be fun to try anyway.

“I do not think I have ever met a coronel before,” he pauses then, and pulls a mildly worried expression, as if he’d just thought of something, “are you still with your militia?” Looking over Stonewall’s shoulder he pretends to scan the treeline for some hidden battalion, as though he’d only just realized the danger he may have stepped into. The act is more for show than anything, a simple display to throw off any suspicion on him. He’d learned enough about the Days to know that attacking some seemingly harmless stranger and his dog was not their m.o, but doesn’t want Stonewall to know he is aware of that.

After clearly seeing no other soldiers, he looks back to the colonel, his look of mild concern now turning into relief. “If you do not like Yames,” he adds, his accent distorting the other’s first name, “then I will use Stonewall. Coronel feels too proper, no?” Smiling at the man’s teasing he nods his head, “Stonewall it is then.” No matter how unplanned this whole interaction may have been, it was going surprisingly well thus far. It seemed as though he’d gotten the fish on the hook easy enough, now the only matter was trying to reel him in without losing him.

“Si, only us,” he nods, and scratches the top of Loba’s head for good measure. “I found her when she was young, not too long after bombs, so she is used to people. My plan was to train her to be a guard dog- her name, Loba, means wolf.” Laughing, he looks down at the dog in question as she began to lick at Stonewall’s fingers. “But you see how well that turned out.” Shrugging his shoulders, he looks back up at the man. “She is good yudge of character though- can tell good people from bad. It helps me know who to trust. People always show true colors when they have a friendly dog at their feet.” Which was every bit the truth, and was clearly evident now in the way he sees the other treat his companion as she continued to seek out his attentions.

“And what about you?” he asks, before adding in a slightly suggestive tone, “Are you alone?”

He can’t help the way a half smile crosses his lips as Ernesto repeats the word, his accent making it sound much better than it did in his own drawl, the rolled r, the much more melodic inflection. Maybe he’s a little too taken by the accent, as he nearly jumps on the other’s words when he wonders out loud if he’s still with a militia. “No, no, my military is the whole goddamn reason I ended up here during the blast; abandoned by God and country. Don’t have a militia anymore, but still hard to let go of the title. I work hard for it and barely even got to use it back home,” he says, a laugh in his voice, even as he shakes his head at the thought. Twenty-two years working to get as far as he did, a year in service with the title, another three years hearing it from the mouth of his cadets, then boom in one minute all of that hard work down the drain. Titles don’t matter so much when it’s hard to say where the next meal might be coming from. Walkers don’t care about titles, and neither do most survivors. He could’ve survived just as well as a major out here than as he was doing as a colonel, after all. It just didn’t matter.

“Stonewall’s perfect. Though, I’ll admit that James doesn’t sound half bad when you’re sayin’ it,” he jokes. In all honestly, he’s always disliked his first names, so completely bland, a dozen other Jameses and Patricks running around back home. He’d all but abandoned both names as soon as he’d left Kentucky, except for with one person. But the only person who ever got away with calling him James, and nothing else, is long gone, and hearing someone else say his name makes his chest ache for that feeling again, in a way.

As he describes how he came to be with his dog, with Loba, he has to admit to himself just how endeared he is by this whole thing. It’s not a feeling that comes around often anymore, but it’s a nice one. And it’s hard not to feel that when hearing about Ernesto finding a puppy, naming her wolf, and then ending up with a sweet, gentle best friend of a dog instead. It sounds a lot like the plot of a movie, almost too good to be true, but something so obviously real, only confirmed by Loba licking his fingers as if on cue. Either this is the most well-practiced charade Stonewall’s ever come across in the end of days, or Ernesto is just one of those people who somehow manages the most charming of interactions even in the apocalypse. Or maybe it’s a bit of both.

Either way, he’s happy to play along, especially considering the very obvious rapport that’s already establishing between them. If Ernesto is trying to charm him, whether for purely entertainment purposes, or for a more nefarious reason, then he’s more than willing to do the same. Anything to up the chances of bringing another member back to the Days, when they needed another pair of capable hands, or two. So it’s his turn to turn on the charm, something easy enough considering the way most folks seem to react to a Southern accent and a cowboy hat in Russia. But he’s got a hidden weapon, considering who he’s speaking to, something he never really imagined would be useful stranded in Russia after the world has ended.

“Well, hope that means I’ve passed the test. She seems like a good dog, with a good name. It’s been a long time, but... hablo un poco de Español. Muy poco,” he grins, the words definitely a little mangled because of his own accent, but a fair attempt none the less after years without practice. As he speaks, his hand moves to Loba’s head again, scratching the dog behind the ears. And maybe he’s exaggerating just a bit, his own Spanish much better than he’s admitting, and maybe he’s doing so with the intention of potentially impressing Ernesto with a little more later on. He has to think that it’s rare for a stranger out here to speak enough Spanish for much more than a greeting, yet alone conversation. And he’s got enough to give him a little of that. Any little thing to up the chances of bringing him back to the Days.

It’s been a long, long time since anyone has done anything that could be considered close to flirting with him, and yet he’s not oblivious enough to miss the tone of Ernesto’s last question. It takes him aback, but not necessarily in a bad way. It’s not something that he’s even truly considered, when survival is a priority, but it’s like the slight change in his tone, almost imperceptible, is enough to remind him just how long it’s been since he’s had anything like that. It’s also enough to make him think that maybe he wouldn’t mind a little bit more of just that.

