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G E N E R A L  —

D E I T Y:  the phonoi (  φόνοι;  singular: phonos, φόνος) — spirits of murder, killing & slaughter outside of the battlefield 

M O R T A L  I D E N T I T Y:  none. mortal or not, he is of the phonoi. he is a merciless weapon designed for slaughter and he needs no new name. 

F A C E  C L A I M: alfie allen 

P A S T  — ( tw: death )

— a son of eris through parthogenesis, one of many brothers that formed a band of violent, murderous spirits — the phonoi. his sisters, the androktasiai, presided over deaths on the battleground and casualties of war, but the phonoi were not quite so dignified. they knew no boundaries, no rules, and wherever they went, they left a bloodbath in their wake. 

— though he never received any sort of explanation for having been stripped of his immortality, phonos was responsible for the grisly slaughter of a mortal woman with which zeus once had an affair and he does not see it as unfathomable that his current state could be a result of some sort of belated retribution at the hand of the vengeful ( and adulterous ) god. 

H E A D C A N O N S —

— tba bc real talk i just want to jump into replies tonight and i’ll probs end up getting to it in the am

P L O T S & C O N N E C T I O N S

medusa ( cassidy ) — tba. ate ( elliot ) — tba.

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1,2,4,5 Gwen, Austin, Cassidy, Amaya

ONE — fuck, marry, kill.

❝ Kill Gwen. Just gonna go ahead and get that one out of the way first because it’s the easiest. If I gotta pick, she’s gotta GO. Sucks to be you, Doc. Maybe if you weren’t such a self-righteous BITCH… but whatever. Fuck Cassidy — she may be completely fuckin’ CRAZY, but I’ve started to figure out the BATSHIT ones are usually the best in bed. Definitely gonna use protection, though, not tryin’ to get fucking R A B I ES or something. And marry — fuck, I don’t know. The most I know about Amaya is that we share a camp. Objectively speaking, that’s not SHIT. Why the fuck would I want to willingly commit myself to a goddamn S T R A N G E R? I guess that leaves Austin, but we’re not gonna CONSUMMATE shit. ❞

TWO — marry, cuddle, sleep with.

❝ Two-thirds of this question are identical to the last one you asked, and as for the final third — I don’t CUDDLE.  ❞

FOUR — adopt, be adopted by, marry.

❝ What the ACTUAL fuck makes you think I’d wanna be adopted by A N Y of them? For FUCK’S sake. Great pool of options you’ve given me to choose from. DAMN. I’d rather have my fuckin’ fingernails PRIED OFF with a metal skewer than have any sorta connection to Gwen, I’ll get that out of the way no. Hell no. Maybe I’d adopt Austin — only because I’d love to see how PISSED he gets when I give him shit and he can’t rag on me back. Fuckin’ hilarious, he would H A T E  me.  ❞

FIVE — kill, betray, have on your zombie apocalypse team.

❝ Would it be FUCKED UP to say I’d betray Austin by choosing his sister Cassidy for my apocalypse team? Entirely for LOGISTICAL reasons, too, not just because I feel like pissing him off with this answer, too. The way I see it, they’re both on par with each other for SURVIVAL SKILLS and shit, I’m not gonna have to carry either one of ‘em. They’re damn near EQUAL in that respect. The only reason I could even GIVE one of them the upper hand was because there’s only one Poe sibling I’d be down to fuck, and if I’m spending the foreseeable future with them, well — SORRY about your luck, Austin. We had good times, man. Obviously, Gwen is my default kill. Amaya — she can do whatever the fuck she wants, I don’t care.❞

( @bencficent | @ofhcstility | @venenatcrum | @unblemishcd )

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( @ofhcstility )

          IRRITABLE was and had always been the hunter’s default setting — the sun could be shining, birds chirping, and he the picture of p e r f e c t health, but Elijah would STILL find a way to complain about it. ( It was too fucking HOT ; how many birds in Cheyenne and they all only know ONE fucking SONG ; he’d probably be happier if he was DEAD anyway, sounds way more fucking peaceful. Really, he could keep going. ) Even on the BEST of days his demeanor could still prove wholly intolerable, his scowl alone enough to suggest the TOXIC  mood that lingered just beneath. But today — T O D A Y was not the best of days. No, today was a complete and total fucking SHITSHOW. Tears streamed involuntarily from a red–rimmed cerulean gaze, leaving murky tracks in the thick layer of grime that mottled what of his face WASN’T hidden by a bandanna, and the same debris that clung to his skin and burned his eyes set a raw throat and aching lungs A B L A Z E. He was exhausted ( and likely dehydrated given how little water he’d managed to choke down in the past few weeks ) and his limbs were still heavy with fatigue he’d yet to shake. And even so — even as tired and as angry and as all around fucking MISERABLE he was — all it took was a momentary flash of red amidst an encompassing cloud of beige to catch his attention and tear his mind away from an unpleasantly SELF-PITYING train of thought. He could follow her, sure, or he could —

