#nyfrpgevent

[declancross-blog]

He leaned against the wall for a quick moment, trying to catch his breath now that he had dealt with the two zombies he had quite literally run in to. A simple supply run had turned out more complicated than Declan had originally thought. Of course, life had been nothing but complicated lately. It had been complicated for so long, that Declan wondered if he could even properly remember what a simple life was any more.

With a heavy sigh, he looked down to his arms and chest to see the remnants of the zombies he had killed smeared across his clothing. He started smearing it more, trying to cover as much as he could in the hopes to cover as much as his human scent as possible. This wasn’t a theory he knew had been proven, but if there was something that could help, Declan would do it.

Now that he was done, he stood back upright and looked around. His destination wasn’t that far off, maybe only a couple of blocks. Declan’s grip tightened around his bat, pushing off from the wall and starting to walk around the corner. But he pulled up short when he almost ran into someone else, his bat automatically going up in the air before noticing it was a normal human.

“Jesus, I almost brained you just now.”

[ofeliawalsh-blog]

“C’mon you sweet, sexy, sum bitch,” she muttered, fiddling around with a smashed hunk of machinery she had finally unearthed after weeks of aborted salvage attempts. Ofelia had seen it almost two months ago, buried under the rubble of a mostly collapsed building. She was sure it had been untouched judging by the amount of debris buried on top of it, so Ofelia had made it her mission to dig out her buried treasure.

“Ugh, almost there,” she breathed out, grunting lightly before letting out a soft groan and stepping away. Ofelia was starting to get frustrated and if she got too worked up, she might become reckless and either hurt herself or get ambushed by zombies. Stepping back out onto the street, she looked around carefully to make sure there were no signs of the undead runners. “‘Course it couldn’t be Romero zombies, huh?” she said out loud, tucking her gun into her waistband but still keeping it in easy reach.

She looked back towards the rubble she had just left, ready to go in for another round before hearing the sounds of someone tripping over a fallen object. Ofelia knew it couldn’t be a zombie since they were more of a run and attack sort of creature, so who was it?

Ofelia pulled her gun out and took a few steps towards the source of the noise. “Marco,” she called out lightly, a call back to a childhood swimming pool game. She was wary, of course, but she didn’t want to frighten away anyone who needed her help.

[viilified-blog]

Elliott Abbey | Un-Affiliated

Elliott knew the second that things started to look like they would never get better that the military would install themselves in all major cities. For the people running through the streets screaming for their families or loved ones, some stability might be a good thing. But for those who knew better, the military would only try to find a way to control the population--what was left of it--and punish those who tried to stray from under their thumb.

He’d seen enough movies. Lived them, if felt like.

For a while, Elliott was able to hide his identity. He refused to enlist with Marshall and didn’t matter if anyone thought him a coward for it. He shortened his name to “El” and refused to use his surname lest someone from the recruitment drives find out about his past service. He stayed with the Diamonds, protecting them and those under their care for as long as he could.

But eventually, Elliott became disillusioned with the prospect of gang ties. While it was a community to belong to, how many people were suffering because of their selfishness? In this terrifying new world, Elliott felt just as bad for every dead Heart as he did every dead Diamond. He started to question the purpose for gang ties when there wasn’t even a city to be in control of. 

One night, Elliott simply left. He kissed Hannah goodbye and told her to come find him if she ever wanted out. He gathered as many supplies as he could carry and used his Marine training to survive his way into the Bank of America tower. It was defensible; he had several floors worth of storage and a high vantage point. And if he ever needed to escape, he had accumulated and stashed several parachutes at different choke points within the building. 

It was a lonely life, but it was the only work that made Elliott feel like he was helping. He’d spend weeks at a time trekking through the city bringing supplies to some of the smaller communities and helping others reach those safe havens. He kept in contact with some of the Diamonds if only to offer his help should they ever need it. But his loyalty was to everyone.

[layla-m-blog1]

It was safe to say that Gala’s were not Layla’s idea of a good time. There was a reason she’d ended up working as a hacker, after all, and it wasn’t because she loved wooing people. Plus, there was the small issue of her not seeing the purpose of a party where no one sane would get allow themselves to be rendered completely drunk, lest they make a scene, and not even dancing being encouraged. In a word, it was boring, with champagne - and she’d never liked champagne - being served by the waiters doing the rounds.

She smiled politely at one of them even so, all too aware of the fact that if things went south like the last major event the Kings had attended - whether by their hand or otherwise - then the civilians would be in danger. She took the champagne to be polite and offered it to the next person she came across. 

