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[Intro Log #01] Enjoy your new vacation home

INTRO LOG #01

The Crash

"-̭̫̜̩̪̑̈́̓̌̐-̞͓̘̩͖̿́͒͑͘░͙͈̥̦̼̌̊̒̾̅░̨̢̠͙̖̉͊̽͌͝░̫͔͎̤̘̀̑͋͛̾ȩ̨̬̙͛̐̋̀̕͜m̻̬͈̠͒̌͌̍͌͜ ̡̲͈̙̼̽̾͆̊̃f̖̟͉̲̪̈́̾̀̂̀ą̢̯̘̙́̇͑̈̋i̪̱̙̘̟͌́̄̊͘ļ̢̛̲͕̣͐̎̿͛u͕̣̥̘̳̓̃͗͠͝r͉̠̗͖̰̉̅͗̚͘ę̛̺̥̝̘̄͑̌̈́.̣̫͕̰̭̓͂̈́̓͊ ̟̗͔̟͋̿̒̚̚ͅA̠̫̬̼̣̒̇͛́̊l̫̬͎̤͈͑̀͂̐̆ë̡̧̝̺͖́̍̂͂͝r͙͍̱̫͕̆͊̾͐̕ţ͙̻̣̝͒́̄̈́͆!͕̫͓͉̹̌̍̽̂̓ ̧̛̲͎͖̳̌̆̾̏░͖̲̞̼̹̇̄̌̈́̊░̡͍͎͍̘̇̈́̕͝░̪͚̼̦̃̋͊̆͜͠è̛̞̬͙̠̖̊͌̂m͖̝̟̗̣̽̄̐̚͠ ̛̹̯͈̮̼̈́͊͌͠f̧̰̖͋̊̈̊̑͜͜ą̨͚͎̹̀̎̑͋́i̞̬͓̭̳̎́̓͘͠l̢͈̲͇͕̈́̆̐̌̈́ư̰̞͚̻̺̔͑̓̑ṛ͎̯͚̇̔̾̔̏͜ę̛̻̼̭͊͆̕͜͝.̯̖̫̣͔̔̋̔̽͠ ̺̼̟̲͌́͒̔̅ͅĄ̹̝̖̺̂̇̽̒͊ĺ̛̺̰̰̤͎̾͗͝e̛̗̭̻͕̹̓̔͆̆r̢̛͙͖̘̻̈̚̚͘t̰̲̠̖̻̉͂̆̓̇!̬̞̟͉̺̂͆̊͑͐"

You awaken to godawful static overlaying a female voice that's too monotone to be anything but a recording. The static makes it difficult to understand the warning, but it's clearly a warning if your surroundings tell you anything...

You're buckled into a sturdy seat bolted to the wall behind you. Around you, there are dozens of others like you, some awake and others still unconscious, but it seems most of the seats lining the walls are occupied. The lights are dim, likely auxiliary lighting, leaving you mostly in the dark. You smell smoke and hear the sizzling crackle of electrical systems popping and shorting out. Some of the seats were jarred off the wall, leaving the occupants either wounded or dead. Count yourself lucky all you have is a headache and various aches accounted to whiplash.

You appear to be in a drop ship or an escape vessel of some form but the pilot is dead and the hull bears a massive gash where it buckled under the impact and sheered off. Through the door-sized opening, you can see vegetation. The air that wafts in is heavy with a humid heat, but it's obviously breathable.

Once you make your way outside, you'll see greenery: Trees, grass, and shrubs tangled with vines that grow wildly and suffocate the trees they climb. In the distance, behind the ship, you can make out a sandy desert that seems to stretch on endlessly. Forward through the trees, however, you may see a crumbling wall, but more importantly, you'll see signs of civilisation. Buildings and other structures seem contained within those decrepit walls. Maybe the natives can fill you in on what's going on, because the last thing you remember isn't being in an escape shuttle. As a matter of fact, you don't remember much about your arrival or where you are. But it's going to be a bit of a hike, better get moving. Though you might want to grab the backpack of supplies under your seat before you go.

"W̞͓̝͓̓̀̍̒͘͜ȃ̢̗̪̤͇̔̃̚͝░̟͙̯̳̱̈͂̈́̈́͠n̬̘̬̤̠͛̅̈́͋͝i͓̟͈͎͙̐̆̈́̔̓n̡̟̤̟̤̑͐͋͐̚g̩̱͖͉̻͌͛̈͆̈́!̧̪̰͇̦̓̂̆̌͝ ̢͔̣̠̗̾̉́̌̒C̢̥̟͍͊͊͑̀̚ͅr̛͙̪̙̟͐̽̓̅͜i̫͖̻̣̘̽̑͂̾̎t̩͇̦̬̞͊̌̑̈́͝i̡̳̠̞̐̿̍̎̀͜c̡͕͙͕͕̓̊̌̾͘å̼̯͍̙̲̍̏̚͝l̢̥͉̮̙̋̆͐̆́ ̢̰̞͕̯̋̈́̈́̋͌f͇͔̟̻̈̽͌̒̉ͅa̳̰̠͉͔͒̑̈̈͘i̟̭̦̺͎̍̾̽̈́̐░͕̣̥̭͛̿̓̽̐ͅ░̰̪̠͇͍̆͛̀͝͝░̘̱̩̳̘͆̈́̆̀̚e̛̻͈̳̳̺̊̔̚̕.͙̟̳̼̾̀̅͊͊ͅ"

