[ God help you if you've come in looking to unwind. The Mero deck bathing area, normally pristine, currently looks like the scene of a murder, with a scrawny woman seated at its epicenter the only one to blame.
Jane has taken up at one of the benches facing the entrance, hunched over her knees as she uses both hands to work a lather through hair matted with grime. Blackened suds stream down her legs and collect at her feet, where any progress to the drain becomes a lot more sluggish. More solid bits of gore cling to the stone where they land, refusing to slip down the drain.
As if the sight weren't bad enough, the warm water has also worked to activate the unmistakable reek of old blood, a metallic tang that has nowhere to go but up into the steaming air. She's in danger of running out of washcloths to use, most of the ones she brought with her now discarded on the floor, impossibly filthy.
At the sound of intruding footsteps, Jane's head snaps up with all the watchfulness of a cornered animal, mouth drawn tightly. According to her MID, it's late. Clearly she was counting on more privacy than this. Will you come back later, or step in and join her for some R&R? ]
✘ GRAVEYARD SMASH
[ If the decorations have done anything to lift her spirits, Jane isn't letting it show. Keeping to herself, she nurses one of the floating glasses at a pace that would have bored her to tears back in high school, unable to handle anything more after so many years of meager access to food and water. The view from the observation deck has most of her attention, though she's always keeping an eye on her periphery.
She's taking this moment to reflect. After all, it's weird to be here at a party honoring the dead when actually, she should be shambling around a rest stop, half-frozen with a knife stuck in her chest like some fucked up Frosty the Snowman. Really, really weird.
Guess that makes her a guest of honor. Good-- she didn't bring a present. ]
✘ SECTION T
[ There are nicer people to get paired up with, so it's really for the best that they aren't being paired off to go find a place to snuggle. Jane takes the lead unless there is significant objection, using the MID on the back of her hand to better light their way. She's sure-footed in the poorly-lit corridors, with enough nerve to turn blind corners, always with a hand on the knife strapped to her thigh. It might be useless against a ghost or whatever the hell is down here, but old habits die hard.
Suddenly, a dragging sound comes from up ahead. Jane shrinks back, holding out an arm to gesture for her companion to stop as well. Out of instinct her hand goes over her MID's screen, locking the device so it goes dark. ]
I don't fucking like this. [ And yet, she sounds resigned. Her voice is a murmur, practiced to travel as little distance as possible. ] You couldn't find your own ass down here.
Jane | The Walking Dead Game
[ God help you if you've come in looking to unwind. The Mero deck bathing area, normally pristine, currently looks like the scene of a murder, with a scrawny woman seated at its epicenter the only one to blame.
Jane has taken up at one of the benches facing the entrance, hunched over her knees as she uses both hands to work a lather through hair matted with grime. Blackened suds stream down her legs and collect at her feet, where any progress to the drain becomes a lot more sluggish. More solid bits of gore cling to the stone where they land, refusing to slip down the drain.
As if the sight weren't bad enough, the warm water has also worked to activate the unmistakable reek of old blood, a metallic tang that has nowhere to go but up into the steaming air. She's in danger of running out of washcloths to use, most of the ones she brought with her now discarded on the floor, impossibly filthy.
At the sound of intruding footsteps, Jane's head snaps up with all the watchfulness of a cornered animal, mouth drawn tightly. According to her MID, it's late. Clearly she was counting on more privacy than this. Will you come back later, or step in and join her for some R&R? ]
✘ GRAVEYARD SMASH
[ If the decorations have done anything to lift her spirits, Jane isn't letting it show. Keeping to herself, she nurses one of the floating glasses at a pace that would have bored her to tears back in high school, unable to handle anything more after so many years of meager access to food and water. The view from the observation deck has most of her attention, though she's always keeping an eye on her periphery.
She's taking this moment to reflect. After all, it's weird to be here at a party honoring the dead when actually, she should be shambling around a rest stop, half-frozen with a knife stuck in her chest like some fucked up Frosty the Snowman. Really, really weird.
Guess that makes her a guest of honor. Good-- she didn't bring a present. ]
✘ SECTION T
[ There are nicer people to get paired up with, so it's really for the best that they aren't being paired off to go find a place to snuggle. Jane takes the lead unless there is significant objection, using the MID on the back of her hand to better light their way. She's sure-footed in the poorly-lit corridors, with enough nerve to turn blind corners, always with a hand on the knife strapped to her thigh. It might be useless against a ghost or whatever the hell is down here, but old habits die hard.
Suddenly, a dragging sound comes from up ahead. Jane shrinks back, holding out an arm to gesture for her companion to stop as well. Out of instinct her hand goes over her MID's screen, locking the device so it goes dark. ]
I don't fucking like this. [ And yet, she sounds resigned. Her voice is a murmur, practiced to travel as little distance as possible. ] You couldn't find your own ass down here.