“For the moment? Yeah, I am,” he replies slowly, raising an eyebrow as he meets Ernesto’s eyes. “But I’m traveling with a group. The Days, if you might’ve heard about us? We’ve set up camp a little ways from here, give us a chance to rest up, but we’re gonna be movin’ along in the next few days. I came out to scout the road ahead, search for supplies...see if I ran into any other survivors. So seems like it’s my lucky day.”

#( ernesto. )#( ernesto 001. )#how to flirt during the apocalypse: a guide by ernesto and stonewall

daryavolkov:

“I’ve rested for two weeks,” they said, keeping the weariness out of their voice. It was true– they felt better rested now than usual; the flash of vertigo, the vague dizziness, it didn’t go away no matter how much they slept, or how little they travelled. It was different than that, something deep-seated and unavoidable, that came and went as it pleased regardless of what they did to cope with it. Maybe if Gabriel were here, he would have had a solution, or a balm at least to push it away when they needed most to be capable of anything. But they didn’t know where he was, just then, somewhere between here and Moscow, somewhere far away and unknown and, hopefully, safe.

They hadn’t done much scouting or traveling in the past weeks, had mostly kept to the base fixing things and sorting things and making do with what they could while they sent others out on missions. If they kept up like that, they would stop being a leader and start being a tyrant: their position of leadership worked because they were just as willing to work themself to the bone as anyone else, if not more so. It would be a good show of faith, to be able to be productive today, before breaking the news to the others that they would be leaving this safe place soon.

They closed the gap between themself and where he was, crouching back down to get onto his level, and took his hands. cupped gently in their own, a reverent kind of gesture, and a familiar one for anyone who spent time with them. Like, in touching his hands, they were holding something precious. They waited for him to look them in the eye, and then they spoke, again, their voice even and calm and benevolent.

“I’ll be alright, Colonel,” they said, nodding slightly as they said it, as if an affirmation that they were telling the truth. And then, falling into unfamiliar English yet again, as if the sound of it might convince him not to read too much into their words, “Right as rain, da?”

It wasn’t a surprise that their response was to bring up the time they had all been resting, and it was true enough. Every last one of them had spent the last two weeks building up their strength again, recovering from any lingering wounds, getting as close to well-rested and well-fed as was possible considering the circumstances, only taking scouting and scavenging missions that were light of load and more out of opportunity than necessity. He was also well aware that there was no amount of rest that would likely help what they were feeling, if it was as he suspected. Still, it felt wrong not to offer the suggestion, even if only so they would know that he could sense the unease.

He had been trained to notice when a soldier wasn’t quite on their game, after all, to make certain everyone in his camp was doing all they could to have the best chances of succeeding at their mission on surviving, and that habit had carried over into his role in the Days. There was no one else, after all, who was going to be telling their leader to ease off it. That was his job, even if it was a fruitless one.

The only thing he could think of to help, since he knew there was no way he was going to convince them to take the final two days at the compound and rest all they could, was to find someone who maybe could help them, in a more real way. It was unfortunate, that that person happened to be God only knew where, sent out on a mission there was no way of knowing would be successful or not. He made a mental note to have a sit down and try to figure out the route Gabe might’ve taken towards Moscow, see if there might be a way to look for any signs of him, bring him back before they headed off, or even while they were on the road.

His attention was drawn out of his thoughts, though, as Darya closed the space between them again, and bent down, taking his hands in their own in a familiar gesture of reassurance. The gesture, the look in their eyes as he met them, it did offer some amount of comfort, if not in exactly the way they meant it. Even he couldn’t deny the calming effect they were able to have on people, especially when they did this. It made it very tempting to believe their words, despite everything. In any case, there was no more reason to try to convince them otherwise now, and worrying was only going to make everything harder for all of them.

Stonewall nodded, giving their hands a squeeze, as if to say that he’d accept what they said. “That’s right. Right as rain,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly, as it always did when they repeated one of the English idioms he had taught them. “We’ve come this far, haven’t we? Can’t let any of it stop us now.”

#( darya 001. )#( darya. )#darya is the only person in the world who could get away w calling him JP tbh

keiko-matsumoto:

It was just like her to bring a knife to a gun fight? What that the phrase they used to say in that one American movie she’d watched once upon a day and age that no longer existed. It was an American western come to think of it wasn’t it - this Butch Cassidy and Mr Sunset where the line had originated. This was no American movie she had seen a handful of times when the world was still whole and untainted - this was the world they’d all inherited in a state of wretched collapse. There was something of a touch of humor to this situation she thought darkly. Hazel eyes that bordered more along the edges of being green but that were neither color wholly on their own observed the foreigner not that she wasn’t the one who was the foreigner trespassing on this godforsaken stretch of land. The young woman crouched there watching the stranger pull out his gun and shift a finger in front of his lips as if to tell her to silence herself. What a foolish man to assume that she would in fact be the one to be making a sound but she did not presume to know anything about anyone else including this stranger and how he thought.

