(2015-11-20) Man's Best Friend
Man's Best Friend
Summary: Isabeau meets Fritz, Terry too. Someone may have figured out her ultimate weakness.
Date: 2015-11-20
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://mushname.wikidot.com/logtitle)

It is fall. The weather is warm and drizzling.

It's early in the day yet, the sun just peeking over the silos, and the group of train cars that has become Isabeau's base camp is already seeing movement. Isabeau is already well into the process of grooming the horses, and checking hooves. She actually sings as she works, wiggling a little in time with the movement.

Terry makes his way out into the world, ready for another day. A German Shepherd follows silently at the Marine's side, and observant of its surroundings. "Was werden wir heute finden?" Terry wonders aloud, glancing at his canine companion. He makes his way into the first room of the apartment complex next to the depot, and begins tossing the place, trying to see if there's anything worth salvaging.

Maybe it's the german that catches her attention because she's peering around, and the expression when she spots the marine is a neutral one still she's inching closer and it's when she see's the dog, standing in that first apartment door, "What a handsome young fella."

Terry offers a wave, stopping briefly to pet his canine companion, before checking under the apartment bed. "I'm sure he appreciates the compliment." He responds, grinning. "This is Fritz. Named him after a buddy of mine.." The grin fades a good bit. "Guy jumped on a grenade with my name on it. I figure this is the least I could do… Now I always have him watching my back." He rises to a standing position, and makes his way toward the door, stopping to grab an armfull of firewood from the apartment's firewood hopper. Outside, he spots an overturned shopping cart, flips it back upright, and dumps the load of wood into it. "This'll be good for camp."

Isabeau smirks widely, crouching down to offer a hand to the pup, if the animal will even have anything to do with her. "Hey Fritz." The cart and the firewood draw a curious look from Isa, as she peers into the room. "Bob mentioned you guys were planing on sticking out the winter here. That there were less than twenty of you left."

The mutt takes to her like a kid to sugar, nipping playfully at her and making all kinds of yippy excited noises. A look from Terry quickly ends the noise, though the tail wags like a juiced-up metronome on high-speed. "Well, it looks like you've passed the 'Fritz' test." Terry nods. "Yeah, we're gonna be sticking around as long as possible."

Isa laughs, petting the pup vigorously, "That's a good boy." Eventually, the attention does stop, "You spend the bigger chunk of your life working as a vet, you learn how to get along with animals." There's a frown at the idea of sticking around. "You'd be better hitting further south unless those solar panels can power the heaters. Granted Texas doesn't exactly get snow all the time, but who knows what the weather will be like after these alien fucks have messed up everything else. The hunting will get scarcer."

"We started out in Nebraska. Fremont, I mean. We moved here a while back.. Dunno if folks can stand another move. We've pretty well dug in here." Terry shrugs. "Myself, I can pick up and move pretty quick.. I don't need much, just my 'go bag', and my battle buddy." He nods to his dog. "This dog is my better half." He reaches out to give the oaf a good ruffling between the ears.

"I forget sometimes, people aren't used to moving around all the time." The better half comment gets a smile from Isa, "Bout the way I feel about Bandit and the girls." There's a pause, "Bandit's been with me since he was foaled." Isabeau peers deeper into the building, tilting her head. "You want some help picking through? Maybe there's some bigger comforters in here that can be repurposed." She looks between the canine and his master and laughs, "I suppose that means you and Bob that can be reasonably trusted, Jury's still out on the rest."

Terry gestures. "I wouldn't mind an extra set of hands, not at all. Dig in." He offers a thumbs-up. Fritz wanders outside, and flops out just to one side of the entry. "Honestly, we're not out to go Freddy Kreuger on anyone and everyone who comes by. We're survivors… if you're willing to pitch in, we'll set a place at the table for ya.. Harmony might even share some of her herb." The latter bit is said quietly, as if sharing a secret, with a grin.

Isabeau pushes through the next apartment door, and stops. Shutting the door again quietly. "I miss my pickup truck, the days when my i-pod still worked, hot showers, and a time when I could go years without seeing a dead body. Never thought I would see a room full of mannequins with a dead body though." Isa shakes her head. "People are freaky."

