Reece Matthews

The British...

…I meant it more so as an idea to take out the undead. That’s just.. where my mind is, constantly..

#Ahaha #he get's carried away #but he understands #convo

Well, unless we just want to rig every car we have and just roll them out to the hordes... Not that that would be much use to us as they'd still come in the hundreds and we'd have no vehicles left. It's not like I can blame you though.

Another grease stain... || Reece and Evangeline

One thing about this new world was that it felt like there was nothing to do, or at least a limited amount. Eat, sleep, shower, tinker, repeat. Maybe if he socialised a bit more he'd find he wouldn't be so bored, but he just couldn't bring himself to. He thought of his mates back in England, the things they got up to around the base or even the antics at the local bar. Then there was Kylie, how'd they would just chat or go out, even just doing the housework with her was something.

Here, he'd isolated himself, cut himself off but he couldn't bring himself to get out. There wasn't even a computer to just browse the internet, to waste hours of nothing. He found himself often lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling and thinking. His thoughts were too overwhelming at times, driving him back to the garage simply to escape his thoughts. But there was only so much time you could tweak the same car.

He'd then slink back to his room, wander aimlessly before staring at the dishes that could be washed and the clothes that needed cleaning. While he had no motivation to do anything, even the monotonous motions of scrubbing was better then being consumed by his thoughts for another moment.

It was over too quickly again and he was left looking at his pile of clothes stained with grease. It meant he would have to see Evangeline again to get them sorted, or he was going to be walking around either stark naked or constantly covered in grease. Neither option seemed appealing. So, despite his drained energy he bundled them up into a plastic bag and made his way to the laundry area.

Rapping his knuckles against the wooden door he called out, "Evangeline? You in here? I've just got some more clothes stained with that shitty grease again."

#Para #Evangeline #Grease #washing #he's lonely #torn between wanting to socialise and being a hermit

thehoodooman-deactivated2013121

Guard Duty (Echo Mission) || Kale, Reece, and Charli

Out of all the possible assigned jobs on a mission, guard duty had to be Kale’s least favorite. He was never one for waiting behind and watching everyone else go off to be the heroes while he was left staring down miles of empty streets. He was a soldier after all, not some security guard. He should be the one in there grabbing guns and fucking bazookas, not radio operators and a god damn dog doctor.

Kale watched out the van window as the rest of the team filed into the police station, flipping them all off whenever someone turned around to laugh at his sour expression. “Fuckin’ assholes, I hope they run into zombies", the soldier muttered to himself as he climbed out of the car. He heard the driver mention something about the gasket leaking or broken or something, frankly Kale could really fucking care less as long as it was fixed before they had to leave. “Do what you gotta do man", he said before climbing on top of the van. He set his rifle beside him and groaned as he looked down the empty dark streets.

After ten minutes of staring at empty streets Kale is already bored out of his mind. Pulling out his water bottle, he takes a drink and begins idly twisting the cap. He really needed to have a talk with Morales on why you don’t throw your best soldier on guard duty. Another couple minutes go by and he’s still as bored as he’s ever been, so he switches his gaze towards the one woman out of the three of them left behind. She’s young, gorgeous, and has an ass that doesn’t quit, so he keeps himself entertained for all of five minutes as he checks her out.

After Kale memorizes about every curve on the server’s body, he gets bored again and switches his attention to the driver still tinkering with the van. “Hey, fish and chips!" He shouts before throwing his bottle cap at the driver’s head. The cap bounces off the top of the man’s scalp before rolling onto the road. “You gonna get this thing fixed before they get back?"

#Sorry for the delay!#para #s6echo

These missions, while vital to the general survival of the sector, were the bane of Reece's existence. It meant interacting with people he really didn't have time for, nor could careless about. Even after a handful of missions with them he still didn't really know any of their names; except the one's that really bug him, like the dick head Kale. He was an arrogant prick, who's brain seemed to be run by his penis.

And of course, as luck would have it, Reece was stuck driving and then guarding the vehicle with him and one of the girls he was sure he'd heard was a prostitute. But, he honestly couldn't have cared less what she was, it was her body and if she liked a bit of sex, well that was her choice. He did on the other hand have issues when it came to people's personalities, for which the little tolerance he had was not applicable to.

As for the mission itself, the whole process was monotonous; weapons, ammunition, people, checks, rechecks and then reorganising. Thankfully, it had become sort of routine so, it wasn't long before everything was set and they were heading out. The whole way out was slow with little talking, which suited Reece just fine. His sole purpose was to get the people safely there and back, nothing to it really. Of course, in the back of his mind was the gasket which had broke this morning and he'd fixed but as for it staying that way, well they'd soon find out.

