Thread: The Day the Lights Went Out [Langschwert x Cal]

Had he known the effect that he had on her, he would have worked shirtless the rest of the day, in spite of the chill that the late summer nights heralded. Alas, however, he knew not, and so after the tents were put up he was properly dressed once more. He did not seek her out throughout the day, trusting that she would come to him eventually, were she to feel the need. Indeed, by the time that the pigs they had speared on the way in were little more than bones that would be saved for the stew pot the next day, he thought she was doing pretty well. He heard her coming long before she actually reached him, of course. The footsteps did not alarm him...having this many people together meant that there would always be someone up and moving, the difference being in if they were trying to move stealthily. These footsteps were not. All the same, it was a surprise to see her out and moving. He had expected her father with another plea to join them, a plea that he was inclined to grant. Not only were there already far more boys in his little band than girls, and his daughters would do well to balance that ratio in the long run, the eldest daughter...intrigued him. She was certainly pretty enough, though she seemed cold. He trusted he could win her over with time, though. And so, with thoughts of her on his mind it still surprised him when she came around the corner of the wagon, causing him to glance sharply up from his guitar. He heard her first explanation and nodded, turning his head back down to his guitar, lightly strumming a chord to make sure all of the strings agreed to one another as he heard her second question. He didn't answer for a long moment, considering his reply. So long, in fact, that one standing to the side would wonder if he had heard her at all. Just before said impartial observer would ask him to see if he heard their first question, he spoke, quite suddenly. I don't count. Enough. He lifted the guitar lightly from his lap, sliding it into the cart behind him as he turned his attention to her. It's hard to get a count. Some men that I cut, I'm sure, later died of sepsis, and some men that I thought were dead for sure likely lived. I can tell you that I've killed more than I care to, including a couple of friends, my mother, when they were insane, in the days just after the change. His gray eyes met hers for several long moments. Dwelling on things, however, won't change them, nor will it make them go away. You do what you must to defend what is yours to protect, and must be content with that. He sighed, leaning against the side of the bed a bit and patting beside him for her even as he drew the sword he had used earlier from where it rested against his hip, resting the slightly curved, silvery surface over his lap. A whetstone was taken from a small pouch in the scabbard, and spat upon, before he slowly started to use the whetstone in small, circular motions to work on the edge of the blade, speaking as he did so. The sword is an oxymoron. It is the only weapon which was designed solely to kill a human being, and as such it seems that it would be a weapon universally condemned. Yet it is also the weapon of high nobility, as it is the one weapon that can both attack and defend at the same time. Yet it is neither good nor evil, inherently, neither benevolent nor malevolent by design, no matter what use people put it to. The soft, ringing sound of the whetstone on the blade was the only sound in the night aside from his voice and the soft footfalls of the sentry walking around the camp. He would pause for a moment, looking off into the darkness, as he spoke. What little peace you had here is about to leave, I think. Something got loose from the CDC down in Atlanta....some super bug that was designed as a weapon, we think. In a healthy human, it leaves you extremely weak, weak as a newborn, but it doesn't kill you. His eyes cut toward her. For eaters, who are weakened by the diseases they catch from eating uncooked or under cooked meat, it's pretty well universally deadly. Between losing the world they're comfortable in, and being forced to dine on people they once knew, most of them are insane anyway, but they're still sane enough to move away from disease. One group bumps another group out of it's hunting grounds, which bumps another group out. It's like tossing a stone in the middle of a pond...the ripples can be felt far away from the place where the pond is actually hit by the stone. He tested the edge of the sword for a heartbeat, shaving the back of his arm, before moving on to work on another spot. I do think, though, that they're going to start dying out soon. They're going to be eating quite a bit of one another, for one thing...that ripple effect will not be bloodless...and it's going to force them out of their haunts. This will be the first winter they've had to face, too, and the cold will kill off a number if they're caught out in the open, I hope. Once that happens, though, you have to start worrying about other survivors. There's an unsavory group that's already forming down in the Hartwell, Lavonia, and Canon area, that are taking women as slaves and twisted parodies of adoption for younger kids. Even aside from them, warlords are popping up like mushrooms after a rain shower. They're more dangerous than the eaters...less numerous, perhaps, but they're all armed with modern weapons and armor, and are somewhat organized. We're going to have to join together with a larger band, or several smaller bands, if we hope to survive, ourselves. Seemingly satisfied with the edge of his blade, he would replace the whet stone first, then re-sheath the blade before turning to her. Sorry, I do ramble on. That's probably more than you wanted to know, but it is the truth. You and your family have led a sheltered life here, and I know you've not had cause to worry, but all of you had best start planning before long.