She kept her hands at her side crouched down where she was, covered by the brush watching the strange man and yet as her eyes looked him over they were more in tune with where the sound was coming form. A deep breath of poisoned air ( as there was no concept of fresh air anymore ) she exhaled briefly fingers dancing silently, gently now tapping at her side keeping count; keeping time. There was the rustling again, the cracking of sticks and a shift in foliage up ahead of them and again she glanced at the back of the man wondering what the entirety of her options were. She could raise her sword, he could shoot, things could get bloody very fast but she was interested in seeing what he would do with the sound ahead. Curious thing she was, very curious to see just what he would do not that she wouldn’t be ready to make her next move count no matter what came of the sound ahead or what she hoped and thought it was. If it wasn’t then well her tracking ability was more than slightly off …

In a moment as the rustling became more frequent and much louder her hands were no longer at her sides but at the ready in one silent and fluid motion. Her weapon drawn and there while the stranger might’ve had a gun heaven help the being that tried to test her skill with the sword. Swearing in her head she stood now as the scrawny fox came from where the rustling had previously been coming from. A day of tracking had been wasted; put asunder by an animal that had no more meat on it then some survivors Keiko had seen. Yet another beast suddenly appeared right there before her with his gun at the ready and her sword drawn. What an interesting turn of events this was; a shift in the tide of a situation that had just the moment before been almost as intense as this encounter was. It was just like Keiko to bring a knife to a gun fight but there would be no fighting here as her gaze remained locked on the man before her. Eyes never faltered as she sheathed her sword and held her hands up showing hopefully to the other she meant no harm to him.

Even as he aimed for the noise, concentrating, it was impossible not to notice the woman unsheathing a sword, in a fluid movement, just as prepared to kill whatever was coming as he was. As unnecessary as it ended up being for both of them, it still said a lot about her that she was ready for the fight. Even more that this was her weapon, not something that someone who didn’t already know their skill would be able to hold with such poise.

He had seen some interesting weapons in his time, but it was rare that he saw a sword quite like the one she was wielding out in the wilderness. It piqued his curiosity, made him want to ask where she had gotten it, if it had been something from before, but those weren’t the kinds of questions he had on the tip of his tongue as he looked back at the stranger, now that it became clear there was no real danger from the malnourished fox.

It was almost a surprise to see her sheath her sword again, and to slowly hold her hands up in proof that she was supposedly friend and not foe, but it felt almost expected. That didn’t mean it was easy to tell if it was a gesture meant to lull him into a false sense of security, or one with actual good intentions, though. Still, there was something telling him that this wasn’t going to be the moment things went south. Maybe he was being too trusting just now, but there was good potential for a trade or even a bit of information, if the woman he was facing now was friendly, both of which were things that could be potentially valuable. It would have been stupid to pass up the opportunity when it was a rarity that someone didn’t just run off or start fighting immediately upon seeing the gun pointed in their direction.

So he returned the favor, flipping the safety back on his gun, and putting it back in the ragged holster at his hip, keeping her eye contact as well, as a strange show of good faith. The silence felt almost deafening between them, and there were just some habits that not even the apocalypse could break him of. Filling silences was one of them, whether or not it was clear if he could even be understood by the person he was now face to face with.

“I mean no harm, just passin’ through on my way,” he said, staying in his place, holding up his hands as well in a similar gesture to hers. That at least was a universal sign of surrender, one that couldn’t be misinterpreted even if his words weren’t understandable to her.

#( keiko. )#( keiko 001. )#he's just speaking english for now but he's also fluent in russian so he could switch to that if he figures it's necessary!

emiliyalebedeva:

TW: implications of rape in the first paragraph

Keep reading

It was becoming increasingly clear that this woman was someone who had experienced real horrors in their past that a simple kind word wasn’t going to do anything to help with. He had come into contact with many people like her before, both after the blast and before, being in the military, being deployed, made certain that he would meet dozens and dozens of people who looked at him with fear in their eyes, memories recalled that he could never dream of calming. More often than not it was women who looked at him that way, and he was smart enough to know the sort of memories that the sight of a seemingly threatening man could bring up.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, the panic as clear in her eyes as it was in the near frantic movements of her hands against the ground that he could just make out through the brush. Part of him was worried that she might attack. He had no desire to hurt her, that had been the truth, but if she was going to make herself a danger, he was going to defend himself, as much as it pained him with someone so obviously in need of even the smallest bit of kindness.

He was surprised when she answered him, speaking in English, then switching to Russian, voice a little ragged and harsh, but a sign that not all was lost. That thought quickly left him, though, as she snorted at his insistence that he wasn’t going to hurt her. The phrasing of it, the venom behind the words told him that he had to be right in some small part about what he had to guess had caused this reaction to his appearance. It was understandable, but he still wished there was something he could do to help her.

As her voice became increasingly desperate, Stonewall stopped in his place, hand still up as if that was actually going to prove that he didn’t want to hurt her. This was fruitless, he could tell; he wasn’t going to get anything from her, and she wasn’t going to let him offer the little help that he might’ve otherwise, just from traveling for so long with the Days.

“I’m sorry. I swear to whatever higher power there might be that I’m not trying to hurt you. I just want to help. Got a few cans of food I could spare, or some cloth for bandages...” he offered, though he made no move to pull his bag from his shoulder and show her want he was offering. He had a strong feeling the best thing to do was to just leave her be, but he couldn’t help but try before he could leave.

#( emiliya 001. )#( emiliya. )#rape mention ///#implied rape ///

rosalesernesto:

The wind was growing colder as of late, and the days shorter. Even without the assistance of a calendar Ernesto could feel winter slowly creeping up over the valleys and thickets of forest that littered the area. It is this revelation that leads him deeper into the woods than out of it, eager to hunt what game he could find before it left the area entirely to huddle down before the deadly grasp of winter took its hold on the area.

