Posts by ||Lance McClain||

Tracking for now.

Anthony stood quietly at the window of the long abandoned cabin, quietly watching the gentle snow continuing to lightly fall. He observed as the white covered world laid undisturbed, aside from the occasional pile of snow slipping from the heavily covered tree branches. Of all places Tony could've died, he was pretty glad it was here. The beautiful scenery and rather different people made for an interesting place to spend the rest of however long he would be stuck here. Tony still knew very little about, well, being a ghost and wasn't quite sure how long he'd be left to wander the earth. Quickly growing bored of simply staring out the window Tony turned around and headed for the door, yet upon trying to open it, he merely phased right through. Upon remembering the fact that he could just walk through things he proceeded to simply walk through the door. He still often forgot that he was in fact a ghost now, and made the mistake of trying to pick things up quite a lot. What could he say? Old habits die hard. Tony allowed himself to chuckle at the awful pun he made before continuing on his way to the center of the small, sleepy town. After walking along the snow covered road for quite some time, he could see the hub of the town coming into view. The small shops and restaurants seemed so cozy nestled deep into the powdery snow, but something else caught his eye. A bus? Rather confused he tried his best to remember if he had ever seen a bus come through Aspen. Upon closer inspection he noticed what seemed to be a new arrival in Aspen, surrounded by some of the other regulars of the town. Venturing closer so he could better hear the encounter, he watched curiously. "This should be interesting..." he mumbled quietly to himself.

Anthony continued to watch the events unfold in front of him, people going on about their business without a second glance his way. With a sigh, Tony weighed his options. He could attempt to get noticed, but the took quite a lot of energy, with no real guarantee that it would work. He may have been dead for two years now, but compared to the eighteen years he spent living, it would take a long time to adjust to being a ghost. For now he figured it would be better not to push it. All he'd wind up doing is possibly scaring off some newcomer. Focusing his attention back to the people he watched as the group split into two. Either stay outside to watch the new fellow or follow the bulk of the group into the quaint little shop. Tony opted for the shop, seeing as he didn't want to feel like an awkward invisible third wheel. Well either way he'd kind of be awkwardly creeping on the people. Well not creeping just watching, even if it's the same thing, he didn't mean it to be creepy. He was just bored, and there wasn't any really good way to easily communicate with others unless someone had some supernatural sensativity for the dead. Chasing the thoughts out of his mind he followed the path of footprints as he drifted into the shop, this time not attempting to use the door. He realized that even after two years he hadn't even see all of Aspen, since this was very well the first time he could recall even coming into this shop. Floating about lazily he looked around at the odd trinkets and goods that lined the shelves. Tony continued to listen to the conversations in the background as he looked around, genuinely shocked he hadn't yet been in the store before this.

Tracking. Will probably make a form later tonight.

Anthony continued to casually wander about the shop, now contemplating to himself if he was creeping on these people. "Well it's not like you're stalking them.", he said speaking to himself "You just... happen to be in the same place." he continued. Since he died talking to himself became more and more of a habit to help keep himself sane. When he was alive he was quite the talker and didn't do very well when left alone to his own devices; so being dead and as far as he knew, the only ghost in Aspen, conversations with himself seemed to be his only option as far as communicating with others went. As Tony continued to think to himself he absent mindedly pick up what looked like some strange keychain. He looked closely at the glittering stone that was attached to the key ring before actually realizing that he was holding something. "Oh sh*t," he cursed before the trinket fell through his hand. He continued to silently curse at himself. How could he just randomly pick some random crap up without trying, but as soon as he made a conscious effort to pick something up he could never do it? It was all rather frustrating. He quickly attempted to scoop up the keychain but to no avail, his pale hand merely passed right through. "F*ck!" he said, promptly giving up on the failed attempt. Perhaps they wouldn't notice. Yeah. It was already a rather... odd shop, so what was a keychain that just so happened to fall off the display to them? Hopefully nothing.

Thanks!

Tracking!

Can't wait! :)

Tracking!

