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Realistic or Modern ᵀᵒⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ᴵˢ ᵀʰᵉ ᴺⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵀʰᵃᵗ ᴵ ᴰⁱᵉ ⁽¹ˣ¹ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃᵗᵒᵐⁱᶜ⁾

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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
Sullivan had no fuckin’ clue if he was kind. But he was definitely a true bastard. Well, unless you wanted to get literal with it. Then no, his mum and da were both very much married and committed to each other. Or rather… they were. He hadn’t exactly had any contact with them in the years he’d been marooned in this Godforsaken country. They could be zombie chow for all he knew.

He’d rather not… think about that.

Sullivan may not look like it, but he was paying attention. Closely. And he wasn’t sure he liked the way Church was eyeing his prosthetic. He hoped he hadn’t brought up some scavenging dickhead into his safe house. He liked this one—the safe house, not the dickhead. It’d be a shame to have to move again. And even he wasn’t cocky enough to think he’d be any match to hunt somebody down and kill them with only one leg.

He… didn’t have enough years under his belt as an amputee to be competent without the limb. He supposed he wasn’t getting sleep tonight. Or if he did, he’d be sleeping with the leg on. Fuck.

“Ye a fuckin’ tardigrade or somethin’?” He cocked a brow as the other commented that he didn’t need ‘nutrients’. Nutrients? Who the fuck said it like that, anyways? Maybe he was bein’ cute or somethin’. Word play. Church’s next question didn’t help the way Sullivan was looking at him, either. “Hitchhiker’s Guide,” he said. He doubted that would mean much to the other man, but the reference was poignant. “‘Course I got a towel. Or… they did. Whomever sad fecks that owned this place before. Toilet’s back there.”
 
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code by opaline
Vincent Ordonez
❛ Church ❜

“English isn’t my first language” Vincent returned dismissively. Already, he was sliding his backpack back off, gently dropping it onto the floor where he had been standing. “Sometimes I don’t have the right words…. I don’t comment on the way you speak pendejo.”

Though he may have sounded offended, he didn’t seem too ruffled by the other man’s comment. Actually, he seemed used to it, considering how quick he was to give an excuse. Realistically, it had been something that he had heard a lot when he was first learning to speak English. If he really wanted to, he could still remember the days where he’d struggle to be his mother’s translator… which was when he felt at his most useless.

Suddenly shaking his head, Vincent would move towards the bathroom. “I jus’ wanna wipe the sweat off anyhow.” He’d add, his voice getting a bit quieter. “They got a good sense of smell, if you hadn’t known.”
 
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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
“Ah, but then ye just did, ye narkey hole,” Sullivan grinned a little in response to the other claiming he didn’t comment about the way he spoke. But he was quick to hold up a placating hand, “Only teasin’ ye, any road. Go’on.”

He nodded his head in the direction of the toilet, blinking almost dumbly as he made another snarky quip about the sense of smell those corpses had. It was only after the fucker was gone that Sullivan wondered if Church had been trying to hint that he smelled. His face contorted into something curious as he lifted an arm and sniffed a pit. Well, he’d certainly smelled worse before. But he’d be winning no prizes for cleanliness.

Should he clean himself? He liked to save his water. But he didn’t usually have company. Not that he’d be doing anything with said company. The Irishman smiled to himself, closing his eyes for a moment while he entertained the idea of having a quick shag with the American. Been a long while. But would Church bite the hook? He was still thinking unholy thoughts as he pushed himself off the couch, grabbed the crutch leaned against the coffee table, and made his way to his food store.

Church may not want or need nutrients, but Sullivan sure as feck did. He cracked a can of beans, lit the little camp stove he’d stolen, and started heating it up on the counter.


 
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code by opaline
Vincent Ordonez
❛ Church ❜

Vincent was certainly quick to narrow his eyes back at Sullivan’s words. With every new sentence, the man found himself growing more tired, if anything. Sometimes things were said without any undertones, and this was definitely one of them.



