Faith in the Gun [O P E N]

[Monroe J. Smith]

He pulled the glock from his waistline and pushed the creaky door open slowly. If anything was inside, he wanted the element of surprise on his side. With caution, he moved through the dusty house, checking the rooms one by one, upstairs and down. When all was clear, he made his way to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He was surprised to see that the light click on when the door opened. That meant this house has power, which was a relief. He grabbed an unopened bottle of water and practically tore the top off before guzzling the clear liquid, closing his eyes when the bottle was empty. It had been days since he'd had clean water to drink, and fear made it almost impossible to drink from streams and lakes. He didn't want to become infected simply because he was consuming what the body needed to survive.

After throwing the empty bottle away, he moved to the cabinets, and found protein bars, and a few cans of food. While he had no appetite at the moment, it was good to know that he did have food when he became hungry. For now, this seemed like a good place to hold out. However, his relief was short lived when he heard banging outside. He moved cautiously to the outdoors, and jumped when the bang sounded again. His dark eyes set themselves on the stables nearby, and he decided to check it out.

He crossed the gravel slowly, and it crunched beneath him, giving him away to whatever may be inside. Once at the doors, he opened them slowly. As they slid across the metal that held them in place, they squeaked loudly, and Monroe cursed under his breath. However, he was startled to see five horses inside. Quickly, he removed the halters from the equines and opened the stall doors. All five horses dashed from the stables and into the open. The first horse he'd freed, a bay stallion, let the group away from the barn, and it was almost as if they had no intentions of stopping.

Monroe checked the barn thoroughly before returning to the house, locking the doors behind him as he stepped over the threshold. He climbed the stairs to the bathroom and turned the knobs on the tub, happy to see that water still ran as well. With a sigh, he moved to one of the bedroom and found a pair of jeans and a plain black tee. He was even lucky enough to find a pair of socks, and a nice pair of black boots. He slid back into the bathroom, searching the cabinets for a towel. He found one, though holes seemed to take over most of the cloth. He closed and locked the bathroom door and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water melt his tension, even if it was only for now.

words; 487

[Diana Cross]

[/i] She was getting up to sixty, she wasn't concerned about slipping off. She'd been riding like wild for the last three weeks, and she hadn't bitten it once. Why start fearing it now. She passed by one of them he watched her come and she looked back to make sure he watched her pass. He stumbled toward her, but the speed threw him off balance.

She smirked and contemplated turning around just to kill him for the pure joy of it. This world was making her sick, sicker than she'd ever been. But didn't she like it? She took an exit and turned off the main stretch of concrete, hitting the dirt path that meant rural Georgia. She was pulling over because she was getting sore, the riding was something she was getting used to, but she still got stiff after a while, and you had to be agile in this world. She was driving through a small town, there was a church and a liquor store, and a small grocery and book store. There were some of those creatures so she didn't stop, although she was luring their attention.

She proceeded through slowing with the turns, exiting the town she drove through the cornfield surrounded road, at least this one was paved, she expected to soon find empty farm lands, and open fields, she could stop and stretch and see if anything was coming a mile away, something pulled her down a private road, maybe she would find a farm house, raid for some water, some preserved foods and then get on her way. It was foolish to trust a place to keep you safe.

Sure enough there was a grand farm house at the end of the drive, she stopped the bike a couple yards away, she turned off the bike, and pushed it into the corn fields, to avoid scavengers, even though it had been a while since she had seen one, she couldn't risk losing her only means of transportation. She stretched a bit. and then readjusted her pants and jacket. She crossed the gravel, distressed it turned from smooth pavement, to noisy revealing gravel rocks.

She pulled her M9 from her waist band and placed both hands on the handle pointing it down ward as she climbed the steps to the porch. She held her breath as she strained to listen for movement, after a few moments she grew tired of waiting and tried the handle to the door. She pulled and it was locked, she took a few steps back, that was something she had not come across yet, no one locked their doors in the middle of an evacuation, then again she hadn't any idea how the outbreak was in this rural town, maybe they were all locked up in their homes waiting for it to pass. She envisioned a man opening the door and shooting her in the face she she crossed the deck, and walked around the house looking up to the windows for shadows, or anyone looking out. She saw nothing so she crossed to the back door, and tried it, opened. She slipped in cautiously, telling herself this was one of the worst ideas she had come up with so far.


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[Monroe J. Smith]

Monroe had been slipping into his shirt when he heard the click. He stopped to listen, pulling the black cloth over his abs slowly before slipping into the socks and boots he'd taken from the bedroom. He grabbed his gun from the counter, and moved out of the bathroom door and down the stairs, which creaked beneath his masculine weight. He began to move through the house slowly, trying to find any sign of the intruder. Had it been one of the infected? Or had a human actually - by some miracle - made it to where he was? He went to the window by the front door, pulling the beige curtains back a little to see if there was anything outside. It seemed peaceful. Almost like the apocalypse had ended, though Monroe knew better than that.

