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Derek "Doc" Frost

Need a medic? I'm your man.

0 · 361 views · located in Post-Apocalypse

a character in “Blood Meridian”, as played by Zombicide93

Description

Name: Derek "Doc" Frost

Age: 28

Blood Type: O negative

Description: Image
Image
Image
Derek likes to retain his old military look. Short, light-brown and styled hair and a clean-shaven face. Since the Pandemic, it's been harder to maintain a clean look, in extension, he has taken on a rough appearance.
Other old habits die hard as well. Derek enjoys the build he had while in the military, and does what he can to keep that toned, athletic build. He is 5' 7'' and currently weighs a solid 180 lbs.


Past Occupation: United States Navy- Combat medic/ Later, Derek was attending TCU for his RN to become a Trauma Nurse.

Current Occupation: Derek offers medical care and sells medical supplies from his new home. An emergency medical-supply station that was set up during the Pandemic. He also maintains contact with old military friends and allows those passing through or displaced to temporarily stay with him in the basement beneath his sleeping quarters.

History: Derek Frost had a normal wealthy American life, up until he turned eighteen. He answered a higher calling and enlisted in the U.S Navy, later becoming an attachment to a U.S Marine team after completing Ground Ops training.
While he was enlisted, his parent's divorced, and then later, his father died in a car wreck. The divorce was caused by his mother's adultery with another man, and as an effect, Derek cut off all communication with her.
After serving for nine-years, Derek figured he had seen enough and went back to the States, moving to Texas and starting school for a job as a nurse. Unfortunately, his plans were interrupted by the Pandemic.
As time dragged on, Derek hopped between the states, moving up north to where he currently resides (Location to be determined) in a previously abandoned Red Cross medical station. There, he uses the skills and tools of his trade.

So begins...

Derek "Doc" Frost's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Derek "Doc" Frost Character Portrait: Artemesia Dimitry
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It was the same dream. A recurring nightmare Derek Frost had ever since things fell apart.
He was in Dallas, Texas. a little more than two hours from the college he had been attending in Stephenville.
He was visiting friends, and a girl he had met while still active-duty in the Navy the night before the infection went rampant in the major cities in the metroplex of Dallas-Fort Worth.
The nightmare never changed. No matter what he did, he was not in control of his dream-self. She....Erin....Always died the same way.
Maybe it was more of a flashback? This had really happened. Now Derek relived it some nights when he closed his eyes.

He would always wake up, just as he had when it happened, to see her stunning blue eyes looking into his. He would smile, and she would slowly glide across the bed back into his arms. He would kiss her, then get up to make coffee for the both of them, and she would remain in bed, her bare-body covered only halfway by the sheets and her mischievous smile promising things yet to come upon his return to her room.
His dream-self would be pouring coffee, and then jerk when he heard the window in Erin's room shatter and hear her scream his name.
Always, he would run to her room, his rapid heartbeat drowning out all other noise, even muffling her screams of agony and terror.
Upon entering, the first thing he noticed was the blood. Always the horrifying amount of blood. Then his gaze would center on the crazy eyed, filthy figure stabbing Erin in the stomach over....and over....and over again.
Derek, looking through his own eyes, would see his vision become red and hear his own scream of rage and despair.
His body hurtled at Erin's attacker, slamming him to the floor and pinning him down.
His fists and feet delivered brutal strikes at the infected man's face, spraying the hardwood floor with blood and scattering teeth until he stopped breathing. Only then, did Derek's rage end.
He turned quickly to Erin, her breathing coming in shallow gasps as she reached out for him. Derek saw his hands place themselves on the shredded mess that was her abdomen, trying in vain to stop the bleeding.
The woman didn't have the strength to even make words. Her eyes were filled with pain and fear, but even then she managed to reach out and grab Derek's hand, squeezing it.
Just as it had been every time, Derek heard the words coming from his mouth. Empty promises that she would be okay. That he would get her to a hospital.
And then just as it had been every time, the life faded from her eyes.


