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bakerstreet2015-11-10 09:20 am
socketeer) wrote in bakerstreet2015-11-10 09:20 am
THE POST-APOCALYPTIC MEME
 THE POST-APOCALYPTIC MEME HOW TO PLAY - comment in the subject line with your character's name and canon. - state any preferences you might have. - choose a scenario or use the number generator. - have fun! SCENARIOS 1. Alien Invasion ▸ Aliens have taken over the earth. 2. Climate Change ▸ The climate of our planet has shifted suddenly. 3. Cybernetic Revolt ▸ Technology has turned against us. 4. Impact Event ▸ A meteor struck the Earth. 5. Nuclear Warfare ▸ They dropped the big one. Enjoy that fallout. 6. Pandemic ▸ A disease is threatening to wipe out human life on earth. 7. Resource Depletion ▸ There are no longer enough resources to support life. 8. Zombie Apocalypse ▸ A classic, zombies have invaded and destroyed everything. 9. Other ▸ Combine several scenarios or come up with your own! (x) |
8
Sammy...he didn’t want to think about Sammy. Through all of this, someway, somehow, he’d managed to keep the impala running. Gas was the hardest thing to come by but he managed; all of the abandoned vehicles made for easy salvage. Led Zeppelin blared through the speakers; guitar driven riffs, a thunderous train of drums...seemed like a death wish, considering those sons of bitches were attracted to sound, maybe it was, or maybe having something that made him feel even in the slightest, meant he was willing to pay the price. These weren’t even cities any more; they were graveyards, dilapidating buildings and memories. Dean almost missed it; just a flash of blonde hair in one of the alleyways, leading a group of the things away from whatever poor bastard they had been planning on eating.
The brakes screeched as he mashed them; fishtailing the car, bringing it to a completely halt only a moment later. Dean killed the engine and pocketed his eyes; no one was going to steal his baby. He took off in a sprint after the woman he had seen; no suicide missions if he could help it...a shot rang out from his 1911, dropping the croat towards the back. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, cavalry’s here.” Bravado in his voice that he didn’t really feel; an attempt to get her to circle back towards him so he could provide cover fire and get both of them out of there.
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Maybe that was why they'd underestimated them in the beginning, why they'd assumed they could handle it, just like they had every other time the world tried to end. There had been a veritable army of Mini Slayers and witches, newly trained Watchers supporting them every step of the way, but still they'd failed. She had failed, and it had gotten Dawnie killed. Dawn and Giles and Willow. She'd gotten separated from Xander a few months back, when he'd gone with some of the few remaining Minis to try rescuing a group of survivors; she still held a small kernel of hope that he was alive and fighting somewhere out there, and it was one of the only things that kept her going at the end of the day.
Searching for survivors was the name of the game now. Find the people left alive and keep them that way. It was why she ventured into these towns that made hell dimensions look like vacation spots, why she found herself leading a hoard of zombies away from the center of town. Her fingers itched for her old scythe as they settled on the long knife in her boot - guns were loud and drew attention, and she'd had a strong dislike of them ever since the time she got shot and died again.
To say that she was surprised to hear the man's voice would be putting it lightly. Buffy whipped around as the shot rang out over the noise of the creatures and her jaw dropped a little at the sight of him. "Who're you calling sweetheart?" she shouted back at Cavalry Guy, punctuating the words by turning back to the fight long enough to cut the head off of the creature whose teeth had come dangerously close to her shoulder. Slayer strength, about the only part of her calling that meant anything anymore. Still, despite her bristling at the term, she headed straight for him as he'd seemingly intended - he clearly knew what he was doing with these things, or he'd have been dinner a long time ago.
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The noise may as well have been a lighthouse; signaling to any wayward croats, a resounding message that dinner was ready and waiting. Shoving the gun into the waistband of his jeans, she was already at full sprint, and he didn’t want to play catch up. Whoever this was, they’d just saved the people still trying to scratch out some miserable existence in the city...and there’d never be a thank you. He didn’t know anything about her; and already, he knew that wasn’t why she had done it. Gravel crunched under his boot as Dean lengthened his stride to make sure that he was able to stay head. Adrenaline helped out; flooding his motorcortex and making his body come to life.
He could see the impala from there; a sense of relief, no matter how big or small. Maybe he should have gone straight for the driver’s seat; escape first, ask questions later was a pretty damn good protocol to follow. Instead he came to a stop on the passenger side; leaning one hand rest against the door as he gulped in a breath of oxygen, watching as she closed the distance, coming towards him. It was the first time he was really allowed a good look at her; When survival was the main focus, everything else took a backseat...she was attractive though. Blonde hair; eyes that even though they were mesmerizing, carried the weight of seeing too much...something he always noticed in his own reflection.
“You good?” That was the most important question to ask; name, all of that could come later. He scanned over her; slowly and deliberating, a different time, different place, it would have been an attempt at checking her out (maybe it still was a little), but he was searching for something specifically. “No bites?”
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He got to the car first, blocked her way inside, asked the right questions. Ran his eyes over her like she was sure he'd done a million times before to other women with very different intentions - he just seemed like that kind of guy, and he was handsome enough to have probably been on the receiving end of just as many interested gazes. She likely would have been one of them, had the time and place not been so... apocalyptic. And if she hadn't been standing there in dirt-covered jeans and a torn sweater, a disappointing shadow of the style-savvy woman she'd once been. Before things like that stopped mattering.
