The survivors of the battle of the Hill managed to get back to the Nancy Foster. Alex is taken to the medical bay, and Sean does his work to stabilize her and repair her throat. It is about a week of healing before she can speak again, and she has a nasty scar on her neck. However, Sean's skill and the medical equipment insure there are no physical long term impacts than that.

Emotional long term damage is a very different thing however. Losing five people-Gabby, John, Deborah, Jonesy, and Jessica is a major blow to everyone. Even Timmy cannot be shielded from the grim reality of this loss. However, the boy and the entire crew finds a bright spot of hope. Chase arrives just 45 minutes after the rest of survivors. The dog is clearly glad to be back, being nothing more than tired. The newcomer Jacques Charter seems to be something of a vet, and gives the hound a clean bill of health. Soon after, the dog mopes around Jonesy's quarters, trying to understand why his best friend is not there. He refuses to eat for a few days, until Timmy feeds him by hand. Then the dog refuses to sleep anywhere but Jonesy's cabin or Timmy's bed.

Eventually Max gets tired of the unspoken grief the crew seems to be suffering from. After a week or so, he insists on funeral services for the fallen. The boat is taken out into the bay, and personal objects of each fallen member is placed in a box, and sent out to sea. Notes are written by each member of the crew about each of those that fell in combat.

If there is any sliver lining to these awful events, is that the city itself is somewhat safer. The horde that came to the battle of the hill seemed to be drawn from the dead of the city, and the living enemy has not made their presence known since that day. Assuming there are even any of them left.

There are also some newcomers to the ship's crew. Juan Vidalgo, the man driving the motorcycle, and wearing armor made of football gear and street signs with a self made spear, turns out to have become very useful on the Nancy Foster. He seems to be something of an electrical and mechanical engineering expert. He spends most of his time in the engineering section of the ship, working with Bill, and telling anyone who asks about his plans to add solar panels and other improvements for both ship and crew.

Jacques Chartier, animal doctor and avid golfer, was Juan's original passenger on his bike's sidecar. He is often called 'Sancho' by Juan, but he never explains why. Jacques has a mini-golf kit that he encourages the crew to use and enjoy-often with Jacques joining the game.

There are other people who have joined the crew since the battle of the Hill. Mostly wanderers who managed to get lucky just finding the boat. It becomes clear they have nothing to do with the attackers who killed so many of the crew.

OOC:
You can post assuming the funeral at sea has already been done. New player characters have joined the crew in the week spent letting Alex heal. People have managed to go out and get food needed, given the lack of walkers the area around the dock is mostly clear. Also its been looted of anything useful in the past week.

New PCs will introduce themselves in this thread.

Everyone should be physically healed, but Alex has a scar on her neck. Everyone who was at 5+ stress needs to make a 'Handle your fear roll' with an IC post about how your doing. You get +2 to your wits or empathy roll if your PC anchor was alive at the end of the battle, and +2 if your NPC anchor made it. If you fail the roll, please roll 1d6 to see how you are suffering. Everyone else should also do a how you are coping post. Those who want to make a dearly departed for each of fallen please do so. You will get the standard xp award. There should be five dearly departed, one for each lost PC and one NPC(Jessica).

Everyone's stress is reset to 0, and Health is restored.

Everyone gets 5xp+1 xp for cracking 6k+ posts. Once the dearly departed write ups, put into the box sent out to sea, are written, that xp will be distributed.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:44, Thu 01 Feb.

It's been a difficult time for Matt, and the incident on the Hill still haunts him. He blames himself for Jessica's death, and Gabriella's too. At night he struggles to sleep, trying to recall the sequence of events, wondering what he could have done differently to change the outcome.

The days aren't much easier. He's been spending most of his time in the medical bay, sitting with Alex, just holding her hand. Sometimes he tries to make small talk, but it feels awkward and he doesn't quite know what to say. There was a moment on the hill where their fates were entwined, fighting together to survive, each prepared to give up his/her life for the other. But now it feels different, as if time moving on has pulled them further apart. Maybe it's just stress, and the feelings of guilt that have been playing on his mind.

