Left 4 Dead: Come Hell and High Water {IC}

{Hot damn, Robin, you're freaking hilarious. I'll have to remember to copy this entire on-going battle to some file on Word. Anna. Nick Weenors. Yes. xD}

"Son of a filthy, incompetent whore, Robin. 'Lena always said you were rough..." the thin, beaten boy grumbled as he picked himself up from the far beyond flooded ground. His clothes, if they hadn't been wet enough already, dripped with frigid moisture and clung to his body, making the texture of his stomach and chest entirely visible through the dark fabric. Though Robin, at this point, was undoubtedly blaring with rage, January still found the courage -- nay, audacity -- to prod at his resolve. It was fun to see the man angry, and it was an utter joy to have Helena chew him out for mistreating her sibling, no matter how fucking wrong he was.

He flashed the boy a cocky grin and readjusted his hands so that the weaponry slung around his torso sat demurely in his large, trembling hands. Though the thought of pushing Robin's limitation further was one Jan was particularly fond of, he turned his attention back at the group of new potential allies, his entertained, perky grin faltering to a simple, civil smile. "They'll be coming as long as I'm around," he giggled disturbingly at the deviant, sick attempt at a joke and continued on in a serious, ever so daunting tone. "Aha, ignore Robbie, though. I honestly have no idea what he's talking about! I do hope 'Lena's okay, though, we must've terrified her being down here for so long. Ah well, at least nobody was hurt. Er, almost nobody. Sorry about him, by the way."

Nick gave a warning glare at the boy stationed firmly on his feet a few steps' distance away, pulling the cricket bat from its sling one more time. He wasn't supposed to care about any of the people he'd ended up charging through the south with, yet he was ready and willing to beat the mouthy young bastard before him in an instant for saying such things so damn lightly. This January kid was going to drive him insane, and paired with the hick antics of the last remaining Savannah native, they'd be smart to consider themselves lucky for not being slaughtered by him alone.

"Look, jackass, why don't you take your Goddamn shelter and just shove it, alright?" he hissed through fiercely clenched teeth, his calloused hands running impatiently over the splintered, crimson stained paddle's handle as if it would calm his tense nerves. The gambler was sick and tired of being sick and tired, and imagined sending the thick bulk of timber directly through this "January"'s thick skull.

The young woman beside him, one hand placed defensively upon her gun while the other pressed lightly at the deep, spurting wound distressing her waist, interjected profusely after her ally's outburst. Her thin brows grooved themselves together while her luscious cerise lips pursed together, making for a desperate, apprehensive expression. "Wait, wait, please. If you've got enough space for four--three more, we'd like to stay; j-just for enough time to rest up and then we'll be on our way. Promise."

"Are you joking, Ro?" Nick replied in a nihilistic haste, his hands dropping limply to his sides in accordance, "We're not staying here. Overalls, stop this bullshit, would you? ...Ellis?"

A panic sparked in both Rochelle and Nick, though the experienced swindler remained silent after Rochelle went on her short lived escapade to find the boy, shouting his name loudly. He heaved an exasperated sigh and glanced between the two strangers, dubbing them trustworthy, even if for the moment. The sound of Ro's calming from the small stretch of flooded water away calmed his frustration a small bit, knowing that they hadn't lost two survivors in a period of five minutes, and also found complaisant enough of a voice with which to address the two newest additions to the group, no matter how temporary.

"Name's...name's Nick."

O_____________________O

The sable skinned beauty took a deep breath when making her way towards the pitiful looking young mechanic, gathered up in his own strong, capable arms. The crackling out of the walky-talky met with the producer's ears, but she would manage to ignore it until Ellis could calm. It was a near impossible thought, Ellis being truly upset, but now was certainly not the time. Rochelle bit her bottom lip and kneeled in front of her despondent companion, dragging a cold dark hand over his shoulder to soothe him.

"Sweetie...I...I'm sorry." she choked out, suddenly realizing she hadn't the slightest idea as to what it was she could say to make him feel reassured. Rochelle already felt weighed down by unbridled grief, exhaust, and a nagging confusion about she and her two teammates' relationship all at once, and felt ignorant for trying to keep the typically quite optimistic young man in high spirits whilst she tore herself apart in the very same instance. "God, it's all fucked up, I know, but...we can't have you staying here. There're more people...they're immune, and they want to help. We've got a place to stay for the night, hon'. C'mon."

ooc/ It looks even more hilarious when spelled... Nick... Weenors... xDD Actually, it's Weenorscchhhgggchchhggc. Or however you spell phlegm noises.
NICHOLAS, YOU SHOULD'VE GONE TO YA COUSIN'S BAR MITZVAH. THEN YA FRIEND TEACH WOULDN'T BE DEAD. Y'KNOW, YOU SHOULD DITCH AQUAMAQUISHA AND GO WITH THAT LITTLE HELEN GIRL. SHE LOOKS NICE AND JEWISH. OR FEBRUARY. WHATEVAH FLOATS YA BOAT; I DON'T JUDGE.
... I'm sorry, but February?! xDDD What is wrong with Nick's Mom and people's names?! ... AND WHY IS NICK JEWISH?! x33


ic/ The shorter, charcoal-haired man scanned his cold, cerulean eyes over Nick several times from head to toe. He rested a single hand at his hip and cocked a brow with a monotonous expression. "You can say that again," he huffed, still refusing to look back toward January, or even respond to the fact that the younger boy had called him Robbie for, what, the third time? "In fact," growled Robin, "I couldn't have said it any better myself."

~~~

Rochelle's kind voice lulled Ellis slightly from whatever trauma it was that had overtaken him, and he blinked up at her from his slouched position on the ground, slowly at first, as if trying to comprehend her words. His eyelids half drooped over fireless, livid orbs, he allowed the small woman to take his hand in hers and pull him to his feet, though still no words escaped past his throat. Ellis, though lumbering mindlessly after Rochelle as she coaxed him back toward the general direction of the main group, grafted a woebegone look over his shoulder and to Coach, his fallen companion--his brother, even.

Once Rochelle had successfully herded Ellis back with Nick and the two other strangers, the younger boy contemplated the vast idea of death. He had never taken the thought so seriously as he was at that moment, and it utterly frightened him to the nth degree. Death had swallowed up Coach into this realm of oblivion, and just thinking about it all made Ellis feel so miniscule and insignifigant in that entire world he dwelled upon; like, if he were to die at that moment, not a living soul across the cosmic stretch of universe would even bat an eyelash in acknowledgement.

Panicking thoughts tumbling over and over again in a cycling maelstrom within his mind, Ellis was afraid; astonished; shaken; dejected. He didn't know what to say or do or think, and so he didn't. He only stood there, unfocused his eyes, let himself drift mentally into some far-off world where none of the rending thoughts would harm him--somewhere where there wasn't a zombie apocalypse.

{Mrs. Weenors-ccchhhhfkkkchaaagh, you dirty liar...You do so judge...Especially Little Nicky. FEBRUARY! xDDD Awesome. Pure awesome.
Nick: "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!"
NOTHIN' YOU COULDN'T SOLVE BY GOIN' TO LITTLE DONNY'S BAR MITSVAH. ISN'T THAT RIGHT, NICHOLAS?
Nick: "MOTHER WOULD YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?"
SUCH LANGUAGE, ON THIS BOY. YOU KNOW NICHOLAS I HAVE HALF A MIND TO--HEY LOOK, THERE'S YA CUTE FRIEND ELVIS. WHY CAN'T YOU BE MORE LIKE ELVIS? WITH YOUR NOT GOIN' TO SCHOOL, BREAKIN' UP WITH THAT SWEET JEW GIRL NIKKI, AND YOUR BEIN'...GROSS-FACED...AND...DUMB.