          ❝ HEY! ❞ The monosyllabic exclamation scraped at his throat as he shouted it, and he punctuated the word with a louder THUD as he reached down for a chunk of crumbled brick by his shoe and hurled it in the direction he’d seen ( what he could only assume was ) her silhouette.  ❝ POE! ❞

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AMAYA.

Going out wasn’t a good idea; the girl only realizing this once she’d stepped foot into the dusty beyond. It wasn’t like anything she had seen before, it really did look like the end of the world, and Amaya hadn’t believed the world looked like it was even ending until now. Maybe it just looked different to everybody? That said, she actually wasn’t particularly scared of going outside – just the things that lay out there. She felt useless sitting inside and thinking about all of the people who didn’t have camps. What if they were hurt? She carried her little satchel full of medic supplies; sticking to corners where it was likely no one would see her unless she wanted them to. Passing a hand over her eyes to wipe away the dust sticking to them, Amaya noticed someone. A little closer and she knew that he was from her camp; there was no question as to whether she was going to approach. Having great memorization for faces, she knew it was him – though his name wasn’t coming to mind right away. “Hello,” She allowed cautiously, still keeping her distance. “Are you alright?”

          As much as his lungs SCREAMED in protest of every jagged breath he drew in, throat c a k e d in dust in spite of the well–worn bandanna tied around the lower half of his face in a lame attempt to keep it OUT, Elijah had to give credit where credit was due. And the freak dust storm, FUCKED as it was, did a pretty D A M N good job keeping the hunter out of the line of sight of others — biters and survivors. If he couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of his own face ( and he really fucking C O U L D N ‘T ) then how the hell was anyone else gonna see him? That was what he THOUGHT, anyway, but why he ever expected his luck to be that good was WELL the fuck B E Y O N D him. He was never that fuckin’ lucky. The girl that spotted him was V A G U E L Y familiar — he’d never actually bothered to learn her name or anything, but he was observant enough to know she was also from the V.A. camp.  ❝ FINE, ❞ Elijah spat hoarsely at the question.  ❝ Just fuckin’ PEACHY. ❞ The sarcasm was p a l p a b l e. At least there was a single benefit to running into the girl. He cleared his throat, tugging away the fabric in front of his mouth roughly to spit out a mouthful of BROWN before turning a squinted, cerulean gaze back at her.  ❝ How far’s camp? I can’t see SHIT right now. ❞

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          ❝ — gotta be FUCKING kidding me. ❞ The distinct g r o w l to the rhetorical complaint was just as much a result of his frustration ( which still didn’t feel like a STRONG enough word for this level of totally unprecedented BULLSHIT, but whatever, fuckin’ s e m a n t i c s ) as it was the fucking B U R N I N G in his throat. For what must’ve been WEEKS now he’d felt like s h i t; his body ached, his internal thermometer was entirely fucked and had him shivering one moment only to be sweating the next, and his throat — for days, he’d avoided damn near everything but WATER for the way it felt to swallow, like he’d been choking down gravel until his esophagus was raw, And now — now that he F I N A L L Y had the energy to crawl out of the god-forsaken DEATH HOLE he’d sequestered himself in ( like a feral cat, hiding away when sickness set in to either heal or die in peace ) the air was so fucking DENSE with dust and debris that even a single breath conjured flashbacks of the chest-rattling cough that only JUST eased up within the past few days FOR FUCK’S SAKE. Squinting against the opaque blanket of dirt that shrouded his field of vision and gritting his teeth against the — the GRIT that already began to collect between them, the hunter stumbled forward in the hopes of SOMEHOW finding his camp in this mess.

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An insufferable prodigal child who thinks he knows better than everyone else because he's been through some shit ( even though we all have ). Selfish, caustic, and replaceable.

