[AoS] Hitting the Town (Amazons + town defenders)

It sat in a bowl that was once the upper portion of a human skull. It sat on a table that was made of human bones, in a fortress that was also made of human bones. Its stench was once enough to make Kaitlyn gag, and even vomit. It was so terrible that even now, after years of post-apocalyptia, some of Kaitlyn's fellow amazons still had trouble stomaching it.

It was breakfast.

Sometimes, she wondered if this stuff would taste better if she gagged herself and mixed some of her own vomit into it, first. At least it would have more flavor that way. Even so, Kaitlyn had made the mistake of not eating too many times to make it again this morning. She held her breath, then grabbed the bowl in her hands and slurped down as much of it as she could, as quickly as she could. The less time this stuff spent in her mouth, and the less of its stench she inhaled, the better. Then, she chased it down with some slightly-less-than-clean water, which was in a small goblet that was also made of bone.

With that done, she wiped her mouth off with the dusty sleeve of an extremely frayed and severely patched-up denim jacket. If she wasn't careful, these sleeves would engulf her entire hand. One of the many disadvantages to being immortal was never growing up. Though 15 years of age, the ex-Orderling still looked like a 12-year-old.

"We don't really have much to trade, Kitra." Kaitlyn cut in. "Pretty sure the Queen means it's time to kill some idiots and take their stuff."

There was a tinge of enthusiasm in her voice. It wasn't the 'killing idiots' part that she enjoyed, necessarily, even if it did break up the monotony of post-apocalyptic living. It was the 'stuff' that she was looking forward to getting her hands on. Especially better food. Maybe, she hoped, she could find another twinkie this time. People stopped making them three years ago, but they still tasted just as good as they did back then. They must never expire.

Allison’s boots, unlike others, were not in bad condition, despite having been acquired barely after the destruction day. In fact, her boots were in very good condition. This was mainly because she rarely wore them, instead wearing a pair of flip flops, surrounded by a couple layers of rags, unless she was leaving the fortress.

On that note, where were her boots? Probably in her room, but it had been a few days, and she did tend to leave things in Aura’s room from time to time….

Regardless, though, Queen Maxine’s boots appeared to be worn, so they needed to be replaced. Whether Allison would also acquire anything was… doubtful, particularly in regards to footwear. It was difficult enough to find shoes that fit when there was a whole worldwide economy to search through; after that economy was destroyed, it became difficult enough that Allison quickly stopped bothering. Thus, her skill at creating rag-based footwear.

That, however, was irrelevant. Queen Maxine wanted to go shopping, so the Amazons would go shopping. Allison nodded acknowledgement, and went back to poking at their breakfast, trying to think of some way to improve it.

Perhaps trying to improve it wasn’t worth the trouble, since it had yet to succeed, ever. Really, though, it wasn’t like there was much she could do to make the food they had remaining worse by the time she got around to cooking, so why not try? At least she created variety.

And Allison would not be convinced otherwise.

Another day in the bone fortress with her Big Sisters. Dahlia was grateful these days just for waking up to see another day. It wasn't easy surviving after the world went mad and she'd had to grow up quick after the blast. It hadn't stopped her from getting neck deep into the trouble that brought her to the bone fortress. That was okay. Of course she was still more lenient than almost everyone in the place other than maybe Big Sister Allison. She always seemed more mellow than the others. Dahlia didn't really like the raiding and theft they did to survive but she'd reconciled herself to the idea that it was necessary.

Though whoever they'd stolen the stuff for today's breakfast from ought to be shot.

Even in her own room Dahlia smelled the substance and based on that could guess what today was going to be. Still, she put on a smile and wandered into the kitchen. Noting Queen Maxine's boots Dahlia smirked a little on the inside. Sometimes being too awkward for clothes and shoes paid off. Dahlia grabbed a seat, ignoring the stuff called food. Big Sister Sveta had tried but Dahlia wasn't going to eat that. Not when she, unlike her Big Sisters, could get sustenance from any bugs they ran across. On that note the bone fortress had zero roach problems. So they were going to go raiding. Well at least she might get to ride the war dogs and come up with a new set of War Colors. That was a plus.

Oh, what he wouldn't give for a little breakfast.

Tinaker had found a good chunk of diddly squat. The dog had been prowling since last night and was now trotting back to his master with an empty snout. He'd been scouring through ruined buildings and empty streets all night long, looking for anything with a beating heart large enough to fill a belly. Astor, the larger of his two dogs, remained close to Miles, as always, while the young man sat on the shadow of a leaning wall, waiting for the smaller dog's return.

"It's Ok" he said as his thrall approached him. "It's not your fault."

Right. Like the dog cared. They're not the ones who suffered from hunger or thirst and Miles had never managed to get in their heads to pick their thoughts, beyond just linking his mind with their senses. They were empty blanks that simply obeyed every order he commanded and throughout the years, the mutant had stopped thinking of them as animals or companions. They were tools. Unfeeling robots. Things. He still talked to them though. Old habits die hard.

