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General RP Zombies and Mistrust

RhysTheFirebird

RhysTheFirebird

AHHHHHHHHHHH
@Knight_of_None
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Name: Reo Blannings
Age: 20, almost 21
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Eyes) A stunning and bright jade green that seem to change color so with his emotions. They’re lighter when he’s happy or excited, and darker when angry or hungry.
Hair) Jet black, though it looks to be a very dark blue in fluorescent lighting
Skin) a very light golden color in the winder, and it darkens slightly in the summer
Height) 5’8”
Weight) 169lbs
Body Type) Narrow waist and shoulders, he looks fragile and like you could snap him in half.
Pet: A German shepherd named Pilot
Conditions:
Mental) Slight anxiety.
Physical) Hemophilia B; With hemophilia B, also known as “Christmas disease,” your body produces little or no factor IX, another type of protein that helps your blood to clot. This can lead to prolonged or spontaneous bleeding, making it easy for bruises to form under your skin. Reo has minor H. B, usually just bruises, or cuts that don’t stop bleeding.
Hyperacusis; Hyperacusis is a type of reduced tolerance to sound. People with hyperacusis often find ordinary noises too loud, while loud noises can cause discomfort and pain.
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Reo sighs, crouching down to pet Pilot, quiet. He ducks inside a convince store, long since raided and empty. He sits down on the floor, ruffling Pilot's fur. He kisses his forehead and pulls the dog close.

He sighs, pressing his face into the warm fur. Only two days ago, the group he'd come across had sent him out to find more food. He'd come back to seeing half of them gone and the other half turned.

He'd left and been on the move for a few days, but Pilot had began to tire and so had he. They needed a break, and food.
 
The silence of the shop was pressing, the long walk from camp to camp, one salvaging zone to the next had been picked bare. Had this place been stripped too? Yes. But the difference was the culprit was still nearby. In the inventory racks in the back, was they lurked, the safety of it mostly from the freezer doors that housed the drinks. The fans and cooling systems had blown out, but it still kept a small stockpile of water. The watcher was binding their arm after disinfecting the wound, trying to keep silent, eyeing the dog. A Rare thing. Most were killed in the beginning, or let loose, feralizing...some turning, others becoming a desperate meal. They shifted in the darkness, tightening their bandage. Food was food. Hands unseen moved to a sheathed sickle, drawing it on the waybto silently crack the freezer door to sneak out.
 
Reo grumbles softly, "Here, Pilot. . ." He pulls a small, portable bowl from his bag and pouts the last of his water into it, letting the exhausted hound lap up the last drops. Reo smiles and scratches behind his ears, kissing his cheek.

"Hmm. . . I know your tired, but maybe you'll find a squirrel or a bird we can eat for dinner tonight?" The dog's ear perk and he looks at Reo.

Pilot in no means had been a spoiled pet, in fact, he'd lived on the ranch with Reo's grandparents before Earth became Hell. He's helped with the cattle, fend off coyotes, and when left outside, always managed to find a meal. And the dog had been a great help ever since his family died and Rek had been on the road.

He'd known staying with the community wouldn't last long, but it gave both of them a chance to recover from wounds gained in a few attacks. Zombies and people alike.

But he could survive on his own with Pilot, and hopefully, eventually m, this would end and maybe they would find a self sufficient community to join. One that didn't rely on scavenging and stealing to survive.
 
The stalker listened out as the prey spoke, the sickle whirling into a reverse grip. The human wasn't what they were after, but it sounds like he abd that dog weren't going to be parted ways with a few words. They slicked from the back, into the aisles, preparing to play rough. Hunger pushing them on. Too quickly, too greedily. The taste of meat was on their tastebuds, distracting the scouts careful stride. Something crunching under their boots , glass shattering and grinding into the floor tiles.
 
Reo's head snapped up, and breath hisses through his teeth. "Pilot, guard." He whispers, his dog moving infront of him. The lack of tell tale gurgling and moaning told Reo that the creature inside the building wasn't a zombie.

He stands, slowly unsheathing the knife at his side, "Who's there?"
 
The stalker shifted from the shadows in the aisles, a figure wrapped in layers of fabric, a mismatched, stitched cloak. A gas mask hiding their face, worn and repurchases scraps of armor bound around their chest, thick pants, boots. The sickle glinted in the light. Reo could recognize them, the stalking scout that had come across him before. A silent thing, never revealing their face. The eyes of the mask , red tinted glass flickered as they moved the sickle from one hand to the other, into their stronger, sturdier grip.
 
Reo crouches down, his hand going to his hip where his own weapon sat. A short sword, one he'd swiped from a history museum. He'd sharpened it back into use, and he knew how to use it, thanks to the classes he took as a kid. But then, if you were alive after this long, anyone knew how to use their weapon if choice. They weren't just fighting the dead, but the living as well.

"Back off." He warns, unsheathing his sword slightly.
 
