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Stephanie "Stevie" Darden

A quirky geek who isn't sure where she fits in.

0 · 1,178 views · located in Season 3

a character in “The Walking Dead: Online”, as played by Fear of a Female Planet

Description

Stephanie "Stevie" Darden

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 Profession
Recently the new Press Secretary, Hillard for Governor; music reviewer, blogger

 Age
29

 Gender
Female

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 Height/Weight Eyes/Hair
5'1" / 135 lbs. Brown/Brown

 Nationality/Ethnicity
American

 Tattoos/Scars
Scar on bridge of nose, between the eyes; long scar across her lower belly; small tattoos on the insides of her wrists; tattoo of a giant red Phoenix stretching from shoulder to hips on right side of back; large blue bird from mid-back to left side of ribcage; snowflakes behind her right ear; massive Orion/Cassiopeia constellation piece on right side of ribcage; fireworks across middle of the back

 Clothing/Outfit
Knee-length navy blue jumper with a long red t-shirt, navy blue leggings, yellow asymmetrical leather boots, burnt-orange coat

Traits:

MBTI Personality type: INFJ (Introverted Intuitive Feeling Judge)



 3 Strengths

Perceptive
Stevie's got sharp instincts and loves to make guesses about outcomes of situations. Her first inclination is to follow her "gut" feeling.

Book-Smart
She loves to read anything educational; was definitely the kind of kid who read encyclopedias for fun.

Honorable / Positive
Stevie has a very strong sense of values, and holds herself to very high standards. She doesn't like the idea of breaking ethical or moral standards, and works hard to keep herself from going down that path. She's also an ardent Roman Catholic; but like most modern Americans who are Catholics, she's not particularly strict and doesn't follow all of the Church's laws, but she does believe in basic teachings of right versus wrong and the concept of Reconciliation.

 3 Flaws

Emotional
Stevie can operate in both highs and lows. She is so often overwhelmed by her internal feelings, which can sometimes change her behavior or block her logic. This can make her prone to moodiness.

Anxious
She's a high-anxiety type and can become very nervous or introverted during conflict.

Bad Eyesight / Childhood Health Condition
Stevie has been near-sighted since the age of 7; it was discovered when she was showing struggles in school, and when she couldn't spot paratroopers jumping out of a C-130 one afternoon with her mother and sisters as they were out at a jumpzone with other families during a training several years ago. On another note, that same year she spent a month in the hospital due to a kidney condition. Almost three years later she underwent surgery to fix the problem, but still heeds caution: too much physical exhaustion occasionally sidelines her for a few days at a time, even as an adult.


Personality:


 Fears
Aggressive people, losing her eyesight, heights, compromising her values

 Aspirations
To publish a book about music, live in Europe again, have a family

 Dominant Emotion
Cautiously optimistic

 Demeanor
Loves to connect with others. Stevie has a sweet, sparkly personality, and feels happiest when she can help someone who has a problem. She does not see listening to people in a crisis as a waste of time, and regularly volunteers in her community to work in soup kitchens, pick up trash, mentor children, and assist women in need, amongst other endeavors. She's most happiest when she is useful and can put a smile on someone's face. However, she becomes withdrawn and nervous around conflict, and has worked hard to try to overcome being a very sensitive person. When faced with dire conflict, she either doesn't react to it at all, or meets it head-on. Her best bet is to walk away, cool off, and come back after she's had time to think through a proper level-headed response. Her rebellious streak causes her to only give in to demands opposing her own internal code as a last resort. Sometimes she can surprise people in this way, as she's not afraid to push back forcefully when the need arises. She doesn't always feel very good about herself after doing that when the situation isn't clear about who exactly is right or wrong, and hates the idea of alienating people she actually likes. She enjoys being alone from time to time, listening to music or writing, as she can burn out easily. She's very attached to her family and works to nurture close friendships. She loves to laugh. She keeps a lot of her closely-held thoughts and feelings to herself, not in the habit of wishing to burden others with her troubles. Stevie prefers to view the world through a happy lens and feels miserable if she can't find something to be happy about. She's an optimist at heart and has a hard time containing joy.

 Quirks/Oddities
Tends to be quirky in general.

 Skills/Proficiencies
Knowledgeable/book-smart, firearms, kayaking, knitting/sewing/crochet, guitar/piano/bass/drums, public speaking, Italian, French, German, geography, literature, music knowledge, applied chemistry, leadership training, DIY'er (house repairs, art, cooking, etc.)

Equipment:

 Carries a travel bag with a road map of California and a highway map of the United States, spare change of clothes, Ruger pistol
 Case full of knitting needles of various sizes, a few balls of red and black yarn
 Black scarf that was a gift from her mother


History:

 Born to a military family; her father, an infantry officer, underwent Airborne and then Special Forces training throughout her childhood, ready to rapidly deploy anywhere in the world at a moment's notice; mom kept the house together miraculously with three daughters during frequent, sudden deployments
 Lived around the globe, living in Germany, Italy, and Spain in addition to installations around the U.S.; this results in her becoming adaptable and friendly, but also prone to acts of rebellion due to the at-times suffocating nature of military dependent society
Graduates from high school in Heidelberg, Germany, in 2003, ranking 3rd in her class
 At 18, moves back to the States to attend the University of Texas at Austin and studies journalism and writing; becomes news director of her college radio station and a sharp advocate for the campus in the student government; also does a semester exchange in New York City, a semester exchange in Siena, Italy, and internships in Washington, D.C. and Atlanta; cuts her teeth with music journalism via SXSW, changes mind and decides to devote her talents to writing and talking about her two of her favorite subjects: music and politics
 After graduating with honors, she works for a prominent music blog reviewing albums, and hosts occasional radio gigs spotlighting specialty music; highlights of her career include election/music discussions on MTV News and pieces published in Rolling Stone
 Lives mostly in Seattle during her adult life, working on her own schedule and preferring to spend most of her time at rock shows, political debates, and music festivals; keeps a close circle of friends who don't typically see eye-to-eye with her on political or philosophical views, but enjoy the same hobbies and interests; her oldest friend in Seattle, Mark, was actually a classmate and close friend all through their time at UT, and the two had decided to move to Seattle after graduation for work
 Asked to come on board with Hillard for Governor campaign as Press Secretary after meeting Hillard at a museum bash; Mary Hillard is a U.S. Representative currently seeking to become governor and is currently topping polls as a moderate politician, in the habit of employing team members with more experience than just being busy political workers
 Plans a trip down to L.A. for a campaign training, then a week off with Dean, her boyfriend of several months, to drive back up to Seattle for fun


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So begins...

Stephanie "Stevie" Darden's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harper Hopkins Character Portrait: Stephanie "Stevie" Darden Character Portrait: Silas Quinn
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Stevie looked at Mark with a sidelong glance as she rapped on the door. "Your costume kind of sucks," she offered with a laugh. "I mean... how much effort did you put into this, exactly?"

