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Kamille Robinson

0 · 226 views · located in Modern-day zombie apocalypse.

a character in “Dead Morning America”, as played by Farrah

Description

Name: Kamille Robinson
Age: 24
Species: Human
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 115 lbs.
Appearance: Long dark hair that ends at her lower back, slightly tan skin with a few dull freckles scattered across her nose, bright blue almond shaped eyes. Thick eyelashes, no makeup. Black Adida leggings, worn black converse, and a somewhat baggy gray T-shirt.

Equipment

M1911 Pistol strapped to her right thigh, a fancy-lookin' switchblade and whatever else she finds along the way.

So begins...

Kamille Robinson's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Farrah
Once she heard the back door open and the quiet footsteps that soon followed, Kamille felt a rush of fear jolt through her veins. Her heart pounding at what felt like the base of her throat, the young woman carefully pulled her M1911 Pistol out of the holder on her leg and took in a deep, hushed breath. Voices. Intelligent voices at that, so she should be safe. But suddenly, a jarring memory flooded back to her and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Don't trust anyone. Especially after what they did to him. Pushing a few stray strands off her face, Kamille lowered herself to the ground and stabilized a position at the end of the hallway. What was she even doing? Half crouching, half clinging to the wall in hopes she would just disappear into it forever and not have to deal with all this zombie shit that took away her loved ones, her life? No, she needed to move. Or at least make herself known so that one of them didn't accidentally shoot her in an impulsive stage. Shaking her head, Kamille tried to remind herself not to trust them. For all she knows, they could be no better than the looters and madmen running around New York City once all hell broke loose. But, if she was to team up with them, getting out of this place seemed all the more easy...

Right when she was about to go back into the bedroom of the vacant house that she thought was going to be a safe-haven, Kamille identified one of the voices as being female. Female! All of a sudden she felt better, well... better than the feeling she was dealing with before, but if you were to sum up her feelings in a few short words it's safe to say that she felt like a trapped animal nevertheless. Once the blonde girl rounded the corner and assuming that her teammate was soon to follow, she realized she had two split decisions to make. Swallowing hard, Kamille emerged from the shadows and before her brain had the time to tell her body to stop, words softly but sternly came out of her lips. "Don't shoot." Shit! Shit shit shit! Sometimes she felt like her lips weren't connected to her brain at all, and assuming her defensive position, the young woman emerged from the hallway. It was either flight or fight, and by the looks of this girl she was hoping it wasn't the latter.

Upon reaching the end of the hallway and approaching the kitchen, Kamille finally got a good look at the girl's friend. He was intimidating, that's for sure, and although it wasn't that uncommon in the first place to see what looked like a feline mutt, it still came as a bit of a shock. He was so big, so... furry, so strong looking. But for some reason she didn't feel as if these people were a threat, or would try to harm her in any way. Either that or she just got herself into such massive shit there was no way to get out of it so all's left to do is just go with the flow until she dies. With her pistol carefully pointed at the floor and her shoulders hunched forward in an almost defensive, yet submissive position Kamille tried to make herself seem as non-threatening as possible... which, let's face it, is pretty easy when you're a measly 115 lbs. "I didn't mean to startle you guys, I just... I didn't expect that I'd see any..." Then it suddenly registered. The dark furred mutt was the same guy she saw in that picture somewhere in that other room. Now all of a sudden, she felt like the intruder. "... I mean, I thought this house was vacant." Now she felt like an idiot. A huge idiot who just got herself into a giant mess. And by the edgy look of his female companion, she didn't look like an easy person to get along with.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Iki
Once upon a time, it had been. Some weeks ago, when the outbreak was just a semblance of some strange flu bug, and things were - relatively speaking - normal, this had been his father and his mother's home. Some weeks ago when people went about their daily lives without a real care in the world.

Days gone by.

It was a sobering thing to realize that life was gone forever, and the vacant house was just another grim reminder of that; this house, with all its worldly comforts and warm, familiar memories. Suddenly, he was torn. He'd been in and out of the Middle East so many times that the only way he could keep track anymore was the service stripes on the sleeve of his dress greens, and every time, it had been so easy to just drop what he was doing stateside to go run around the mountains of Afghanistan. Back then, war was a distant thing; far from home, where it was so much easier to put aside thoughts of friends and family and just drive on when no one else existed but him, his team, and their national counterparts. it was a strange and awkward family all on its own, but it was a kind of family nonetheless, and that made it infinitely easier to focus when it was just about him, and the guys to his left and his right. Now, the war was a home game, and a million thoughts swarmed him all at once. Thoughts of warm sunny days, and cool rainy weekends; thoughts of childhood and innocence all the way through turbulent adolescence, and an even rougher adulthood; those precious, sacred things that lived on in a bittersweet montage on the wall in front of him.

With them, came thoughts of longing and regret.

"God, what was the last thing I said to them?" Chewing his lip, he bit back the angry tears that were welling up in his eyes, gripping the handle of that machete so hard that his entire arm began to ache, "We weren't fighting, were we?" Staring hard into that family portrait, all he could feel was guilt. He and his father didn't always see eye-to-eye, and the idea that the last thing he might have said to him may very well have been 'go fuck yourself,' tore at him like a ravenous animal. He didn't know which was worse: the fact that his life was playing out like a bad Hollywood cliche, or the fact that he really couldn't remember the last thing he'd said to his old man. He couldn't stop the helpless chuckle that bubbled up, shaking his head and wiping at his eyes, "Christ, lookit me, all teary-eyed; I've gone soft, haven't I?"
It was a long minute before he wandered back into the kitchen, but for the most part, he was only listening to her conversation off-handedly. The slip of paper sitting in front of his seat at the dinner table had most of his attention instead, but he'd paid enough attention to catch her in her secret. He'd heard enough to be able to finish for her. Avalon Goldwin. So she had a sister.
Even then, he pretended not to notice, and took a mental note, instead, delicately picking up that torn half of notebook paper as he let the gym bag slump off his shoulder and onto the kitchen floor. It didn't take him anything to recognize his own father's shorthand.
"Oh, God," In that instant, his heart leapt into his throat, and he swallowed hard to keep from choking on it.

