the amaranthine

[lynsey-ziegler]

ladislav-jankovic‌:

There’s a bible in his hands, one of his own possessions. The temptation to take a look at the different bibles that could be found in a monastery like this was there. The temptation to claim one as his own. They had different versions than the one he had spent so much time reading in prison and a different version than the one he had now in his possession. But there was just something about stealing some nun’s bible that didn’t sit right in his stomach. 

The funny thing was, he was bought into the idea of religion. The idea of Christianity as a whole, but he’d never really experienced a proper Sunday service or the traditions that generally went with practicing said religion. He’d never taken communion, had never learned the prayers or songs from a hymnal that most people associated with religion because it was something he’d self taught himself. So truth be told, he never knew if he was praying in the right way when he did sit down to offer up silent prayers. Never knew if there was a certain structure that needed to be in place or if it was simply making a wish and saying Amen at the end. 

The other temptation he had was to ask. Ask these nuns what they suggested, if they could teach him, if it was even worth asking for salvation for someone like him. He just hadn’t worked up the courage, because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer. Wasn’t sure if hearing that he was beyond salvation was going to sit right with him either. 

He didn’t expect someone to be in the room he entered and when he saw them startle, he paused in the doorway for a moment before making the full decision to intrude on whatever it was they were doing in her. 

“Are you praying?” he asks as he enters, almost ashamed to be interrupting.

Lynsey felt ashamed when he asked if she was praying. It was a noble concept. A believable lie that might make her seem like a better person if she went along with it. But she couldn’t. Even if she’d come here desperate for ‘signs’ or the chance to speak to her parents, she also didn’t want them to win by admitting she honestly thought prayer helped. Swallowing, Lynsey looks away from the stranger, facing forward again as she thinks. Ultimately, her hands lift off her knees in confused throws, a defeated shrug, while she grins at the dark humor of it all.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” she admits, laughing for what felt like the first time in years. Lynsey keeps her smile and eyes low for a second before breathing in and listening to her back rock quietly against the pew behind her. “‘Spent every week in church when I was a girl. I listened to all the wisdom. I want to believe my words will reach the people I’m missing but I just don’t.” 

She huffs, immediately bending over backwards to quell her outburst. She didn’t even know this man. The last thing she needed was to be labelled as a hysterical something-or-other. Sniffing, Lynsey glanced at Ladislav again, frowning when she noted the familiar tome in his hands, and immediately feeling a different kind of regret. 

“...no offense.”

[lynsey-ziegler]

heavendestroys‌:

Despite the promised safety, Zoe didn’t know if she was capable as relaxing as fully as they were encouraged to. Especially when this place was impermanent, an escape route needed eventually and a way around that blockade trying to keep them from pushing forward. 

All of it leaves her unable to settle in the offered beds, finding a quieter space in the chapel most hours of the day. She’d observed enough to know what times the sisters went for prayer, and it made it a surprise to open the door and find someone already there.

“Sorry. Didn’t expect anyone else in here.” Not when most of their group seemed averse enough to staying in a place like this. Wrought with reminders of a dead religion on the wall. If Zoe had walked willingly through the doors, to no small degree led them here, it didn’t erase that sour taste in her mouth. The unease she felt with the sisters that stayed here, or the idea that god might be protecting them. She didn’t know which was preferable, that these pious women were somehow chosen, while the rest of the world burned. Or the more likely thought; they had made a deal with something worse, and she just couldn’t see it yet. 

Those thoughts are too prevalent in her mind, but realization of just how unfamiliar the woman is helps to distract from that for a moment. Despite the thought that she should turn and leave her in peace, Zoe hesitates for a moment. “You joined us at the Ikea, right?”

Zoe’s face is only vaguely familiar. Lynsey remembers her as a blur in a hall mostly. Not really spending much time speaking to anyone or lingering in any particular place. Despite the fact that everything was dead and Lynsey couldn’t really see the need to rush anywhere anymore, Zoe always seemed like she had somewhere to be. Like she had purpose. She’d have been lying if she said that wasn’t something she ached for nowadays. 

“It’s fine, just...talking to myself, I guess.It’s so easy to go stir crazy in this place.” After an uncomfortable glimpse at the podium, Lynsey swallows and turns in her seat to give the other woman more direct attention, leaning forward on her forearms on the back of the pew. Instinctively, she feels hesitance when Zoe asks that question, but she isn’t sure why. It’s not like it was a secret. Maybe she just didn’t like remembering what a spectacle she made. She messes with the long sleeves of her dark shirt. 

“Yeah. I hope it’s alright that I tagged along--I mean, I keep hearing it is. I don’t really know what to do with myself otherwise.”

[lynsey-ziegler]

Lynsey hated what she was about to do. With every fiber of her being, she hated it, to the point where she actually felt some natural resistance to every step forward she took right up until she reached the doors to the monastery’s chapel. This was the room they used for morning service back when the world was whole, or so she’d been told. 

Little pews sat in rows in front of a small, empty podium. There was a large, adorned cross on the wall behind it, as well as scattered around the other walls and windows here. It was a small space but far from private, each wall mostly made up of large windows that looked out into the garden. But there was no one she could see outside. So, after a moment of looking around, she stepped forward and took a seat in one of the front-most pews, staring at the cross on the wall with heavy focus, playing with her own fingers above her knees.

“...’you there, mom? Dad,” she added him in seconds later. She thought about asking after her siblings as well, but didn’t quite have the energy (or the stomach) to name each one of them individually. Only Sadie, the only one of them who reveled in the conservatism of their upbringing. For a while, Lynsey’s quiet. This feels like a joke, but one she has to go through with anyway. How much longer could she leave it, knowing she’s probably never see them again, living or dead?

“Can you see me?”

Whatever she was trying to do was interrupted by the sound of the door pushing back open behind her. Lynsey looked to it with a start but forced herself to relax moments later, unsure whether she was annoyed or grateful to have been interrupted. 