Once he’d gotten his way on into the bathroom, Vincent would set his cane against the sink and grab a hand towel. It wasn’t like he was trying to fully bathe, so it sufficed as he just began rubbing the dry cloth against his sullied face. Wiping away some grime and sweat as he stared at himself in the mirror. In his eyes held some sort of unspoken contempt.



He hated the person he looked at. Reviled the man. And the way his dull eyes stared back just simply made him frown- so- he moved away. Scooping his cane back up, he’d return to the main room with the towel held up to his neck and ear, wiping away the bloodied trail his prior injury had left behind. From where he stood, Vincent would lull his eyes around in search for Sullivan- at least until he saw him.



“Right.” He’d then shut his eyes briefly- thinking. “What do you have questions about?” He asked. Referring to the priest.
 
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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
Sullivan kept his head down, body leaning against the crutch as he hummed a quiet version of a song by The Police. He wasn’t really good at singing, but lately, he’d been getting music stuck in his head when he was alone and it kind of helped make that noise in his skull quieter. Luckily for him, all the action today had done… good.

He was so damn tired, all that pent up energy that usually fueled his erratic behaviors and mental shite storms was expended. He still needed to hunt down that priest, though. He needed the man’s head to roll. Needed to burn the body and sign his name in the blood.

Sincerely,
A pissed off Irishman


He stirred the chili slowly, waiting for the food to bubble from the heat. The man didn’t look up when Church came back in, but he still made sure there was some part of him that was always alert. Aware. But Church didn’t attack him or do anything like that. He just asked. And Sullivan grabbed two bowls from the cabinet. He poured some chili in both of them.

Still not answering immediately, the man wordlessly placed a bowl on the other end of the table. Then he took his own and sat down, “Tha’s gonna go to waste if ye don’ eat it, Church. There’s no point in skippin’ an easy meal. It’s an insult to the folks dyin’ of starvation.”

But he wasn’t Church’s babysitter or his fucking nanny. So if he really wouldn’t eat it, Sullivan wouldn’t force him. In fact, he’d just take back the portion. Not that he’d let Church know that was an option. Only when he made sure he’d at least offered the man a meal did he bring up the priest again. Tapping the spoon against the side of his bowl, he asked, “Did ye know? That he wouldn’t be there? Guess I’m wonderin’ why you was there in the first place. And if ye knew he’d fecked off somewhere else.”
 
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code by opaline
Vincent Ordonez
❛ Church ❜


He may have been difficult, but he had manners. Letting out a sigh, the man would give his best-exaggerated waltz over to the table and pull a chair, taking a seat. Most of the times he had eaten he had eaten his food cold. So seeing the steam rise from the bowl was actually a bit of a pleasant change.

Staring into the beans, Vincent would drum his fingers along the table rhythmically. “I used to know the group.” He uttered softly. With his brows furrowing, the corners of his lips would pull firm. “It’s personal.” He then added. A shrug now gracing his shoulders as he leaned back, finally daring to make eye contact with him once more.

“But, no. that building had been long abandoned. I knew, but I figured maybe I could learn something there…. ‘Till a rather loud… bumbling asshole burst in, started shooting, and forced us to leave before I could get that far.” ‘Church’ clicked his tongue.

“So. What do you want with him?”
 
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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
He was like a cat that was suddenly appeased when Church begrudgingly came over to eat. Good. He would have felt feckin’ awkward if he’d had to eat all this in front of somebody he knew had to be at least a little peckish. Sometimes he wished he’d never learned what it was like to give a shite about people. He used to be no good for anybody. Then he joined up and while he’d still been a piece of work, he’d had the notion of ‘giving a shite about something bigger than himself’ beat into him.

Now look at him. Feeding strays.

No doubt this streak of piss was thinking him the stray.