"Owen-

Remember all those corny zombie movies we used to laugh at? I remember how I used to bust your balls about how paranoid you were after reading that article in National Geographic, or whatever magazine it was some years back. Hell, I even remember you forcing me to draw up a plan, just in case. I remember how ridiculous your mother thought it was, too. Never thought you'd be right. Guess you get to say 'I told you so,' but I'm willing to bet that today, even you don't want to. I hope this letter finds you well. I figure you've made it through worse, but you're my boy, and I'm always going to worry. Figure you're probably doing the same thing right now, but if you get this letter, we're heading north through Upstate. Gonna try our luck up toward Ottawa, and then keep going. Like you said: virus probably won't do very well up where it's colder, figure it's worth a shot. Here's to hoping you're right. Your mother says she loves you; she's terrified for you. Hope you make it out of New York alright. If we make it, we'll be waiting for you at the northern cape of Hudson Bay, just like we planned.

Love you. Stay safe.

-Dad"


By the time he was halfway through the letter, he was in tears - and by the time he reached the end, he was seething, and it was all he could do to keep from breaking down. An ugly mixture of indignant rage and self-loathing misery was beginning to boil up under the surface, and that calm, collected exterior had broken away entirely - and with those blinders on, he hadn't picked up on the subtle creak of the floorboards in the hallway. In fact, it wasn't until that timid little voice piped up that he even realized there was someone else in the house. Without thinking, he dropped that letter back on the table, and whirled around. Ripping his pistol out of its holster and clicking back the hammer all in one motion, he was more than prepared to blow the young woman's (Kamille) brains - and their saftey - all over the back wall.
"Stop, fucker! Think for a fucking second!" That little voice of reason in the back of his head was the only thing in the world that saved her from an abrupt and early end. She was half a pound of trigger pressure away from a new orifice, and in that fleeting instant, all he could think of was the sanctity of his home and the safety of his family. Pistol still in hand, he stalked across the room and brushed past her, just short of jogging down the hallway.
"If I find one fucking thing out of place; so help me God," He snarled under his breath, button-hooking into the first room down the hall - his parents' room. He had to pointedly remind himself not to slam the door behind him, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from doing just that. Guilt was tearing him up inside, and the squatter (Kamille) was just caught in its path. He was just angry - beyond angry - mostly with himself.
"Christ, I'm such a fucking cunt!" He berated himself as he sunk down against the bedroom door and let his weapons drop to the carpet. He needed this...this time to be alone, even if it was just for a few minutes, because those walls had come crashing down, and all that was left was the miserable thing he'd been reduced to in all of sixty seconds. Head in his hands, all he could do now was weep.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Farrah
When Kamille watched his gun point in her direction she instantly froze in her tracks. She did a good job concealing her emotions, but inside she felt like hauling ass down the street, around the corner and into oblivion. Sucking in a tight breath, her collarbones visibly making an appearance while the rest of her remained absolutely still, Kamille questioned whether or not she should raise her own gun in defense. But this man who was taller, heavier, scarier and furrier obviously wielded more power and more experience than she did. The only other time she ever fired a gun was at the shooting range, and even then she's only gone a couple of times. Her knuckles were bone white as she held onto her own pistol, and only when the cursing mutt made his way around her and down to what she assumed was his bedroom, or maybe even his parents bedroom, did she let out a short and almost choked breath.

Suddenly, Kamille had the impulse to follow him and explain that she needed to get off the streets. This place, among all the carnage and other atrocities that festered in the city, was her safest bet. Her backpack and a few other necessities lay strewn about in the bedroom and she had an immediate fear that her belongings scattered about his home would make him snap - hell, make anyone snap in this situation. Taking a step in his direction, the young woman decided it would be her safest choice to stay put. After all, she had no idea what kind of people she was dealing with. And if she was able to make him that mad... No, he's probably just stressed out. Hell, we all are. But then again, what was the one rule she kept ignoring? Don't trust anybody.

Looking back at the female standing in the kitchen, Kamille didn't know whether it was alright to relax or to keep her guard up. She looked at her up and down, from the mop of blonde hair strewn about her face to her almost meanly angelic features, then to her attire and whatever weapons she was carrying. What did she get herself into? She always did manage to attract the most interesting of people. "Listen, I don't mean any trouble..." She started, giving the girl across from her an almost apologetic expression if it wasn't for her serious demeanor. "...but I guess if you want to shoot me, shoot me. I'd rather be dead than have to live through this nightmare anyway." She let her gaurd down, standing tall at 5'6". Slipping her gun back in it's holster on her thigh, she exhaustively let her arms collapse at her sides after running her hand through her dark, long hair. At this point, it was hard not to care. It wasn't like she really wanted to live, anyway. She didn't really have anything to live for.

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Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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When Nyx had balanced herself once more, she looked at Monday. He seemed to be focused on a letter laying on the counter. Probably from his parents. She could tell by his face that he was near his breaking point, so, deciding not to intrude, she turned her back and face the kitchen, leaning on the counter.

That was when she heard the footsteps. There was someone else in the house? Instantly, Nyx's gun was in her hand, the knife forgotten on the counter. If she had to shoot, at least the silencer would make sure she didn't alert any nearby zombies. A moment after she had her gun out, she heard a small voice come from the hallway. "Don't shoot." Defiantly female. Small and scared. The girl rounded the corner and Nyx found that her physical appearance matched her voice perfectly. She was a small girl with long dark hair. And, other than the pistol in her hand, was defiantly not a threat.

Nyx raised her gun to the girls forehead, holding it there. She wouldn't shoot unless she had to. "I didn't mean to startle you guys, I just... I didn't expect that I'd see any..." Something seemed to click in the womans mind and she sighed, lowering her gun to her side again. This girl wouldn't hurt them, the only question was whether or not she had the disease without knowing it. "... I mean, I thought this house was vacant."

That was when Monday flipped out completely. He raised his own gun, and Nyx could see his finger twitch on the trigger, something inside him had snapped. "Don't shoot Monday, you'll only alert a horde." Seeming to have realized this himself, he lowered his gun, but stalked off past the young woman. Nyx heard a door slam somewhere down the hall and figured he'd gone to a bedroom to chill. Feeling the probing eyes of the girl, Nyx turned her blue gaze back on her.

