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ATTENTION NEW READERS: SPOILERS CONTAINED BELOW. HIGHLIGHT AT YOUR OWN RISK.pre:Jennifer Lynn Srinivasan (nee Abernethy)
Race: Human
Age: 35
Attributes (65):
ST: 19 [-20] (+7 with suit) (+1 from Sekhmet draining scene) [20]
DX: 15 [20] (+3 with suit)
IQ: 12 [40]
WILL: 17 [25]
PER: 17 [25]
HT: 10
HP: 29/29 [6CP and 7 from suit] as of 6/18/14
FP: 14/14 [9] "
ER: 15/15 (Freki Powers) [45]
basic speed: I loved that he didn't care that I was a tomboy, unlike my mother who was so exasperated that I wouldn't do my hair and wear dresses and all that other girly stuff like my sister. I loved that he taught me how to fish, how to shoot, how to hunt and trap his beloved Michigan woods. 'Your ancestors have been doing this since the first white man stepped foot on this soil, since before it was America' he'd say when I would get exasperated at having to squat in the woods fifty miles from nowhere, or use the outhouse at the deer camp instead of a real toilet. I loved that he was so smart and well-read. I loved that he understood my love of learning, again unlike my mother, who would say things like 'if you're in the Miss America contest what are you going to do for a talent, read a book?' Like I'd be trying out for beauty contests. I secretly loved but verbally feared that he had such an exuberance about blowing poo poo up, be it dynamting stumps or the fireworks that he officially had a license to sell in the summers after he retired but unofficially just wanted to be able to legally own really big stuff that went boom. I hated that he couldn't stay sober. I hated that it ended my parents marriage. I hated that he could have been so much more than a shoprat at Fisher #5, a janitor no less. The man could've gone to college, made something of himself, but at the time he graduated high school anyone with half a brain knew that Generous Motors was the place to go to make a certain, prosperous future. So much for that philosophy on life. I really hated that he got sucked into that Y2K survivalist crap even after I told him it was totally overblown and nothing would happen, that he listened to his crazy Michigan Militia friends over his own family, that he wasted thousands of dollars building a stupid bomb shelter and stocking it up like he expected Y2K to be more like World War Three. I especially hated that, at the end of his life, he turned out to be right. Let me start at the beginning. I was born in a bitter cold February thirty-five years ago to a union janitor and his bookkeeper wife in Flint, Michigan. The recession hadn't yet hit and things, while a little slow, were still looking good for the automotive industry and the city. My parents, who hadn't gotten along since they'd been married, really, divorced before I was a year old. I never remember my parents living together. My older sister does. Or did. I'm pretty sure she's dead, now. Her and her whole family. Anyway it caused no end of trouble between her and my stepfather, the guy I'd secretly think of as dad when my 'real' dad was on yet another drug and alcohol-fueled bender. My stepfather was a heavy drinker too, at least when he met my mother (a single woman with three kids under five can't exactly be too picky, especially back then) but she managed to straighten him up pretty good until she died of a staph infection in the hospital about a month after my younger brother's birthday, right after I'd graduated from high school. She was in the hospital because she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer. Going to the hospital to save her life had killed her. How's that for irony. I think that's probably when I developed my problem with germs. That and some of my mother's relatives coming by the house shortly after she died and commenting, thinking they were out of earshot, that the house was a mess. Well excuse us for being more concerned about our mother's health than the state of our house for visitors. Still, I was determined noone would EVER say that about me after I died. (I still am. I dare you to find a cleaner car). So from then on my house was as clean as my hands. Anyway I mentioned my father. He'd take my brother and I (yes he was conceived after the marriage was annuled. No my father didn't pay child support on him. Yes he was my father's. It was complicated and bitter and I didn't pry so I don't know the whole story behind all that) hunting and fishing, teach us how to work on cars and other manly things until I hit 13 and puberty and discovered that boys were actually kind of interesting apart from whether or not I could beat them at arm wrestling (plus they'd gotten a lot stronger). Also that whole hair thing started to become more important. He figured it would happen sooner or later, I guess. Plus his drinking grew from an occasional annoyance to being downright embarrassing at public functions like graduations, so I began distancing myself from him so he wouldn't make me look bad in front of my new less-understanding friends, whose fathers were doctors and lawyers and such, not shoprats. Go go private school, I guess. Anyway, right about the time I graduated my mother died and I decided I would be a doctor and try to cure cancer, like so many other kids whose parents had succumbed to the disease. My stepfather, meanwhile, moved to Las Vegas after my brother was out of the house and we grew distant. I met my husband, a wonderful Indian man named Kumar "Ken' Srinivasan, at the University of Michigan in the premed program. He'd been forced into it by his parents and hated every minute of it. I talked him into switching his major to his only love, computer science. After his parents started talking to him again, they approved. Especially after he started making mad bank with the coming of the dot.com boom. Programmers were huge. I discovered that med school was harder than premed if that were possible and decided to go for something easier yet still lucrative but with a lot more forgiving hours: pharmacy. Every Walgreen's on the planet needs a pharmacist to count the pills and make sure no little old ladies die from mixing the wrong medications. It seemed the thing to do. Old dreams die when reality intervenes and all that. We held off on having kids until both our student loans were paid off and we'd bought a huge lovely four-bedroom in the suburbs of the college town where I attended grad school: Purdue University in West Layfayette Indiana. I didn't like to consider myself like all the other suburbanites; in college I'd been quite radical in my politics, joining the Green Party, and got closer to my father, a lifelong lover of gadgetry and conservation who'd installed solar panels on his house. I remember when he built a solar oven out of tinfoil and cardboard and cooked us meals. Granted in Michigan in fall it took drat near ten hours but it didn't kill us so there's that. So while I approved of certain of his newfound beliefs, his whole recent Michigan Militia phase was disconcerting to say the least. All his hunting/drinking buddies had joined up and he had followed suit, even building the aforementioned shelter in the basement of the house he had built himself. Luckily he lived out in farmland so when the crisis hit we had power for a pretty long time, thanks to those solar panels. I'd always wanted