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dylcnwright · 2 years

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ft. bastian rivas fredrick.

— 🧭 —

Searching for supplies had become second nature after all their time on the run. There had been a time when rummaging through homes that had once belonged to real people who may one day return didn’t sit quite right with him. Bastian had spent too much time thinking that things would go back to normal, that this infection would blow over, that whatever was happening wasn’t going to last.

He had been forced to learn the hard way that the world they were now living in was a constant battle between life and death.

But even now, given that the hospital was already well stocked, Bastian felt this need to keep searching. Perhaps what he was looking for these days wasn’t just supplies, but the missing pieces of the life he’d once had. He didn’t know how to admit that to himself yet, though - for fear of what the results might be.

His attention hadn’t been entirely focused on his surroundings, so when the voice spoke up he startled just a bit. Stumbling into the dead he had gotten accustomed to, he would usually hear them coming. But the living were far trickier. His hand slipped towards the knife he had tucked away, not even prepared for a threat - but thankfully the young blonde that came into his view didn’t seem overly threatening. No; instead, there was a warning on her tongue.

Letting his gaze shift over in the direction she’d indicated, he gave a subtle nod. “I appreciate the warning.” It was only then that he gave her a once over. The way she stood, the breathlessness to her warning - it seemed she hadn’t just spotted these issues from afar.

“Are you alright?”

dylan doesn’t have enough self-control to stop her eyes from flicking to the movement of his hand. there’s a rigidness that suddenly sits tight across her shoulders, face draining of color. like a map, she remembers the countless waving pathways back to the library and which one would give her an escape. if she were lucky, he’d pull a knife --- yet luck hadn’t been on her side today if the fall had been any indication.

yet the attack never comes.

instead, there’s gratitude, such an uncommon occurrence that dylan is shocked into silence for a small beat. a small laugh leaves her, one shoulder rising stiffly in a light shrug. ❝ let’s just say i found out the floor was unstable the hard way. ❞

#( threads. )#( threads | ft. bastian rivas fredrick. )

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dylcnwright · 2 years

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ft. atlas pickett.

— ✨ —

Her response makes a smile form on Atlas’s lips, appreciating the pointed honesty. Mind games had never much been their style; Direct and straight forward was much preferred. “You make a fair point.” But at the same time, no progress could ever be made if everyone remained wary of one another. Society didn’t function unless there was some level of trust, some way to prove that there was still good here.

Not to mention, she had yet to unsheathe a hidden weapon and take her opportunity to get rid of them then and there - though, perhaps that was simply because there had yet to be an opportunity.

“I’m Atlas,” they finally introduced, stowing away the weapon now. “I’m new to LA since the whole world-turning-into-zombie-biting-hell-hole thing but uh -” There’s a brief hesitation, a weighing of whether what was said next could be turned on it’s head somehow. Atlas didn’t think it could hurt to ask… “I’m looking for my sister. Does the name…Marcia Nabil mean anything to you, by chance? Ring any bells?”

dylan eyes him wearily but does not move. there was no trust to be had with people, at least for ones she’d just met. but the other stowed their weapon and she couldn’t help how her shoulders relaxed at the gesture.

❝ dylan, ❞ she returns after a long moment. her brows furrow next, deepening as they continue their story. there’s a part of her that can’t help the way her mind instantly wanders through the catalogue of faces that were housed within her memory. ❝ i... ❞ a frown joins the furrow on her lips before her head shakes slightly. ❝ i’m sorry. the name doesn’t sound familiar. ❞ another small paused before, ❝ what makes you think she’s around here? ❞

#( threads. )#( threads | ft. atlas pickett. )

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dylcnwright · 2 years

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OPEN, anywhere within the city!

grimacing, dylan tucked her hand tighter against her side and continued walking. nothing was broken — she would have known immediately. bruised, maybe. which she could deal with. what she couldn’t swallow was that she’d fallen — fallen! as if she were some newborn just learning how to run. granted, the eroded linoleum beneath her feet had crumbled with the slightest amount of weight, but dylan should have known. she should have seen it. should have been paying more attention. instead she’d fallen through to the floor below, landing hard.

chest tight, every inhale and exhale ached like a bruise. now hyper focused and aware, dylan heard the soft pad of footsteps. even. steady. not the erratic and scraping drag of an infected. someone was coming. her hand slipped to the small knife tucked in a sheath against her thigh, withdrawing the metal blade and positioning herself back against the brick of the wall.