"Listen, I don't mean any trouble..." In a serious and apologetic voice that was hard not to believe. "...but I guess if you want to shoot me, shoot me. I'd rather be dead than have to live through this nightmare anyway." Nyx sighed and shook her head, slipping her gun away along with her knife. Glancing at the letter still laying on the counter, she decided to put it in one of the drawers. Whatever was in it was Monday's business. Not hers or the woman's. Slipping it away, she rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. Would she ever get some sleep.

"Nah, I'm not going to shoot you. You seem alright." She gestured towards where Monday had stalked off to and dropped her hand from her neck to the counter. "And you'll have to excuse Monday. It's been a pretty stressful day." She looked the girl over once more and hoisted herself up onto the counter. If she was going to have a conversation, standing would only waste energy. "I'm Nyx Goldwin, that was Monday, and before I decide if you can stay with us, I need to ask you a few questions. I mean, you don't have to stay with us if you don't want to, but if you do, I don't have a problem with it, and if Monday does, I'll take care of it." Exactly how, she didn't know, but she figured he wouldn't have an issue with her staying once he calmed down anyway. "Okay, I need to know what your name is first of all." Nyx pulled her hair out of her bun and massaged her head. "Also, have you been bitten or scratched by the infected? Felt any flu-like symptoms? And finally, are you any good with that gun or do you just keep it around as a toy?" Nyx tried to focus while she asked her questions, but all she could think about was Avalon and sleep. As soon as she was done talking to this girl, she'd take a long nap, eat, and shower. The thought of a shower made her wonder what she must look like to this girl, and consciously, she rubbed at the blood on her cheek while she waited for answers.

Ew. this sucks, sorry.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Farrah
She let out a more relaxed sigh then, glad that the young woman in front of her wasn't going to get trigger happy. Feeling like an intruder, Kamille suddenly felt awkward and didn't know whether to stay standing or sit down. It was funny she thought, for a brief moment, how with the world ending and all she still managed to feel out of place. Raising her eyebrows slightly when Nyx spoke, she glanced behind herself to where Monday stormed off. Great, now she knows their names. What a great way to get attached. Hesitant at first, Kamille fumbled with her hands while she walked deeper into the kitchen. Deciding to take a seat at the breakfast table, she brushed her hair off of her face with her hand and took in a breath.

When she listened to Nyx, Kamille came to the conclusion that she would either love this strong female in front of her or hate her. Running her tongue along her lower lip, her brow furrowed in a confused expression, she let out the breath she had been holding in all that time. "Well, first of all my name is Kamille." Looking down at her hands while her fingers played with each other, she continued. "No, I haven't been bitten or scratched by any of those... things." What should she even call them? Zombies? That's what they are, but for some reason she can't really bring herself to say it. Looking back up, she kept eye-contact with the blonde and a few strands of hair fell over her shoulder. "I'm not sick, no. I do know what the symptoms are. I haven't had any of them." And as much as she would like to ignore it, Nyx's last question pissed her off. Frowning, her eyes glanced to the side while she answered. "I can use it better than your average Joe, but I'm probably not going to be as good as you or... him." Kamille would feel weird calling that furry creature by his name when she wasn't even introduced by him yet, so she left it vague.

And, as all females are when they are around each other, she suddenly felt self-conscious too. She had showered earlier that day, her hair dried and clean, as well as the clothes she was wearing. For a moment she felt as if maybe she came across looking too small, too innocent, too pure. The younger woman standing in front of her had no idea what she has been through, what she has done or what she has seen, but first impressions are everything right? Lacking in the badassery department, Kamille stood up and smoothed down her shirt. "I have shampoo, and soap... if you wanted to use it later." She noticed that Nyx didn't seem to have a bag, or any belongings at all other than the clothes on her back and the weapons she carried. "It looks like it's been pretty rough out there." Taking a note of the dried blood on her cheek, Kamille rubbed her left shoulder. Still sore.

"How long until, uh... your friend in there decides not to kill me?"

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Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Nyx watched as the young woman sat at the breakfast table. She looked relieved that she wasn't in danger, but also suspicious and guarded. "Well, first of all my name is Kamille." Kamille, Nyx nodded. Nice name, she'd known a girl in the orphanage once with the same name and had always sort of envied her for it. Nyx wasn't exactly a very feminine name and even though she wasn't a very feminine girl, she'd still rather have a girls name over a boys any day. When the girl confirmed that she wasn't sick, hadn't been bitten, and could shoot, she smiled a bit, ignoring the defensive tone in her voice.

"Great." She nodded, swinging one leg. "You can stay with us if you want. Safety in numbers, but if you want to leave, be my guest." She shrugged as if she really didn't care either way.

"I have shampoo, and soap... if you wanted to use it later." Kamille said, making Nyx drop her hand from her cheek. So she'd noticed. "It looks like it's been pretty rough out there." Nyx snorted.

"Rough to say the least." She smirked and hopped off the counter, moving around to it's other side. "And yeah, I may need to borrow some shampoo." She bent and grabbed her bag from where she'd kicked it in the corner, lifting it up on the counter. "I was so busy packing weapons and food, I didn't even pay attention to shampoo. I think I managed to grab soap though." She smiled and pulled out a little soap packet triumphantly. "If you ever need any weapons let me know. I wont give you anything, but you certainly can borrow." She shrugged and laughed lightly, rubbing her neck. "I've probably got enough in here to supply an army, even if I don't use half of it, it's still good to have around, ya know?"

Tired of talking, Nyx grabbed her soap and looked at her. "Right, well I should probably shower now. Mind showing me where it's at?" She asked, "oh, and don't worry about Monday. He should be fine after he cools. It's just been kind of a stressful day."