Either way, he was a lot less… wired. The fuse wasn’t lit here. He was simmering. And he could think with a clearer head. So he actually felt a bit sheepish when Church called him out for being loud, bumbling, and an asshole. Thing is, he couldn’t really control it. Or he didn’t know how to regulate the madness. He truly ended up feeling like a mad motherfucker when he wasn’t moving long enough to look back and recall everything that happened in the moment.

It made him bitter. Made him ache somewhere deep in the bones—feeling like an old worthless hunting dog that needed to be put down.

“Used to give a shite,” Sullivan almost whispered, “About doin’ things right. Smart. Didn’t think anybody but the priest fucker would be in there.”

That was not how he’d been trained. That was not how he cleared a building of hostiles years ago. There used to be something methodical about it. It made sense. Things didn’t make sense anymore. His being here didn’t make sense to him.

When Church asked what he wanted to do with the priest, Sullivan shrugged, “Kill ‘im. He’s an objectively problematic individual. For most my life, that’s what me and… guys like me took care of. Objectively. Problematic. Individuals.” Then he narrowed his eyes, looking Church up and down after he said that, “What group? There’s feckin’ more of ‘em? You one of ‘em?”
 
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code by opaline
Vincent Ordonez
❛ Church ❜

Him? One of Xiao’s?

That made him laugh.

That made Vincent laugh so hard in fact, he threw his head back and held his chest as violently he struggled to keep his voice down. His breathing growing ragged and the way his lips twisted and churned into a wickedly… upset smile before he’d come to a stagnant calm. Like a sudden wave, just as fast as his laughter came. It left.

Leaning forwards in his seat, Vincent would gently push his beans aside. The bowl screeched against the wood as though it was protesting. Though, it didn’t stop him.

Then, from his pocket would Vincent begin to drag out different trinkets… keychains and jewelry as he allowed it all to clatter onto the table- his nose wrinkling in disgust as he then dug into his other pocket. Tossing more onto the table before they were emptied.

Though, he would quickly retract a single bronze key.

“Count them.”

There were Fourteen items total.

“Count how many he’s taken.” He hissed. “All the people who went to him- for help. For ‘salvation’…. And I’ll ask you why you could possibly assume I’d want to be part of his little cult.”
 
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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
Sullivan didn’t laugh. And he watched with scrutiny as the other man did. His eye twitched, though. Here. This was that touch of madness that had Sullivan taking away the aim of his gun in that church. The touch of madness they shared. Laughter in places and conversations where it was not typically welcomed.

He watched as Church began pulling trinkets out of his pocket. He counted only because it offered him a distraction from the sound of blood in his ears. He counted fourteen. And he watched him pull the bronze key back—disinterested in it, but noting it all the same. True, the belongings didn’t mean anything to him, but he understood what the other man was saying.

What he couldn’t do was make a judgment call based on the man’s word alone. “I don’t know a feckin’ thing about ye,” he leaned into the table in turn, matching the man’s energy, “Except… that ye was in there. Ye left that woman on that crucifix. Ye know a lot more than I do about him. And…” He looked down at all the items, “Ye have a pocket full of things that don’ belong to ye.”

Sullivan sat back and crossed his arms, “Now. I haven’t the slightest clue what your deal is in all this. But ye haven’t exactly painted me a pretty picture o’ innocence. Eh? Alter boy?”
 
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code by opaline
Vincent Ordonez
❛ Church ❜


“I’m not innocent.” Vincent would add. Unashamedly. “I was part of their church. It’s how I have these. And this one….” The man would now lean forward, grabbing a silver and sapphire ring. “Belonged to Bella.” he now mumbled, a bit solemnly. Dropping the ring back down, Vincent would sigh, again clicking his tongue.


“I wasn’t there long… We were a bunch of fuckin’ losers. Small time gang.” he’d press his lips thin. “And I was some stupid kid. Thought that I’d be somebody if I made money… And I loved them. Like they were family. I let them take my leg. Take me away from my mamá… And I still don’t know what fully happened to her.” Vincent began to ramble. The hoarseness settled back in the longer he rattled on. Tired and unused.