to put some on my house but neighborhood regulations and red tape had made it too much of a hassle. If only I'd known. I'm getting ahead of myself again. Anyway, my husband and I married as I said (we had three ceremonies, a quick courthouse one since my mother was dead and I didn't much care for church when she was alive, at least now I no longer had to pretend, a simple reception at my sister's house in Michigan, then a big huge weeklong wedding in India that was absolutely nuts and awesome. I got to burn stuff as a sacrifice to the god of fire! No this did not sit well with my very Catholic grandmother at all, at all). We had a baby girl and named her Sophia. She was bright and beautiful and the apple of both our eyes. I wanted to show her the same kind of outdoorsy upbringing that I had so when she turned a year old we all piled into the car and headed for the north woods of Michigan for two weeks of fun (my interpretation) or hell (my very accustomed to modern conveniences husband's, who'd once told me 'my parents came to this country so they wouldn't have to cook over a firepit and sleep the hell outside'). After supplying him with a rugged solar cell that would power all his little gadgets (I refused to call anything less than staying in a tent 'camping' so an RV was right out, this was our compromise. I can be stubborn when I want to) he agreed, and we spent a week there until he caught a chest cold and work was calling him every 24 hours with some new crisis and we decided to cut it short. My father had also fallen ill and wanted me to make sure that his doctor wasn't trying to poison him with some new drug he'd prescribed so we stopped by there on the way back home, Prius still loaded with camping junk. My husband was too impatient to get back and decided to fly and take our daughter with him (his parents were staying with us at the time, another reason to get the hell out of the house for awhile) and I would join them later with the car. I think you can guess what happened next. Plague and death and world-ending horror. My last phone call with them before the signal went out told me they were still ok and loved me and to stay where I was. My daughter who was just learning to talk said 'I love you mommy.' And into the shelter we went. And stayed there for six months. After two weeks without contact with the outside world our power went out. My father determined he would go out, fix it, and check on his mother, my grandmother, who only lived a fourth of a mile away and had refused to go into his 'concrete tomb' with him, preferring to trust in God. He never made it. Almost as soon as he opened the door he was attacked. The thing clawed out his eyes before I could so much as move towards the rifle, much less raise it and shoot. Then it was on me, screaming about seeing me, bone-tipped fingers reaching for my eyes. I managed to knife her to death before she could actually do much damage. All the news said it was some kind of disease. This put my germophobia into overdrive. I packed up the Prius with whatever supplies we had left and set out for grandma's farm. The place was deserted. I found her in the basement. It looked like she was trying to take shelter when she tripped and fell (my grandfather had died several years ago). At least that's what I like to tell myself. I took what I could find there too, tools and food and ammo and whatnot. I wasn't ever one of those vegan eco-hippies. I knew deer were just rats with antlers that needed killing without natural predators or else they'd overrun the state (and my drat garden), and the first rule on grandpa's farm was 'don't name the animals.' So I didn't have a problem with killing animals for food even before this all hit. But I would've had a problem with eating dogs and cats. I mean I had a cat. I knew what was in pet food. I had an organic garden in my backyard for crying out loud. No more. I made it my priority to do whatever I had to do to survive to get back to my husband and baby. I'd always been a casual runner, on the track team in high school but never doing anything special, and I'd recently taken it back up again to lose the 'baby weight.' Now I ran to save my life. I mentally thanked my father for insisting on practicing my shooting while we were in the shelter (yes, he had a firing range set up in his basement. Single divorced men get away with a lot of crazy stuff. I won't even go into the half-assembled motorcycle in the living room) besides there not being that much else to do. I was so bored I even read his 9/11 conspiracy materials he'd gotten from the Militia. Turns out their theories on it weren't so far off the mark after all. I now believe the government had a hand in it. Not that it matters much anymore. I stopped eating, partly because I didn't trust any food other than what I had procured for myself, partly because my stomach was acting up when I did eat anything remotely questionable, and partly because I got used to not getting much. I got so thin I had to wear my wedding band on a chain around my neck because it kept slipping off my finger. My sleeping habits, already messed up from the baby, became worse. I began to suffer insomnia, horrible nightmares about what had happened to my family, my world, the slightest noise would wake me with a start, grabbing for the gun that was never too far away. After a few betrayals and near-misses, I decided to stop helping just anyone. I couldn't stop helping others who really needed it, though. I avoided groups of men, the road-warrior types had made me very very cautious. I stuck to back roads, side roads, away from the main highways when I could. When I couldn't, I discovered that bargaining with a stubborn toddler and a gun-toting maniac were more similar than I think most adults would care to admit. I'm getting closer to my goal each day. Some days its the only thing keeping me from eating a bullet instead of my usual dinner of a vitamin and canned vegetables. I will see them again. Dead or alive, I will see them again. I haven't learned how to survive in this hell so well not to. Even if its just their graves, I'll do it for the closure. Oracle fucked around with this message at 19:20 on Sep 23, 2019 |
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Nov 6, 2007 22:16
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Jennifer The woman in question leaves the confines of the car, using the door as cover as she studies you. She is short and painfully thin judging from the hollow cheeks, the rest of her covered in billowing clothes that seem surprisingly clean given the circumstances. She wears one of those paper masks over her mouth like the kind you'd use for spraypainting something indoors. Over all of that is one of those clear plastic rain ponchos you'd find in the checkout aisle of a supermarket. Her hair is either short or pulled back into a ponytail under a faded gray baseball cap with a block M in equally-faded blue on it. She, too, carries a rifle, cradling it in her arm. The barrel currently points downward, but she doesn't look like she's in any hurry to come on over and say hey. She gives the area a quick visual once-over, then looks back towards those gathered in the doorway, and seems to start upon seeing Becky. She calls out to her, voice low and full of suspicion, "You alright?"