Nick: ....T_T}

O_____________________O

Quirking a thick brow to the younger man, Nick figured as long as there was someone sane this new surviving team could offer, it'd be this "Robin" character. "I'll be damned, looks like you've got a decent brain up there too." he replied through dry, upward curved lips. Well, at least the boy would give him some fairly engaging conversation when Rochelle had her babying fits with Ellis, rather than glaring in distaste at the pair. He would never understand what she saw in the country bumpkin mechanic, though he'd soon enough discover it was the exact same thing she had seen in him. A love interest, to be frank; someone of great value in her mind and heart.

But of course, that sort of thing was too distracting during the apocalypse, or at least, that's what Coach had instructed her in one of her various venting sessions. Those, along with the fatherly older man's life, had come to an abrupt end, and Rochelle would have to rely completely on her own mind -- buzzing with agonizing conflict and paranoia -- and spirit to sort out her problems. It'd be painstaking and time consuming, to say the least, but the news producer was far beyond thankful that the last of the survivors available to her kept offering their own individual problems, which she took great care solving. It was so much easier to help others than help herself, no matter how much her confused, contentious young mind begged for the aid in question.

Despite all the horror and confusion, Rochelle could manage to put her attention between the new, warm shelter on the second floor of this hurricane victimized house, and the unresponsive, but cognizant young man still stationed beside her. It was an impossible idea that the boy even understood the concept of sadness after all the positivity he'd been spreading from the very start. He was certain Keith was alive, and he'd never once mentioned his doubts about his mother's survival, though with the way he'd touched on it, it seemed they were the last two members of his family. It must've crushed him to go so quickly from thinking -- believing Coach was some incredible, indestructible father-figure given to him by the gods up in Rock n' Roll Heaven, to watching his lifeless corpse rot away slowly on the hood of some hick shit mobile.

"Ellis," the young woman murmured sadly, as if saying his name would get him to respond in any kind of way. She looked up at Nick, standing on the other side of the boy now, already starting up a conversation with Robin. "Can we just get inside, please? We all need to heal up and get some sleep. Ellis ain't doing too well, and I'm really scared for him, Nick."

Nick nodded attentively to Rochelle, then glanced down with a lackluster emerald gaze to the grief stricken young man, his lopsided smirk fading considerably. He didn't care much for the kid, what with his happy and unrealistic nature, and tried to make it as clear as possible that the decision to keep his distance would be a wise one. Still, it was strange to see anything but a dumbshit goofy grin on his slightly bruised face, and with it nearly giving Rochelle heart palpitations, Nick resolved getting inside to safety was no longer an option.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Either of you wanna lead the way?"

Robin allowed a pained and half-hearted grin, rather pleased that he'd come across somebody stable among the diminished humans across southern United States. With his darling Helena petrified to even set foot in a puddle any deeper than several inches, and with the infamous January being unhealthily, completely, and utterly attracted to every living--and inanimate--entity in the known world, and even Robin himself being eaten from the inside out by ridiculously insufferable withdrawal and remnant terror... Well, he was absolutely sure that Nick would be a blessing for their shattered and hopeless little group, the man seeming far more than only capable of being a team leader. For him, Robin would step down and allow the title to go to Nick, as he was sure he himself was in no fit position to lead the gradually expanding group to safety.

"Well, feels like the rain is starting to pick up a little more," he murmured shakingly, unable to keep his voice and body from quaking. "We should h-hurry on inside... We've yet to search the place for necessities." And yet, my own necessities are completely different from theirs...

Robin began a pained limp for the house, shuddering at the corpses clogging the doorway. He had to step carefully over them, including the limp chord of the creature that had ensnared him earlier, habitual fright striking him. With nothing else to focus on and nothing to keep his thoughts from landing right back on what he craved most, sickness swelled within him and he allowed himself to limply fall to his hands and knees beside the old staircase and become ill across the wooden floor panels. Chest heaving and coughing gasps escaping his lips, Robin threw himself back against the side of the flight of stairs, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes. Rain and sweat matted hair covered his eyes, and his energy-drained arms lifted unwilling, his cold and shivering hands pushing back the dark locks. Woefully, he moaned and griped under his breath, letting his limbs go limp, feeling used up and broken.

He only hoped the three who didn't know him would believe he was only sickened by the disease-ridden corpses.


ooc/ Eh... Not much to do with brain-dead Ellis. xD

With a shrug, Nick stepped in through the dismantled doorway into the field of slumped over death and decay on the inside of the house. By the looks of the mildew ridden, antiquated wallpaper and tacky keepsakes strewn among the corpses and decayed pieces of furniture, the house had once belonged to a typical hick family; the kind of people he assumed Ellis to associate himself with. A few abandoned shot guns decorated the curiously crowded kitchenette floor and a few meager shots of adrenaline threatened to tip off the edge of the broken counter top, just to the right of an uninfected human's carcass. The group must've gone through quite the fight to call the shack of a house shelter for the evening, he figured, but wondered still why they'd gone unnoticed for so long.

"You said the girl's upstairs?" the gambler told, more than asked, the two young men nearest the stairs, cocking a brow in suspicion. "And you're all immune, right? We've already run into that problem; shooting allies isn't always fun, but it's...necessary[/i]. Not above it, that is."

January shrugged and shifted from foot to foot, half expecting Robin to respond before the idea of murdering Helena even fabricated in the rather cold stranger's mind. When no response came, and the dual holes burning into his flesh from the harsh, skeptical glares tossed his way by both Nick and Rochelle became too much to bear, the boy spoke up in haste, praying to whatever deity it was safe to believe in anymore that they wouldn't take the hesitation to respond as a resounding "yes".

"No, no, God no! We're immune." he shouted just a bit too loudly, and all too quickly. The stern, unconvinced look on Nick's face conveyed just enough that he didn't trust a word Jan had spoken. The horribly scary stare the older man administered forced an audible wince to emit from January's full lips, his hands meeting and toying with the other uncomfortably.

"It's not like we've got any other options. They're 'immune' enough to last this long, Nick, it should be fine. We're leaving first thing after the storm's cleared a bit, remember?" The mellifluous, compassionate words spoken by the rather graceful woman stationed a few feet behind the nervous omnisexual forced a calming wave to wash over the young man's tired body.

And though Nick continued his ascent up the stairwell soon after a silenced negotiation, January still wasn't convinced that he, Robin, nor Helena was trusted at all. It was understandable, what with it being the end of the world and all, but he took the time to mentally note how quickly the brusque gentleman had been swayed by his female companion. Intriguing, to say the least. With the final decision for the new survivors to hold up in the bedroom with them for the remainder of the evening, or just enough time to get a good sleep in what January had to assume would be days long, he cooed sweetly to his sister who was still curled up on top of the bed, holding the pistol to her thin, pounding chest while gazing intently at the weakly barricaded door.

"'Lena, honey, we're coming up! All the zombies are cleared out, so there's nothing to worry about!"

That statement alone was all the woman needed to practically leap off of the comforting, soft bedsheets and into the crawlspace left between the dresser and bedroom wall. She pressed her trembling, petite back against the wall and pushed one slender leg out, pushing the heavy object almost completely back into place. Until it was back in place, she braced her body using one stable leg firmly on the floor, and her idle hands working in conjunction with her less than resolute back. As soon as the door was clear to open and Helena's pert pink lips parted to call down to her brother and future husband that it was safe to come in, the heavy aperture flew open to reveal a tall, rugged man in a blood and muck stained suit, bloodied paddle in hand.

Helena fell back onto the floor roughly, hands and legs trembling as heated blood rose to her face and her eyes widened in fear of the stranger. He wasn't January, and certainly not Robin; in fact, he was completely unrecognizable. His eyes were a frigid, careless green, and his thin lips were pressed into a frown, as if the fact that she had been occupying the room hadn't phased him in the slightest. Then she heard strained footsteps creak atop each of the slowly deteriorating stairs, and to the timid young woman's surprise, two more complete strangers joined the one she'd been mortified by already. Not knowing what else to do besides shoot the fuck out of them, Helena erupted into a helpless shriek, fingers coiling strenuously over the handle and trigger of her magnum, nearly firing straight at the team of intruders.

