Pinnacle -Lock please-

[AngelInWaiting]

Ah, seems like Rose hasn't exactly accepted the apocalypse and it's still a sore spot for her... : P Her attitude annoys me like crazy, though xD I probably wouldn't get along with her if I ever met her.

[DRdoctorlady]

If you met her normally, she'd probably be pretty normal.
She's just getting stressed. She helps Laurel's with managing things, and having the RC hanging over her head is driving her crazy :P
I feel like a mom XD
Let me explain: I love my characters a lot, like they are my children. I will end up defending them a lot XD But then again, I'm a terrible mother as I let them get burned alive, shot at, starve, get tormented in varying ways, etc.

[DRdoctorlady]

Updated the front page a bit

[AngelInWaiting]

Yeah, I totally get that xD

But me hating on your characters is actually a good thing - it means they feel real : P

[DRdoctorlady]

Oh.
My.
Freaking.
GOSH.
I NEVER LEARN T-T
I freaking lost all that work. GARRHHHHHHKKKKKK! I'm going to dieeeeeee T-T
*begins sobbing hysterically*
NOOOOO! NOOO! I know you won't like it Angel- Laurel's had a huge part in it.
And now when I retype it there will be less stuff, I'll probably forget all the clever things in it, and the overall quality will drop.
I'M GOING TO DIE.

[DRdoctorlady]

By I know you won't like it-you wouldn't like that I couldn't post it. T-T
Garrrr, and she said some really clever things I can't remember TT__TT

[AngelInWaiting]

NOOOOOOOOOOO DDDD: CLEVER LAUREL THINGS, GONE!!!

But...... knowing you, you shall think of even MORE clever Laurels things!! >:P mwahahaaa

But type it on Word first, missy x]

[DRdoctorlady]

I suppose its slightly okay cuz I have the first two paragraphs written on paper XP
I'll upload later (for everything: Including bereaved and running :D)

[Trick;]

I suppose its slightly okay cuz I have the first two paragraphs written on paper XP
I'll upload later (for everything: Including bereaved and running )

AND THOSE ENTRIES!

[DRdoctorlady]