Sean has been a tower of strength. Matt didn't know him very well, but since their return, he has seen a whole new side to Sean and is immeasurably greatful. Without Sean, Alex would probably not have survived, and Matt can't even begin to contemplate life wihtout her.

Thank-you Sean.

When he's not in the medical bay, Matt tries to spend time with Bill on the bridge. Bill doesn't talk about what happened, he's been through a lot himself, and understands that Matt will to need time to recover, but he's good company and helps to ease some of the burden. And he always seems to have a mug of hot coffee at the ready.

Meal times have been better, with Andy and Beth trying to keep up their spirits. Adria hs been quiet and Matt's heart goes out her, but they don't talk about John at all. The new guy, Juan, is quite a character. Without him they might never have made it back to the ship, and Matt is glad to have him around. He certainly lifts the mood.

OOC:
21:50, Today: Matt Carter rolled 27 using 6d6 with rolls of 2,6,5,4,6,4.  Handle Fear
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:07, Fri 02 Feb.

Being unable to speak gives quite a different perspective on life, as it turns out.  The knowledge that you can't reply tends to make people quieter around you, and words -- even the most important and fraught ones imaginable -- start to mean less than actions.  She's not used to that, she's always been more inclined to want to talk about all the really important things... talk them to death sometimes, in fact, according to Beth.  Not being able to do that changes a lot of things.  Even now that she can speak, with an effort, she finds herself not taking as much advantage of that as she'd expected.  The entire ship is quieter, despite Timmy and Juan doing their best to fill the void.  Maybe there's simply not much anyone can say in this new, terrifying world.

Matt, always more inclined than she is to sit quietly, spent a lot of time in the infirmary with her, largely in silence.  The few notes that she wrote tended to be about practical things.  Most of the time they just held hands, Alex sometimes resting her head against his shoulder.  Even now she listens to him breathing, her own breaths falling into the same rhythm.  It reminds her that they're not dead.  There are moments when all she can think of is those they lost, times when all she can see are their faces, contorted in death, and in those times it seems as though that simple sound of breathing is what somehow brings her back from despair.  She's afraid to be alone, afraid to face those terrible moments without Matt there.

He's saved her in more ways than one, is going on saving her every day, but even so she can't help but think of that terrible battle whenever she looks at him.  They both must feel the same weight of guilt at being alive when so many died, a guilt that often threatens to overwhelm her -- and probably him as well -- and she wonders if that will ever fade.  Impossible to believe those images of death will ever leave her memory.  Cody, her friend and protector. Gabriella, who worked so hard to save them on that hill.  Jonesy, her staunch second in command.  Jessica, angry at everything but still doing her best to help them.  Deborah, so ladylike and yet still seeming to know all about how to fight.

It isn't possible for Alex, practically scared of her own shadow, to have survived when so many others haven't.  And yet here she is.  Here they both are, her and Matt, trying to find their places again.

If she still believed in any sort of a god, she'd thank him for having spared Matt.  If he had fallen on that hill, she would have laid down next to him and died there herself.

The funeral has helped everyone, though, at least she thinks so.  There isn't really any closure, she's not sure that was ever real, but there is a certain sense of having found a way to move forward, even if they can't quite act on it yet.  And having Sean back helps.  Whatever his unwitting part in the battle, it doesn't seem worth worrying about now.  It's too late to change anything.  Let the dead past bury its dead, she thinks, trying to remember who said that.

She gives Matt a small smile, all she can ever manage these days.  "Stroll around the ship later?" she asks.  Her voice is still hoarse, and she wonders if it always will be.  Her hand touches her scar absently -- she does that often these days, usually without realizing it.  That will almost certainly never go away, though in a way she's glad of that.  It feels like a penance.

