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Post by USMC GySgt Preston Davis on May 1, 2009 21:00:20 GMT -5
Preston sighed, sinking back into his single pillow. It was all he had to sleep with these days, other than his German Shepard, Tyson. An old friend from the Corps had trained drug dogs, and when he died, Preston had taken his dog. Tyson had come in handy near the end of the war and after, noticing on the rare occasions when Preston's food was contaminated. He had also been trained to look for poisons and explosives, too, which made Tyson even better to have around. The dog had saved Preston's life many times over.
Stretching out his ruined leg, Preston placed his fork in his mouth. For the first time that week, he actually had a full meal- water, an apple, and a piece of dried meat. Well, sort of. These days, anything more than that was just too much. It was rare to even have a real, fresh piece of meat- almost all of it these days was dried and saved for later, not to mention that animals this day were rare. Some had even gone extinct.
Preston Felix Davis picked up his Marine M40A1 Sniper Rifle and held it up as though to shoot something. There was nothing near him, anyway, except for people he was trying to avoid getting noticed by. He blinked twice. Someone was walking towards him now. He immediately started yelling at himself. He shouldn't have lifted the rifle- it got him noticed.
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Post by Brooklyn Wilde on May 2, 2009 12:05:43 GMT -5
Brooklyn wondered around the woods, bored. There wasn't much to do these days, and you had to make the most of what you had. Which didn't keep Brooke occupied in the least. The main two things she did was paint or fly. And there weren't exactly an art shop or airport anywhere. Ah, how she missed those things, and her homeland.
Sighing, she glanced around her. What was once beautiful land, full of trees and wildlife, is now all in ruins. She grimaced, stepping over some fallen trees, dead. She wasn't optimistic about the future. How would the world ever return to the state it once was before?
There were a few other people wondering around also, probably on the scavenger hunt for food. She made no move to talk to them, didn't even look their way. It was better to mind your own business, and do what you got to do, without the interference of others. At least, this was how she viewed things.
Brooklyn wasn't paying attention to where she was going. She was concentrating on the ground, and where her footsteps went. There were far too many holes and ruts in the ground for her liking. Out the corner of her eye, she saw the sun reflect off a metal object. Which was unusual in the woods. She turned her attention to a man and a dog... and of course, a rifle.
"Mind putting that away?" she asked, in that clipped accent of hers. She never liked guns to begin with. Far too many accidents happened with them. Which was why the Air Force was more her thing.
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Post by USMC GySgt Preston Davis on May 2, 2009 13:00:10 GMT -5
Preston looked up. There was a girl standing over him. He didn't recognize her, but guessed she was around thirty years old. Probably a little younger, though. Five or so years younger than Preston himself, but not ten years less.
Preston lowered the gun from his shoulder. "You have a problem with guns?" he asked gruffly. He turned the M40A1 on her as though to shoot her, but it wasn't loaded. She didn't know that, of course, but the ammo was on his belt. He usually didn't walk around with it loaded unless he was actually hunted or he feared for his safety or the safety of his country. Since the war, mostly only hunting applied. The last person he had killed was President John Davis, his own father.
Lowering the gun, Preston watched her. Long brown hair and hazel eyes, smaller than him and definitely a lot thinner and less muscular. Even though he was on the ground, he would guess she was about half a foot shorter than he. Preston leaned back against his pillow again, laying the gun next to him. He bit into his apple, not minding the sticky juice dribbling down his chin. He didn't mind much of anything these days, everything just happened.
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Post by Brooklyn Wilde on May 2, 2009 18:08:32 GMT -5
Brooklyn tried to mask a flinch when he turned it on her, though wasn't sure she succeeded or not. She didn’t know how she could be scared of them. After all, there were plenty of guns in the RAF. Hell, she has even shot one, though not at anybody else. Mainly just at targets for required practice. Maybe she didn't like them because she has seen too many lose their lives through one of those metal barrels. Or because in her mind, guns are associated with war, something that she was against 100%.
