I can bury and build.

Murphy 'Mouse' Biermann. 27. Frontier Guard. Written by Cai for Fiddler's Green. We are only here today not because what does not kill us makes us stronger, but because what does not kill us does not kill us.

[mousebiermann]

joel-biermann​:

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON || joel & mouse

Mouse knows to immediately backtrack; so Joel does not need to comment on that dumb fuckin’ joke. Won’t waste his breath on that.

“Allies. First one’s out, first stop,” Joel grits out the second part. Mouse should know this. Every one of the guards should. It stops them wasting time. Any guards passing by will see Mouse and Joel, and move up to the next ‘weak’ spot. Joel never called it that out loud, but he knows where the worst spot for a breach could be. It’s all he does day in and day out. Imagine the worst case scenario, figure out how to decrease death counts if the worst happens. Rarely does he exercise any sort of optimism.

Given damn near every adult in the place is currently crowded at the end of Allies, they better get a fucking move on. “Where’s your gun?” Joel calls back, he hadn’t seen Mouse get it out, which he assumes means he wasn’t carrying, “I fuckin’ told you! Always. Carry.”

.

When Joel grits out the obvious choice, Mouse feels like he could smack himself in the head. Of course, he should know this, he’s talked strategy with his father hundreds of times, he just needs to shut up and do it. His father never was one for answering questions that he’s already answered. And he’s answered these questions. They’ve gone over possibilities like this, talking about worst case scenarios until they were blue in the face. “Yeah, Allies. got it.” Mouse was angry at himself for being so goddamn foolish in front of his father, knowing he expects better.

There was a crowd at the end of Allies, people coming to see if the fences are holding, or running away once they have seen the fences have no electricity, or trying to find loved ones lost in the darkness. “But- I am. I have it.” It was quiet as he slowed down, watching his father run ahead. Mouse paused, staring at his father’s back, at his anger. It was the first time he had seen his father’s famous anger directed at him, and the shame of that combined with his own anger was sharp and painful. He couldn’t figure out what to do with it except funnel it into being better. 

He grabbed the nearest man’s jacket, pushing back further towards the safety of the Triangle. He yelled to address the crowd, projecting his voice. “If you have no business being here, go towards the Tower. If you are defending the fences, find your weapons and ready yourselves. Clear out!” He didn’t stop to actually see if the gathered people followed his directions, but he hurried on to catch up. “Think any of the fences have fallen down?”

[alex-maeson]

Of all the unsavory things going on around her, Valerie settled on watching the strippers. Somehow it felt more sophisticated than gawking at the undead. She could look at the dancers and pretend it was 2002; that she was inside of a swanky club with well-paid and well-pampered dancers. Glamorous women living in a big world. Now her world was small, and she found herself returning to the nightmarish Den. It seemed that humanity evaded their safe zone. 

She gazed at a pretty dancer on the makeshift stage. Her body twirled beneath dim yellow lights. Valerie wondered about the girl’s life before the outbreak. Which of her dreams died when the world fell apart? Did she expect to end up here, stripping to please the soulless audience staring at her? It wasn’t a sad thought to Val, but curious. She leaned over and spoke to the person beside her. 

“Isn’t she gorgeous? It’s a shame we don’t have dollar bills. I’d love to throw some at her.”

[mousebiermann]

Mouse liked looking at all the life around him. Most of his days were filled with simply killing. Granted, the walkers weren’t alive per se, but the feeling of a spear going though a skull wasn’t much different between someone alive and someone dead, he would think. Mouse tilted his head at that thought, thinking about how most of his life so far had been just killing, not living. But tonight was about living, without a doubt. And there was plenty of living bodies to watch, including one woman who was up on stage, the center of attention.  

Mouse was entranced, watching how her body moved, a thing of perfection. Mouse could understand how such movement could inspire lust, but Mouse could only see the aesthetic beauty in it, especially in a situation like the Den where lust is all that is paraded. The woman next to him was clearly as interested, though Mouse wasn’t sure if she felt the exact same as him.

“Money? That was... What you did? For dancers like her?”

[joel-biermann]

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON || joel & mouse

@mousebiermann​

First there was a flicker. Joel already set his beer down, a shock of panic sobering him up when the lights went out completely. Panic ensued. Of course it did. Those goddamn walkers in their cages seemed louder, roused by the screaming or simply the first sounds he picks up with the adrenaline rush. Joel didn’t waste a second. He probably knocked a stool over as he got up from the bar. Barking orders out—telling Johnson to get off his ass and shut the hell up, for Sosa to round up the others — then, “Mouse! You’re with me!”

Just like that: Joel and Mouse are side by side, running out of the Den together. The gun always on his hips already in Joel’s hand, muscle memory prepping the handgun, expecting Mouse to be doing the same. If he keeps a weapon on hand. He should. “Keep up, kid.”