[lynsey-ziegler]

jaemacleod‌:

“no… not really.”

he admits, turning slightly with what he can muster of a smile to greet the woman.  it’s not the usual ‘full force’ illuminating grin - definitely more freaked out by the place, the surroundings and those shades skittering across his vision beyond.  he’s also well aware that the words were for his own benefit - something to persuade himself that they might be a little free’er of the creepy that was constantly snapping at their heels with just about every step.  he’s not terribly convincing and she hits upon his lie with ease.

“but it’d be nice to think so.  mostly i think that there’s something out there that would like to eat my face, suck my soul out of my body, or gnaw the marrow out of my bones… like a tasty human scooby snack.”

his nose wrinkles along with the verbal and the mental image it conjures.  he’s not terribly averse to churches.  doesn’t mind them at all.  because mostly they were just buildings where people went to do their own thing and more power to ‘em.  but in this case, with the added creep-factor of – nuns – he feels as though there’s a lot more judgement floating around in the air… a judgement beneath the scrutiny of which he’d be found extremely wanting.

“…and on that joyously eerie note… uh, hi.”

shaking off the creepy feeling to the best of his ability - attempting to normalise ( in so much as the concept of normal didn’t really exist anymore - and in jaes case, probably hadn’t been there in great quantities before ).  one hand is thrust out with enthusiasm, his smile finally making an appearance.

“i’m jae.  it’s super nice to actually meet you.”

he means that.  every new person that joined them was one less person – dead… out there.  

“what about you?  what do your instincts say?”

Jae’s grin isn’t returned, but there’s no real reason behind it. Lynsey opts for a more subtle, straight face sort of way of entertaining the other’s presence. She leans against the nearest surface as a way of advertising her commitment to stay, for now, and blinks at the other man as he begins to explain his thought process. Be nice to think so.

She just hums, uncertain. Ignorance couldn’t be bliss anymore, there was no way. Maybe she just thought that because of her fear of being caught off-guard again, but Jae smiles like a man who doesn’t worry about those things. Only he’s far less marked up than she is, at least at first glance. Lynsey wondered which one of them was wiser in the end.

Lynsey really only ruffles as Jae starts to go on and on with his analogy, graphic descriptions of being eaten. She’d have been fine with just the first bit. But he colors it different each time he speaks and gives her mind more than enough time to wander back to that dismal cellar, remember how it felt to have strong jaws bite down on her body. Disconcerted, she reaches up to rub the back of her neck but even that gesture sours, her fingertips slotting into the deep, pocketed scars that dot her skin, reminding her of their tenderness. She picks her eyes up off the floor when he breaks off to greet her. 

“You too. I’m Lynsey.” Swallowing, Lynsey straightens her back to take his hand, shaking it noncommittally, the most she could give at the moment. “Why is it ‘super nice’?”

She’s reluctant to answer the question about her own instincts, if only because she’s not sure she has them. Or that they’re worth trusting yet. “...I don’t know. I don’t really trust anybody. Not until they give me a real reason to.” She pauses. “And I don’t like being told where I can and can’t be.”

[lynsey-ziegler]

Do you believe in God more or less because of the current state of the world?

“I never really believed. If I did, I certainly didn’t believe in any kind of intervention. God doesn’t factor in unless He starts doing something about it. I won’t hold my breath.”

[lynsey-ziegler]

jaemacleod‌:

Jae isn’t super sure what’s creepier.  Wandering into that monolith aways back, or into the church right now.  Nuns and god and all that stuff.  It was all a bit too much Exorcist and not enough Sister Act for his liking.  Sometimes he feels like he’s on some kind of invisible like – one step in either direction and he’s dropped into hell, or flung into heaven.  He’s not sure which might be worse.  Two sides of a coin and he’s treading the edge.  But the fact remained… It was the same freaking coin.

He’s not about to poop all over anyones philosophy or beliefs.  Nor is he going to refuse the generous invitation.  But he doesn’t necessarily have to agree with them… Or particularly like it.  He kinda feels as though he’s had gooseflesh prickling his skin ever since he stepped foot in the place.  

Which is why he’s set himself to one side.  Nose to the window, looking out on the bleak landscape beyond.  And yeah, he’s fairly sure there are things moving out there.  A flicker here.  A shade there.  

“Probably the wind.”

It’s just a small mutter.  A casual musing.  As though saying it out loud might actually help him to believe his own thoughts.  

…Probably.

Lynsey had never been religious. Her parents had been; didn’t stop them from doing whatever they wanted, mind you, but then, maybe that’s why she’d always inherently distrusted it. Saying you had faith didn’t say anything about what you were capable of. Considering what the world looked like now, she was even less likely to give someone the benefit of the doubt. Including the sisters. 

She’d been getting used to things as they were, as strange a concept as that seemed mere weeks ago. The whole scrounging around thing in particular had come to her easier than she thought, a skill she accredited to muscle memory growing up with so many siblings, and even her time as an intern among sharks. Everything else was easier, too--for the opposite reason. She expected nothing from anything, incapable of forgetting the events that had happened to her over the last year and a half. The sisters smiled at them, extended providence. Lynsey never trusted them, not even once. 

She glances at Jae when he speaks, or mumbles, really. And though she herself hadn’t noticed anything, what she found more interesting was how unwilling he seemed to admit out loud that something had bothered him. She blinked.

“You should go with your instincts. ‘That what they really say? Wind?”

[lynsey-ziegler]

theprofane:

“vampire?”

a guess at the notion of ‘things’, at least given their tendency to hoard food when it was scarce - that, and the placement of those dressings over what might be rather fresh wounds.  and people were more scarce than ever.  it would be a rather delicate irony that the end of the human race also meant the end of the species that thrived upon their lifeblood.

“you’re lucky to be here.”

there’s a moment pause - a small consideration, wondering at the manner of escape.  had it been a rescue?  a chance opportunity taken?  something else?