Weaving through a graveyard of cars strewn across the road, he finally pulled the van up near the police station where the others would go and fetch the goods. They all piled out quickly enough, and were soon gone which he was happy about because it meant he could then fix the car in peace, as when he stopped he heard a clunk that the van definitely wasn't meant to make. Damned gasket had cracked again and if it wasn't fixed they weren't going anywhere.

"Fuck, we ain't going anywhere for a bit, shitty van's gaskets broke again." He grumbled, not really to anyone but just so that if Kale was wondering what he was doing, he could at least say he'd told him before. As for the girl, he didn't give a shit. So, grabbing his tools he hoped out and slammed the car door a bit harder than necessary.

Crawling under the underbelly of the vehicle he clearly saw where the replacement he'd made this morning had come loose from the source. It wouldn't take long to fix and was a common problem with these types of vans. But, really how hard was it for the manufacturers to get this ruddy issue sorted from the beginning? Tinkering away he soon had it sorted, as well as a sweaty, grease streaked face.

"Stupid, fucking, shitty van. I bet you've even got that old issued fuse box which will probably fuck us all up just when we need it." Reece spoke aloud to himself as he shimmied out from under the car and lifted the hood. He went through his standard routine first, checking the oil and the brake fluid before coming back to his suspicion of the fuse box. He'd just opened it when something bounced off the back of his head and he heard that dick head's voice. Oh God, and it had been so quiet too... Sighing deeply and trying to keep his frustration out of his voice he replied,

"Fucking hell, yes. Now, go annoy some zombies or something and let me finish."

Okay, maybe he wasn't too well versed in the ways of keeping peace. But, it was hard to even be civil around that guy.

The British...

Ever make a death machine out of an engine?

#Whoops #he's not happy #Convo

What do you think an engine is? One wrong wire, one slight crack and the whole thing can explode. It's like a fuckin' time bomb really. So don't say that because I work with mechanics that aren't intended as 'death machines' doesn't mean they aren't.

The British...

I guess I just have a knack for putting little death machines together.

#Convo #He is impressed!#Can relate

Some knack! At least it's useful in these times. Yeah, I've got a knack for tinkering with engines...

The British...

Well then you’d be relieved to know that I don’t pity you. I’m offering my condolences—not my, “Poor you. You’re such a sad little dog, you are." —you know it seems you and I have a lot of misunderstanding between us, so much so that I’m not really sure if I still hate you or not.

I live, or lived, a few towns over in Carlisle. After an incident—I really didn’t have a choice. Even after all the reports assured us all of how real this zombie thing was, a lot of us in Carlisle didn’t believe it. But I…I had a more personal experience than what other people saw on their screens. I was “advised" to come here—the nearest and now, last standing, form of refuge.

#had trouble thinking of what to write #damn he's got leather pants!#AND NO SHIRT!#He's still grumpy

Yeah, well. I often find it difficult to tell the differences. I tend to avoid people for that very reason... Huh... I'm sort of disappointed, usually it takes a much shorter time span for someone to realise I'm not someone to like. Don't start thinking otherwise, trust me, stick with hating me, it's easier to handle.

An incident, hey? Really, got caught up in the mix of this fuckin' chaos, huh? And, so you're here. Believe we even got a chance?

The British...

No, Batman is a better name, considering how absolutely stealthy and wizard I was. Meanwhile, I think Alfred suits you quite nicely. Dull, boring, and about as sharp as a wheel. I’m awfully sorry; I didn’t want to waste imagination on you, seeing as you probably wouldn’t understand it.

…did you just insult yourself? That was terribly kind of you.

#Ahaha #i love this banter #sarcasm #weapon of destruction!#I don't know batman at all!#convo #carlton

Sure, as your humbleness implies! Oh, no. Your words, they cut me so deep, how ever will I survive? Isn't it Alfred that usually saves Batman anyway? Don't expect me to be saving your sorry ass anytime soon. I can assume it would take too much effort to use your brain anyway.

See, I'm a nice guy. I know when someone needs help.

The British...

Weapons technician. It’s easier making things to kill the undead than it is dealing with people.

You deal with weapons? Fair enough. I'll give you that. But, how'd you get into weapons?

#He's impressed #Chat

The British...

Yeah, well, I know plenty chaps whose previous lives meant something to them who also happen to be dead, so I don’t count on previous lives much. I mean, hell, I was a thief, and fat lot of good all that money does me now. I s’pose I’ll have to keep myself in check; your head’s already threatening to topple us all as it is.

Not monkey-boy. Bat-man. Really now, Alfred, I expected better from you.

#I love these two so much!#Such idiots #Dudes #Such fun!