mehhhhhhhhh
Chapter 2i
-------->Continuation
I can’t really see what I’m doing, pawing through all this crap in the dark when I should be sleeping, but it’s sort of interesting to see all the accumulated, unwanted dredges of humanity, all in one place. It’s surprising how untouched everything is. Most other shops are completely looted, or destroyed. Even in the Apocalypse, this stuff has survived.
Amazing.
Trailing my fingers through the thick dust, I try to figure out what each dark mass is, just by touch. My stomach growls protestingly, reminding me I hadn’t eaten today. Hmm. I’ve gotten used to only eating a little. Ignoring my stomach’s wishes, I continue searching the shelves for something interesting. I feel a crystal ball. An old painting. A leather book.
Slightly intrigued as to why it wasn’t in the book section, I pull the leather-bound bundle off the shelf and flip it open. Even in the gloom I can tell that the pages are blank, pale against the cover.
Oh. So it’s a sketchbook.
Flipping through the pages, I find a few sketches. They seem half-completed, and are very sparse, taking up a corner or an edge every thirty pages or so. My stomach growls at me as if to remind me I’m supposed to be hungry. Ignoring it, I continue to pore over the sketchbook. At one point, there’s a dark cluster of them on the page. I peer closely at it, but can’t make out what it’s supposed to be. Frustrated, I skip the picture. After a moment, I stop. Deciding I’ve ruined my eyes enough looking through it, I close the sketchbook and tuck it under my arm
My stomach gurgles at me and I trot over to the boxes of food Ice had brought back with him, snagging a water bottle on my way over. Digging through the various powdered soups, I try to find something to eat that doesn’t require me to boil water.
I suddenly feel extremely homesick. Not for home home, but the one I share with Grasswhistle and Dagger and Coon and everyone else. At least there Laurel’s would have cooked something up, or at least been able to boil some water over the fire.
Disheartened, I try to find something to eat whilst my tummy urges me on like a naggy mother. Finding nothing, I crouch down, irritated that I hadn’t tried to eat something while the sun was still up.
I’m hit by another thought.
Am I important? Or do I just end up eating all the food?
I don’t really do much. Rose takes care of hunting, sometimes Dagger when she’s too busy. Laurel’s plans and plots every chore that happens. She keeps us organized. Ice, Grasswhistle, and Coon are excellent at finding food. Badger is good for heavy-work, and can keep Break calm, who has the excuse of being an invalid. Even Flyby helps by making everyone smile.
The only major thing I’ve done was find a house.
I don’t really like hunting. Killing things isn’t my style. Helping around the house? We all help, but mostly its Laurel’s cleaning things up. I can’t do too much heavy work; just hoeing a plot of land for planting tomatoes had me aching for a week. I’m not too much for raids… They’re okay, but being in town rattles my nerves and leaves me a wreck, reminding me of everything that happened before…
My stomach snarls.
Remembering the pack of food we had brought from home, I run across the room and pounce on the piles of backpacks, carefully looking for the right one. Finally finding it, I jam my hand in and rummage around for some venison, only managing to stab myself with something sharp. Quickly drawing my hand back out, I look and see a thin cut on my finger, not enough to really hurt, but enough to seriously piss me off.
Oh Dagger you sneaky bastard.
I am going to kill him.
Of course this was going to bite me in the butt later. Remember when he moved the knives from the clothes bag to the food bag? Sure, Flyby wasn’t taken by golden eagles, but in the end I still lose.
Completely pissed, I rip open the pack and carefully hunt out the actual food. It’s only deer jerky and crackers. Tearing the tough meat into strips, I nibble on the crackers.
I miss bread.
Random thought right? I have a lot of time to think when I’m left alone, which I hate. But anyway, I miss real, fresh bread. I haven’t had any since I left home. It’s all stale now, or eaten by the massive rats running around everywhere. I want to eat toast again too. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently.
Maybe I can get Laurel’s and Rose to make some someday.
Instead, I chew on the salty meat, wishing I had some ice cream too.
* * *
I wake up to the smell of soup and violence.
Hmm.
I can tell I’ve overslept because the window’s throwing up light in my face and there’s nobody else in the room. I suppose I should wake up and break up the fight, but the smell of food is the real reason I’m going downstairs. Blearily rubbing my eyes, I stumble downstairs, following the scent of breakfast. Or lunch. Who knows what time it is?
Grasswhistle and Thorns are yelling at each other. I’m too sleepy to care or listen to what they’re saying. They look like they’ve been hitting each other for a while, their hair wild, but I just scoot around them to Laurels. She’s squatting on the floor, hugging her knees next to an old-fashioned burner, heating an equally old pot full of water. There’s two steaming cups of noodles next to her.