( anonymously send me how your muse feels about mine )

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thieving redneck asshole piece of shit with his bullshit loud mouth and his intense blue fucking eyes and his fucking voice. i can't stand the way he talks to me and i can't stand that way he looks at me when he thinks i don't see it and he thinks he's so goddamned smart. maybe he is smart, and hot as hell, but I can still beat his fuckin' ass.

( anonymously send me how your muse feels about mine )

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a bit of a lil shit who should stop being such a lil shit. though good at snatching things, and should improve on those skills.

( anonymously send me how your muse feels about mine )

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THEO.

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want it?” Theo questioned, voice as sugary sweet and calorie inducing as it was prone to being whenever he decided to play this role. “This delicious can of peas that doesn’t expire until 2018? That’s next year, in case you’re not keeping track of time.” He twisted his mouth, tilted his head and made an expression that spoke for itself as he began to tuck the can back into his pack. “Alright then.”

          “—pretty fuckin’ POSITIVE, yeah.”  The words were flat, heavy with disinterest as Elijah spared the briefest of glances toward the tin can in question, icy cerulean gaze lingering on the proffered food before flickering up to the face attached to the hand that had extended it. The guy spoke like he was on some sort of goddamn INFOMERCIAL — call in the next twenty minutes and you’ll receive extra PRODDING & UNNECESSARY CONVERSATION ( while supplies last ). Maybe it was excessive, even vaguely PARANOID, but Elijah had never been a fan of taking from others. It didn’t matter if it was a gift or a proposition for a trade — if he’d not been able to acquire it with his own two hands, he didn’t want it, no matter what it was. Accepting an offer was equivalent in his mind to accepting a debt, and the hunter had no intent to OWE anybody. “Keep it. I can find my own supplies.” 

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          FUCKING SNOWING. The hunter would have sworn under his breath were his teeth not chattering so violently he could hardly suck in a breath ( let alone form words ) as he curled his fingers around the dripping hem of the thin shirt clinging to his chest and yanked the drenched fabric over his head. OF FUCKING COURSE it would be snowing. That really would be his shit luck, wouldn’t it? At least he’d had enough of a fragment of foresight to think of ditching his shit BEFORE he took the plunge into the frigid lake, throwing his duffel bag into a nearby cluster of overgrown shrubs on his SPRINT to the water’s edge before diving in. ( He couldn’t afford any hesitation, not then; the head start he’d gotten on the raiders gave him a cushion of little more than thirty, maybe forty seconds to get the hell out of dodge — or at very least, out of the line of sight of the bastards trying to CHASE him down — before he could officially consider himself a dead man. )  

          The lake was an obvious choice. Who in their right mind would jump into an outdoor body of water in the middle of fucking JANUARY? And, even if by some shoddy grace of God any of the dumb fuckin’ bastards after him put together where he’d chosen to hide, he knew DAMN well none of them would be following him in. Not now, not when the water was so GODDAMN COLD  it burned his skin like it had been doused in acid. He’d been right — thank fuck — but the fact that he’d not been caught and gutted by a band of thieves with morals even more questionable than his own did NOTHING for the fact that his WHOLE body ached from the cold now that he’d managed to climb out, his breath tumbling in misty clouds from faintly discolored lips as Elijah stripped himself of his sopping clothes before they could leach any more of his body heat. ( No clothes was better than wet clothes, at least until he could find his bag again and change. ) 

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                poets, for example, are generally considered starry-eyed and sensitive,                              but only by those who have never encountered one.                                                          ( craig brown )

NAME ETYMOLOGY

( elijah ) hebrew, meaning jehovah is god.  ( samuel ) hebrew, name of god or god has heard.  ( wolfe )  anglo-irish and germanic, a version of the name wolf. speculated to be a nickname given to those with particular cunning and ferocity. 