Mark smirked and ran a hand playfully through his thick black hair, and pushed his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose with a quick swipe. "This is not preparing?" he scoffed playfully, pointing at his black suit and tie. "I had to take this thing to the dry cleaner's. That's prep. That so counts as prep."

"Nu uh!" she fought back. She batted her mascara'd eyelashes and spun around in place, still dizzy from the drinks from their previous Halloween party. "This is prep."

"Whatever. You’re just Snow White in glasses," he syrupped back in a high-pitched voice. "Very creative! Not like you're not Snow White the other 364 days of the year."

Before Stevie could open her mouth to respond to such a thin, an excited shriek greeted them after the door opened. A tall, blue-eyed woman in a banana suit stood with her arms outstretched, diving toward Mark with a happy hug. "Welcome back to Seattle, stranger!" she chippered quickly, looking at his suit and nodding approvedly. "You look great! And is this Stevie?" she asked, turning to the other with a large smile. It sounded like a band was playing somewhere in the house.

"Stevie, this is Heather," Mark introduced as the woman ushered them into the loud entryway of the home, "she and her husband both work at UW."

"We love your blog," Heather started with a smile. "My brother, especially. He's the one who told me about it. He's in here somewhere. Can't miss him." She politely offered Stevie her hand to shake.

"Oh, well, thank you," Stevie responded with a broad smile, taking Heather's hand. "And thanks for having us. Mark was so excited to see you and I've always heard so much about you."

"The pleasure's all mine!" Heather led them down the hallway after the two guests kicked their shoes off of their feet, and before them was a large living room with massive bay windows overlooking Green Lake. Other homes' lights were visible on the other side of the water, doubly illuminated in its reflection. Sure enough, a four-person band raucously played near a flight of stairs to the upper floor. The large space was jam-packed with a variety of people in a variety of costumes. Stevie couldn't help but smile at the sight of a large blue shark wildly waving its stubby fins, telling a story to another banana. Next to them, a sock monkey and a Barack Obama were taking shots next to a table stocked with plenty of beverages. Intense. "What can I get you two to drink? You came all the way from Fremont!"

"Oh, I'll get it," Stevie offered, turning her head to look over at the table. "Want anything?"

Heather shook her head. "No, no, you're my guests, so I'll--hey, there's Dean. Dean!" A man in a tattered suit and moppish wig turned around when he heard his name, then caught Heather waving her hand to get his attention. She flexed three fingers in the air instructively at the bruise-eyed zombie, his face covered in pallid makeup and crude red and purple streaks darting about. "Three rums and Coke!" He nodded casually and headed toward the table.

"So, how long have you been back from Atlanta?" Heather asked Mark as he stood next to Stevie and eyed the zombie from afar.

"Not even forty-eight hours, doll," he answered relievedly. Stevie smiled. She knew Mark loved to chatter. "I loved Atlanta. But I gotta tell you, I'm so happy to be back. All my buddies from there will come visit, anyway. I just missed Seattle too much, you know?"

"I'm happy you're back," Heather cheered. Stevie looked around the room while the two continued their conversation, scanning the room to examine all the amusing combinations of costumes. She quietly stepped away, rounding about a couch and carefully threading through a throng of people to catch a glimpse of the band playing. She finally found herself standing in a decent spot, looking through a few sets of shoulders ahead instead of having to crane her neck or prop up on her toes to even chance seeing anything going on.

After a few minutes, a set of fingers tapped her on the shoulder clumsily. The zombie brother of the banana, Dean, held a plastic cup in his hand and offered it to her. "I only had these left," he shouted apologetically over the band, examining her face intently. His brilliant blue eyes were easier to see up close.

Stevie smiled as she accepted the cup, and took a sip. "No, it's great," she answered. She wrinkled her nose a little. "You didn't skimp out on the rum, that's for sure." She offered a hand quickly. "Stephanie. I'm here with Mark."

Dean peeked over everyone else's heads to spot him, then turned back to Stevie. "Oh, uhh, sorry, I didn't realize," he sputtered, stepping back just slightly.

"What? No, no, not like that!" Stevie cracked up, taking another sip of her drink. Dean had a funny quality about him that she just couldn’t put her finger on. Despite the cheesy zombie get-up. "No, no, Mark is… Mark's…" She stopped herself, then shrugged. "Mark's not into women."

"Oh!" Dean said, a wry grin twisting the corner of his mouth upward. "So, what do you think of the band, Stevie?"

She blinked and suppressed a laugh by sipping at her cup. She hadn't introduced herself that way. Clearly, he knew exactly who she was, even without his sister telling him directly. "I dig them… Dean?" she attempted a little absent-mindedly, thinking back to how Heather had referred to him. "Dean what?"

"Jensen," he volunteered immediately, winking mischievously.

Stevie blinked again as she felt her face draw in from having a broad, approachable smile to her mouth opening slightly, unsure of what to say. "Dean Jensen?" He nodded. "Sub Pop?" He nodded again. She took in a breath and offered an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you. That… that wig. I, uh…" she trailed off, lifting her cup to her lips again. She was unsure of what to say to the record producer whose career she'd been following for years, who was clearly taking some degree of interest in her. She'd even ran into him a few times before, just briefly. She chastised herself for not knowing better. "I… I like your work."

"I like your work, too," he answered, grinning as he faced forward to watch the band.

Stevie similarly turned ahead, trying hard to not allow a smile to spread across her face along with the sudden elated feeling pulling on her stomach, like a fast elevator hurling up toward the sky.


# # #

"Are you all right?"

Stevie set the wastebin in her lap and frowned. "I'm so sorry," she said, clearly disapproving of herself as she sheepishly rolled her eyes up to the ceiling.

"Why? Why are you sorry about something you can't control?" he asked, chuckling to himself a little as he pulled a tissue box from inside a drawer in the clunky desk before him. "I mean, I'm sorry you're not feeling well, but you can't exactly turn it off. What's wrong?"

"Oh, I was pretty sick after everything happened," she explained sullenly, shutting her eyes and turning her head to brace against the pit in her stomach. "Pretty sure it was a kidney infection. Happens. Had some antibiotics, and it got knocked out, or so I thought…"

Silas furrowed his eyebrows. "You didn't look sick a few minutes ago."

She shrugged. "Yeah, I was feeling fine until about, oh… three minutes ago." She shut her eyes and breathed, then leaned her head resignedly on the rim of the wastebin. "I am going to throw myself outside of a window if I'm sick again." She then snapped her eyes open jarringly, and proceeded to vomit into the container.

Silas sprang to his feet and whirled around the desk, bending down and patting Stevie on the back empathetically, shaking his head and watching her. "We've got a pharmacy," Silas offered quietly after her brief fit died down. "Well, sort of. But we have antibiotics. I'll need to find someone who can see how you're feeling. Rules are rules. Can't give you anything without checking you out. Don't want to make the problem worse." He paused for a moment, then shrugged. "But in the meantime, you can rest, and eating something won't hurt later." She vomited again. "… unless you're not up for it."

