crippled by uncertainty — open, joining

[OLLIE.]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth; width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 14pt;"] Nemo has been struggling.

Since James died a week prior, he has no discernible direction. He's been alone before, sure, but he'd always had a place where he'd eventually end up. Before James, he'd been with Evan. James was only supposed to be a temporary til' he got back on his feet, but the old geezer was. Well, a fucking weirdo. But like, in the best way.

In his garage, lit up by battery-infused LED lights, he had a plethora of shit. More than Nemo felt like he's seen in ages. Guitars, ukuleles, and drums. Fridges that didn't work, miniature statues of naked women that Nemo felt borderline predatory staring at for too long. The garage in all its junkn' glory could barely fit one person, let alone two. But they made it work. Along with Lacy, Georgia, Chase— a dog whose named changed by the day— that Nemo now begrudgingly referred to as, "Shithead". A placeholder maybe, but he kinda liked it.

The two traveled, Shithead living off his kibble and Nemo, James' stash of processed food that was disgusting, but Nemo has gotten used to. That, and he found it kind of cool at one point, Astronauts who traveled out of this planet, ate this stuff. James told him stories about them, about learning about the moon landing. Talked about it being the most lonely job ever. Shit. If he had no choice to be alone, he'd rather be alone in space, he thought. He wonders if aliens watch and see how pathetic and depressing this planet has become. One unfortunate event and everyone loses their minds. His parents were nearly incompetent when everything hit, he never really knew them.

Nemo can barely feel his legs; the bike, he'd conceded, would be a faster route to wherever he ends up next but he hadn't rode one this consistently since he was around twelve. His legs hurt like shit. He keeps telling him just thirty seconds more. The sun is beginning to dip below the horizons and it is probably best he settles down soon. He's been pretty good at avoiding the no-for-good assholes, he didn't want to run into any now. "We're almost there," he says, looking over at the curly fluff of golden fur to his right. Other than slight panting, Shithead doesn't seem phased. Oh, how great it'd be to have the physical capacity of a dog right now.

He's able to motivate himself just enough when his bike starts to drag. He looks down and the realization doesn't take long for him to realize what happened: his tire popped. "Noooo no no no no." He leans down to examine it, and sure enough. "Shit." He shoves the bike onto the ground in frustration, taking his head in between his hands. What now? Where would he find tires?

If this wasn't great enough, Shithead perks, tail wagging with uncertainty as he begins to look at a figure far off to the coast. Wouldn't this be a great time to get mugged? Slowly, Nemo hovers over the pistol on his waistband, struggling to see the silhouette against the light. "Whose there? Show yourselves."

[GREENIE.]

[align=center][div style="width: 430px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 6pt; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 0px; line-height: 12px; color: #000"]Life dealt its fair share of troubles. It was a shame, as they were often dealt to all the wrong people. All the people unworthy of such struggle. Vernon would tread carefully through the streets of Northstar, barely cracking that same hopeful smile that began to grow old when staring in the face of a feeble old shop owner who’d seemingly aged at full tilt with the way malnutrition created sunken features and fragile skin with dark rings beneath her eyes. The children who spluttered coughs from common illnesses that could have been long treated if the clinic had enough supplies to provide for them. They’d lost almost all but the clothes on their backs, but the people of Northstar still worked relentlessly until their knees would buckle from exhaustion.

They didn’t deserve the struggle.

Green grimaced with a bleak familiarity every time his stomach growled from the lack of subsistence in his barely frequent meals. Whilst the excessive fishing in the more recent weeks provided a good level of protein to curb the hunger easier, Green tended to recite an order of hierarchy in the home. Arlo would eat first, as much as he could possibly get in order to never have to sleep on an empty stomach; it was his responsibility as a guardian to provide for the young boy.

Next, Midas and Ginnie would eat. They would not understand why Green would have skipped meals for them, and that thought alone broke Green’s heart. He couldn’t go without providing for them; they were innocent parties here. Next, Mick would eat, Green would insist firmly. He was a healer, someone that this group needed to keep everyone as fit and healthy as possible. It would be no good if he were to become unwell from limiting their rations.

And finally, it came to Green. He was well accustomed to the feeling of hunger in the pit of his stomach, heavily rationing foods because he didn’t have enough to sustain himself. But, until Northstar could recover from the most recent tragedy, he would do whatever it took to look out for the people around him first. It had always been his nature to do so.

On the beach, Vernon stood with his hands on his hips, looking out at the few fishing boats in the distance as fishermen worked to accumulate food for the group. With lips pressed tightly together to form a thin line, Green slowly took a step back to turn and walk back up into the District. That was until he spotted a silhouette in a near distance. Brows knitted together, hands deep in his pockets as he began to wander over to investigate. A teenage boy, Green could discern just about with the natural gangliness of a growing man. ❝ Who’s there? ❞

The boy seemed outwardly confident, but Green could sense the alarm in his voice. As if it scared the teenager to see someone readily approaching. ❝ Hey, you’ve reached Northstar District. ❞ Green offered, stopping a few feet away before he noticed the bicycle. ❝ You got a bike? That’s so cool. A long way to cycle though; there’s basically no settlements for miles around these parts. ❞ He cleared his throat, trying to appear as unthreatening as he possibly could before he crouched down to attempt to greet his dog. ❝ I’m Green, by the way. My name... Yeah. Green. ❞ 

[OLLIE.]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth; width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 14pt;"] As the figure draws closer, Nemo is able to able to identify them as a man of stout stature, maybe mid-twenties to early thirties. He approaches, but nothing about him seems to convey any reason for concern. He seems harmless and although he seemingly pertain some caution, it seems to be only the general kind. The kind that Nemo had. The kind that was only a necessary response to a stranger. Nemo's eyes briefly flit to Shithead as a form of confirmation, but the closer the stranger got, the harder his tail wagged. Nemo's positive that the dog couldn't decipher a rabbit from a mountain lion is given the chance. So much for a guard dog, Nemo guesses it was up to him to know for sure.

Northstar District. Ah, wait. He's heard of this group. Back in his Camp Apocalypse days, Evan had been involved with this group at least once hadn't he? He didn't have to meet any of the group members to be nosy, and although he hated to admit it, he was essentially glued to that idiot for the time being. For good reasoning, of course, at least it seemed so at the time. Evan had was the man that somehow shared the same genes as his first lost love, one that even now he recalled with a heavy heart. It was the reason why he distanced himself from the group in the first place. That kind of shit wasn't healthy, was it? Still, sometimes he wonders how he is doing. Did he think of him, too?

"Um, yeah borrowed it from a friend of mine." Nemo huffs. Sulking over to the bike, he picks it up by his handle bars, but that's not without keeping an eye on the other. He tries to be subtle on it, his eyes moving but his head not, as he leans down to snatch it up by its handles. "And I know I biked it. Got me this far, but the tire just popped. I'm sure you don't have anyone who can fix it?" Nemo takes a moment to really observe the atmosphere. By first glance, he wouldn't have been able to tell that there was a population of people here, much less mice. Besides Green, the only glimpse of a person he saw was a hollowed person hustling vigorously by, barely paying either of them mind. It was obvious they were going through it and for once, Nemo decides to keep whatever smartass comment he had to himself. "Green," he chuckles, leaning into his handlebars.  "What a name" Who names their kid that? As if Nemo had any nerve, though. "My name is Nemo, like the cartoon fish. That..." he points to the dog who still stares at Green with overweening excitement. "Is Shithead. I hope you're not planning on killing us, Green."