ZODIAC

( birth date ) november 9, 1992 ( astrological sign ) scorpio  ( chinese zodiac ) monkey

MORAL ALIGNMENT

( true neutral ) the "true" neutral looks upon all other alignments as facets of the system of many things. thus, each aspect--evil and good, chaos and law--of things must be retained in balance to maintain the status quo; for things as they are cannot be improved upon except temporarily, and even then but superficially. nature will prevail and keep things as they were meant to be, provided the "wheel" surrounding the hub of nature does not become unbalanced due to the work of unnatural forces--such as human and other intelligent creatures interfering with what is meant to be. absolute, or true, neutral creatures view everything which exists as an integral, necessary part or function of the entire cosmos. each thing exists as a part of the whole, one as a check or balance to the other, with life necessary for death, happiness for suffering, good for evil, order for chaos, and vice versa. Nothing must ever become predominant or out of balance. within this naturalistic ethos, humankind serves a role also, just as all other creatures do. the may be more or less important, but the neutral does not concern himself or herself with these considerations except where it is positively determined that the balance is threatened. absolute neutrality is the central or fulcrum position quite logically, as the neutral sees all other alignments as parts of a necessary whole. this alignment is the narrowest in scope. 

true neutral characters are concerned with their own well-being and that of the group or organization which aids them. they may behave in a good manner to those that they consider friends and allies, but will only act maliciously against those who have tried to injure them in some way. for the rest, they do not care. they do not wish ill on those they do not know, but they also do not care when they hear of evil befalling them. better for others to suffer the evil than the true neutral and his allies. if an ally is in need, the true neutral will aid him, out of genuine love or because he may be able to count on that ally a little more in the future. if someone else is in need, they will weigh the options of the potential rewards and dangers associated with the act. if an enemy is in need, they will ignore him or take advantage of his misfortune. 

true neutrals are offended by those who are opinionated or bigoted. a "hell-fire and brimstone" lawful good priest is just as offensive as a neutral evil racial supremacist in their eyes. they do not necessarily strive for philosophical balance. in fact, they may avoid philosophical considerations altogether. a true neutral may take up the cause of his nation, not because he necessarily feels obligated to do so, but because it just makes sense to support the group that protects your way of life. true neutrals tend to believe in lex talionis forms of justice.

however, a true neutral being with a highly philosophical outlook may hold that law, chaos, good, and evil are all necessary forces in the universe. but all are of equal import, and none should be allowed to take precedence over another, unless an imbalance should be perceived--in which case corrective steps must be taken until the balance is righted once again. hence, the motives of a highly philosophical true neutral character are perhaps the most difficult for any other alignment to fathom, for such a true neutral being will usually act first to preserve the balance, second if he deems it his business, and third if it is in his own best interests. for these reasons, being nature's mediators, true neutral characters should be diplomatic and tactful, but they may also come across as being strange and enigmatic until one gets to know them and their "world view" better. this is because some true neutral beings look far beyond the immediate situation to the overall balance of the cosmos. most true neutral characters will, throughout their lives, tend more or less toward one of the other alignments, dependent upon their perception of the state of the world and what force should be balanced. such a "deviation" will be temporary, until the true neutral being recognizes and modifies his actions in accordance with the new balance. for example, once the strong evil forces in an area have been conquered, and the balance restored, the true neutral character will stop acting "good." in addition, this attitude of balance will ordinarily be reflected in a true neutral's choice of companions and should thus be demonstrated with reasonable consistency. as all things in the cosmos are equally important and necessary, life is as valuable as death to the true neutral being, because life is inevitably followed by death. in this character's view, one's time will come when it is supposed to come, and no sooner or later. 

true neutral is typically the most misunderstood of all alignments. one common misconception is thinking that true neutral characters seek a balance by deliberately following a certain alignment one day and an entirely different alignment the next. such behavior makes true neutral characters unpredictable, and the cumulative effect promotes chaos more than anything else. true neutral characters tend to remain nonjudgmental and uncommitted to any moral, legal, or philosophical system beyond the basic tenets of their own society. despite this fact, true neutral beings do not resent being into struggles involving different viewpoints. true neutral individuals do not lack interest, ambition, or passion--they value their own well-being and that of friends and loved ones. they may struggle passionately on behalf of themselves or others, as well as feel compassion for those they barely know. in fact, since most humans are true neutral, it is the alignment of the majority of people encountered in day-to-day situations. 

a true neutral character will keep his word if in his best interest. he may attack an unarmed foe if he feels it necessary. he will not kill, but may harm an innocent. he may use torture to extract information, but never for pleasure. he will never kill for pleasure, only in self-defense or in the defense of others. a true neutral character may use poison as long as there is an overwhelming need. he will help those in need if it is in his best interest and works well alone or in a group. he responds well to higher authority until that authority attempts to use the law to hamper his ability to pursue his own self-interest. he will follow the law unless breaking it is in his best interest and he's reasonably sure that he will not be caught. he will never betray a family member, comrade, or friend unless the situation is dire. true neutral characters are indifferent to the concepts of self-discipline and honor, finding them useful only if they can be used to advance their own interests. 