He reached a massive hand toward the desk to fish a tissue from the box he'd retrieved from the drawer. Stevie accepted it gratefully and dotted her mouth, then stuck it in the bin and nodded. "I'll get some rest," she echoed tiredly. "Let me know when you find someone?"

Silas reached out a hand politely to help her up, then gestured toward the door. "I'd help you but I really ought to do a few things before dinner," he said apologetically. "Are you good to find your way back?"

She nodded quickly. "Yeah, no problem!" she managed about as chipperly as she could, then began to heard toward the door. "See you soon?"

"See you soon," he confirmed with a nod.

With that, Stevie nodded and carefully made her way out of the office, peering through the large front window as she opened and shut the door behind her. She didn't even remember slinking down the stairs when she suddenly found herself quietly watching a sleeping Harper in her bunk, then looked over her shoulder to check for any familiar faces. Seeing none, she crawled into the bunk across from Harper's and tucked in, curling her knees into her stomach to anchor herself to the ground again.

The setting changes from Season 2 to Season 1

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harper Hopkins Character Portrait: Stephanie "Stevie" Darden Character Portrait: James Marshall (NPC)
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The setting changes from Season 1 to Season 2

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harper Hopkins Character Portrait: Stephanie "Stevie" Darden Character Portrait: James Marshall (NPC)
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

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"Hey, Glasses!"

Stevie's eyes snapped open and her stomach surged again. She suppressed the urge to contract into a tighter-wound ball of a human being on her makeshift bunk as she looked up and blearily made out the face of the older, cranky man. She blinked and reached over to put said glasses on. She let out a sigh. "Speaking," she countered shortly, her eyes annoyed.

"Rise and shine, it's time to eat!" James chirped with the greatest of feigned enthusiasm, clapping his hands a few times before turning on his heel to scoot off. "If you don't get there now, can't guarantee space. A little crowded!"

She continued to lay on her side as she watched the old man disappear around another section of bunks before pushing herself up on her palms and looking about. It almost looked like they'd taken shelves that had once stored untold numbers of music and books and converted them into somewhat usable bunk space. They were stacked in rows, two to a row, thanks to what must have been the use of power tools judging by the tightness of the screws that clung into the old, splintery wood.

Stevie drew a hand on her cheek and dragged it down her face tiredly. She hadn't even taken her boots off, she noticed, as she scooted toward the outside of the bunk and stuck them over the edge, her legs and hips following as she slid off and dropped to the floor. She hadn't realized how high-up this bunk in particular had been. Stevie rubbed her eyes and looked about. It was quiet. No more sleeping Harper, or any noise at all in the immediate area. They must have all been at dinner.

She glanced back at the bunk as she headed off in the direction that James had seemingly skipped off toward, and tossed her blood-spattered coat onto the flat board she'd just slept on. It was very different from where she'd been about twelve hours previously. The house she and the others had stayed in had been far more comfortable. She wondered if any of these people had had a shower like she'd been able to have earlier that morning. Having choices when it came to meals. Lots of alcohol. Privacy. In fact, she began to wonder if they'd had the relative freedom to relax as she and the others had been able to. Was this almost a karmic answer to what seemed like a completely unfair situation? She continued to walk down a short corridor, with chicken wire lined against the windows, as she began to seriously contemplate that concept. Maybe whatever was up high making decisions for everyone on earth had intended for this to cut back at her and the others for having it so good while all of these people clearly had not.

She felt her face turn red when she began to think about where the others might be. Especially Thomas. She certainly felt guilty about Dean. More than she really wanted to acknowledge to herself. But maybe there wasn't really anything wrong. Maybe the rules changed. Maybe it was more important now that people simply be protected. And had it not been for him... Still.

Stop it, she chided herself. It happened. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Still.

She missed him.

"Stevie! There you are!"

Harper's long hand set itself on Stevie's shoulder. She smiled and started to pull her toward a door on the other side of the room she'd just found herself wandering into, and pointed just ahead. "Ready for dinner? They've got it all set up. Silas is about to talk. People are starting to get hungry."

Stevie nodded and followed. "Crabby Appleton pretty much said the same thing," she laughed as she trotted along with the green-eyed woman, who still wore her boots and a pair of loose, dusty jeans with the same purple top she'd worn last week.

"James found you, huh?"

Stevie nodded as they reached the door. And then she remembered. "Oh, wait, I need to talk to you-"

Too late. Harper had already opened the door.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harper Hopkins Character Portrait: Stephanie "Stevie" Darden Character Portrait: Jack Cavanagh (NPC) Character Portrait: Calvin Hawke Character Portrait: Carl Dupree (NPC) Character Portrait: Niobe Kajja
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.: Calvin Hawke :.


Dax rolled the Jeep to a stop alongside a couple of the others, their occupants spilling out of their ashy vehicles simultaneously as various figures unloaded crates and weapons out onto the pavement of the parking garage. The heaviest loads were carried by two men, while others grabbed what they could and rushed towards the stairwell to the adjacent apartment building.

Calvin watched through the dirty tinted windows as bodies blurred past in motion. He gritted his teeth, sinking lower into his seat as Oliver stowed his weapon in his waistband and reached for his bag down between his legs. "This is as far as we go," he mumbled, pulling the bag onto his lap and ripping the zipper open. His hand plunged inside sporadically pulling out a few ammo clips, his knife, and a few other random things before zipping the bag shut and tossing it back to Calvin. "There's enough gas in this thing to get you as far as you need to go... so you wait until the garage is clear -- and you get the hell outta here. You understand?"

Calvin slid the bag off of himself onto the seat next to him and looked up, catching Dax' eyes in the rearview mirror. "You guys are seriously going back in there with that guy?" he asked. "After all that you know he's capable of..."

"That's exactly why we have to go in there," Dax insisted, shakily. "You don't understand this man. You didn't see him when we were all still locked away." His eyes looked towards Oliver's. "He doesn't let things go..."

Calvin's eyes narrowed as he tried to comprehend their sudden irrationalities. When suddenly his mind lingered on something even more complexing. He leaned forwards, grabbing onto the back of the front two seats. "Were either of you with Sarah when she left?"

Dax fidgeted in his seat. "W-Well-- we walked her to the stairs out in the--"

"No," Oliver offered, quite bluntly. The notion had started to dawn on him now to. It was just like Bronson to have kept an ace up his sleeve. Nothing was beneath this man.

Dax turned to stare at him, then craned his neck back at Calvin. "What are you saying?" Calvin leaned back in his seat, rubbing his hands over his face while Dax was still left wondering. Oliver slammed his foot against the dashboard, cursing aloud.

"I have to know," Calvin muttered through strained breaths.

"I know you do," Oliver replied, defeatedly. Of course he understood. "I gotta know too," he admitted.

"I'd fucking love to know what the fuck you're fucking talking about..." Dax blathered, still eagerly wanting to know what was happening.

"If we're gonna do this, we're gonna play it out then--" Oliver ordered, straightening himself in his seat. "Open up the bag and grab those handcuffs and a shirt.