“Rook said that Xiao had a job for us. Then when the priest man wouldn’t pay us our supplies and rations, Bishop and I…” he paused. “Raymond and I.” he corrected. “Tried to demand it.”


Carefully, vincent would begin scooping it all towards himself once more. “These people… all except for Bella…. have no remains left. And until I can kill Xiao. I can’t bury ‘em. Well, except for one but… you kinda did it for me.” he scoffed, leaving the ring on the table as he pocketed the rest.


“She lives in my memories. Bright and lively. A strong woman and a former tattoo artist. Had her own shop." He described. "The one up in that church.”

He pulled the bowl towards himself now, taking the spoon into his hand. “It’s not easy when it's a face you’re familiar with.”
 
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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
So far, Church hadn’t been a very chatty guy. So he was more or less surprised the man was talking to him so openly, now. And it wasn’t just surface level bullshite about the weather. If this was all true, and Sullivan was pressed to believe it might be, it was some personal stuff. He felt a bit dirty for listening. Like he was inserting himself into something he had no business touching.

Yet, this wasn’t one of his interrogations where he had some deplorable tied up to a chair while he tortured answers out of him. All these words were coming out of Church’s mouth free of charge. And he had a feeling Church wasn’t the man’s real name. Considering there was now a Rook, a Bishop, and a… Oh, Raymond was the Bishop. He might have laughed if the irony didn’t just sting more.

His mate had loved a good game of chess. Sullivan couldn’t stand the game, himself. Too many rules. Or maybe he was just a sore loser.

“So… it’s unfinished business,” Sullivan concluded, bringing the heel of his palm to press painfully into his temple. His eyes closed tight as he fought some kind of argument in his head. Then he let out a long, heavy sigh. Wasn’t his hunt. The hunt was Church’s. He should walk away again. Keep heading south. There were plenty other objectively problematic individuals that needed a bullet in their skull. However… “Ye alone now? Tha’ little family o’ yours. Past tense. Not with ‘em anymore?”
 
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code by opaline
Vincent Ordonez
❛ Church ❜

“I hope you can kill him.” He interjected. Ignoring the man’s question for the time being. The words accompanied by his first spoonful of the food that Sullivan had warmed for him, though it had started to cool a lukewarm temperature. “I don’t care who does it… I need to see him gone.” He would further explain after swallowing.

Shutting his eyes again, Vincent would absorb himself within his thoughts. Trying to count how long it had been since he had been on his own. It had been cold out. Possibly in December- around Christmas time actually.

Blinking his hues back open once more, he’d then begin nodding to himself.

“But to answer… yeah. Think it’s been about a year and a half.”
 
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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
“Aye?” Sullivan lifted his brow at that. He wasn’t expecting that. But his lip twitched just a little while something dangerous and hungry flashed across his face for a second before it sobered. “Oh… Ye point me in a direction, I’ll make sure it’s good n’ feckin’ buried.”

That was no problem. Killing for a man like him was like breathing. But he didn’t exactly expect anybody to really get it—the damage in his head. Maybe Church would get a little more of the violence, having been in a ‘little gang’ or whatever he’d called it. But he still wasn’t fucked in the head the same way as Sullivan. Certainly, Vince was fucked in the head. But a different flavor. Sullivan was… curious. But also guarded.

“Fancy a dance, then?” Sullivan eventually asked, grinning with a whole host of negative influence. That tinge of madness crept back like a disease. “You and I? At least until this feckin’ priest of yours is dead. Ye ever danced with a feckin’ screws loose Irishman before? It’s a steep decline into a pit of misfortune. But if yer lucky, at least ye’ll meet Jesus at the bottom… Unless, o’ course, you’re not a dead man walkin’ like me. If not, I suggest ye and I never talk to each other again.”