With that, the power dies, leaving the drop ship in the dark, crackling and groaning as the hull cools from its catastrophic re-entry.

[Mod Note: In case you missed the testdrive, this is your chance to play out your arrival or any other intro CR]

Traversing the Forest

Between the crash and the ruined city is a lush forest full of skittish wild life, the ruins of a farmhouse-like structure, various flora, and the occasional body. Try not to get too close to those bodies, kids. They have a tendency to wake up and try to get ya. The closer to the city one gets, the more frequently they'll see a dormant body.

Hopefully you took the time to set up your small ear piece. Once inserted into the ear, the device will prompt you for your name. Once spoken, the device in your ear will be given its own address and all someone has to do is tap the button on their ear piece, speak "private to" then their friend's name, and it will open a private channel to the comm device coded with that name. Open radio signals can be sent by simply tapping the button and speaking.

Once you reach the city gates, you will find a mass of corpses piled against the closed gates. These corpses will stir when they catch the scent of the survivors or hear their approach. You may want to take care of the dormant infected before they fully regain awareness. Or, you know, trip the closest person to you and run like hell. Maybe they'll be too distracted chewing on your former friend to follow...

Once inside the city, you'll meet its only surviving occupant. He's a bit unique and a bit... well... he's unique.

⨷ TK Baha's Warm Welcome

⨷[TALK]

"Smells like livin' folk. Yer just lucky I got no munitions left."

Sitting on a porch with a shotgun balanced in his lap was a scarred gentleman wearing dark goggle-like glasses. He was missing a leg and looked a little worse for the wear. His voice was thick with a drawl, but he seemed to be well and alive. He chuckled and lowered the shotgun back to his lap, patting the barrel.

"Naw, ain't seen nothin' worth shootin' in a long time. Heehee! Ohhh-hoo boy, you lot've seen better days. Well, come on over here and git that gate shut before somethin' with an appetite thinks we're open for business." TK smiled and laughed again, beckoning the shipwrecked survivors to come closer. "Let's see. First things first, you lot gotta have somewhere to stay. Hotel's open an' prices 're cheaper than ever! Forgive the staff, they ain't too lively, though if you know what I mean. Heeheehee! You get it, right? 'cause they're all dead. Make yerselves at home. You're gonna be here a while."

TK pulls out an old, worn, folded pamphlet and holds it out. There are plenty to go around. "This here's a tourist's guide ta everythin' ya need to know. Or, well, kinda some of it. Anyway, it's useful. Take it. The name's TK Baha and I been around these parts a while. Anything you need, you let me know, okay?"

"You got a good set a' legs, right? See, I gotta ask you a favour. I ain't been keeping up with things. Gonna need you to find me a power cell for this here transceiver. Think I stashed the last one at the hotel reception desk. Or was it the minimart? The fuel station? Anyway, you get me that and I'll get this here piece of scrap workin' again."

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[Daryl was afraid he'd do more than just get her killed, but the fact that it was the first thought the man voiced as he gave up was enough to make Daryl hesitate for a moment. He took a half step back, put his weight on his back foot, and lifted his chin. His shoulders dropped a bit with the action while he stared in confusion and disgust at Castiel.

His hand was already slipping over the handle of his knife.]

...you were thinking about killing her?

[What kind of sick fuck...]

[ Castiel was still nervous, messed up from his ordeal, and at the hint of movement, his own body naturally responded. Though he still hung loose, the tip of his own blade eased downward, invisible behind his palm. He was ready to defend himself, if it came to that.

Only defend himself, not fight back. ]

Should I? She's harmless.

[ Or at least she seems to be. ]

I think you've misjudged me.

[ Best to get it out now, rather than be caught unable to say it with a knife to his throat. ]

[What the hell kind of question was that? Should he think about killing her? The fuck was up with this guy?

Daryl's grip firmed up, and his mouth opened as he stared, blinking as his anger bled away in light of pure confusion. Whoever the man was, he was no longer acting in a way that set Daryl off. Was getting harder and harder to read. To judge. Daryl didn't want to take chances, but the body language and the verbal language just wasn't matching up.]

Yeah? How so?