“are they dead?”

the captors.  the ‘things’ the woman referred to and then lost the stomach to speak of.  if not - it might be a good idea to know where she’d come from, and if there was anything on her tail.  or - it could just be a jaunt to make sure that they didn’t capture, or hold captive, anyone else.

however - at the next trail of words, the next questions and comments falling hot on the heels of that revelation… it’s abundantly clear that - no, she’s not lying and yes, she’s completely out of touch with the state of the world as it is now… almost a year later.  perhaps there’s a moment where she attempts to school her face into something other than astonishment - it probably doesn’t work very well.  

“is dead.  government is dead.  armies are dead.  everyone is dead - apart from monsters and us.  a few others, here and there.  is no ‘pushback’.  are no ‘rations’.  is no ‘squatting’.  is only survival now.  kill monster.  stay alive.  is about as complex as it gets.”

perhaps she’d believe her.  perhaps she wouldn’t.  it wouldn’t change the fact that it was true.   and that truth would make itself known soon enough.  it was hard, it was brutal, but so was the world.  and the quicker one came to terms with that, the better chance there was for staying alive.  besides, if she’d survived that captivity - she was strong.  maybe even strong enough to keep on surviving.  a thoughtful moment to follow, turning back to the bike and reaching her hand down one side - drawing a leather sheaved knife from it’s storage, flipping it in the sturdy cover to offer the hilt.

“no sit waiting for help to come - it won’t.  take this.  help self.”  

Vampire. A ridiculous word, one Lynsey had all but refused to use even if it seemed...applicable, at the time. It was almost cozier to believe the people, creatures, things that held her were just humans out of their minds, or brainwashed into acting like the beasts of legend everyone knew. Dascha, however, dropped the name so casually that Lynsey just had to dip her head in a nod, blinking, empty hand finding her own elbow and holding it. Then she laughs a little, dryly and entirely devoid of humor when the other woman says she’s lucky to be here.

“I don’t think so. I don’t think I’m lucky at all, really,” she says almost smugly, eyelids cast low as she stares between Dascha’s feet. When the next question comes, she casts them lower, wringing her hands. “One, I...stabbed over and over with a steak bone I’d sharpened. I thought it was dead, but I was chased. Maybe I only got one, maybe I didn’t get it at all. I thought if I could just get into the city...it’d be over. I could go home.”

She picks her head up to stare at the desolation around them, the information she’d just been given making it clear that it was all much wider than she could even see. The other woman’s next words confirm it. Whatever had happened in those first few days, it had to have been...monumental. She can’t even picture it, as if her heart refuses to let go of the peace that used to exist, that she still felt should. This chaos and emptiness was just so alien. 

Lynsey doesn’t even know what to say. Or if she can speak. The gravity of it all is boundless, her hopes snatched out from under her along with what feels like her stomach. Before she can even find her tongue again, the stranger is handing her a serious-looking knife, to the point and blunt as she’s always been.

‘Help self’. It was almost funny. How on Earth could she help herself with only this? No knife could bring back what she wanted. Lynsey grit her teeth in a conflicted, devastated grin and reached out to take it. “How?” She asked, emotion getting the better of her. “What’s the point? If everything’s gone, why even bother?” 

[lynsey-ziegler]

beastxfprey:

Despite his hopes, it’s not a challenge. The things trailing after the woman, and he can’t tell if they’re the undead, or just something close, aren’t fast enough or mean enough. The moment she’s gone, he’s pulling on shadows, the overcast state of the sky above them just making it easier to slip through them. Knives ripping through flesh and muscle, spilling more red across the grass. A body kicked aside before he moves to the next, and if there’s a rush of adrenaline just from how much crimson is left staining his fingers afterwards, some part of him feels like it isn’t enough.

It’s every hit after the first, the sensation that it’s not quite as thrilling or as fulfilling as he wants it to be. He’s faced down a bigger beast than these, and nothing about it stands up to how he felt with his fingers twisted in that knotted fear, a monster howling past the blood in its teeth as he sunk his blade into its eye, again and again. Maybe some cruel vengeance for his brother, but more than anything it had been for the thrill of knowing just how dangerous he’d proven himself to be. 

Whatever dull high he gets from this moment, it’s shattered again by a scream. His head lifting, eyes darting back towards the building he’d come from. He can see the two figures on patrol round the corner at that sound, guns at the ready, but the woman isn’t close enough to either of them. And his jaw snaps shut, brow furrowing as annoyance takes the place of bloodlust.

“Hey!“ he calls, no real worry how loud it is when she’s being loud enough for the both of them.

But she’s moving too swiftly in the wrong direction, enough that he can’t say if she heard him or was choosing to ignore him. Either way, his steps are quick as he starts to head in the same direction, shamelessly pulling on that dark power that flooded his veins. Shadows curling around his limbs, stepping through it towards the parking lot. 

He stumbles slightly when his boots find themselves scuffing against pavement instead of grass, a subtle reminder that he didn’t start out as this. It might be a necessary one, because he smears blood across the top of the car when he catches himself. 

“That’s the wrong way,” he calls after her. “You colorblind?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer this time, though there’s a voice in the back of his head that says he should just let her go. Let her run, take off and face whatever else was in front of them by herself. She wasn’t his problem, he didn’t really care what happened to her, but he’d already put this much effort into it, and with a muffled curse he takes another step forward, feeling that pull in his chest as he steps back into the shadows. 

The world gray and cold around him until he’s stepping out in a rush of blackness from the shadow cast by a car in front of her. “Also, you gotta stop fuckin’ screaming.” 

It hurts. Every moment she’s at rest gives Lynsey more time to feel it all, the aching of her shins and the weakness in her knees. It feels like she moves despite her dignity, and her only motivation is that she knows, she still knows that once she reaches the end, she’ll never have to feel anything like it ever again. But she stumbles from right out the gate, when the sharpness strikes through her bones, and she stoops, fists grit against the side of a car, eyes closed and brows tightly knit together. Lynsey urges herself to get up, her sheer concentration making her deaf to the hollering from behind. She huffs, catches her breath, prepares herself for more, and when she pushes up to stand again...he appears.

