within the mist /|\ open

[Dmitry Kalinkov]

within the mist,

[STYLE=float:left; width:379px; background-color:#F4F4F4; opacity:1; filter:alpha(opacity=70); height:250px; overflow:auto; font-size:10px; font-family:arial; color:#7A7A7A; text-align:justify; padding: 8px]Dmitry was about to do something he hasn't done in awhile, and that was to reload on ammunition. He was already on the street, ghillie suit on his back, scope off his rifle, and a mist has already rolled in, the smell of the undead and other filth was masked by the gentle wind, and the water of the mist made everything ever so ominous. Once he figured he was ready, he stood up, as he was sitting before, there was a gun store he recently scouted, there wasn't that many of them around, but it was still an issue, at least he would be harder to track with the mist on his back, covering his human and living scent. There were still sleepers, all over the place, but he learned to be able to move with almost complete silence.

Once he turned the corner, and onto the main street, he crouched and moved, his military precision wouldn't work here, just his speed and guts. He got to a four way intersection, but the lamps have long since stopped working, and the cars that were riddled about provided excellent cover. There was a walker just across the street from him, he looked lost, so Dmitry figured he could probably take him out more... silently...

And that's what he planned to do. He slid his bowie knife that he was given by a local, it make a slight 'ding' as it exited the stainless steel chamber it was being housed in. And he took a quiet breath, checking to make sure he had the gear for a melee assassination.
Gloves? Check
Eyeprotection? Slightly check, he figured the mesh over his face to hide his facial features was enough.
Knife? Check
Element of Surprise? Check, and lets keep it that way.

He moved again, using the poor amount of vision, and his approach to close the distance to the loner pretty quickly, He lunged, and the walker turned around to try and deflect, but it was too late, the knife went deep into the skull, and the momentum of his jump forced the walkers knees to buckle, and was now on the ground. It made a few moans, before Dmitry got off him, and kicked the head so sideways, you could hear the neck snap. Its last crys died with the snap, and Dmitry moved on, his rifle slung over his back, as well as his ghillie suit, heck if anyone saw him, he was sure they'd be scared out of their minds.

But he moved his way along the abandoned shops, finding that the gun store was riddled with bullet holes, and the glass was shattered, so he easily just hopped into the building, and he found rows and rows of ammunition.

Jackpot.

He quickly moved to the rifle section, looking for his .30-06 rounds he's been using so much.

[/style]

words; 579
music; Mist -- Various Artists
notes; OPEN, sorry its bad

[style=font-family: fondamento; font-size: 20; letter-spacing: 3px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center;]i travel, and not a trace is found

[Thyra Henriksen]

<sub>Thyra had traveled all over at this point. One coast to the other, one slow ride at a time. It was not that she had not found a place to hole up.. she had. Many times. It had been easy for her to logically think out a spot in which she could stay and be pleasantly protected. But that was not what she wanted, and as much food as she could accumulate, it was never enough to put her mind at ease. Armed with this knowledge, she took into account that the earliest people had been nomads. They had been nomads for many logical reasons, and Thyra saw no reason why she shouldn't embrace those reasons and take off, only settling down for a night or two in one place.

This had led her to the complete opposite coast, at this point in time to look for arrows. People always thought that arrows were merely sticks with feathers and a pointy bit at the end. Thyra knew better. Her bow, while only pulling 45 pounds, would snap a stick in half by just touching it. No. She needed real arrows, made from sturdy materials, with a sharp arrowhead on it, not just a rock knocked into shape. She had attempted making her own arrowheads from flint, well versed in the ways of ancient peoples, and yet, was disappointed when they broke off the arrow and got stuck in bodies. Resin and wire was not enough to keep it intact.

The only place she could think to look for something as volatile as she would have preferred was in a store in which they might sell hunting equipment, and having spent time searching a map, she found a gun shop. Sure, it was not guaranteed that they would have anything, but it was worth a shot. Removing the pieces of her takedown bow from her backpack, she settled on a roof and assembled it. She pointed it down the street, her eyes searching for danger before she ventured onto the misty streets. She could see almost nothing due to the intense mist, and instantly felt a twinge of paranoia. This was when her eyes darted to a quiet scuffling sound from below her, in front of the gun shop. She peered down, saw a man through the mist. It was too dense to make out what he was truly doing, and yet it sounded nothing less than impressive.. a quiet death had come to end the undead, she suspected, the sounds of a neck snapping not entirely unfamiliar to her.