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Nov 6, 2007 22:36
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I took this:quote:Back in the reception area of the hospital, Becky is standing with John's rifle shouldered, leaning to peer out into the misty shroud
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Nov 7, 2007 02:14
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Jennifer She tenses as Raymond steps next to Becky, eyes narrowing. Upon hearing there is an 'all' of them, she glances behind her again. "No. I'm fine. Why don't you let her come over here and answer my question?" She addresses Becky again. Her body language screams caution and suspicion. She holds the gun as if she's quite familiar with it.
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Nov 7, 2007 03:39
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Jennifer She watches the woman approach, halting her before she gets close enough for contact with a raised hand and giving her a visual once-over. Her face is still masked by the breathing mask, but her eyes are brown and tired. Apparently okay with what she sees, she nods but doesn't take Becky's hand. "Jennifer Srinivasan. Michigan, huh? Just drove down from there. I didn't think a place could be worse. This place doesn't even have any birds." She hesitates, as if debating, then offers, "I may be able to help if you've got a medical issue. May. I was hoping to get some supplies here. I assume you've already helped yourselves to anything available." At Evan's warning she curses, slipping into the car and shutting the door, locking it. She promptly pulls the car forward slowly until she stops right in front of the entryway, letting Becky walk with the vehicle for partial cover. Whatever is in the car, at least in the back, is covered by the same type of blue tarp as covers the car itself. The rifle stays on the passenger seat within easy reach. The rest of the car is surprisingly clean on the inside, bare of straw wrappers or empty cups or anything else that might resemble trash. She powers down the passenger side window partway and asks, "Any particular reason you're staying here? Where's your vehicle?" She looks at Evan. "I heard you trying to raise someone on the radio. Did you find them?" The car's engine seems to die when she stops it, but the lights stay on.
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Nov 7, 2007 04:59
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Jennifer Her eyes widen in surprise. Well, floating, that's a new one, says the little analytical corner of her mind not currently flooded with adrenaline. Raymond's rushing the car jerks her head in his direction in alarm as others bring up their guns, thankfully aiming at the gibbering thing suspended in front of her car. The car is safety, her little metal womb, her only means of escape. And they want her to leave it? She almost throws it into reverse, says the hell with these filthy idiots, they can stay and die if they want, she's got a baby to get home to. But there is safety still in numbers, she is alone, and they are seven. The last group she found saved her life, though perhaps not in the way they intended. Oh, gently caress. Fine. She'll help them kill this thing (eight to one odds, not that bad if they're anything like good shots) then urge them to leave and if they don't, the hell with them. Her daughter needs a mother more than they need an extra hand. But Becky was somebody's daughter, once, before the world went to pot and the red rain fell. This crazy man pounding on her window, the one drawing a bead on the levitating horror with the bars of bloodied rusted steel, hell even the horror itself were once sung to sleep by someone who loved them. She lunges across the awkward lump into the passenger seat, grabbing her rifle along the way. As she throws open the passenger side door and scrambles out, she thinks this stupid sentimental streak is going to get her killed one of these days. She slams the door shut and almost trips as her foot lands on a tube, rolling under her. She looks down and, miraculously, sees the barrel of what looks like a weapon that is otherwise almost completely under the car; she must've rolled over it as she pulled up. As she grabs the barrel and pulls it up, it reveals itself to be a... MP5 submachine gun? Wow. Maybe her husband was right about that karma thing, after all.
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Nov 9, 2007 15:26
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Jennifer Jennifer's eyes light up as she finally figures the gun out and opens fire. Yeah! Eat hot lead, you undead pinata! Oh, flak jacket. Well that just figures. Then he opens his mouth and-- "Holy poo poo!" She ducks post-tongue lashing out of instinct, even though it would've been too late, heart racing, eyes wide, coming almost face to face with a very bloody Raymond. She'd been too busy fiddling with the safety to see the actual attack. As gray matter spatters onto Raymond from above she slings the MP5 over one shoulder and her rifle over the other, grabbing the downed man under the arms and dragging him towards the doors of the hospital in a burst of adrenaline-fueled speed, leaving a bloody smear in their wake. Burning FP to haul rear end (specifically Raymond's) to the relative safety of the hospital.
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Nov 9, 2007 22:01
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Jennifer "Jesus, don't you have any latex gloves? Aren't you going to WASH YOUR HANDS?" She sounds a bit disgusted. If there's any kind of synergy bonus assist-type roll I can do to help Brandon in diagnosing and taking care of Raymond, I'd like to do so. 13 Diagnosis, 13 First Aid, 12 Physician, Speed 5.25 Move 5
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Nov 10, 2007 03:03
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Jennifer Luckily Jennifer isn't the type to be grossed out by medical issues. After a certain point they all just become inhuman lumps of flesh, pieces and parts to deal with one by one. She points out a few things (mostly related to cleanliness and infection), hands over what's asked for, and finally looks around the hospital proper, then back to Brandon, eyes wide and solemn, face still a mask. Brandon should know the look. Its the same look the doctors used to give when a particular patient was probably not going to make it. But she assumes they are friends at least so doesn't voice what is obviously going through her mind. She keeps her voice low and private. "Penicillin'll work, Valium'll do in a pinch and also help the pain. What we really need is some metronidazole, should cover just about anything that might've gotten in there. You raided the pharmacy closet here I suppose." She sighs, looking out quickly as a shot rings out again, finally noticing Markson on the bed, swathed in bandages. "Jesus, they're picking you off one by one. We need to get out of here, wounded or no. Please tell me you have a working vehicle large enough for you all."
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Nov 10, 2007 04:27
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Jennifer Jennifer looks at Brandon for a long moment. "You are in-loving-sane if you think I'm going anywhere in this deathtrap by myself." She glances at the front door where the men with guns are. "Can I get an extra pair of hands to find the dispensary? Or two?"