MYERS-BRIGGS

( intp-t: the logician ) the logician personality type is fairly rare, making up only three percent of the population, which is definitely a good thing for them, as there’s nothing they’d be more unhappy about than being “common”. logicians pride themselves on their inventiveness and creativity, their unique perspective and vigorous intellect. usually known as the philosopher, the architect, or the dreamy professor, logicians have been responsible for many scientific discoveries throughout history.

logicians are known for their brilliant theories and unrelenting logic – in fact, they are considered the most logically precise of all the personality types. they love patterns, and spotting discrepancies between statements could almost be described as a hobby, making it a bad idea to lie to a logician. this makes it ironic that logicians’ word should always be taken with a grain of salt – it’s not that they are dishonest, but people with the logician personality type tend to share thoughts that are not fully developed, using others as a sounding board for ideas and theories in a debate against themselves rather than as actual conversation partners. this may make them appear unreliable, but in reality no one is more enthusiastic and capable of spotting a problem, drilling through the endless factors and details that encompass the issue and developing a unique and viable solution than logicians – just don’t expect punctual progress reports. people who share the logician personality type aren’t interested in practical, day-to-day activities and maintenance, but when they find an environment where their creative genius and potential can be expressed, there is no limit to the time and energy logicians will expend in developing an insightful and unbiased solution.

they may appear to drift about in an unending daydream, but logicians’ thought process is unceasing, and their minds buzz with ideas from the moment they wake up. this constant thinking can have the effect of making them look pensive and detached, as they are often conducting full-fledged debates in their own heads, but really logicians are quite relaxed and friendly when they are with people they know, or who share their interests. However, this can be replaced by overwhelming shyness when logician personalities are among unfamiliar faces, and friendly banter can quickly become combative if they believe their logical conclusions or theories are being criticized. 

when logicians are particularly excited, the conversation can border on incoherence as they try to explain the daisy-chain of logical conclusions that led to the formation of their latest idea. oftentimes, logicians will opt to simply move on from a topic before it’s ever understood what they were trying to say, rather than try to lay things out in plain terms. the reverse can also be true when people explain their thought processes to logicians in terms of subjectivity and feeling. Imagine an immensely complicated clockwork, taking in every fact and idea possible, processing them with a heavy dose of creative reasoning and returning the most logically sound results available – this is how the logician mind works, and this type has little tolerance for an emotional monkey-wrench jamming their machines.

further, logicians are unlikely to understand emotional complaints at all, and their friends won’t find a bedrock of emotional support in them. people with the logician personality type would much rather make a series of logical suggestions for how to resolve the underlying issue, a perspective that is not always welcomed by their more sensitive companions. this will likely extend to most social conventions and goals as well, like planning dinners and getting married, as logicians are far more concerned with originality and efficient results. 

the one thing that really holds logicians back is their restless and pervasive fear of failure. logician personalities are so prone to reassessing their own thoughts and theories, worrying that they’ve missed some critical piece of the puzzle, that they can stagnate, lost in an intangible world where their thoughts are never truly applied. overcoming this self-doubt stands as the greatest challenge logicians are likely to face, but the intellectual gifts – big and small – bestowed on the world when they do makes it worth the fight.

ENNEAGRAM

( type five: the investigator ) people of this personality type essentially fear that they don't have enough inner strength to face life, so they tend to withdraw, to retreat into the safety and security of the mind where they can mentally prepare for their emergence into the world. fives feel comfortable and at home in the realm of thought. they are generally intelligent, well read and thoughtful and they frequently become experts in the areas that capture their interest. while they are sometimes scientifically oriented, especially with the six wing, just as many fives are drawn to the humanities and it is not at all uncommon for fives to have artistic inclinations. fives are often a bit eccentric; they feel little need to alter their beliefs to accommodate majority opinion, and they refuse to compromise their freedom to think just as they please. the problem for fives is that while they are comfortable in the realm of thought, they are frequently a good deal less comfortable when it comes to dealing with their emotions, the demands of a relationship, or the need to find a place for themselves in the world. fives tend to be shy, nonintrusive, independent and reluctant to ask for the help that others might well be happy to extend to them.