Because there was truly nothing fortunate about getting involved with Sullivan ‘Gearhead’ McKinley. No absolution. No redemption. No happy ending. But if Sullivan had any kind of idea about this man across from him, he was betting the man wasn’t after any of that. Sounded like a pretty decent dance partner to him.
 
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code by opaline
Vincent Ordonez
❛ Church ❜

Vincent may have been… abnormal, sure, but he hadn’t been downright screws loose like the guy sitting across from himself. Murder was significantly harder for Vincent to carry out, in any capacity. And perhaps it was clear the way he had stared at the ring he’d associated to ‘Bella.’


Carefully, he would lower his eyes back to his food. His ear throbbing almost in protest to the idea- as if the injury was trying to remind him of why he shouldn’t involve himself with such a guy. But, Vincent didn’t really know what the right course of action was. Assuming a more proper posture, Vincent would simply begin picking away at the bowl in front of him. His head tilting back and forth as he mulled over what exactly he wanted.


“I’m not good at dancing.” He’d suddenly say. His voice so nonchalant that it might have actually been comedic. “Don’t have a good sense for it. Generally. So any time I’ve ever danced it’s been alone in the comfort of my own home.” He’d mutter on. “Plus, with this leg of mine. It’s not necessarily easy.” He added. Now kinda just stirring the food uncomfortably.


There was something about Sullivan that just bothered Vincent. Not really in a good way either. Though give it some time and maybe that’d be the case. Vincent knew he had an unsettling smile but… Sullivan genuinely did spook him. There was a difference between a man who had killed and a man who was used to killing.


“What… are you implying that you’d teach me or something?” He’d then chuckle- more sarcastically than anything.

 
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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
Sullivan waited patiently. He had that voice in the back of his head again. And it was scolding him for even suggesting Church come along with him on his crusade. Was he a bad man for inviting Church to stick with him? When all Sullivan knew these days was the quickest way to get into a fight that was life or death? Would he take responsibility for whatever happened to the younger man? Or let whatever it was Sullivan was hunting for consume the guy?

He didn’t know. But he’d probably try to keep the fucker’s head above water. Hell, he’d be a little pissed if Church ended up dying before him when Sullivan was out here looking for that.

Finally, though, he got some kind of an answer. And it made the Irishman laugh a little, the sound quiet and low. Great. Now he had to picture this pretty ponce dancing alone in his room. When he looked back up, he reached down into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. It was about time he allowed himself a smoke.

“Why not? Somebody taught me. Now I’m a professional,” he wasn’t sure what his own expression was doing. If he looked sad or bitter or resigned. He took a long drag of the cigarette, sighing as it soothed the noise. Then he offered it to Church, “Been a long feckin’ time since I had a partner. Try not to strangle ye in your sleep. Unless you’re into that shite.”
 
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code by opaline
Vincent Ordonez
❛ Church ❜

Vincent would let out an audible groan at the man’s words. “Man. Why do you gotta make everything sound so fuckin’ gay…” he grumbled. “First you call me handsome and shit and now you’re talking about some weird fuckin’-” He would pause, sucking in a deep sigh as though he was trying to regain his composure. “Nah… no I’m not into weird shit… You can keep that to yourself.” He would then express, a scoff coming from him as he tried to figure out what he wanted to even say after that.

“Well, I ain’t gonna ‘dance’ with ya. But I’ll work with ya instead.” he huffed, obviously just wanting to change the wording before he’d move to finish up the food that had been given to him. Again, following those manners he still tried to live by.

Then, politely, he’d stand up, leaving the bowl there as he really didn’t know how Sullivan preferred to clean up.

“And I don’t think I wanna stay with ya either.” he’d add, more pointedly than anything. “Keep the cigarette, and I’ll meet ya… I don’t know…” he drawled on. Letting out a thoughtful hum.