The stalker lowered their stance, the scout rolling the sickle around, usually ready for a fight from the start. Normally they didn't even let themselves be seen, much less duel. The rivals other hand touched the floor, their right arms bandage reddening. They were ready to fight , but even while injured. They lurched forward, jumping forward with feral aggression, even while stone silent. They sythed straight for the others arm, angling to disable first, if not even the odds.
 
Reo yelps and spins away, "Pilot!" The dog lunges at the command, grabbing the assailants ankle in his jaws and yanking. Reo drew the sword and slashed at the opponents weapon, jaw tight.

He didn't kill, wouldn't. But he would make it so this person couldn't hurt him or Pilot.
 
The stalkers sickle turned , hook side outward to catch and twist, binding the pair together to keep a hold of their weapon. The pain of the dogs bite, more pressure that fangs in the assailants high boots. The dogs pulling made them reach with their off hand, pawing quickly in their cloak for the short revolver they kept, a black scuffed thing, beaten abd repaired countless times. They drew it quickly, trying to take aim on Reo. He had limitations on engagement. His assailant however had none.
 
Reo stumbles back, snapping his fingers. Pilot let go and rushes over to duck behind Reo. "What do you want?" He snaps, his grip tight on Pilot's collar.

He was tense, staring at the gun and ready to move if he had to.
 
The revolver-wielding hand trembled faintly, the amalgam of pain and flow of blood creeping up their arm, the scout lowered the sickle next, gesturing to the dog with it pointedly. The killer's finger curled at the trigger. A raspy voice rattling from under the filters and ports. "Your food." They said cooly.
 
"My. . ." He looks at Pilot and scoffs. "My dog is not food!"

He wraps his arm protectively around Pilot. "He can hunt, but he is not the food." He stays between the stranger and Pilot, tenses.
 
"Wasteful. It's not even going to last forever, may as well have what you can it'll just get torn up in the end." Thet says as they watched the pair turlrtle up. Playing the odds. "You really want to die with that thing,"
 
"He brings in food!" He nuzzles into the dog, "He brings in more food in the long run than he would be for a few days."

He kisses Pilot's ear, "You shoot that gun, you'll bring the hoard that's nearby."
 
The scouts mask made them impossible to read, the pause hlthe threat of drawing in a hoard brought made them tilt their head slowly. The pistol still at the ready, pointing at Reo. The hand clicked the hammer, slowly, setting it back to safety. "The only smart thing I've heard from your mouth." They said as they lowered the weapon to half ready , clearly not completely willing to trust Reo , or Pilot without it. "Doesn't mean my demands are different, food, or a bullet."
 
Reo glares, "I'm not giving you my dog." His body tremors, and he takes a deep breath. He scratches behind Pilot's ear, watching and smiling slightly as the pet lick his hand.

"It's too dangerous to send him out to hunt. So either you leave, or you wait, but if you don't put that damn gun down. . . We're going to have a problem."

His fingers curl around his staff as he stares at the stranger.
 
"Not your dog. Don't you have any other supplies?" They said with a tilt of the head, seeming to take the threat onto account. His thumb tapped the hammer. "It's a delicate thing. If you attack, whose to know if it will go off and bring the hoard you were worried?" They said as they stared him down. Those glinting red lenses not giving anything back. "How about we both lay our weapons aside?"
 
"What I drop my gun and you jump me with the dog and staff...same time." They countered again, flicking his wrist as they opened up the revolvers cylinder, cupping a hand underneath they even pushed the central release to empty it. Flicking it shut, he waited, only moving to put it on the counter as Reo did the same.
 
Reo watches and then stands, setting his staff aside. He sighs, looking in his bag, quiet for long moments. "I don't have anything you'd want." He shrugs.

"Just cans of dog food." He lifts one of the cans, looking at the stranger before opening it and setting it down, letting Pilot eat.
 
The stalker growled under the mask. "You've got food just for your pet, but none for yourself. Are you trying to get yourself killed." They shook their head. "Pointless. Stupid." They hissed as they stepped back. "No food, nothing worth trading away for what I found. My recovery group will be here soon, so I think you should leave." They said, a partial lie. Reo had nothing worth taking, except the dog anyway, but they also had no group coming. No community left to truck the water stockpile they were sitting on.
 
Reo glares, "He hunts. He brings me food. Why worry about carrying food around when my dog brings it to me?" He tilts his head, and then looks away.

"Right. Whatever."
 
"And when the walkers chase the fresh meat away? Hunting only functions so long as it can be found." They said indifferently. "You're going to run out of food, not like you can cool it."
 
Reo shrugs, "Then I go hungry." He stands, stretching his arms up over his head. "I'm used to it." He rubs his face and looks at Pilot.

"But it doesn't happen too often." He mumbles, glancing at the stranger. He frowns, "And what makes you think I can't cook a squirrel or a bird? You don't know me."
 
"Ah so you can get it for about 2 weeks before it gets questionable." They jabbed further. Then paused briefly, a faint shuffling outside pulling at their attention. The stalker pulled back, moving further into the back aisles. Their arguments and bickering would only draw in more problems.
 
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