She climbed down a drain pipe, quietly following the stranger to the gun shop. She waited outside, before taking a deep breath, jumping through the bullet-scattered entrance, her bowstring held taut with her final arrow in it. She did not want to use it, and yet it did not show. Why was she not, as she usually did, avoiding confrontation? well. Her faith in humanity had recently taken a leap when she had met nothing but nice people. She hated herself for this trust, slightly, and that was why she now, arrow pointed at the man's body, cleared her throat to make her presence known. "Before you find something to shoot me with," she began, an early smugness already creeping onto her face, "can we at least talk about it?"</sub>

[Dmitry Kalinkov]

within the mist,

[STYLE=float:left; width:379px; background-color:#F4F4F4; opacity:1; filter:alpha(opacity=70); height:250px; overflow:auto; font-size:10px; font-family:arial; color:#7A7A7A; text-align:justify; padding: 8px]In terms of moving around alot, he hasn't done much of that, he was stuck in LA, not really wanting to leave, he was a local hero for the first three weeks, and he continued to be. Heck he had nicknames from the kids, he can't just leave them unprotected. But sometimes you gotta move, and if he needed to, he would, but he didn't want to, not unless he was forced to. Or if it would help his community. And as he slipped inside, the lights in the store flickering, he let his rifle slip into his hands, just in case some crazed looter or runner decided to show up. Before he got too comfortable, he heard footsteps, calm, well placed footsteps, walkers had irregular ones, and runners only ran if they saw something, so unless this one had eagle vision, there was no way. He heard her easily as she jumped in, she didn't seem as professional as he thought, most survivors should be by now. But she cleared her throat, and he turned around, hands raised in a 'im harmless, see?' kind of gesture.

He looked to her, a bow? Impressive, silent like he liked, but too dependent on retrieval, at least with bullets it was fire and forget. He smiled under the mesh of his ghilie suit, and the urban outfitted cloak was as gray as the walls around him. He realized he had his rifle on his back, so he slung it off slowly, setting it down on the ground in front of him, but not before attaching his 12x zoom to it. He stood there, silent, but finally spoke, his deep Russian accent piercing the still, misty and dangerous atmosphere.

"Lets not get too confrontational here, There's sleepers about..." he nodded, "I mean you no harm." he paused, picking his words carefully. He picked up his rifle again, he probably looked menacing, he could understand if she was about to put an arrow into him, he wasn't called 'The Swampman' for no reason. But he nodded to her "I dont talk much, but holler if you need anything..." he moved slowly, trying not to spook her or anything.

[/style]

words; 540
music; Mist -- Various Artists
notes; none

[style=font-family: fondamento; font-size: 20; letter-spacing: 3px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center;]i travel, and not a trace is found

[Thyra Henriksen]

<sub>Sleepers? she wondered when the man finally spoke in what could only be a Russian accent. What the hell were sleepers? She'd heard several words used for the walkers outside - walkers, undeads, slumpers, ghouls, infected, lich, wight, draugr, dorotabo... never 'sleeper'. They didn't look very sleepy to Thyra. But she did not question it.. she knew that people chose words either to relate to them more, or emotionally distance themselves from them. She just called them dead. She lowered the bow, removing the notch of the arrow from the string, and placing it in the quiver attached to her backpack. Never unprepared, she did not let go of her bow, ready to pull it again should anything unpleasant arrive.

Smiling slightly at the man's cautious movements, she appreciated his unwillingness to cause trouble. Her eyes shifted to the sniper rifle, she only appreciated that this man was indeed cautious even more. A long-range weapon spoke of a man not too comfortable with close encounters, ready for what was ahead, not right in front of him. A man after her own heart, surely, for she relished her ability to keep out of the way. "And why is it you don't talk much? conversations with the dead aren't stimulating, I grant you, but how about me? I promise. My words don't bite nearly as hard as the dead do."

She peered outside, double-checking that zombies were not afoot, then began seeking out her arrows. "What are you looking for? I need ammo," she said, waving her her bow to indicate it was not, in fact 'ammo' she needed, but rather arrows.

