((ooc: This has the potential to be a big ol' brawl thread, so methinks we should do the usual brawl/large party posting system. That is: don't worry about posting order. Every character can post once per day. That way the fast posters won't run loops around everyone else, and the slow posters won't hold anyone up. Feel free to break off into side threads once we get going if you'd like to rapid fire with someone in particular; just post the link here so everyone can follow along. <3))


Her boots were worn out.

They were a good pair, too—they'd cost her an almost-matching set of earrings and her favorite mouser, over at Celeste's. It had been Isabel's idea to toss the spotted cat in a bag and bring it along for bargaining: for some reason, the bonemancer had always preferred rats to cats.

They'd been really nice boots. Black leather: genuine pre-apocalypse mint, still in their somewhat weathered box. And now, just look at them: covered in gray dust, scuffed near to pieces under that, soles worn down, cracking, and—and was that a nail? Seriously?

When she made her way down to breakfast, it was with a boot in one hand. Her knife was in her other, digging the stuck nail out with a passion. Breakfast smelled like... smelled like...

Uck. What was worse: the fact that that was in the pot, or the fact that she could recognize it with a whiff? Supplies. They needed new supplies. And boots.

The redhead didn't bother with good morning or lovely dust clouds today, wouldn't you say? She just dropped her boot on the table. It made a dull thud: rubber on bone. The whole fortress was bone: walls, stairs, even the fireplace, done in unnaturally wide beams that fit together with a perfection that proved they'd been made for each other, in the most literal way. The table was an entirely different creature, though: it was clear that human hands had set each line and joint. Isabel might be the one with the natural talent, but it was Aura who made it art.

There was a time when the redhead would have been bothered, having at a table of human bones in her kitchen. Especially when she could picture the men they'd come from. That leg bone, the small one towards the middle—he'd had freckles, and a broken nose. The one over there, to the left—he'd had an even bigger tab at Zephyr's than she did. And that one, the one she'd dropped her dirty boot on—he'd had been a regular asshole. That had been the night she'd met Aura.

Good memories.

"Ladies," the redhead announced, "we're going shopping."

((ooc: I'm thinking one round in the fortress for any initial scene setting you fine ladies would like to set up, and then I'll get us to the town gates with my next post. <3))

Kitra yawned and stretched and peered around her with sleep fogged eyes. She was in her room at the Amazon fortress. She cleared her eyes with a few blinks and put her feet over her bone bed, which had been trussed up with nice blankets for a decent amount of comfort. Kitra pulled on her sandals and then pulled their worn out cloth coverings over them. She stood and pulled her bone comb through her hair to get out tangles and pulled it into a braid and after binding the end, she threw it over her shoulder and walked out of her room.

Kitra sniffed with disdain as breakfast wafted to her nose as she made her way towards the smell and came upon Queen Maxine. "Morning, Queen Maxine. Did I hear you say shopping?" Kitra was grinning slightly as she sat down as well.

She eyed the Amazon Queen's boots and swallowed a chuckle. Shopping meant either trade, or raiding. Raiding normally meant fighting and fighting was great fun. "Are we trading or are we going into a town?" Kitra was curious, she was also hungry but she wasn't hungry enough to go eat what was in that pot just yet.

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.

Ever since everything had been destroyed Syn had been wearing her cyber goth clothing more than she used to. In the past it was for going to clubs or occasionally just for a different look. Now, however, it was more out of function and durability.

Sitting at the edge of her bone bed she slipped on and buckled up one of her two remaining sets of heavy boots. Once finished she opened the nice bone trunk her oldest friend Isabel had made for her to keep her things. Grabbing her goggles and placing them on her head she moved the lenses up more towards the top of her head holding her hair back. Throwing on her tarnished black leather trench coat she made her way to breakfast.

It had taken some getting used to living with some of the others in the fortress, but deep down the dark princess knew it was for their survival.

Syn noticed Maxine, Kitra and little Kaitlyn were already there. The…smell…of breakfast was that of something best left alone. They needed to get some actual food. Syn sat down and watched Kaitlyn swallow a big gulp of…whatever it was and followed suit.

Just before her own bit of gagging commenced something took her mind off what just slid down into her stomach and made her smile. Maxine said the magic word. Shopping! Kitra asked the ever important question of which type of shopping they were going to do, while Kaitlyn responded with her own idea of what the plan was to be.

Syn always had to swallow her pride when addressing Maxine as “Queen” after being more of an alpha type back during the days of The Order, but it was something she would eventually get over or occupy her mind with something else. “Morning Queen Maxine. Ladies. I agree with Kaitlyn. We’re running low on supplies so trading would be difficult. Besides, it’s always more fun for everyone when we ambush poor unsuspecting caravans or hit towns.”

Isabel had been watching the pot with the suspicious contents in it simmering for a good twenty minutes or so by the time Maxine had sauntered into the kitchen. She still wasn't sure what exactly had been put on the menu for breakfast, and she wasn't so sure she wanted to know honestly. They certainly wouldn't be dragging up anything on part with meals even a fast food joint would have served, but usually whatever the cook of the day had decided to serve at least smelled edible. She couldn't quite place the scent billowing out of the pot along with the greyish smoke. It sort of reminded her of a cross between freshly snuffed matches and burnt rubber.