That’s the only word for it. Her knee only raises a few inches off the ground before it returns as blackness swirls above her, and from out of the shadows that had once laid across the ground, comes the stranger, materializing like some kind of smoky dream, quick and shouting. Only, he isn’t a dream. He’s solid and...dripping, and it’s real and just as terrifying, and Lynsey doesn’t know how to feel about any of it. She just knows he’s bad news. 

“Get away from me,” she curses despite her trembling. But as she watches the shadows wisp around him and slowly retreat back under the car beside them, it kills her panic and replaces it with captivation. He’d done that earlier, hadn’t he. She’d been quick to forget, or try to. But a second time now and she didn’t know if she could, fear be damned. She glances quickly between him and the now-still shadow of the car, as if waiting for it all to move again.

“H-How are you doing that? Are you a...” Lynsey murmurs, straightening her back as she looked the stranger over. Then she looked past him at a shambling shape coming from up the road. Only, there was something...wrong about it. She saw it the longer she stared, how its arms swung as it walked, half-hunched over. Quiet and calm, but staring dead ahead at them, sinew and tendons hanging from its face in place of its jaw. A person, but...

Her eyes snapped back to the bloody stranger and she opens her mouth, but closes it again with teeth, looking conflicted and confused, head shaking on its own. Only now does it hit her how quiet everything is. There’s no traffic at midday. No sirens. No one to come running out to their vehicles at all her screaming. Lynsey slows draws her hands back from the car and stares at the thick layers of dust that have transferred onto her palms. Blinks at them hurriedly, then looks up to the bloody man again, giving in to the exhaustion in her legs as she sits back on them. 

Her eyes flutter and her tone softens as she frowns, exhausted in more ways than she thought possible, and frustrated with it all. “What’s going on?”

[lynsey-ziegler]

theprofane:

so this is what it’s come down to.  she’s a substitute for google.  fantastic.

“july… 8th or 9th or 10th… close to anyway.”

“and… somewhere in Baltimore.”

not that either of those things in particular made a difference - at least not as far as dascha was concerned.  she hopes they’re more meaningful to the woman than they are to her.  it doesn’t matter ‘when’, it doesn’t matter ‘where’.  all that matters is ‘here’ and ‘now’.  the specifics of those were interchangeable.  any date, any location, the world was still the same sorry state with swathes of hell risen attempting to obliterate anything ‘human’.

the last few items fit snugly into the pack, dash picking it up and lacing it back into place before pushing back to her feet and turning to get a better look at ‘twenty questions’ ( or, three, up to now, but she gets the feeling there is more to come ).

“i no see your face before.  you stumble upon by accident or were you already here…?”

a small spin of one finger indicating the few discernable buildings around, wondering if perhaps she might have been hiding or watching the groups arrival.  she wouldn’t blame her for keeping a low profile either way.  large groups bore a swathe of uncertainties - of risks that not everyone was about.

“is no much matter – is…”

perhaps it’s the first admittance of this to herself as well as this new person –

“…good peoples.”

Baltimore. Not far. Midsummer. She could have guessed from the heat but it was still good to have some kind of idea of how much time had passed, though for some reason, the answer made her feel icy inside. To think she’d spent so many months locked in with them. Bled by them. To think she survived, on what felt like scraps. It’d be a miracle, if she believed in such things. Sighing haggardly, Lynsey nodded, thankful for Dascha’s promptness. She was working her way up to another question but it seemed the woman had a few of her own. Oversharing always made her uncomfortable in social settings but...in this case, it was better to be honest. Lynsey crossed her arms over her middle, rolling her shoulders. 

“Stumbled is a good word for it.” She said with a hint of revulsion in her voice. It was still hard to believe what she’d seen upon reaching their doorstep. So much blood. So much...noise, she wishes she could forget. 

“Since this all started I’ve been locked away. These things kept me and...” She shook her head. It was too disgusting to put a word on. It was an entirely separate miracle she hadn’t died of infection with the amount of times those things sunk their teeth into her directly. Her bandages bugged her, and not only the visible ones, wrapped around her throat and wrists. But she wasn’t looking forward to the day she could take them off, either, and finally see the full picture of what was left behind from all that abuse. 

Lynsey reluctantly nodded in agreement when Dascha appeared to indicate that the people around them were...good. As violent as her arrival had been, she had to admit, she agreed. 

“All things considered, yeah...I feel awful that you’ve had to hold out for so long in these conditions. Six whole months just squatting? It’s ridiculous.” She sniffed and squinted back out into the wastes, getting her wits about her enough to start breaking down the greater problem. “What’s the government response been? Rations, outposts--? There had to have been some kind of pushback.”

[lynsey-ziegler]

wesley-kelley:

Wes didn’t really think beyond getting the woman to safety. She’s confused and tired and that’s a universal feeling nowadays. His only focus right now is that he doesn’t jostle her too much. She’s shouting for some sort of answer but now’s not the time, “"Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he ducks his head so he won’t have to shout for her to hear, talking down right by her head against his chest. Wes throws a look back at him. The bodies drop as bullets rain down.

The last few creatures are far away enough that those on patrol just have to wait for them to get closer. At the very least they’re no problem for Wes and this mystery woman. He slows down from a run to a steady jog. Safe or not, he’ll only breathe a true sigh of relief once they’re inside and she’s sat down.

What’s… she begins and Wes spares a glance down her way. Looking around where he gaze goes, he assumes it’s confusion about all the cars. Maybe not everyone had come across such big groups of survivors. Her grip tightens on his shoulders and he holds himself a little stiffer beneath her. The adrenaline’s wearing off and he’s suddenly aware of what the fuck he’s actually done.

Dumb ass.