Everyone's life usually meant something to them... Why doesn't that surprise me? I think Monkey-boy is an apt name for you then. I'm wounded that you would insult me by using my insult, come on, I thought you'd be more imaginative.

No, I think I've got it right. You really expected anything from me?

The British...

itsinyourheadthorne

This virus spread all over the world at the same time, which was the reason why people made sectors. It happened everywhere, not just in America. This sector is the only one which didn’t get overrun yet.

#He wishes he was a tibetan monk :P #He craked a joke!#He's serious enough as it is #can't be having double the seriousness #straight face

I never said it hadn't, I was just saying that we'd have no idea about the rest of the world, right? Who, fuckin' knows what's going on. Hell, I bet there's Tibetan monks up on their mountains laughing at how shit the worlds gone.

The British...

I concur. But you have to keep busy to get through. What do you do around here?

#He's trying to be nicer!#convo

That's really the only chance you've got to getting through. I fix, drive and make stuff basically. It's much easier working with engines then people, a lot less bullshit. What about yourself? I'm having trouble pinning something for you, in this world you don't really know.

The British...

That’s just-perfectly-fine by me, because I’m pretty much ready to stop talking about that part of the conversation now.

Okay, alright, I’ll withdraw. You don’t have to prove anything to me, because you are, as you said, “a bloody stranger" to all this. A bloody stranger lost among a sea of people who are not his own, in the last standing community there is of this godforsaken world. You know, hearing myself say that, I am actually sorry you wound up stuck here. I imagine it better to die along with those you know than with a clan of people you don’t even know the names of. I’m not sure you’d want it, but the name’s Gwen.

#Ignore that he's actually saying 'I love you...;#He's still got some respect #getting tired #maybe watch them tomorrow #No classes tomorrow!

I don't need your pity. No offense, I'm sure it's lovely pity but my pride just won't accept it. But, very poetic otherwise. Since, you've been the bigger person guess I've got to give you that, Reece. Now, how'd a not always happy-go-lucky girl like you wind up here?

The British...

Funny, that’s always the ones who have something to prove like to say. And I suppose you’re a regular casanova yourself? I suppose a name like Reece would do wonders. You could just pretend you were peanut butter cups and girls would be clamouring for you.

I’ve worked hard to earn a lot of things. I suppose you were with the army, hm? Well, having been in the army means nothing now. We’re all in the same boat. I don’t mind being called Batman, though. Did have to sneak around a lot in my previous career. Is that settled, then, Alfred?

#Definitely bro's now!#Who knew interacting with people could be such fun ;)#Trying hard not to be impressed

What can I say? I'm a sweet guy. I'm sure you did, batting those darling eyelids must have really broken a sweat. Best years of my life in the army. Definitely still means something to me. Watch it, that big head of your's could sink our precarious boat. Sounds like quite an... interesting career choice. Don't get your hopes up, Monkey-boy.

The British...

Sorry. As I recall, you did say, “Stuck in fuckin’ America. Just my luck." —if memory serves me right. Therefore, you did actually imply that you feel as if you’re too good for us. So, you know, that’s probably why I have such a terrible impression of you. —and you’re not really helping take turn my judgment around, so..

#Not giving a shit #he's too perfect!#TOTALLY LOVE THE XMEN MOVIES!#Xmen first class was amazing #I wanna watch it now tooooo!

Just my luck that you had to overhear that really. Suppose it's fair, I didn't have a good impression of America and you don't have a good impression of me. I'd call that even. Sorry, didn't realise I had to actually be mindful of your judgment.

The British...

You were being nice? I’d hate to see what it looks like when you’re pissed off. Stuff your whinging, wing nut, you’ve probably never gotten laid before. The name’s Carlton Whitaker, but you can call me sir. You look like an Alfred to me. Can I call you Alfred?

#Tis the start of beautiful banter!#Batman and alfred XD #This is too good #British mockery!#convo: carlton

No-one really does, I even leave the room. That's what you're going with? Never gotten laid? Funny that, usually the one bringing it up has something to prove. But, who am I kidding? All the woman must flock to you right! Who could resist the British charm? Especially with the name Carlton.

Sir? Is that so... You've been in the army, worked hard to earn that title? Oh, and sort of being thrown into this hell hole doesn't count.

Do I look like Batman's butler or something? Try Reece, Monkey-boy. And if you think of calling me Alfred, don't expect to be called Sir or fuckin' Batman.

The British...

No, it was specifically because you come from England that I thought you would take flattery in being called ‘posh.’ You were also real concerned with expressing that you were above staying here. Okay, well, like it or not, you’re here until somebody does something about the little shits out there. So deal with it, instead of whining—like an ungrateful douchebag.

And everyone just assumes I’m happy-go-lucky as fuck all the time.