“Back at the church. They’ll probably disperse a bit come sunrise.”

 
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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
Sullivan’s expression narrowed when the other expressed obvious distaste and discomfort at the things Sullivan said. So, he was to assume there would be no flirting with this one. Fine. That was fine. He’d really only been poking to see what kind of reaction he’d get if he dropped the subtlety. And he got a scared straight boy. Could be closeted, who feckin’ knew. But Sullivan didn’t want it nearly enough to dig deeper.

What really pissed him off the most was this absurd shock of fear when Church let him know he was leaving. What the actual feck? God no…

But then… he’d been stuck alone out here by himself for years. Before the apocalypse. And he’d gone positively mad because of it. Occasionally, Sullivan would find some other lone survivor and they’d do a little dance. More often than not, they tried to rob him or kill him in his sleep without knowing they’d picked a fight with somebody who slept with one eye open, already. But every time they left again, it was like he got worse. And the noise came back even louder.

Yet, at the same time, it wasn’t like Sullivan wanted anybody around him. There was only a handful of specifically selected individuals that Sullivan craved to be around again. But they were an ocean away. And in some cases, a universe away. He contained the panic, nodding instead, “Ah. A friendly warnin’, don’t try to sneak back in unless ye fancy a shotgun blast to the face.”

He rigged the place before he actually went to sleep. Would be a bit unfortunate if he woke up to a bloody mess in the morning. “And Church,” he paused for a moment… then he shook his head, deciding against whatever he’d been about to say. Instead, “Eh… whatever. Go’on. Feck off then.”
 
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Vincent Ordonez
❛ Church ❜

Vincent would find himself returning a slow, unamused blink in response to the implication that he’d want to actually rob the guy. “Trust me… Sullivan? Yeah, Sullivan. You have nothing I could want nor need.” He reassured. Tapping his hip where he kept his handgun, he would also nod toward his pack. “Plus, trying to pillage it all would drag me down. I got everything that’s necessary to carry. And though I thought about stealing that rifle… no sling so I’ll jus’ leave it by the window.” He explained.


With that, he would give one of his dull smiles. One where only his mouth moved but his eyes remain dead. “I could take that leg but hey man. It’s already falling apart… try soaking it in some vinegar for the rust and replace the screws in the meantime. Might do you some good… I’ll meet you at the church… try to be there around eight or so.” He offered. Then, simply, he’d take his cane and start hobbling to his bag. Hauling it up to his shoulder.


“Oh… do you mind if I take this towel though?” He asked. Referring to the one he’d used to clean his face and neck.



 
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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
Well, now that the American made it clear he was leaving, Sullivan’s impatience for the man to get on with it was running on empty. He didn’t like it when people didn’t commit to things. He didn’t like the idea of working with somebody who wouldn’t share the foxhole with him. It drew a very visible line, one he wouldn’t forget was there even if they met up the next day.

And that tension bubbled under his skin the longer Church went on about his space here and the weathered prosthetic. His fist curled around the spoon, knuckles white when he asked if he could keep the towel. “If it’ll get ye to move yer arse,” he said instead of lashing out and throwing the damn cutlery. He didn’t have to. Soon enough he was left alone again.

It was a gradual climb. The noise and blood in his skull didn’t start getting to him right away. He kept himself grounded by humming. Smoking. Drinking. He cleaned himself up as best he could. Had a wank. But at the end of the night, Sullivan was back to shaky hands and sweat as packed his things. Fuck, he couldn’t stand it. Staying still. And now knowing there was somebody who knew about this place. Church probably wasn’t going to come back.

But if he had, he’d find the place empty save for an open can of chili and some dirty bowls.



The night went by. It was worse than all the nights before. Church had broken up the pattern. He’d thrown a wrench in Sullivan’s routine. It wasn’t Church specifically. It was just… people. They made him think about himself and his failing mind. So he was there almost exactly at eight. He had nothing else to do. He had his gun and he didn’t bother knocking, but he also came in much quieter than before.

