Nano. RolePlay

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CONTRAT DE NOT'RP !

- Statut du RP : privé
- Tour de jeu : -
- Délai maximum d'attente de réponse : 1 mois
- Nombre de sauts de tours autorisés avant que le délai d'attente ne soit plus pris en compte pour le joueur attendu : -
- Autre : ALL HAIL ENGLISH.

And back alone he was.

Not that it ever mattered. The difference was paper thin, so thin that it made none at all. He had always felt this way, after all. Alone, yet surrounded by people. Surrounded by people, yet alone. It didn't matter. After that short encounter with the boy with the beeping machine on his wrist, life went back to how it had always been. He did see the little girl again, the one he should have killed faster, when she was still alive. It would have been a quick and painless death. He didn't feel remorse, though, when he saw her there, encircled by those rotting creatures as if she was being protected by them. Her eyes were not quite the same as what he remembered them to be. Her ripped clothes were bloody, barely covering the insides hanging out of her stomach. That had been her choice. So he left her like this, because that was her decision, and he respected that. He wasn't going to decide for her. He couldn't even decide for himself. It was all a matter of surviving in the end, and she was not compromising his life. Not that he had anything to do with it, but humans work in a very funny way when it comes to life and death. He had no reason to live, but he had no reason to die either. It was as simple as that ; and so life went on. A long neverending day filled with small unmeaningful events. Walk, stop, hide, smoke, eat, sleep, and then go back to first step and repeat until dead. Or, until you run out of cigarettes because you lost your pack again.

So here he was again. In a supermarket, bazooka on his shoulder in a nonchalant way, his last chunk of cigarette holding loosely between his lips. It was actually a good thing. He was running out of ramens as well.

Evans nodded. Not a great escape route, but one nonetheless. Rooftop. You can access other hou-- He looked at Jem in a way that clearly meant "I'll explain to you later", as the silence caused by his interruption had been replaced with very familiar noises. After pointing at the rope he had previously set up for easier climbing to invite him to go first, he swung the strap of his bazooka around his shoulder. They should have enough time, but as they say, whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.

Did I ever mention Jem wasn't a good climber? No? Then I will now: Jem isn't a good climber. When was he supposed to develop that skill, exactly? Besides the few times they played "the floor is lava" in gym classes when he was a kid, the only contact he'd ever had with rope was virtually (take that in whichever way you want). He gazed at the distance between the ground and the window, then sighed. Anything for survival, right? Maybe he'd be instinctively good at it.

Hopefully, for both of them. Jem was slightly smaller than him but even then, there was no way he could carry him on his back along with the weapon if it came down to that. His back facing the wall so he could have a view with zero blind spots, he took out a dagger. For now, no walking dead in sight, which was a good thing although there was no way of telling how many would be coming at them in a few.

Turns out: not that many. Maybe one or two stray walkers, but nothing Evans couldn't possibly handle. Jem probably could've climber that rope a bit quicker, but since stress isn't exactly great for his heart (thank you jesus) and he wasn't in any immediate danger, there was no point in getting himself all worked up. He could do without that annoyingly loud beeping on his watch. Ok, I'm up.

See. This is exactly why you don't run around a city with a fucking bazooka on your shoulder, dummy. Use a gun or a knife like every other sensible person. Honestly. Some people. Jem rolled his eyes. I mean, he was safe up there. And what else was he to do ? Evans couldn't expect him to seriously even attempt to heave him up, right ? Jem didn't have the musculature for that. He's petite. Not big and burly. Um... you might want to hurry up. Thanks for all the help, buddy.

Not very nice of a person, that guy. Very cynical, to say the least. Though there's always worse and Evans had met a good bunch of those. So long as they did not personally... no, nothing. He didn't care at all. Even now, there was only one thing to do and he didn't hesitate for a second before taking off the strap of his bazooka to release the monster gun down. He then proceeded to climb, grabbing the edge of the window as the rope snapped completely, and hauled himself up. He would need to find a stronger rope.

Jem was still looking down, even when Evans was safely up. You dropped your bazooka, he said dryly, as if Evans hadn't noticed. Probably because he hadn't expected him to. People were materialistic, even in a world like this one, when they had no right to be. This didn't seem to be a problem for Evans, however. Jem was (slightly) impressed.

