#Pendleton Random Legacy

[campmurderparty]

jesse & clementine.

Jesse was the lone sentinel of the andersen compound. He was the lonely ghost of the andersen home. His father died months ago with the rest of the compound’s people, and his sister and mother had been outcasted at the start of it all. Its walls held solitary life, a man that existed only to take care of the livestock and protect the corpse of the compound from vultures that would surely use its guns and supplies for nefarious deeds. He was the only thing that kept the memory of the andersens alive. He was the only one left to protect his family’s legacy. If jesse died and it was left defenseless to be razed by any lucky sonofabitch that came across the compound, what would have been the point of it all? The end of the world had come, not in the form of a nuclear apocalypse or a hostile government takeover, but in cannibalistic cadavers, and it would’ve been all for nothing—the rigorous training, the stockpiling, the sequestering from society. The apocalypse came in a different way than they expected, but it hadn’t made them fools. Losing the land and its supplies would have. It would’ve made Jesse a fool.

He was no fool, and he was no hero. The presence of the previously unconscious woman made him more uncomfortable than he was expecting. At least when she was passed out, he didn’t have to make some sort of conversation. He didn’t return her smile, only nodded his acknowledgement. He had the errant thought that if she wasn’t waking up after nearly dying, she was probably very pretty. He didn’t know how to act around pretty women, but he didn’t know how to interact with women in general. Or people, for that matter. Most of the other people on the compound had either been there from the start or had joined decades ago; there were newcomers every couple months, but as his father’s preaching switched from standard anti-government rhetoric to jumbled ‘nordic race’ mythologic bullshit, new people didn’t stay for very long—or became the group’s biggest zealots.

Well, until the apocalypse, of course. His father was reinvigorated, excited by their survivalist skills that finally came in handy with undead legions and the neighboring canaille that wanted to be protected by the people they used to mock. Jesse had been terrified, and while he spent most of his late twenties and early thirties losing his faith in father, he looked to tyr to lead them all. They lasted a long time, but not as long as jesse thought. He thought the compound would stand forever. It hadn’t. The survivalists hadn’t survived.

Except for jesse.

The lone sentinel wasn’t alone anymore. He glanced over his shoulder again when she asked about the eggs. “Yes, they’re real.” he returned his attention to the pan, “i have four hens. eggs last for a week unrefrigerated as long as you don’t wash ‘em.” jesse actually had more eggs than he knew what to do with, so he started delivering them to survivors in pendleton that he had formed a tentative alliance with. Sometimes, if the hens had laid a lot that week, he left baskets full in random spots nearby for anyone to take; he didn’t know if it was people or animals that took them, but they were always all gone by the time he came back to leave more. Grabbing a plate out of the cabinet, he scooped some scrambled eggs onto it and then placed it on the small table in the corner. “Eat.” jesse gruffly commanded, though there was no real authority in his voice. Either she would or she wouldn’t. It wouldn’t go to waste either way.

Returning to the stove, he cracked more eggs into the pan. Once he was finished, he plated a helping for himself and then sat down at the other side of the table. He wasn’t ignoring her question, just trying to formulate a satisfying one in his mind before he spoke. “Dunno.” Jesse answered, shrugging. “I guess I couldn't leave you out there for a wolf or freak to eat. You were half-dead. Wasn’t sure you were gonna make it through the night, frankly.” he started shoving forkfuls into his mouth; his mother had taught him manners, but they never took.

His gaze drifted down to her sanguinolent shirt. “There’s clothes in the dresser. In the room you came from, i mean. You can have them, if you want.” he wondered if seeing her in his sister’s clothes would bother him, then promptly decided it wouldn’t. Hunter likely took most of her clothing with her, and whatever was leftover probably didn’t matter much to her. Jesse never took notice of his sister’s outfits anyway. “There’s some other houses on the compound that might have some stuff left over if none of hunter’s stuff fits you.” a part of him worried about revealing too much information too soon; yes, she had legitimately been in a bad way, but what if she was just very committed to her scam? What if she was a trojan horse and her band of thieves were just outside, ready to be let in? Strange how his paranoia had the same voice as his father. It wouldn’t be paranoia if it ended up being true.

Jesse eyed her carefully. She didn’t sound like anyone he knew of in oregon—except for his mother, but Mary Lou had been a Louisianan transplant. Shamefully, he’d rather hear his father’s voice in his head than his mother’s. “Whereabouts you from?” jesse questioned, dropping his fork down on the plate. “What’s your name, anyway? Unless you just want me to call you girl.” though he surmised she was more of a woman, probably closer to his age than his sister’s.