Part of him was on alert. Part of him hoped it was a set up. That he’d be able to sink his teeth into that arrogant fucker’s neck and laugh around the tast— Ah. See. Now that was the feckin’ shite he had to moderate. Still… wouldn’t mind another fight. If Church was here at all.
 
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Vincent Ordonez
❛ Church ❜

Vincent was a man of his word. Not that the other man would know that much about him yet, but he would probably figure it out the longer they would run into each other. And again, truthfully, what goal would he have in taking shit from someone’s house… what the hill would he even do with the leg?


Those sorts of questions did dawn on him as he made it back to his own little hidey hole. See, he had a much less practical choice of hiding, living outside of a uninsulated but decently shrouded little garden shed. Decorated with tearing blankets in the windows and shrubbery growing over the wooden exterior.


He spent that night pretty thoughtlessly.


Rest would serve him and his leg well.


The morning was different and difficult. Leaving much earlier to handle the zombies himself (because god forbid the Irish fuck did it on his way) Vincent would show up far more prepared than he had the day before. And while Vincent was proficient in his use of firearms, the seven or so corpses were manageable with much less than a ball-peen hammer and his arms wrapped in layers of duct tape. Though his hands were shoved in some ragged garden mitts. Ones he had definitely bloodied through the slow take down of each corpse that neatly, he’d lay near the courtyard as a signal of his presence.


And inside, would he be. Originally hunched off in one of the little office rooms with his eyes squinted as he struggled to read some scrawl on paper. At the noise of another, however, would he draw his hand. Slapping his hand over his pistol as he raised it at Sullivan, he’d offer a eyebrow raise in greeting before neatly tucking it back into the holster.


 
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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
Sullivan wasn’t entirely sure why he was here. He could have left. The hunt wasn’t nearly as important to him now that there was something… heavy attached to it. Church had given this whole thing meaning by being so personally involved in the whole mess. And that meant Sullivan had to ‘regulate his impulses’ so as to not piss on the sanctity of sentimental issues. Or whatever the feck his old partner would have said about it.

He kept that man in his front pocket, holding onto the memory of his words as if they were still being whispered in his ear. If he were a couple more years into the decay of his mind, he might even be talking back to those voices instead of simply listening to them.

Now he was standing in front of somebody he could talk back to without sounding crazy. Yet, Church wasn’t saying a damn thing. Just raising his eyebrow as though he weren’t worth more than that. “Mornin’ to ye, too. Fuckin’ charmer.” He rolled his eyes, stepping up to the desk to catch a peek at what Church was squinting at. “So. Where are we headin’? There’s a few other churches in the city, but he might not be at any one of ‘em. Could be layin’ low. We either take the hunt to him or lay a trap for when he comes out.”
 
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Vincent Ordonez
❛ Church ❜

“Do you always wake up and decide to be an ass?” Vincent would scoff back. His face twisting into what looked like a mixture of confusion and anger. But, slowly it would calm the closer the other man would approach. Perhaps he was finally getting used to his harshness, maybe it was a cultural thing. Not that Vincent would ever care- the guy was technically his territory now.


The thought made him instead give a half-assed smirk.


“It would’ve been nice if he could write nicer but that would be asking a bit too much.” He found himself complaining. Finally moving the topic to just what the other walked into. Subtly would Vincent push the gloves and hammer he had used during the morning further to the side. A streak of crimson following before he would return to the paper.


“It’s something about his list of followers. You got dates and names and whatnot. Some x’s. Probably dead.” He’d explain. Clearing his throat.


“Thing about Xiao is that he has a habit to make rounds. May not be in the city permanently but he visits his old locations from time to time… pretty much at random to pick up new victims… I would wanna see if we might find him at one of his other places.”



 
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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
“Not always,” Sullivan ended up grinning a little, “Depends on the company in the mornin’.”