[ Castiel, on the other hand, softens as Daryl's concern gives way to confusion. He curls his hands upward, bending his arm so that the blade slips away again. Carefully, he pulls his shirt sleeves back into place, angling his head.

He'll understand. Especially since Castiel drops his tone to convey the words with adequate gravitas. ]

I only kill children when I have to. When there's no other way.

[ He tries to convey that he understands with just a scrunch of his eyes: Sometimes there is no other way. ]

How many walkers you kill?

[The question came without thought and Daryl wasn't sure why he felt it appropriate at ask right then and there. The man in front of him was still sending mixed signals, but the assurance, the firmness he held in his tone, that spoke to Daryl on a level he didn't quiet understand.

With the continued confusion came a nervousness, and Daryl stiffened, body lines tight. He was paying much closer attention to Castiel now. Clearly and obviously studying him and every tiny detail about him as he waited for the answer.]

One.

[ One, and he considers himself lucky that he made it this far with so little blood spilled. But there's some distance between them now, which means he can address the confusion, try to make some kind of connection. ]

I've spent the last year fighting worse things than these. Monsters, which pursued us restlessly, day and night.

You call them walkers? The undead?

[One. But he was killing other monsters? Worse than walkers?

Daryl licked his dry lips and instead of answering Castiel, asked the next question.]

How many people you kill?

[The use of 'us' meant the man had a group of his own. Maybe by monsters, he meant other people threatening his group.]

[ Tens...perhaps hundreds of thousands. It's such an unfortunate question. Tied up in his grief, over his time as "God", possessed by Leviathan, his service to Heaven and the deaths that had been ordered. Sodom and Gomorrah, the fall of Babylon--there is so much blood on his hands; uncountable blood.

Castiel weighs it all, mourns it all, and for the first time his eyes drop away. The grief is evident in his voice, but it's not enough, doesn't feel like enough.

How many people have you killed? How many angels? ]

Too many.

Edited 2016-02-13 21:19 (UTC)

[That was the first real emotion Daryl had got from the man. And one he could sympathize with. His guilt haunted him. He could probably name the number if he wanted to, but it hurt so much for him to contemplate...

Daryl didn't take his hand off his knife, but his grip eased and he asked the last question very softly.]

Why?

[ Castiel can't name the number. A lot of the memories from his past are foggy, he can only speculate. And he'd smited Madison Square Gardens... Who knew how many people had been there at the time? Except Castiel--Castiel knew.

Some of them had been children. ]

The reason was never the same. For the longest time, I was only following orders, but there was no excuse for what I did. For what I've done.

[ Speaking honestly is one thing, but the questions only brush against being too intimate. Daryl isn't pressing him, and his questions are reasonable. It's impossible to say why he's asking them, but he doesn't doubt, or falter, in giving his answers. ]

[Following orders. And ones he probably hadn't agreed with but hoped were the right thing to do because the people he followed said to do them and he trusted those people. Just a guess, based on how he said it. How he looked. He wasn't trying to make excuses.

Daryl gulped, sucked in a deep breath, then crossed his arms. His fingers curling into the arm holes of the leather vest he wore over his sleeveless button up.]

We call 'em walkers 'cause that's what they do. They walk. They should't but the virus, it's inside all of 'em. Inside all of us. When you die, if your brain ain't destroyed, you'll get up and walk, too.

[ It was good of Daryl to fill in all the blanks for him. Castiel didn't know how to fill them in himself. He had trusted those people...and then he'd become one of them. ]

You've seen them before.

[ Though it's phrased like a question it isn't one. ]

--But you're not a hunter?

Yeah. I have.

[But this was the other man's first time seeing them. And then the strange question. Like being a hunter was about more than just deer and ducks and squirrels.]

They been around a while. World that was went to shit a couple years ago and this is life for us now. Where you been that you ain't seen it before?

[He's just going to leave the hunter thing alone for now. See if he could figure out what that was about through context clues. This man, whoever he was, he was being a lot more open now. Getting easier to read.]

[ Castiel considers the question for a few moments, first looking down at the floor, then away at the broken windows of the building, the sand that has blown across the floor. It's clear he's contemplating his answer. ]

There was a virus... [ He began. ] But we stopped it. We destroyed it at the source.

[ Maybe that's it. Not a difference in worlds, but a difference in realities. That he can deal with; in fact, it almost makes sense. And this world would be just another one of them, fractured off. Not that it matched. None of those infected by the Croatoan virus had needed to die first. ]

It sounds like you weren't as fortunate.

You saying you from another world? Another planet?

[Daryl's pretty much accepted the whole aliens thing at this point. Green skinned women were hard to argue with and, of the group, Daryl had always been the most open to strangeness being legit. And there was that woman in the medical gown that was from another planet who'd never heard of Earth. So if the man was another human-looking person from a place that wasn't Earth, his way of acting might just be a lost-in-translation thing.