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Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Iki
"Towels should be in the closet; first door on the right, down the hall," He replied quietly in her (Kamille) stead, "Bathroom's the second," He went on with a calm jerk of his muzzle back over his shoulder, leaning against the short counter that divided the kitchen from the living room. From her position in the kitchen, Nyx would have been the only one to ever see him coming from the hall, "Just be careful about it, alright? Don't know how good a sense of smell these things have, or if they'll be able to hear the water runnin'," Still paranoid now, as ever. If this squatter had managed to clean up without drawing any attention, he figured another shower couldn't hurt, but that didn't keep him from worrying.
He'd re-approached from the bedroom quietly, with a somberly re-tempered resolve, habitually taking care even as he'd done as a pup to deliberately sidestep that creaky floorboard in the hallway. Tears were going to get him about as far as feeling sorry for himself, and at length, he'd reminded himself of that; dried his eyes, and put his head back on his shoulders to face the apocalypse again. A few stray sniffles aside, he was right as rain again with a new purpose to drive him. Pistol still in hand, he snuffed shortly, and duly, swiped his palm down his face and his muzzle with a long exasperated sigh.
"Christ, I'm tired," He mumbled more to himself than to anyone as he pushed off the counter and crossed the kitchen. Decocking the hammer, he dropped his pistol back into its holster, and; digging the intricately - if not just as simply - wound loop of cord out of his jacket pocket, stripped it and the hood he wore beneath all in one, and flung them across the dinner table. More than anything, he just wanted to get some kind of a meal in him and get some rest, but steps had to be taken, first. Otherwise, he'd spend the entire time he meant to devote to rest worrying, instead. Some of these bastards could move just as quietly as he could, if not moreso; and that knowledge alone was more than enough to put him perpetually on edge. Without a further word to either of the women in his house, and little more than a glance between the two, he dug right into the cupboard above the refrigerator for an armful of fragile china teacups and saucers and moved back up the hallway to the backdoor foyer. Smalltalk could come later; he had his own agenda, in the meantime.
Delicately placing the stacks of cups and saucers on the floor just inside the door, he slipped his hand back to the kydex sheath mounted across his belt at the small of his back for the small sharp knife he carried with him almost constantly, and slid down to the floor. For as long as he'd had it, the blade itself was in relatively immaculate condition, and equally as sharp, and had no trouble slicing through the long lengths of sturdy cord he pulled off that woven loop. Already, those nimble fingers went to work tying this knot and that knot; well into the process of a slim, but sturdy hammock of cord. He was taking his dear sweet time, but when he fell into that rhythm, it was something he subconsciously realized wasn't going to take very long as he watched his fingers fly over the smooth green strands. Still; get it done, and get it done right the first time, and he wouldn't have to come back to fix it!

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Farrah
There was a hint of a smile playing on her lips when Nyx complimented her name but she tried hard not to let it show. Nodding her head slightly, not really giving her new 'friend' an answer to the question that she stick with them or not, the young woman cleared her throat before answering. "Yeah, safety in numbers, right?" Watching as Nyx jumped off the counter and grabbed her bag, which she was actually sort of relieved the girl had, Kamille curiously peeked around her to get a better look at whatever treasures were inside the bag. Stepping a little closer, breaking whatever awkward boundaries had kept them apart this far, she pressed her lips together.

Rough to say the least. For some reason Kamille suspected that everything wasn't peaches and cream outside, whether it be the mass amounts of walking dead and other mutated creatures to give her the hint that this was the end of the world. She still hoped things would have somehow died down, as did everyone in the back of their mind, but a part of her didn't think things would ever be the same. Too many dead people and not enough alive ones.

Her ears almost perked up when Nyx mentioned the shower, so she decided she could at least be a little helpful and point her in the right direction. "The shampoo is on the counter, and-" But before she had a chance to continue, Monday approached the room almost as if he had come from thin air. Trying to hide the fact that her heart probably leaped up into her throat, Kamille dug her fingers into her side and scratched her hipbone. A nervous tic, maybe. At least doing that wouldn't have made her do anything stupid, thus resulting in less trust from the man she was probably going to team up with. Feeling like a foreigner once again, she watched as he got the china out of the cupboard. "Actually, if you use the stove-" Her voice was quiet, smaller than it was when she spoke with Nyx and a part of her couldn't stand that. "-you'll be fine. I've been living off soup for the last couple days, anyway."

Just as Monday was there in the kitchen, he was off to the backdoor as if he couldn't keep still. Was he setting up a trap, perhaps? To let them know if the zombies or whatever other creatures were approaching? If Monday took a look, he could see that Kamille had set the garbage cans in an order which would knock over if anyone undead, like... a walker, perhaps, was to try and get into the house. Hopefully she thought, at the time, that none of the smarter ones would figure out a way to get around them or create such a racket that she could potentially get into a lot of trouble. But she thought- hey, if a gun could attract a decent amount, hopefully those garbage cans clanging about wouldn't.

"Oh, and don't worry about the shower." Kamille turned back to Nyx, her arms crossed awkwardly and almost protectively over her chest. "The water pressure is weak so you can hear if anyone or... anything is coming. Also, you can barely hear it when you're in the hallway with the door closed so there isn't really anything to worry about."

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Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Before Kamille could truly answer her question about the shower, Monday appeared and answered for her. Nyx gave him a pointed look with her eyes telling him to be nice to the girl while she was in the shower. Maybe she hadn't ever really gotten along with girls before, but there was something about Kamille that reminded her of Avalon, bringing out her protective side. Nyx had always been the tough leader who played the mother role as well as the father role for Ava. Even though the two of them were twins and the same age, Nyx was always the one kicking ass to protect her sister. Not that her sister wasn't tough. Nyx made sure she was, and that was part of the reason Nyx wasn't exactly surprised when she found out her sister was alive. Might be alive, she reminded herself, best not get her hopes up.

Smiling a sort of awkward smile at the two, she nodded and reached into her bag, grabbing some clean clothes before zipping it back up. "Thanks." She nodded, rounding the corner of the counter and swerving around Kamille to the hallway. "You ladies play nice now, ya hear?" She called over her shoulder to them with a laugh before closing the bathroom door behind her.

Sighing, Nyx looked in the mirror. Just as she'd expected. Greasy hair, dirty face, wrinkled clothes, and blood. The blood was everywhere. If she had been the type of girl who was worried about appearance, she might feel embarrassed, but Nyx nearly let herself wince once, then put it out of her mind. Crossing to the shower, she turned it on to get it started and stepped back to undress. Lifting her arms over her head to pull off her shirt was painful with the way she'd landed on her shoulder earlier, but she managed.

Once she was undressed, her dirty clothes in a heap in the corner, Nyx checked her skin for scratches and bites. Nothing. A lot of blood and too many bruises to count, but nothing that would give her infection. She did have one cut along her hip, but that was from sliding along the pavement in the alley earlier. Once the water was warm enough, Nyx stepped into the water. Kamille was right, the water pressure was weak enough to where she could still hear Monday and Kamille's muffled voices.