There was something a little bittersweet about that reflective thought. No, he wasn’t always an ass in the morning. Sometimes, he was all drowsy eyed and whispers. If he could manage to bury his head into that man’s neck or chest for even a few more seconds, he’d always tried. But it was hard to get extra minutes in the military. They frowned on sleeping in. It’s okay. Sullivan had been able to make up for it when they took leave. Nowadays, Sullivan woke up tired—if he’d managed to sleep at all.

He did doubt he’d ever feel particularly warm for this American enough to act warm. So far, this was more practical. The line was drawn the night before and Sullivan was here to watch. Be pointed like a gun if that’s what Church would do with him. He squinted at the writing himself and laughed. “Aye. Shite penmanship.”

Then he was studying the other papers, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Doubt it’s random,” he almost whispered thoughtfully, “Crazy fecks like their patterns, even if that pattern don’t really make sense to anybody.” He pulled open his bag and set out a map of the city, betraying once again that he was a bit of a crazy man himself. All over the thing were mark ups and circled locations. Scratched out location names with their own X’s.

There was a long chain of tally marks at the top of the map. But he ignored all of it. “We’re here,” he tapped his gloved finger (stained with Church’s blood) against their location. It had already been circled and then crossed out. “Ye got a pen? Show me where his other spots are? How far apart are they? What’s around them? And ye tell me whether ye want to go in quiet or my way.”
 
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code by opaline
Vincent Ordonez
❛ Church ❜

Honestly, the two weren’t so different past their exteriors. Once upon a time, Vincent had been that gun that was pointed at others. Though at the end of his bullet came the corruption of law and overtly complicated cover-ups. All for… validation. A sense of belonging. Shallow but vulnerable pieces that Vince had navy managed to fill. So, like a broken vase, you could only fill him with so much before he’d leak from his missing pieces. Though the pieces had fallen from the bottom. He was always empty.

Even now.

As personal as it had been for Vincent, really, the motivation was just as selfish as Sullivan’s had been. It was redemption he sought. In the eyes of a god that he only believed in because he had nothing else. Frankly, those he had loved, those he had missed were gone, reduced to nothing but meat slabs fed to the undead if not becoming the corpses himself. And being as empty as he was, the only way he could motivate himself was to chase something. Literally anything. And fortunately, it led him to his current decision.

Vincent was always an ass in the morning. He gave no sweet whispers or fluttering, loving blinks. He was alien and alone- and he acted it.

Glancing down at Sullivan’s own scribbles and near-nonsensical marking, the man found himself not really wanting to question the meanings behind them. Not because he was made to be uncomfortable. But, rather because he didn’t have it in him to care. Clearing his throat, he’d set his own finger on the map, dragging an invisible line from their current position to another, rather strangely place building about four miles from them.

“We can check here.” he’d state simply.

 
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code by opaline
Sullivan McKinley
❛ Gearhead ❜
Sullivan followed the invisible line that Church made with his finger. He considered the new location. It made sense. “So tha’s why,” he murmured quietly, “Ye ever see a bunch o’ cats lingerin’ around a home cause the folks inside feed ‘em?”

He tapped the location, “The dead have been hangin’ around here in a weird way. Passed through a couple days ago. Eerie as feck.” So it would make sense if there was a fanatical priest hanging around. But he couldn’t know if their prey would still be there. It wasn’t worth sitting on their hands long enough miss him a second time. And frankly, Sullivan was feeling irritable and ready to move.

“Ye never answered me. So… I’m goin’ to take that as free range to do whatever the feck I want… Captain,” he sneered as he said it, mocking the way he thought of Church in a way only he would understand. “Thanks for the tip. I’m headin’ out.” He began rolling up the map again, stuffing it in his pack. The rifle he carried did have a sling on it. He’d left the other at another safe house of his. “Keep up on tha’ leg o’ yours. I won’ be slowin’ down for your skinny arse.”
 

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