(2016-03-26) In Which We Meet Naomi
In Which We Meet Naomi
Summary: An otherwise mundane day at Camp Hope is brightened by the appearance of a new face — Naomi.
Date: 03.26.2016
Related: None
Players:
monica..naomi..quinton..terry..

There is a clear swath of destruction that goes through this neighborhood. There isn't a house that is left standing or a car that isn't flipped over or has its windows shattered. Where there were houses are just piles of debris, with the belongings inside scattered across the neighborhood.

One particular car has a 2x6 impaled through the driver side rear door, yet the rest of the car remains undamaged, though from the tire marks on the pavement it looks like it was pushed quite a distance from its original location. One of the houses, it's roof no where to be seen is in the same state as the rest except for one lone door frame standing straight and tall, the door hanging on one hinge, a closer look will show a set of stairs going down.

The hardware store, near the town center, seems to have escaped total destruction, though part of the roof is missing as is one whole wall, and all the windows were shattered.


Morning. The eternal signal of a new day, new beginnings. Terry made his way up the path from camp, leading a group of fresh-eyed men and women out to relieve the bleary-eyed, hungry campers taking the previous night's watch. The smell of fresh food in the air, coming from the camp, seemed to reinvigorate the guards, prompting some to want to stay on in spite of everything, but a gentle nudge from Terry seemed to be all the encouragement they needed before disappearing back toward camp proper. Terry had already fed and showered himself, so he was ready for his shift… itching, practically. He took his place at one of the platforms, giving a hearty slap on the back in passing to the guard he'd relieved. He unslung the rifle he'd been carrying on his back, and chambered a round, before setting it aside and beginning his watch. "Alright, life… bring it." Terry muttered, a smile tugging at his lips.

After weeks of riding and barely a sign of well, anyone… you'd think that Naomi would be happier to see that life does really and truly exist. There's no doubt about it - not with fortifications like the ones that present in the path before her. Any joy that she may have been carrying is stored anyway and pure caution is put in its place. Half-way down the street, Naomi hops off bicycle she's riding, and takes the slow walk with it down the rest of the street — as slowly and non-threateningly as humanly possible.

Some of the guards seem to consider going for their guns, while others — like Terry — seem content to wait out the otherwise-non-threatening-looking woman approaching the camp. No sense in getting off to a bad start. Terry doesn't see any weapons, so no reason to start shooting.. yet. He hops down from his perch, and makes his approach, holding his hands in plain view, so as to show that he's not looking to start a fight. "Hello there," he starts, trying to keep his tone friendly and warm.. though, for a soldier like himself, that might be a smidge difficult.

Quinton walks up, eyes scanning the guards and then the approaching woman. He nods, and raises a hand as well, but lets Terry do the talking for now. Not like he could do much with how his brain is today, anyway.

The voice from above startles her, although she had been looking straight at the platform where Terry stands for a good 15 seconds before he speaks. Quinton too gets her attention a split second later, one of her hands lifting off from the handlebars shes been tightly dripping in response. She finally speaks, finding her accented voice strange — she hasn't really spoken to anyone in… well, she cant remember at this point, "Good morning. I see you've taken the brunt of that storm a few days ago?" The obvious nature of the statement is not lost on her, she's currently standing next to an impaled car.

"…Yeah, you could say that." Terry nods to the impaled car, hooking his thumbs into his pockets. "…Where're you from? Around here?" He inquires, remaining rather calm in the face of what could be a potential body-snatching E.T. for all he knows.. or she could be human. Only one way to find out.

Quinton's on the ground, he was getting ready to head out hunting. But now there's a newbie…potentially. She doesn't have the same usually bone structure as an alien, so Quin's not worried about that aspect be there's always something that could be bad. His head tilts, blonde bangs falling into his eyes. "….alone?" Pale eyes blink, that always sounds creepier than it's meant.

Monica is, with the aid of a 4 foot two by four, rolling what appears to be a set of railroad wheels, axle and all, along the road. "Hi." She peers at the new person, trying to see around the back of her neck, letting the two by four shift to her off hand for a moment. She lets her right hand fall to her waist, near the butt of her gun.

Not quite as creepy as you'd expect. They were all perfectly valid and sane questions given the highly unusual circumstances. Even ones that Naomi herself would ask if she was the one holding the gun. She stops her stroll once pass the hood of the impaled car, giving a slight nod to the third voice. "As of just past Clovis, yes, alone." She shakes her head at Terry's question, eyes darting up to the cloudless sky, "No, not quite. There's a camp set up in Roswell…" She pauses, carefully choosing her next words, "I've been there since our friends showed up."

A look of realization crosses Terry's face, and he nods. "Indeed. We've been here for.. almost as long. We do alright. It's no palace, but it's home." He shrugs his shoulders, and offers a hand. "I'm Terry. Terry Collins." He says, after a moment of thought.

No other words come from Quin, but he nods again at Naomi's words. Monica gets a soft flash of a smile before he goes back to watching Terry and the new person talk.

Monica says, "I'm Monica. These are trail wheels. They don't talk much." She grins, not quite showing any teeth. "Welcome to Camp Hope." She doesn't relax her stance though. First, she can't see Naomi's neck clearly yet, and second, if she does, a thousand pounds of trail wheel are going to roll down the very slight incline of this street and inevitably there will be mayhem."