{Yeah, I know. Just have him sit in a corner, Rochelle will probably ignore her sliced up-ness and heal him up...while trying to get through to him, of course.}

A mere scream of horror was quite enough to jerk Robin back into a state of miserable reality, and he took a heaving breath as he clawed for a firm grip on the stairs' railing to haul himself into a standing positon. He rocked on his heels, felt an inward, sickening stab, but choked it all down and staggered as functionably as he could manage up the rickety flight of steps. Rounding the sound and obscure corner of the dry hallway on the second floor, he shouldered his way through the blockage that the three newcomers had formed in the doorway and collapsed to his knees beside Helena, gathering her up in his arms and forcefully pressing his forehead into the crook of her neck, yearningly and as if he couldn't get close enough to her as he direly needed to.

"It's okay, it's okay," he chanted, not sure whether he was reassuring his love or himself. He cast a desperate look in Nick, Rochelle, and Ellis's direction. "They... they're survivors. We n-need them as much... as much as they need us..."

Robin took Helena's jaw gently in his hand and turned her to face him so as to watch her fearful eyes carefully. "I love you," he mumbled hastily off topic.

Again, the walky-talky strapped to Ellis's belt blared a static sound, Virgil's words unclear. Robin glanced up toward the silent boy, realizing he didn't even know what the kid's voice sounded like. "Is that someone contacting you?" he questioned. "There are others?" Ellis held his gaze evenly, but showed no signs that he'd even acknowledged that the dark-haired man had spoken. Instead, he gulped audibly, let his blue eyes fall to the dusty floor, and subconsciously lulled closer to Rochelle so their shoulders brushed.

Nick pursed his lips in confusion and slight sadistic amusement at the pale, frightened woman in a sad looking heap with her boyfriend -- or one of them, depending on what the hell sort of crazed polygamy shit that group had going for them -- and eventually fell, exhausted, into one of the old recliners in the far corner of the room, nearest the bathroom. The cricket bat slipped willingly from his strong grasp and clattered to the warm, dry wooden floor as the haggard man rid himself of the heavy piece of artillery strapped to his back, the cumbersome gas can, as well as the really rather lightweight yet still laborious medical kit and let out a relieved sigh at the sound of them all fell to the ground and out of his care.

He gazed up less than purposefully at the dingy, asbestos ceiling above, listening intently to the unending shower of rain just outside the reinforced wooden walls, and the hum of beginning conversation in the room. The annoying groan of weight pushed against the floor stung at his ears for a few moments whilst January made the -- surprisingly mindful -- decision to block the door while everybody healed and rested. It would be a long night and, with luck, one filled with remedy and alleviation and sleep.

For the moment, the exhausted, yet silently mournful gambler would close his eyes and temporarily forget the loss of an ally and great friend, and listen closely for the heartening, sweet sound of Rochelle's voice, and somehow subside his unreadable paranoia enough for him to actually sleep for the first time in days.

Helena's nearly morbidly thin fingers reached out to brush the heated, though dripping flesh on his cheek, shaking and hesitant. They stroked there once or twice, as if daring his figure to disappear and reveal to her the fact that it was not real. She smiled and embraced Robin wholeheartedly after convincing herself all was as well as it could have been, taking in strangers, and felt her shoulders shudder in both increasing cold and fear.

"You're sure about them? They're not infected, are they? Wait, you're not hurt, right? Oh, God, Robin, you scared me more than the hurricane out there." the woman mumbled into her beloved's chest, sheathed only by the thoroughly soaked through cotton shirt he was wearing. "I love you too, Robin."

If they weren't all slaughtered one by one by zombies first, they'd die of disease from the weather and freezing, wet clothes they were all wearing. Helena had pondered that, among several other things, being holed up in the bedroom for what had to have been an hour. A wave of uncomfortable jitters wracked her small body each and every time a gunshot echoed and seemed to rattle the house, and with each one she prayed her boys' chances of survival grew. She didn't like the feeling of being left behind to wait out the horde, but she knew risking both her life and her unborn child's would be too much to bear for both her brother and boyfriend.

"Clothes, you all need clothes." Helena sprang to her feet clumsily, taking a few hurried steps to the bureau and pulling out as many adequate garments passable for attire as she could. "I-I found this gun under the dresser...not quite sure if that's something you all would be interested in. Haven't got the courage to go into the bathroom yet, but everything should work. Shower and toilet, I mean. They might have pain pills or something, if it gets...unbearable."

O__________O (Oh, no, not this guy again xD)

In response to the younger, more discerning young addition to the group, Rochelle's caramel gaze traced an invisible line down Ellis's side and to his waist, where sure enough the radio was hissing and crackling with life, a familiar, raspy Cajun voice pleading for an answer. She glanced sympathetically at the mechanic's emotionless, bruised face, but ran her hand over the walkie and slipped it from his waistband as Virgil's half coherent message repeated.

"Ridin' along shore, waitin'...not sure...fill up the...horde inbound...Virgil out," the small machine sputtered before halting, as if expecting a response.

Rochelle looked down at Robin with an unsure frown, but figured giving him a proper response would be just as important as replying to Virgil's unclear message. "Yeah, Virgil. Not so sure about survivors outside of who we've got here, but Virgil's immune as you or me. He's been running a course for us from the swamps to New Orleans, but we ran out of gas halfway so he dropped us off at the Burger Tank on the other side of Ducatel, if you've seen it." With that, she clicked the button situated at the side of the small contraption and spoke directly into it, hoping that their travel companion would receive the message and not leave them alone in the damned hick town. "Rochelle contacting Virgil. Do you copy? There's been a change of plans, Virg', we've got six survivors who need to get the hell outta here, and four gas tanks. Can you manage that?"

ooc/ Well... Might as well bring Neal and Jimmy back in. They've been gone long enough... Oh, and about that, Jimmy's sort of an "anyhting goes" kind of guy, just not near as extreme as January. And Neal hardly even knows the meaning of the word "attraction", so he'll just submissively follow after if his alter ego finds an interest in someone... Just a little heads up for Jan, if he and Jimmy take a liking to each other... o_________o;;


ic/ He knew not how long he had been lying motionless on his back on the floor of his parents' car, hands folded across his protruding ribcage and wide, leaden eyes gazing unblinkingly up at the windowpane above his head. The storm seemed to have settled considerably, with a light, hazy sprinkle all that was left within the grey, foggy heavens. All was much quieter than it once was; Neal could have sworn, among the screeching winds and roaring thunder of the previous hour, he had heard screams of an unnatural kind--somewhat human, but not quite so. Of course, he knew who--or what, rather--the noises had emitted from, and nor was Jimmy in the dark about the violent sounds. But, at that moment, it was silent, and far more than it should have been. Neal felt as if he'd gone deaf, sue to the drastic contrast between the previous cacophony and the current tranquility.

The rain stopped, Jimmy mused. Neal only blinked in thought, hand falling to the barrel of the gun at his side. When he showed no signs of responding, Jimmy continued on to say, We should go outside.

Neals eyes jerked open wider in shock. "A-are you mad? There are freaking zombies out there."

Oh, just say "fuck", will you? sighed Jimmy. Anyway, we have a gun. We're seemingly immune. We're at a damn road block, and we can't go any farther unless we turn around, which I'm not going to let you do. He paused. Neal... we're leaving this car.

Neal hesitated, feeling as if he were stapled to the floor of the car, wedged in between the narrow space of the front and back seats. "I don't... I don't th-think I can..." he stammered, all feeling drained from his limbs.

Fine, Jimmy spat, and Neal's body was suddenly jerked upright. The fifteen-year-old boy didn't resist, and instead let himself go limp as his other half took over. After all, he'd taught himself to trust Jimmy and his opinions to always be true. It was just the way things had been for as long as he could remember.