Her feet were propped up on the table as their Lady Leader dropped a pair of boots on the surface as well, the things looking as if they'd seen better days. Her own boots were in a better state, though they weren't exactly in out-of-the-box condition. Her footwear tended to last a little longer as she'd taken to going largely barefoot around the Fortress as well as outside if she could help it. When it got to be about midday, the ground grew a bit too hot for bare skin, though, and sharp debris was always a concern.

Her clothing options tended to be much the same way. While out collecting donations from the nearby settlements she often opted for a more custom sort of covering, if it could really be called much of a covering as all. Far less skin showed in the outfit she adorned while lazing around the Fortress or while out bird watching for potential dinner options, though there was still a good amount of flesh exposed.

That was one thing she'd had to come to terms with after the City had been nearly flattened. Resources such as clothing became rather scarce as survivors looted and stockpiled whatever they could get their hands on. It only took so long before such resources began to run low and fell into a state of disrepair. She'd had to learn to live with patches of exposed skin, and truthfully it didn't bother her much anymore. In fact, it was rather useful when needing to make use of her skeletal structure in a hurry. It was easier to keep things in somewhat decent condition if they weren't constantly being ripped and torn.

And if anyone should be caught staring a little too long while she as out and about, well, Aura could always use more materials for her latest projects.

She stretched and arched a brow as Maxine addressed the small group and announced her plans for the Amazons that day. Shopping. That sounded like it could be fun. She always had liked the Amazon's brand of shopping, especially since it hardly ever cost them anything in return. Accepting payment in the form of their lives was usually good enough for most settlers. At least the semi-intelligent ones.

"Just say where and when, Lady M."

Regimes fall every day I tend to not weep over that. I'm Russian.

Sveta leaned against what would have qualified as the counter in a normal, pre-apocalyptic kitchen, and folded her arms over her chest. Said arms were uncovered, up to her pale shoulders, and there was a good five inches of skin showing above the belt line of her jeans too. She pulled a frown and blew stray strands of hair out of her face.

"Dis is what we have, dis is what we eat" she declared to all the frowning people around the table, ignoring the foul smelling breakfast herself "Next day you cook, you try make something better."

Queen Maxine walked in, and everyone greeted her with the respect she had earned. Sveta nodded too, and handed her the bowl of (for lack of a more specific term) breakfast.

"Shopping sounds good." she nodded. She knew exactly what Maxine meant by shopping. She was not opposed to it. After the past three years, there were not many things she would have been opposed to. Not in this sisterhood. Not anymore.

"See if we can find new bullets. I'm tired of kicking people. Wears out de boots."

Boots. Were important.

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.

Aura smelled breakfast she was not entirely sure what was being cooked, but Aura had been raised to eat whatever was not poisonous. Over the years Aura had a diet that included a vast number of species. The knowledge had served her well after the destruction and unlike many Aura cared little if the meat was human, deer or a much else.

Aura did not bother with shoes, and instead wore the black t-shirt and shredded Jeans she had passed out in. Aura's aura was almost always on these days casting her in a slight but almost ever present pink. AFter the destruction Aura had taken to leaving it on almost all the time. Sniffing the air again she caught a smell she found somewhat pleasant. Making her way to the Kitchen she caught a glimpse of Allison before her attention turned to Maxine's words.

A raid, Aura smiled brightly, raids usually meant a fight and their was little, these days Aura cared more about. Only Allison and the Amazons mattered more to her then the simple joy of combat. Aura acquired what she needed on such raid's but for her the real fun was in the fighting. Shaking the images of glory forming in her mind, Aura made her way across the Kitchen, and retracting the aura from her head, gave Allison a quick kiss on the cheek as she collected her own share of the meal, by stabbing a piece of the meat and bit into it, without comment or question Aura quickly consumed the foul piece of meat. Upon Finishing, she smiled and leaned against the wall not far from Alison.

"Shopping sounds like fun, just tell em when" Aura said with a bright smile.Aura thought back on the past few years and mused. Mutants now seemed to dominate the planet, but the world was a shattered husk of what it once had been. Now everyone ate much like Aura did, useually out of the same pot.

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.

Embers glowed at the bottom of the cast iron stove, giving off a reddish-orange flicker that barely reached to the far corners of the tiny room. Outside the window the first snowflakes of the new year joined hands and danced down through the golden beams of antique streetlamps that cut through the darkness.

The bitter cold infiltrated the tiny room a tendril at a time, through each of the tiny cracks and crevices seeped a young warrior of the winter winds, drafted at an early age to wage war against the warmth. The little stove worked steadily to keep out the invading cold, but it was losing the battle; it would soon be out of ammunition.

She knew she would have to get up soon to add enough wood to the fire soon, but it was so nice under the blanket; cuddling, entrenched against the cold. Five more minutes. She'd get up in five minutes.

A thud of rubber against bone. A clatter of a ladle in the pot. The smell of... ugh.