After a somewhat fruitful day of hunting small game, Ernesto makes his way back to his campsite, the sun just beginning to fall under the horizon, casting a slightly purple haze through the graying sky. Loba remains several meters ahead, her nose glued to the ground, as she winds through the maze of trees, eager to sniff out at least one last remaining bit of game before they were to turn in that night. If it weren’t for the deep loyalty he felt for his own faction, he could easily see himself living out the rest of his days like this. Just him and Loba against the rest of the world, living off the land with what goods he managed to get through hunting and trading. The thought was a pleasant one, and grew only more tempting as he’d gotten older, when his violent sword swings were now becoming met with nearly as violent shoulder and elbow aches and pains.

It is then, as he absently massages one of those shoulders, when Loba freezes in place in the small clearing ahead of him. Her ears stand at full attention, as she stares up quietly into the browning leaves of the tree in front of her. Without question, Ernesto follows suit, slowing his pace as he delicately steps through the forest floor, sidestepping every manner of branch and dead leaf so as not to disturb whatever creature had caught his companion’s attention- which he quickly realizes was a small squirrel, too busy with a nut it’d come across to notice the impending danger that was creeping up just behind it.

When he makes it to Loba’s side, he takes a knee next to her, stopping only to place his hat on the ground before drawing his crossbow up in one fluid motion. Working as one unit, Loba prepares herself to catch the creature, while Ernesto sets a bolt into place with a small click into the antique weapon, both of their gazes laser focused on their shared prey. It is a process they’d perfected in their years spent hunting together, both knowing the part they were to play without needing to alert the other. But this time their efforts do not go according to plan, when instead of Ernesto firing his bolt into the small creature, a loud snap of a twig pulls at all three of their attentions.

Ernesto can hear the squirrel scurry off as his eyes fall on the form of a man stepping out into the clearing he and Loba had occupied. His gut instinct is to fire his already set bolt above the intruder’s head, along with a few choice words in Romani for having lost him a chance at a fourth kill for that evening. And he nearly does just that- that was until he hears the intruder’s voice. Listening to the words drip off of the man’s tongue like a smooth bourbon, it begins to hit Ernesto just who he may be, a conclusion that is only affirmed when he notices the cowboy hat perched on his head, an accessory not too common in the backwoods of Russia.

“That is not a smart offer, my friend”, he calls out, his lips curling into a welcoming smile as he chuckles warmly. Although English wasn’t his primary language, he does find some pleasure in speaking it, enjoying the familiarity of the language as it rolled off his tongue. “It would be very easy for me to lie, and make you hunt down the squirrel all night for me.” Returning his own hat to his head, he goes to stand as Loba makes her way over to greet the stranger, although stranger was hardly the word he would use. He may not have met the man before, but his inquiries into the Days faction have given him no doubts on just who he was. What does surprise him though is that it was he who found Ernesto first, now whether that be by happy accident or by plan, he supposes he’ll just have to wait and see.

“While that would be fun, lucky for you I am a decent hunter,” he adds, and holds up the string that was tied to his bag, the small bodies of a rabbit and two other squirrels dangling limply at the end of it. Stepping closer to him, he pays no mind to the gun barrel that still remained pointed in his direction, as he suspects the other paid no mind to the crossbow that rested casually against Ernesto’s shoulder. “Ernesto Rosales,” he greets, holding out his free hand for the man he knew as Stonewall to take, “and you are?”

He can tell even as he comes into the clearing that he has cost the stranger his prey, which isn’t exactly a good scenario to be walking into. But he’s confident enough in his second favorite weapon, that classic Southern charm, that he thinks he can at least talk him down if he is angry, despite the crossbow. Luckily, though, it becomes immediately apparent that he won’t need to do any talking down, because the stranger replies, with a not entirely sarcastic my friend, in beautifully accented English, and a smile that’s disarming even for him.

The second thing that Stonewall notices, after taking note of just how handsome the stranger is, especially now that he’s offering a smile that seems to be genuinely welcoming, is the dog that’s pattering towards him as soon as he’s out in the open enough to meet them both. For a split second, he thinks that maybe this is it, that’s he’s hallucinating and the radiation has finally gotten to him badly enough that it’s all over. He would be the one to hallucinate a handsome, welcoming stranger with a dog right before he took his final breathe. But no, it’s all real, and it’s enough to catch him off his guard more than he’d like to admit.

He’s so shocked to see a dog, a dog that looks relatively healthy and certainly happy, no defects in sight, that it takes him a second to figure out what exactly to do, as the dog comes closer. But the sight of a friendly dog, approaching him happily ready to sniff at his feet, makes it impossible not to smile. He flips the safety back on the rifle and slings it back over his shoulder, making the decision that if this person is going to smile and charm and let his dog so close to a stranger, then it might not be so stupid to let himself trust him, even for a moment. After all, he hasn’t pet a dog in years, and not even the apocalypse can take away the instinct to bend the knee and offer a hand for the dog to sniff. Funny how easy it is to slip back into old habits.

His eyes are still on the strange, though, as he pets the dog for a second, listening to what he has to say with vague amusement. It wasn’t very often that you were greeted with jokes, too. Maybe this was his lucky day. He knew that if Darya was here now, they would be saying how this person was sent from Jesus himself, this interaction orchestrated by the Big Man Upstairs. He didn’t really believe in that sort of divine intervention, but he did have to admit that this felt a little too good to be true.

So he stands after a second of giving his attention to the dog, just as the stranger shows off the impressive amount of game he’s apparently hunted today. Stonewall considered himself a decent enough hunter, having grown up in the backwoods of Kentucky, where even before the apocalypse a squirrel was considered perfectly good eatin’, but he knows how much harder it is now, when it’s rare to find an animal with enough meat on its bones to be worth it, so he has to admit he’s impressed. And he shows this with a little nod of obvious approval, and boy is he charmed.