Terry nods. "Reminds me of my first scavenge.. I turned up several kegs of beer, and a lot of pie. As luck would have it, the pie was moldy, and the beer was skunked. I felt like somebody pissed in my Wheaties that day." He shakes his head. "I haven't had a good pie in waaaay too long."

Isabeau makes a soft whimpering sound. "Beer. Pie." She exhales wistfully in commiseration, moving further in though hesitating at the door. "I suppose if you could settle down some place long enough baking a pie wouldn't be hard, just need flour sugar and a few other things." Finally she braves the next door.

"Find anything?" Terry inquires, finishing up in his room, and wandering into the one Izzy just ransacked. "Anything worth taking back to camp?"

"Empty shell casings, one driver license for a Mason Ludlow, a sock and a broken flashlight," She calls out from the room. "Nothing worth taking back unless out count the flashlight, which might be fixable." She continues rummaging. "I didn't see anyplace, but I don't suppose that apartment place has any space like an empty garage or an awning. Didn't see much in the way of grass either unless you count the yards of the houses nearby."

"Definitely keep the shells; we can re-use them. I recall seeing a gun-shop here in town, so we can stop there some time and re-up on ammunition." Terry responds, nodding. "I know a few things about recycling used ammo. It's a pretty simple process, with the right equipment. The sock could be a little gift-bag.. bleach it first, maybe." He stretches, popping audibly as he twists this way and that. Fritz glances up, and growls, briefly, before settling back down.

"If you think it can be saved," She notes tossing the shell casing at him. The sock gets a more curious study, "What do you think Fritz? You want a sock toy after this thing is bleached?" She waves it around for a few moments. The growl catches her attention, and she moves out to get a look outside.

"SOCK TOY! YEAH!" from Fritz.. at least, a woof, and a good bit of tail-wagging. Outside, it's business as usual, no reason for the mutt to be growling. "Yeah.. I try to think anything can be saved, until and unless it's obviously unsalvageable." Terry responds.

"Quite the optimist." Isa notes, laughing as she tosses the sock at the dog. "Of course if I'm being honest, ammo and a few other things I am starting to run out of." A deep frown, "Might not hurt to throw in with your lot, at least until I can get mobile again."

Terry nods. "Just wait until you try my recipe for venison steak and aromatic rice. It'll knock your socks off.." He chuckles and grins. "You won't want to eat for a week, at least." Fritz wanders around, sniffing at things.

"Careful, anyone ever tell you the old adage about feeding strays?" Isa laughs over her shoulder, rummaging. Seeming at least a little more at ease.

"I've had plenty of time working with strays… I like to think I'm pretty good at sussing out the good ones versus the bad." Terry responds. He moves to leave the room, resting a hand on the doorframe. Just as quickly, he pulls his hand away, and sticks his index and middle fingers into his mouth, wincing visibly. A few seconds later, he glances at the site of attack — a splinter — and fishes his knife out of a pocket to remove it.

The wince draws her attention, and Isa stops to turn and eye the splinter and the knife. "I've got tweezers in my vet kit." Eyeing the man and the knife with mild dubiousness. "Probably should be wearing gloves messing around in here anyway. No telling if the virus is still a threat here."

Terry tucks his knife away, and nods. "Point taken… Have at it, then, Doc." He responds with a smile, extending the hand hosting the splinter. The splinter's one of those itty-bitty pithy things. The smaller they are, the meaner, yeah?

Isabeau slips out the door and returns in a matter of minutes with said tweezers. "Technically I'm not supposed to treat the species Homo Sapiens but," She grins, "I doubt anyone around is going to revoke my license for it." One hand reaches out steadying the sight of injury, and with the other the tweezers latch on to the end of the splinter. "This will probably hurt." And there's no other warning as the splinter is yanked. "Could be worse, Porcupine quills are just plain evil."