She couldn't help herself, and so she started off on one of her random-fact-of-the-day rants, relating only to the fact that they were in a gun store, and said: "Did you know that the world’s largest bore gun ever to be built fired a 3 feet diameter hollow cast iron ball weighing around 1 tonne and containing 215kg of gunpowder to a range of 2.4 kilometres?" and then quickly added, "they left it at Fort Nelson, and I'm fairly certain it still fires.. do you by any chance have a 1 tonne hollow cast iron ball so we can crush these dead guys?" Despite the complete uselessness of what she said, she was impressed by her own skill in somehow making it applicable to the situation. Usually her random facts that had nothing to do with the situation wasn't something she could turn around to make sense to anyone but her. Yet there it was, and she couldn't help but smile at the thought of putting the big gun up on a wall and just plowing down whatever came at her, even if it wasn't as elegant or nice as she considered a bow to be.</sub>

[Dmitry Kalinkov]

within the mist,

[STYLE=float:left; width:379px; background-color:#F4F4F4; opacity:1; filter:alpha(opacity=70); height:250px; overflow:auto; font-size:10px; font-family:arial; color:#7A7A7A; text-align:justify; padding: 8px]He looked to her confused look, probably because he called them sleepers, he only called them that because they never figured out where he was when he was blowing their friends brains all over them, sometimes his positions were obvious, even for the undead. So he figured their minds were, 'asleep'. But when she asked for why he didn't talk much, he only shrugged.

"I guess its because I never have the chance to, I've been a lone wolf this whole time, seeing people, but not talking to them at all." he paused, looking to see that there was an alley door that needed to be secured. He continued "I usually let my bullets speak for me, from a mile away." a smirk grew on his face, although she could not see it. He thought about her weapon of choice for a moment, a bow, swift, silent, and potentially dangerous in the right or wrong hands. But, he's never seen her before, considering the fact he's stayed put for the past three weeks, he's gotten to see alot, most of them were just passing by, nomads, others were locals trying to start anew.

He respected those that stayed put, once you start moving around, you lose a sense of home, you become a scavenger, and then you begin to lose heart for the people who live in the places you raid. But he kept quiet, listening to the rather random fact. He only shrugged ".30-06, I already found me some, I saw composite arrows in the back, I dont know if they are still there he chuckled slightly, walking over to the alley door, placing the classic chair lock.

He then listened to the rather, random information she provided. He only shrugged again, walking over to the nine millimeter rounds, the place was overloaded with them, even though he didn't use his pistol much, if even at all, he still took a few clips. He spoke once she finished, "No, but we have a store that has a tonne of ammunition, if you want to load it up with that, give it one go.. Go ahead." he shrugged, not seeing the reason to have one shot, when most of these bullets can be put into brains of the undead, making the place a little less populated.

He paused for a moment, looking out to the misty outside, he wondered if the mist would stay around for long, because in all honesty, he was quite ready to book it back to his water tower. But he asked, out of curiosity, looking back into the store, walking in some "Just curious, I haven't seen you around.. You new? Or are you just passing through?"

[/style]

words; 633
music; Mist -- Various Artists
notes; none

[style=font-family: fondamento; font-size: 20; letter-spacing: 3px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center;]i travel, and not a trace is found

[Thyra Henriksen]

<sub>Though the ghillie suit obscured his face, she suspected a smile might have graced his invisible features. She allowed one to grace her own, thinking back on herself in the beginning of this apocalypse - she had been a lone wolf. Hell, she still was, just less afraid of making contact even if only temporary. She had observed, stayed at a distance, judging people by their actions rather than their words. She knew that that was a safe and reasonable way to live, and while completely at ease with never speaking to anyone again, she had since come to realize that there was no point in staying alive if you were simply to die and leave human progress completely dead in the water. She considered herself a product of evolution, and evolve she would.