Katrina's eyes flickered open. Bones arched over her bed like the bars of a prison. At least this morning they weren't dripping red with the afterimages of her own nightmares. She closed her eyes again, willing herself to go back to sleep, to recover some sense of the nostalgic dream she had so been enjoying.

It was no use. There was too much excitement, too many loud voices. The Amazons were awake and itching for battle. The prospect was even less appetizing than breakfast.

Still, they were her family. She didn't always like their methods, but in these desperate times those methods were what allowed her to survive, and to help someone else survive, too. She could live with bone tables made from the bodies of Aura's victims if it meant she could pilfer enough table scraps to keep two people reasonably well fed.

I hope you're up for some healing later today. I have a good feeling there are going to be a couple of people that will need patching up.

She made her way to the kitchen and scraped some … she was just going to pretend it was chicken... into a recycled cranium. It was for survival. If she could stomach this, she could stomach anything.

With a little imagination, breakfast tasted halfway decent.

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."

The day was humid. An ever lasting feeling that had encroached after all that had transpired. The days could be cold or warm, but everyone still felt in between, like their emotions. They had no recognition for change in things that would come to pass after what happened 3 years ago, only the ideals of survivalism remained.

Now stood a room, four corners, a few tables and chairs, and an old CD player blaring a slightly loud track by the Rolling Stones that stood on a small table. At one of the larger tables sat the epitome of what some would call "sin". Sprawled on the table was an assortment of old canned goods and other eatable items. Along with it was a deck of cards that had been halved from the hand out. Four men of devil like qualities sat holding the cards whilst 3 others like them sat around the large table merely observing. Along with those observing like the demon like men sat two men who held no apparent demon like qualities that could be seen, but held them has much as any of the demons sitting at the table.

The final man holding the other set of cards that had been dealt out was of an older age than any of the others there. He was wearing a tactical vest readied with weapons that seemed to be maintained as well as possible and under it a leather duster with other military quality clothing and a metal mask that had two eye holes in it that sat at his feet. Tension hung in the air as each of the players held their cards close to their faces and their emotions closer from their opponents.

"Alright, whose in?" Markus said as he looked over the present members of the table.

((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.

Kitra had chosen not to use one of the war dogs and opted to use a few pieces of paper beneath her feet. Which she was currently flying on, or hovering as most couldn't see the paper beneath her feet, slightly behind Queen Maxine. It was a rather funny sight when close up as her dark green cloak, which she had managed to keep intact, except for the frayed edges, bellowed around her with the slight wind that carried a sand particles with it. Far away however it could be said she looked like the grim reaper.

Kitra grimaced and readjusted her goggles that kept her eyes covered, she needed a new wrap around band for them as they kept slidding down. She continued to look around to try and spot any of the farmers that she knew tended to this particular farm. She hadn't spotted anyone yet. She shook her head and noted that they had come up upon said farm.

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

Kitra grinned and said just as quietly, "So they did, haven't had a treat like that in some time." She looked around again and muttered under her breath, "It's too quiet." At her side was her trusty, dusty leather bag. It no longer had a buckle to keep things secure, however it still served its purpose. A few small sheets of paper rustled their way out of said bag and zoomed towards the farm.

Just a few yards forward her paper smacked into something invisible. Kitra cursed, they had some sort of force field! She knew from a previous raid that there had been a force field mutant at a different farm. They must have moved here. She frowned and removed her cloak and wrapped it and tied it around her waist. Her leather gauntlets covered her entire arms for protection, she also had leather shin gaurds on. She reached down and grabbed her bo, which had been strapped to her leg.

Kitra snapped her bo together and loud enough for all the Amazons to hear, "There's gonna be trouble." Sure enough not even two minutes had passed since her paper had hit the force field surrounding the farm, people appeared. And of course they were brandishing weapons. How lovely.

Jupiter, Abyss, Pluto and Mercury sat with cards in their hands, the stakes were growing more and more as they went, canned food a lone made this game likely the highest stakes game in the past three years. They were playing for food, which either made them stupid or rich, possibly both.

Abyss folded, Pluto folded, and Jupiter sat a cigar in the pot and new it to be acceptable. Mercury sat a can of cherry pie filling in the pot he then raised an eyebrow at the old man. "call or fold, call or fold Ceasar.”

Jupiter smirked. Mercury liked to annoy people during poker. It was part of his game plan, agitate and defeat. It didn’t work too well on his brothers as they spent so much time in the void together. The void meant they weren’t hungry, and took up less resources than they would have out and about, so they only had to keep one fed and snack every so often for the others. It was a good set up. The seven of them each had on what Abyss referred to as gladiator gear, a bit of armor here and there and leather loin clothes. Wrap around sandals adorned their feet.

Mars read a book in the back ground, the back of it cracked and worn, he’d read it countless times but he insisted it kept the mind sharp.

Venus stood by the window looking out, glaring into the distance, not a glimmer of his old self to be found, though that was common these days, there was something sobering about the nuclear age.

Saturn sat in the corner and dozed, it was what he missed about the physical world the most, sleeping. He was leaning up against the wall, so it wasn’t a matter of seeming aware as much as knowing he would be sighing and complaining if he was awake.