Post by cat. on Nov 29, 2012 12:24:34 GMT -8
{name:Concetta#|#picture:52}
As her senses came back to her, she took everything in that she could without rolling over or moving. There was a faint scent of stale sweat and hot food in the air, echoes of male voices ranging from young children to adolescents to grown men, guns being disassembled, forks clanking, cups being put down on tables, and the steady sound rain pouring on the ceiling. Wherever she was, it was filled with non-infected humans, supplies, and food.
She arched her head back, and tried to see what was going on. Unfortunately, she met eyes with a young man who was looking back with orange hair in (and on) his face, right at her, with a hungry look in his bright eyes that she didn’t like at all.
“Aye, boys, guess who’s awake!”
Voices from one corner of the room became unstable at once.
“--fuck yeah, I’ve been dying for some pussy--”
“--maybe she can give blow jobs to pay the rent!”
“Ha! Where does the line start?”
Connie sat upright immediately, and felt for her gun (which was nowhere to be found), beginning to panic once more as the men got louder, and their comments more and more lewd. She looked around--there were about twenty in all, and most of them were looking on towards about three men who were shouting at her, either visibly too scared to do anything, or with an annoyed “here we go again” expression on their faces. The only one who did not seem to be joining in on the catcall-gang, and yet who was sitting in the midst of them, was a young man sitting on an end of the table closest to her. He had clear blue eyes and light brown hair, and a slightly irritated expression on his face. He looked at Connie, then the men, sighed, shook his head, and simply continued to eat his eggs.
She was too busy trying to take everything in that she did not notice the man with orange hair had closed in, and was almost nose-to-nose with her.
“How’s ‘bout it, love?”
Connie wrinkled her nose, and not just in one form of disgust.
<He stinks.>
“That is quite enough, Reese.”
A man with a lined face came down the stairs. He looked around 40, and he was calm, even though Connie’s heart was beating faster and faster. The man with the orange hair looked over his shoulder, back to Connie, gave her a smirk, and backed away. As for the man with the lined face, he walked towards her, and judging by the way all the men fell silent, she could tell he was of authority here.
“You. Up,” he said, motioning with his fingers, though he did not say so crossly. “The rest of you, not another word until I’m done questioning her. Especially you, Reese,” he said pointing to the man with shaggy orange hair, who shouted the most comments at her, and the loudest.
Connie scrambled to her feet, not wanting to look like a waste of space, even though her head was a still a bit fogged up from her panic attack. She took a deep breath, and dusted herself off. He had a paternal demeanor, only it felt like a paternal figure who was going give her a calm “tough love” lecture out of a last straw of disappointment. She felt small even though there were children in the building, and even though she was alive, from the looks of the young men that surrounded her, she almost wished she hadn’t. Still, the man’s eyes were kind--tortured, but kind.
“What is your name.” It was a demand more than a question, though it was stated in a polite manner.
“Concetta Pizzo, sir.” She glanced around. “People mostly call me ‘Connie,’ though, I supposed, I guess.”
“Charmed, Connie. My name is Wilde. As you may have guessed, I am in charge around here. Where did you come from, and what business do you have in my city?”
“I came here from baja Mexico... I, uh, I’m looking for someone. Well, my brother that is.”
“And may I ask what you were doing this morning at Fisherman’s Wharf?”
Connie took another deep breath, but this one was ragged from fear. She exhaled deeply, just like she did when she was about to shoot, and her heartbeat slowed, and her hands stopped shaking. Unfortunately, her mind usually tapped out during shooting, and in this situation, it would still have to work on its own, and efficiently, at that.
“I wanted to find the ‘Lost Boys,’ sir.”
He raised his eyebrows without emotion, and signaled to the men and boys around her.
“Well, congratulations, Miss Pizzo. You’re in our headquarters right now.” He stopped walking, stopping a few yards from her. “Alcatraz Prison. One way in, one way out, surrounded by rocks, sharks, and a nearly impossible swim to the mainland. Any outsider on the mainland who usually comes close to our boat gets shot without question. Your release from here is ultimately up to me. But I must ask, why did you want to find us?”
“I heard things when I was coming up here... well, more about the city, but also about a group of uninfected guys that ruled it. I uh, I just figured that they were just superstitions, until I saw some graffiti on Gough and Geary about you. It looked like it had been put there just a couple days ago.”
“And you thought that you would be able to ‘find us?’ What were you planning to do if you did?”
“I-In all honesty, sir... I don’t exactly know. ...Ah-I mean, I didn’t know that there were going to be things, things like that one, and so many of them,” she added quickly, remembering just how much fear she had pushed to the side before she had passed out.
The man looked at her quizzically, neither with and Connie wasn’t sure if she was going to give a definitive answer to his next question.
<The only thing you can do from here is be honest.>
Wilde motioned to a man with an almost unreadable face.
“Johnny here tells me that you took down a six-five maggot, fresh, and you did it in one shot, is that correct?”
“Um, it was three shots, not one, sir, but yes, I killed it, I think, at least.”
“You did kill it. You then went into mental shock, and fainted. Johnny picked you up and brought you here. We even retrieved most of your possessions, including your gun and ammunition, which we’re holding and will be searching. But let me tell you, If it weren’t for him, Johnny, one of my boys, bringing you into my house, even though you were trespassing on my boys’ turf, you’d be blistering with rash and sweating from fever, about to become a fresh grub that we’d be putting our bullets in by tomorrow. Do you realize what I’m telling you, Miss Pizzo?” His voice had become heated and tempered, even if his face did not show it.
Connie gulped, feeling like she was five and being lectured by her father all over again. If she was stupid and childlike all the time, this is the moment where she truly felt it.
“Yes, sir.” She looked at Johnny. “Thank you,” she said quietly, and quickly averted her gaze downwards, but not before she saw Johnny give a tight, almost non-existant smile and a curt nod of reciprocated appreciation.
“Still, it makes me wonder what we could do with you,” he said, not paying attention to the devious grin that broke out over Reese’s face. “No doubt about it, you have a good aim, and you’re skilled with a rifle. Somehow you managed to get your hands on an M16A2, and be able to handle it. Can you fight?”
“Like, knife-fighting and handheld weapons and all that?”
“Yes.”
“Ah... no, sir, but I think I could learn.”
“And you can use a gun.”
“I think so, at least.”
“Well, if you’re gonna stay with us, there is no ‘think so’--you either do, or you die. Alex!” he said, pointing to the young man with the blue eyes and light hair that she had seen before, and motioned for him to come to his side. As he stepped forward into brighter light, even Connie couldn’t help but be drawn in: he was tall, muscular, solemnly handsome, and couldn’t have been a day older than her.
He was absolutely beautiful.
“Take Miss Pizzo to the target range, give her the usual test, and see if she qualifies to stay.”
“If she can’t?” Alex asked. His voice was thick, rich, multilayered and bold. It reminded Connie of the avocado honey she used to drizzle on her toast in the mornings.
“You know what to do,” he said, clapping Alex on the shoulder. “Get an extra bed ready just in case,” he called to the cafeteria.