Still, she respected, and thought nothing lesser of the man for the decision he had made. "I think we should change that," she said with a certain perk, eager to rant at someone other than the unusually friendly squirrel that had followed her the last couple of miles. "How about we start with an easy topic, for those less trained in talking these days... what's your name?" She spoke as she moved toward the back, seeking out the composite arrows he had mentioned. She rummaged quietly through a fallen rack of miscellaneous hunters gear to find a bundle of about 15 arrows. Knowing where the quiver was better than she knew how to place her own feet, she placed them inside and turned around to look at the ammo to which he was referring. She had shot a gun before, but was not confident in using something she considered herself less than an expert on. Guns were useful, she knew, but her lacking knowledge on them made her more paranoid of an accident, than confident they might save her. The giant gun bore story was a less amusing thought to the man than she would have liked, and so she ignored the urge to speak of it further.

That was when she frowned. New? she was confused now. Did this man know everyone in town? did he know everyone who was alive? how could someone be new in this world where all new things seemed to have decayed? Still, she addressed the question with her usual strange sarcasm "yes. A man grew me in a lab, and I sprang out of my test tube yesterday!"

Smiling, she addressed the latter part of the question. "I suppose you could say I am passing through.. I have no confidence in staying some place unless I'm given a reason to. So far, I have passed through many places unable to give me that..

From your reference to me being 'new' I expect you have a happy little settlement somewhere?" She was indeed curious. She had yet to see anyone's permanent little camps, or at least ones she hadn't accidentally stumbled over that had been destroyed by raiders or dead people. She saw everything as a scientific observation, an anthropological study, curious about how people reacted, settled, and handled themselves in adverse conditions.. she had spent time wondering about these things, studying ancient man, way before this ever happened, and the sudden alteration of the status quo, setting people back to more or less primitive methods was nothing less than fascinating to her. Her own nomadic way of living had sprouted curiosity in the direction of settlers - different from herself, and thus much more perplexing.
"I got some lovely cans of food with your name on them, if you're willing to have me over for dinner," she said, unable to keep a charming smile from her face, hoping it'd convince him to show her his abode, although strangely unsettled by her own realization that it could be severely misinterpreted.</sub>

[Dmitry Kalinkov]

within the mist,

[STYLE=float:left; width:379px; background-color:#F4F4F4; opacity:1; filter:alpha(opacity=70); height:250px; overflow:auto; font-size:10px; font-family:arial; color:#7A7A7A; text-align:justify; padding: 8px]He felt her smile cut through him like a knife, it was weird, but he couldn't help himself but to grow a big smile on his face. But he stopped himself, knowing he was supposed to be a cold hearted Russian killing machine. But something about her made him turn all soft and gooey, but he couldn't let that alter his vision.

He could only drone out in a sarcastic voice "Oh your so kind..." he paused, "Dmitry, but for some reason, I'm called 'the Swampman' by the locals around..." he chuckled, "I wonder why... Oh wait.. Whats yours?" his sarcastic tone dripping until his legitimate question as he spoke. He watched her walk to the area of the gun store where hunting was displayed, he walked out to the front, the fog of the mist seemed to be lifting, he should be gone, but he had to stay and protect her. He saw a pack, they looked strong enough to be runners.

He let her comment about being grown in a lab slip, instead, he slid the scope back onto his rifle, loading his dual mag clip, taped together by electric tape, and sliding it into the chamber. It made a dull but loud click, a walker noticed, but he was too blind to see where the sound came from. He nodded to her story, shrugging at her as she asked about a settlement, his voice was alot lower now "I wouldn't call it a settlement, just stingy neighbors trying to get by, and I keep watch."

He smiled, he also counted how many of the suspected runners there were. He almost missed her invitation to dinner "I suppose so," he looked back to her, shifting his head to the group, he counted seven. "Lets not have any visitors though..." He said with a smile.

He looked into his scope, lining up a two for one, and then,
Pwang
His gun would have been louder, but he used a rag to muffle the sound, it helped sometimes, two of the runners fell, and he complimented himself, as he got to work at the others, now running towards him.

"Walker on the left, I'll take care of the runners." he spoke, not in the mood to argue, as he continued to fire, bringing a couple more down.

[/style]

words; 583
music; Mist -- Various Artists
notes; You can add a few walkers for her if you wish

[style=font-family: fondamento; font-size: 20; letter-spacing: 3px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center;]i travel, and not a trace is found

[Thyra Henriksen]

<sub>Though it may seem obvious Thyra was lost at the reason they might call him swampman (sometimes she could be a little slow on picking up other peoples' humor, despite her own being so poignant), for some reason the ghillie suit had barely made an impact on her, and had barely noticed it was there, even though it thoroughly obscured what he looked like. His so-far quiet type personality had done enough to distract her from how he was dressed or looked. Now that he mentioned it, however, she looked him up and down and giggled quietly at the absurdity of wearing a ghillie suit. She appreciated the logic behind it, but the mere hilarity of walking around looking like a bush wasn't completely lost on her.