That's when he heard the footsteps. He turned on his heel and cocked the glock before moving towards the sound, gun ready. He pointed it as he searched each room, only to draw it back when nothing appeared to attack him. Another sound, this time, of creaking floorboards. He moved towards it immediately; fearlessly. When he rounded the corner, the gun was right between her eyes, but he didn't pull the trigger, despite the obvious intentions to. When he saw she was human, he uncocked the gun, and lowered it. "You're not one of them." He said in his deep voice, stating the obvious. He didn't feel stupid for saying it, however, though in a normal world, he would have. Considering the situation, it wasn't a stupid statement. More or less one of relief that she was human, and he wouldn't have to kill her.

"Sorry for pulling the gun on you. You can't be too careful these days." He said with a crooked smile. It was a smile that use to make girls melt. Now, it was the only sign that he wasn't one of those things. Now, he was never one to whore himself around, but that didn't mean he'd never gotten in bed with a stranger or two just because they'd persisted once he smiled at them.

His dark eyes studied her, and water still dripped from his short hair. "I'm Monroe." He said, holding out his hand to her. He didn't feel that last names were important anymore. Why did they really matter when you were being chased by things that were once human, but only wanted to kill anyone that didn't move like them? The world had obviously turned into something dreadful and sickening. It was as if God was punishing them for all their crimes. War, rape, theft, adultery, murder, greed, hate... It almost made sense. Then again, who was to say this wasn't like the movies? A mishap in a science lab that tested on animals illegally? But, no one would know the truth since the scientists in that "secret" lab were the first to die, become the very things they'd tried to keep caged up. It was a sick form of irony.

Monroe studied the woman. It didn't even seem as if her muscles were stressed from running, and that made Monty wonder how she'd gotten here, but he didn't feel secure enough to ask questions yet. He didn't even know if this woman would stick around, though he was sure she wouldn't. He assumed she was here to gather supplies, and that it was all strictly business and go with her. He couldn't blame her at this point, though the company would be nice, if Monroe was being honest with himself.

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[Diana Cross]

[/color] she sneered. She crossed the room, but not taking her observant eyes off him, or turning her back to him, a nice farm house, furnished in the classical sense. Someone was making money off the land...

She accepted his apology, but saying, hey it's okay, was not really her thing. So instead she decided to be a big girl and stop being butt hurt about the situation. "Diana," She liked how last names weren't important to this guy, this guys with nice smile, but she didn't let the male attraction she had once felt come out. Now names were out, she figured it was safe to look away, she ran a hand over a sofa with a polished wooden frame. As she ran her thin fingers across the smooth wood, not receiving a splinter, it was well finished. She stood to the side of the sofa, a little ways away from Monroe, and plucked up a hand embroidered pillow. She examined the stitching, a skill passed down from mother to daughter. She contemplated how it might become one of those dying arts. She dropped it back down onto the sofa, and rose her gaze back to the man in the clean tees. "Pretty house, where's the misses?"


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ooc;sorry about the wait, and length x.x
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[Monroe J. Smith]

Monroe snorted. African Americans lived up to their bitchy name well, even though it was the end of the world. She moved past him, but kept her eyes on him, and Monroe did the same. So far, she seemed like the type to kill him when his back was turned. Who's to say she wasn't as greedy as the others he'd come into contact with? Of course they'd died. Monroe wouldn't have left their side otherwise. Traveling with a pack was best in a world where humans weren't at the top of the food chain.

He held his gun by his side, and cocked it silently. If she drew her weapon, he'd fire. Simple as that. It wasn't that he was cruel, it was just the natural instinct to survive. Every creature in the world had it, and humans were certainly no different. The woman - who'd said her name was Diana - ran her fingers over the polished wood of the staircase, before moving towards the couch, and picking up a pillow, asking a question that made Monroe burst into laughter.

He had to use the stair railing to keep his balance, and the hand that clasped his gun was pressed into his side. "Please tell me you're kidding." He said, after he was able to stop laughing and breathe normally. "If someone were traveling with me, I think they'd be standing at my side. The world is shit, dear. We're all just sitting ducks now. The end has finally come to claim those of us who are unworthy." She said, stretching his arms to the ceiling as if he were preaching to a choir. Then his face turned serious. "Isn't sarcasm shitty?" He asked her then.

He was sure that she probably thought he was some sort of lunatic, but he really wasn't. Truth was, he was a joker, and a bit of an asshole at times. It was the only thing that made him so sarcastic and mean to others. He just couldn't help himself. He felt her question had been stupid, and therefore, he'd given her an equally stupid answer. Wasn't that the way it worked? Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer? That's what Monroe was raised to believe, and even then, he found it true himself. Obviously, no one that had survived the beginning would leave anyone they were traveling with alone for any period of time. You'd get killed that way.

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[Diana Cross]

[/color] she winked and grinned, revealing her straight white teeth. She was at ease. If he was going to kill her, let him do it, it would save her the time later.

She listened to his rant and when he was finished she sighed. She'd been around and met some people who were all about salvation and spending every moment praying for God to take them too, she agreed them all, this was the end. "This is Hell," she nodded to reassure that fact to the man, "I know what landed me here... but what bought your ticket?" tilting her head, she studied the man.