She doubted he would actually shoot her, though. It was obvious she didn't have any food, or anything of use, with her. She carried no backpack, nor wore loose clothing to cover bulging pockets. All her stuff was hidden more or less in a tree a half a mile or so back. Her flinching was mainly just a reflex reaction to his unnecessary move. An immature one at that. She rolled her eyes. And the known saying remains- men never quite leave that little boy stage.
"I have a problem with immaturity, and using guns as a play-thing," she retorted. No need to admit what really bothered her. These days, you couldn't really trust anyone. She followed the gun with her eyes as he lowered it to the ground, letting out a barely audible sigh of relief. Her eyes returned to his face, her's devoid of emotion.
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Post by USMC GySgt Preston Davis on May 2, 2009 20:18:16 GMT -5
Preston smirked as the girl flinched. "You are scared, then. You don't like guns. It's not even loaded," he admitted. "Now get away from me." People weren't Preston's favorite thing. He liked to be alone, apart from Tyson, his dog. He was certainly glad that his cane was hidden under the rubble behind him, out of site. He hated being seen as weak, but was proud that he was strong enough to walk, at least. He had seen other poor souls, fellow Marines, lying in the streets, waiting to die. Preston knew many who would shoot themselves, but had had their guns stolen. He had run into few Corporals and PFCs he knew walking- limping, rather- through the city the other day, all of whom asked to borrow his gun. Naturally, he refused them all and gave each some food from his meager stores.
Looking more closely at her clothes, Preston realized that this girl in front of him had been in the Royal Air Force. Pretty much everyone had turned on the United States, but most of the US military had turned on their own country. It had taken years, but they eventually set Preston up to kill his own father. The war pretty much ended then.
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Post by Brooklyn Wilde on May 2, 2009 20:49:43 GMT -5
Brooklyn sighed. Damn. She was usually good at hiding stuff like that. Even though she didn't even know this man, she hated that he knew a weakness of hers. Silly, yes, but it didn't get rid of the bitterness she felt. She was always taught, by the RAF and her father, to never show a weakness. Just gave the other person the upper hand.
Brooke got a closer look at what he was wearing, and his gun. Military. And from the looks of it, the Marines. Of course she wasn't too sure, not really knowing all the different uniforms of the American military branches.
She raised her eyebrows at his statement. "Aren't very friendly, now are we?" she asked. Of course, she wasn't exactly either, but she was bored. Anything was better- even talking to some stranger- than wondering around doing nothing all day. At least it got her mind off other things. Things like worrying when your next real meal would be, or if someone was going to steal what you already have. She folded her arms across her chest. Yep, she would stay right here for now, no matter if he all but kicked her away. She was just stubborn like that.
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Post by USMC GySgt Preston Davis on May 2, 2009 21:05:19 GMT -5
Preston smirked, stroking Tyson's head. "Who is these days? The nicest I've see here in the past week was a mom feeding her scraps to her son. The boy puked afterward, and she slapped him for wasting food. Nice doesn't exist in this world of ours anymore." He unscrewed the top of his canteen and drank what was left inside, though it wasn't much. He finished most of the apple, but broke off some of the flesh with his hands and fed it to Tyson. The dog sniffed it cautiously, then devoured it eagerly, having decided it was safe.
After wiping his sticky, slobbery hands on his pants, Preston finished off all but a small piece of his dried meat. Tyson could have it later, as a treat. For now, he slipped it into his pocket. That was all he had for food right now, but he knew where he could almost always find a deer, and tomorrow was hunting day. He also knew where to find the apple trees he got his fruit from, but they were often picked clean. Usually he could at least find the dog some food there, though. Tyson ate anything.
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Post by Brooklyn Wilde on May 2, 2009 21:25:07 GMT -5
Brooklyn nodded, in agreement. He was right, though. Everyone was in it for themselves. The classical dog-eat-dog world. She was used to it, however. She always had to look after herself, since from when she was little. She just hated seeing other people going to such extremes. She's seen many cases like it herself.