[someotherdog]

jesse was the lone sentinel of the andersen compound; he was the lonely ghost of the andersen home. his father died months ago with the rest of the compound’s people, and his sister and mother had been outcast at the start of it all. its walls held solitary life, a man that existed only to take care of the livestock and protect the corpse of the compound from vultures that would surely use its guns and supplies for nefarious deeds. he was the only thing that kept the memory of the andersens alive. he was the only one left to protect his family’s legacy. if jesse died and it was left defenseless to be razed by any lucky sonofabitch that came across the compound, what would have been the point of it all? the end of the world had come, not in the form of a nuclear apocalypse or a hostile government takeover, but in cannibalistic cadavers, and it would’ve been all for nothing—the rigorous training, the stockpiling, the sequestering from society. the apocalypse came in a different way than they expected, but it hadn’t made fools of them. losing the land and its supplies would have. it would’ve made jesse a fool.

he was no fool, and he was no hero. the presence of the previously unconscious woman made him more uncomfortable than he was expecting. at least when she was passed out, he didn’t have to make some sort of conversation. he didn’t return her smile, only nodded his acknowledgement. he had the errant thought that if she wasn’t waking up after nearly dying, she was probably very pretty. he didn’t know how to act around pretty women, nor did he know how to interact with women in general. or people, for that matter. most of the others on the compound had either been there from the start or had joined decades ago; there were newcomers every couple months, but as his father’s preaching strayed from standard antigovernmental rhetoric to jumbled ‘nordic race’ mythologic bullshit, new people didn’t stay for very long—or became the group’s biggest zealots.

well, until the apocalypse, of course. his father was reinvigorated, excited by their survivalist skills that finally came in handy with undead legions and the neighboring canaille that wanted to be protected by the people they used to mock. jesse had been terrified, and while he spent most of his late twenties and early thirties losing his faith in father, he looked to tyr to lead them all. they lasted a long time, but not as long as jesse thought. he thought the compound would stand forever. it hadn’t. the survivalists hadn’t survived.

except for jesse.

the lone sentinel wasn’t alone anymore. he glanced over his shoulder again when she asked about the eggs. “yes, they’re real.” he returned his attention to the pan, “i have four hens. eggs last for a week unrefrigerated as long as you don’t wash ‘em.” jesse actually had more eggs than he knew what to do with, so he started delivering them to survivors in pendleton that he had formed a tentative alliance with. sometimes, if the hens had laid a lot that week, he left baskets full in random spots nearby for anyone to take; he didn’t know if it was people or animals that took them, but they were always all gone by the time he came back to leave more. grabbing a plate out of the cabinet, he scooped some scrambled eggs onto it and then placed it on the small table in the corner for her. “eat.” jesse gruffly commanded, though there was no real authority in his voice. either she would or she wouldn’t. it wouldn’t go to waste either way; if she didn't want to, some other hungry mouth on the farm would.

returning to the stove, he cracked more eggs into the pan. once he was finished, he plated a helping for himself and then sat down at the other side of the table. he wasn’t ignoring her question, just trying to formulate a satisfying one in his mind before he spoke. “dunno.” jesse answered, shrugging. “i guess i couldn’t leave you out there for a wolf or freak to eat. you were half-dead. wasn’t sure you were gonna make it through the night, frankly.” he started shoving forkfuls into his mouth; his mother had taught him manners, but they never took.

his gaze drifted down to her sanguinolent shirt. “there’s clothes in the dresser. in the room you came from, i mean. you can have them, if you want.” he wondered if seeing her in his sister’s clothes would bother him, then promptly decided it wouldn’t. hunter likely took most of her clothing with her, and whatever was leftover probably didn’t matter much to her. jesse never took notice of his sister’s outfits anyway. “there’s some other houses on the compound that might have some stuff left over if none of hunter’s stuff fits you.” a part of him worried about revealing too much information too soon; yes, she had legitimately been in a bad way, but what if she was just very committed to her scam? what if she was a trojan horse and her band of thieves were just outside, ready to be let in? strange how his paranoia had the same voice as his father.

jesse eyed her carefully. she didn’t sound like anyone he knew of in oregon—except for his mother, but mary lou had been a louisianan transplant. he’d rather hear his father’s voice in his head than his mother’s and that made him feel shame for reasons he couldn't understand. “whereabouts you from?” jesse questioned, dropping his fork down on the plate. “what’s your name, anyway? unless you just want me to call you girl.” though he surmised she was more of a woman, probably closer to his age than his sister’s.

everything had gone back and then ... weightlessness. clementine was floating in water like she was being baptized in a dark river. she could hear her mother asking her to take in some bad check to buy groceries and virginia slims with. she could hear her mother getting her hair done saying that her baby was born to be a star. she slipped past some memory of stealing covergirl from the cvs and then she was hearing heavy footfalls and the sensation of being planted against someone's chest. she looked up to see a man carrying her and wondered who he was. is this death? she wondered in some material way. nothing existential. she didn't think she was important enough of a sinner for something to rise from perdition and come collect her. this was a man and she was so sure that the was going to kill her that she let herself slip back into that dark river til she drowned.

only she didn't drown.