fives are sensitive; they don't feel adequately defended against the world. to compensate for their sensitivity, fives sometimes adopt an attitude of careless indifference or intellectual arrogance, which has the unfortunate consequence of creating distance between themselves and others. trying to bridge the distance can be difficult for fives, as they are seldom comfortable with their social skills, but when they do manage it, they are often devoted friends and life long companions.

fives are usually somewhat restrained when it comes to emotional expression, but they often have stronger feelings than they let on. few people know what is going on beneath the surface, as fives have an often exaggerated need for privacy and a deep seated fear of intrusion. because of their sensitivity and their fears of inadequacy, fives fear being overwhelmed, either by the demands of others or by the strength of their own emotions. they sometimes deal with this by developing a minimalistic lifestyle in which they make few demands on others in exchange for few demands being made on them. other fives make their peace with the messiness of life and engage it more fully, but they almost always retain their fears that life is somehow going to demand more of them than they can deliver.

TEMPERAMENT

( melancholic )  the melancholic temperament is fundamentally introverted and thoughtful. melancholic people often were perceived as very (or overly) pondering and considerate, getting rather worried when they could not be on time for events. melancholics can be highly creative in activities such as poetry and art - and can become preoccupied with the tragedy and cruelty in the world. often they are perfectionists. they are self-reliant and independent; one negative part of being a melancholic is that they can get so involved in what they are doing they forget to think of others.

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          It’s unclear which HOWL is louder — the one that tears from his lips as he wakes to the stinging sensation of sharp claws sinking into his back, or the one from the cat as Elijah swings an arm around in one swift movement and grabs it by the scruff, yanking the pestiferous feline from his back and flinging it across the room. “SON OF A FUCKING—” While the cat sputters and hisses, the ( only half ) DRUNK hunter miraculously manages to scrape together enough momentum to push himself upright, stilling on the edge of his cot as he’s hit with a nauseating wave of vertigo. Closing his eyes to block out the floor and the way it keeps fucking TILTING, Elijah contorts to shove a hand beneath the thin material of his shirt, fingertips only just barely grazing newly formed welts damp with the pinpricks of blood oozing out of them. GODDAMN CAT. Only ever comes around when — fuck. He’s stumbling up from the bed the moment the realization hits him, lips curled into an irritable scowl as he stalks across the room and snatches the little bastard from the corner he’s chosen to lick his wounds. 

          Bare feet guide him instinctively to a nearby room as he clutches the protesting cat, teeth grinding tightly as it scratches and claws at him to get away. ( He KNOWS she’ll be in there — he hasn’t figured out if they’re friends or if they’re fucking but Eli is nothing if not observant and he’s SEEN her wandering around his room with open bottles, lying in his bed in her underwear. He intends to prod the Russian — Alexi — for details, but he’s just... he fucking HASN’T yet, alright? He’s had shit to do. Whatever. ) “You have five seconds,” Elijah slurs, and the words scrape at his throat as his fist collides with the door, voice bearing a distinct hoarseness that could only come from a night of whiskey and stale cigarettes. His lungs feel like a fucking ashtray. “FIVE seconds to open the door an’ take this STUPID FUCKING CAT before I throw it out the GODDAMN WINDOW.”

( @mouthsxmadexofxknives​ )

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I just want to  smoke my cigarettes  and drink my whiskey  and for you to love  me for the monster I am.

Christopher Poindexter (via colfernarvaezwrites)

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VANESSA.

“Now honey, I’m not here to entertain this. You’ve already gone and contradicted yourself, and you’re only a minute in. Without the one night a week here you’d be up seven nights a week wondering if you were going to be a walker by the next morning. Not exactly a life, more of an existence if you ask me. And if you did go and wild-boy it out there I’m sure you’d find out that it’s incredibly difficult to do on your own. People need people.” Vanessa wanted to keep the situation calm, but remain firm int he idea that nobody was going to come to her and treat her and her camp as if it was somewhere they could just traipse around. This was her home now and there was no way anyone was going to jeopardize her or any of her camp mates comfort. “I’m an observant woman, you’re mood is not going unnoticed.” Vanessa said with a little huff of a laugh as she shook her head at his angsty responses. She wondered what had him so angry, but shrugged it off, figuring that she’d get the answer eventually. “I’m happy to have you here, Elijah, as long as you’re happy to be here. So, I’d consider turning that frown upside down, or at least reaching out if you need help doing so.” 