14:18, Today: Alex Martin rolled 30 using 7d6 with rolls of 5,1,6,2,5,6,5.  Handle Your Fear.

"What the actual fuck!" Ryder slams his foot on the Range Rover's brake before his conscious brain has even fully processed what's he's seen. The big SUV lurches, the tires shrieking over the asphalt. It comes to a shuddering stop in a cloud of acrid rubber smoke.

Once the vehicle has finished rocking on its shocks, he kicks the door open. For a moment, the parking lot of Rogue Ales and Spirits echoes to Destination Calabria played at ear-damaging volume, then it's muffled behind the SUV's heavy door.

Who the fuck leaves a spike strip in the middle of the damn road?

A lean, athletic man with the build of a fighter, Ryder bends down and picks up a piece of glinting brass. Whoever was thoughtless enough to go popping these off in public.

It doesn't take a genius to work out what has gone down here, which is just as well, since nobody ever accused him of being one. But even Ryder can read this little scene. Torn rubber on the asphalt, glass splinters, brass casings. A smashed boombox...

... actually, he doesn’t know about that one.

He looks around with suspicious eyes. All the traces suggest this happened a while back, but—

He touches the Sig Sauer in his waistband. Like everything else precious in his life, it's stolen. The gun, the knife, the SUV, his clothes. Although, these days, it's not stealing. Or at least, nobody is going to try to arrest him for it.

The spiked strip isn't a police model. He's seen enough of those to recognize them. It's some homemade piece of shit.

Fucking weird.

He kicks and drags the strip off the blacktop and into the bushes off the side of the road.

Another burst of music and the Range Rover's tires scream for purchase as the SUV lurches forward. He's been trying to get here since they let him out of prison on September 9th. Or, not here, specifically. He's been following the breadcrumbs of Phoenix's trail since everything went to shit. Hard to believe that was only seven weeks ago. What Phoenix is doing in Oregon is beyond him, but the courts have a weird sense of humor sometimes. The last breadcrumb he picked up said there were a couple of blond girls living on a ship in the bay, one of them about Phoenix's age. It's not a lot, but he's never been one to quit on a thing he's started.

There are a couple of walkers staggering along the road. He swerves. The bodies pound into the hood and bounce brokenly onto the verge. One thumps beneath the wheels and he watches its chewed remains in the rearview.

He laughs. Fuckers.

After that, the ship isn't hard to find. It's the biggest thing in the bay, and the only thing with living people on it. More living people than he's seen since he blew through Newport yesterday.

He circles the SUV and stops with it pointing out. Stabs the audio set and the music dies. He watches the faces appearing along the edge of the ship. Licks his lips and wonders if he needs the carbine. In the end, he leaves it. He's not about to start a war here.

The wind off the bay is unforgiving. Chill gusts damp with spray. November in Oregon. It isn't silent, he notes. The boat, ship, whatever, is burbling away, dribbling water into the bay. Quiet enough, but there. With the Sig in the back of his jeans, he gets out with his hands on display. There's a Bowie knife strapped to his thigh, and a switchblade taped to his ankle. He eyes the suspicious faces looking for one in particular.

"I'm looking for Phoenix Hudson," he calls at last, when nobody shoots him.

It isn't Phoenix that answers him, though. It's another blond girl who shoulders through the crowd to look down on him.

"Ryder?" Her eyes go massive.

Ryder squints against the bright sky. It takes a fraction of a second before the name conjures itself.

"Laura?" They stare at one another. It's an oddly awkward moment as the pieces of their past reassemble themselves. She wasn't his first—that was the substitute English teacher in senior high—but he was hers. In Phoenix's bedroom, if he recalls. Laura being one of his sister's friends. A couple of months later, Laura left Detroit, and he got a stern talking to from Child Services.

"What the hell are you doing in Oregon?" he asks.