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[Monroe J. Smith]

Something seemed to distress her slightly. He could tell by the set of her jaw. He smirked put his gun away, walking over the couch, sitting on the far end, taking in the house as she had. For the first time since he'd arrived. It was a rather cozy home. Set up in modern day country, but without the boring drab of cowboys and indians everywhere. He could almost smile at the sight, but repressed it. He knew what waited on the outside. Stalking. Lurking. Just waiting for it's next mean to cross it's path. When she spoke, he shook his head. "No. You just caught me off guard." Monroe said, winking to her as she'd done to him.

He then stood up and made his way around the room, hands tucked behind his back, eyes taking in everything there was to see. The curtains that were draped over the windows seemed to give the house a brighter feel, while the furniture and woodwork suggested style and luxury. It was still homey. There was plenty of room to move around, and everything seemed to be placed just right for optimum spacing. He smirked at this, before Diana's voice drew his attention. His chocolate eyes set on her before he picked up a picture of an elderly couple and a younger couple with two children. Both girls. It made him think of what he could have had, if the world would just have waited until his children were old and gone to destroy itself. He put the picture back down and sighed before answering.

"I'm not sure. I'm just... Here, I guess. Not really sure how or why it happened, it just did." He said. "You say you know why you're hear? I'd love to hear your theory." He said, glancing at her as he continued to removed and replace the picture from the entertainment center that held the television and VCR. From the pictures, it looked as if they were all just one happy family. However, no one ever knew the inner turmoil a family faced when they were behind closed doors. Sometimes, it was worse than others thought. However, he'd still have those days to these. At least he wasn't running for his life then. Not literally, anyway.

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[Diana Cross]

[/color] she stated on the comment about catching him off guard, "At least you weren't indecent," accepting his wink and broadening her smile. She watched him pick up a photo and wondered how long he had been here, he seemed to just be taking in the details of his surroundings, maybe he popped in just like she had to see A-if anyone was home, B-get what ever supplies were left in the mad dash out. But nothing was upturned, nothing was messy, everything looked like a home that was currently lived in and loved. She had never known a home like that, but something told her that this house would match the description.

While in mid thought about sappy things like families and home, he inquired back about what punched her ticket. Like always, her face betrayed nothing about this subject. It never happened, Derek left town. Marcus told her that. She must have dreamed that Marcus had gutted Derek in their entry hall when he came in to attack Diana. He told me he loved me, when he was kneeling there. Holding his stomach as blood spilled from his stomach and mouth- and I just stepped back when the crimson pool got too close.

"Most of the Seven Deadlies," she said counting on her fingers with her arms spread out, reclined on the couch eyes to the ceiling, almost as if trying to recall if she missed one. "Which I thought everyone was doing these days; so I'm curious why we're the minority." Shrugging off the confusion, she retracted her arms and began to pick at her nails.

When she decided she was done with that topic she returned to look at him, her playful attitude- well what she considered playful- was enough for now. The man was fit, you had to be to live this long, she knew how she'd been doing it, "How have you survived this long?" Tilting her head to the side ready to listen, and possibly exchange strategies if it came to that. Mostly she would listen for any variances in his story versus her own. Things she hadn't experienced but could learn from.


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[Monroe J. Smith]

Monroe didn't have much to say, so he simply listened to her speak. He put the picture down and moved on to a quizzical object. A small box that was covered in foreign writing. It looked like Latin, and two names were engraved in elegant cursive on the top. Thomas and Hilda. 1987 - Present. It was a marriage box. Monroe ran a finger over the gold lettering. It felt rough compared to the smooth white of the silk base. He opened it then, and inside was the same silk white fabric with a small incision in the middle. A golden band was nestled inside with at least 20 small diamonds on top, surrounding a slightly larger heart shaped diamond. The ring her husband had used to propose. Monroe put the box down when Diana asked him a question.

He looked at her and smiled. "I was raised in the south on a traditional lifestyle since my father and I had little to no money at all. I had to do yard work constantly, so it kept me in shape. I also had to hunt for my own food. That taught me how to shoot guns. Fighting taught me how to take down attackers, even if for just a moment." He said, walking over to the couch and sitting on the arm of it. "What about you?" He asked. She didn't look like she had any real way of knowing how to survive. She was small - at least, compared to him - and seemed a bit weak on the muscle scale. Then again, so far, the few that had survived were quite surprising. In fact, he'd met up with a kid at one point, and she'd had it pretty hard.

Still, the child had been holed up her entire life. Never had any real interaction, so the way she'd survived was quite interesting. He hoped that she was okay now. She was too innocent to die in this world. She'd never even had a life, and Monroe felt pity in his very soul for her, but, he remembered Diana and brought his attention back to her before standing up and heading to the kitchen. "Want something to eat or drink? We have electricity and water running." He said, flipping the light switch and smirking. He'd just noticed that the ceiling fan in the kitchen had been on the entire time.

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