"What are we doing?" Dax asked again, becoming more annoyed by the second.

Oliver grabbed the shirt out of Calvin's hands as soon as he pulled it from the bag and began tearing a thick strip out of it using his knife. He looked up at Dax, knowingly.

"You remember Star Wars?"


* * *


Calvin marched front and center down the aisle, flanked on each shoulder by Dax and Oliver. Or at least that's who he assumed it was beside him. The makeshift blindfold had been fastened around his one good eye before they had left the Jeep, so he hadn't seen much. They had gone up at least 8 flights of stairs -- which had taken forever and was filled with countless stubbed toes, rolled ankles, and missed steps. More recently though, they had arrived on another flat surface. Carpeted. Hallways, based on the narrow lengthy turns.

"I think I hear him up here," Dax whispered over his shoulder. They continued along the corridor as the raucous shouts of the convicts rousting any squatters in the vicinity echoed throughout the halls. Vacant gunshots and loud thuds rattled off from the floors above. Calvin gingerly stepped across the cluttered floor towards where he hoped Bronson would be waiting. "This is it," Oliver said, motioning at the door to their right. "You still sure about this?"

Calvin swallowed. "I gotta see this through. If there's any chance she got out..."

"We'll find her." Oliver said, gripping Calvin's shoulder and nodding to Dax. "See you on the other side."

Dax pat him on the back as he ushered Calvin forward towards the door. Oliver grabbed the handle and the three of them passed through the threshold of the doorway. Calvin could already tell there were others inside, because whatever conversation they were having stopped as soon as he entered the room. Bronson's gravelly voice boomed out from the farthest corner.

"Well, I'll be damned..."

Oliver shoved Calvin to the center of the room, careful not to send him tumbling too hard. "Look what I found," he feigned. "Crawling around in the back of one of the Jeeps."

Bronson couldn't believe it. He walked over to Calvin, holding his hands in the air. "I do have to apologize, dear boy-- for having to leave you behind. I knew you'd be safe locked away in that room though. I wasn't gonna leave ya to no biters."

Calvin bit his tongue. "Gee... thanks."

"And now you're here..." Bronson said, pulling the blindfold up from Calvin's good eye. Light flooded back into his vision, even in the dingy and dimly lit apartment he discovered himself to be standing in. Several of Bronson's henchman, including Freddie-- the coward who had taken his eye, lingered around the edges of the room. They each rose to their feet as soon as the newcomers had crashed their party.

Calvin rubbed at his eye with his bound hands, readjusting his sight. "I am," he replied, maybe a bit too defiantly. "I could've left. I should have...."

"Then why'd you come back, Calvin...?"

His question hung in the air for awhile as the other shifted in the silence.

"Don't I have a debt to settle?" Calvin said, mockingly.

Bronson shrugged, rubbing the scruff of his greyed beard. "I thought an eye for my guy made us square?" He turned and walked towards the edge of the room, tearing down the sheet draped over the window as it fell to the ground to reveal distorted blinds. "Since you're here though, maybe there is something you can do for me..."

"Haven't I given you enough?" Calvin sneered, tapping his hidden eye.

Bronson grinned, looking past him at Dax and Oliver who both struggled to hold his gaze. Even he could sense the odd vibe in the room. Other convicts stood idly by behind him, weapons dangling loosely in their hands. "This is about the girl-- isn't it?" he continued, kicking the sheet aside.

Calvin's eye widened as his breath caught in his throat. How could he have known? Calvin turned quickly to look at Oliver-- immediately realizing the trap he'd fallen into. That was the giveaway Bronson was looking for -- his eyes lingering on their exchange as he motioned to his surrounding men. They sprung into action, grabbing Oliver and Dax and dragging them out into the hallway in a flurry of arms and legs.

"They didn't have anything to do with this!" Calvin pleaded, struggling against the men who had come to restrain him.

"It doesn't matter," Bronson grunted. "They got too close to the girl, and now they're feeling sympathetic. That's when a person starts making the wrong types of decisions." Dax and Oliver's shouts echoed from further down the hall as Bronson's men began working them in.

"What did you do with her!?" Calvin growled. He wished he had dealt with this coward the second he got into the room. It was at the point now where the bastard was preemptively doing horrible things, just as collateral to protect his own ass.

"She's just fine," Bronson replied. "Or at least she was the last time I saw her..."

"If you've done anything to her, I swear to God--"

"Relax, cowboy. She'll be alright, so long as you continue to cooperate for just a little while longer. I'm gonna need one last favor from you, and then we're square." Bronson turned and ripped the last of the mangled plastic blinds off of the window next to him, revealing the distinct form of a charred building through the falling ashy haze -- its burnt facade only a silhouette in the blackening night. "It's amazing what people will do to protect what they love..." he said-- salivating at the thought as he gazed upon the Capitol, salaciously.


* * *


+ Niobe Kajja +


Niobe found herself embedded in a room full of smells and senses she'd long been missing. Accompanied of course with the unfortunate whirring grind of a number of running generators, powering portable electric stovetops, microwaves, lighting, and other such fixtures. Steam coated the ceiling as boiling pots and trays of food were shuffled around the makeshift kitchen in a hurry. All it really was though was a converted back office outside the commons. The tiled floor made it an excellent candidate for the chef and others to setup shop since they wouldn't be dealing with the carpeting.

She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder from behind. "Grab and go. Otherwise you might get trampled," Patrick said, handing her a plate from a shelf nearby as Niobe snapped from her food daze. She hadn't seen this much goodness in over a week. Not knowing where to start, she wandered over to the longer portion of the table where several trays of vegetables and meats were organized waiting to go out to the commons.

"Coming back to the kitchen like this-- isn't that kind've like cutting?" Niobe asked, dryly. She grabbed a large spoon from the table and dug into the buttery mashed potatoes in front of her, dropping a large dollop on her plate.

Eli fell in beside her, heading for the greens first. "We're staff. We were busting our asses gassing up that bus." He said, flashing a toothy grin as he piled a heap of vegetables onto his plate.

"Can you not talk about asses and gas, please. Seems a little pre-mature considering we haven't stuffed our faces full of all this food yet..." Patrick added, childishly.

A large pot of some kind of pasta was suddenly dropped right center on the table by a broad-shouldered man in a fedora. "Oodles of noodles, mates--" he chimed, tossing the lid off to the side and stuffing a pasta ladle in the pot. A half-burnt cigar tumbled around his mouth as he wiped his hands on his apron and held one out to Niobe stiffly. "And what's your name, love?"

Niobe rose one eyebrow, grasping his hand firmly. "Niobe."

The man spoke quickly, as if the greeting was something he had to get out of the way. But he held her gaze as firmly as their grip. "Gorgeous name-- beautiful. I love dark meat. Let me know how the potatoes turn out, eh?" And like that, he was off.

Niobe was slightly stunned. "Uhh-- who was that?"