Daryl wasn't asking in an accusatory or disbelieving way, either. He wanted to make sure he was understanding the implication of the statements.]

Another Earth. Is it so difficult to believe? Didn't you wake up, as I did, in that burning wreckage?

[ Castiel had run into odd people too, but... Well, his reality is a lot more flexible; he can write almost anything off as unusual but not impossible. Even crashed space ships isn't entirely out of the question. ]

There are other versions of reality, alternate versions of Creation. [ He's not about to mention magic, considering this man had been ready to jump him moments ago. In fact, it might be better to carry on the way he is, concealing the fact that he's an angel of the Lord. It works better that way. ]

What's your name?

Dead walk every day.

[Daryl shrugged his acceptance of the answer, not really questioning the idea. Sure, he wasn't really certain he believed it. But he'd seen a chupacabra. He'd seen the dead walk. His reality was pretty fucked up already.

He chewed at his lower lip before lifting a hand up so he could chew at his thumb instead.]

Daryl. Dixon. Yours?

[ Only the slightest hesitation before the not-quite-lie: ]

Jimmy.

[ "Castiel" arouses too many questions. Jimmy is human. It's a good name, the name of a man with a wife and a child from Pontiac, Illinois.

He tips his head very slightly. Perhaps he could use that to reassure Daryl somehow? Honestly, Dean is going to be so furious with him later. ]

Claire. My daughter's name is Claire.

[The given name was a lie. The man wasn't very good at lying. Kind of how Glenn used to be. That, or he was so good it was making Daryl think he wasn't.

But the daughter now... that sounded more real. And it would explain some of how the man had been eyeing Athena in that strange way. How he'd been reacting to her. About the same as someone with ill intentions would react.

With a frown, Daryl's eyes narrowed and his shoulders hunched again.]

The girl ain't yours.

[Athena wasn't this Claire. She wasn't 'Jimmy's' to protect.]

Her name's Athena.

[ At least he could maintain the ruse, if pressed. Jimmy had existed, and Castiel knew his life inside and out. But he wasn't called on the lie, which meant that it would hold, however temporarily. It was just a name, though. Claire, on the other hand? Claire was real, and Castiel had almost gotten her killed. ]

I know. I'm aware of the difference. [ A pause. ] I'll respect your boundaries.

[ He tipped his head agreeably, expression still twisted into concern with a little edge of that guilt still there. ]

Have you found any...power cells?

[Daryl's hand dropped away from his mouth, back to the arm hole of his vest, and he gave a slow nod. He'd still be watching Jimmy, but he had a promise from the man that he wouldn't be confusing Athena for someone that was his.

At the other question, Daryl shook his head.]

Ain't been looking.

[ He'll take it. Wary acceptance is something he can work with. And hey, at least he can slow down now. There's nothing primordial and evil chasing him. Might even loosen enough to make...friends. Maybe. Later.

He tipped his head, curiously. It had occurred to him that maybe he oughtn't to be looking for the power cell - following orders, slipper slope - but it was what he'd been asked for, and really it wasn't so much work, right? ]

Well, what are you looking for? Anything I can help you with?

[ Apart from the pine tree and the dolphin, Castiel is...unburdened. No supplies at all, no visible weapons, just a man in a scruffy coat. ]

Whatever's useful.

[And what was useful was completely obvious to Daryl, because he'd learned through a couple of years of trial and error what seemingly random objects could be re-purposed and what was just a waste of space in the most literal sense. To Jimmy, it might not be. The man was wearing an air freshener on his shirt button and another on his wrist.

Daryl looked him over, up and down, mouth working as he drew his tongue over his teeth while he considered what he was seeing. Probably should clarify.]

Things that can be used for more than just what they was created to do. Not a lot of that around so far. But what's left of them notepads... the wires on them could be worth saving. Could break some of the shelving, turn it into weapons. Whatever's good for stabbing. Might try and climb into the ceiling, strip the electrical. The light bulbs. Wires like that are good for making snares out of if nothing else. Shit like that.

[ Castiel tilts his head upward again, considering his surroundings, the ceiling tiles, some of them hanging open. With the slightest nod of his head he acknowledges it. ]

Wires for making traps. Ingenious. I can do that.

[ Even if it's been a long time since he saw anyone using those kinds of traps. It's all the kind of practical talk that convinces him of one thing: ]

You are a hunter. Was it always that way, or something you were forced into by circumstance?

[ See? A little more talkative now, with questions of his very own. ]

[Daryl shrugs again.]

Since I were a kid. My dad and brother, they'd take me out with them sometimes. More often the older I got. Would go out with my uncle, too. Daddy's friend, Buck.

[He still has a feeling that he's not the kind of hunter Jimmy's thinking of, but he thinks that might just be the lost in translation thing from being from another uh... earth... reality... thing.]

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