❝ you don’t want to go that way, ❞ she says, somewhat breathless as they round the corner. ❝ there’s a small hoard and the ground’s unstable. ❞ hopefully the information would get them to turn right back around and leave her alone.

#( opens. )#( threads. )#idk if this is a thing BUT #she's just out and about.

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dylcnwright · 2 years

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ft. atlas pickett.

— ✨ —

There was something in her expression that reminded them so much of their sister. Determination, fight or flight - it’s an expression Atlas can only imagine Marcia’s face matches. She’s about the right age, too, give or take - but that blonde hair is nothing like their sister’s dark locks. There is still half a second where they’re hopeful, though, that just maybe it’s her. And then it’s dashed just as quickly as it had come.

She’s smart, though; that is clear in the flick of her eyes to take in their surroundings, to analyze an escape route. It’s discreet, but there none the less. Careful. Calculating. Every move in this world had to be if one wished to live.

Atlas thinks that if she had wanted to, she would’ve already done something more to defend herself. Though then again, outmatched by the speed of a long range hand gone might be enough to deter such sudden opposition. Trust is so hard earned, but Atlas wanted to believe there was still good out there. They have to if there is any hope of getting out of all this alive in the end.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘new’.” LA isn’t a foreign place, at least it hadn’t been. But that felt like ages ago, and the city they both now stood in was but a shadow of its former self. Still, the gun was slowly lowered - not to the point that it had been tucked away, Atlas wasn’t about to make the mistake of underestimating her, but enough so that it wasn’t in her face, no longer an active threat. “Where are you headed in such a hurry, then?”

she wasn’t dead yet, and that meant something. if people wanted to kill, they usually shot first and asked questions later. nothing and no one in this world would or could stop them, save for previous talent. that was one of the first hard lessons dylan had learned — the laws of the old world no longer mattered. jail didn’t exist. stealing? murder? all fair game. the fact nearly makes dylan nauseous.

the urge to visibly relax as the gun is lower nearly consumes her but dylan holds stock still. distrust was not natural to her, but she’d developed the trait out of sheer survival instinct. her hands lower, too, though she keeps one close to her hip in case this is all just some kind of ploy.

❝ don’t take this the wrong way, ❞ she starts hesitantly, eyes still trained on the gun in his hand that is no longer pointed at her. ❝ but i don’t know you. why would i tell you anything? ❞ her chin lifts slightly, hoping to portray the stubborn determination sparking within the pit of her stomach. dylan would not lead a potential danger back to the library.

#( threads. )#( threads | ft. atlas pickett. )

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dylcnwright · 2 years

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ft. atlas pickett.

Who: @dylcnwright Where: Somewhere near-ish the library, evening

Atlas wasn’t sure how they felt about being in the middle of a city in this crazy world of theirs. Sure, the open plains they’d made their way through hadn’t come with much cover - but the dead heads also weren’t about to fire bullets from afar, either. Being able to get a view of what might be coming their way was preferrable over blind corners and crumbling buildings. But if there was any hope of finding Marcia again, it was here. Though there hadn’t been much forethought towards where to look once making it to LA. She wasn’t back at their grandparents - and there hadn’t been much expectation that she would be. But that meant she could be anywhere in the city…if she was even still here at all. If she was even still alive.