"She's not here, Ryder," Laura says, plucking thoughts from his mind. "I haven't seen her since—" She chews her lip, turns to the surrounding people. They exchange words that Ryder can't hear. Then she turns back. "You'd better come aboard."

The journey back to the Nancy Foster was numbing, yet I pushed the day's events out of my head until much later. My first priority was attending to Alex in the infirmary. The people who had remained rushed to greet us as we walked the plank up to the ship. Matt took Alex to an empty bed, and I helped Devon, both of whom needed medical attention. Within a few hours, both had been attended to and would be fine within the next several days, though Devon's wound was minor compared to the life-threatening injury Alex had endured. The medical equipment and supplies on the ship were adequate for her needs. It was imperative to change and clean the wound to prevent infection and despite having a hefty scar along her neck, Alex will survive to see another day. That was more than could be said for the others who didn't return to the ship.

Once I was satisfied with Alex's procedure, I return to my cabin and reunited with Andy, along with Devon. Our reunion was an emotional one. The three of us shared stories of our encounters and adventures over the past few days which devolved into the final ending for the five members of our group that didn't return. Collectively, we decided to move into a larger cabin so the three of us would remain together. The transition to the new space didn't take too long.

Andy had taken up the roll of the ship's cook, or kitchen manager, as he jokingly called himself. His prior experience in the kitchen at the cafe and down in the Domes meant he had experience in making large quantities of food for people and with his outdoors expertise, Andy knew how to make the best out of any situation. Devon worked at his assistant in the kitchen and mess hall as he awkwardly assimilated himself into the group, despite earlier reservations in doing so. Devon's major objections were the military personnel on the ship and with a majority of them now gone, his attitude had since changed; Devon also knew this would be survival for himself and me.

The silence between everyone was deafening. Whether it was directed towards me for my departure or simply out of grief, I'm not sure. The sense of guilty weighs heavy on me, though. Did the group confront the Hill to find me or were they driven by revenge for Ty? I'd like to think the latter, but it might have been both. Regardless of their reasonings, it resulted in the death of five of our group. The five with the best knowledge on defense and combat, along with leadership. I hadn't known Gab and her company all that well, but I had so many questions to ask them regarding the events surrounding the military operations and civilians. Were the survivors on the Hill justified in their quest for vengeance? Diego seemed to think so- who claimed Gab and Ty had killed his parents- what ever happened to him? Hopefully, he escaped.

There are so many unanswered questions. So many raw emotions, too.

I had so hoped to make amends with Cody whenever we reunited, but that will never happen. We ended on a very sour note, but I can't change that now. Whatever happened to him with the assault on the Hill, I hope he met a quick and painless end. I also hope he didn't join the ranks of the shambling horde of ghouls set on consuming us. I hope none of the five are part of that horde. At the funeral, I had placed a single coffee bean in my note to Cody before folding it up and casting it down to the watery grave below. I'd like to think he'd appreciate the gesture.

As the days passed, our numbers slowly grew as other survivors join us on the boat. All of us gave introductions with brief tours and cabin assignments. Andy and Devon attempt to provide a sense of community with mealtimes, though I am not sure how well it's been received. Oddly, I have fallen into the role of the resident doctor. Who would have though a med student drop-up and former drug addict would be providing medical care to a group of relative strangers? I guess the collapse of society allows anything to happen.

"You know, we're going to need to make another coffee run here soon," I say, half-jokingly and half-seriously to Matt as I look over to the city from the desk, sipping a cup of caffeine goodness. I cast a glance to some of the newer occupants while speaking to Matt as I take another sip from my cup. "And I'm surprised people are still showing up. I would have thought the who city was deserted. If not deserted, then part of that shambling horde."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:53, Fri 02 Feb.

"Its a waste of parts, that's why! Goddamn it!" Bill's growl could heard throughout the galley where Matt, Alex, Sean and Ryder where currently sitting around and/or eating/drinking. "Why the fuck would you build that shit when those parts could go to something we really need!" Bill snaps at Juan as both men enter.

