[img width=340 height=510]http://24.media.tumblr.com/89a…2h49zszN1s4odrfo1_500.jpg[/img]
Amber held the bottle of golden liquid close to her, hugging it as if the contents could save her. They very well have in a way, but in another way they have been slowly destroying her. They have been tearing apart her soul brick by tedious brick, slowly breaking her down until she was nothing left but a husk left to wander this Earth, this Hell. She supposed it could be worse for her, she could be dangling from her neck until her bones crumbled away into nothingness. Her brains could be splattered across the wall as if she were an artist with a sickening portrait to paint, or perhaps she'd be in an endless sleep with a bottle of pills in one hand, a suicide note in the other. Whatever the case may be, she had to remember that this bottle was the life and death of her.
Slowly, Amber rose from her spot against the ruins of a worn-down building. The Earth shook and wobbled as if an Earthquake had torn through the land without causing damage to any of these delicate surroundings. A grumble of foul words escaped her breath as she slowly moved against the wall, hand pressing against the heated bricks. Intoxicated was not the word to describe Amber's condition, sick was a much more suitable word. The alcohol came to mask the pain, the pain of losing everything you know and love in the blink of an eye. It had been two years since the world turn to dust and ashes, yet the pain felt as if the cut were new. How could this still be real? This still felt like some sickening nightmare, yet the girl knew better. A nightmare can be escaped from with a hard scare, and she's had plenty of those yet reality has not shaken her yet. A sigh escaped her lips, and she continued on her clumsy way.
Amber's eyes darted to her left, and then to her right, and then back again to her left. Her hand was securely curled around the handle of a revolver, the safety removed from the weapon although it was pointed to the ground. She had to be wary in this new world, for with it came unimaginable dangers. Most of them came in biting jaws and grabbing hands, but they only roamed the streets at night. She had heard that the sun damages their eyesight, and to preserve it they only awoke from their dead slumber when the light had retreated to the west. That's where they had gotten their unofficial nickname "Night Crawlers", or Crawlers for short. Well, how could anything be official these days? Everyone's either dead or undead, and she'd prefer it to be the prior.
Not everyone, there still ran the risk of running into a gang of thugs. Testosterone boosted bad-asses who felt like the big dogs just because there were no laws to chain them anymore. Amber had been unfortunate enough to run into these people once, and while she was fortunate enough to escape from them barely, not with her virtues. She didn't like to think about it, but needless to say she preferred the merciless dead than the horrendous living. No, prefer was to weak of a word.
Amber took a long, bitter swig of the whiskey in her hands, savoring the horrific taste of it. The taste was probably the worst that one could ever place on their tongue, but the taste soon became a comfort in contrast to the pain that drove her to drink it. The drops ran dry in the bottle, and a scowl was set on her face as she threw it to the side of a building. The loud crashing sound of breaking glass reverberated through her ears, and she cursed under her breath as she ran for a hiding place. She settled for the ruins of a burnt car, one that would be easy enough to hide in should someone come, yet not easy enough to be spotted when they come.
Upon approaching the ruined vehicle, the burnt ashes of bodies were in the two front seats, and the back seats did not contained blackened bones but rather charred, destroyed seats that seemed to crumble away upon touching them. Her body fit easily enough through the broken window, and she did not hesitate to fall onto the floor in between the front and back seats. Her body pressed to the ground, her hands were securely pressed against her revolver, and despite the drunk spinning of her mind she managed to gain enough focus to hone in on the sounds around her. They were still for the most part, until they were disturbed by a set of footsteps.
Plot
My character, Amber, loves the bottle more than life. It's the zombie apocalypse, her family was dead, and everything's out to kill her so what can she say? She has a problem.
Anyways, your charrie comes along {Guy} and spots her unsettled and drunk, so he has a conscious mind and decides to help her out. Amber refuses the help, having been r@ped by the last group of people she met and she doesn't want to go through that again. Eventually though, through time and saving each other's skin, they begin to fall for each other although both are afraid of the inevitable death that surrounds them.
If you want to join, you MUST be able to type at least that much of what I typed {Or somewhere around that}. No one paragraphs and DEFINITELY no one-liners. If your semi-advanced, get out because I only want advanced. I love ya but I just can't get muse off of such short posts.