The pistol in hand was lifted when footsteps began echoing off the walls of an upcoming alleyway, the pattern moving at far too quick a pace to be that of the dead. When the blonde appeared around the corner Atlas raised an eyebrow. It had been a minute since they’d stumbled upon any living, even in the middle of this once highly populated city.

“Got somewhere to be?” Atlas inquired, not yet lowering the gun.

later, dylan will chastise herself for being so stupid. for letting herself become so overwhelmed with thought that she hadn’t kept her attention on her surroundings — mistakes in this new world often killed. and, for the most part, she very much wanted to stay alive.

skidding to a sudden halt, dylan freezes at the realization of the other. she hadn’t heard them (not that she’d been listening) and fought the urge to let out a curse. her hands rose slightly on instinct even as they twitched to shift to one of the knives hidden at her side. ❝ yeah, ❞ she supplies, face as void of emotion as she can manage. there’s a small tick of her jaw that the hood she’s pulled up hopefully hides, but the constant flick of her eyes up and around shows her tell — how likely is it that she can break away from this confrontation without getting shot?

❝ you must be new around here, ❞ dylan doesn’t recognize them, though that perhaps isn’t saying much. hopefully she can gain some sort of advantage. spark of a conversation that leads to an opening to get away.

#( threads. )#( threads | ft. atlas pickett. )

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dylcnwright · 2 years

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→ GENERAL INFORMATION.

Name: Dylan Wright.

Date of birth: August 5th [ Leo ].

Age: 24.

Gender/Pronouns: She/Her.

Hometown: Golden, Colorado.

Current Residency: Los Angeles, California.

Occupation: [ student ] Scout.

→ SUMMARY.

was born to david and diana wright in golden, colorado and spent all of her life there until she left for college. the youngest of four and the only girl, dylan spent a large majority of her childhood running back and forth between her brother’s extracurricular activities. because of this she’s dabbled in as many things as they have, though she fell in love fully with the general outdoors instead of a single sport or activity.

developed an eye for the framework of how things were constructed and built and turned that into a passion. childhood doodles of stalwart trees, coursing rivers and rolling hills soon turned into architectural works of art when she grew older.

attended ucla for both her undergraduates and graduate’s degrees in architecture, where she excelled and thrived as an aspiring and prospering architect.

when the world shattered, dylan was on campus and joined many of her fellow students in their frantic attempts at figuring out what was going on. as the pandemic and danger surrounding the world grew, she attempted to find a way home but was stalled at every turn. she couldn’t find a way home and as the years passed, not a single member of her family managed to make their way to la.

dylan managed to hunker down with the group of surviving students, staff and teachers and as time staggered on, she gave up on her attempts at finding a way home. years had pass and her family was scattered across the country and beyond. as death and danger climbed, dylan’s hope dwindled until it was nothing but a small spark that was all but useless in the grand scheme of things.

with the loss of her main goal to find a way to her family, dylan’s priorities shifted on helping the people around her thrive. she was one of the first volunteers to scout the area surrounding the library and then was, again, one of only a few who slowly started to trek farther and farther out. the more area they mapped and knew about, the higher the chance was of surviving. information was power and power was safety in this new age.

→ HEADCANONS.

is exceptionally agile, swift and balanced ( PARKOUR ), all things that help her navigate the empty and crumbled streets of la. after losing ( as far as she knows ) just about everything, dylan has become somewhat of a daredevil in that she doesn’t consider risks to herself risks at all.

because of her penchant for architecture and sketching, dylan spends most of her time outside of the library mapping and catalogue the area, marking dangerous hot spots and other group locations — ( an architect turned cartographer ).

isn’t fond of firearms, though she knows how to use them at the basic of levels. instead, she prefers to keep things light, so she always has about three to four knives on her person at all times.

has two items that she prizes above all else — a backpack she’s had ever since high school, that shows the wear and tear of age but also board doodles and the occasional pin and her beat up black and white chuck taylor all-star high tops.

#( biography. )#this is very broad bc words and whatnot BUT

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dylcnwright · 2 years

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