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Nov 10, 2007 05:56
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Jennifer Jennifer gives Evan the same penetrating look that Becky and Brandon got -- she's obviously checking eyes for signs of infection -- as she removes a package of wet wipes from the zippered pocket on the front of the poncho and wipes her hands thoroughly clean, using up several in the process. She nods briefly at the mention of names, giving a quick glance around the room as he goes through them, then says, "I really, really don't think this is the best place to spend the night, honestly. If they are movable at all I really want to encourage you people to get the hell out of Dodge. I know..." She glances at the man in the body cast, "Raymond, right? I know Raymond can't be moved until the cast sets, but that doesn't mean we should be lying around here. Where's your vehicle? We can at least bring it to the front door along with mine so that as soon as he's able to move we can do so. I can drive you to it so noone has to walk around out in the fog, it'll give some measure of protection at least." She glances around the room again, then back to Evan. "I heard you trying to raise someone on the radio on my way into town. Did you ever reach them?" She moves towards the front doors, looking out. "If not I think your best bet is to-" She stops, cocking her head and frowning. "What's that noise? Is that... music?" code:Oracle fucked around with this message at 19:57 on Nov 12, 2007 |
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Nov 12, 2007 02:21
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From Gaist's second-to-last post:GaistHeidegger posted:and while he makes a renewed effort at it Boris hears the faint distant sound of music coming from the parking garage; soon, so too does Evan.
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Nov 12, 2007 14:46
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Jennifer She listens to the men talk back and forth with half an ear, trying to make out what the music might be. "Did you have something in the parking garage?" She looks fully at Hobbs, eyes narrowing. "I have a few good reasons for leaving here. One: you've been attacked at least twice. Two, its a hospital. They aren't exactly germ-free zones in the best of times, and this is not the best of times. And three..." she nods towards Evan as he confirms what she'd feared. "You don't know how many of these things there are out there or if daylight might even keep them away. Good enough reason for me to leave." She turns back towards Evan, surprised at this. "I heard it on my way into town. Crackly but definitely audible." She hesitates as he mentions her car and the supplies therein. "I'm alright for right now. As far as joining you, that depends. If you're headed south and west, sure. If not, well, here's where we part ways. I've got a family to get back to. I'm still willing to help you get to your vehicle if you want to go now, but otherwise... this whole place freaks me out, and I'm leaving shortly. I think you'll all be dead by dawn if you stick around, to put it bluntly. Call it a hunch." She looks at the machine gun, then at Markson. "Yeah, speaking of which... does this belong to one of you? It was just lying around outside, but its empty now." She swings it around her shoulder by the strap, holding it up by the barrel as she speaks. code:Oracle fucked around with this message at 19:58 on Nov 12, 2007 |
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Nov 12, 2007 19:12
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Jennifer She pauses at the owner of the gun's name, mentally going through the list he gave her just a few minutes ago. Evan, Hobbs, Brandon, Boris, Becky, John, Raymond... "Who the hell is Rick?"
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Nov 13, 2007 03:05
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Jennifer She takes a moment to catch up, glancing out the double doors at the presumably still-flaking corpse, then at John, mask sticking to her features as she inhales sharply, eyes bugging out in disbelief. "You KNEW that guy?? He was one of yours? Christ, so that's... they've attacked you... three times tonight? And you want to stay here? Have you lost anyone else I should know about?" She looks at Evan. "Was he who you were trying to get on the radio?" She seems confused and incredulous at this situation, the sarcasm in her voice masking her fear, which is growing as much at the obvious and apparently rising danger in this situation as well as the apparent lack of concern by those still left. Then John speaks some reason, and a bit of tension goes out of her shoulders. Maybe they've just been through too much and are ready to lie down and die. Or maybe they're all in shock and just need a kick in the pants. Or a goal. I've got that, at least. Come on, people, wake up. I've got a baby to get home to, and it'll be a hell of a lot easier with your help. If you can just pull yourselves together. code:Oracle fucked around with this message at 03:40 on Nov 13, 2007 |
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Nov 13, 2007 03:33
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Jennifer She frowns as she begins to be able to make out lyrics, then her eyes widen in horror as she hears the 'cut into pieces' part. Lovely song, horrible subject matter. "I remember hearing this on the radio when I was a kid. Its old. Not the Beatles." She looks at Evan as he explains, nodding, then to Boris as he explains he was attracted by music, eyes narrowing. "Attracted you with music? What, exactly, did it show you?" She looks him up and down, checking his eyes, and keeping a tight grip on her rifle.
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Nov 13, 2007 14:41
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Jennifer Jennifer's eyes narrow further as Boris plays either coy or infected, either way she is not very pleased by the dicking around. Then Raymond speaks, and she turns her attention to him, listening as he walks calmly off the sidewalk and onto the highway to Crazytown. Bringing watches back from dreams about kids and albinos? Oh god. They aren't shell shocked. They're freaking insane. They are all completely... wait. What was that last bit? "You parked your bus in the parking garage?" She sighs heavily. "Okay. Okay. Um... Jesus." She rubs her forehead wearily, tired all of a sudden. The adrenaline of the evening must finally be wearing off as the fighting for survival turns to idle talk. "Do you have any more ammo for the machine gun? If so I suggest you pick two or three people, I'll drive you to your vehicle, we kill whatever's screwing with your radio and if its drivable we bring it back here and get out. If its not... well. I guess we can try and find another mode of transportation for you. Or raise your friends on the radio. If they're still alive." She looks around those assembled, giving another token glance at the double doors, out into the thick fog, hands tight on the rifle. "Sound like a plan?" code:Oracle fucked around with this message at 06:55 on Nov 14, 2007 |
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Nov 14, 2007 04:55
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Jennifer Jennifer replies matter-of-factly, watching out the double doors. "Very few exits. Hard to maneuver. Lots of places for things to hide. You always, always want to be able to run. Never get too far from your means of escape." That explains why she practically parked on the doorstep, at least.