The ship's engineer, Bill and friend of Matt's had been arguing with the newcomer Juan. It was not a new conversations for anyone. As over the last week it was clear Bill did not like newcomers in HIS engineering section, touching HIS gear, and doing things that HE thought would put the Nancy Foster is peril.

Mostly, he just did not care much for Juan.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:18, Fri 02 Feb.

Juan had his hands in a pleading gesture as he tries to calm Bill. Its weird, because Jaun is a very big guy, almost towering over Bill, yet its clear he wants the older man to not be so angry. It took Juan a few days to stop wearing that weird armor of his, along with the anti-riot ballistic helmet. Now he was just in a loose shirt and jeans, which where often stained with mechanic grease of some kind.

"Señor, please. This is...ah...what you say? Oh...prototipo? First of its kind, si? Using to make improvements on final model. Final model...very Bueno! It be useful in many ways against the Muertos! It use no gas, all wind up! Cheap parts, easy found!" He replies in somewhat broken English.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:28, Fri 02 Feb.

Timmy enters with the 'prototipo' in question. Rather, chasing said 'prototipo'. It seems to be a metal ball, with some sort of clockwork motor within it. It rolls, on its own, bumps into things, and then starts rolling in a different direction. Sorta like a Roomba with no cleaning ability. Timmy seems thrilled with the device, and often puts his foot in the way of the rolling gizmo. Only to have it bounce off harmlessly and start rolling in a different direction. Timmy looks up at Juan, as if to see if he is treating the device correctly. Juan smiles and gives him a thumbs up.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:22, Fri 02 Feb.

Chase, following the boy, seems to agree with Bill. The hound is NOT a fan of the device. He tries to sniff the thing, only to spring away when it starts to roll in the dog's direction. He growls at the gizmo, only to stop when Timmy hugs him. Mostly in order to lick the boy's face.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:18, Fri 02 Feb.

"So, Laura, are you going to tell me about Prince Charming over there?" asks Melody. Next to her, Timo grunts, frowning at Ryder, where he's talking to Matt, Sean, and Alex. Almost as if on cue, as soon as Laura looks at him, he looks up and she gets a faceful of that look of his.

She smiles. "It's complicated…"

Bill and Juan engaged in one of their recurring debates spares her from answering momentarily and all three of them watch Timmy chasing the Roomba around the canteen, Chase growling at his heels.

It's a welcome change of atmosphere. As Ryder observed shortly after arriving, it's not a ship, it's a floating funeral home. Everybody walking around like they're treading on eggshells. She misses Deborah and her pancakes, the security that Gabby, Jessica, and Jonesy brought, but she never trusted John. Too much cop about him. He looked at her like he could see right through her.

Probably could.

But she misses living, too. They aren't all dead, but unless somebody turns things around, they soon will be. She's actively thinking of bailing with Ryder.

"Laura, we live in a world where the dead are walking about trying to eat us. Name something that isn't complicated."

Without thinking, Laura glances at Timo. Nobody says it, but the big guy doesn't leave the ship any more. He says he needs to protect the people here—and he does; she's grateful for his hulking presence—but Laura suspects he can't face them any more. The dead. The walkers. The shamblers.

She stirs her coffee. "Detroit," she says at last. "It's not much of a city. There are two big families there. The Hudsons and the Steeles. Between them, they run a lot of the crime in Detroit. Armed robbery, underground fighting, illegal gambling, prostitution… everything, I guess."

She watches Ryder. Her words are pulling up all the old memories. There's a lot to unpack.

"No prizes for guessing they don't get on. It's not open warfare or anything, but it can be tense. Except the kids all go to the same schools, so there's an agreed truce for the kids. I was friends with Ryder's sister, Phoenix. Through Phoenix, I met Ryder."