[mousebiermann]

When the lights flickered and went out, Mouse froze. When the noise rose around him, his mind went silent, lost in a memory he had forgotten. The lights had gone out, and he had froze on the couch, watching the emergency broadcast screen flare and then disappear. The lights went out and he stayed frozen until someone picked him up, staring into the blackness. Now he stood still, careless of the shoving bodies around him. Then a voice more familiar than the arms that picked him up in that memory called out to him and he broke out of it.

It was simple, running next to his father, pulling out his gun when Joel did too. He was lucky he had brought it along. The actions were simple and Mouse could ignore the shaking in his fingers, shrugging it off as adrenaline. “Then go faster, old man.” The lighthearted retort slipped out, even though he knew the situation was dire. “Sorry. Bigelow, Center, or the Allies?” Those were the most serious concentrations of the undead, funneled by those large streets to crash into their fences, which were now devoid of electricity.

[lobitas]

@fiddlersgreenstarters

it had been a long time since neve had really taken the opportunity for any sort of leisure. work at the eastern oregon outpost had become more arduous as their numbers dwindled–specifically for medical staff–and then she’d been on her own. after being inside the golden triangle for the last six months, she’d been eager to prove she was worth the invitation. the den’s offer of festivities seemed like as good an opportunity as any to finally let herself relax. 

several drinks lit a gentle fire in her belly, relaxed in a way that felt so old and faraway from her day-to-day. robocop, with his inky black fur, hung close to her calf–largely unimpressed with the antics of their fellow survivors. he had once been more inclined to react to the living, but after such a long time on the road, he was largely unimpressed with people. 

for the most part, so was neve.

it was a common thing among people in the medical field. especially in smaller communities like this. it wasn’t like portland, before the outbreak, where most of the people she saw were bland and forgettable–lost in the school of fish that commuted by the max or carpooled from bedroom communities. no, in the golden triangle, people usually knew if you were medical. and if folks recognized you, well, they were bound to treat you like you were always on the clock. and here comes one now, neve thought sharply, as dan johnson headed her way–no doubt hoping to ask her about some rash, minor scratch, or other asinine thing she was not in the mood to assess. turning to her neighbor at the bar, she brandished a hopeful smile, mind still humming from a few drinks. “if you can save me from having to look at dan’s mole, i’ll get your next drink.” if they weren’t interested, well, dan was making good time on his beeline towards the both of them. they’d both be trapped in conversation.

[mousebiermann]

Mouse was enjoying this. It was rare for him to go to the Den, he had been told by his fellow Tower dwellers that he should avoid it as he was a ‘nice young man.’ This was usually told to him by the older set, while they encouraged him to socialize with their daughters. Mouse always had to resist rolling his eyes at their thinly veiled and unwelcome matchmaking, but right now his eyes were wide and slightly shocked. Women wildly gyrating on tables, drunk men shouting at each other and trying to be heard over the blasting music. No wonder all the rest of the Guards wanted him to come to the Den, why those in the Tower wanted to ignore it.

He was nursing a beer at the bar, observing the large space. Every once in a while he would let out a laugh at some interaction he could see in the crowd, the most recent a woman slapping a man before charging off with a woman in tow. He didn’t mind being alone in the crowd right now, being the center of a group was sometimes tiring. Mouse went to take another drink and noticed his beer was empty. He turned around, ready to call over the bartender for another when the woman next to him leaned in close with a tight smile and called his attention to the man on a beeline towards them both. 

Dan Johnson. He was a Guard, and Mouse could instantly identify the look in his eye. Dan was always asking him if a certain mark was a developing rash or if a cut was infected. Mouse wasn’t sure how he was a Guard but he supposed the size and strength of the man was a boon for them. “Fuck-” Mouse dropped his head, thumping it lightly against the bar top. “Dan’s gross fucking mole.” Mouse had seen it up close too many times. He glanced at the woman. “Good thing I’m out. You owe me a beer.” He straightened up, heaving a deep sigh. Turning around, his entire demeanor changed, a bright smile and a loud greeting. 

“Dan? Dan! Dan the man! You out here enjoying the festivities too?” His eye caught on a few of his fellow Guards, looking at Dan’s back with varying looks of pity and horror. “How about you talk with the guys and I’ll keep your tab covered, huh?” That shut him up, cutting off his rambling about whatever medical issue was ailing him now. He steered Dan back to them, waving off their calls for him to join them. He knew they were all about to sit through Dan, and he would rather not. 

Fighting through the crowds back to the bar was a struggle, but Mouse made it back. He only now noticed the large dog next to her, remarkably well behaved for the chaotic space. “An hour of mind numbing conversation averted! Now you owe me a beer.” Now he was really observing this woman, and he could vaguely place her. Maybe... Did she reset that finger he couldn’t reduce himself a couple of weeks back? She was a nurse right? Mouse felt a brief flash of shame for not recognizing her before. “I’ve seen you before, right? You’re a nurse!” He smiled at her, this time genuine. “I’m Mouse, uh, Murphy. I don’t think I’ve ever caught your name.”