Run and hide. Those are the two words that Oliver lived by ever since all hell broke loose. Run from the walkers, run from the people, then hide. It's what has kept him alive so far, so why fix a system that isn't broken? Running from the thinly wooded areas that divided the once sleepy suburban streets he ducked behind a car that was long abandoned. He breathed heavily, hazel eyes darting about in a frenzy. His once steady and precise hands now shook freverently as he held onto his hand gun with a death grip. Peering around the front of the car he watched as the single walker slowly pursued him, still rather far away. Oliver knew well and good he could kill it. He had the bullets available, and even a knife if he wanted to get dirty, but the idea didn't please him very much. Also the fact that his aim was very poor, and he wasn't quite sure how long it would take to kill a walker with a pocket knife. And the fact that he could screw up and get bitten. He could go on and on with the possibilities, but rather then waste his time Oliver decided it was time to run again. Breaking for one of the many deserted houses he managed to enter the back door with little to no problem. Once inside he wasted no time in blockading the door with whatever he could lift. Chairs, small tables, and a small couch were all piled up in a few minutes. Checking the front door he was rather relieved to see that someone else had blocked it up. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he leaned against the wall and slowly slid down, hitting the wood floor with a thud. Finally giving himself a moment to breath he closed his eyes. Breath in and out. Another manatra that he ran through his head to keep himself sane. Breathing now more slowly he calmed himself down, his hands no longer shaking. He gave himself another moment before pulling off his backpack to check his supply. An old first aid kit, four cans of what looked to be ravioli and spaghetti-o's, an almost empty box of bullets, a flashlight, and a blanket. Making a mental note to keep an eye out for food he heaved himself back up to his feet. Making his way to the kitchen he rifled through draws and cabinets, daydreaming of what he was doing before this mess. His first of of residency to become a trauma surgeon. Not much phased him back then, but the withdrawl from people and order really threw him for a loop. Clearing his head he added two cans of beans to his stockpile before continuing to loot the house, calming down more and more as he rifled through drawer after drawer.
OOC: Sorry if this is a but sloppy, rushed a bit to get this done.

Oliver had finished rummaging through most of the downstairs drawers and was starting to make his way towards the staircase, but upon hearing he cocking of a gun he froze. "Sh*t..." he muttered under his breath. Peering down the hallway he could just make out a figure at the top of the stairs, and they were obviously armed. Cautiously bringing his arms into the air the raised his hands above his head and let his gun fall to the ground. He'd rather be robbed then killed, so he figured it would be better to surrender then try his chances at fighting. He could feel his hands starting to shake again, if so even worse then before. It had been a long while since he ran into people. Normally he was careful, people were never garunteed to be friendly anymore, and he learned that the hard way. Now he was cornered, and quite frankly by his own hand. Looking back he could still make out the pile of junk that he had moved to the door. "Well you left the back door wide opened. Figured no one would be in here since anyone or any walker could waltz right in..." he finally replied, fighting to keep his voice even. If he played it cool, hopefully it would help his odds, even if he already dropped one of his only useful weapons. On the other hand he could feel his knife in his pocket as if it were burning through the beaten up fabric of his jeans. He still had a chance if the other person tried to attack, but it was slim. The only cuts he was trained in were ones to help save lives, not end them, plus the people were normally sedated on a table, whoever was upstairs certainly wasn't going to just let him kill them. Leaning his head back Oliver sighed, he was most definitely screwed.
OOC: I don't mind at all! Sorry if this is sloppy again, I had to play at a concert late last night so I'm exhausted.

Oliver watched as the other man walked down the stair case. Just by gazing over him, his height stood out, as the man looked to be roughly the same height as him. Even if they were matched in height, the other looked much stronger. He noticed the military jacket as well and made note to make sure he didn't mess with him. Slowly lowering his arms Oliver gazed warily at the machete that the man still held onto. He glanced back at his own gun, only a few inches away from his foot. He wanted so badly to have it back in his own hands, but figured it would be better not to risk it. Gun or no gun, if the man wanted him dead he'd be dead. Other then the threatening weapons, the guy seemed pretty nice. He looked roughly the same age as Oliver, maybe a year or two younger if he had to guess. After a reasonable pause Oliver finally drew up the courage to respond, "Yeah. Supplies and shelter mostly. There's a walker outside too." he said scratching the back of his neck. "There's only one, but I didn't want to risk it. Rather not waste bullets and make a commotion..." He tried his best to draw a up a reasonable excuse for not simply killing the thing other then the fact that he was a terrible shot. "I suppose your looking for supplies too then?" he asked in return, already starting to feel a lot more at ease then a few seconds ago.