"Naomi. Naomi Kishiki. Pleasure. Terry, Monica, wheels… and?" Naomi questions Quinton with a slightly smile, before griping Terry's hand in a shake - another first in a very, very long time. After a second of eye contact, she drops her hand and replaces it back to the handlebar. "Camp Hope? So, this is it?" Her eyes sweep again, back to the downed trees and looming gate. It was all suddenly very overwhelming, not too dissimilar to a gust of wind making her loose her footing. Less nervous, her very British accent seems to grow stronger, "You'll have to forgive me. This is the only other Camp I've seen in over a year."

"Yes, this is Camp Hope." Terry confirms, letting Quinton introduce himself (or not) as he sees fit. His hands drop to his sides, and then clasp behind his back, as he relaxes a good bit. A glance is directed to Quinton. "Have you seen Bob lately?"

Quinton looks like he's battling something internally, his jaw clenches as he tries to get out his own name. It's odd, he's definitely sending mixed signals. He's speaking is barely there, but his eyes are bright and sweep the area, very alert. "Q-Quinton." She then gets an almost apologetic smile and he takes a small half step backwards, giving people with better vocabulary today the chance to talk to her. The direct question has the poet shaking his head. But to be fair, he wasn't looking either.

Monica gives Quinton a quick nod. He won that one. "Yeah, I should meet him too. I have a feeling I'm ignoring six kinds of security planning around here. I'm way stoked though. We got the hydroelectric turbine and generator set. Twenty kilowatts continuous. We won't be able to light up the whole town and we wouldn't want to, but we'll have more light than we've got.

"Quinton. A pleasure to meet you too." Naomi repeats, the last bit of balled up worry seeping away with a smile. Then again, a nagging feeling tells her it may be too soon. She was still surrounded and being watched by many eyes with many guns. A word snags on her thoughts and she turns her attention to Monica again, "Light? You have light?"

"We have power, yeah. Not an endless supply, but enough to run maybe one room at a time." Terry confirms, nodding. He continues explaining. "We have a bar, that has power.. At least the booze is safe." He briefly grins, before returning to a more serious expression. "With what happened, I wouldn't be surprised if we did take a few good hits to some other areas, but I haven't heard anything as far as repairs go, so we may be good there. I'll get back to you."

Quinton's eyes narrow and he glances to both. They should maybe not be just offering up all that info. People kill for booze. Naomi seems nice and all, but…. Well, that's already out of the bag. She gets another smile, this one a little lass apologetic and more welcoming, "…trade or….stay?" Oh, his poor brain, he's clearly aware his words are broken and not full sentences by the frustrated look that passes over his face,

Monica nods. "Sorry if we're a little standoffish. Sometimes people aren't what they appear to be. There are ways to test that and be sure, and once we're sure about you everyone will be a lot more friendly. At least, that was my experience."

The very first thing that pops into Naomi's head is /hot shower/, but, it flees away in a second. Wishful thinking never did anyone a lick of good… and a bar with cold drinks comes in a slight second. She's brought back to reality, shaking her head at Monica's apology, "I would be highly suspicious if you weren't." Very carefully she moves to the basket attached to her bicycle, moving aside a blue tarp that covers it's contents. Aside from a tent, blanket and other items there are around 5 quart sized mason jars filled with a brown vegetable soup, "We'll trade for now, and leave the question of staying for another day."

Terry's expression briefly flashes apprehension, followed by piqued interest at the revelation of the veggie soup. "What's in the soup, if you don't mind my asking?" He inquires, nodding to it, and giving a few covert sniffs as he tries to suss out that answer for himself. His nose isn't THAT well-trained, but.. he can try.

Quinton's eyes flutter to the jars and he smiles, nodding in appreciation. Food is always needed. Speaking of, he looks over to terry and gives a soft wiggle to the bow he's carrying, "…out.." Most likely meaning he's out, leaving. Hunting. He doesn't look like a hunter. The two ladies get a head bob as a goodbye and he turns to head out.

Monica peers curiously at the jars too. "You know how to can food?" She puzzles at the stuff, wondering what it is.

"Oh, no. I never worked in the kitchens." Naomi blinks, feeling like it should be something should know how to do. Add it to the list. She carefully lifts up one of the jars, handing it to Monica with a second to Terry, "It was from our winter garden. Acorn squash, potatoes, carrot, tomato, kale… beans of some type. I didn't grow those."

Terry accepts the jar, and sniffs it again, trying to get a whiff without breaking the seal. "Acorn squash? Haven't had that in a while." His stomach promptly gives an almost whisper-like gurgle, and he gives a cough to cover it up, casting a glance around. "Potato, carrot.. Wow. With food like this, we could really kick things up a notch here.."

Monica finds herself drooling quite suddenly. "Oh my /god/. Vegetables? I haven't eaten vegetables in way, way too long." She looks at Naomi. "Please tell me you like tequila…"

Naomi's heart nearly sinks to her stomach, wait… what did these poor people eat? She says it almost immediately as she speaks it, "You don't have a garden? This is the prime time to start… your summers out here are bloody ridiculous, you won't get better weather than now." While going to the basket to take out a third jar she laughs - nearly startling herself at the foreign sound, "In my previous life I was a teacher. Of course I like tequila."

Terry raises an eyebrow, and grins. "You do?" Perfect. A woman after his own heart. He begins pondering breaking out his stash of pruno.. but.. not today. Save it for another day. Yeah.

Monica nods. "Awesome. I can't stand the stuff and I found a full bottle. I'll run and get it." And off she goes, leaving the others to do as they wish.

Hunting Rolls

1 Squirrel

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