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Nov 14, 2007 05:56
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Jennifer Human monsters... A flashback to another group, five months ago. Convoy, fourteen people. Twelve men, two women, and her. Four cars. She'd been with them almost a month. Such a relief to find out others had survived. Camaraderie. Companionship. They'd even agreed to go to south. Things were looking up, they were making good time. Then the minivan got a flat. They had to stop to fix it. The guys in the muscle cars had seemed helpful at first. Then got a little too friendly with the women (though not with Jennifer, oddly enough. Or not, considering her everpresent mask they probably thought she was contagious). Things got tense. Jeff punched the guy in the Bloodhawks jacket for grabbing his wife Sarah's rear end. And they just went insane. She'd been crouched, wiping mud off the fender of her car when they all opened fire. Screaming. Blood. She panicked, dove into her car and drove. They killed them all. Probably too busy looting to follow her. They killed them all. At least that's what she told herself. Guilt washes over her. "No, it was good thinking. Just... damned if we do, damned if we don't, huh?" She musters up a smile as she glances at him, a smile he can't see because of the mask. "I don't mean to bust you guys' balls or anything. I just... I don't want anyone else dyin' tonight."
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Nov 14, 2007 06:46
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Jennifer She nods sympathetically enough to Hobbs, glancing at Markson as he speaks. "I think you should start packing up regardless, but again, not my call. You guys can vote on it or whatever." She then listens as Boris explains, arching an eyebrow. Upon hearing that Rick was vivisected alive, her eyes widen in horror. "I did not know, thanks for the update. But do you honestly think that, just because whoever did this to Rick was doing the same thing some seriously unethical doctors did early in the course of this disease, that they were somehow trying to tell you that Rick was infected as opposed to just, say, turned into crazy homicidal monsters the likes of which we've all apparently run into?" Her suspicion of Boris is obviously growing as he speaks. "Where exactly did you even come by this information? How did they show it to you? And how exactly did you get away when your friend Rick didn't?"
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Nov 14, 2007 14:46
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Jennifer She listens to Brandon, watching Boris carefully. At the mention of dreams, she looks directly at the erstwhile doctor, arching an eyebrow. "Hallucinations? No. Strange dreams? Nightmares, yeah. Who wouldn't? I mean, look around. We're living in a drat nightmare." To Boris, she says slowly, "Sorry, just... jumpy. My guess? Would be because they've been infected or driven mad by their inability to cure this and what extremes they went to to try and do so, and in their madness just keep doing it over and over again. If Rick didn't change until after they split him open, who's to say they aren't the ones that infected him with whatever that was to begin with? He didn't look or act like any cerebrosus victim I've seen. For one they don't loving fly..." She starts trembling slightly, the events of the night finally sinking in. "...and I've never seen anything like that black... Jesus." She takes a deep breath, causing the mask to stick to her gaunt features again as she blinks rapidly. "Maybe I am hallucinating. You saw it, right?" She turns back to Brandon, lowering her gun. "He was floating? Some kind of... I dunno, shadow tentacle came out of his mouth?" Oracle fucked around with this message at 05:13 on Nov 15, 2007 |
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Nov 15, 2007 04:56
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Jennifer Jennifer listens quietly as Raymond expounds on his head injury and apparent miraculous recovery, then shakes her head as he suggests exploring in his condition. She glances at Hobbs and nods with his assessment of the gunfire being attention-attracting enough, then starts as Lucy shambles in, raising her rifle. The others seem to know her, so she holds her fire, and then when the woman talks and makes some small amount of sense, she lowers it, watching as Boris moves to her side. The woman's story of assault and odd behavior towards the mysterious pocket watch unnerves her, and she looks at Hobbs almost desperately as he swerves from 'get the hell out' to 'check this out.' "Is she... oh my God." That woman just died. She just died. Oh sweet Jesus what the hell have I stumbled into. I... I'll help pack up here." With that, she turns to Markson, checking his bandage, and looking for any loose gear, keeping an eye out for ammo for the MP5. She pauses, raising her head with a listening look on her face. "The music's stopped." code:
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Nov 15, 2007 14:50
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Jennifer She finishes stuffing everything loose she can find that looks remotely useful, including the notes that Boris found, into whatever makes it most easily carried, be it pillowcases, backpacks, or ammo belts, not really paying attention to whose is whose and what might go where. She shakes her head as Raymond and Markson speak. Isn't that exactly what I suggested they do an hour ago? At least we're finally on the same page... She piles everything up just to the right of the door, looking out again to check on the disappating fog. "I'd suggest the wounded stay here, the doctor with them in case one of them starts to go south, and at least two people to stand guard. That leaves Hobbs, Boris, Evan and Becky to decide who stays and who goes." She looks at the assembled. "I hope none of the dead or wounded folks were your bus driver. If not, I'd suggest that person come as well. Otherwise I guess you can play rock-paper-scissors or something for it, but make it quick. We're running out of time." She can't help but glance at Raymond's watch as she says it.
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Nov 16, 2007 05:42
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Jennifer Jennifer eyes the watch with deep distrust. After all, Lucy only had to look at it before she died. Of course, that's rather superstitious of her, isn't it. Does it still count as superstition if dead people are flying and attacking with tentacles made of shadow? What is real anymore? Could this whole drat thing be another bad dream? After a swift painful pinch convinces her that no, she's still awake, she sighs and takes the watch, stuffing it in the kangaroo pocket of her rain poncho. "Alright. Me, Becky and Hobbs. Brandon, I think you should get cleaned up." There was no way she was letting the bloody mess that passed as the doctor into her car. "We're going to hopefully be moving very fast once we get back, and you should really stay with the wounded just in case. Boris and Evan will be with you. Please, everyone, be ready to go as soon as we pull up. Assuming the bus is still working. If not we may have to go for a plan B and try and find another vehicle. Possibly one in the parking garage, it'll have been sheltered from this weird ash so it should still be in working order." She looks at Hobbs and Becky, holding up the MP5. "You know where Rick's stuff was? Some ammo for this thing would come in handy, I have a feeling." Evan, you salvaged Rick's body of any useful equipment, including the ammo.
