the admission of light fear felt sudden, and it immediately pulled a smile from him as he heard all the reasons why owls were apparently fucking creepy. " aliens ? how'd they come up with that ? " he asked with a small chuckle. as a former rancher, he had heard his fair share of crop circle alien mysteries or conspiracies, depending on how much you believed in other life. to be fair, after the dead started rising, he could believe in almost anything. he took a second to consider that, yeah, he did believe in aliens. he did not believe they came in the shape of owls.
his hands made small, controlled flicks, creating the finest lines he was going to get from this tool for the bird's feathers. knowing the other was interested and watching, his focus deepened, now having a reason to make it as realistic as possible. "s'all yours in that case," he admitted, pausing for a moment to think about what he might want that could be of equal value. "if you happen to come across any tougher dog toys i could use one for chief. otherwise, i'm fine with pickin' from whatever you come across. don't want you riskin' your neck for somethin' small." an exchange of trinkets had already become more useful than he thought.
his nose scrunched at the vivid pictures preston started painting. "man, you have a special way with words," he responded, shaking his head. "guess 'm not playin' galaga anytime soon." he was no prude, but unless he had started it, he didn't care to walk into that mess.
☣️ ＊ preston shook his head as an amused exhale escaped him, didn't actually expect the other man to entertain the sentiment, especially something that could be so easily dismissed with everything else happening in the world. it was almost absurd to talk about ufos and those green reptilian creatures when the dead was walking amongst them, but they gotta pass the time somehow, right? other people preferred meaningless sex, while some preferred meaningless conversations in the grand scheme of things. some preferred both, though, preston supposed they were only really meaningless if one couldn't read between the lines and learn more about the other in between everything said and unspoken. " you're asking the wrong guy, " he laughed. " but if i had to guess, it's probably ' cause owls got the same big-ass eyes as how those bug-eyed green aliens are usually depicted. " then, he cocked his head, studying the hunter's features as if looking for an answer before he even asked. " d'you actually in all that shit? roswell, the whole thing with the phoenix lights back in ' 97? hell, i bet my friend would tell you that this virus thing was engineered from some alien specimen. "
and despite all the talks about aliens, preston's attention remained on klaus' hands, following each whittle and slice against the wooden figurine, one corner of his lips curling up once the hunter agreed to give it to him once he had something to trade. " and here i thought you'd be asking for something like a pack of cigarettes, a six-pack of beer, condoms, something a little more selfish, " he scoffed lightheartedly, a little incredulous with how some people would still rather take care of a pet even at the end of the world. but maybe dogs should get a pass, man's best friend and possibly therapeutic to be around, though that horse someone brought in would already be dinner or regular transport for hunters and scavengers if it was up to him. " but sure thing. i'm bound to come across a chew toy in one of the houses we're yet to loot. maybe even some dog food. no biggie. "
then his gaze lifted from klaus's hands to his eyes, stifling a laugh in his throat. " i just tell it how it is, " he shrugged, though awfully aware of many times his mouth had gotten him in trouble in the past. not many knew how to stomach how candid he could be. " and there are better places to fuck anyway. somewhere more comfortable, somewhere people can't just walk in on you balls deep in someone, somewhere you can actually see the person on their knees so you don't poke them in them in the eye with your cock. "
klaus tilted his head before glancing down at his work. he was carving the wood into an owl, and he had stopped while defining the feathers when the other joined him. "tryin' to make an owl, but the feathers are takin' some work," he explained with a slight drawl, his southern accent more prevalent when he was relaxed. his hands started moving again with precision as he worked over the little figure. the standing male's last question made him pause again, and he looked up to meet his gaze.
"just doin' it because i want to," he answered, since he didn't seem to be asking with malice, but his brother's voice was in his head, reminding him not to assume the best of everyone. "maybe could trade it for somethin' small," he mused, continuing his work once again. "you out here for any reason?"