He glanced down and slightly shrugged. I can go get it later and repair it. Or just build something else. Jem was right thinking it was not the best weapon to carry around. Perhaps he could come up with something a tad more convenient. Nonchalantly, he tapped on his chest pocket to grab his pack of cig and took one between his lips. How do you usually defend yourself ? Evans asked, breathing out smoke and leaning against the window.

Starving, actually. That was why he had risked the trip to the already empty store. His hope of finding food was getting frightfully desperate. Why, do you have a stock ? His mouth was watering with anticipation. Jem had been living on one pack of cup noodles a day for a while now. It was a miracle he still managed to stand up and find the energy to run away from hordes of undead.

I can't believe it. A guy with food. What have you been living on these past few weeks? For that was how much time Jem assumed had gone by since their last encounter. Or had it been months? Or only days? Time was the first thing that had seemed to escape him. Before the hunger, before the humanity, it had been time. Ironic notion. Especially for a guy that seemed fused with the watch he wore on his left wrist.

He shook the plastic pack or ramen he had just gotten from his little trip before putting it down on the kitchen counter. Mostly. At least for the last few days. He couldn't remember before. As said, time never had a particular meaning, even less so now. What do you like to eat ? Not that it would matter, because he could only do so much with the food he had, but perhaps he could try making something similar to Jem's taste, Russian version.

Ah. Well, it was his lucky day. Kind of. Canned salmon could never be compared to smoked salmon, but it was definitely better than nothing at all. He opened the cupboard and took out a few cans, looking at the stock to figure out what he could do with what he had, except pie for lack of oven. Mashed potatoes powder, check. Crackers, check. A few ingredients missing but he could make do. Is salmon and potato salad ok with you ?

Canned salmon: a disgrace to good cuisine. Yet... canned salmon? Salmon in any form at all? Who are you? Jesus? The guy who got him out of a tricky situation. The guy who offered him a place to sleep. The guy who was now apparently about to feed him. Better than Jesus could ever be. Next you'll tell me you're a doctor. The kind of person everyone was on the lookout for. A doctor on your team is worth solid gold. Or better: he's worth feeding.

Jesus ? Evans was more of a buddha guy, but Jesus was not so bad either, in his own way. A slight smile formed on the corners of his mouth. So he -could- do that kind of expression after all. I'm not dedicated enough for that. And most likely not smart enough either. I prefer playing with gears than with lives. Like with the stove. A few modifications and it was now working with propane instead of natural gas. More practical right now, given you had a propane tank with you. He had. Jesus says you're welcome.

You're right. Saving lives is useless at this point. Harsh words for someone that would no doubt use and abuse of a doctor's kindness if needed nonetheless. Jem was clearly not a man of principles. The worst kind of person to have on your team.

Principles were something you had to build and protect, that much he knew. It was easier to let go of them when they were being a burden. Most of the men he had met during his life had given up on such things, willingly or not. Should I not save yours if it comes down to that ? No hidden meaning. Simple question. As said, deciding whether or not people should live wasn't something he could put on his curriculum vitae.

You shouldn't, no. Jem emphasized. But you will. That was just the type of person Evans apparently was. You're not like me. If more people were like him, surely the population of living (truly living) folks would be larger. But if everyone was like him, what would living really be worth ? Spending enough time by yourself was enough to drive you as crazy as the roamers outside.

God. Please don't get philosophical. I'd rather hang myself. Did he say that out loud? Probably. Jem seemed to have lost his filter. But clearly Evans wasn't the type to get vexed (pretty sure he said worse already), so who cared. If you absolutely wanna have small talk, say something useful. Like : what's your plan? Everybody had a plan. At least Jem was sure everyone had one. You had to have a plan.

This was an answer in itself. Whoever he was, however, wouldn't affect him or his plan, for that matter. Because he had none. He shook his head in the same manner he was stirring the powder. No plan. Eat, sleep, survive. Frankly, it wasn't really any different than how he lived before. Life had little to give to him and he had little to give to it. Yours ?