“Uh it’s…“ he begins with a frown, looking back again then ahead at the IKEA’s entrance. The question’s so sad and small he doesn’t know what to do with it. Then she’s right up at shouting and yelling in a panic. Shifting in his grip it feels like he’s suddenly holding a cat or some other freaked out animal trying to bolt.

“Fucking hell, lady, c’mon –” he starts straight away with annoyance when he comes to a sudden abrupt stop not wanting to drop her or anything. The last few monsters have been picked off. The bullets trickle down to a stop in the background. One or two fires after long pauses. He’d still rather do this inside but he can give himself a second to calm her.

“Hey,” he says firmly to get her attention, after a pause he says it more gently, “Hey. You’re safe, now. C’mon, look at me?” It seems like the right thing to say. So he goes with it. “It’s safe inside. Got a big group of people. All real nice.” There’s still fingers holding on tight and he… doesn’t know if he has to, like, ask her to let go or anything so he… starts walking again and keeps talking in the hopes it’ll keep her calm or at least quiet, “There’s a shit tonne of beds and sofas and shit in there, yeah? Let’s just… get you inside, yeah?”

The stranger slows like there’s no longer a need to run, but Lynsey’s heart is still beating damn near out of her chest. Rounds go off around them and she flinches every time, instinct pressing her closer into the chest of her carrier in fear of more pain, more attacks. He looks at her like she’s crazy. She desperately wants not to be. But she doesn’t understand who any of these people are, and thought it would be easier to tell friend from foe.  Her only anchor is the fact that this man, while still a mystery himself, speaks to her in a hush, defusing her panic as it comes. She isn’t making it easy.

Even after her rescue, Lynsey’s reluctant to extend her trust much farther. But she wants so badly for the whole ordeal to be over. To rest in a safe place and heal. The stranger seems to offer that as he steadies her, walking slowly. She decides to trust him but the fear is still so potent that she can’t help but stare obsessively ahead as if expecting to see the monsters that held her waiting just inside. There’s so much aching, so much blood on her. She just needed it to stop. 

“Please, leave me alone...” No more.

Distressed, Lynsey sobs quietly, making somewhat of a scene as she lets the man carry her into the department store.

[lynsey-ziegler]

beastxfprey:

It doesn’t occur to him to wonder whether he looks better or worse than the remains at his feet, red flecking his skin, the taste of something metallic on his tongue. 

The second he takes to actually look at her probably answers the question for itself. Which is good, when she can’t seem to offer one swiftly enough, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping his fingers at her, a quiet voice in the back of his head reminding him she’s not the enemy. If anything she looks all too fragile and human, tattered and lost, like most of them have been at one point or another.

A better question is how much of the blood on her actually belonged to her, the lifting of a brow the only sign he gives of just how startling the damage is, the moment it starts to sink in. But he doesn’t ask where it came from, likely he doesn’t need to when it’s clear enough what she’s running from. And the answer he gets is good enough.

“They won’t.” There’s a quickly flashed smile, even if there’s little that’s truly kind about it. And the words aren’t for her benefit, just like the blood on his hands isn’t to save her. If anything that feels like a pleasant side effect, the kind of thing he can tell himself to make it all go down a little bit easier when he has to think about it later. Like some shield he can hold up to defend himself against the idea that there’s slowly becoming less of him, replaced by something monstrous.

None of the thoughts register now, attention shifting away from her and back towards the treeline. Figures slipping past the edge of it, but there’s no shortage of confidence that he can stop whatever’s coming after her. It might even be a challenge.

His hand lifts, the knife raising, but it’s only to point it past her head. “Blue building. Full of Swedish furniture and bigger guns. You can make it that far, can’t you?”

There’s no relief to be found when he smirks at her. If nothing else makes sense, Lynsey understands immediately that he’s less enthused about helping her and more excited that more would be coming, like some kind of wildman, as bloodthirsty as the creatures that had held her for so long. He raised his arm and she flinched, peeling her eyes back open as he laid out what he expected her to do, the implication clear that he wouldn’t be following. 

Lynsey glanced at the building he spoke of, obviously an IKEA, then back to him, taking several sore, slow steps backwards, distrustful of that knife and of him. The stranger asks her if she can make it. Lynsey just nods cautiously. In the end, even if her legs were killing her, she had to take this chance to get further away from what threatened her. She’d run until they gave out if she had to.

The stranger stays behind. Lynsey glances at him several times to make sure as she runs at a stunted pace towards the building he identified. Bigger guns, he’d said. If that was supposed to put her at ease, it didn’t. As Lynsey reached the back parking lot, she didn’t immediately make a break for the doors, instead keeping her head down, repeatedly looking back the way she’d come while keeping an eye out for what was ahead. Then she spotted others. Armed, all of them that she could see, close to the entrance and beyond it. And she started to panic. Were they really safe to approach; were they his? Would they turn around and imprison her again--was it possible that they were the same as those that had hurt her for the last several months? 

Lynsey grit her teeth and started to run, back out into the front parking lot, away from the IKEA rather than further into it. The cars made it difficult, not to mention her feet, sensitive to every little pebble that hit her irritated soles. Still, she ran, desperate to live, to escape, to return to the civility she knew, the world she’d fought for--

As she made her way around the front of another car, Lynsey tripped over something and fell hard, grunting loudly as the asphalt skinned her knee, fingers flying immediately to press over that sting. She rolled on her hip, looking back down towards her feet, and froze as she realized it was a body, cold and grey, the back of its skull open like a cordial cherry, shot clean through. Another despairing scream forced itself out of her throat. This nightmare was so much larger than she thought it was. 

Lynsey fought through the pain to get back to her feet, now limping and relying on the frame of the cars as she hurried to try and get out of the parking lot, gritting her teeth and sobbing dryly as she caught the sight of the occasional skeleton still sitting in driver’s and passenger’s seats, all likely victims of the same people. If she could just get across that road and into the city...