Eli and Patrick both chuckled to themselves, apparently more used to the stranger's antics than she. "That's Lou," Patrick confessed. "He's the Cook."

"He always that strange?"

"Think of it as eccentric and be thankful he's a good cook," Patrick advised, giving her a hard pat on the back. She shook her head as she followed the two of them towards the back of office. The door swung open to reveal another hallway. Random stragglers filtered into the commons area where boxes and crates had been pushed together to create small clusters of tables around the floor. Others sat in small groups on the floor or ate on their cots. The heavy din of conversation washed over Niobe as she followed Eli and Patrick through the arched doorway. She figured there had to be somewhere upwards of 60 or so people all collected together-- but it seemed like so many more. The space, though convenient, was not necessarily built to accommodate so many people for such a long period of time.

A hand stuck out of the crowd, waving high and wide trying to get Niobe's attention-- which it had. The arm belonged to Carl, who sat in a circle of cots around a table with Harper, James, and Christopher. The two old men were engaged in conversation over some talking point, but Harper sat hunched over her barely-touched plate of food, resting her chin on one hand as she stirred at the food vacantly. Niobe split from Patrick and Eli to join her friends and crossed over towards them.

"There you are," Carl crowed as she neared their table. She leaned over to set her plate down and lunged over the cot to take the open seat. "We were wondering what happened to you."

Niobe brushed her hands off on her pant legs. "I was helping Eli and Patrick work on the bus," she replied, not really feeling like she had to explain.

"Those the two that picked us up?" James cut in, switching conversations.

Niobe nodded, grabbing her fork and digging into her food with one huge bite.

"You sure warmed up to these folks quickly..." he finished, his voice ripe with judgement.

Niobe gulped down her first bite with some water and wiped her mouth. "They saved our lives, James... have some respect."

"This seems like a good place to stay if we have to," Carl reasoned, pushing his already empty plate aside. "They're good people."

"What do you mean stay?" James barked from across the table. "As soon as this dust clears, we gotta get out of here. This city is going to shit, frankly-- and I don't want to be inside it any longer than I have to."

Harper sat up, rubbing her temples. "Don't you think that's a decision we should be making as a group?" she said, voicing her concerns aloud.

James scoffed. "I'd think we would all have the common sense to see that everything bad that has happened to us has happened because we're still in this giant goddamned city. The bombings, the nuke, all these walkers... we need to distance ourselves from this place fast. We'll have a better shot out there."

"Out where exactly?" Niobe asked, challengingly.

James shook his head, slumping back into his chair with his arms folded. "Anywhere but here..."

"We still have friends out there..." Carl said, mindfully. "We can't leave now-- even if we could."

"And why not?" James argued.

Harper turned to look at him incredulously. "Are you seriously this selfish?"

"Now c'mon you two--" Christopher interjected from the sidelines.

"It's a completely legitimate question. We don't owe anybody anything. Not even El Capital and his Capitols, or whatever the hell they wanna call themselves. All we owe is to ourselves-- to get out of this city while we still can. Do we really have time to waste sitting around waiting to find all these missing people when we don't know where they are or whether they're even alive?"

"We have to make the time," Harper said, resolutely. "We're all we have, James. Can't you see that? This is what it takes. This is humanity. What else is worth saving if we can't save our friends?"

Jack's bulky frame suddenly plopped down next to Carl as he vault onto the cot between him and Harper, unaware of the conversation he had just interrupted. He turned to Harper, handing her the coffee mug he had borrowed earlier. "Looked everywhere. Couldn't find any coffee."

Niobe laughed at the thought. "That would be heaven. You should go ask Lou in the kitchen. Nice guy..."

Jack's eyebrows peaked in interest. "Oh yeah?"

"Forget to grab yourself a plate?" James chided from his side of the table.

Jack looked around at the plates in front of everyone else. "Oh, I-- uhhh..." he began to bumble, gesturing over his shoulder.

***TING TING TING TING TING TING TING***

Silas rapped on his glass with the butt of his fork, silencing the grounds effortlessly as everyone settled into their seats and turned their attention towards the staircase where he stood alone. The soft sound of the generators poured out of the kitchen office behind him as he cleared his throat to speak.

"I, uhh-- never know how to start these kinds of speeches," he began, scratching his head. "This time last night there were many more of us... and we were thankful that we had been able to endure a week without a night like tonight." Others around the room nodded in silent agreement, lamenting the nights events together. "I want to welcome our newcomers. Strangers to our home, but brothers and sisters in loss." There was a collective murmur of welcome from scattered individuals. Carl gave a half-wave as the others at the table awkwardly looked around at one another. "For those of you haven't heard, the surviving bus stumbled across these individuals during their escape. Some of which we've met before..." Stevie suddenly came into view through the back hallway with her plate of food. She snuck along the back aisle as Silas continued, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. "We all know somebody who is lost out there... somewhere. And we all want to do something about that. I think we can all agree we feel the same way." Harper glanced over at James, who fiddled with his toothpick between his lips as he listened to Silas drone on about salvation. "But we have to do it in a way where nobody else gets hurt. We have to wait for the streets and skies to clear before we can search for the bus... there's no point making any needless risks."

The crowd broke out into hushed whispers as disagreements bubbled up from various corners of the room. "How do we know they'll last the night?" somebody shouted out from the back.

Silas shook his head. "We don't. But there's nothing we can do about it right now. If they're still alive now, then they will be in a few days when it's safe to go look for them."

"And what are we supposed to go after them with?" another voice cried out. "We fled the Capitol so quickly, most of our stuff was left behind..."

Silas rose his hand in the air trying to settle the crowd so everyone could talk at once. "One at a time, please-- I understand that a lot was left behind. That is what we are going to spend our idle time preparing for. One of our newcomers, Stevie, has been kind enough to offer up a couple vehicles worth of supplies in exchange for our assistance in providing them with their own search party to recover their losses. We welcome them... and their help... in these dire times. We have a lot of ground to cover, and more bodies now to get it all done. Detailed plans will be made in the following days so that we understand what our priorities are going into this, but for now-- rest, recover, and remember: we are survivors. We've made it this far. We'll make it further yet, OK?" Silas rose his plate into the air. "Now let's eat! Thank you for the dinner, Lou." The broad-shouldered man waved from his post near the hallway's arch, his never-ending cigar still cradled in his mouth. The crowd applauded his contribution as everyone returned to their place and dug in.

Stevie had just finally reached Carl and the others at the table as Silas spilled the unsettled news of their private conversation. James glared at her from his seat as she set her plate of food down on the table. "Sneakin' around makin' promises in the dark, are we?" he growled.

"James, cut it out--" Harper wheezed.

Stevie stammered slightly, adjusting her glasses with one hand. "I didn't mean to speak for anyone... I even told Silas th--"

"We just heard all about what you told Silas. What? It doesn't bother any of you that we've been here barely a couple hours and she's already making deals... deals involving us with this so-called leader? We don't know these people..." James balked.