Jimmy reached over the front seat to unlock the doors, the hunting rifle gripped tight in his opposite hand. He opened the door a crack, instantly feeling crisp, icy air meet his warm and dry skin. Shivering a bit and locking his jaws together tight, Jimmy pushed the door completely open and ventured out into the swampy, flooded street. He carefully picked his way through the piles of barbed wire to the side of the cement blocks, wincing as the jagged edges caught on his jeans.

"Holy shit..." Jimmy murmured as he turned the corner of the desolate road, overgrown with hedges. Down the long stretch of street before him were countless corpses, strewn and littered about, on their own, or in massive piles. He doubted they were all human. In fact, there was one body that stood out among the rest--a large, hefty man slumped against an ancient, rotting truck. To Jimmy's dismay, the man was still profusely bleeding from rended wounds, and the horrendous smell about him was fresh and lingering.

"Neal, this stuff is fresh! These zombie corpses, this... this man!" He blinked heather eyes several times in astonishment. "What if... what if there are more close by...?" Not taking any chances, Jimmy began shouting, "Hey! Hello? Anyone out there?"


ooc/ That totally wasn't an unrealistic coincidence at all... xD I don't think I have much to do with Robin and Ellis, so I'll leave you to, uh... this. January seems to be wandering about and searching the house downstairs, eh? He could be all, "EHMEHGEHD, PEAPULZ."
K, thx, bye. :3

"Virgil? Virgil, do you copy?" the audibly uneasy woman repeated to the small, dying machine sitting in the palm of her slender, bruised hand. Her thin brows stitched together in fear that she'd lost contact with the Cajun sailor, and her attempts grew more frantic and rushed. She was hardly making sense anymore, she knew, and the thought of finally giving in to the seductive call of neurosis had died down in terms of futility. "Virgil, if...if you can hear me, wait for us, please. Sail along the shore, stay out of sight...just, for the love of God don't abandon us. Coach...he's gone. I won't be able to--"

And before the next word was out in open air, the walkie-talkie's life fizzled out in a circumventing crackle, even the sound of dead air lost to all existence. The message would've gotten through if Coach had been there to aid, of that Rochelle had injudiciously convinced herself, and Ellis wouldn't be recoiling into the solemn husk of the lovable young man he once was. Dropping the communicator to the floor in disgust, Rochelle's soft hazel eyes found their way to the Savannah mechanic's, hoping to find the jubilant glimmer of vitality in those bottomless pools of foggy blue. There she found nothing, and was surprised at herself for expecting such lifelessness in the young man.

Her ample chest heaved in a desperate, quivering breath as she fought vigorously at the hopeless tears that so begged to be set free. She licked her plump, rose lips once or twice over, and led Ellis by the arm to an empty space where there were no strangers, nor detrimental, unfeeling gamblers to invade upon what she prayed would not be a one-sided exchange. Rochelle fell a bit too harshly against the wall, disturbing the still profusely bleeding wound at her side, and slid down the flat, decaying surface to a stop at the wooden floor. Her knees were pulled loosely to her chest whilst her arms folded over one another atop them, and her head tilted slightly to rest upon the makeshift cushion her own bruised and battered darkly tanned flesh had made.

"I don't think I ever realized how much we all needed him," the producer began suddenly and softly as her eyes stared off somewhere in the distance at nothing in particular, though her full attention was on the boy before her. "And now that I think about it, I can't imagine anyone else who could have helped to get me this far. You guys are complete strangers, and yet the only people I'd ever want to...you know, die beside -- you, Nick, and Coach, I mean." The blank expression still looming freshly over the mortified young man's face was enough to wrench at Rochelle's heart, and she immediately felt as if she was powerless to his feelings.

It was better, however, than Nick, who was so blatantly avoiding the coming to terms with his own thoughts as if they'd hurt him more than Coach's death itself. Just another aspect of the casino hopper's personality that infuriated, yet entirely intrigued her. Normally, she'd have a nice long conversation with Nick until things got too "personal" or non-cognitive, and he'd either shout in annoyance or escape from the situation completely as just another way to avoid the inevitable. She'd then find solace in Ellis and his open and contagiously excitable and happy persona, and they'd go on for what could easily be mistaken for hours about their pasts and friends and hobbies, and just how glad they were despite the shit on a plate the world seemed to be serving them. It was wonderful, but dreadful all the same to be so infatuated with the two, really it was.

"If you don't want to talk, don't, just...you're scarin' me, sweetie. I miss your voice already." she giggled nervously towards the end of her sad statement, her thin fingertips weaving into the coarse, many strands of black now running down her back. It was pathetic, the way she kept on trying and failing like that, but there'd be something eventually to get that boy back to normal. There had to be.

{ Tired...sleep...this is it for now. Will respond with Jan/Helena...later...Seven-hundred words is enough, I say! D: *snooze*}

Ellis took in every kind, gentle word emitted from the small woman, though he had little response. The process was slow, for all that was keeping him sane was registering and underdstanding each and every syllable to tumble from Rochelle's full, dark lips. The younger boy clapped a hand to his dampened forehead and ran his fingers down his face softly and slowly, as if brushing off all troubles. He was more aware now--more alert to the physical world that surrounded him, rather than the bleak and ominous void he'd been seized away to upon Coach's death. All but hesitantly and impassively, Ellis lifted his arm to lay it gingerly around Rochelle's trembling body, giving her opposite shoulder a reassuring embrace.

"Now, Ro, you know I love you," he murmured in his boyish, country accent, his voice cracking as if he hadn't used it in days, rather than just an hour or so. He glanced up from the dense, dusty floor to find all eyes turned to him--Helena's curiously, Robin's rather uncaringly, and Nick's venomously and enviously, to which Ellis couldn't help but hold a merciless grin against the older man. He continued on to say, "And I... I love Coach, too. You three are some of the best people I've ever known, and I'm mighty proud to fight these sons'a bitches alongside y'all. That big guy's gonna be remembered, and we better be damn sure to take out a few them motherfuckers in his honor; just for the hell of it."


ooc/ Don't have time to do much else... 'Tis all for now. :3
... *TACKLEHUGELLIS* I LUBS YOO! ;_________;

(( Press "X" to help murdochrouge up! Ellis hath incapacitated her with his cuteness. *headdesk* Pastulio Fattykins damn you, Anna, with your...Ellis-ness. I feel...winded...*collapses once more* ...*incoherent grumbling*...Rochellis...for the win...
Nick: >:[))

Rochelle let her far beyond exhausted eyes flutter closed at the invigorating sound of the young man's familiar Southern drawl and let her legs fall limply to the floor, one arm extended out to the floor beneath her to keep balance. She leaned into his strong shoulder, smiling glowingly whilst several responses to the boy's statement fought viciously at one another to escape out into the stale, damp air within the bedroom. Frail chest shuddering feebly in a modest sort of laughter, Rochelle found humor in her unnecessarily conflicted thoughts.

"There's my boy, I love you too, Hee-Haw." she murmured thankfully whilst slowly shaking her head into Ellis's shoulder, comfortingly warm beneath the sopping wet, frigid fabric of his band-name tee-shirt. "We all love Coach, baby, even Nick over there. You best believe he ain't gone, though, that man wouldn't ever walk out on us. It'll be rough for a while, I think, but we might as well get to know all these new survivors if we want to make it to Virgil and get to New Orleans. For Coach, this time."

Dull green eyes glared on at the scene from a distance he decided was much too close, being at the opposite wall. If the kid hadn't gone on a moping frenzy after losing the damned great man, Nick was certain Rochelle would be situated at his side instead, allowing him to heal her, or her healing his few nasty lacerations and meager contusions earned from the remarkably collective horde he'd saved her from. The tall, irritated and oh so very fatigued man took a deep, hushed breath and lifted himself from the chair with ease, glancing about the room as if something could take his mind off Rochelle and her consistent coddling over the ignorant, oblivious bumpkin, though he knew nothing would. Nothing ever did, after all.