"Doesn't hurt to start a trend," she stated, not really meaning it. Not being so keen on niceness herself, she wasn't going to start waving and saying hi to everyone she met. Now that she has thought about it, she probably has talked to about 4 people since the war ended. And only for a few moments, out of necessity.
She watched as he fed his dog. It must be hard, finding food for them both. It was hard enough for one person, and a person who required very little at that. Dogs could eat a lot more than humans, on top of that. She was surprised the dog was still alive. With the rate of the declining food these days, someone wouldn't think twice to shooting the dog. She nodded her head in the dog's direction. "What's his name?"
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Post by USMC GySgt Preston Davis on May 2, 2009 21:47:24 GMT -5
"Tyson," Preston replied immediately. "He's a Marine dog." Preston twisted the dog's collar around so that the dog tags showed. He had actual Marine dog tags like a human would, with silencers as well. His collar was even camouflage. "My friend trained him. He's more than just a drug dog, though. He sniffs out poisons and explosives, as well. He helped me live through the war, and he's helping me now, too. I picked up some training tips from my friend, and he can sometimes pick out spoiled food, rotten fruits, too, which is handy. No good getting seemingly good food only to get food poisoning from it."
Tyson, now behind Preston, pushed his head between his owner's body and arm. Even though he was a drug dog, Tyson was also extremely loving and affectionate. If he sensed danger to Preston, he attacked or defended as he saw fit. The dog drove some people crazy at night, keeping anyone who bothered trying to sleep awake for hours on end. He was loud and obnoxious sometimes, but most of the time, the dog was just quiet. Preston was glad, though- he didn't like dogs' barks.
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Post by Brooklyn Wilde on May 2, 2009 22:26:15 GMT -5
Ah, so Brooklyn was correct. This guy was from the Marines. She studied the dog. Smart one, this was. "He's very handy, then." Food was always a big thing nowadays. Most of the time, it wasn't good to eat. No one never knew this, however. Quite a few people have died from food poisoning- out of not knowing, or out of sheer desperation, taking a chance of sickness to get something in their system.
She watched as Tyson played around with his owner. That dog was most likely a better friend and family member than anyone out there. Of course, she could never get too close to it. Especially now. That dog could be gone tomorrow, because of some starving, desperate man. Some people just like taking chances, she supposed.
There was silence for a few moments. Brooklyn Wilde was never good at small talk like this. Not having talked to people in awhile, and never really did before the war, unless to make some snide comment, it wasn't easy. "So, how long have you been here?" She knew people sometimes moved from place to place, to find new sources for food, or a change of scenery.
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Post by USMC GySgt Preston Davis on May 3, 2009 8:50:42 GMT -5
"He is," Preston agreed. "He has saved my life many times." He was itching to get out of there. Preston hated being around other people, and he wanted her to just leave. But after all those years in the Marines, he wasn't rude enough to just walk out. Maybe not polite enough to use 'ma'am,' either, but hey, give a man credit.
Tyson carefully snaked his way through the rubble behind them, then came back and stepped over Preston's bad leg to settle next to his right. He lay down with his paws folded beneath his furry German Shepard head. Preston scratched behind his friend's ears, and Tyson closed his eyes and opened his mouth a little, his tongue lolling out the side over his teeth.
"In Kansas, Topeka, or America? Well, I suppose that you guessed I've always lived in America, and you'd be right. Kansas? Five years or so, since the end of the war. I want to move to Switzerland, though, even though the population is even higher there. I'm also tempted to move to Alaska. I know someone who could get me both places. Topeka, not very long since I don't technically live here. I live in the forest just past the city line."
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Post by Brooklyn Wilde on May 4, 2009 11:32:49 GMT -5
Brooklyn backed up, so she was now in front of a tree while he talked. She was feeling a bit awkward just standing there, so now she leaned against the big trunk. Out the corner of her eye, she saw some people packing up, and leaving. Time to move again, she guessed. Food was quickly running out in this area. She knew she was over staying her welcome, but when did she ever care about things like that? She would do what she wanted, always made herself the top priority. If he got overly agitated, he could just leave.