Stevie sighed. "I know him better than I know any of you..." she remarked, scathingly. "And those vehicles? They weren't yours to bargain with anyways. They belonged to my people. The one's your people shot at. I wouldn't forget that..." she scooped her food back off of the table and marched off towards Silas and the others.

Carl tapped his foot nervously. "What the hell man? What's gotten into you?"

"Nobody seems to have their head on straight around here," James fumed, striking out from the table as well. Christopher watched him go as he took a big fat bite of corn, chewing complacently.

Harper buried her head in her hands, trying to rub away the pain mounting in her forehead. Jack pat her on the back and leaned in to her ear. "I managed to swipe a mostly full bottle in that coffee mug for when you need it..." he began. "But you really need to figure out a more long-term solution for this, Harper-- it's getting worse." She nodded quickly, waving him away. That was the last thing on her mind with these new problems at hand.

"I'll be right back," she muttered, forcing herself up out of her seat. She pulled her blanket down over her shoulders as she headed towards where Stevie stormed off to.

Niobe mopped up the last few bites of her food and stood as well, having had enough drama for one day. "Done there, hotshot?" she asked Carl in his haze.

His attention snapped back. "Huh? What? Oh-- yeah..." He got up to join her, grabbing his empty plate and following her back towards the kitchen, leaving Jack alone with Christopher.

"One big happy family..." Jack said, mockingly. Christopher simply smiled and nodded, taking another bite of green beans, genuinely unbothered by the goings on of the group around him. Their problems went far over his head-- too far to care about.

Jack sighed, watching his so-called friends disappear into the crowd in separate directions-- and he wondered for a moment if there was such a thing as true happiness left in this world anymore, or if everyday would be a different version of the same struggle. How could they ever be content again? The rest of the Capitols stuffed their faces and corralled in conversatjon and laughter as they ate -- seemingly oblivious to the nightmarish landscape just on the other side of those walls. Feigned normalcy. A true escape. It didn't seem to be enough anymore, Jack thought to himself.

Not while their friends were still out there.

In the distance, Carl jogged a few strides-- catching up with Niobe. "Things are getting really bad around here--" he said, solemnly-- glancing at some of the Capitols as the two of them weaved between tables towards the kitchen.

Niobe pressed on, not even looking over her shoulder at him. "We're all handling this shit in different ways, Carl. Some of us better than others." That was the truth of it after all.

Carl furrowed his brow. "And how are you handling it?" he asked, sincerely.

That stopped Niobe in his tracks. Nobody had asked her that yet. Hell-- she hadn't even asked it of herself. But she thought about it for only the slightest second, and she didn't like what she found. "We've got to tell them... y'know-- about what Silas told us about the infection," she whispered, drawing breath.

Carl adjusted his glasses, evasively. "I-I know, we just h-have to--"

"They have every right to know. It doesn't feel right keeping that from them. Silas and everyone else in this room knows the truth about infection... they'll find out eventually," Niobe reasoned.

Carl scoffed. "Were you sitting at the same table I was? That could be the end of us. Just one little secret could undo everything. As far as they're concerned-- what is there to know?"

The setting changes from Season 2 to Season 3

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harper Hopkins Character Portrait: Stephanie "Stevie" Darden Character Portrait: Silas Quinn
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Previously on TWD:O

Season 1
Season 2

… 3 Days Later …



Harper Hopkins


The occasional din and clatter down the stairs sounded far away in the apparently reshuffled interior of what used to be Amoeba Records. Nearby, Stevie and Harper sat next to each other on the bench outside of Silas' office, staring straight ahead out over the railing looking down into the larger room below. Stevie's hands gripped the edge of the seat as she leaned forward, her legs crossed before her on the surface. Her eyes focused distantly off and away on some unknown point, clearly lost in her own thoughts.

Harper's posture was far more relaxed by comparison, her ankles pressed together, back leaning up against the wall. On her lap rested a yellow legal pad with a series of scribbles neatly columned and labeled—judging from the condition of the pad, it must have been pages' worth of recorded information. The morning after the group of six arrived at Amoeba, Silas had requested her help in assessing the status and the needs of the group--who was missing? What did everyone need? Shoe sizes, medications needed, blood types, allergies, birthdates?... all to be noted, categorized, and wrapped up before the group ventured out into the unknown to search for those they'd endured those first crucial days with. Hours were spent interviewing each person under Amoeba's roof… and while she'd managed to hit all of Silas' checkmarks, there was a problem. Something she didn’t know how to explain to Silas quite yet.

The door creaked open to Stevie's left. Silas poked his head out, smiling warmly as he stepped back to make room for the two to pass through to head into his office. "Harper," he greeted as he extended his hand ahead to the woman with the fatigued violet rings beneath her green eyes, "good morning."

Harper stopped just briefly, then nodded drowsily and accepted his much larger hand, squeezing it politely. "Good morning, Silas," she offered coolly, walking past him to promptly take her place in one of the chairs in front of the large desk toward the wall. She knew her mannerism was on the cold side… but there really wasn’t any time for much in the way of pleasantries. Not when there was so much work to do, and so much uncertainty to prepare for. She'd not only compiled a list of supplies needed to keep the group running along for at least another week, but she'd also drawn up a suggested plan and timeline for the rescue, as well… written for Silas' review, then set to be up for discussion with the group preparing to head out, hopefully standing up to questions they anticipated that the group might have. Harper had to admit that not only did Silas' methods resemble some variation of task-driven, structured hierarchy, but also that Silas' methods at least showed a measurable rate of progress toward a goal of some kind. Harper liked that. She had to admit.

Silas watched Harper carefully for a long moment, then turned to look at Stevie, her head still apparently stuck up high in the clouds. "Morning, Sunshine. Feeling better?" he asked cheerfully.

No answer. He reached forward and tapped her on the shoulder. She startled briefly, then turned her head up to acknowledge him. "It was good to rest for a few days," she replied softly as she stood up, raising a hand and patting him on the arm in a friendly greeting. She shuffled in casually to take the seat next to Harper's. The other woman gave her a quick glance; Stevie adjusted her glasses and nodded as she affixed herself in the same position she'd been in on the bench outside, setting her elbows on her knees. "Silas helped me get some antibiotics. Everything I had last week was in the car," she reminded Harper as she rested her face in her palms, filling her in on what the conversation the two had been having had focused on. Harper nodded, controlling the expression on her face. Someone else might think that Stevie was nervously over-explaining herself. It even annoyed her sometimes. But if there was something she'd learned about the jittery girl in the glasses, it was that she was committed to honesty and transparency, even when it didn't suit her own interests. Harper knew that Stevie would work with the group to find a way to make things work.