"I'd hate to cut the schmaltzy hippie after-school special hour short, but I think Ro's kinda sitting in a puddle of her own blood. If Overalls over there weren't so distracted by her 'natural feminine wiles', I'm sure he'd have noticed and administered some sort of homemade hillbilly voodoo treatment, but for now, I think a med kit would do her wonders. Mind if I cut in, Ellis?" The gambler quirked a brow in mock interest, and waited no longer than a second for a reply, knowing he'd receive none. His formerly discarded health pack was tightly kept in place in the palm of his hand by five lengthy, ringed fingers now while his other hand motioned casually towards the boy.

That being said -- or not, rather -- Nick knelt down in front of the young woman, staring intently at the augmenting scarlet stain on her shirt, and allowing his calloused fingers to hover hesitantly above. He didn't look at her, for he was sure his face was now etched with mild fright and regret at not wanting to cause her any more pain than she must already have been in, but was dutifully ignoring. Clearing his throat and moistening his lips in preparation for the rather awkward question he was doomed to ask, he gave a hopefully unnoticed glance at Ellis, to his right, wondering with a sadistic sort of amusement what how he would react.

The long-time swindler shrugged inwardly as a sick, self confident grin tugged at the corners of his lips, "Lift up your shirt, would ya? Not trying to peep, we've got him," Nick gestured leisurely toward Ellis, now giving the former executive news producer a playful, slightly comforting smirk, "for that, but I'm afraid I'm actually going to need to see what I'm doing in order to fix ya up."

((...I'm gonna give Ellis a chance to cut in/protest/do something adorable there before Rochelle does anything. *evil giggle* Ma'am...would you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Weenors-Ckkkhghhchkk? xDDD I love this game. Eh. May or may not edit. Just wanna get this up here. Watchin' a movie...and doing homework.))

ooc/ Brittany... You feel winded? YOU feel winded? Ahem, have we forgotten about my hysteric, undue, fucking panic attack because of Gnome Chompski?! xD ... YOU feel winded?! ... REALLY?! >:O

Oh, and "Pastulio Fattykins damn you"? ... Is that our new curse word? xD

... In memory of Coach:
My milkshakes always bring Coach to the yard, and he's like, "MMMM. >:|"


ic/ Ellis blinked wide, crystalline eyes graciously, welcoming the warmth and comfort that the smaller woman provided at his side. Shock mostly subsided, he was just beginning to feel how uncomfortable he really was in his sodden, stretched-out clothing. Glowering at nothing in particular, the boy lifted the drenched cap from his head, rain-curled tresses of a warm ochre tumbling from beneath to crawl down his neck and stick to his forehead and cheeks. He shook himself, not unlike how a dog would go about it, and pushed the hair from his eyes with a deep, somewhat relieved sigh.

"Can't argue with that," Ellis responded upon Nick's intentionally crude words--he didn't mind, however. He never really did. "Go right ahead, Doc." He cocked a brow and grinned as he hauled himself into a standing position, stepping aside to allow Nick to do the honors of fixing up Rochelle. As for Ellis himself, he was aching a bit, but it was nothing he hadn't experienced before. In fact, the pain couldn't even compare to being barreled over at top speeds by a Charger, being ravaged completely by a Hunter, shred to ribbons by a Witch, or being struck by a fucking car thrown by a Tank. Honestly, the young, Southern man hadn't a clue how he and his comrades had even survived the last few days without so much as a broken limb. Well, that all goes except for Coach, God bless the man. Ellis knew, no matter how it turned out in the end, he would always look to Coach as the father-figure and absolute leader of the team--alive, or not.

Ellis turned to the two he'd yet to speak to; the young couple huddled on the floor at the other side of the cramped bedroom. "Clothes, you said?" he questioned the small girl--or perhaps, woman? Either way, she was awfully little... "Anything you reckon would fit me, miss?" He offered a kind, almost apologetic smile before fighting to drag off the sopping band-tee clinging to his torso and refusing to do so much as cooperate. Once he'd eventually succeeded, he wrung the garment of most water and shook it away from where it would splatter all over anyone. Halfway in between, however, he halted abruptly, dropped the article of clothing to the floor, and swiveled his body to face Nick and Rochelle.

"Whoa, now, hustler," he intervened, making his way hastily over to wedge his way partially in between the two. "You could try askin' a bit nicer, there, Suit," he just about growled to Nick. "You'd think a Vegas man like yourself would know a thing or two about women..."


ooc/ Ellis... shirtless... hatless... half-naked-ness... *swoondribbleflailincapacitation* ^o^ ... Wow, uh, Brittany... I don't think I'll ever say the word "death" again... it is only incapacitation... O_________O ACK! That emoticon startles me, now. xD Good thing I'm not a Witch... >:]

EDIT: Oh, oh, umm... is you staying home today? Friday, that is... >.> Just making sure... because of your random Boomer episode yesterday... xD Well, I'm staying home today. And I know I'll be bored all day. :P Oh, and text me so I can has your number. Don't even say that it's you. I'LL KNOW. >:3

((...What? NO! TT_TT
I totally had the freaking option of staying home today too! Damn. Wrong choices, Brittany, wrong choices! Ugh...ah well. Just march on over to my place when you can...or want to. The little brother happens to be molesting my Xbox with his Halo obsession, so no L4D2 yet, and my mom is probably about to put us all in danger with how much "we're" (just CJ is...) bothering her. Heh.))

Thick chestnut brows arched low against the less than honest man's resplendent green eyes in trifling form of exasperation, a strained sigh laden upon his lips. Looking not at Ellis, but past the moderately muscular bulk of his body to the young, injured, and -- what was that? -- amused woman on the other side of the boy, leaning dependently upon the wall to remain upright. She bit her bottom lip to suffocate the laughter that so vied for release after she'd seen the burdened, incredibly annoyed look on Nick's face, and felt less guilty when the gambler tossed her a slightly obscured grin in return.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Rochelle," Nick recited in a fake southern intonation; an obvious mockery of the humbly chivalrous young man between he and his "patient", of sorts, "Didn't mean to come off as one o' them bad ol' city folk! Kindly lift up that there shirt o' yours, if ya please, so that I can get myself a better look and heal ya. Wouldn't know where an ol' dicer like me would be if we lost ya now, ma'am." The lanky, less than gentlemanly gentleman took a step back, crossing his arms with an expectant smirk, and turned his attention swiftly to the boy. "How was that for playing nice? And by the way, Billy Bob Fuckwit, I know about women. Had enough of 'em to catch on eventua--" He paused almost immediately, the upset caramel colored glare he was earning himself from the beauty he was about to help heal making the rest of his statement flee his mind in fear of doing the wrong thing again.

Rochelle vaulted a thin, dark brow and her full pink lips drooped into a displeased frown. "No, please, Doctor Nick, don't let me stop you. Thanks, Ellis. Least one of these men has their manners in tact."

"Oh, come on Ro," The gambler dared to parley, brows stitched together in what appeared to be genuine worry. If there was anything anyone in the group knew about Nick, it was that he was a swindler in all terms of the word, and that included the long nights spent awake with a complete stranger whose name was a mystery to him, but the familiarity of touch and cold, untarnished cash was enough to suffice for the lack of personal knowledge. Everyone he knew had to be at arms length, at all times, he'd told Coach in confidence once upon a time, but now it was a fact -- a rule, even -- that he had to share with himself. He parted his lips once more to waltz his way back into the viable woman's good graces as he was so determined to do, but was cut off by the fair, gentle murmur of the female newcomer's voice.

