Welcome to Gaia! ::

John hated the dull thud his steel-toed boots made on the floors in the apartment complex. The steel and concrete building with it's poorly cared for drywall and plaster and cheap carpeting made him long for the soft creak of the floorboards of his cabin, the nightly groans of timber settling, the occasional sounds of wildlife in the woods... Everything had been alive there, whereas this city was full of death. More every day it seemed.

Maybe he was getting too old for such a drastic lifestyle change, a month in and he was still missing the life he lived. Old dogs and all perhaps.

Barely sparing a grumpy look over his shoulder at his company, Mr. Nordskov unceremoniously grabbed a bag from the office. This time of day it was closed and locked, but there were always bags to be found somewhere, whether left on a chair outside, or hanging off the door handle, anyone who would go out would at least go out equipped if they wanted.


(Bag: 3)

Seriously, how on earth did these people manage to survive this long? Even though the world had virtually ended overnight, and they had a full month now to adjust to their new circumstances, there were still kids who had no clue how to work for their food. He could only imagine what things would be like in the University district. More entitled kids probably, albeit ones who were used to surviving off those instant japanese noodle foods.

"Yes." John growled curtly in reply. If they didn't have to go in groups, he would have left this brat back at the apartment. Not that he would be able to go far, there were no good weapon supplies in this super urban hippie city, and he would be doing no hunting when all he could get his hands on was a... canvas bag with faded pink flowers on it.

The old man's scowl deepened, and he led the complaining youth down the street. While his heart still yearned for his old life, at least his observation skills had adapted to the urban jungle he was now a part of. The hawklike intensity of his scowl was not only useful for intimidating those around him. Peering into an abandoned, half-charred car, he managed to snag a tiny bottle of water from the passenger side footwell.

"Here." He said, handing it to the kid. "Don't drink it. Carry it."

(Bag: 2 + (Tiny Bottled Water))

John didn't spare a glance at the slouching kid. Whining about effort, before the disaster struck he was probably a layabout who ordered his food over the internet or something. A whole lot might have changed a month ago, but it was a sad thing that someone of his age was more capable of surviving in this inhospitable, 'eat or be eaten' world than today's youth.

"You don't get something for nothing. Effort's the price you pay," he said in a low grumble. "You want to eat, you work. You want a safe place to sleep at night? You work." It was the most the old man had said in probably a week's time.

They passed a convenience store that had long since been looted. Both human and animal scavengers had picked over the remains like a steel and concrete carcass, and there was little left of any good inside. John wasn't even going to go inside. Not worth it, not worth the potential danger. Instead his careful attention was rewarded by the side of the road, where a tin of sardines lay discarded at the gutter. It was still unopened, must have been dropped during the early raids and gotten overlooked since.

He dropped the small tin into the bag.


Bag: 1 + (Tiny Bottled Water) (Sardines))

"And I'd rather be five hours north of here sitting on the porch of my cabin drinking a beer." John replied with a growl. "You find a way to make THAT happen, maybe you can find a way to get by in a world like this one by doing absolutely nothing."

He shook his head in resigned disbelief. Thankfully not all the kids in this district were lazy layabouts, some could rouse enough motivation to get stuff done. It still surprised him that this one had attained some position of leadership, John was pretty sure the only position October wanted was a horizontal, napping position.

They cut through a small park on the way back to the apartments. They would have to try scavenging farther and farther out as time went on, it was not surprising there was little to be had. The old man did stoop and grab a recently fallen branch off the ground, a hefty-sized one that had been damaged in the last storm. It wasn't a rifle, but it would sure deal out some hurt when used correctly. He didn't intend on using it on anything but the infected... But would the threat of a good smack get his companion to stop dragging his feet?

The thought made the old man smile grimly.

Bag: (Tiny Bottled Water) (Sardines) (Hefty Stick))