Still, the instinct to cock the rifle again as he steps closer is very real, on that he has to fight, knowing that to give this stranger a chance, to try to do what he’d set out to do that day, he needed to be a little more open than he felt. He liked to be the one to make the first move, but then he’s introducing himself, Ernesto, holding out a hand for him to shake, like they’re meeting in a bar after work at happy hour, instead of in the middle of barren Russia after the world has ended, and it’s a lot harder to think that this Ernesto is going to use the crossbow on him. Might still pull a knife on him, slit his throat, and take his rifle, but even that felt less likely.

“Awfully nice to meet you, there, Ernesto. Colonel James Patrick Stonewall. It’s a mouthful, I know. Stonewall is just fine among friends. Unless you like a title, in which case you’re welcome to call me Colonel,” he says, teasing, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. It’s presumptuous, yes, but he has a strong feeling that being presumptuous in that way is going to work well with Ernesto, just from the little he’s given him so far. He’s got about a thousand questions he wants to ask him, but he settles on the question he always starts with. Best to know what he’s dealing with before getting into things. “Is it just the two of you out here? It’s rare to see a dog friendly enough to stick with a human nowadays.”

#( ernesto. )#( ernesto 001. )#never was i expecting so much charm in the apocalypse

go tell that long tongue liar && a colonel stonewall playlist

i am a man of constant sorrow - the soggy bottom boys (o, brother where art thou) // take me home, country roads - john denver // wagon wheel - old crow medicine show // travelin’ soilder - the dixie chicks // coat of many colors - dolly parton // the gambler - kenny rogers // highwayman - willie nelson, waylon jennings, johnny cash, and kris kristofferson // god’s gonna cut you down - johnny cash // the devil went down to georgia - the charlie daniels band // daddy lessons - beyonce and the dixie chicks

( && listen )

#nvc:edit #i call this playlist 'songs my dad made me like by playing them too much as a kid #+ also the dixie chicks version of daddy lessons lmao #nothing like procrastination to get you to finish a playlist!

yuri-sokolov:

Colonel. That was a title that made him scoff, these were the days when former decoration and titles was as useful as a noise machine in the middle of a hoard; it amused Yuri to think that this man was proud enough to maintain it in introductions. Yuri’s sharp eyes studied the situation, glancing around them. Already, he was cursing the fact that Darya had agreed to such a trade and then found themselves presently unavailable to fulfill their end of it.

His teeth grit under the weight of another man sizing him up. While slight and fine boned, Yuri was nothing to be trifled with— wiry muscle clung to his tall frame, something dangerous lived in his pale eyes. He wanted to snap his teeth like a dog gone feral; to warn him to come a little closer.

But this wasn’t his place: he was on foreign ground, outnumbered and out-armed. He glared, but maintained the slightest feigning of politeness. “She also said that she was in charge.” Yuri lifted his chin, gesturing at the man that dominated the conversation. “I would like to speak with your commanding officer, Colonel.” He toed at the bag of footwear, his features sharpening at the last sentence passed between them.

He bit down onto his jaw so hard it began to hurt. “We had a deal. I bring shoes. I bring clothes. I get bullets.” Yuri chanced an angry step forward, when he spoke, even his tone felt clipped. “I came too far with this shit,” his hand gestured towards the canvas bag, “To get shot or to leave empty handed. Dig deep, talk to your gods— work it out so that I get something.” He was in no position to snap back, but it wasn’t his personality to be diminutive, instead of drawing inside of himself and getting smaller, the Russian broadened his shoulders and puffed himself up for a challenge.

He was less and less personally inclined to humor the man the more he talked, but he was well aware that the trade was one he was going to have to follow through on. They needed more clothes, better shoes before they left again. It was getting colder every day, a sure sign that winter was on its way, and many of their clothes were threadbare already. There was only so much that patch ups could do without more cloth, better clothing.

Still, that didn’t mean he was going to make it easy for this Yuri, considering how he apparently knew just the way to hit every nerve, even while face to face with a rifle’s barrel. Stonewall had to think that if this was how he talked to everyone, it was a small miracle that he hadn’t been shot already, just from pure annoyance. Then again, he had spoken to Darya before, maybe he had managed to live five years in the wild only running into the Daryas of the world. But his luck had run out on that front, and he planned to make him work for it, if he was going to be so disrespectful of both of them, even when Darya wasn’t there.

“Thought you said you weren’t plannin’ on disrespecting us, Yuri? Yet here you are, disrespecting my commanding officer right to my face. They said they were in charge, is what I’m sure you mean. You know what disregard like that makes me feel like doin’? Makes me feel a lot like shooting you right between the eyes,” he mused, words thoughtful, as if it was something he was really considering. And maybe he was. A bullet used would save them having to give him any ammunition, after all, and they’d still get the clothes and shoes. Darya wouldn’t be too happy, though.

“I have no god, but myself. Maybe once you stop acting like a toddler, I’ll feel a little more like following through with that deal. They might not have taught respect in Russian schools, but it sure is something we value where I come from,” he nodded, eyes finally going to the bag he kept pointing at. “Go on and show me what you’ve brought us, then we’ll keep talking.”