"I'm fine," Buffy informed him, adjusting her grip on her knife. He didn't feel like he was infected with whatever turned normal human beings into those monsters, but she was on edge because they were still exposed, still in danger. "Their bites don't effect me." One had gotten her a few months back, and again the day before, when she'd holed up in an abandoned house to get some sleep. Her shoulder itched, the bite taking longer to heal than was usual with her Slayerness. She was getting sloppy. If she wasn't careful, it was going to get her killed.
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He was already fishing the keys out of his pocket with the other hand; it would have been a lie to deny that the hunter wasn’t a little curious. “Way I see it, you got two choices. Maybe you could out run those sons of bitches, have luck on your side….but they’ve got both our scents. Second option is your take your chances and get in the car, ‘cause I’m not sticking around.” They didn’t know the first thing about each other; he’d seen how fearless she was, at least when it came to monsters, this was the kind of woman that knew how to handle herself. Exactly his type, even if that was only a distance thought, at best. The truth was pretty simple; despite the exterior, he was tired of doing this alone, the grind was wearing on him a little more every day. He didn’t have any delusions; if she decided to sign up for the escape plan he pitched, she’d probably want out once they were in relative safety. Maybe until morning; that was something, though.
Forcing that line of thinking away, he swallowed thickly, walking around to slide into his seat and bring the car to life. Leaning back against the leather, one hand on the steering wheel, he looked over at her, the faintest trace of a smirk curling into the corners of his mouth. “So what’s it gonna be?”
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She'd seen the suspicion in his eyes, had practically heard the gears turning in his mind. Having come across a few others who had very different and not so pleasant reasons for being immune to the bite, she could understand his reaction, actually respected him a little for it. Especially when he still offered her a spot in his car and a ticket out of this particular slice of hell.
Answering that ghost of a smirk with one of her own, she slid into the car and firmly shut the door. "You've got decent taste in music and know your way around a gun," she told him with a one-shouldered shrug. "Easiest decision I've ever made." She'd heard the music from a distance before, when she'd lured the group away from the survivors. It wasn't her first radio choice, but it was better than country - she'd rather take her chances out there than run with someone who liked country. At least, that's what she told herself, when the truth was she'd have taken just about any normal person at this point. This guy being a fighter like herself, and therefore just maybe someone who might last a day around her? That was just icing on the proverbial cake.
"My name's Buffy," she continued, glancing to the window and then back to him. "You're a hunter, aren't you?" She'd met a few over the years, mostly sent them on their way after steering them well clear of the things they just weren't equipped to handle. From what she'd heard from them, though, there were some bump-in-the-night things out there that didn't fit even her job description, and those had been some of the scariest conversations she'd ever had. She wondered just what this one had seen, what his reasons were for willingly doing the sort of job she'd been forced into. Destiny and all that crap. And look where it'd gotten her.
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“My kind of woman,” keeping a nonchalant tone didn’t come as easily as maybe it should have; letting your guard down had been a death sentence (or worse), ever since the food chain had been topped by something else. He didn’t allow the relief that flooded his system to show up on his expression; maybe outside of that smirk that had yet to fade away completely. His interest went several layers deep; it hadn’t been her intention but she’d still made a pretty damn lasting impression and that wasn’t something that he could just let go away. People that knew how to handle themselves in the thick of things was always going to be a plus.
The impala was moving now; leaving behind whatever was left of the hoard, safety guaranteed, at least for a few more minutes. “Buffy, huh?” He didn’t even try to combat the way that his eyebrows raised; she just kept getting more unique, and not really in a bad way. “Haven’t heard that one before...I’m Dean.” Her second question gave him pause; wasn’t that unusual, someone knowing about the life….hunters had always been the paranoid type, combining that with the arsenal most of them carried, it wasn’t a surprise a large chunk of them were what populated the survivors. She was different; he didn’t peg her necessarily for a hunter, but she obviously knew plenty about the world he navigated in. And the way she moved; he still hadn’t been able to get that out of his mind.
“Yeah,” he finally answered, shoulders lowering as he turned his head for a brief glance at his passenger before making a left turn, leading them away from the thicker parts of the city. “At least I was before all this crap.” There was still a safe haven, at least...the men of letters’ bunker that was pretty much apocalypse proof. “How ‘bout you? I saw your moves...gotta say, I’m pretty damn curious.”
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Buffy fished a dirty rag out of her jacket pocket and set to work cleaning up the bloody knife she'd still been holding, the actions taking little thought as she'd done them hundreds if not thousands of times before. She missed the days of vampires, when cleanup had been nothing more than brushing the dust off her clothes. "Have you ever heard of The Slayer?" she asked him, returning the cloth to her pocket and slipping the knife into the side of her boot. "That was me, slayer of vampires, demons, and other ugly, creepy things trying to kill, maim, and generally end the world. They all left town when this happened, though, so I guess I'm freelancing it now." She shrugged and turned to face him, watching his expression to see just how he took all of that. Curious herself about this fellow survivor, and hoping her instinct to trust him would be proven right.
There wasn't any point in hiding what she was, secret identities had pretty much gone out the window with the apocalypse. Besides, he might have even heard of The Slayer - one of the Hunters she'd encountered had, in a boogeyman sense and just in passing. This guy, Dean, clearly hadn't heard of her, and had this been another lifetime she might have been a little miffed by the lack of recognition from someone who frequented that world. Now, though, it wasn't like it really mattered much.