"You said you wanted clothes," the almost sickly pale young lady reminded the others, though it sounded as though she was trying to prompt herself. "I-I'm not sure what size any of you are, but this is the best I could find. Lots of big tee-shirts and flannels...I guess we are in redneck territory. Uh, I'll find some place to hang your stuff up after you change. And, er, E-Ellis, was it? There...there is a bathroom to change in..."

((Hah, timid 'Lena is intimidated by Ellis and his hot-bod handsome-face-ness. xD Poor dear. Yeah, the face worries me too. Too bad for you, though :P))

O_______________________O

Crouched down behind the mold encrusted kitchen counter, stifling through the belongings of the fallen survivor hunched over the counter top now, January held his breath diligently as to keep the smell of decay and rotting corpses from forcing a spew of vomit from his throat. His hazy grey-blue eyes glanced behind him periodically, as if he was awaiting another onslaught of bloodthirsty creatures to leap out of hiding and attempt to take his life just as they had the older man slumped over the hood of some unsuspecting, alarmed pick up truck. His thin, still slightly trembling fingers probed about the kitchen floor through disembodied limbs and blood and debris, though they found nothing more than the few meager shots of adrenaline and half-empty pill canisters he'd already harvested and slipped into his sopping wet pockets and empty holsters.

With a sigh, the young man stood from his makeshift perch on the cracked and damaged linoleum floor, but his mind became all too alert with the sound of shrieks. For a moment, Jan was apprehensive as to whether the shouting was human language or not, but the massive fog accumulating within the tweaked throws of his mind cleared just a bit with the words, "Anyone out there?". He cocked his gun involuntarily and took a few hurried, paranoia stricken steps out the open doorway, and prodded the hurricane afflicted street for any signs of non-infected life. A delighted smile slunk across his full lips at the sight of a lanky boy, equipped with a gun, and a lost sort of stumble to his steps.

"This way, hurry," the young survivor whispered harshly into the deathly still, silenced setting just outside the doorway. He motioned a slender hand out to the boy, wafting his hand back and forth in an attempt to rush him along accordingly. Oh, goody, more pals to distract him from the divine, pale young woman he had fancied to calling "sister".

((But seriously, come over now.))

ooc/ We should agree to text one another if we're deciding on abruptly staying home. *nodnod*


ic/ "Oh, ha-ha," the young, lean boy rumbled, coiling and extending his fingers several times with an irate snarl. Often, he felt outmatched by the venomous, elder man, Ellis himself being not quite so willing to backbite. Perhaps if he, just once, actually fought back, with vigor, even, then maybe Nick would learn to maybe just slightly respect him. But, no; rage wasn't quite enough to push Ellis that far, and he'd prefer to keep the peace between possibly the last civilians on Earth--minus the military--rather than breaking them apart as Nick was so blatantly attempting to do, whether it was consciously, or not.

With a heaving exhale, Ellis's soft, blue eyes shifted in Helena's direction, but he found no audacity to smile that time. "Right, hun," he chuckled with a hint of melancholy. He glanced down and placed his hands on his hips, hooking his fingers through the belt loops at his sides. "I wouldn't have gone any further, anyway." At that, he allowed a slight upward curve in his lips. Yawning and letting his aching limbs drop limp at his sides, Ellis collapsed to his back onto the mattress centered in the room, and let his eyes lull closed. He could sleep--oh yes, slumber would be quite nice. But he felt as though he and his companions weren't completely out of trouble just yet. With such a notion, Ellis found it difficult to do so much as shut his eyes without a firearm clutched in his hands, but as physically drained as he was, he would allow it at that moment--only at that moment.

O________________O (... Wh-why...? WHY, BRITTANY?!)

Startled by the sudden shallow voice that just seemed to fade away into the swampy, flooded streets, Jimmy flinched and wheeled around to threateningly prod his weapon in the direction from wence it came. He relaxed his tight shoulders, however, once he saw a young man standing in the doorway of a nearby house, hastily and almost frantically beckoning him in. Though, within, Neal questioned whether to trust the boy, Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief and leapt over and through deep, obscure waters to get to where the other stood. He nodded a jerky thanks and slipped into the murk of the dusky, Ducatel building.

Not knowing what else there was to say, really, Jimmy shrugged and muttered a casual, "Hello." However, he soon got right to asking necessary questions. "Are you immune? Are there others? Are they immune? Wow... freaky shit, huh?" He blinked wide eyes and shook himself of all dampness clinging to his ragged, sable hair. He let the barrel of the hunting rifle drop to the musky, wooden floor, and held the weapon close to his leg. Ever so nonchalantly, Jimmy held out his hand in offering and pursed his lips as he studied the man before him. "I'm..." He paused, weighing out future consequences based on what name he chose to use. The smaller, much younger boy then grinned devilishly, paying no heed to Neal's inward protest. "I'm Jimmy."

Nick watched on in silence as the boy made his way for the fairly sized and comfortably decorated bed, a cheerless simper gracing his rugged, exhausted features as Ellis fell into the vast, comfy mess. The kid deserved some rest after the events that'd occurred within the day, well, that and the fact that the gambler now had the opportunity to bond with Rochelle without a certain wide eyed, annoyingly energetic mechanic to trot all over what small sort of progress the two had made in their strange sort of relationship. Typically, if he were still a casino hopping high roller at least, he'd have had a wholehearted laugh at the thought of giving up all that he had -- reputation, power, and freedom, to name a few of the "petty" little things -- for some woman.

Of course, as both Ellis and Rochelle were both fully aware, the once infamous Las Vegas con artist had given it all up for just some woman; once, and never again, Nick was certain. It wasn't a fond few memories, nor thoughts, in the slightest, and the ill suited swindler took joy in the moments he was able to think back to his ex-wife with complete and utter hatred probing his mind. Times spent with the skillful, caring young woman, Nick had refused to acknowledge for quite some time, tended to subside the still stinging pain and anger of his divorce. He shook the thoughts loose willingly, and knelt back down beside Rochelle to give her the necessary medical attention the small pool of blood beneath her had been demanding of him for the past hour since he'd first witnessed she'd been injured.

The now unzipped pouch revealed a few extensive rolls of gauze, medical tape, disinfecting alcohol, and a spare sewing needle for absolute emergencies. Nick grimaced as the shimmering pointed sliver glared back at him from beneath an indiscernible roll of gauze, hoping that whatever laceration or bite it was ailing Rochelle wasn't nearly severe enough to require stitching up. Lengthy, finally unarmed fingers lingered just above the darkened, heavily dampened cotton hem of the producer's shirt, Nick's face as calm and emotionless as ever, though his heart beat laconically and ever so relentlessly as his chest. His breathing was short and rapid, though not noticeable enough to bring it to Rochelle's attention, in fear of just how serious the wound staving away at the young woman's health would be, and the ever nagging tension of removing a woman's shirt. Not that he hadn't done that sort of thing before, of course, just never on Rochelle.

His chest rose slowly and fell just as gently as the uneasy survivor readied himself to remove the garment hasteningly and without further conflict. In one swift, fluid movement, Nick dipped both hands just underneath the thin, thoroughly soaked fabric and pulled it from the woman's bleeding torso, one hand slipping down to cradle her lower back for leverage. Hearing the offending, problematic thing slosh to the floor beside them signaled a deep, calming exhale from within the tensed confines of the swindler's frame, and he quickly settled himself upon the moderately deep seated gash in the young woman's side.

Rochelle's chest moved velociously with the consistent drum of her heart, and the rush of fear and worry she gained from watching the thick scarlet liquid seep slowly from the open wound on her waist and drip down her warming dark flesh, onto the molding wooden floor below, pooling dramatically in a few separate spaces, and licking at Nick's surprisingly ginger fingertips as he worked nimbly to apply pressure as well as disinfectant to it. She bit down roughly on her lip to keep from wailing out a shameless belt of curses as the scorching liquid met with her tender, clawed flesh, and grew both comforted and angry with the familiar sound of Nick's laugh.