         “You’re WRONG.” The retort was short, blunt. Elijah had never been one to mince words, not for anyone, and he certainly didn’t intend to start for VANESSA, whether she was in charge or not. “I’m sorry, but that’s — that’s BULLSHIT. You may need people in order to survive, but just because you can’t exist on your own DOESN’T mean the rest of us can’t.” He would fuckin’ know, too — he’d spent more than enough time making it by himself when he was in between camps. Hell, he’d been surviving on his OWN even before the outbreak sent the whole goddamn WORLD to shit. “And besides, all there IS is existence anymore. This shit ain’t a life no matter how fuckin’ nice you try to paint it.” The hunter slouched back into the cushions of the couch, his gaze still locked on the pen as he pressed the nib into his fingertip hard enough to leave an ink stained dent in the skin as he pulled it away. He groaned. “Look, I’m happy to be here, alright? I’m fuckin’ — I’m over the goddamn moon about having a place to sleep once a week. Sorry if I’m not as PEACHY as you’d like me to be, but circumstantially? I think it’s JUSTIFIED.”

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CASSIDY.

“Fuck! FUCK!” She screamed as she picked up as much speed as she possibly could. Darting and leaping over fallen tree branch as she ran as fast as she could toward her car. Toward the already fucking DEAD mother fucker that was dumb enough to get in it. Only to watch, a drastic 20 feet away, as that asshole burned fucking rubber out of the lot she’d been sitting in for hours. Cassidy, however, Cassie didn’t miss a beat and she didn’t stop running, either. Her frantic gaze wrenched from her fucking B A B Y screaming off away from her to drink in the landscape before it landed on an old, beat up pick-up truck that looked like it was older than she was. Without thinking, really.. about anything, Cassie instantly turned and bolted into that direction. Screaming expletives as she went, she wrenched the door open and hands searched desperately for a key before, without finding one, she snarled another curse and crawled down beneath the wheel. Doing exactly what Eli just had, right down to ignoring the sparks and burns that flared up on already bandaged fingers, though in her panic it took her twice as fucking long, the truck eventually roared to life and Cassie climbed inside, slamming the door shut.

Her hair wild and half singed from the sparks, she returned her gaze to the roat. Sharp eyes narrowed at a puff of gray exhaust in the distance as the old pickup revved and she paused, revving again. Instead of following the way that mother fucker went, however, she suddenly turned right and sped off in what seemed the opposite direction along the backroads. There were only a handful of fucking highways that weren’t so overcrowded with abandoned cars and zeds that you could move and Cassie was taking a gamble to guess which one this asshole was going down. And if he was, at the speed of her car, she had a pretty good fucking guess where he was gonna end up in about 3 minutes.

Picking up speed, and ignoring the wet ‘thunk’ of the occasional zombie’s body as she hit them going well over 100, Cassidy focused everything she had on coming out exactly where she knew she was going to and hoping to god she was right about where this asshole was. Oh, she had no intention of losing him. No matter how long it took.. sooner or later he was going to be sorry, but as the truck roared and she pressed hard on the gas, she swore to herself that it would be fucking sooner.

Taking the final turn so sharp that the back end of the truck skidded off the road and kicked up dust in it’s wake, she looked up frantically at the last turn toward the highway and grinned in a nearly maniacal sort of way as she heard it. The familiar sound of her engine over the roar of the truck.

This bitch wasn’t going to know what fucking hit him. L I T E R A L L Y.

Putting on one last burst of speed and leaving fucking everything to chance, Cassie hurled the massive truck toward the turn to the highway and just as she closed in, she caught a blur of red, before the impact slammed into her. There was an ugly grinding of metal as the truck T-Boned the muscle car and both vehicles screamed to a stop. The force throwing Cassie hard into the steering wheel and the shattering of the windshield’s glass sprinkling and embedding into her face as the breath was knocked out of her and for a few seconds, darkness enveloped her as consciousness slipped from her grip.

Coming to, but not entirely conscious, her bloodied and burned hand found the trucks half bent door and she pushed it open with an ugly creak, practically falling out of the tall truck. Her knees hit the pavement and her already wounded palms slammed into the solid surface as she tried to shake off the fact that everything was spinning in her head. But she wasn’t about to let it end there. Blurred gaze lifting wildly in the general direction of her car, she shouted, voice husky and rough, an ugly circular bruise already forming over her clavicle and chest and every breath was fucking murder.

“I’m gonna r- rip your balls out through your TEETH!” She screamed to the equally disoriented blonde that she couldn’t quite seem to focus on.