"Thyra," she said, glad that the days of written communication was over, so she didn't have to explain that her name wasn't pronounced "Ty-ra", but rather "Tea-ra". "You may call me Tea, Swampman," she said, as she slipped over to stand next to him and spot the same group of dead guys he had. Following the lead of his lowering voice, her eyes narrowed on the seven newly spotted dead people. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, surely focused on killing the unwanted dinner guests, but still wondering what he meant by neighbors... how big was this camp of his? she grew more and more curious about him with every word he spoke, she found herself thinking. God, to imagine, she thought, a whole group of people to study and wonder about? it was truly lucky she'd met him.

She notched her arrow, pulled the string taut, and fired before she had time for a proper aim, due to the gun going off at her side. She had not been prepared for the shot, and couldn't help but glare slightly angrily at the Russian. Her arrow had hit the walker in the chest. She had not yet missed a target that easy. "The words 'firing' might want to leave your lips next time you see something. You made me miss," she growled at him quietly, before noticing the rampaging runners now coming at them.

She ignored her frustration for the time being, and instead notched another arrow. They were closing fast, however, and while her arrow hit the walker Dmitry had pointed out to her perfectly through the head, the time for long-ranged weapons was over. Thyra's heartbeat raced, her breathing became more rapid, she was not yet used to close quarters, she still adamantly kept out of their way, always avoiding confrontation when able. Yet she kept her head, gripped her bow in her left hand before reaching for the sword at her side instead. She drew it, turned to the Russian to confirm the preparation for a close quarters encounter, then swung it in the direction of the 2 runners now advancing on them.

They were yet too far away to actually hit with her sword, yet the preemptive strike put momentum into her sword, causing her to be able to elegantly swing it back around by the time they got in range, where it caught one zombie beneath the jaw, slicing into its neck. Thyra knew it wasn't enough. It never was. Necks were tough and took more than a single chop to dislodge. It was still coming at her, though now it was running its neck along her sword, causing the cut to deepen, only stopping when it hit the cross guard. She pushed the zombie over, using the entire force of her body, pulling the sword out and standing over the undead lump on the ground. It was quick that her sword found the eye of the runner and put an end to it.

Before she focused on the Russian she made certain no others were coming for them, and when she saw no danger ahead, she spun around. "Well now I'm hungry," she said, sounding utterly cheery, despite being slightly out of breath.</sub>

[Dmitry Kalinkov]

within the mist,

[STYLE=float:left; width:379px; background-color:#F4F4F4; opacity:1; filter:alpha(opacity=70); height:250px; overflow:auto; font-size:10px; font-family:arial; color:#7A7A7A; text-align:justify; padding: 8px]He looked to her curiously, as she looked at him blankly, it might take her a while to realize why he was called that, he could only get into a sort of cheeky pose. She giggled quietly before he got the chance, so he grinned back. The reason why he wore this, other than to scare the living guts out of the living, and as well as blow the brains out from the dead, was because he considered this his skin, he was bred and trained to always be in this suit, and to use the surroundings as your camouflage, although he looked like a bush up close, from afar, he would seem like another part of a wall, or even just a decaying tree.

"Interesting name, for an interesting gal." he grinned, giving her a sort of something to get confused by, sure he was still a loner, and his communication skills lacked, but he was still looking for that special someone, but of the 3%, not one seemed to fit his bill yet. "Alright." he nodded, firing his gun, catching her words as he began to shift targets, one thing was for sure when he was in zombie situations,
dont push him.

He only turned his head, as if to say sorry, but he looked back quickly, unloading a few bullets into the knees, and then the brains, but as they got closer, he dropped his rifle, fumbling with the pistol holster, getting it out in time to cap on in the eye, and another in the missing nose.