Her head felt cloudy and closed-in all of a sudden. It was still early, and the unsettling fuzz that still stuck to her brain from the three tablets she'd taken the previous night to settle down hung hazily into all five of her senses. The metallic taste in her mouth intermittently triggered what she was sure looked like a souring of her face, as though a lemon hit her square on the nose. Breakfast that morning had been extremely unpleasant, despite the heaps of praise sent toward the kitchen for a job well done. Her sense of smell felt a little duller than it had three days previously--not by much, but she knew the difference. The buzz in her ear thrummed constantly, causing her hands to reverberate just slightly… or to at least have a sensation like that. Maybe she'd gone more than a little overboard when she'd settled on three…

She refocused on Stevie's face, and nodded curtly. Silas had asked her a question—a question that had disappeared into the background noise in her head. "Right." She sat up straighter as though to take control of her end of the situation as Silas wound around the desk, examining Harper somewhat distantly as he carried two bottles of water with him. He set them before the two women as he settled down into his chair. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Harper set her legal pad on the table between the plastic containers, pinned one corner with one hand and turned the pad upside-down from her view, and pushed it toward the man opposite of her. "Here's everything, chopped up and organized." Also as though adding a punctuation mark to the end of her action, she meticulously set a Sharpie, cap faced toward herself, next to Silas' right hand.

Silas eyed the precise offer, then stretched out a hand slowly to accept the yellow paper, pulling it along the surface of the desk toward him and thumbed through the wavy pages that had obviously been turned several times. He then took a second turn, this time examining more intently. He put the pad down and glanced up purposefully to Harper, folding his hands in front of him and tilting his head. "This… isn't everything." He blinked. "Where are your notes?" he asked coolly. "I thought you mentioned you might include them."

Harper looked up diagonally and to her right. She had promised him the notes. She really had. No doubt about it. She'd hoped he might have forgotten about that part of their conversation. But it was no use. Silas was as stubborn as they came—just like her. And her need to protect her own was just as strong as his need to protect his own, so she could justify no need to deliver those notes immediately. There was no way he was ready to know about this yet.

It might buy a little more time, at the very least, before she could make sense of what it was that she'd stumbled upon.

She blinked vacantly at Silas. "Oh. Right. My bad." She shrugged. "I just didn't have time."

"I really want to review your notes before we go, actually," he said calmly, his voice not betraying any degree of exasperation, but still just a little frustrating to Harper, all the same.

"Look. We've only got so much time today," she dismissed airily as she shook her head. She reached out a hand to pinch the end of the first page to start in on her pitch—only to lose her grasp as Silas' hand gently touched down on the yellow lined paper and firmly pinned it in place. Harper visibly flexed her jaw and fixated her eyes on the desk instead of Silas' face, willing herself to keep her mouth shut.

Stevie straightened up calmly, glancing at the two and scooting forward into the edge of her seat. Her eyes darted across the table quickly. "Can we just photocopy the notes in the office when we get back?" she volunteered carefully, as though tiptoeing around the sort of confrontation potentially brewing between the two headstrong personalities. Harper and Silas turned their heads almost in unison in the direction of the voice, both pairs of eyes staring at Stevie expectantly. She let out a brief sigh. "It's not going to make a difference right now, at this moment, if you have them or not, Silas," she continued, moving her eyes to his and nodding. Harper had to admire Stevie sticking up for her… despite having not been told what had triggered Harper's apprehension to fully comply with Silas.

He held her gaze for a few long moments, then nodded as he turned back to Harper. "I've been outnumbered by two extraordinary women," he peppered briskly, drawing in a deep breath and allowing a broad smile to cross his face.

Stevie let out a stream of air through the corner of her mouth, rolling her eyes playfully. "You are so full of shit," she tossed at him jokingly as she re-crossed her legs beneath her.

Harper let a smile cross her face mildly as she watched the interaction. It was corny, and tedious to sit through at times, but Stevie made it work. Their friendship from before the event that had occurred 12 days prior had served to the small group's advantage. Anything the group wanted or needed was something that Stevie could talk Silas and his people into providing. So far it had benefitted all members of the group well—with the exception of James, who had elected to speak as little as possible over the course of the last three days to anyone, not even to their small group. For some it had provided a brief reprieve from his hard-charging ways and loud voice, while others saw it as a glaringly obvious fissure in the group's morale. Harper held a mixture of both views—while she could hardly tolerate much noise at all these days, she did rather like James, and wished that the confrontation at dinner the night they had arrived had not occurred.

Still, all the same, things had gone well.

Mostly.

Harper nodded after the two returned their attention to the yellow pad of paper and stretched out a long, thin arm to peel back the first page. She cleared her throat and took in a sigh. "We're going to send five people on each bus. It'll mean that there's enough weight to carry people and supplies back." She paused, flicking her eyes over the black and blue writing by her hand. "Or whatever else we need to bring back with us," she added somewhat grimly, then felt her dry throat scratch against itself. She sputtered into a series of coughs, prompting Silas to reach his own long arms forward to grasp the water bottle he'd offered to her, effortlessly unscrewing the cap and presenting the plastic container to her.

"Might want to go get some vitamins, too," he suggested lightly. Must have been his own way of suggesting she get checked out for a cold… some of the others were self-admitted germaphobes who had expressed fear of becoming sick. It wasn't long before Silas had begun to take them seriously. People getting sick without enough antibiotics to go around would be a challenge, and one they certainly weren't ready to handle.

Harper shook her head and waved her left hand as she sipped from the bottle ravenously. The water was on the cooler side of room temperature, and felt satisfying as it seemed to heal the dry, scratchy sensation that had sent her into a fit of coughs. "No, just went down the wrong pipe," she tossed out nonchalantly. She'd drank no less than four cups of water just fifteen minutes earlier at breakfast, even…

After a beat, Silas' eyes quirked down to read over the page before him. "Eli and Patrick are leading up the team looking for our people," he noted aloud. Harper felt the corner of her mouth tug down in disapproval. Still this whole business of 'ours' and 'yours.' It was irritating. "Niobe leading yours to go to the tunnels and grab your cargo." He swiveled his head toward Stevie. "Your name is here. I thought you weren't going."

She blinked suddenly, as though surprised he had even pointed it out. She reached a hand reactively up to rub the back of her head idly. "I changed my mind," she said quietly, then after a quick pause, continued. "I have the keys to the cars. I know where they're parked. I know exactly what's in them. And I know where the truck is."

Silas moved on, satisfied with the explanation. "So you've got Niobe, Stevie, Jack. Harper, I see you're on the list, too." Harper responded with a wordless nod. "From your group I notice that Carl, James, and Christopher are staying… James seems to know how to handle himself. Why are you keeping him back?"

"We need someone back here to help," Harper answered, closing her eyes to brace against an upcoming pang of a headrush. She quickly composed herself and moved on as though nothing had happened. "I still have to tell him. Last night we thought he was going to go. But…"—she glanced over to her right to the brunette sitting quietly—"… Stevie really wanted to… make sure the supplies made it back."

Silas nodded and offered a slight laugh under his breath. "Good luck," he offered somewhat puffily, then moved on. He eyed the pad again, then stood. "I like your recommendations. Good work, Harper." He picked up the pad and tucked it under an arm as he drew himself to his feet, then gestured his hand forward, his fingers filed together, indicating toward the wispy, tired woman still seated. "And please remember those notes this evening," he reminded, raising his eyebrows and lowering his chin. Harper nodded somewhat distantly. Maybe he'd forget about it later… "Stevie, what's up?"