"Ah, I probably shoulda mentioned. This shit stings," he murmured softly, still quite busy with his task of clearing any unwanted bacteria or debris still lodged within the injury from their former post out in the street. One firm palm kept an alcohol soaked strip of bandaging flat against the violently gouged flesh while the other fished about in the medical kit for the tightly wound coil of the same material to keep the wound sheathed from open air.

Every once in a while, his gaze would follow an invisible, hopefully unnoticed trail up the woman's abdomen and to her heaving chest, but the moment he felt the tell-tale tug of a smile against his lips, he knew he'd let his thoughts waver just a bit too long from the task he had assigned himself, and righted his line of sight, only to be distracted by more...pressing matters. He only prayed Rochelle hadn't caught onto the act, for he knew a truckload of pure, untarnished bullshit was headed in his direction if he had indeed been descried. Fingers encircled tightly around the nearest ring of gauze, Nick was quick to coil it bearably tight around the, still reeling in stinging agony, woman's slender waist, biting off a generous length of tape and stamping it along the outer rim of the few thin layers of binding.

After a breath, the gambler resumed a rather relaxed stance on his feet and offered his hand to the young woman, who took it hesitantly at first with a distasteful glower, then smiled up at him and ran a gentle hand along his broad shoulder. "I'd say thank you," she began with that charming, pert lipped and neighborly smirk, then continued, "But I figure being topless for that long was thanks enough, right? Ellis, sweetie, you might wanna check and see if that bed belongs to little lady or her either of her boys before takin' over the place. We're the guests in here, after all."

Robin cocked a brow with a cynical, downward curve of his lips as he, too, began to disrobe--that is, if slipping off a mere t-shirt could be considered as such. The flesh beneath the drenched fabric was clammy and damp and all around uncomfortable, not to mention cold and numb. Robin reckoned just about eighty percent of his body heat had escaped him throughout his time in Ducatel's monstorous hurricane conditions, and his jittery, paranoid quaking wasn't helping much, either.

"Guests?" he repeated the older woman's words with a sigh. "Might I remind you, Helena and I--" He didn't even bother mentioning January. "--aren't from around here. This is not our house. This is not our damn Podunk town. No conditions could ever force me to live in this hillbilly South." He spat out the last word with utter contempt. "And so, we have no claims to any of this property." Robin threw out his arms with a grimace. "Feel free!"

Ellis lethargically lifted his head from the hard, somewhat mold-scented mattress to gaze at this apparent pessimist at the opposite wall of the room. "Nick," he muttered, "I think you've found yourself a brother." And with that, he let his skull collapse back to the bed and he shut his eyes once more, careful not to let slumber tug too forcefully at his mind. "Rochelle," he yawned softly, "if I doze off, wake me."


ooc/ Eh... short. X-x

"Don't worry about it, we've all gotta get some sleep eventually." the aforementioned young woman, Rochelle, responded with a misleading kindliness dripping from her smooth and ever comforting voice. She'd like to think she was just as fine letting the boy rest and relax, even if it was only slightly, but everything about this new group of survivors jolted a worried spark to ignite a paranoid wildfire with which to consume her already quite busy mind.

It didn't put at ease her worries how shifty the oldest of the group -- Robin -- seemed to be, not wanting to get close to anyone or anything around him except the obviously frightened woman remaining otherwise glued to his side. The former news producer realized, then, that she hadn't even learned the girl's name, and regret slowly ate away at her confidence in her new allies. In fact, the one who persuaded the joining in teams -- January, an odd name for anyone, she was able to quickly recall -- was no where to be found, and that only set her nerves on a jittery, mistrusting streak. Nick and Ellis seemed to deal really quite well with the newcomers, if for survival purposes only, so Rochelle would set up a front of complete and utter trust in these three strangers, wanting not to disturb the general sense of coalition in the slightest. She knew both teams would be quickly dispatched and separated easily if they parted ways to leave, so if living through the end of the world meant spending an extended period of time with completely unrelated outsiders, so be it.

Nick, on the other hand, smirked of incredulous amusement as well as a remarkably small sort of wonder at Robin's biting comment about the southern hell hole they all seemed to be trapped in for quite a while. It was a bit uncanny how much in common the two had, as far as being ensnared in a group of perfect strangers, one being a completely viable young woman, while the other was a helpless idiot who seemed to be nothing but excited about shooting the life out of creatures that had once been human beings, just as he. They'd probably have a few topics to rant an parley about, he and Robin, but only when there weren't rescues to be met and made, sarky insult battles to be won, nor shameless flirting to be done.

"Feeling's mutual. I'm not really even sure how I ended up in God damn Georgia in the first place, especially not redneck mother fucking Savannah, of all places. That's where Overalls here," he spat in moderate anger, though his eyes remained half-lidded and a leisurely grin dared to dance upon his thin lips all in the same. A calloused thumb fished its way through the air and pointed at the exhausted heap of flesh and dampened blue jeans lay on the bed, "came from. Not a proud decision to join up with him, but it's always useful to have an extra set of hands for cover and ammunition, I guess. Last time I ever go on a cruise to follow the travelling casino chains, I'll tell ya that much."

Placing one weak hand upon her curvaceous hips in slight frustration at the rather formally dressed man's few hateful insults toward both Ellis and Coach's hometown, Rochelle realized just how awkward the situation was. The increasing heat emanating from her unclothed, sun kissed flesh made it all the more apparent that she was still partially unclothed, and almost shrieked at the few sideways glances she was receiving from half the people occupying the spacious bedroom -- Helena reddening profusely and sifting through the small pile of clothes cradled in her slender, trembling arms for something to cover the older woman with, and Nick with his daunting, slowly lengthening ogling of her torso, and a few well-sized inches from the bandaging he'd previously applied at her waist. She grinned thankfully as the thin, smaller young woman instantaneously appeared at her side, holding out what was certainly a cheap, yet thickly sewn, male's white button down shirt to wear.

"Thanks," she grumbled autonomously as she took the dry, and thankfully warm garment in her hands and slipped it over her shoulders, buttoning it up to her chest, leaving only two or three disconnected and the lapels hanging lazily to either side of her collar bone.

O_____________________O

January, having taken a few lengthy strides up the stairwell, glanced down at the newest, and quite possibly youngest, of the survivors, and heaved a slightly entertained sigh. "Yes, yes, yes, and yes, this is fucked up, isn't it? We've got company over at moment, two boys and their girlfriend, but don't worry, there's enough room for everyone to sleep for a while and heal up. If you're hungry and brave enough, there should be food in that battle field of a kitchen down there, but I wouldn't go doing that just yet. Too much risk. Our friends just lost their old guy, y'know."

An amused smirk graced Robin's lips as he listened to the older gambler's speech, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. "I hear ya," he chortled with a wider grin. "The only thing January is good for is an extra hand when we run into trouble. Otherwise, the little dweeb is just a pain in the ass." Robin didn't necessarily mind slighting his future brother-in-law in front of the man's sister, because, though he knew she loved him, she simply had to agree with how awful he was. He didn't take a single thing seriously, and it seemed that his goal in life was to aggravate and humiliate Robin in every possible situation he could manage.

"Helena..." the lanky, gaunt man sighed with a breathy laugh, leaning his forehead against her damp, ivory hair. "If January ever gets seperated from us, can I have permission to, uh... not rescue him?" He offered a jesting grin and tilted his head to the side, nearly in a playful manner.

O____________O

"Ah, sure, sure, sounds good," Jimmy chuckled with a concise nod, glancing over his shoulder warily as he followed the man up the dimly lit staircase and into the even more obscure hallway.

"I'm hungry," Neal murmured in protest upon their ascending the stairs, he and Jimmy evenly conscious and able-bodied.

"Heh, hush up, kid..." his other hissed as quietly as he could through tightly clenched teeth.