There was one last one, he seemed faster than the rest, he wanted to unload his pistol, but it made a click. He heard the sound of metal on flesh, and grinned, taking out his knife, remembering his training. He jumped over the window frame of the store, and then used a nearby fire hydrant to vault, and get the angle to throw is knife. He released, landing with ease, and the zombie fell beside him, Dmitry chuckled, kicking the almost split undead head, and pryed the knife out.

He looked to her, nodding, "One second.." He took out his spray can, and a cardboard cut out of a ghost one of the kids made for him. He shook the can, walking over to the store and spraying it onto the door. He lifted the piece of cardboard off, and nodded. He turned around, there was a crawler, hanging onto dear life, or undead life, whatever the fuck. He just did a soccer kick to his jaw, causing it to buckle inside, and probably lodge it into the decaying brain.

He then began to walk, towards a large water tower, it was surrounded by an apartment complex, and it was a quite large one at that, that was his home. He turned to her "You coming?"

[/style]

words; 657
music; Mist -- Various Artists
notes; none

[style=font-family: fondamento; font-size: 20; letter-spacing: 3px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center;]i travel, and not a trace is found

[Thyra Henriksen]

<sub>"Interesting name, for an interesting gal," he said, causing her to smile, once again. She hadn't smiled this much for ages. Then again, Thyra did not disagree. As conceited as it may sound, Thyra had never thought herself uninteresting... in fact, the considered herself extremely interesting. Still, she appreciated when other people saw that she was indeed interesting.. hence the smile. Strangely innocent, she never saw any other ulterior motive for his comment - only truth.

At the sound of his pistol rounds going off she once again became paranoid. This was why she preferred a bow - the sound of the gun shot was sure to attract attention. Not only would walkers, depending on the obstacles in the sound wave's way, from a mile away hear it, but looters could too, and she felt certain they would be thrilled at the prospect of owning more guns. She bit back her objections to the loud weapon, since it was more or less saving her life, and took a deep breath after the drama she had just been a part of. She frowned, curious at Dmitri's next actions. A ghost? was this one of those hobo tricks that marked whether or not a place was friendly, looted, etc? she expected as much, but still asked; "what's the ghost for? trying to scare off superstitious people?"

Thyra followed him toward the apartment complex. Was this the camp, settlement, whatever it was? she got a little excited looking at it. The opportunities something like this could have on any kind of psychological or anthropological research she might want to do was astounding. she never thought she might be back to something resembling what she used to do again. Sheathing her sword as she followed the Russian, she started excitedly skipping instead. Sometimes she was rather childlike, and skipping was one way it showed itself when she was excited.

"So tell me... what kind of place is it we're going to?" she simply couldn't wait to see it. She had to know. Walking, she began taking apart her bow again - she saw no need for it now, and if worse came to worse, she had her sword. She had nearly forgotten about her noise-related paranoia to give way for this new found excitement. Yet, she couldn't stop herself. Skipping the whole way, she found that they were nearing the water tower, not perplexed at all by the convenient location to possibly set up a home.</sub>

[Dmitry Kalinkov]

within the mist,

[STYLE=float:left; width:379px; background-color:#F4F4F4; opacity:1; filter:alpha(opacity=70); height:250px; overflow:auto; font-size:10px; font-family:arial; color:#7A7A7A; text-align:justify; padding: 8px]Although he just advertised his position, the loud pistol going off, he saved his skin for another day. Also, in fear of walkers, the mist was still around, even though it was gone, it was still here, there were fresh scents everywhere, they would be lost in a plethora of scents, not knowing which ones to follow. Once he grew his ghost, he looked to her as if she was stupid, the only thing she could see was the tilt of his head "Not exactly." he shrugged "Its my way of knowing the building has been checked." he nodded "I have a map of LA at the water tower... You'll see..." he said to her as if she was an impatient child.

He watched her skip around, and as she did, they neared the door to the apartment complex. He grinned as she asked "I guess you could call it a safe haven, a farming community... Your choice." He nodded as he approached the apartment complex main entrance. He did a special knock, as well as opening the door, because once you did open it, there was a teenager with an assault rifle, at the ready. He walked past him, ruffling his hair, and opening the door to the inside of the complex, where there was gardens of fruits, and little plots of wheat, and in the middle stood the ominous water tower. Some of them waved, and he waved back, they eyed the girl curiously, but they figured she was safe, because he hadn't killed her already.