#( yuri 001. )#( yuri. )#misgendering ////

present day // on the road to Voronezh ( @rosalesernesto )

Already, Stonewall had come through on his promise, but there was still time to put in some scouting, and at this point it felt a lot like bad luck to stop, when he’d been doing so damn well already. It was overconfidence, he was well aware, but that sort of motivation, and the energy to follow through, was something that rarely happened at the same time, so he planned on taking full advantage of it.

This time, he went out towards Voronezh, risking any potential run-ins with walkers on the off chance that there might be other survivors out there headed the same way, as well as the opportunity to scavenge any places they might not have picked over yet since they’d set up camp. As it was going, there had been a whole lot of nothing useful on his path, but the day was young, and he was certain he had a few good hours left in him before he needed to throw in the towel and head back.

He valued the peace, the solitude of solo scouting missions. It was funny that now, after the end of the world, was the time that he had come to value that alone time so much, when most of the world that was life probably wanted nothing more than that human touch. There was no mistaking that he had always thrived off of having a group, being part of something, whether that was in the military, or teaching, but now, being left with people who barely even know who he had been before, he found himself desiring that time alone with himself; that was the only time it felt right to let himself be that again, even in the privacy of his thoughts. There were too many responsibilities to let things get too personal otherwise, too much to worry about to survive to spend time thinking about a past that had been destroyed. But that didn’t mean he didn’t long for that sort of feeling of humanity.

Those thoughts, though, were distracting. Distracting enough that he had let his guard down even for a split second. He heard the distinct sounds of someone nearby in a fairly covered area, before he saw anything. Immediately Stonewall pulled his rifle up, cocked and ready to go, already on the defensive, flipping that switch back on, whether it was a survivor, a walker, or an animal he was about to come face to face with. It would’ve been smart to leave, or to stay still, but his thoughts had made him even more determined, and he had to risk the danger, knowing the reward he might find. So he moved forward slowly towards the sound, to the brush himself. And when he was finally able to see enough through to the other side, he realized that his target wasn’t a walker, but another person, a person who was looking up at the trees.

A squirrel.

He thought about waiting to see if this stranger might catch the squirrel, but his noise had been enough to catch both of their attention, the squirrel jumping branches, and the person turning to look where he had been watching from. So he cut his loses and stepped forward into view. Into view of the stranger, the stranger who, he realized, was very handsome. He gave a little nod, a tip of the cowboy hate in an attempt to signal he was friendly despite the gun.

“Well, I’m sorry there, sir, hope you weren’t plannin’ on eatin’ that for supper or else I’d owe you,” he said, half a smile on his lips, starting with English on the chance the stranger might understand. The rifle was still up, though more in a relaxed defense, ready to give him a chance, hoping this might be exactly what he’d come out to find.

#( ernesto. )#( ernesto 001. )#HERE WE GOOOOO

daryavolkov:

They nodded, knowing that he wasn’t asking their permission, but also knowing that if he had asked, they would have given it without hesitation. That was, nearly always, the case with Stonewall: he did not ask them, when he wanted to do something, but his compass steered true, his actions aligning with their own needs and ideas, following different paths in the same direction.

Stonewall, when he had come, had been a blessing: he wasn’t the only member of the Days who Darya felt had been sent to them, steered into their path by a gentle divine hand. When they prayed, they didn’t pray for solutions, but instead prayed for God to set them on the path that would lead them to the ability to do what needed to be done. When you were sick, and prayed to God for healing, He did not heal your wounds or cure your ailments. He led you to a doctor.

If they were meant to take more people to Voronezh, Stonewall would find them today and tomorrow. If he found no one, there would be a good reason for it, and though his stubbornness might blind him to that, there would be a tactical advantage to having fewer feet on the ground, somehow.

‘I’ll take inventory of our supplies, see what else we’ll need to gather, for the road.’

They tucked the small sewing kit into the pocket of their jacket, their fingers brushing across the scrap of gentle cloth they kept in their, their cross wrapped carefully within its folds, and then stood, brushing off their legs and stretching, for a moment, adjusting to the brief moment of vertigo that passed every time they stood.

He always felt better about things once they had formed something of a plan, as much of a plan as was possible when they were constantly heading into the unknown, the landscape they faced every shifting. And having a concrete mission, even if it was self-imposed, made him feel like he was actually doing something actively to make sure they had the best chance at doing what they were setting out to accomplish.

Stonewall nodded as they spoke, knowing there were plenty of things that they likely needed, if they wanted to make it. He was already making a mental list of what he knew they needed, things to look out for as he scouted, as they tucked away the sewing kit, and went to stand up.

There was that slight pause as soon as they stood, a very familiar pause, as it was something he himself had been feeling more and more lately, despite how well-rested and well-fed they’d all been lately, in relative terms. It was a common thing, worse in some of them over others, but it seemed like things were just getting worse for most of them. No matter how much Darya believed they were a messiah of some sort, they were still only human, in reality, and the effects of the years of all of this didn’t care if you thought you were a god or not.

It was near impossible for him to tell how bad it was for them, but he had a strong feeling that they were keeping as much from him on that front as he was keeping from them, maybe even more. He had long stopped complaining of what he felt, and he knew that they were the same, not one to want to give anyone an unnecessary reason to worry, when this was inevitable for most of them. But it was impossible not to care about someone after going through so much together, and he wondered just how far it went, for them, was tempted to ask if there was any small thing he might do to relieve some of that suffering.

Instead, though, he kept on topic, only offering a hint of what he was considering.