[lynsey-ziegler]

wraithofthewasteland:

She merely hums her confirmation, pairing the sound with a nod at the question. It doesn’t occur to her – at least, not initially – that the wording isn’t quite right. Flipped, maybe. She’s taken her knowledge of the circumstances for granted, it would seem, even going so far as to consider it meager compared to so many of the others. But Lynsey is moving on before she has a chance to properly comprehend it.

“Earthquakes?” she echoes in consideration. Her thoughts drag, falling over themselves in their attempts to keep up with a conversation that seems dotted with missing pieces. “I dunno that I’d say earthquakes, I guess, but something… something like that, yeah.” She tucks her hair behind her ear, scratching absently at her earlobe as she listens.

And those blank spots start to fill in.

“…oh.” It’s all she can say at first, a soft sound as the realizations fall into place. She doesn’t know exactly how quickly it spread from New York, of course, what sort of fallout hit other cities and when, what initial destruction there might have been. But the information Lynsey offers paints what seems, unfortunately, like a clear enough picture. Earthquakes at the start, captivity – she frowns at the thought, tucking it aside for later – and… now. Outside. For the first time since. “So, you don’t-”

She pauses, hesitant. The group has had no shortage of new additions in the past year or so, and as far as she’s seen, most have had some form of an adjustment period – settling into the ins and outs of their daily life, forming even a small sliver of trust in all the others, getting used to being around so many people at all when some of them had been rather solitary. She never considered herself to be part of any unofficial welcoming committee, more prone to keeping to herself and a select few, and doing her work, and letting people who know more about these things do the answering.

Even then, though, newcomers had been getting by out there one way or another, with at least some frame of reference to prepare them for more specific answers. This is… unexpected.

She can’t possibly be suited for this.

“Okay, um.” She pulls her lower lip into her mouth for a brief moment of thought, breathes in softly through her nose, nods. To herself, more than anything. “All this, it- it started in New York, actually. As far as we know. Something called a Hell Gate?” She doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question. And she only pauses for a beat, watching Lynsey’s expression for any flicker of recognition before continuing. “It opened up in the middle of the city. Right in Times Square, I think, just… really sudden, last January. Those earthquakes you got could’ve been from… that, I guess. A few of us found each other, got outta the city eventually. We’ve been on the move since. It’s-”

The rag tightens across her knuckles. She glances down, almost surprised to notice that she’d been twisting it through her fingers all the while, and tucks it into her back pocket, nodding out toward the lot and the desolate landscape beyond. Her tone is soft, but measured, almost regretful, something characteristically apologetic to the way the ends of her sentences seem to drop and drag.

“It’s like this everywhere we’ve been, pretty much. But the further away from New York, the better, it seems like. So. West.”

Interviewers have to be careful. You can’t lose your cool, you can’t escalate the tension, or else you risk everything being upended, losing the sense of trust that made people speak freely. This girl wasn’t an official target but Lynsey still felt herself fighting as her desperation grew volatile and turned into impatience. She could feel Violet trying to be gentle, looking at her and wondering how ‘best’ to say what Lynsey suspected she knew--and everything in her wanted to shout, just tell me. Just...say it. But she didn’t. She tightened her jaw and fidgeted a bit and waited, hinging upon the other woman’s every word. Until finally, the story comes out.

Only, Lynsey can’t follow. “Hell g...” She doesn’t understand, not this bit or the last bit, and fails to put it all together in her head in a way that makes sense. 

“’Last’ January?” She murmurs, and immediately following that, she looks back out into the world. Into the desolation. She’s taking steps, just a few, just to take her out from under the awning, and she scans every building on the horizon, every beached car. 

It’s like this everywhere we’ve been, pretty much.

“What about the people?” Lynsey asks, blinking. “What about the...” She starts stammering to come up with an excuse, some rational solution that should have happened but obviously didn’t. “--military?” Lynsey spins to look at Violet again, now calling for answers that the girl probably didn’t have. But someone had to, someone... 

Looking back out, she wraps one arm around her middle and presses the knuckles of her opposite hand to her lips, a gesture of both overthinking and anxiety. She thinks about it all, the silence, the ragtag band of survivors behind her, the things that had kept and chased her and the men who’d killed them. Without scruples or hesitation. She’d thought them all anomalies. Were they actually the norm? 

Lynsey stays staring outward, rummaging through the memories of everything she’d cherished before, that she’d thought she could return to as long as she was alive. What was it for? What had she suffered for, killed for? 

"No.” She says, and before she can even think about it, she’s walking again. The girl has to be wrong. Or tricking her. Or lying. She has to see for herself. 

[lynsey-ziegler]

wraithofthewasteland:

It’s a good thing, she knows, that nothing’s wrong. So she tries not to read too much into the sad tone. Far be it from her to raise a brow at any sort of subdued demeanor, after all. Especially in these circumstances. She looks out across the parking lot, glances toward the entrance of the building, absentmindedly wiping her palm against her hip as the woman mentions wanting to talk to somebody who knows more. There are others who know a great deal more than her, of course, but she might not be entirely incompetent.

“'Course, yeah,” she murmurs, then, nodding and directing her attention more fully toward the other woman as she stands. Though it’s… not the sort of question she was expecting, exactly, and she blinks, mildly taken aback by the open-endedness of it. She hesitates for just a moment longer, turning the words over in her mind, trying to figure out if there’s some meaning behind them that she’s missing.

“Well, I was, um- I was up in New York when it happened, same as some of the others, so I don’t really know what happened… here, I guess.” Nothing entirely out of the ordinary, as far as she’s seen – the area’s abandoned and overgrown, but seems safe enough, all things considered. Very few surprises hiding in the shadows. She rubs softly at the side of her neck, looking toward the building once again. Living like… this. Should she know what that means? “We… don’t usually stay in one place for too long. Couple weeks, maybe, but we’re hoping to get further out west, see if it’s safer.”