Life had been rough on the young mutant. His bones were starting to show through his skin but maybe they wouldn't if he stopped sharing his catches with the rest of the townies. His beard was thin as well, soft as first beards usually are. It didn't give him any warmth, it didn't make him look like a badass but it made him look older than his eighteen years and looking older simply made people think you were more competent or trustworthy and trustworthiness was a good quality to have. They wouldn't have let him keep the rifle otherwise.

Nine bullets was all the power of death Miles carried in his hands and it was a good power to have. He had realized he was the weak link of the pack and one of his greatest weaknesses was not being able to hit from range. The rifle helped to fill that gap, even if he hadn't had the munitions to practice with it that often, but if any problem came at him, he'd at least have nine tries to deal with it.

Miles stood, hung his hunting rifle on the shoulder and dusted off his old, dirty grey jacket and black shirt. His jeans were torn on knees and hems and his sneakers were mismatched, but he'd never been concerned with looks and had always opted for things having a practical use. Everything was dirty grey and black in this bleak world and his jacket and shirt made him blend right in.

"Let's head for the farms" he pointlessly told his dogs as if they had any say on the matter. "Maybe they'll trade some food for services, because I have nothing to give them."

((ooc: In case anyone missed the cbox memo: we're going to hit up a farm first, to give the townies some extra time to plot.

Also: For funsies, I'm giving Maxine only five War Dogs, besides her own (six total). Should make things a little more convoluted interesting on our end. I'll leave it up to you gals to decide who has a papery steed, who's riding double, and who has to find their own way of picking through the rubble. <3

PS: Don't be afraid to skip me some days, if I'm being a slow poster! I made that "one post per day" rule with slow folks like me in mind. I'm sure you gals can get up to all kinds of mischief just fine without me. <3))



It wasn't as hard to get around the city these days as it had been, back in the beginning.

Like forests receding as villages became towns, the city ruins were being shifted and cannibalized wherever groups gathered for long. It might be as simple as a patch of ground swept clean by a group that needed to sleep for the night, or as progressive and deliberate as a town trying to rebuild society from its rubble.

Townies, incidentally, tended to have great shoes. The Town with a capital T even had a cobbler—apparently he'd been trying to make a living selling his wares at Renaissance festivals a few years back. With production lines and cheap Chinese labor out of the picture, she bet he was turning a better living now that he'd ever made back before the world ended.

She would love to get her hands on a pair of those shoes.

But first: groceries.

Most of the farms were outside of the city limits, of course; out where farms had always been. She'd rented out one of Celeste's Geiger counters for a day, once, and run it over some of the donations they'd collected way out there. Suffice it to say: it hadn't been worth a second trip. She didn't know why, but the closer crops were grown to Sebastian's church, the safer they seemed to be. Not that she was about to point that out to any of his believers—she did not buy in to the rapture spiel, and would rather not give those promise-bound converts any more ammunition. A sparkling white symbol of healing and purity as their deity was bad enough.

Whatever the reason, she believed in eating locally.

The farms had been a scattered thing at first: little plantings here and there, where there were ready green spaces, and exposed soil in tracks big enough to work with. Central Park had been a quick convert; other parks had soon followed suit, rows of corn fencing in cracked basketball courts, and string beans planted in neat rows, climbing up and over swing sets re-appropriated to act as trellises. They weren't all in the most... defensible locations. Parks rarely were. Some effort had been made to stack their rubble into stone walls as they'd grown, but the ones set away from major groups were not exactly heavily defended.

It was to one of those that they were aiming now: to the former site of Bryant Park. The New York City Library had once stood adjacent to it; parts of it still stood, marking the refurbished walls of a quaint little commune of plant and earth mutants who liked to mind their own business. She had no idea what had become of the library's books. Probably traded off to people who cared for literary light, or burned for a more literal light, back when things were still so cold.

Cold was not an issue they had during the days anymore. Not during summer, anyway. Maxine wore her dusty leather coat, but it was only for protection against scrapes and bruises and the occasional too close set of claws, not for the weather.

The redhead let her paper dog pick its way through the ruins as it saw fit. For the most part, that was straight through: having paws that couldn't feel traditional pain came with the perk of not caring about sharp rocks and broken glass. Legs of the same meant that climbing up the slanted side of a fallen building or jumping a crumpled wall was no more tiring than picking a gentler way around. For any of their members traveling on foot, it might not be so easy, of course; but the mounted Amazons waited for their stragglers to catch up, and never let the groups get too far apart.

Strength in numbers was a lesson she'd learned early.

Another reason the city was easier to travel these days: it was home. It wasn't what it had been, but the twisting paths, the blind alleys, the hiding places and ambush spots formed by its ruins—to any group living outside of a neatly cleared town, these were home. Finding a path through was no harder than navigating the old city's streets had been, for girls with a reason to learn their geography

The farm was out of sight right up until that last turn of street; then a green space suddenly opened up in the field of broken, towering gray.

"Would you look at that," Maxine said quietly, with an air of almost reverence, "they grew strawberries for us."

So considerate.