The shorter woman had locked her gaze with the window, her eyes boring outside and actively scanning the view for something. Harper couldn't exactly tell… but she knew what might be on her mind, perhaps. "I'm just eager to get out there," she answered, glimpsing to Silas and rustling to her feet.

Harper watched as Silas turned his attention to her. It didn't take long at all for her to realize that the tension was as thick as a curtain between them… but it didn't seem like it was anything personal. Silas was this way with most everyone who wasn't obvious a member of his circle. Guarded. Maybe even a little clannish. For now, having Stevie on "the inside," so to speak, worked. In reality, though, Harper knew that whatever was bothering Silas clearly had nothing to do with her. It wasn't personal. There was something else… something else was bothering him. Something important.

Harper knew that she'd find out what it was, no matter what it took.

Stevie nodded to the two. "Ready to go have a chat with everyone?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harper Hopkins Character Portrait: Stephanie "Stevie" Darden Character Portrait: Jack Cavanagh (NPC) Character Portrait: James Marshall (NPC) Character Portrait: Silas Quinn
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Harper Hopkins

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"Everyone understand?"

The question soared through the room slowly, almost as though it dripped slurredly from Silas' mouth. The lights were bright, too bright, almost like having a preposterously painful hangover. A series of nods almost made it look to Harper like the room was waving, like a jumpy earthquake. Silas smiled, and returned the nod with a confident grin. "All right. Good."

Harper's wrist felt creaky as she reached up to adjust her sunglasses. She watched Stevie tap Silas on the shoulder from behind, and lean to the right to murmur quietly into his left ear as he ducked down relaxedly, as though he were all too willing to listen. His eyes drifted to the floor momentarily while she spoke, then squared his vision with the others after she finished and backed away. "Harper And Stevie want to remind everyone to get their list of emergency needs from the others who aren’t going before we go, and turn it in to them before we zip out. Stuff like shoes, if you've lost or ruined the ones you had on before. Medicine for debilitating conditions, allergies. Things like that. Nothing too crazy, though, keep it practical, and remember to turn in excess items to the storage room. Including meds of all kinds, as a reminder! We've all got to keep each other safe."

Harper gave a silent nod of thanks. She knew Silas kept a pleasant look on his face for a reason--he was the kind of person who wanted to get along with everyone else, who wanted to feel like he was being useful, who wanted to find a way out of this mess… not just for him, but for everyone else, too. Part of accomplishing any of these tasks involved getting along with everyone else, and putting his best face forward. If he was annoyed with her, he was doing his best to not show it. She was perfectly aware of her tendency to quietly push, even "nag," as Nathan used to call it, to get something done. Some parts of the three days spent at Amoeba had been challenging.

"Twenty minutes, everyone," Silas spoke up, his deep voice ringing out over the room at an authoritative but calm volume. The group began to stand up, stretch, and otherwise disperse.

Harper opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the large metal doors of the small room bursting with a grand slamming twist of the door handles. The scene felt like it was unfolding in slow motion, the effects of her morning tablets unable to keep up with the pace of what was taking place. James' loud voice barked over the heads of those who were still sitting upon benches fashioned crudely from deconstructed media racks. He looked grizzled and haggard compared to when he'd first arrived with the others—at least, he looked far worse for wear than them.

"Son of a bitch, you left me out of this on purpose!" he bellowed as he rushed up to Silas. Off in the corner of the room, Stevie perked her head up from behind a shelf to study what was going on, then urgently ducked back down to remain unnoticed by the angry man.

Silas raised his hands calmly, but didn't move. "James-"

"-don't you 'James' me, you asshole. You left me out of this on purpose, and I know why!" James stood less than four feet away from Silas, firmly planting his worn hands on his hips, his plaid sleeves rolled up messily to his elbow. The group gathered inside quietly shuffled out in the background through the double doors to cut back out into the main back hall of the record store, leaving Silas and James standing across from each other in the center of the room. Harper watched as a tense-looking Stevie shiftily ducked out with the group, the two nodding to one another as she left.

"James," Silas started calmly, tilting his head and gesturing toward the front of the building, "you've been spending an awful lot of time on watch."

"So? What's that got to do with this?" the older man growled back defensively. "It doesn't mean anything."

"It means we haven't had a chance to talk. I had no idea you were interested in coming along."

"Now, why the hell wouldn't you think I'm interested?"

Silas shrugged. "I wasn't going to force you to do anything against your will, or suggest you do something you might not wish to do."

"Of course I want to go help them," James insisted flatly.

"And you still can. Right now," Silas responded somewhat brightly. He nodded, and gestured toward the door. "Go get Carl, and find me again. You're going with him."

"… why?"

"Find me again, because we need to talk," Silas repeated patiently, then twisted his shoulders back toward the doors. "Harper? You got this?"

"… Hey, Hops?"

Harper blinked suddenly, realizing a little too late that they'd been speaking to her. "What?" she crabbed fatiguedly.

"… you all right? You don't look so good," Silas spoke up. His eyes blinked at her, as though running her face through a series of checks to match her pallid complexion and blank expression to some kind of familiar set of symptoms. "If you're sick, you need to take something and go lie down."

"I'm fine," she answered, her words echoing hollowly in her own head as they rattled back through her own ears. "I better get out there and help find Nathan."

Silas held a hand up, and slowly placed it on the end of her shoulder. "You look exhausted," he observed aloud in a calm, genuine tone.

"Silas, I-"

"I'll take her place," James volunteered, his scratchy voice softening just enough after he relaxed his posture to hold a hand up toward her with a finger pointing in the air knowingly. "You rest, Hops."

"James, I still need you to do something… important," Silas answered steadily. "Your best bet is to find Carl."

"Yeah… well…" James shoved his hands in his pockets as he took another look at Harper, peering at her and blinking his eyes a few times over the course of several seconds before turning around. "… all right." He exited through the double-doors, in a far calmer condition than when he'd originally entered.

"I'm going to ask Jack if he can go in your place," Silas finally said after several seconds.

"No. He's been on watch all night," Harper protested as she stifled a yawn.

Silas shook his head. "He specifically asked to go so he can help stock up the pharmacy."

She felt her face redden. "H-h-he did?"

"Yeah. He knows a lot about this stuff. Man with a mind, I tell you. Overlooked talents in the real world, if I ever saw any." Harper felt her jaw tighten with a tinge of guilt. "Look, I've been demanding a lot of you these past few days. How about you stay back. Keep things calm, or rest, whatever you want to do. No one's going to bother you if you sleep, and no one's going to get in your way if you're awake. You've got my word. All right?"

The sweet smile that made its way across Silas' face was almost too much to bear. She really did have to wonder at times if he was being truly authentic in his words and deeds, or if his intentions were far more nefarious in nature. However, it was just so… difficult… to dispute him. "All right. I'll stay."

cron