I can’t help but notice how old Laurels looks. She organizes and plans everything that goes on. She run’s the group. Without her, we lose the brain that forces us to do things. This means she has to be the one worrying about everything all the time. How much food do we have? Water? Do the crops need weeding? Is there anyone open to do that? Who sleeps when? Who watches the smoking of the meat? When’s the next raid?
I notice her hair is streaked with gray, and she has stress lines on her face. She’s only eight.
Skirting the warring females, I sit next to her. She hands me a cup of noodles.
Looking around, I see Break’s sitting in the corner, seeming to be counting his fingers. I’m surprised he isn’t screaming along with Rose and Grasswhistle. Usually, when there’s a fight, Break’s the loudest person.
But now he’s calm, only slightly insane.
Seeing nobody else, I shoot Laurel’s a questioning look.
“Ice, Dagger, Badger, and Coon went on a raid,” She explains, barely raising her voice against the din Rose and Grass were making. I didn’t really care. Squabbles break out all the time. It’s nothing weird to be woken up by someone arguing or fighting each other. What is weird is that Ice, Dagger, and Coon would willingly go out in the same company. That’s just asking for someone to die. Laurel’s notices my skeptical look and rolls her eyes.
“They’ll be back in the evening. Maybe.”
“Hmmm.”
I sit and eat my soup, calmly observing Grasswhistle and Rose fight. About the point when they’re going to start punching each other again, Flyby waddles up, foisting them apart, a hand on each one’s calf. Once she’s pushed them apart a sufficient distance, she walks calmly through the passage she had made to Laurels. The girls return to their fighting.
“Foo!” Flyby giggles, clutching at Laurel’s soup. Laurels feeds her a little, looking exhausted. Flyby immediately spits it out.
“Bad!” She hisses. “Hot.”
Dissatisfied with the soup, she gently pushes Laurel’s hand so that she puts the noodles down and crawls onto her lap, shaking her blonde curls. I notice she needs a bath. I also notice that I have run out of soup to eat.
"Anything I c-" I duck my head as something goes sailing over it. Right as I’m about to turn around and cuss Rose and Grasswhistle out, the backdoor slams open. I jump to my feet, only to stop moving. We all freeze for a moment, waiting to see who would come through the door, at this time in the afternoon. We wait for a moment, neither moving nor breathing, even Flyby silent.
Ice saunters through the doorway, his face blank. Immediately I tense up. Ice only shows emotion when it’s safe. When he doesn’t…
That’s usually bad.
Coon skitters in after him, looking pale. Dagger grumbles in after, looking irritated. Badger brings up the behind, uncomfortable looking. An odd spectrum of emotions.
“We saw Regime Change graffiti,” Ice says, putting a weird emphasis on the word graffiti, as if he’d never said it before.
Rose drops the bowling ball she was about to throw at Grasswhistle.
“Where?” I hear. Slightly startled, I look down to see Laurels is still seated on the floor. I’m instantly uneasy. I don’t think an eight year old should be involved in this.
It didn’t matter what I thought, apparently, as she was taking this very calmly.
Ice tilts his head to the side.
“By the Wal-Mart,” He responded. Okay, that doesn't sound too bad. But he wouldn’t freak out over nothing. Ice is pretty smart about danger.
“And the smaller stores next to them,” Coon squeaked. He seemed terrified, and kept an arm on his bad shoulder.
“I don’t know what they’re so worried about,” Dagger said, peeved. I shot him my ϋber death glare.
“Did you see anyone?” Grasswhistle asks, her eyebrows furrowed.
“More importantly, did anyone see you?” I say, remembering what Break had said in that weird moment of clarity.
“No,” Ice said, his voice clipped. It sounds so blank, distanced, disturbing, the way he speaks.
I choose to ignore that.
“How can you be sure?” Laurels asks.
“Coon was petrified. He wouldn’t speak. He isn’t speaking too much right now. Badger doesn’t talk much. Dagger was quiet for once. I was too. We sticked to the alleys. I sort of know that part of town. A little bit classier, but I know it,” Ice said, blinking.
“How so?” Grasswhistle asks, clearly puzzled. I feel like this should be relevant. But I can’t figure out how. Ice turns to look at her and frowns, ever so slightly.
“You don’t need to know,” He mutters, repeating something he’s said a lot.
“So what now? We still need food to bring back home,” Laurels says, agitated. Her schedule depended on how much food and tools we could salvage.
“We’ll go back out,” Dagger proclaims.
“Oh hell no,” Coon hisses. I turn to glare at him. I thought he’d been getting better with his cursing problem.
“Fine then. We’ll leave without you. Have a nice day with the girls,” He sneers, trotting out the door. Ice watches him go before shaking his head and following. Badger goes too.
Coon looks both enraged and lonely at the same time.
“Come on Coon, let’s go find something to do,” I say, extending a hand. He looks at it for a moment, before grabbing my hand with his stubby fingers. I remember for a moment that he’s only seven.
We’re all so young.
How are we supposed to survive?