Once clean, Nyx stepped out again and bandaged her cut, and slipped into a fresh set of clothes that consisted of an old softball tee-shirt with the word "Owls" stretched across it, and a pair of skinny jeans. Since New York was cold, she also had a Pepsi logo sweatshirt in her bag, but, being inside, she didn't really need it right now.

Feeling much better, Nyx found a brush in one of the drawers and walked back out into the kitchen. She felt fresh and clean, but still exhausted and hungry. Spotting Kamille and Monday, she sighed and grabbed a sandwich from her bag, sitting at the breakfast table.

Once done eating, she stood. "I need some sleep." She announced. "I'll be on the living room couch if either of you need me, but just so you know, I sleep with a gun and knife so if you have to wake me, do it gently. I can't stress that enough." With a smirk, she reached for her bag and grabbed her pistol and her knife before slipping off into the living room and taking her spot on the couch. The pillows were small, but it was definitely an improvement over the little janitors closet she'd spent her last night in.

Fingering the little gold ring around her neck, Nyx closed her eyes. First thing in the morning, I'm coming for you Ava. She thought before drifting into a deep, fitfull sleep, full of nightmares. Her dreams were never peaceful anymore, but sleep was sleep so there was no way Nyx's body would allow her to wake up until she was either fully rested or danger loomed.

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#, as written by Iki
He was ignorant, for the most part, to Nyx's subtle death stares. Aware of them, sure, but their possible threats seemed particularly empty when the world was burning around them. Regardless, her joking taunts went unanswered from the back door foyer, instead focused on the slim hammock of cord that he'd just put the finishing touches on, and was diligently checking back over the knots.

Perfect.

Working himself up to his feet with an exhausted sigh, those nimble fingers went right to work tying one of the long-haired ends to the peg doorstop on the wall, and; cracking the back door open juuust enough to slip the other end between the door and the door frame, limbed the excess up, toward the top of the frame, and promptly closed the door as quietly and as delicately as he could. The hammock itself was pulled taut enough for his purposes, and it was with a satisfied little ghost of a smile that he gingerly plucked at the knot-woven net just to be sure. The moment someone so much as tried to crack the door, the end stuck in the door would unravel, and the hammock would slump, dumping its payload of china all over the hardwood hallway. Simple, but effective.

Perfect.

The hammock itself was long enough to support three tea cup and saucer sets, and they were stacked meticulously in just such a manner, the run-ragged vet arranging them almost obsessively to the perfect assortment that he'd pictured in his head. He had other plans for those metal cans however, and when he'd finally finished nitpicking his own creation, scooped them right up by the handles and hauled them back up the hall, around to the other side of the house without a word to poor Kamille. It was a good call, but he had an even better idea for them. Both stood upside down, he leaned one diagonally against the doorknob, and just as meticulously as the fragile set of china, balanced the second at an awkward angle ontop of it that would practically send it flying should someone try to push open the door and upset the can beneath it.

Perfect.

After a few minutes obsessing over their arrangement and their angles to make sure they wouldn't simply slip on their own, he sauntered back into the kitchen, sparing the already sleeping Nyx a sideways glance before he wandered down the hall and right back up again after a short pop into the laundry room for a washcloth, and one of the several modest plastic tubs stacked on the counter inside.
"So what's your name?" He quipped casually to the young woman (Kamille) sitting at his dinner table as he worked the tub up under the kitchen faucet, finally able to spare the time to actually give her the light of day without having to buzz back and forth. There was an awkward air about her ever since they'd informally met some minutes ago, and really, he couldn't blame the woman. His reception to her had been...less than welcoming. Internally, parts of him had to wonder what she thought of him.
Holding the tub as close to the mouth of the spigot as he could to avoid making a splash and making noise, he promptly filled it with warm water, and brought it with him to the dinner table. Cocking the seat adjacent to her out and away from the table, he sat down, placed his tub on the floor, and promptly began to roll up his pantlegs; one, and then the other. Barely visible with the cuff draped down around his foot, the scars that marred his right leg were plain and clear, now. The fur was still patchy around the center of his foot and sprouted up at awkward angles, but the rest of the damage was clear; glossy warped flesh that stretched from his foot to just beneath his knee, clearly marking him a burn victim. He seemed to think little of it though, as he dipped the marred foot into the warm water, despite the typical and obvious questions the scarring often tempted. It, and the almost identical furless scatter of scarred pockmarks on the insides of his bare forearms raising further questions as to just what it was he did for a living.

"God, that feels good," He thought to himself with a short relaxed sigh as he massaged and cleaned his feet down in the warm tub of water. A typical practice in his household, he would have done this first thing when they'd come in the door...if clearing the house hadn't been such a pressing matter instead. It was considered polite in the case of fur-bearers, and quite frankly, a nice way to relax in the meantime. But then; life couldn't be all roses ,could it?

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#, as written by Farrah
Leaning against the counter now, her arms still folded across her chest, Kamille watched as Nyx headed off to claim the couch. Looking at the guy who almost blew her head off earlier out of her peripheral vision, she cleared her throat before answering. "Kamille." That came out bitchier than she intended and, sensing this, started to ramble. "This is the last place I would of expected someone to return to, so I'm sorry if my being here was... unsettling." Her voice sounded apologetic, but it still held a stern sort of tone that kept her grounded and not entirely timid. "You're uh, Monday, right? Nyx told me that was your name." Even though it sounds more like an alias.

Trying not to stare at the stretched scars on his foot, Kamille crossed over to the kitchen window before he had the chance to answer. When she first arrived, the first thing she wanted to do was board up all the windows - but hammering on planks of wood wasn't exactly a quiet task, so instead she draped thick towels behind the blinds. Folding back a piece of the heavy material before delicately pushing down on the blinds just large enough to squint through, she surveyed the area. Out of all the locations she could choose from this one was perfect, she only saw one of the walkers off in the distance and he was hobbling off in the opposite direction of them. But of all the houses to choose...

Letting out a soft sigh and stepping away from the window, Kamille walked back over to the kitchen table and sat down again. She brushed her hair off her face with her hands and tied it all back in a pony-tail, the long strands of her dark hair ending just above her tailbone. Lowering her voice, hoping that she wasn't disturbing Nyx in the next room, Kamille parted her lips to speak. "I've only been here for a couple of days, but I've been sleeping in, uh... that room you went into." Hopefully this wasn't going to make the large, furry and intimidating man angry - she had no idea who he was or how he would react to things and from all the people she's come across since the whole 'zombie apocalypse' thing started, she's learned not to trust anybody. No matter how sane they look. She wanted to shudder at the memory and rubbed her still sore shoulder from the altercation at the gas station the first day the virus broke out.