☣️ ＊ a small smile quirked his lips upon hearing that drawl, pretty interesting how people from all walks of life, from all sorts of places somehow found their way to this place. but that inflection alone was enough to preston to hold onto, something to keep him hoping that klaus wasn't as uninteresting or annoying as the other people downstairs. " owls creep me the fuck out, " he chuckled lightheartedly although it was half-true. still, he walked a little closer for a better look at the wooden figurine, head canted to admire the workmanship. " they say they're symbolic of watchers, wisdom, and the occult. even got a friend who believes they're fucking shapeshifting aliens watchin' over us. " preston didn't necessarily believe the latter, but if the dead could rise again as cannibalistic husks, then the world must be a free for all for any belief and folklore for those with tinfoil hats.
" but i guess i'll take it if no one else calls first dibs. call it exposure therapy, " he said then clicked his tongue as he tried to come up with an offer for the small sculpture. he didn't have many possessions, unless the items could be considered as some real good luxury, unless the items could be considered as some real good luxury, like the expensive brandy he'd hidden in a shoebox. but there were treasures everywhere in this decaying world, and he was sure there was something out there klaus would like. " i'm going on a scavenging mission tomorrow, so tell me what you need and i'll keep an eye out for it, then trade it for your owl. " he proposed, then looked out at the horizon as he pondered whether to answer the question with the truth or something more palatable. " just getting some fresh air. or as fresh as it can be before the breeze brings the smell of rot⸻ but it's still better than the mildewy smell of come and sweat wafting from plasma zone. y'know, people and their pastimes in the dark … "
Practiced hands and a newly sharpened blade whittled down a piece of wood that had once been a toy block. Klaus had procured it from an overlooked toy store, thinking it could have a better use for the group, but it had just turned into a canvas for his hobby. He blew away the dust that had gathered, beginning to work on the finer details of his little sculpture.
Klaus was seated on a bench in the rooftop gardens, enjoying the outdoor scenery as he worked. It was rare for him to find himself alone up here since it had the safest outdoor view, but he welcomed the peace. It was just no surprise when it failed to last and he heard the rooftop door squeak open.
"It's just me up here," he announced, looking up from his carving to see who his company was.
☣️ ＊ the days where there was nothing to do were the worst, probably should be feeling fortunate enough to be safe and sound in the confines of the mall, should be grateful for the peace, but preston didn't feel useful unless he was out there scavenging for supplies or gunning down walkers. and it didn't help that the other survivors were suffocating, a circus of smothering personalities that made him believe this community wasn't bound to last. way too many fucking liabilities he had to entertain with a smile, just because it was what his brother would've done.
but do it too many times back to back to back and so he needed to get away, finding himself at the rooftop gardens for a breath of fresh air. and it was impossible to be alone anywhere these days, though at least he could assume that present company didn't want to deal with all the bullshit downstairs either. " don't be shy now, keep going, " preston said as he glanced at the knife and the unfinished carving in klaus' hands. and his gaze remained fixated on those hands until he made his way to the edge of the roof, looking out at the world beyond the mall, abandoned and decaying enough to become another wilderness. " so what is it that you're making? " he asked, gaze drifting back to the other man and his handiwork. " something sentimental, something pointless, or are you one of those people who think anything can become a talisman with a little bit of faith? "
INTAKE INTERVIEW WITH ASHLEY JAMES SLAUGHTER.
FORMER OCCUPATION: FARMHAND AT THE SLAUGHTER FAMILY FARM
DOB: NOVEMBER 21ST, 1967
INTERVIEWER: COUNCILLOR ████████████
DATE: 04-06-1999 / 03:52 PM
CASE # ████████████
PLEASE STATE YOUR FULL NAME, AGE, WHERE YOU WERE FROM, AND OCCUPATION BEFORE THE OUTBREAK FOR THE RECORD.