Violet seems as confused in hearing that question as Lynsey is having to ask it. The two of them just look at each other for a beat but the other woman is actually pretty diligent in her answer, even if there are holes there that only raise bigger questions.

“New York?” Lynsey muses quietly. “It went that far?” She didn’t know what she expected, but hearing that this group had actually originated such a long way away, well...it didn’t bode well. She felt her fists tighten in denial but swallowed it down rather than speak on it. Violet had no reason to lie. And even more than that, Lynsey didn’t feel she was, even as she painted a scary picture about the need to keep moving, a need to find somewhere safe.

She threw a doubtful side glance back out into the world, face puckering a bit more in discomfort as she crossed her arms and tried to find something they could both testify to. But it was harder than it should have been. So much of Lynsey’s brain was a blank space. The repeated blackouts that broke up any sense of time or place she might have riddled out now made it difficult for her to remember specifics, anything that existed outside of that room.

“I remember...earthquakes. But I’m from D.C.--did you feel them there, too?” She asks. Even the memory of that was gone as soon as it had arrived. Lynsey remembers the feeling of the crowds growing dense around her. Losing her footing, slowing down, pummeled by bodies too tightly packed to notice or care. Then endless, endless darkness. For so long, she thought escaping that room meant escaping the things that held her. She raised her hand to gently stroke the side of her throat, wrapped up cleanly in bandages from the care they had here.

“I was held captive for a long time. I want to say...by cultists, judging from their response when I escaped. The day your friends found me was the first time I’ve been outside since then.”

[lynsey-ziegler]

theprofane:

the pile of ‘stuff’ is dumped onto the ground as she reaches the bike, leaning down to flip that discrete switch on the booby trap beneath the pack and roll strapped to the back before lifting it free and setting it down, unlacing the straps to fill any available space with the goods she’s gathered.

however - the voice arrives with a question after all - and… yes, it’s a stupid one.  closing her eyes for just a moment, she takes a slightly deeper breath.  patience might be a virtue, but for those who spent their lives immersed in sin, it was perhaps more of a struggle.  no, she’s not leaving ( yet ), she’s loading supplies - they won’t stay here forever.  

( unacknowledged is that use of ‘they’.  creeping into her thoughts.  ‘they’ won’t stay here forever.  not ‘i’.  )

she starts packing, trying to place things in the pack so as to take up as little space as possible - but it doesn’t require such focus that she can’t spare the woman a glance, turning to look up at where she hovered, lingering on the periphery as though there’s some invisible line that she can’t cross –

“you said you had questions.  i no think that was one of them.  so, what is thing you really want to ask?”

Lynsey would be ashamed to admit the relief she felt when the other woman made no move to actually get on the bike, just slowly set about strapping things to it. She obviously held no attachment to this place, other than the fact that it was ‘safe’ and ‘known’, and therefore so much better than where she’d been. But the implication that they would eventually be leaving made Lynsey wonder what would become of her afterwards, and to her surprise, she was actually dreading thinking about it. As if she already knew she had little to no choice in her life even now. 

Dascha’s words seemed a little harsh. She looked at Lynsey like she already expected something, promptness maybe, but the blonde didn’t know how anyone could possibly process all this any faster than she was. It made her fear the answers she wanted, that this woman would certainly give her without hesitation or buffer. Lynsey slipped one hand around her opposite elbow and swallowed, trying to get back on track and get to it, already.

“Alright...can you tell me what the date is today?” And another thing. She looked around them, past them, trying to focus on the skyline and not the floor. “And where we are?”

[lynsey-ziegler]

theprofane:

there’s no mistaking the heavy thud of boots as she walks out of the store, arms loaded with what have been deemed ‘useful’ supplies.  she still doesn’t consider herself part of this group - and hasn’t really gotten the impression that anyone else thinks otherwise.  it’s simply an arrangement of ‘existing within the same space’ as far as she can tell, so if she’s to keep on surviving, then she’ll have to make sure that those essentials are accounted for. 

but there’s a voice - and following it, something of an internal sigh - an unseen eyeroll, half turning to take in the owner of said voice.  new face.  not someone she’d seen loitering around before, and she’s fairly sure she has a handle on most of those faces now.  some of those faces seemed to be a jolly mask over soul crushing stupidity too… there’s only the vaguest hope that this one wouldn’t be.

“da, as long as you can keep up.”

a shrug and she keeps going.  no time to sit and idle and no reason to stop what she’s doing to answer.  one finger points from beneath the bundle, indicating the direction where most of the vehicles, including her bike, have been parked up.

“this way.”

The woman stops, but only for a second. Lynsey gets the impression that Dascha feels far too busy to have to deal with her, but she’d never have gotten anywhere in life if all she did was take hints. So she stands up, lacking the confidence and pride she used to have but still feeling that spark, that drive, that incessant need to get answers. Only, that shrivels when the woman actually speaks.

As long as you can keep up.

Instinctively, Lynsey’s brows twitch inward and she’s suddenly left staring at Dascha’s back again as she continues walking, arms full of supplies. The statement worries her, but she looks around and slowly follows, stepping carefully across the parking lot, her anxiety growing the further away she gets from the doors. It’s just so ugly out here. Lynsey had never been a timid girl but she frowns when she sees where they’re going. She stops several feet behind. 

“Wait...are you leaving?” 

[lynsey-ziegler]

wesley-kelley:

They’ll get through the parking lot, past the patrol lot who could shoot the things, and Wes can get this woman settled down inside. Get her bearings, get through the usual politeness.

The thoughts derailed when she comes to a stop. Her words are barely there, the sobs more audible than her words but he gets the gist of it. She reaches out for him and nearly misses she’s so exhausted. Unsteady on her feet and, now he looks at her properly, he realizes she’s woefully unprepared. No supplies. No weapons. Not even a bag. Nothing but the clothes on her back.

Wes could outrun them. He looks back to watch them, the way they pick through the growing rubble and cars show how little they care for themselves. Most people could outrun them. One of the creatures has picked up the pace. Sprinting ahead of the others. Limbs flying fast and loose, like it’s not sure how to move its own body let alone its limits.