While he talked, she kind of spaced out, looking up at the sky. Funny how that never changes. There would always be a day, and a night. But everything else could come crashing down in a heartbeat. She sighed, itching to be up there, where nothing was changed.
When she heard silence, she quickly snapped back to attention, setting her gaze on him again. "Why do you want to move?" She had picked up on some pieces while in her own little world. It seemed like too much trouble to move somewhere completely different, when you had the same thing in every country.
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Post by USMC GySgt Preston Davis on May 4, 2009 15:28:42 GMT -5
Preston shrugged. "Alaska is colder. I like the cold. Always have. My father used to make fun of me for it. I never liked the man. Could be why I killed him in the end." Preston neglected to mention that his father had been the President of the United States of America, and that he was a world-wide hero for that particular kill. Not to mention that the real reason he had killed him was to end the war, save thousands more lives, and because he had been set up to do so by the rebels of the United States Military, particularly the Marines he fought with.
"Switzerland, in a way, is more challenging. I'm not a huge people-person, so it would be a challenge in that way, because it's so populated. People would be trying to steal everything I kill, they would stalk me if they recognized my gun or my uniform, that kind of thing. Of course, they also have food shelters and whatnot that we don't really have here. Anyway, challenges are good, though I didn't used to like them. My brother, Ian, did."
As soon as he said his brother's name, Preston could have slapped himself. Everyone knew that five years ago, a Marine sniper named Preston Davis had killed the President of the United States. They also knew he was the son of the President and that he had a brother, Ian, because his brother was there when he took the shot, which was video taped by the rebels. The only bit this girl didn't know was his name. But if she could connect the dots, that wouldn't matter.
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Post by Brooklyn Wilde on May 4, 2009 17:34:05 GMT -5
Brooklyn raised an eyebrow at his killing someone. The fact that he did wasn't surprising, most of all now. People would kill in a heartbeat nowadays. No, it was the fact that he killed his father was somewhat surprising. Wasn't every day you saw that.
"Challenges are good," she said, loving them herself. "Of course, its just as much a challenge here than there. Since apparently they have food shelters over there." That was tempting. She liked challenges, yes, but not digging around for food, wondering when she is going to starve to death. There is a point where it crosses the line over from being challenged to stupidity.
She gave him a quizzical look upon hearing the mention of his brother. That name sounded familiar... Ian. Ah, now she knew. A son of the late president. A man who was there when his father got shot. A man with the brother named Preston Davis, a marine, who shot the president.
"What's your name?" she asked. She kind of doubted he would say his name- most people didn't hand out names lately. It was worth a shot, though. After all, Ian was a common name. They didn't have to relate at all. But she never overlooked coincidences.
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Post by USMC GySgt Preston Davis on May 5, 2009 15:28:52 GMT -5
Shit. His uniform said DAVIS on the left side, on his chest, but apparently she didn't notice. Besides, even if she had, Davis was a common name. But now she wanted to know his. The first name that came to mind was Zacharias. Hopefully he could get away with it. It wasn't common knowledge that Preston and Ian Davis had hated their father. In the video, there was a perfectly clear view of the boys' faces, and both looked extremely tense, and sad. In truth, it was mostly because they were worried something, anything, would go wrong. Wind, gun malfunction, something. Nothing did, though.
"My name is Zacharias," Preston said. He made sure not to answer too quickly, or too slowly. He timed it pretty well. He didn't say Davis, though. She might not even notice, seeing as she hadn't yet. But if he said something else, and she did notice, he was screwed.
Preston noticed he was still sitting down, and had been the entire time. Tyson left every once in a while and weaved through the rubble and trees behind them. Fortunately, he was very accustomed to the cane Preston needed to walk, and so didn't pick it up like a stick and try to play with it. This meant that it was hidden from site from the girl. Speaking of which... "Yours?"
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