" ashley james slaughter, but friends call me ash. and don't let the last name fool ya, i promise we're real nice people. " the interviewee keeps a very conversational tone, and he smiles throughout. he seems very good-natured, but there's also something about him that feels like predisposed to trouble and mischief. but i guess we'll just have to see. " thirty-two years old, born and raised on my family's farm, just three miles out of mistwood. you might have heard of us? "
there's something about the way that he talks that feels like he's advertising, like this apocalypse is only temporary and we'll go back to the ways things were soon enough. optimistic or foolish? " we open doors during halloween season … y'know, slaughter family farm's haunted corn maze? "
WHAT SKILLS, TRAINING, OR EXPERIENCE DO YOU HAVE THAT COULD HELP THIS COMMUNITY SURVIVE?
" just told you where i'm from so the answer's gotta be pretty obvious, " the interviewee jests, and there might be some truth to that but he is then reminded that we need an explanation to provide him a proper placement within the community. " alright, alright, i don't have my father's green thumb, but he pretty much knows … " he pauses for a second, chuckling to himself, as if he just caught himself making a mistake. " … knew everything. but he had taught as much as he could in the last decade. farm's been passed down from one son to the next for the last century, y'know? "
the interviewee has a bittersweet smile before he looks around, like he was imagining his surroundings. " we can probably turn the fountains under the skylights into planters. we can start with potatoes, which are a great source of energy. then we rotate them with garlic, onion, shallots or leeks for a winter harvest. " then the interviewee looks up, smiling as he seems to recall everything he's learned from his family's farm. " and then we can start a garden on the rooftop for the crops that can survive year-round. kale, spinach, carrots, beets, radishes … i also remember my mom growing rosemary and parsley outside, even during the winter. your cooks are going to love that. "
HAVE YOU LIVED IN ANY OTHER SETTLEMENTS, AND IF SO, WHY DID YOU LEAVE THEM?
" just our farm, if you can even call that a settlement. " a humorless chuckle escapes the interviewee. " always knew it as just home, y'know? " he does not shy away from showing his emotions here, obviously sad and disappointed that he had to leave home. " life there was all i've known … i never even dreamed of anything else since my folks raised me to take care of all that land one day. " there's conflict in the interviewee's expression, riddled with both grief and confusion. " even just going into the city felt like a whole another world … so this? this apocalypse? it feels like a brand new life entirely. "
the interviewee pauses for a few seconds, trying to smile again and again until it finally sticks. " and since the farm was pretty much by the highway, all the noise and ruckus made by people driving away from their fates basically brought the undead into our direction. " he maintains the smile, no matter how palpable his grief is, probably to avoid completely breaking down. " the fences kept them manageable for the first few weeks. our dad taught me and the other older kids how to shoot when we were young, but that was mostly for the stray bears and cougars. "
then, a sigh. " but there were more and more everyday, until a real horde came from another town. dad refused to die anywhere else, and mom refused to leave his side … so when the fences fell, i had to take my brothers somewhere else. i was just driving and driving when i heard a pretty voice on the radio, telling survivors can come here. guess you can say an angel led us here. "
WHY DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THIS COMMUNITY, AND WHAT KIND OF PERSON ARE WE LETTING THROUGH THESE GATES?
" i need a place where my family will be safe, where they'll be protected, " the interviewee says matter-of-factly. " i've got six brothers and i think we can all be useful here. i know how to grow crops, a brother of mine was studying to be a veterinarian, and another's real good with fixing machinery and shit, and the rest can carry learn and carry their weight. " it is very apparent that he wants to make this work for his entire family, and it might be an all or nothing situation when it comes to them.
" our parents raised us well, and we're good people. let us prove that to you. " he adds and it doesn't seem like he'll take no for an answer, but only because of how much he cares about his siblings. " the world's going to fix itself one day. and i know it sounds foolish after we've all already lost so much so quick, but it will. but right now, we all need each other to keep each other alive until that happens. " then the interviewee leans forward, whispering in a lower tone, but the recorder still manages to capture his voice. " plus, my dad taught me how to make a real good moonshine, recipe dating back to the prohibition. i bet i can scavenge some parts from the food court to make a brewing setup. " the interviewee smiles impishly then shrugs. " what's being alive without living, right? "
HOW MANY WALKERS HAVE YOU KILLED? HOW MANY PEOPLE, AND WHY?