He walked to the ladder leading to the top, removing his safety harness, and giving it to her, "Ladies first." he smiled, looking up, hoping she would know how to climb ladders.

[/style]

words; 468
music; Mist -- Various Artists
notes; feel free to make the inside to your liking, just dont forget a wall map :) The whole inside of the water tower is his home, it has windows and stuff.

[style=font-family: fondamento; font-size: 20; letter-spacing: 3px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center;]i travel, and not a trace is found

[Thyra Henriksen]

<sub>Though Dmitri didn't find what she said humorous, and did not seem the type to laugh much, she couldn't help but find this trait slightly endearing, and probably would even be helpful when her own words got in the way of things. Which they often did. So he did live at the water tower, as she had suspected. Smart. It seemed silly that the others might not follow his lead on this. She was, however, curious as to the comfort of this home. It couldn't possibly be very comfortable.. but she was willing to be surprised, as she had shown herself to be at quite a few things this man said.

A safe haven? a farming community? was such a thing even possible in such an urban environment? she nearly flailed with excitement at the prospect of everything he was telling her. Though it wasn't much to go by, she could instantly see herself writing a long paper on the development of these humans... sure, it would never be read by anyone with proper scientific authority, and without peers a scientific paper was useless.. and yet, it was one part of her personality she was unwilling to give up. She grinned at the special knock. The juvenile security system of 4-year olds everywhere was effective, she thought, unable to keep herself from thinking that children did indeed have some of the best minds, even if they were untrained. Ah, biology.

As they were greeted by a gun-toting teenager, she waved enthusiastically at him, showing off that she was positively thrilled to be there. Dmitri's way of ruffling the kid's hair only made that feeling more intense. Inside they were greeted with a smile and a couple of waves. The eyes following Thyra made her straighten her back and attempt at a better than deplorable posture, which followed her obviously mocking regal wave back at them. She wasn't exactly an attention whore, in fact she didn't normally enjoy attention, but she could not help but soak it in with a certain measure of amusement. This was all too exciting. She nearly exploded at the sight of all the greenery, and it was obvious on her face.

She said nothing until they reached the water tower and he offered her passage first. She smirked, and began climbing, "you sure you're not just saying that to have a perfect view of my bum?" She laughed and climbed rather quickly up the ladder - Thyra was adept at climbing, even if her clumsiness caused a slip, she had never found herself to be injured or fallen. Trees were a second home to her. Always had been.

At the top, before exploring his home, she turned around and enjoyed the view as she waited for the Russian to follow her up. It was magnificent. Though the destruction of the city in front of her was evident, it had the most calming effect on her. The mist, though largely gone, still obscured most of the view, and yet it did not spoil it. It only added to the feeling that now... now she was some place untouched by the horrors outside, yet aided completely by it. It made her smile with strange contentment.</sub>

[Dmitry Kalinkov]

within the mist,

[STYLE=float:left; width:379px; background-color:#F4F4F4; opacity:1; filter:alpha(opacity=70); height:250px; overflow:auto; font-size:10px; font-family:arial; color:#7A7A7A; text-align:justify; padding: 8px]Dmitry grinned, ruffling the teens hair, feeling a sense of a being a father. He knew that in reality, he wouldn't become one, because face it, nobody wanted to love a man who had a nickname that had 'swamp' in it. He laughed to himself at the thought, opening the door to the outside, the smell of gardens and the sounds of people hard at work rang through the area within the complex, he liked the sound. And as he let her walk to the tower, he looked over to the job board, noting that they were getting low on food, and that he would have to go hunting.

He enjoyed the past time of hunting, it soothed him, and satisfied him, bringing home two deers for the colony to feast on brought smiles to the faces of all, and his own. Only his was hidden by the mesh in his suit. He caught up to Thyra, and she said something he didn't expect would happen, but he nodded "I wasn't planning to, but now you give me no choice." he nodded, following her up the stairs, spending minimal time looking at her bum.

Once at the top, he let her enjoy the view, himself walking to the door leading into his abode. The door made a small hiss, and the metal creaked open, he would need to WD-40 it later. But he slipped his rifle off, walking over to the oil lamp, making sure that it was stocked up on oil. He then looked on the table, to his surprise, there was a basket of fresh vegetables and other assortments of raisin bread, and other goodies. He thought to remember himself to thank the farmer family, they were genius' on how to create an urban farm.