Derek Frost jerked awake when he felt a hand on his arm, reaching in the darkness for the Jungle Primitive machete he kept next to his mattress.
"Whoa whoa! Hey, it's me! It's Chris!", a voice whispered loudly from next to him.
"Chris! What the fu-", Derek began to say, but was interrupted when Chris clamped his hand over Derek's mouth and shushed him.
"Derek. There's someone downstairs".
The way Chris said that told Derek it was probably -not- a regular patient.
"Where?", he whispered back.
"Main room. Looked like she was scrounging for supplies".
"She?".
"Yeah. Hard to miss the long, white hair. Her outline in the dark was definitely not masculine". Chris said.
"Armed?", Derek asked as he picked up his Remington 12-gauge sawn-off, loading both barrels.
"Well fuckin' duh. Otherwise I would've handled it myself. Looks like shes got a rifle of some sorts, I dunno what else".
"Right. Stay here". Derek said, quietly stepping across the floor and making his way down the stairs.
He could hear the intruder scuffling around in the dark as he neared the base of the stair-case, crouched on the balls of his feet. He brought the double-barrels up with both hands as he stepped onto the floor and spotted the woman's white-hair in the dim room.
Derek, still crouched, stopped about 10-feet from her and brought the bead of the shotgun on her center mass, her back facing him.
"Lady, you got about ten seconds to get the fuck out of my station before I pull this trigger and send two 12-gauge shells hurtling into your ass". For emphasis, Derek pumped the sawn-off.
"One......".

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Derek "Doc" Frost Character Portrait: Artemesia Dimitry
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Having found a few supplies that she could use later on for more field dressing and other things, Art had them stuffed inside of her cargo pockets. That was when she heard something. She slowed her movements, but the noise went back up the stairs. She frowned.

This was a place of healing. They weren't supposed to run the other direction. In this day and age they had to be used to people coming in with weapons and such. It wasn't like she was going to leave them where they could be stolen. Hell no. The two rifles were her babies.

Artemesia drew one of her pistols and kept it in front of her out of sight, the safety already off. The hairs on the back of her neck were prickling. She knew something was getting ready to happen. The sniper in her wanted to find a hole in the darkness around her and blend into to take out the enemy.

She couldn't do that. These weren't the crazies she was dealing with. It was normal people. She wasn't going to kill if she didn't have to. Her hands had enough blood on them from her days in the military. She wasn't adding more to it if she had the choice.

There. Just barely. Another noise on the stairs. This one was different. Either they had gone to get a weapon or this was another person entirely. Her index slid onto the trigger, but she pretended to continue looking for supplies. All of her senses were on alert.

"Lady, you got about ten seconds to get the fuck out of my station before I pull this trigger and send two 12-gauge shells hurtling into your ass."

Now there was something she was used to - being threatened. She smirked to herself as the noise of the readying of the shotgun went off. She turned to face the male bringing her gun up with her and pointing it at him.

"One......".

Luckily she'd been in the dimness of the room long enough that her eyes had adjusted. She couldn't make out all of his features, but she knew enough as to where to shoot to kill him if he pulled the trigger on her.

"If you shoot me you're dyin' too. Cause cher I don't miss." A smile formed slowly on her lips. Of course, all she wanted to do was grimace in pain. Her arm was tight from resisting the urge to shake. She just had to use her right arm to hold the gun.
The entire upper part of the limb was screaming in agony at the effort just to keep the gun up let alone keeping her arm steady.

"All I want is a traiteur cause I really don't want to field dress this thing again on my own."

Despite all the warnings she had going off, there was something oddly familiar about the male. She couldn't put her finger on it, maybe due to the pain, her hunger, or wanting a decent night sleep. She wasn't sure, but the light in the building wasn't helping any. If she could just see his face clearly she'd know if she knew him. She didn't forget every many people.