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“Yeah, that's right,” He replied simply as she crossed the room, only really watching her through his peripheral. It wasn't his real name, but it wasn't a lie, either, and her assumption at an alias was spot on - but he preferred to keep it that way until someone got it in their head to pry. He had his reasons.
”Kamille, hmm?” He thought to himself as he plucked one foot – rubbing it dry as well as he could with that wascloth – and then the other out of the washbasin. Had to admire the young woman's simplistic methods of concealment, though; he was willing to bet they could have even chanced turning on the lights – if the electricity worked.

“But, it's fine,” He replied at length, a man of few words in strange company, “Used to be mam'n dad's, but I don't think they'll be using it again anytime soon,” There was a subtle bitterness in his voice; that nagging realization that the last time he visited home might very well have been the last time he was ever going to see them. The guilt was still chewing at him beneath the surface, and for once, it was something he was just having a hard time getting past. They had a plan, sure, but it was a plan that spanned more than a thousand miles, and assuming things were just as bad going through Ottawa and Montreal, he had to assume the worst. Grim perhaps, but it was realistic. His old man was smart as all get-out, and more than able in his growing age, but he still worried – they were his parents, after all.
Despite that, he still couldn't help but notice her awkward stance around him. It might as well have been written on her forehead in big bold print, because for the most part, her body language betrayed her. Really, he couldn't tell if she was genuinely intimidated by him, or if she just had mood swings something fierce. Still, that little nagging in the back of his head told him she was making some kind of conscious effort to puff up in front of him like he was some..alpha male, or something. Parts of him told himself that the young woman had every reason to be tucking her tail around him. Parts of him told himself that she damn well better be walking on eggshells after breaking into his house like this - but the more realistic parts of him were more sympathetic. He'd been lucky. She could have just as easily been a looter, or worse - brought those things in behind her - but no, she was just someone running scared – just like the rest of them.

Dumping the dirty water into the sink, he hauled the tub back into the laundry room before he sauntered across the hall into the pantry.
”Didn't think so,” He smiled to himself at the shelves that were devoid of canned soup and products. Good. He'd certainly expected as much, and it just reinforced the belief he clung to that his parents were alive and well.
“Hungry?” He quipped at the young woman on his way back up the hall, digging into the kitchen cupboard. Carefully settling two glass bowls on the counter, he dug into one of the drawers for silverware. The slip of paper sitting neatly ontop of the plastic tray made him stop when he opened it. Shaking his head, he plucked it up and plucked up a spoon for each of them before he slid the drawer shut, and slid the letter out onto the table, and pushed it across to her. Here. This'll explain everything.
Circling back around to the other side of the table, he dug into that stuffed gym bag, sifting through this can and that can until he settled on a can of chicken noodle and a can of beef and vegetable soup.
“The good stuff,” He murmured to himself as he buzzed about the drawers for the can opener; popped open the can of beef and vegetable, and sat down to help himself to a cold bowl of soup. He didn't dare cook anything for fear of drawing attention. He wasn't about to take a look outside for how many of those things were skulking around outside, but he could just as easily remember how he could smell his mother cooking from the backyard. Based on that recollection, he had to assume that the walking dead would be able to smell it from the street. No chances. Not here.

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Kamille hasn't been eating much since all hell broke loose. Depression and worry are the main factors that kept her from feeding herself but the real truth was - she never really had the chance to get her hands on any food. Grocery stores were the last place she wanted to go, she's seen enough zombie flicks and natural disaster movies to realize that grocery stores were a hotspot for disease and infection spreading, not to mention germs and crazy people, so she grabbed whatever was in the pantry and fled. That was only enough to last her for a couple of days at least, so she's been trying to ration whatever granola bars she had left.

Now this girl wasn't exactly hungry per se, but once her eyes set on that Campbell's can she was relieved that Monday offered to share his food. Almost instantly her shoulders relaxed and her eyebrows formed back into their natural state instead of being furrowed into a worried expression. There was something about the act of sharing food, she thought to herself, that was welcoming and reassuring. She tried to remember briefly if she learned about anything like that back in high school but shrugged it off - for she had a delightful can of chicken noodle soup to devour. Uttering a small, "thank you", Kamille stood up from the table and joined Monday briefly at the counter before he sat and ate his meal. Popping open the lid and sliding the contents into the bowl, her eyes thoroughly scanned the note that the feline mutt left on the counter for her to read. Standing at the counter for a few moments, understanding why Monday was so emotional and angry when they first met, she nodded her head to herself before gently pushing the note away. For some reason, Kamille felt like she didn't need to say anything. She understood now, that's all that really needed to be done. Besides - sympathy wasn't really her thing. It made her feel awkward.

So when she looked at the contents in her bowl it was obvious that it wasn't the most luxurious meal she's ever had, but it sure had granola bars and trail mix beaten by a landslide, so when she sat back down at the table it was safe to say the young woman was enjoying herself. Eating in silence except for the occasional clang of their spoons, Kamille couldn't help but feel a severe sense of longing and... what else was she feeling? Lack of normalcy that has been in her life for the past few days? Everything was still hard to take in - everything she's seen and heard, the people in her life that she's lost or might not even be alive - it's a wonder she hasn't killed herself already. But sitting at the table with this stranger who offered her soup, vaguely listening to the soft breathing coming from the sleeping Nyx in the next room, this is the closest she's been to happy in days. Days. It's only been days.

Taking a peek at Monday every now and then from underneath her dark lashes, Kamille wondered if she should say anything. Then, almost as if it was on queue, the two strangers sitting at the table could hear from very far off in the distance a faint shrieking noise. It made the hairs on Kamille's arms stand up and she was suddenly thrown back into reality - this was the zombie apocalypse and nothing was ever going to be the same again.