“What do I have to do to convince you to dump this on me, or perhaps knock it out of my hand?” she asked, smiling brightly.

[davidcheslyn]

To say he was nervous was an understatement. There were so many people at the event, mingling, walking, dancing, drinking... who knew if the guy that confronted David and Darcy was here? Who knew if Sixes was here? He felt on edge, his bruised knuckle from where he'd punched someone in the face tucked in his pocket, right hand clinging onto a glass of red wine almost desperately. It was almost finished, so he waited in line at the bar to order another one. Alcohol would calm him down... at least, David hoped. When the bar tender turned to him, David noticed a person next to him and looked between them and the tender. "Oh, I think you're next, aren't you?" He asked them.

[carlseerey-blog]

Task: 007 — Zombie Apocalypse AU 

Age: 40 

Affiliation: The Hearts

Position: Head of Recon

Information: 

There wasn’t a bigger nightmare that Carl could have pictured than the one they were living now. The streets were full of people - people he actively recognized - that were turned into.... monsters that the lot of them weren’t. It was awful. He’d watched a handful of them die within the first day, the horror never really being wiped from his mind. As time went on, people adjusted, finding shelter, and learning how to cope in their new ‘habitat’. Carl didn’t. 

There was only one time the man had ever taken away a life. He’d been backed into a corner and hadn’t had a choice in the matter, the gun in his hands feeling much too heavy as he pulled the trigger on the zombie that had gotten far too close before he’d made the choice. It physically hurt him to do it - to end a life, whether they’d been lost to the virus or not, it wasn’t acceptable. It haunted him to think that one day they might find a cure for this and that the woman he shot down would never get a chance to see her friends and family again... all because of him. 

He couldn’t bring himself to kill them after that. Even if they bore little resemblance to the people he remembered or knew, or even people he didn’t recognize at all, he still couldn’t bring himself to put a gun to their heads. It made him nearly useless in theory, the rest of the Hearts stuck together fighting for their lives, and all Carl could do was keep his eyes open. It wasn’t far off from his normal job, anyway.. he never used to bring harm to people before... and he sure wasn’t about to try any more. 

It didn’t take long to lose his best friend. The man forced to stay holed up in the Hearts HQ for quite a while, not allowed to venture out unless on an assigned mission, and even then there were times the Texan only made it a block or two before having to retreat back to the safety the shelter provided. It was only a few months later when the man finally found a way back to his apartment, and confirmed the suspicions he had from the start. Rocko hadn’t been able to survive the time on his own - without a fresh supply of food or water, nor a person to make sure his heat lamp was turned on and off at the appropriate times, the bearded dragon just simply hadn’t made it. 

In this world, Carl was simply lost. Most days he spent praying;... praying for an end to the chaos, or if that if he was going to die, if he could just die peacefully, and not in the agonizing way he’d seen other’s fall. 

But mostly he prayed for others. That the lot of them would be okay, that by some divine miracle all of them could stay safe in this madness. That eventually... New York would return to the way Carl used to complain about - a time he now regretted hating. 

[kingsramsay-blog]

“Oh, no.” Noah said with a shake of his hand as a champagne flute came his way, aware the offer was made with good intentions but he and alcohol only lead to bad situations. He wasn’t here to let loose and enjoy himself, rather gain as much intel as he could. Rue had found herself otherwise engaged, which left him short of a date. Those were the times when his rank became less of a title and more of a role, he would do what he could within reason to make sure he had something of value to bring to her. 

Plus, the fact he was sure his ex would be in attendance was a partial motivator to him. James could work the room like a professional, but Noah was always the one who could seal the deal seamlessly and make sure he didn’t go home alone. It wasn’t a competition, but the Englishman sure did like to win. 

“Thank you kindly, but I’ll stick with my lemonade.”

[thiefmillls-blog]

“You mean I can just have it?” A rum buzzed Ashley asked a server carrying a silver tray of champagne flutes, one of which he had stolen -- or so he thought -- rather blatantly, getting an eyebrow raise and an offer of another. “Like that’s it, then it passes me by, I take it, drink it. Then I can take another?” 

His mind was sufficiently blown when his question was confirmed, shaking his head all the while thinking he didn’t understand rich people. They sneered at homeless people asking for change, denying them as much but when it was party time it was expensive champagne all round, cost be damned. 

“Wait. Does that go for the food too? No fricking way.”