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Nov 17, 2007 20:13
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Jennifer "No, I didn't. Was kinda busy saving your friend's life. And hey, whoever wants to pack it can feel free, I'm just saying I think having all the firepower we can muster at this point is a good idea. You wanna use it? Fine, have fun." She hands the gun to him. "As for your friend, the dead woman over there said she saw him dragged out the window by the guy that ultimately killed her, so if you wanna look for him, he's not in here. I agree with Raymond, he's anywhere and moving, he's waiting for us at the busses. Probably along with Guy Smiley." We are so hosed. She heads for her car. "Let's get this over with so I can get home already." Getting in my car. code:
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Nov 18, 2007 02:22
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Jennifer Jennifer is terribly tense, knuckles white on the steering wheel. The scene that greets them in the parking garage does nothing to remove the feeling of imminent dread, and her constantly swiveling head would be comical if the reasons for her paranoia not so deadly serious. She immediately turns the Prius around once the bus rumbles to life and leads the way back to the hospital, the rifle in its usual place propped up in the footwell of the passenger's seat, the .50 cal muzzle-down in one of the cupholders, a rather incongruous setup but effective. Once in front of the hospital she waves urgently at the party within, assuming the party is still hale and hearty. code:
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Nov 19, 2007 03:50
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Jennifer Jennifer watches the men stumble out of the hospital, eyes wide. She cracks the window to yell, "Grab your bags! To the right of the door!" She sighs, glancing at the car's clock, then behind her at the bus. "Come on, come on..." Adrenaline courses through her and she eyes Brandon warily as he makes for her car, muttering to herself. "Oh God no, not all covered in blood you are so not thinking about getting in my car." She reaches behind the seat for a black plastic garbage bag, slapping it onto the seat with a grumble. "I am going to hose these people down at the first car wash I can find." code:
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Nov 20, 2007 05:07
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Jennifer Jennifer keeps one eye on the road and the other on her own built-in GPS, mentally thanking her husband for being such a gadgetphile that he insisted on the all-inclusive package. She presses a few buttons on the touch-screen, frowning as she pauses to avoid yet another lump in the road, before telling Brandon, "We really need to stay off the main highways. They're full of Mad Max wannabes looking for anything they can steal be it supplies or people, and they will not hesitate to kill. I want no part of them. It looks like 24 goes in the general direction we want without hitting a big city." She presses a few more buttons, keeping an eye on the road, hand at twelve o'clock. "We definitely want to take 127 south to avoid Fort Wayne. It was full of nutjobs before the world ended, I don't want to even think about what its like now." She traces the route on the screen with her finger for Brandon's benefit. "Go around that via 224 and hook back up to 24, then once we hit 25 we're in areas I'm actually familiar with. That should keep us from the major thoroughfares and in farmland, mostly, bunch of small towns along the way might be good for resupplying. Speaking of which..." She digs into the poncho pocket, pulling out Raymond's pocket watch and putting it on the dash with a slight shudder before handing Brandon a half-gone packet of travel-size wet wipes. "Clean that blood off you, would you? My husband probably has a shirt that will fit you somewhere in the back, we can get it at the next stop. Throw the wipes in the trash, please, I don't need biological contaminants floating around my car." She motions behind his seat where, true to her word, lies one of those trash cans made to ride the 'hump' over the transmission, neatly lined with a plastic shopping bag. "What?" She glances at him and notices the expression on his face, then her eyes widen to saucers as she takes in the coolant towers of the leaking plant, face going pale. "Oh. My. God." A hand flies up to her mask, making sure it still covers her mouth as she speeds up, hitting 60. The vision of the plant has well and truly freaked her as visions of Three Mile Island and Chernobyl fill her head. "Oh God oh God oh God..." Thankfully she has no binoculars, doesn't see the dozens of floating figures gathered around the plant, just follows the road til it merges with 24, pushing the bus behind her to keep up as she tries to put as much distance between the plant and the group as possible. If she's tired, she's not yet showing it. code:
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Nov 21, 2007 03:49
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Jennifer Jennifer is still wide-eyed, perhaps a bit wild-eyed as she pushes the chugging bus behind to keep up, glancing periodically at the GPS and the speedometer. She blows through any still-working stoplights and stop signs with barely a hesitation, though as the night grows older the still-rote lessons of the road reassert themselves and she slows for longer and longer periods for the now-meaningless roadsigns before snapping out of it and resuming speed. Perhaps she realizes sleep will bring no real rest until utter exhaustion sets in, or perhaps she's just too afraid or stubborn to stop just yet. She forces herself to think for the moment, basic survival instincts overriding any curiousity about what all this might mean for the wider world. Water. Shelter. Food. "I'm fine." And there is no way in hell you are touching my steering wheel with those disgusting hands. "I want at least fifty miles between us and that... town." She can't bring herself to even mention the towers. "How's Defiance strike you? I like it. Good name for a town. Let's hope they live up to it. There's a car wash just off 24 where we can decontaminate and possibly get some fresh water, maybe find some supplies, safe place to sleep. I'm thinking a farm, we can hide the bus in the barn and sleep in the loft if its warm enough, it'll be up off the ground and far enough away from town we don't necessarily have to worry about... visitors."
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Nov 26, 2007 03:38
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Jennifer Jennifer takes one look at the kitchen of the house and does a 180, marching back to the barn, where she busies herself with cleaning up while everyone else is asleep or exploring the house. A baby-wipe bath and change of clothes/rain poncho/face mask later and she's feeling a bit better. She flosses then brushes her teeth, swallowing instead of spitting the water from a water bottle and answers Brandon when he comes back. "I think it'd be a good idea, if you're not too tired. Just mind the hole in the roof." She motions upwards. "Vehicles should be ok with the tarps over them but the people... well, I'll sleep in the car, myself. I've got an air mattress if you think it'd help Raymond and John sleep better, I can use the adapter on the car to blow it up." Plus its plastic so easily cleaned after they're done with it. "We can set it up in the loft, throw the sleeping bags over them." She keeps her voice down, the eerie stillness that presides everywhere these days making her aware of just how much a normal voice can carry without the usual background noise of life going on. Oddly enough, the sight of weeds in the fields, normally a farmer's headache, give her some small measure of hope. If they can survive, surely people can, too. In some way shape or form. That's not cerebrosus-shaped. Hopefully.