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#, as written by Iki
A subtle nod aside, her thank you went otherwise unanswered. She could have said nothing, and the way the young woman visibly relaxed would have said enough instead. The hybrid watched her through his peripheral as she sat down to join him, shoveling spoonful after spoonful of soup into his hungry mouth. It was by no means gourmet, but Progresso was by far the closest brand name to that next step up as far as he was concerned, even cold. He counted himself lucky by far, because his case could have been much worse, and whether it would have been genuine or not, he wasn't interested in her resulting sympathy. People had enough to worry about on their own these days, and the last thing anyone needed was someone else's problems compounding them. Still; he may have overreacted a bit, and she at least deserved to know why.

But at the very least, they'd gained some sort of common ground, and a truce therein. He wasn't about to play the part of the politician and try to urge everyone to pull together, because really, the situation was bleak, and that should have been a given by itself. At the very least, traveling together meant traveling with someone else who was glancing over their shoulder every ten paces too. He'd been fortunate in that instance too, he figured, because the two women he was cavorting around with could have just as easily been those hysterical, helpless sorts of people that made everyone in the movie theater groan in disgust. Even still, despite the quiet little corner they'd found, the warbling shriek far off in the city was a stark reminder of just how startlingly real their danger still was. Instinctively he paused, and his hand shot down for his holstered pistol, every tired and aching muscle tense. The notion that one of those...things might be prowling around for them exclusively made him feel the urge to clear the house again, just incase.
He stuffed it back down, at length with an exasperated sigh and shake of his head, and; when he'd finished, excused himself from the table to quietly rinse, wash and dry his dishes, replacing the bowl back in the cupboard as if it really mattered. This was still home, for him, and he meant to preserve that sacredness as well as he could until they left again.

"Hold onto this," He thought to himself, pocketing that spoon. For all he knew, he might not ever come across a clean spoon again!...but he could already feel his stomach twisting into knots around the soup he'd just scarfed down, and it wore on him when he realized on impulse that he still had more to do before he let himself get any rest. Unconsciously scratching at his midriff, he stared off into the living room, momentarily lost in his thoughts.
"I wonder if..." Maybe; just maybe, there were a few odds and ends left downstairs he could rig together into something useful. Just maybe.
"Got some work I wanna do downstairs before I get some rest," He quipped randomly, picking at his black shirt a bit with his fingers, "If you're gonna tag along with us, great; but try to get some rest if you can. We'll see if we can manage an overnight stay, and provided we don't get chased outta here prematurely, we're gonna get movin' again first thing; early first thing," He emphasized sternly, finally glancing across at the young woman, "So try to rest up; and if anything happens, just yell. I'll be in the basement," Yanking his machete out of its scabbard where it rest on the table, he moved through the living room and trotted right down the steps. With Kamille so at ease in the homestead, he could stand to assume it was clear, but...just incase...

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Watching Monday trot down the stairs, Kamille realized she was alone again. Nodding at the mutt's invitation to tag along she let out a frustrated sigh as she pulled the hair tie from her dark hair, but made sure she did so as soon as he was out of earshot. Barely wavy wisps falling against her back, Kamille looked at her fingernails while her elbows were propped up on the table. Dirty, chewed and short. The young woman was never one for glamour but she sure felt like she could use a manicure, which was a funny thing to be thinking about at a time like this. Listening to the vague tick, tock, tick, tock coming from the living room's clock (which didn't have a bell, thank god) Kamille stared down at her now empty bowl of soup. Her stomach hurt from eating it so fast and as she stood up was greeted by a small wave of nausea. So much sodium in those goddamn things.

So - she had a decision to make. A hard one. Although she was seriously lacking human company, Kamille promised herself that she wouldn't trust anyone. Or even worse, end up getting attached to them. Gently rinsing out her bowl just as Monday did before setting it next to the others in the cupboard, Kamille quietly crept back to the room she's been sleeping in for the past few days. Making sure she turned the knob so it wouldn't make a noise as she shut it, the young woman pulled her baggy T-Shirt over her head and set it next to her Jansport backpack. Kneeling down to unzip her bag, Kamille took out a sweatshirt. Gathering the fabric in her hands, she deeply inhaled through her nose. It still smelled like him. She hoped it always smelled like him. Closing her eyes for a moment, completely still in the almost pitch black darkness of the room, she thought of him. Their wedding was supposed to be next month. Biting her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood so that she wouldn't let her emotions get the best of her, Kamille told herself that she had to stay strong, especially in this strangers house. Crying wasn't something a strong person did, or so she thought, so while she pulled on the sweatshirt she crawled across the floor and into the bed, a pounding in her temples nagging at her to get some sleep.

Curling into a ball on her side, Kamille went over the pros and cons of teaming up with Nyx and Monday. Pros: she wouldn't be alone, she had someone to rely on, she wouldn't be alone, and safety in numbers. Cons: worrying about their safety, worrying about being left alone, and worrying in general. A part of herself was upset that she met these people, the other part completely relieved. It was only a matter of time before she bumped into someone, right? Might as well be these guys instead of someone else, someone worse.

As she drifted off to sleep that night she was haunted by her demons, just as the blonde haired girl was in the other room.

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As exhausted as he was, he found himself toiling away in the basement with a renewed sense of vigor. This was that last leg of preparation before he could finally get some sleep, and with the sun just setting, he'd have more than enough time for some good rack, provided hell didn't kick down the door and drive them out of the house. He could always hope, couldn't he?
It was a bit more difficult with only his little Maglite to see by, but when he stumbled across the sacks of fertilizer sitting tucked away in the corner of the basement, ideas began to brew, and he realized that he had a lot more work ahead of him before he'd ever be satisfied enough to call it quits. It almost made him laugh to think that his father would always poke at him for just such a habit that border-lined obsessive and often saw him working late into the night, if not straight into the next morning; but when he had his mind set on something, it literally took hell and handgrenades to tear him away from it.
"All I'd need is a mason jar, or a bottle.." He thought to himself as he stared into a box of powder laundry detergent, chewing his lip. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that there was some gasoline sitting in the shed out back, and it weighed him with a combined sense of dread, and a sense of closure. Kamille was an immense stroke of luck. She could have just as easily been a looter or robber, or even just an aggressive squatter...but she wasn't. It was then, he resolved, that the only way to preserve the purity in this modest little homestead was to bathe it in fire. Grim maybe, but it was the only way he could be sure it wouldn't be desecrated by looters, or worse; the undead things that were shuffling around in the street. The thought of those awful things spoiling what little piece of good was left in his uprooted life made his stomach tie up into knots, and his lip quaver in absolute disgust. He wasn't about to have it.