         She could SHOUT all she fucking wanted. It hardly mattered, not anymore — he fucking DID it. Her words were drowned by the fucking GORGEOUS roar of the old muscle car’s engine, the piercing SQUEAL of tires as he peeled out and raced down the street as fast as the crimson Gran Torino would take him, leaving her silhouette to disappear into the cloud of dust he kicked up in his wake. It wasn’t until the last glint of her in the rear-view mirror vanished that the hunter finally allowed himself to RELAX, sinking back into the well-worn seat as he coasted down the road toward the highway he favored most for his ventures in and out of Cheyenne. (  A straight shot empty of little more than biters and a few stray vehicles, it was the EASIEST for building up speed — and damn if Elijah didn’t want to see what her baby could do. ) 

          If he were being COMPLETELY fuckin’ HONEST? There was a while there when Elijah genuinely believed he wasn’t going to be able to pull it off. And for an EGOTISTICAL little shit like him, that was SAYING something. But for as confident as he was, he sure as shit wasn’t STUPID. He knew she was clever, crafty — how the fuck ELSE could she have managed to sneak into his room with patrol posted at all of the medical center’s entrances? — and that his plan had to be executed PERFECTLY in order for it to succeed. If she’d caught him climbing through the passenger window of her car, he had NO doubt she would have shot him fucking dead right there, blood clots and brain matter spattering the dusty red paint job and painting the street behind him. ( That is, if she didn’t race over and strangle him with her BARE FUCKING HANDS first. The crazy ones always liked to make their kills intimate, didn’t they? ) 

          But Elijah — he was nothing if not STEALTHY as fuck, and he should have known his patience and diligence would pay off. Why’d he even DOUBT himself to begin with? Coasting on the high of revenge well-exacted, he could barely feel the sting of the singed skin on his hands, burnt fingertips tapping out a smug rhythm against the cool leather of the steering wheel as he pulled it sharply to speed onto the approaching highway exit. THE FUCKING HOME STRETCH.  And, no, he had absolutely NO intentions of bringing the Gran Torino back to his camp. As if she needed any more of a reason to show back up and fucking castrate him. No, wasteful as it was, he planned to dump the vehicle into a ditch, push it into a lake. WHATEVER. Anything to keep her from driving it through the fucking walls of the medical center. Vanessa would kick his ass out for sure. He’d find something to do with it. 

          ( OR, then again, maybe he WOULDN’T. )

          The IMPACT was sudden, unexpected. Icy blues had been so fixated on the road before him that he hadn’t even seen the truck coming until the front bumper was colliding with the side of his car — and then, THEN he didn’t see anything, eyes forced shut from the impact as he lost control of the tires. Glass rained down on him as the windshield shattered, matching the window that broke into shards almost as soon as he slammed violently against it ( and FUCK, maybe he could see the point of a fucking SEATBELT now, but it was a little too late, wasn’t it? ) as the car spun to a smoldering STOP against the guard rail on the side of the highway. And maybe it was the impact of his temple against shatter-resistant glass ( THAT STILL MANAGED TO FUCKING SHATTER ) or the stomach-churning disorientation of it all, but several moments passed before the hunter was slowly blinking awake to a haze of smoke and dust, the wreckage blurred in red from the blood he could only imagine was spilling from his head into his gaze. “SON — OF A BITCH,” he wheezed, his voice raspy with exasperation ( and PAIN — definitely some of that as well, goddamn ) as one hand clutched at his left side and the other fumbled with the handle of the door. 

         His exit from the smashed up muscle car was far less than GRACEFUL, busted lips falling into a venomous snarl as he clutched at the jagged metal and all but PUSHED himself out and into the ditch that he would’ve crashed into were it not for the ( MANGLED ) guard rail. “FUCK!” Elijah swore loudly as he fell into a pit of hard and unforgiving soil. CLAWING his way out of the ditch was a fucking effort, dirt forcing its way under his nails as he fought to catch his breath. It was only once he’d finally made it back to the road, spitting out a mouthful of red onto the cool blacktop and lifting his wavering gaze to the truck, that he spotted the fucking PSYCHO BITCH  standing a few feet from the wreckage.  “I f—fucking DARE you,” he gritted out, voice cracking on the words. He pushed himself up off the ground slowly and staggered toward her. “I’ll SLIT  your fuckin’ THROAT first, c—can promise y’that.”