"So whatcha say? Someone in this blasted place do their job and heal people or we make the misere?" The smile returned. Death didn't scare her. He could threaten all he wanted. She'd seen the face of death many times and never blinked. If he was coming for her all she was going to do was laugh at him and tell him it was about time. All of her family was dead by now and she wasn't going to complain about joining them.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Derek "Doc" Frost Character Portrait: Artemesia Dimitry
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Derek's trigger-finger twitched when the intruder made a sudden motion, pistol in hand and aimed right at the medic.
Fuck. Too late. I should've wasted her, he thought to himself.
"If you shoot me you're dyin' too. Cause cher I don't miss." , she responded confidently.
Derek narrowed his eyes, still aiming the double-barrels at the white-haired woman in the darkness.
The voice. The hair....it all seems familiar. Who is she?
"All I want is a traiteur cause I really don't want to field dress this thing again on my own."So whatcha say? Someone in this blasted place do their job and heal people or we make the misere?".
Derek slowly lowered the shotgun and turned his head back to the stairway.
"Chris! Get my field kit and a lantern down here!".
"We're not killing her?", Chris called back down.
"Nah. She needs medical attention". Derek yelled back, turning back to face the woman.
"Groovy!". Chris answered as she shuffled around upstairs.

"Lady. Whats your name and where are you hurt?", Derek finally asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Derek "Doc" Frost Character Portrait: Artemesia Dimitry
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Well it seemed Death didn’t want to claim her today. What luck. Artemesia would have rolled her eyes at the thought if she didn’t want the male to think she was crazy talking to herself.

Once the shotgun was lowered she released the hammer and put the gun back on safety before putting it back in the holster and latched it shut. Resisting the urge to rub her arm to loosen the muscles she stared back where she could see the male.

He had training from the way he moved on the stairs and handled her, he was military. Ex-military now. Maybe that is where I knew him from. I’ve worked with a lot of people over the years…But if he was military then why is he here treating wounds unless…

Her thoughts took a second turn when another male came down the stairs carrying both a medical kit and a lantern. Finally some light in the darkness. But the lantern offered more than just a reprieve on her eyesight. It allowed her to see him well both of them. Their banter reminded her of her old life where she had people she trusted at her back as well as them trusting her to save their asses. She sighed.

She turned back to the first male, the one who still had the shotgun. She debated on which name to give him. She had several. Her codename, Switch. Her last name, the one everyone called her for years, Dimitry. Her real name, Artemesia, which no one had called her since she was a child. Her nickname, Art, which was the closest anyone got to being personal with her.

Finally she decided that not answering would be better, at least for now. As soon as the second male was close enough with the lantern, she turned to the side and pointed with her left hand to her upper right arm. The white bandage was completely brown now except for a few places and a few bright red spots. Just hope that the bandage isn’t stuck to it… It’ll be a bitch to take off and that’s if there’s not an infection in it.

Using the light she looked up at the male from the corner of her eye. She frowned, but showed nothing else to what she was thinking. She knew him. Her mind started whirling back to all the past memories and she had to clamp them down. They could surface over a drink later. After her arm was all patched up.

“Doc. Medic Frost.” Had she had a different personality type, she would have started laughing at the irony of the situation. They had been on missions before. Well, either one or the other had been attached to each other’s units.

He’d once been someone she could call friend. He’d seen her as she’d once been and was there for the day she closed completely into herself. Of course, he hadn’t been there for the worst of it.

He was the last person she thought she would see in this world and frankly one of only two she was glad she did see.

“Mon cher, you are the last person I thought I’d ever see.”

She moved to where she could sit down for this knowing it was going to hurt. Maybe more than the last wound Doc had patched up for her. She still had the scar from it. The left side of her face from her hairline to her ear was a silver scar from a bullet on a mission.

She shook her head to keep those thoughts down. She refused to ever look herself in the face fearing she’d see the scar and remember why it was there. More memories she didn’t want to face.

Art cast him a sideways glance. “You plan to kill everyone who comes in armed?”