And when he finally did finish his work, he climbed quietly up the stairs, and glanced briefly down the hall, and into the living room.
"Mm; sound asleep," He mused to himself at the sight of the young blonde (Nyx) slathered across his couch, and with her things scattered all over his parents' room, it didn't take much to guess where Kamille had probably got off to. Cracking the door in the hallway juuuuust enough to peek an eye through, he wasn't surprised to find he'd guessed right. Closing the door just as quietly as he'd opened it, he crept down the hallway, and paused at the second doorway. Gripping the knob, he didn't even realize he'd been holding his breath. The seconds ticked by like hours, and when he finally exhaled, he just shook his head.
"No," He murmured at length, decidedly letting his fingers slip away from the knob. He didn't want to see what he knew was still there. They hadn't ever had to keep the room for him, and quite frankly, he'd badgered his father again and again to try to persuade him into turning it into a guest room, but the old wolf had just as stubbornly insisted with that wise trademark chuckle he had that it simply wasn't going to happen. The argument invariably ended the same way each and every time.

"You'll always be my boy, and you'll always live here; no matter what country you run off to. The room'll be here when you get back; just the same as you left it."

"Stubborn old ass," He mumbled to himself, a subtle ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. He lingered only a moment longer before he crept back up the hall, and filtered his way back into the living room. Settling into the expensive leather armchair across the room, he quietly kicked out the recliner, and let himself melt into the cushions, finally just...relaxing with a long, breathy sigh. God, this feels good~
And when he finally did drift off to sleep, he slept soundly. The nightmares had long since stopped plaguing his dreams over the last three years, but so too had the pleasant ones that occasionally filled the spaces between, and consequently, his sleep was dreamless. But when morning rolled around, that biological clock of his kicked in, despite how utterly exhausted he had been the day before, and today, like almost every day he'd spent at home, he was the first one up. He immediately set about what was doomed to be an abridged routine in the first place, but by the time he was fed and dressed, he was already packing to leave.
"Nyx," He called across the living room as he came back up from the basement with a gas can and a small stuffed backpack, "Nyx, get up; it's time to get moving." A little more sharply this time, as he moved into the kitchen and began moving what few cans of food were left from the gymbag to the backpack, filling out the last of its space. With a couple 'decent' meals in him and a few restful hours of sleep, he was right as rain again, and ready to get moving - but with that typical sense of urgency that had been paramount and prevalent since the minute the two had met. Hell, if his voice didn't rouse her, then the dense stink of gasoline that was already beginning to permeate the house would be probably do the rest for him.

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"Nyx," The sound of her name drifted into her dreams, and she sat up, gun in hand, before he'd even managed to get the next part out. "Nyx, get up; it's time to get moving." When the fear from her dream finally faded, Nyx realized it was Monday who'd spoken and lowered her gun to the couch again. He walked away and she dropped her face into her hands with a deep groan. For the first time in two days she felt like she'd actually had enough sleep. Even if it had been wrought with nightmares.

Rubbing her eyes, she stood and stretched her arms above her with a yawn, pulling her muscles. She turned to the couch and grabbed both her knife and her gun before the sharp smell of gasoline started to make her eyes water. She turned, eyebrows knit in confusion, as she walked out into the kitchen to find Monday dumping gas on everything. At first she just stood and watched, but then she moved past him and down the hall towards where Kamille had slept. He could do what he wanted. If he wanted to light the house on fire, who was she to stop him? It was his afterall.

When she reached the room, she pushed open the door gently and went in. "Kamille." She said, sleep still choking her voice as she fumbled for a light switch. Her hand managed to swipe on and suddenly the room was illuminated with light and Nyx crossed to where Kamille was sleeping and nudged her. "Time to get going Kamille." She said again before turning and leaving, walking back out into the kitchen with a yawn.

Her bag was still laying unzipped on the counter so she reached over and zipped it up before pulling herself up and taking a seat next to it, watching Monday with a yawn. "Why exactly do you want to burn your house?" She asked, deciding she wanted to know afterall. As she watched him, she sighed. "Did you even get any sleep?"

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The first one to talk was the girl with the dog. "Stay back." The young woman told the dog and Celeste's eyes turned sharply to her as she reached out a cautious hand. She looked to be older than her, but not by too much. Maybe a year or two. "Trust me, you're the last thing we want to kill." She smirked, "Having people around probably keeps the insanity levels down." She glanced at the rest of the group one by one, green eyes roaming over each one before turning to the woman again. The joke went over Celeste's head, and she just nodded meekly, still ready to run if necessary.

"You can call me Phoenix." She said with a nod and then seemed to be waiting for something. Oh. Right. For the others to introduce themselves. Celeste nodded at Phoenix and managed a small fake smile, stepping tentetivly closer.

"I'm Celeste Rinehart." She said quietly. "Not really the survival type.. It's kind of a miracle I've made it this far. She crossed her arms over her chest, letting her bat hang uselessly at her hip. They all looked like badass, action movie types. What did she look like to them with her tiny build and torn dress? Like the stupid one in the movie that always gets the group killed? The damsel in distress? She bit her lip. She hated asking things of people, but if there was ever a better group to protect her, it was these people.

That is, if they'd take her.

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Kamille was already awake when Nyx poked her head in through the door. Her dark hair was tangled still from her restless sleep but other than that she appeared to be ready to leave. With dark, purple circles under her eyes Kamille grabbed her Jansport bag and slung it over her shoulder. Everything she owned was in her bag and, leaving the room exactly how she found it, Kamille quietly shut the door behind herself as she watched Nyx head over to the kitchen.

About the gasoline - she already knew. The strong smell wafted in through the vent during the early morning and woke her, but trusting that Monday wouldn't set the house aflame with them all still inside, she decided that was the time to get her belongings together. Clad in the same leggings and shoes as yesterday, her gun strapped securely against her right thigh, Kamille found that her throat was starting to burn. What a rancid smell gasoline was, especially in the morning. Greeted by nausea, Kamille plugged her nose with her hand and tried breathing in through her mouth - which really couldn't be any better.

Still unspoken, Kamille watched Nyx exchange some words with the hybrid and tried to stifle a yawn. By the looks of it, Nyx didn't sleep too well either. Or Monday, for that matter. Maybe she just felt so miserable she was imagining it.