Zara looked down at the knife, a flicker of something foreign passing through her. She raised an eyebrow, thinking for a few moments, before she handed the knife back to him. "Keep your knife, man. I got plenty." Her scowl stayed in place, successfully concealing any other emotions.
((https://www.pinterest.com/pin/764697211709496817/ One last link, I swear. This is basically what she looks like, except the tattoos are normal tats, and she's always wearing gloves.))
The sound of more engines distracted them from the process, although he assumed the shotgun was still pointed at his head. 3 cars were approaching at a speed that made it futile to try and run. War Boys.
"I think we might need a temp'ary truce," he admitted, turning back to the woman holding the shotgun to his head.
(Maybe she gets hurt and he kinda saves her. Gives them a reason to stick together)
((Heck yeah))
"Fucker." Zara, lifted the corner of her lip in a sneer as she eyed the incoming trucks. "I hate how right ya are 'bout that. This don' mean you're off the hook o' me decidin' what t' do with ya." She warned, before lowering the shotgun.
"Greater evils," he said.
The three trucks began slowly circling the two, the pale, bald teenage boys leaning crazily from the cars and lashing out at the them, missing wildly each and every time. It was more of an attempt of intimidation than anything else, but it didn't work on either of them. When the trucks kicked up enough dust, the War Boys dismounted, 7 or 8 of them all welding various melee weapons that were obviously homemade. Eli gripped his knife tightly as they approached, wondering how long he'd be able to last before they killed him.
"The truck's got quite the arsenal." Zara muttered in a low voice to the man, still looking quite unconcerned as she leaned against her truck. She'd had run-ins with War Boys before, and was fairly certain she could at least put up a good fight. That was all the solace she needed.
Know what? Fuck it Eli got tired of waiting around. Flipping the knife around into a stabbing grip, he stepped forward, jamming the knife as deep as he could into the closest War Boy's solar plexus, ripping it viciously si all of the poor kids innards spilled out onto the sand. He had to dodge a swipe from a baseball bat with nails inside of it, and block a swing of a hockey stick with his arms before dancing out of reach. The entire process didn't take longer than 4 seconds.
Zara snorted in slight surprise, lifting the shotgun to fire off a few shots at a guy just beyond the man, coming at him with some sort of sledge hammer. One down, two down. Let's go. She pushed off her truck, her change in demeanor almost scary as her bored expression turned into a wicked grin. She was reckless, that was for sure, but it somehow managed to work out, as she bashed the stock of the shotgun into a War Boy's skull.
Eli was then wrapped up in a deadly dance with 2 of the Boys while the other two fling themselves at Zara, both lashing out at the same time. Eli's parrys, dodges, and blocks seemed almost beautiful as he became consumed in the thrill of the fight. In a flash, his left hand reached out and grabbed the hockey stick from the grasps of one of the teens and the knife came down on the top of the head of the other. All of the grace from a few moments ago fell away in an instant as he proceeded to beat the War Boy to death with his own weapon.
One gun and two opponents didn't exactly give Zara a whole lot of options. So a split second decision left her with some sort of sharpened stick in her side, and an empty clip. "Fuck." She stumbled back, a little too disoriented at the sudden hindrance to do much more than block a blow with her emptied gun.
The sound of the chunk when the broken pipe crashed into Zara's gun pulled his attention away from the bloodied, unmoving figure on the ground. Eli lifted the hockey stick over his head and lunged, breaking it over the head of the owner of the sharpened stick and knocking the guy cold. He brought what was left of the stick up to block a swipe from the pipe-wielder, counter-attacking with a kick to the balls that dropped the War Boy. Just to make sure he wouldn't get up, he jammed the jagged end of the hockey stick as deep as it would go into the stomach of the teen, ignoring his cry of pain. 7 people walked up. All of them were now dead or incapacitated. Most of them taken down by a bone tired wanderer who looked like he could barely lift a stick before they approached them.
"Y'know, for the scrap o' a bein' you are, you got some fight in ya." Zara said, leaning heavily against her truck to take in the carnage. She was very much attempting to ignore the fact that he had just saved her life, and the shitty weapon she was holding level, to keep it from piercing anything important.
"I've had a bit uh trainin'," he mumbled, looking down at his heavily bruised forarms. "For cancer patients, they sure pack ah punch, huh?"
He seemed to be avoiding looking down at the bodies and her side, finding different things to keep him occupied.
(Why is this a thing?)
((I don't know and I'm honestly afraid to ask.))
Zara snorted wryly, nodding. "That's for sure." After regaining some minor composure, she reached into her truck, blindly searching for something to staunch the blood flow. She wasn't about to turn her back on the man, especially after that.
He finally spared a glance down at to bodies, a frown of thought passing through his head. He began to search through the pockets of the War Boys, occasionally glacing up at the cars they had rolled up in. "How connected are ya to tha' truck?" he asked.
(Eli's theme song)
(BooooooooooooooP)
((Sksksksk are all of your characters just Old beings from times long forgotten?))
"Been my only companion for years now." Zara said, finally getting a hold of a spare shirt. She pulled it out, tearing the shirt in order to wrap it around her torso. "You sound like you're plannin' somethin'."
"Well," he explained as he fished through the pockets of a War Boy, "The way I see it, the only way no' to get attacked by these fucks is ta look like 'em. Take one ah these cars, and they won' even come in fo' a closer look."
It was odd as hell that he was offering her help, considering she wouldn't have even hesitated to kill him a few moments ago.
(Don't worry about it)
"An' this involves me how?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. She was a shit person, and she was well aware of that fact. It made no sense to bring her along. Before even giving him time to answer, she was gritting her teeth and yanking out the stick.
He didn't look in her direction as he pulled out a key from the last body. "You're hurt, ain't ya? Can' imagine ya fightin' with a hole in your side. And, as you can see, I'm pretty useful in those types of situation."
The world did its best to kill chivalry, but at least a little of it lived on in this guy that she came across. Although this wasn't something he'd usually do.
She didn't answer until she'd stuffed a small wad of cloth into the wound and wrapped, speaking through gritted teeth. "Question now is, why. I was abou' t' rob ya, and possibly kill ya. Don' think tha' makes for a great survival partner."
"Better," he said, picking up the broken pipe from the ground and weighing it in his hands, "than no partner."
"Ya sound like you got a death wish. But a'ight, I'll play." She shook her head, carefully pushing off her truck. "I got shit in here for fixin' up my truck, bring 'em or ditch 'em?"