"You could say he was the wild one of the Hudson family. Scary wild. When he walked into a place, men looked down, you know? He started burgling when he was a kid. By the time I met him, he was doing cash trucks. Real violent stuff. I thought he was … like a pinup or something. So, what happened, happened. It was good for a while."

"Then my family found out."

"It was bound to happen. Phoenix was always around my place, or I was at hers. But more and more, I was sneaking away to be with Ryder. Once they knew, it blew up. Totally. The truce applied to me and Phoenix. We were kids. Ryder was eighteen. No truce. Connor, my brother, challenged him to a fight. Not some schoolyard thing. For the Hudsons and Steeles, bare knuckle fighting is a big thing. It was a proper to do. You should have seen it." She looks at Ryder. "No rules, anything goes. The Steeles and the Hudsons settled their issues like that. And both families got big involved. It was huge. Bets getting laid, lots of grief getting heaped into it. You'd have thought it was Madison Square Garden, not a derelict factory in the Rust Belt."

Laura licks her lips. She can still remember what it was like. The place was crammed. Dozens of people from both sides sardined in. Shouting, swearing, dogs snarling, the reek of oil and old metal. Rust. Dirty cash. She can still feel herself going hot and cold, her stomach churning.

"The ring, or the octagon, whatever they call it, was a concrete space in the middle of this old foundry. The referee was some out-of-town guy. Nobody in Detroit wanted to risk getting into Dutch with either the Hudsons or the Steeles. Connor hated Ryder for touching me. He called Ryder everything. When the two of them got in the ring, you could feel it like electricity in the air. Ryder just smiled, like he knew something Connor didn't. Maybe he did. It blew Connor's fuse."

She remembers thinking that Ryder might have been the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

"As soon as the bell went, the referee got out of the way fast. Connor charged across the ring and the two of them sort of collided without touching. Like magnets repulsing each other."

Blood and sweat. That's what she remembers. Both fighters were stripped to the waist, slick with sweat, bleeding from eyes and mouths. That, and the sound when they hit one another. Like a bat thwacking a watermelon. Connor was a hard man, she knew, but he was outclassed. Ryder was violent on a whole other level.

"By the end of the first round, Connor was bleeding. Ryder got him with a knee in the face or something. I couldn't watch. It was horrible. I tried to stop it, but I was only there to learn a lesson. Nobody was interested in anything I said."

"So, Connor ended up in hospital, and I got sent to live with an aunt in Portland. Long story short." She looks up into Melody's shocked face and smiles. "Well, you asked!"

---

OOC: if these colors are an issue for anybody, please say. I kind of regret choosing them and will make the effort to pick higher contrast ones in future. They look ok in 'dark mode'.

Matt smiles at Bill's outburst. So long as it doesn't come to blows, it's a good thing Bill is letting off some steam - he's far too tense - and Juan probably needs to find himself a new source of materials for his prototypes.

Sitting here, chatting to Alex, Sean and Ryder has been a cathartic experience, but they haven't spoken much about what happened on the Hill. Matt suspects that Sean blames himself for what happened, but it's not his fault. One way or another, there would have been a confrontation. It's good to have Alex up and about again, and Matt is feeling closer to her than ever. His previous doubts and sense of guilt have started to abate, and he's feeling a lot more relaxed in her company. He hasn't yet made up his mind about the new couple. They seem pleasant enough, but his intuition tells him not to leave anything valuable lying around. Still, he has made an effort to be nice.

"A coffee run might be good for us," Matt responds to Sean's comments. "We can't stay cooped up here forever. We also need to try and retrieve our weapons, there's bound to be small pockets of survivors scattered around the city and we can't rely on them all being friendly."

"Hey Bill!" he turns to look across at the big man. "Go easy on him. I need Juan to craft me a new bow, and he won't be able to if you rip his arms off."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:26, Sat 03 Feb.

In reply to Matt Carter (msg # 11):

Juan nods. "It true, senor Bill. It mucho hard to make bow with no arms. I have to make with teeth and feet!" He smiles widely at Bill.