" does anyone actually keep count? " the interviewee asks, but he doesn't seem to think too hard about it. " we did think they were just sick in the beginning. that maybe there's still a person in there … but it's also easy to abandon thinking like that when you're just trying to protect your family. it's hard to feel guilty when it's you or them. " this line of thinking may lead to questionable actions in the future in the name of survival or protecting his family. he doesn't need to be kept an eye on, but check-ins when making decisions might be necessary. " i don't know, maybe i've killed a hundred? a little bit more than that? "
the next question doesn't take much thinking, however. " i've never killed another person. and i pray to god i never have to. " but there seems to be a hint of pessimism in his eyes, as if he knows it might be an inevitability with how things are going. " but i think you've figure out by now that i'll do anything to keep my family safe. they're the reason i wake up everyday and fight when so many have already given up, y'know? "
PLEASE FILL OUT THE FOLLOWING WITH THE CORRECT INFORMATION.
HEIGHT: 6'2. WEIGHT: 181 lbs. EYE COLOR: blue. HAIR COLOR: black. PHYSIQUE: muscular build from years of farm work, broad shoulders, defined pectorals, prominent deltoids, large biceps and triceps, dense forearms, defined abdominals, strong thighs and athletic calves.
MARITAL STATUS: single. GENDER: man. SEXUALITY: bisexual. FAMILY: jimmy dean slaughter ( father - deceased ), eloise slaughter ( mother - deceased ), six brothers awaiting their intake interviews. MBTI: INFJ, the advocate. ENNEAGRAM: 6w7, the confidant. TEMPERAMENT: choleric-sanguine.
EXPERTISE:
FARMING & ANIMAL HANDLINGS, possesses a masterful understanding of planting cycles, soil health, crop rotation, irrigation, and long-term food production, as well as animal behavior, domestication, breeding, and managing livestock.
COOKING & BUTCHERY, possesses a keen knowledge of how to cut and process meat, prepare meals, preserve food, and maximize nutritional value.
PROFICIENCY:
FORAGING, possesses proficiency in locating edible plants, useful wild materials, and natural resources.
AXE & LONG BLADE WEAPONS, possesses proficiency with axe-type weapons and long blades such as swords, katanas and machetes.
WILLPOWER, possesses a keen ability to resist fear, panic, temptation, and other psychological pressures.
SUBSTANDARD AREAS:
ELECTRONICS & MACHINERY, does not possess the necessary understanding of vehicles, engines, and mechanical systems, as well as lacking the ability to repair, modify, and construct electronic devices and circuitry.
MEDICINE & FIRST AID, does not possess necessary knowledge of pharmaceuticals, poisons, and how to evaluate the severity of injuries and the medical procedures needed.
PERSONAL EFFECTS UPON ARRIVAL:
SLAUGHTER FAMILY PHOTO, a photo of ashley james, his six brothers and their parents outside of their farmhouse before the apocalypse.
A KEY RING, carrying keys to places and places he no longer possesses like the farmhouse, his little work shed, the barn and his first ever car.
A CASSETTE TAPE, customized with only his favorite the cure songs such as friday i'm in love, pictures of you, lovesong, to wish impossible things, seventeen seconds, and just like heaven.
DESIGNATED JOB WITHIN THE COMMUNITY gardener, with some cooking duties. however it seems that he was raised to take over the farm without really a choice of who he truly wants to be, so it may be imperative to help him figure that out in this new world, too. as approved by COUNCILLOR ████████████.
INTAKE INTERVIEW WITH PRESTON JOHN WALKER.
