I present to you an Assassin's Creed zombie apocalypse snippet that could possibly take place in twd, who knows.
-
"What I wouldn't give for a sword right now," Desmond sighs, peering outside, where the walking dead mill about in the street. "I could clear the whole lot in a few minutes, if I just had a sword."
"Or a good Molotov cocktail," Rebecca says, poking around the cabinets. "Sadly, it looks like whoever lived here was an absolutist - there's nothing in here."
"Like you would waste good booze on a Molotov cocktail," Shaun says, sitting down on the flower-printed couch and stretching his legs. "I bet there's drugs here though - because with this decoration, they had to have been on the good stuff."
"Nice," Desmond snorts, pulling away from the window. Shaun's right, though - the house decoration looks like it came out of a drug-induced hallucination. It's very flowery and colourful and not at all suited to the end of the world as they know it. "You think we could get a sword somewhere?"
"Not exactly something people have lying around. Machete might be a possibility," Bill muses, taking off his gun holster with a grimace. "I need to wash this - there's blood all over it. Any oil in the kitchen?"
"Yeah, there was some olive oil at least," Rebecca says and leans back from the cabinet. "Found a sewing kit and some knitting stuff, but that's about it."
"Grab the kit," Bill says and heads to the kitchen. "It will probably come in handy."
"Aye aye, captain." Rebecca rattles the cookie tin in a salute and stands up.
Desmond cranes his head after his dad. "Hey, can you check if there's any kitchen knives left in there? I want to see if I can throw them."
"Very well."
"Like throwing knives?" Rebecca asks interestedly.
Desmond shrugs and lifts his hand, looking at his sleeve. The once white fabric has turned almost black, and no matter how he'd washed it, it wouldn't come off. "Honestly, stabbing the dead guys with a hidden blade is getting a bit disgusting. Which is why I want a sword."
"You know what would work best in this situation?" Shaun says. "A bow and a spear."
Desmond arches his brows and Rebecca lets out a snort."I guess it is the end of the world - it's back to the stone age with all of us."
"You know it wasn't that long ago that we were still using them," Shaun huffs. "Bow and spear were, for thousands of years, the peak weapons technology for a reason - and in this, uh, situation…" Shaun throws a look towards the window. "Well, I'm sure you can see the merit of range and silence."
"I rather think I'd have a shotgun," Bill says, returning with a bottle of cooking oil and a handful of knives. "Maybe a rifle. Here, son."
"Thanks," Desmond says and starts checking them for weight and balance. If he filed the blades down a bit and sharpened them then, maybe…
"Think you could nail a dead one with those?" Rebecca asks curiously, leaning in to look. "Well enough to put it down?"
"Probably not as well as with a gun," Desmond admits, spreading the utensils across the colourful carpet. "But it's worth a try, isn't it? At least until we find more guns."
"Anything that saves ammo is worth a try," Bill says grimly, sitting down beside Shaun to clean his holster.
"Which is a good point," Shaun says, pointing his finger up. "Guns are not just loud, they're dependent on ammunition, which, while there are still no doubt sizable caches left to find in this gun-happy country, is no longer being mass-produced," he nods at his own argument. "Whereas a bow is near silent, you can make the ammunition yourself with relative ease, and, as a massive bonus on top of its other remarkable qualities… the ammunition is often reusable. Which makes the bow, clearly, the superior survival weapon."
"Which is all well and good," Bill says, giving him a pointed look while setting the Colt down. "Except that we don't have bows."
Shaun lets out a dismissive psh sound. "Give me an axe, some paracord, a two-by-four and a few hours."
Desmond lifts his head sharply, balancing a dull knife on the tip of his finger. "You can make a bow?" he asks quickly and catches the knife by its handle. "Out of a two-by-four?"
"Honestly, anyone can make a bow out of any long enough bit of wood," Shaun says, waving a hand. "Even Rebecca could make a bow -"
"Hey!"
"- they're not exactly complicated. Making a good one, now that's a different thing," Shaun continues, like he can't even feel Rebecca elbowing him sharply. "But in a pinch, yes. Hell, I could make one from pallet wood, given the wood is in good shape and dry. It might not last long, admittedly, but in an emergency situation - which this is…"
"And arrows?" Desmond asks, his face growing keener. "Can you make arrows?"
Shaun shrugs. "All you really need is a plane, string and feathers," he says. "And a bit of wood that's long enough, obviously. Maybe a bit of metal, if you want a proper arrowhead, but that's easy enough."
"Is it?" Rebecca asks curiously, brows arched.
Shaun gives a pointed look to the pile of empty soup cans, sitting in a bag in the corner of the room. "With a pair of side cutters and pliers you can get several arrowheads out of a single can."
"Wait, that would work?" Desmond asks, looking at the cans. "Wouldn't they be too soft?"
"Probably wouldn't last in repeated use, but once, against a dead one? Sure. Honestly, in our situation, you might not even need them," Shaun muses. "It's not like they wear armour."
Desmond stands up slowly, sharing a look with his father, who's frowning now in that interested in spite of himself sort of way. Bill turns to Shaun. "A two-by-four," he says slowly.
Shaun looks at them. "Or any decent bit of dry wood, yes," he says and then adds, sheepishly, "Obviously, it wouldn't be a very good bow. There are better ways, better woods to use. It definitely wouldn't be pretty like the bows you've seen in Desmond's memories. But it would work… probably."
"How do you even know how to make bows?" Rebecca asks, giving Shaun a look that's both impressed and suspicious. "Where do you even learn something like that?"
Shaun shrugs. "Historical reenactment, usually," he says. "I dabbled back in university. And, uh, attended a couple of LARPs with a girlfriend that I, uh, really wish I paid more attention to now, honestly. You can learn a lot of weird survival stuff from those people."
"Historical reenactment," Desmond snorts.
"Ironic, I know," Shaun says with a forlorn sigh and looks at Bill. "So, uh…" he trails away awkwardly.
Bill runs a hand over his, now longer and quite a bit scragglier, beard. "Well. We have twenty one bullets left," he says slowly, looking down at his Colt and then up at Desmond. "Think you could shoot a bow, son?"
"Pretty sure I could," Desmond agrees with a nod. "Yeah."
"And teach the rest of us how to do it?" Bill presses.
"Sure," Desmond says, though he isn't sure at all. He'd seen both Shaun and Rebecca handling guns, and it didn't exactly inspire confidence.
"Then I suppose we should try and get our hands on some two-by-fours," Bill sighs and reloads the pistol. "What else do you need, Shaun?"
"I'll make a list," Shaun says, reaching for his backpack for something to write with. "But I think you all missed the second half of my argument."
Bill arches his brows. "Which was?"
"Bow and spear," he says pointedly. "And let me tell you, spears are much easier to make than bows - much easier to use, too."
Desmin hums. "You know what, yeah," he says and looks at his sleeve. "Much better than using a hidden blade, too. Think we could whip one up here?"
"Yes," Shaun says and stands up. "All we need is a broom handle - or any old sturdy rod, really. Those curtain rods will do in a pinch. Now, let me see those knives…"
-
I just wanted to write down the idea about Shaun making bows pretty much.