however long it was, time passed slowly and then all at once. clementine palmer woke up in a strange bed like she'd just had a drunken one-night stand with the most considerate rando on the planet (hello tylenol and bedside water). her head hurt and she frantically raised herself up onto her elbows to blink away glimpses of the last ... half an hour? twenty-four? forty-eight hours? images felt so distant, slipping through her fingers like dreams or a night out ending with the spins. she used to love being dizzy like that. as a kid, she'd never get sick on the merry-go-round. the flip-flopping loss of equilibrium never disturbed her. she felt at home in it. now she felt like she'd woken up in oz, thrashed around in that tornado, and dropped off in some girl's sparse room.

it took a moment to focus on her surroundings. at first the room almost looked like some man's cabin. a painting of some deer on what looked like a tree round hung near the bed. an unstrung guitar by a dresser. decorations were minimal, but she didn't miss the small, old-fashioned framed drawing of some blue flowers or the hairbrush on a simple vanity. it was almost like going back in time.

wincing at the pain in her side, it took her a moment to figure out the best way to get out of the bed. sitting at the edge, she took four tylenol and threw them back with a swig of water, pausing only to realize that she needed to drink down the whole glass. had her mystery caretaker given her some before? she touched her lips at the hint of a memory. she was still in her same clothes, which she pulled a face at. it was a good sign, but she felt disgusting as the bloodied and sweat-covered clothes stuck to her skin. after all she'd been through, she wasn't brave enough to go through the dresser and risk triggering whoever'd found her. if he wasn't a monster like everyone else she'd met, she didn't want to make her first impression in his dead wife's clothes or whatever.

clementine wasn't really sure what to do aside from that. she did take a look in the mirror, noting that she looked like death reheated in the louisiana sun. she ran the brush through her hair in futile, anachronistic vanity. what a joke. she tried the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. though what threat did a rotting woman pose a man who could carry her back to his little house on the prairie? she went and sat back on the bed for a moment, waiting to see if she was supposed to ... wait. clementine had never been patient and was back at the door before she had the courage to open it or the sense to wait longer.

on the other side of the door, she heard the sounds of a home. it was like waking up in her mother's trailer to the sound of crackling bacon fat. she clung to the wall like bacon on the cast iron as she slid down the hall. the smell of eggs hit her as she made it into the kitchen, pausing to take in the scene. this wasn't like a one-night stand at all. at least not anyone she'd ever had. no man had ever made clementine palmer breakfast.

uncertainty was palpable. if there was a smoke detector it would've been thick enough to set it off, but all little ol' tiny could do was laugh. did she think she could eat? who was this man with his imposing presence making her eggs like she was a guest in his house instead of some sickly interloper. she flashed him a sincere smile--not the one she saved for clients telling her their secrets. not some conspiratorial pair of scissors behind their heads that always was on their side. "are those real eggs?" she asked, clearing her throat. "cause, then yes, i can eat." the last hot meal she had was so long ago she didn't even remember it. wincing, she crossed the room slowly to him and scanned the room hoping for some coffee. she wanted to keep it light, but, goddamn, she had to ask. "why're you doin' this?" hopefully that didn't cause him to pack up those beautiful eggs and send her out on her own again, but after all she'd been through, she couldn't imagine any reason that was good.

[pxelblobs]

Serena Pendleton

Serena was one of a set of triplets, her only siblings. Her mother and father loved her and her siblings dearly, they were their world. Her father ran Pendleton Enterprises Holdings, Inc., one of the largest companies in the nation. The family was rich beyond belief and the Pendleton children, could have anything they ever wanted except for one thing, true love. The triplets were sworn to marriage from an early age. Serenity, Serena and Serella understood this and were happy to follow their parents wishes.  But tragedy struck when the family was holidaying on their yacht. A large unexpected storm hit and the yacht sank, leaving the Pendletons to survive in the cold ocean. Sadly the triplets parents and Serella did not survive the ordeal. Serenity and Serena were the only survivors. After such a loss, the girls were torn apart by grief. Serenity blamed Serena for the idea of their holiday and their family’s death. She decided to cut Serena out of her life and out of the family’s wealth, leaving Serena without anything. Though not all was lost. The family of the boy she was sworn to still wanted her to marry their son, Nathaniel Adams. Serena agreed to the marriage knowing that this was her parents wishes. She was invited to stay with them until the marriage and then they would move on to their lives.  Nathaniel decided against his families plans of joining the political career and instead decided to become a writer. His parents were furious and shunned him from their family. They gave the option to Serena to divorce him but she decided to stay by his side. Serena and Nate moved away with the little money they had and brought a place in a small town.

This is where we find them now. What will their life aspire to? Will they be together to their elder days? Who knows.

[pxelblobs]

Serena Pendleton and Nate Adams

Possibly More than likely, doing a banilla save because I feel like a new save. I have like 20 going but I dont feel like playing them so yep...

[pxelblobs]

Let’s make the Pendleton’s a random legacy! Here is their roll!

Nate will be the Author and Serena will be the Farmer.

[pxelblobs]

simming-sweet replied to your photo: Let’s make the Pendleton’s a random legacy! Here...

Where can you find this website from ? :)

You can find it here!