FORMER OCCUPATION: SERGEANT FIRST CLASS IN THE US ARMY
DOB: OCTOBER 31ST, 1967
INTERVIEWER: COUNCILLOR ████████████
DATE: 06-04-1999 / 10:25 AM
CASE # ████████████
PLEASE STATE YOUR FULL NAME, AGE, WHERE YOU WERE FROM, AND OCCUPATION BEFORE THE OUTBREAK FOR THE RECORD.
" my name is preston john walker, thirty-two years old. " the answer comes out easy from the interviewee, with a mild emphasis on his last name. he seems very proud of his pedigree, almost as if we should've already known about it. " born and raised in happy valley, oregon. joined the army at eighteen, climbed up to sergeant first class in the united states army before the world fell apart. "
WHAT SKILLS, TRAINING, OR EXPERIENCE DO YOU HAVE THAT COULD HELP THIS COMMUNITY SURVIVE?
" i've got a decade of military service under my belt, " the interviewee clicks his tongue, like the answer is obvious. however, he is still implored to explain to provide us with a better understanding. he seems to hesitate for a brief moment ( hiding something? ), before that cocksure smile returns to his lips. " i could tell you everything but then we'll be here all day. but all you gotta know is i've known how to shoot a gun since i was nine. just comes with the territory of having a strict no-nonsense major general as your dad. had that philosophy of gotta teach 'em early, y'know? so he brought me and brothers in a lot of hunting trips growing up. " the interviewee shrugs and laughs lightly, as if reminiscing, though he actually doesn't look all too happy ( resentment? trauma? ).
" you see, every man in our family was military, ' cept my twin brother. accidentally shot our mom when our mom while he was playing with dad's guns. dad never forgave him, don't think he ever forgave himself either. " the interviewee pauses for a few second, and scoffs when he realizes he's said too much. he shakes his head before continuing on with confidence in his eyes. " anyway, i've provided training to both enlisted and non-commissioned officers. i'm one hell of a shot. and i'm pretty good at reading people … at knowing what they want. "
the interviewee smiles like he's letting us in on the secret to surviving in this world. " … at knowing what they need. like it or not, people are the most valuable resource now. and they're only as useful as when they feel safe and happy. "
HAVE YOU LIVED IN ANY OTHER SETTLEMENTS, AND IF SO, WHY DID YOU LEAVE THEM?
" my brother and i immediately came to camp withycombe when the outbreak began. " he is more nonchalant about this question, just recounting memory without pretense. " the first two months are manageable. we had guns. we had tanks. we had men patrolling the perimeter twenty-four seven. but then survivors from all over the place kept pouring in. "
the interviewee says it more like a cautionary tale ( will be against opening doors to just anyone? ). " supplies started running thin after that. and hungry people are the most difficult to control. people started fighting for rations, egos flying everywhere to prove their importance and who should get fed first. " he laughs, mostly in disbelief as he recounts the event.
" things fell apart before a horde of the dead even came. they just took advantage of the chaos. my brother and i were lucky enough to get out of there by the skin of our teeth. " then he snaps his fingers, shaking his head at the outcome. " thousands of people dead just like that. hopefully this place doesn't fall to same fate. "
WHY DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THIS COMMUNITY, AND WHAT KIND OF PERSON ARE WE LETTING THROUGH THESE GATES?
the interviewee answers with a laugh at first, like he couldn't believe the question is serious. " for some goddamn reason, this place still has electricity and running water. those things are goddamn miracles at this point, so who wouldn't want to be here? " the answer seems candid and truthful enough, but something in his eyes says he only just about to really sell himself. " you've got real good thing going here, and you're community seems strong. but it can be stronger⸻ "
he pauses as a very charming smile curls his lips upward ( he seems to know exactly when to be disarming ). it's probably well-intentioned but could also be used for manipulation. " ⸻with me. if my military experience isn't enough, then consider that i'm a very relentless person. i like getting what i want and what i want right now is a fighting chance. we can't do things alone anymore in this world, and i'll make sure this community survives … because i sure as hell want to survive. "
HOW MANY WALKERS HAVE YOU KILLED? HOW MANY PEOPLE, AND WHY?