“You should rest up, let someone else take inventory and report back to you. We’re going to need all the strength we can get when we leave; every last chance to rest is crucial,” he said with a little nod, trying, and perhaps failing, to sound as if that was a completely impartial suggestion. “Whoever takes inventory can let me know what it looks like we need, and I’ll keep an eye out while I’m scouting, send a few others out, too, to scavenge.”

#( darya. )#( darya 001. )#stonewall cares A Lot pass it on

beverlymcneil:

Beverly might have felt foolish, once again girlish and young, for babbling at a near-stranger if he didn’t seem to welcome it, didn’t seem so kind in return. Never mind that thinking of home felt like picking at a scab, a wound not healed over, no matter how many times she tried to cauterize it with the touch of hot fire to her skin—she was made for this, for making her way through the world with hands outstretched, full of bumbling kindness; she wasn’t suited to wary looks and drawn pistols, not when she didn’t even have a pistol to draw.

Kindness wasn’t a weapon, it was an instrument of peace instead of one of war. A little common ground, and he was holding a smile instead of a gun, the latter safely tucked away on his belt again. She hadn’t felt afraid, truly—past the initial moment surprise of seeing a strange figure in a doorway when she expected to see nothing but empty air, the oppressive stillness of all the ghost towns she’d seen in the past several years—but she still felt warmed to see it, a silent but overt offer of trust.

Beverly wasn’t immune to the cloud of suspicion that seemed to blanket the world, she still felt when it was lifted, when another person was a person to her, instead of a potential threat, something that could stand between her and her continued survival, if they chose to. And then, looking at him was just like looking into a mirror, the questions that came quickly to mind didn’t even need to be asked, because she could feel the answers coming from within her:

Do you miss home? (Yes.) Do you wonder about everyone you left there? (Yes.) Do you think we’ll ever get to see it again? (No.)

More than just a person, he seemed almost miraculous: they must have lived only hours apart from each other for years, never crossing paths, only to meet here and now. If she believed, as they all did, that this bleak time time was a test for them to overcome, then maybe she could believe that this, too, was part of some Plan. A sign to keep going, that she was on the right path. Something bright to cling to, with darkness both behind and ahead.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Stonewall,” she said, the repetition of well-worn social pleasantries making her smile linger. “Oh—do I call you Colonel? Sir? I’m guessing that’s what brought you out here, right? I was—I joined the Peace Corps, after I graduated college. I was in Romania, speak a little of that, but not much else, not much useful. So, yeah, it’s good to meet someone you can—talk to so freely.”

It was rare to come across someone so open and willing to talk, someone who greeted him with a smile and kind words, instead of suspicion and hatred. He understood, of course. Hell, he was the same way; it was the only way you survived out there, after all. But being greeted so differently, being treated as another human being instead of a potential danger made him realize just how much he missed that normalcy, how much he craved it.

Even something as small as having lived a few hours away from each other back at home felt enormous when you hadn’t been spoken to with any real personal care in years. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t close to those members of the Days he had been with since the start; quite the contrary, they meant as much to him as each and every cadet who had passed through his classes back at home did. But that was different. That was based on survival, all talk of the past a fleeting thought, more concerned with where their food would come from, and what ammunition they needed to trade for.

And so the conversation, almost immediately turning into something so completely normal, the sort of conversation he might’ve had years ago with a fellow soldier he met in the army who had said they were from Ohio, made him relax in a way he hadn’t relaxed in God only knew how long. He still had his defenses up, just in case, but it was easier to breathe, the constant headache didn’t seem quite so bad, the tension in his shoulders loosening as she spoke, her smile warming him.

“Stonewall is just fine, ma’am, unless you were in the military yourself. It is what brought me here, yes, one last mission to Moscow. Obviously didn’t go quite as planned,” he explained, leaving out the fact that he was still certain that the mission had been a ruse, designed specifically to keep him and his partner from making it home. Max; even just talking to another American, talking about home, as long gone as it was now, made him ache for the other man. Still, after five long years, the wound felt as fresh as it had the day of the blast.

“Peace Corps, well how ‘bout that! Bet you were doing good work out there. I understand that language barrier; I do speak Russian, but most people out here who speak Russian seem to find Southern Russian hard to understand,” Stonewall laughed. “So I’m awfully glad we ran into each other. You can drive yourself plumb crazy surviving off of half-formed conversations. I’m glad to lend an ear.”

His mind was now full of memories of home, though, and there was an itch he couldn’t help but scratch, just on the off chance she had heard anything, seen anything. It had been years since he had asked anyone, despite the hope he still harbored, but meeting Beverly here now felt a lot like the universe was giving him permission to hope for a little bit more of home again.

“You haven’t by any chance come across another American out here, have you? His name is Max, around my age, my height, former U.S. Army as well. Handsome devil. It’s a long shot, but I’ve gotta ask.”

#( beverly. )#( beverly 001. )#omfg bye bc i too when to college in ohio and also lex is literally where i'm from

yuri-sokolov:

The barrel of the rifle made him pause, and his smile slid from his features as though it was suspended in oil. The Days, for all of their preaching of non-violence, seemed to do a lot of talking with a weapon drawn. Despite his annoyance, he kept his stance as it was: widened shoulders, narrowed eyes— he puffed up his chest like an animal facing a predator. Fingers loosened their grip on the bag that he had slung over his back and Yuri sized up the other man as it slid towards the ground.