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Nov 27, 2007 20:12
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Jennifer She gives Hobbs a wary look. "We're stopping here for some rest. We're a few miles outside of a town called Defiance, Ohio. In the morning..." She pauses, glancing at the lightening sky in the east. "Well, when folks are more up and around, we'll go over this place with a fine-toothed comb, take what supplies we can, and then head into the city, at least as far as the car wash off the state road. I really think we need to decontaminate, that ash is radioactive." She looks towards the house, wrinkling her nose. "You can go look around the house if you like. Becky's in there. The kitchen is disgusting though, I couldn't even go past it. Eesh. Mold." She rubs the back of her neck, then remembers the watch. "I'd get as much sleep as you can, right now." She doesn't add the unnecessary 'while you can,' but heads back to her car, digging the pocketwatch out of the pouch on the poncho and stepping up onto the bus. Finding the sleeping Raymond, she checks his bandage and for signs of fever before tucking the watch into his hand and squeezing it comfortingly then checks on Markson as well. Diagnosis 13, First Aid 13 just making sure no infection is setting in or anything.
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Nov 28, 2007 06:01
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Jennifer Jennifer notices the ruptured eye and sucks in a quick breath, mind immediately reeling towards the worst. She forces herself to breathe normally and nods slowly. "Ok. Its probably the dry air. Let's get you a saline wash of some kind. Maybe someone in the house wore contacts. If so the solution should still be sterile and usable. We'll irrigate your eye and nasal passages, see if that doesn't help." She gives the sleeping men one last look then moves back to her car, grabbing the rifle out of the passenger seat just in case, and locks the car, the quiet electronic 'beep' echoing through the barn. "Oh, you must've been asleep. We found out the ash was coming from some cooling towers for a nuclear power plant on the outskirts of town. It was... there was something wrong with it. The towers had leaked, black goo was dribbled all down the sides. The reactor was still running, some of the streetlights still had power. That's why I pushed us to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible. I'd still like to get going soon, in case the wind shifts." She glances back towards the bus as she crosses the gravel driveway. "You know what, I don't want to leave them alone in there. If you can't find any come back and I'll whip you up some. It'll sting more but it'll be just as good. If you find any medicine bring it to me and I'll see if I can't identify it as well. Might find something useful, antibiotics or painkillers." Do I see what's causing Hobbs eye/headache problems with a quick examination? Again First Aid and Diagnosis 13
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Nov 28, 2007 15:02
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Jennifer Jennifer gets out of Brandon's way; she knows he's got a lot more experience and its been quite a while since her residency. Still, joining heads in a quick whisper session with Brandon, the idea of a stroke is alarming to say the least. She straightens and looks at Hobbs with a thoughtful frown. "Could you have hit your head on something when you jerked awake? Or during the rush to leave the hospital? Did you maybe catch a corner? Think carefully." She pauses then suggests, half-disbelieving she'd even consider it from her tone of voice, "Did you dream you were hit or got hit by anything?"
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Nov 30, 2007 16:53
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Jennifer Jennifer shares Brandon's relief as he figures Hobbs just had some kind of accident in the mad rush to run. She looks at Becky with undisguised envy as she exits freshly showered, and decides hell with it, Brandon and Hobbs can argue about first watch -- she's getting a shower. "I'll let you guys figure out who's on watch. Wake me if I'm not already up in six hours." She disappears into the barn long enough to grab her pistol, a plastic baggie full of shampoo conditioner and the like left over from her aborted camping trip of so long ago and braves passing the kitchen for the bathroom beyond. She uses as little water as possible in her quick shower, finding clean towels (if the top one being a bit dusty, she digs down the pile much like Becky must've done) and absolutely revels in the feeling of being really, truly clean for the first time in weeks. She even puts mousse in her hair, what the hell. Instead of putting on her old, dirty clothes, she instead goes exploring in the drawers and closet, finding some rather large ladies' clothes. She pulls them on, used to most of her clothes long since hanging off her anyway: a pair of sweatpants that she can tighten the drawstring on, an oversized long-sleeved pink t-shirt, and thank you God, a pair of clean socks. She actually changes the sheets in the downstairs bedroom, tossing the dirty dusty ones in the closet before she collapses facedown into the bed, rifle leaning against the wall right next to it, pistol under the pillow, shoes lined up neatly next to the bed. As she waits for sleep to claim her, she lazily ponders cleaning the filthy kitchen and possibly breaking out her camp stove and making something hot for lunch, provided they're all still alive when she wakes up.
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Dec 2, 2007 01:48
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Jennifer Jennifer is almost asleep when Hobbs' feet, then his voice, announce his presence in the adjoining living room. She feels a mix of annoyed at the rude awakening and grateful that he at least thought not to startle those already trying to sleep, and rolls over with a sigh, glancing at the door. She knuckles her eyes and tries to still her racing mind, full of plans upon awakening: they should rip out some seats from the school bus, time provided, and take a mattress and boxspring from the house and stuff them inside so the wounded have a more comfortable place to sleep -- and also so people can sleep comfortably in shifts, all the better for longer drive times. Of course they should probably pull everything off the bus and go through it anyway to make sure nothing has been inserted among the goods. Boris or one of those on the bus did say it had been ransacked. Some kind of tracking device could be a real problem. To say nothing of stowaways... She shakes that thought off, thinking about inventorying what they find here and what they have, all the better to calculate supplies... and falls asleep trying to run the numbers in her head, blackness mercifully claiming her. Unfortunately, Raymond's shout jerks her from the first sound, dreamless sleep she's managed in a week and she groans, rubbing her eyes. Sound carries when you're the only moving things within five miles. Still, five hours is better than none. She jams her feet in her shoes to see what the problem is, then remembers her mask and puts it on before braving that foul kitchen to get outside, pistol at the ready. What she finds instead is Boris and Raymond standing over John's nigh-lifeless form. She just stares a moment, still mentally firing on half cylinders. "What happened to him?" She pulls on a pair of latex gloves before beginning to check him for signs of infection -- fever, sweating, red angry wound. She checks his pupils while she waits for a response, then looking up notices the bird and stills, eyes widening. "Is that a... bird? On the steering wheel?" Diag/First Aid 13 physician 12. Anything physically wrong with him?