He then walked over to a large, well detailed and written on map. There were red X's everywhere, as well as empty spots as well. He found where the gun shop was, and put a check on it, telling himself it was still good, and that he could send a party to grab the remainder of the ammunition. He then walked to the cast iron pot, lighting the fire below it quickly with a match. He found himself a seat, and sat down, staring at the kettle, and then the map, probably not noticing if she had entered or not.

[/style]

words; 563
music; Mist -- Various Artists
notes; This was bad -_-

[style=font-family: fondamento; font-size: 20; letter-spacing: 3px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center;]i travel, and not a trace is found

[Thyra Henriksen]

<sub>Thyra heard the door squeak behind her and it broke her focus on the view. She couldn't help but take in the sight below her - the people working, the fruit trees, the homes. It was really rather impressive.. Thyra had never thought she'd find a place where she might want to stay, but at this point, she didn't think this place to be an unlikely place in which to do just that. She rethought that idea for a moment, though, thinking herself unlikely to ever be happy staying in just one place. She would need something to stabilize her rather free personality, and that was unlikely to show up out of the blue, she thought, saddened slightly by the thought that she was throwing away potential happiness, for.. well.. happiness.

Finally, she followed Dmitri into his water tower home. He seemed to have already forgotten that she was there, she thought rather bemusedly. So she quietly moved around, examining every tiny corner of the place, happily familiarizing herself with it. She had never been much of a decorator (which some may find strange, as she was born in the country of famous interior designing), but she still thought the place needed a woman's touch. Maybe he'd allow her to find some nice throw pillows for him, she thought, laughter beginning to form at the thought. It came out in a small controlled giggle, which then must have announced her presence. So she moved to Dmitri's side, put a hand on his shoulder and said, looking to the burner "how well do you cook, swampman?". That was when she dropped her backpack, sat on the floor beside it, opened it and peered into it.

"I have chocolate pudding!" she burst out excitedly when she spotted a can of it (yes, can) in her backpack. She pulled it out with a large smile and placed it on the floor next to her. She had a good amount of MRE's and homemade jerky with her, things she was perfectly willing to share. After all, she always thought, there was food out there, made to feed millions, and now? well.. there was no one around to actually eat it, and so she considered there to be enough food for many people for a whole lifetime out there. She was always willing to venture out and find more, either way.. not to mention that she had found herself enjoying hunting a lot more than she'd expect.

"Also, I don't normally have plants cooking me dinner. How about you let us see that big Russian smile of yours?" She smiled, curious as to what this man might look like, all of a sudden. His meticulous record-keeping on the map with all the red X's made her much more curious as to who he was.</sub>

[Dmitry Kalinkov]

within the mist,

[STYLE=float:left; width:379px; background-color:#F4F4F4; opacity:1; filter:alpha(opacity=70); height:250px; overflow:auto; font-size:10px; font-family:arial; color:#7A7A7A; text-align:justify; padding: 8px]He almost forgot that he had a guest, he watched her walk around and giggle. He couldn't help but scoff, she could laugh all she wants, this was his home, his man cave, and his base of operations. He didn't need it looking like a home anyway, there was no need to remind him of the past that would never return. He felt her hand on his shoulder, and her bubbly voice slicing the still air.

"I cook well enough for a good meal, I wouldn't say I'm a gourmet chef..." he nodded, satisfied with his response, almost jumping when she burst out about pudding. He looked to her, seeing the cans, and some food in her bag "No need to share, I have enough food, I have some left over salted deer if you want some?" he smiled, standing up and opening his stash of salted goods, and dragged out a chunk of it, placing it in the pot, walking over to the basket of vegetables, beginning to cut them on a plastic knife board.

He chuckled at her comment, "Fine..." he said with a sigh, finding the zipper on the back of his head, unzipping it, and sliding it off his head, letting the head cover fall in front of him. He looked to her with an eyebrow raised, then back to ingredients, adding them in slowly to the broth in progress.

[/style]

words; 400
music; Mist -- Various Artists
notes; This was bad -_- x2

[style=font-family: fondamento; font-size: 20; letter-spacing: 3px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center;]i travel, and not a trace is found