" walkers? is that what you call 'em? " he said, amusement clear in his tone, but it's obvious he just doesn't want to answer the questions right away. " guess you can call me one of them then. we called those dead bastards huskies where i'm from. 'cause y'know, they're just husks now. " then he leans back in his seat, and something feels defiant about it although he maintains a smile on his lips. " i've killed too many of them at this point. a hundred, maybe two hundred? " he stops there, so the next question is restated. the interviewee looks indignant at first, before he lets out a surrendering sigh. " before or after the apocalypse? " it is then clarified that the question meant post-outbreak, though it must be noted that he must've also killed people beforehand due to his military service.
" three. " he finally answers. " the first two tried to kill me and my brother while we were on our way here to washington. they held us at knifepoint to take whatever little supplies we had left. " the words rolls off his tongue easily, almost mechanical, like he didn't want to tell that story at all. understandable, but necessary to ask anyway. " and we fought back, like how our daddy raised us. " he pauses again, so he is then promptly reminded about the third kill. " my twin brother. we were sleeping in a car when we woke up surrounded by the huskies. he was always the fuck-up, y'know? " a sharp exhale escapes him.
" i never saw him that way, but that was how our dad made him feel. that's how he felt about himself while living in my shadow … i guess he wanted to do something right. so he got out of there, sacrificed himself, so i can make a run for it. " the interviewee delivers it with a straight face, perhaps trying not to show emotion or stopping himself from breaking down. " so i ran while they tore into him. and when i was far enough, i shot him in the head … to make it quicker. "
PLEASE FILL OUT THE FOLLOWING WITH THE CORRECT INFORMATION.
HEIGHT: 6'3. WEIGHT: 178 lbs. EYE COLOR: blue. HAIR COLOR: brown. PHYSIQUE: athletic build with lean musculature and low body fat, broad shoulders, defined chest, toned arms, narrow waist, long limbs, an angular facial structure with pronounced cheekbones and strong jawline, sculpted thighs and strong calves.
MARITAL STATUS: single. GENDER: man. SEXUALITY: bisexual. FAMILY: all deceased. thaddeus walker ( father ), beatrice walker ( mother ), portland walker ( older brother ), presley walker ( twin brother ). MBTI: ESTP, the entrepreneur. ENNEAGRAM: 8w7, the nonconformist. TEMPERAMENT: melancholic-choleric.
EXPERTISE:
FIREARMS & MARKSMANSHIP, possesses mastery in accuracy, weapons handling, and overall effectiveness with ranged weapons such guns and bow and arrows.
PERCEPTION, possesses a keen awareness of his surroundings, and the ability to detect hidden threats, traps, or ambushes.
PROFICIENCY:
LIGHT WEAPONS, possesses proficiency with weapons that rely on speed and precision such as knives, screwdrivers, ice picks and other short blades and improvised weapons.
ATHLETICS, possesses proficiency with the ability to climb, jump, swim, vault obstacles, and perform demanding physical feats.
NAVIGATION, possesses a keen ability to determine direction, read maps, follow routes, and avoid becoming lost.
SUBSTANDARD AREAS:
FORAGING, does not possess the necessary knowledge to locate edible plants, useful wild materials, or natural resources.
PERFORMANCE, does not possess necessary skills at acting, storytelling, dancing, singing, or other talents to raise morale, distract, or manipulate people.
PERSONAL EFFECTS UPON ARRIVAL:
COLT AR-15A2, a semi-automatic, civilian-legal version of the U.S. military's M16A2 rifle, passed down to him as a family heirloom from his father's gun collection after his death.
A POLAROID PHOTO, of preston john and his twin, presley james.
A DOG TAG, issued by the united states army in 1985 when preston enlisted.
DESIGNATED JOB WITHIN THE COMMUNITY scavenger, with light soldier duties. may be fully integrated as a soldier once fully settled in with the group. as approved by COUNCILLOR ████████████.
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