It was his voice that prompted him to swallow laughter. Never before had he heard Russian twisted around an American accent, and definitely not as typically American as this. “I’m Yuri,” he answered simply; it was the only answer he could think of to a question that was served with such a vehement threat. “No disrespect for the man with the big gun.” Long legs side stepped from his bag, “But I’m unarmed, if you want to put that down.”

Light eyes skimmed their surroundings, catching the glint of dozens of pairs of eyes casting down to watch the scene. He didn’t blame their growing audience, since the apocalypse, entertainment had sort of become scarce: you took your jollies where you could get them. Co-commander. The title demanded respect, but to Yuri, it simply meant that he was one step away from talking from the person that he desired. He sighed, gesturing towards the bag.

“We have a deal. I bring clothes and shoes, she gives me ammunition. I left my weapons at home, I thought you folk were supposed to be friendly.” A lie, of course– the garrotte was still warm in his pockets and his ankles pressed against the cool thin blades that settled in his boots, but the axe that usually settled down the straight of his spine was with Zoya.

“Nice to meet you, Yuri. I’m Colonel Stonewall. And I’ll keep it up, thank you very much,” he responded, doing just as he had said, finger still on the trigger, although a little looser than before. He glanced at the bag as it slide off of the man’s shoulder, and fell towards the ground with a dull thud. At the very least, it didn’t seem he was stupid enough to make a move, but Stonewall didn’t believe him for a second when he said he wasn’t armed. The sharpness to his tone was enough to tell him that the man he was looking at wasn’t idiot enough to walk into a well supplied compound unarmed, even on a peaceful mission.

What was that mission? Apparently some kind of likely ill-advised deal to trade their precious ammunition for shoes. He almost didn’t even want to know the details of the apparent deal, because he could already guess that this was an instance of Darya going on blind faith that someone would follow through, when they so easily could’ve taken what then needed and never returned. But here he was, apparently following through on that deal.

And even he couldn’t deny their need for clothes and shoes, as worn down as they were all getting. But to trade ammunition, that was a hard bargain, when it was so hard to come by even for them. His wariness was as much from annoyance that Darya made such a deal without telling any of them, as it was to actually part with any of their rounds.

"Who told you we were supposed to be friendly? Was it Darya? Good cop, bad cop,” he said, nodding his head to indicate himself, as if it wasn’t already glaringly obvious that he was the bad cop of the pair. “I hope they already gave you that ammunition they promised, because I wouldn’t give a single bullet to see Jesus ridin’ a bicycle.”

#( yuri. )#( yuri 001. )#southern sayings in russian? u bet so

daryavolkov:

More people. Capable hands.

Darya had few reservations about adding numbers to their ranks: good people were hard to find, these days, and there was a shortage of people willing to cede to the leadership of someone like them, but every person who had joined the Days had meant something, to Darya, by the time they had finished speaking, for the first time, and they were not the kind who shut people out.

But each loss hurt, too. Each person who took their hands and told them to continue onwards without them, too hurt or too old or too sick to make the journey when they picked up camp and moved again. Each person felled by a bullet from an unseen gun, or the knife of a bandit who had snuck up on them alone in the night as they scouted. Adding more people meant the potentiality for more loss.

But Stonewall was right. He generally was. They were enough, for these small towns, abandoned villages they passed through. But Voronezh was a city, and if the rumors were true they would be outnumbered by walkers a hundred times over. Able bodies and able guns might be the only chance they had of even making a dent in the horde that occupied it.

Even if it meant more mouths to feed, with their limited supplies. Even if it meant more footsteps to mask, as they approached, more bullets with which to load more guns.

They wanted to tell him that they were in no hurry to reach Voronezh, that they could make whatever detours he thought wise to pick up supplies and people and any advantage they might be able to find. But it would have been a lie; especially after the other day in the forest with Erik, the moment they had been sure they were going to die, that their body was going to shut down long before they even saw the outskirts of Voronezh. Stonewall didn’t know, not yet, that even if their mission was not on a timer, their body was.

“We’ll pick up who we can, as we go,” they said, distracted enough they didn’t want to attempt to say it in English. “I will pray for God to send us anyone He sees fit.”

He had long learned to contain the sacrilegious words that wanted so desperately to come out of his mouth whenever they took praying to God for something as a good solution, when there were plenty of real, concrete things that could be done instead. It felt half like he was a boy again, deep in the Appalachian Mountains, listening to his parents telling him he should do some praying every time he had a problem. Look what that had gotten them. They’d couldn’t even dream of leaving what they knew. They’d probably died exactly where they’d lived their whole lives, praying for God to save them as the world ended around them, instead of trying to save themselves.

It was a complicated thing, to spend so many years trying to separate himself from that sort of thought, and to do so successfully by finding philosophy, finding love. Then find himself right back in it at the end of the world, with little choice but to deal with it.

That was part of the reason he worried, because he had seen first hand what religion did to people, how it blinded them. There was only so much that thoughts and prayers could do before you needed to take real action. And real action was something they needed if they wanted to keep surviving and stand a real chance at making it through what was the most dangerous task they had faced yet.

“I’ll take a few hours of scouting today and tomorrow, see if there’s anyone around nearby who might fit the bill before we head out,” Stonewall said.

It wasn’t a request; he’d already made up his mind. He’d learned a long time ago that if you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself, he had only been hoping maybe it’d be easier this time, given the necessity. If Darya was going to leave it to God’s hands, like they always were content to do, then he would have to play that role again, like he always seemed to have to do with them.

#( darya. )#( darya 001. )#stonewall: tells maria to join them and brings gabe back #darya: god sent them to us!!

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