“Ah fuck it,” he says to himself. Wes turns to her, a steady grip on both her shoulders to hold her upright, a gentle squeeze to tell her to wait, “Give me a sec.” 

The other creature lunges forward and so does Wes. It’s fucking dumb going so near its teeth but he’s doing it. In one fluid movement, he’s grabbing the sides of its head, turning around and slamming its jaw into the sharp edge of a car. It’s not dead, just flops to the ground and groans before Wes smashes a boot down onto the back of its head into the ground.

The violence doesn’t sink in. Not properly. Wes only grins at it. He is getting more creative with these things. He can’t appreciate it for long cause his attention snapping back over to the others stumbling towards them. Reckless and stupid don’t matter anymore ‘cause it’s fun to run at the thing he should be running from. But there is the woman to think of. The woman who looked ready to drop any second.

The patrol lot take some of them out. There’s more reluctance in that thought than Wes knows what to do with. 

“Sorry, darlin’,” he says, there’s no time to ask so she’ll have to make do with his help. He moves her arm up around his neck, while his own arm holds her tight across the back and supporting as much of her weight as he can.  supporting as much of her weight as he can. Which as he starts going walking lopsided they’re only slowed down even more.

… He could take all of her body weight.

“I’m real sorry darlin’.” 

And with that, he scoops her up properly and breaks out into a much faster run across the parking lot.

Give me a sec.

The stranger bounds forward between her and one of the raving lunatics that’s after her. It was a short relief, a tiny disconnect from the part of her that was already feeling those hands on her, before the blonde man spun and slammed the other man into the car next to them. Lynsey flinched hard at the sound of flesh and bone breaking against aluminum, shoulders drawing together and hands hovering together over her mouth in shock. When the stranger brought his heel down on the thing’s skull, she makes sure not to look.

Not that it matters. The situation rapidly becomes worse as even more people, even those she hadn’t realized had been following her, burst from the trees. Suddenly, there are shots ringing out from the distance, bodies are falling, and the stranger is running at her again, pulling her arm over his broad shoulders in a way that makes her wince, if only because the pressure irritates some untreated pricks from before. In no time flat, she’s being swept into his arms and he’s running, sprinting, into the parking lot. Lynsey gasps, watching their pursuers continue to run blindly forward, no matter how many of their side fall, dead and injured, to the ground.

“W-Who’s shooting?!” Lynsey shouts above the chaos, her hands gripping the stranger wherever they’ve fallen. The bouncing hurts but she doesn’t notice, just stares over his shoulder as every obstacle to her freedom falls out of play. She dips her head just in case, then turns her head to look in the same direction as they man carrying her, sees the others in the distance firing off. And then she sees the rest of it, past them, around them.

“What’s...” She squints in heavy confusion at the silhouettes of destruction around them, everything looking muted, grey, dead, quiet. Her arm tightens around Wes’ shoulders. 

“What is this?” Her voice sounds so pitiful, lost, before everything just folds over into everything else. Her escape, the chase, the blood, the shooting, the months and months expecting things to go one way when someone finally found her. Lynsey barks out panicked sobs when she speaks next, as if demanding an immediate explanation for what’s unfolding around her. “What’s going on?”

[lynsey-ziegler]

wraithofthewasteland:

It seems a parking lot full of cars will always be a vast font of opportunity. And while some of the others may go from car to car in search of viable food, first aid, clothing, Violet’s much more in the habit of checking under the hoods for useful parts to keep on hand. It’s a far cry from the convenience of the police academy and its service garage, of course, but she knows she can’t afford to be quite so picky, quite so spoiled, in these matters.

And today, it’s tires. She managed to find a few not too far from the entrance, tucked away in trunks and kept safer from the elements than her other options. And the past few hours were spent lugging them out, rolling them across the asphalt, to replace the ones on their own vehicles that had been worrying her.

It’s satisfying work, just like all the rest, but it leaves her arms aching as she finally wraps up, her clothes mussed and dusty and her hands layered with all matter of dirtiness. She wipes at them with a spare rag as she walks back toward the building. Until a voice pulls her from her thoughts of the work she’d still like to get done in the garden later, and she pauses, twisting the rag absentmindedly around her thumb as she zeroes in on the source.

“Oh, um-” She doesn’t know the woman’s name - only that she’s a very recent addition, and that she seems to have kept to herself for the most part. Violet can certainly understand the impulse. She tosses a glance behind her, mostly to confirm that there’s nobody else nearby the question might have been aimed toward, before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Something wrong?”

Something wrong?

Lynsey just tensed a cheek, neither a smile nor frown. She simply didn’t know yet, though from the destruction in front of them, she could guess. But Lynsey’d had enough of guessing. Enough imagining from her own narrow point of view, what kinds of things were happening around her. She needed answers, and though she tried to remain polite for the sake of the girl next to her, the thought of spending a single minute longer in ignorance was almost too much to bear.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” she admitted sadly. It seemed so fake. Of course everything was wrong, the sheer magnitude of how the world looked even from this parking lot, all of it was wrong, none of it was fine. But the people inside all walked and talked and ate and laughed like all was well, so. She supposed it was.

“I was just hoping to speak with someone who knows more about all this.” Lynsey had never had a problem with speaking to or questioning others; call it interrogation, but all those were skills she’d sharpened for the sake of her career, the one driving force in her life up to this point. She was proud of it, proud of her education, her craft, her dream. It felt a little bit like waking out of a coma to find someone close to her had died. All that was left to do was find out where exactly the grave was.

Standing up, Lynsey deliberately avoided taking one more look out into that desolate field of beached cars, entwining her fingers thoughtfully as she turned to face the other woman. “Truthfully, I haven’t really...” A huff. She wasn’t even sure where to start. “I don’t understand anything about what I’m seeing. What’s happened to this city? Why are you all living like this?”