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Dec 4, 2007 03:23
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Jennifer Jennifer frowns at the seemingly mystical medical state of the sleeping (comatose?) man, glancing up at Hobbes. First him, now this man... It was enough to make her never want to sleep again. Then Brandon mentions he was the one on watch and she stands immediately, holding her pistol. "Alright, screw this. We are out of here in ten minutes. There's nothing we can do for him right now, unless you want to give him your magic dream-watch." She glances at Raymond, unable to keep the sarcasm totally out of he voice. "Hell, I gave it to you and you woke up, maybe it'll do the same for him. This is beyond my medical capabilities. Unless you've got a syringe of adrenaline on you somewhere or something." She motions to Hobbes to come with her and then screams at the thump from the bottom of the bus, startling the bird on the steering wheel. Eyes wide, pistol at the ready and aimed at the door, she hisses, "Something's under the bus!"
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Dec 4, 2007 21:28
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Jennifer Jennifer spares a glance away from the door for a quick headcount - Evan, still sleeping even through all this ruckus, John, same. Raymond, Hobbs, Boris, Brandon, they were all on the bus except... "Becky's sleeping inside the house, still." She looks at Raymond and Boris. "Can either of you see anything out of those windows?" She glances back at the door to the bus, eyes straining for any sign of movement, then widening as Hobbs relates his experiences with things coming out of the ground. "God dammmit. Alright, cover the door." She lays the pistol on the dash and gives the bird on the steering wheel the evil eye. "Unless you can drive this thing you're movin', bird." She waves at it, trying to shoo it off the steering wheel so she can sit down and drive. If it doesn't move she'll attempt to grab it and fling it out the door.
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Dec 4, 2007 23:02
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Jennifer Jennifer stares in gape-mouthed amazement as first Evan, then Raymond dash outside at the sound of the man's voice. She shakes her head slowly in disbelief, not quite willing to accept the whole 'and then I got away' so easily, looking at Brandon with concern. She picks up the pistol and eyes the bird. "Your lucky day today, I guess." She slowly descends the stairs to the ground, heart racing. The bird was a warning, for sure. But about what? Jacob? John's condition? Something that hadn't even arrived yet? The birds tended to travel in bigger numbers, though, and usually when the cerebrosus victims were... She stops, taking in Jacob's bloodshot eyes and pale appearance, and shakes her head slowly. Instead of making a scene, she instead turns and heads for the house to wake Becky and gather up everything salvagable she can from the pantry, medicine cabinets, and the like. They'd figure it out as soon as the initial euphoria wore off. Brandon would, at least. I'll be collecting the supplies named in the house-search results post you did, Gaist, and collecting it in either empty boxes or garbage bags that I presume are still in the house somewhere. I'll also be grabbing any bleach I can find, unused soap, (dish or bar or shampoo, whatever) and whatever medicine is in the medicine cabinets. I'd like to search the grounds around the barn for their storage tank of farm gas. Every real farm has one with colored lower-tax diesel in it for farm equipment. Chances are its probably leaking just like everything else but maybe we'll get lucky. If so we can at least fill the bus's tank. Any tools I can find, wrenches etc I'll also toss into the mix. If Becky's up for helping that'd be great, otherwise I'll tell her it looks like Jacob is alive but I'm afraid he may be infected so she should keep her distance.
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Dec 5, 2007 03:24
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Jennifer Jennifer accompanies her, box of foodstuffs in hand. She nods and ponders the thought of just how to get the gasoline out, and if it might require some sort of straining, or cleaning. Maybe Heet? There was probably some cheesecloth in the house, somewhere in that God-awful kitchen... She shook the thought away. It wasn't the poor housewife's fault her home was in that condition, who was she to judge? Still, this is why she was always harping about leaving dirty dishes in the sink. Becky's whisper brings her back to the here and now, and she nods, slowly. "Well, he did show up from it, if you mean that literally, but... Yeah. How many people have gotten away from these things scott-free? I think he's infected, and he's been let go to either infect the rest of us, or to help them find us easier. But they aren't going to just abandon him. Especially not after they did it once before." She conveniently omits her own role in that abandonment. "Guilt. Probably what whoever did that to Lucy and took him is counting on. Using our own humanity against us." She shakes her head, sighing. "Best we can probably do is quarantine him, put him in a mask and gown or something. John isn't waking up, either. And there's one of those birds in the bus, and they don't show up without some trouble starting. I'm all for getting out of here as soon as possible." She eyes the big tank and then sighs heavily. "Let's see what Evan has to say about the salvage potential of this gasoline, yeah?" She steels herself and heads back towards the barn.
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Dec 8, 2007 02:15
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Jennifer Jennifer watches Jacob like a hawk for any signs of infection, the tension in her shoulders relaxing slightly as the sunlight does wonders for his complexion. "Food, water." She pauses and looks at him significantly. "A working shower." She moves towards her car, popping the hatchback with a muffled doublebeep and sliding the box of dry goods into the back on top of various other gear. "I cannot tell you how good it feels to be clean." She puts the rifle in its accustomed place in the passenger seat and backs the car up so that its rear sticks halfway out of the barn, in the full sunlight. Then she pulls out a squarish looking backpack and a small... what looks like a shaving kit, but as she rolls it out and spreads it on the ground, appears instead to be some kind of solar panel. She plugs in the laptop as well as a cel phone and turns on the laptop. The sound of a baby's voice rings out over the barn: 'Cheeriosh!' She can't help but smile at the sound, hidden by the mask though it may be, and starts updating her inventory of what she managed to salvage from the house, sitting on the rear bumper as she types rapidly into a spreadsheet, pausing to look at various labels. "There's a couple safes inside, a gun safe and a... regular safe, I guess. And a shotgun hanging over the fireplace. Try searching the desk in the upstairs bedroom; I'll bet they have the combinations written down somewhere in there or on a calendar or something. Could be something useful." Oracle fucked around with this message at 15:03 on Dec 11, 2007 |
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Dec 11, 2007 14:53
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