Oliver nodded before picking up the gun and stuck it in his backpack. He moved into the front room and sat on the old dusty couch. "Thanks," he said, his voice significantly more relaxed "but I have enough for now. I found two cans of food in here if you want them." he offered "Spaghetti O's or Chef Boyardee raviolis." he added with a chuckle, remembering the canned meals from his own childhood. As much as Oliver wanted to keep on edge, he couldn't help but fall into a sense of security. He didn't realize how much he missed casual conversations with friends and colleagues until they stopped. Looking to make some small talk he focused back on the mans military jacket. "So what's your name?" he asked "Couldn't make out the name tape on your jacket there. Did you serve?" he finished. Hopefully the small talk would also but the other man at ease, since the threatening glint on the machete still keep Oliver a tad bit weary.
OOC: Sorry for the shorter post. Low muse and high levels of homework don't mix well.

Oliver rummaged through his old beaten up backpack and tossed one of the few cans at the ex-marnie. He listened intently to Jackson's story, and couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man. "Well thank you for your service I suppose." he said. Looking off towards the window he thought for a moment, it seemed as if his old life had been gone for so long. Each day of this living hell seemed so much longer then the stress filled yet happy days in the hospital wards. "Well my names Oliver. I had just graduated medical school before this sh*t show rolled in..." he trailed of for a moment as if to collect his thoughts once more before speaking again. "I was almost through my first year of residency. I was studying to become a trauma surgeon. Some of my friends and I got to see some of those recieving the cure while studying. It was a major leap in the medical field so lots of students fought to even get a glimpse. But something was off. They quarantined the patients and refused to let anyone see them. Something was off. I was late in getting out. Perhaps burried too deep in my own studies to notice what was going on, but by the time I managed to get out my family had already fled..." he trailed off. The story left a bad taste in his mouth and he was eager to change the subject again. "Well are you traveling alone I presume? Unless there's someone else upstairs I should know about?" he asked. He was geting a little too comfortable and wanted to make sure he wasn't caught off guard by another person.
OOC: Sorry if I'm a bit inactive, going to be on a trip this weekend with my family so I'm cramming to get as much work done before then.

Oliver chuckled for a moment before regaining his composure. "Ah, well you'd be surprised." he said thinking back to when the apocalypse first began. "I was a part of a group at first. Some old neighborhood friends that I vaguely remembered. None were quite appreciative of my medical skills. Their only focus was whether someone could point and shoot." he said, feeling bile rising up in his throat at the thought of them. "They didn't really care for others. When I mentioned I wasn't quite fond of stealing from other groups and killing other survivors the weren't very happy. I managed to make it out with most of my own possessions though so I consider myself lucky. If you can call any of this lucky..." he said, his arms making wide sweeping gestures as to suggest the apocalypse. "Either way I've managed to avoid groups since then. Most close encounters with others have been rather hostile. Plus I'm not really all that good with a gun if you couldn't tell." he added with a light smile. "So I don't take the risk of talking with others all that much. You'd think a surgeon would be able to point a gun percisely, but the idea of intentionally taking someone else's life bugs me, and I've never been too fond of guns..." he trailed off, realizing he was rambling. "Well I'm surprised some people would have the guts to mess with you," he said sizing up Jackson once more "I'm about as tall as you yet I'm throughly intimidated, no offense or anything." he added the last part rather quickly hoping not to offend the ex-marine. "So no ones tried to take advantage of all your training?" Oliver asked, rather surprised.

Bump?

OOC: Sorry I haven't been posting in a long time! Got wrapped up in a lot school work and clubs recently. I should post either tonight or early tomorrow

Realized I hadn't tracked this but I'll post tomorrow morning. Meant to post tonight but I had a bit of a family emergency.