Terry is a United States Marine. He's served in Congo-Gabon, Sierra Leone, Cambodia, Kenya, Tanzania, Afghanistan, and Serbia. A total of eleven years under his belt… and he still goes a bit cross-eyed when the splinter is extricated. On the inside, he's screaming his head off in a very unmanly way; on the outside, though, all he offers is a grunt of discomfort, if that. "..Damn, if that ain't the best feeling in the world.." He proceeds to rub the affected hand vigorously. "Porcupine quills? Psh. You ever get stuck with a fish-hook?"

"You know I would almost agree with you except that with quills, it's not the barbs they have in them, but the sheer number of them you have to extract." Still one brow arches at the mention of fish hooks, tweezers slipped into the pocket of her jeans. "Please tell me someone had the sense to use wire cutters on the barbed end before they tried to extract it." The fish hook she must mean.

Terry nods. "Yeah. Buddy of mine got stuck, once, back in the good ol' days. I snipped off the business end of the hook and patched things up right quick." He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "No big deal.." A beat. "Thanks for the assist." He raises the hand and wiggles his fingers. "Much appreciated."

Isabeau laughs, "You got a story for everything, don't you mate." Tucking her hands into the pockets. "You're welcome." With a glance outside then. "I should probably be getting back."

Terry rolls his shoulders, tucking both hands into his pockets. "What can I say? I've lived a good, perhaps storied, life." At the mention of 'getting back', he nods in agreement. "Yeah.. See you around?"

Isabeau lifts a shoulder non-committal. "Maybe, possibly sooner than you might think, if I can figure out the little issue of Stabling Bandit, Lady and Snow." She tilts her head a moment as a thought occurs, "You ride?"

Terry shakes his head. "Not for a number of months.. used to ride a beautiful '67 Chevy Impala. Doesn't see much action these days." He says, as if trying to make a point. "I used to ride horses when I was younger.. been a few years since, but I still remember a thing or three."

Isabeau really does try not to laugh, because she truly feels the same about her pickup. Still that curl of her smile spreads slowly. "It beats walking, and helps when there's more to carry back. I'm thinking about heading out to the farmland in the next few days. See if I can maybe round up some things."

Terry raises an eyebrow. "Awesome. I might tag along.. if that's alright with you." He exhales. "I've been wondering about my human other half.. my little bro. He hasn't contacted me lately."

"Well, That was the thought behind asking you." Isabeau grins, "And I'll even let you use the saddle, hopefully, you learned western." There's a pause when he mention's his brother and she nods. "He out in the rural area?"

"Last we spoke, we were back in Fremont. It's been a while." Terry replies, nodding. "And yeah, I know how to ride western.." He sighs. "Damn, thinking about him gets my 'protect' instinct all fired up…"

Isabeau knits her brows together with that. "Isn't Fremont crawling in those, what did Bob call em, Camo kids?" Pushing out the door and into the open air beyond.

Terry nods. "Yeah… Those little shits are tough, I'll give 'em that." He gives an "excuse the language" look. "But we gave 'em hell."

Isabeau says, "And your wanting to go back to find your brother." She cants her head, "You sure he is still there." The language very obviously doesn't bother her.

Terry shakes his head. "I'm not sure he's still there… but I'm also not sure he *isn't*. I don't know, really."

Isabeau folds her arms then studying the man, "You need a plan for shit like this. I'm all for stripping farm equipment, but you're talking about a lot longer ride between here and Nebraska. " She shakes her head. "I'm not saying no, but I would rather have a plan first. I am not some black ops soldier. I'm a vet, and a carpenter Not always in that order." She shakes her head. "Lets start a little closer first." And that must serve as her farewell, since she's headed back in the direction of the station.

"C'mon, Fritz. Let's roll.." Terry says, offering a wave to the departing Isabeau. The dog rises, and quickly moves to his master, barking. "Oh, woof woof to you too." He responds, ruffling the mutt's ears as he heads back to camp.

Scavenging Rolls

1 Corpse
1 Mannequin foot
1 Shopping Cart
1 Firewood
1 Cork from a wine bottle
1 Water damaged school picture
1 Shell Casings
1 Driver License for Mason Ludlow, age 34
1 Dirty Sock
1 Broken Flashlight

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License