"Make me," grumbled Neal. The two of them abruptly realized how ridiculous they must have sounded before this other boy, and upon doing so, they both instantly went silent and faltered in step, going wide-eyed and pursing their lips. Jimmy swore beneath his breath and ran an open hand through the thick, lush locks clinging to his neck and forehead. We're royally fucked...

Helena would've laughed, had the circumstances of her dearest younger brother's loss been any less severe to the rather large group dynamic everyone had just begun to develop. She probably should have laughed, if only to lessen the restlessness still erupting at full strength throughout her entire being, but nothing but a half shocked gasp pushed its way through her full pink lips. Suddenly turning towards him, wide azure eyes glinting in disbelief at her would-be husband's "proposal".

"Robin, y-you know I could never," the taciturn young woman spoke so lowly it was nearly a whisper whilst delicately placing two slightly shaking, thin hands upon his chest. Her round, coldly pale face reflected the regiment of uncertainty going on rampage within her mind, but the nonchalant expression lain shamelessly upon Robin's comely features set her at ease for the first time since his leaving to defend her, and a weak smile danced upon the warm, dry flesh upon Helena's lips. "Ah, I'll be taking that one as a joke. With our pitiful situation, we're in need of all the assistance we can get if we want to get out of here. Hell, we don't even know where we'll go if we do live long enough to escape hick country. The last I heard of any safety was that...that town in Georgia,"

"Savannah, hon." Rochelle was quick to correct the panicky little woman, noticing the pink shade on her cheeks and the anxious, unsure cracks in her really quite soft, gentle voice. She wondered in the back of her preoccupied mind if Ellis was doing much of anything but getting some well deserved sleep, though ignoring the younger woman's desperate monologue was a bold feat, being she was so close to shouting with worry. This Helena girl was certainly one to let fear and paranoia eat away at her, the producer collected.

Taking a few moments to nod her head in understanding to the still quite unfamiliar, more mature woman, Helena continued to babble, rashly rearing into incoherence. "Yes, Savannah, the very place. I don't think any of you realizes just how serious this is, to be honest. We've got undressed people, soon enough - a baby, people just prancing about dying and nonsense, meanwhile the sentient, right minded population fucks themselves into savagery! I don't plan on dying, but I certainly don't expect I've got the proper skill to reach safety either. I mean, who's to say that once we're rescued by the military, they won't accuse us of being infected or, or carriers or something and shoot the fucking humanity right out of us? Is any of this even worth trying to live through?"

Rochelle quirked a brow at the slowly crumbling young woman, and felt a mixture of worry and sympathy; insanity, she had to assume, could come of the end of humanity, and it'd be hard to overcome it. Every word spilling, really quite quickly, from Helena's lips were true in some warped sense, as every single route and escape the firearm wielding, rather powerful woman had encountered with her teammates and friends was painfully vague and etched out in near complete uncertainty. Taking a nervous step closer to Nick and leaning her head gently against his arm, she recalled their narrow escape from the Whispering Oaks theme park both Ellis and Coach had convinced them would mean rescue.

Eventually, after fending off wave after wave of bloodthirsty, ravenous zombies and heavily mutated, more powerful and strategically aligned infected, a helicopter had noticed the bright lights and booming music erupting from the Peach Pit stage and flown just overhead to pick them up, but that was just one of the first instances that Rochelle truly understood that what they were trying to do -- survive -- was life threatening in every form, and instance. The moment one of the Tanks had swung at her with one of its huge, deformed arms and she was thrust violently into one of the overhead stage lights, then forcefully into the corpse littered floor below, the immortality Ellis had once assured her they were in possession of completely dissolved, and she felt true, raw fear.

That fact was something she would have -- and most likely should have -- confided in any one of her three male companions, but the horror continued inside the chopper as the pilot slowly began to snarl in a guttural, barbaric manner and made a move to pounce, though Nick reacted immediately and shot at him with an unfeeling frown, protecting all of them in the same moment the aircraft fell on an unset course for some enclosed, unidentified swamp village below. She was shaken from the disturbed thoughts with a sudden snappy, unnerved comment rasping from the chapped, thin lips of the apparently rather notorious gambler beside her.

"Whoa, wait a second, sweetheart. What was that shit about a baby? That better have been a crack at Ellis over there." Nick grumbled, using both hands to roll up the bloodstained, formerly crisp white sleeves of his coat to his elbows, then drifting offhandedly, but softly, into the graceful young woman shifting slowly beside him.

O________________O

The boy quirked an untrimmed, dark brow at the all too confusing "conversation" this newcomer seemed to have with himself. He would've had some sort of perverted, jokingly charming quip to just about anything the young man could have even imagined saying, and then he decided to take the plunge right into the sociopath category; something January hadn't had to deal with in quite a while, being an infamous flirter with people of all manner of outward appearances, age, and mental stability. He tried to think of an acceptable flirtatious remark, though the more the few words shared between this Jimmy kid and...himself, the less and less comprehensible the circumstances grew.

"Well, fuck me," Jan hissed under his breath, while throwing open the bedroom door to find his sister in near hysterics, a woman -- with a noticeably distracting backside, he had to mention -- in a shirt much too large and masculine to belong to her, and two shirtless men -- one his irritable future brother-in-law, and the other the substantially attractive, but rather solemn boy laying carelessly upon the bed. "Hm. Looks like I'm caught between two insanities, doesn't it? No avoiding it, c'mon Jimmy, let's introduce you to the 'family'. Helena dearest, Robbie, Nick, shirtless guy number two, and my-next-conquest," he shouted in reference to each of the, taking a large step into the room with an even larger grin, "I found a friend downstairs!"

((...Sweet Tank trousers, Jan. Uh, my-next-conquest = Rochelle. It's most likely because of the ass thing, plus she's not half bad looking if you ask me. In a non-lesbian way, that is. :D))

Swathing his arms firmly around his love's torso, Robin put his lips to her ear and kissed the fair skin with stray plumes of wispy, blonde tresses, closing his eyes against her hair.

"Hush, darling," he murmured, perhaps not even loud enough for Rochelle and Nick to hear across the room. "Don't fret... please." He took a shaking breath inward, taking in her rich, cool scent; an aroma he quite a ppreciated. Smell was a rather sensitive sense of Robin's, and he was far more grateful than he showed toward the fact that Helena was always clean and sweet and never doused with stinking perfume--the bane of existence, as Robin saw it.

A quick glance into his peripheral vision, in Nick's direction, and Robin found the man glowering and with a slight snarl. "She's, err, pregnant," the younger man explained hesitantly. His lips tugged downward nearly inconspicuously, crystalline eyes holding an expression that implied, I'm not too thrilled with it, myself.

Before another word could be spoken, in barged January--finally--and, astonishingly, a much younger boy, wide-eyed and a bit paranoid-looking, behind him. Robin stifled the exessive need to bury his face in the palm of his hand when his annoying in-law inroduced the group.

Ellis, once again, lifted his head to blink groggily at this so-called new addition, and after a moment or two of the strain put on his neck, sat upright completely and stretched his bare arms with a singsong half-groan, half-yawn.

"Just how old's this kid?" the lean, young man rumbled, rubbing lingering slumber from his calm, blue eyes. He looked to January for the answer, half expecting him to know, but then discarded the thought and blinked over to the smaller boy beside him.

"Fifteen," Jimmy spoke confidently, brushing off Neal's trepidation and holding his posture tall and upright. "Well, sixteen in two months. That is..." He offered a dark, bold grin. "... if we last that long." He only then caught himself saying we rather than I, a habitual monstrosity that would soon have to come to an end. He and Neal both only hoped no one really caught it, for it was too late to take it back, then. "I'm, uh... Jimmy..."

Neal greatly wanted to scream out, "Damn you!", but he knew he obviously couldn't among the rest of the survivors. I'm so fucked up... is Jimmy even real...?


ooc/ *facepalm* Good god, Jan... Good god. xDD