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Aug. 18th, 2015


Clandestine (Zoe)

The text she'd gotten had been very straightforward. It had come out of nowhere from a number that had not - she knew for a fact - been in the stupid phone before the text had come. Having the little device made her a bit angry. She had nobody to call. Nobody to communicate with. Her days were filled with herself and her routine.

Michonne didn't know if she felt happy that the thing was getting use, or annoyed for being interrupted.

Ms. Michonne. You are expected at the Wayne Enterprises building at 4:00pm on August 18th. If you cannot make the appointment, please call 555-25535 to reschedule.

You are to meet Zoe Washburne, Security, to discuss a possible position within Wayne Enterprises.

Who the fuck was this Zoe Washburne? Why the hell would Michonne want to meet her? Unfortunately, curiosity and boredom worked together to persuade the former lawyer to go. She readied herself as she'd done every day, and headed out. It didn't take her long to find the place, as the City seemed to make her way for her. She discovered quickly that it hadn't been a misplaced text or some kind of joke, because the front desk handed her a visitor's badge and sent her right up.

Michonne's eyes wandered the walls and structure and offices as she walked, wondering why somebody who worked in a building like this would want her to work for them. She sought out the office she'd been directed to, and stood in front of the door a moment. Was she really going to do this? She was. Michonne knocked.

May. 19th, 2015


Just another day ... ish. (Zoe)

Dinosaurs weren't a big deal.

Well, okay. They were. They were a huge deal. They were a monstrous, several story tall, crushing-everything-in-their-way deal. And they were a deal that seemed to be roaming through the City currently, doing whatever they pleased.

Michonne had watched a brontosaurus munching on the top of a City tree near the park, and had gone the other direction, wanting nothing to do with it at all. That had gotten her smack dab in the middle of what seemed to be a fight between a raptor thing that was bigger than her and a pack of smaller raptor looking things that were just a hair smaller than her. She'd tried to sneak her way out of it, but they'd seen her.

The dinosaurs simultaneously fought one another while trying to chase her down, and they still outran her fairly easily. She had to fight or die, she knew. Her sword came out from over her shoulder, and she set her feet, ready to go down swinging.

The pack was between her and the bigger raptor, who was taking them out one by one on the other side. They lunged at her and she swung, hitting one right in the neck. The sword didn't go through the leathery flesh like it did the rotting stuff from the walkers, but it cut deep enough to sever the main artery and put the creature down. She couldn't tell if this enraged the others, who continued their attack with little sign that they even noticed their fallen comrade.

Michonne knew that if she killed too many too fast there would come a point when she and the bigger raptor met face to face, and she did not have faith in her skills to that measure. It was too big, too fast, and a fucking dinosaur. She thought she'd rather face a horde of zombies alone. Or a bear. She'd happily stare down a bear. But if she didn't kill them, they were going to eat her. Literally eat her. While this was not a new threat in her life, Michonne didn't want to be eaten by dinosaurs anymore than she'd ever wanted to be eaten by a walker.

Her sword slashed, biting at flesh and destroying the life of another of the pack.

Apr. 1st, 2015


Looking for a little S.O.S. (Michonne)

Lost S.O.s Support Group

The warrior woman stood before the sign, looking very confused. Confused and a little resigned.



"Alfred," Zoe's voice held a warning tone. She would break him of calling her that one day. Or perhaps never. She believed that the butler still called Bruce 'Master Bruce.' Master was a name for a young one, not for a grown man, and Bruce was certainly a grown man.

"Ms. Zoe."


"You are troubled; you don't seem to be your normally aggressive and warrior like self."

"Alfred, you are dangerously close to things you do not know."

"Ms. Zoe, I have always been dangerously close to many things, but I will always support the one who wears the Bat mantle."

"Fine." She turned to look at the butler who had been assisting her in a new fitting. She had found that there were a few pieces that needed replacement or retooling. "What way are you thinking of supporting me now?"

"It is not I who will support you, miss. There is a group who may understand what you have experienced in your years here; perhaps it is time you receive their support and they yours. We have newcomers who may benefit from your understanding of the loss and this place." Alfred began helping her out of the suit.

"This shouldn't be a two person getup. Think we can work in some of tech we had before? Just..different?" She didn't answer or address the issue Alfred had put to her. The suit was more important, not that she felt like saving the City as much as she used to. Her purpose was muddled and mury somehow.


"I don't wanna go share my feelings with some strangers. I got you and Jesse and..."

"Yes, and?"

"I don't need anyone else, Alfred. I'm just fine."

"As you say, Ms. Zoe." Alfred continued to assist her out of the suit, before leaving her to look after those within the Manor. He took a moment to leave the address where the group met.


"Gorram meddler. Can't even tell what kind of support group to send me to. How the hell does anyone lose an s.o.s.? Shoddy work, and not much use if you ask me." While she might not like being one of those sharing types, giving her emotions free rein for any and all present, she did feel like she wasn't herself lately. She didn't think this group would help, yet Alfred had been there during many a troubled time since she'd started wearing the cowl. The least she could do was give this thing a try.

She walked into the room to be confronted by a few women and men who all looked as if they were ready for a good weep fest. There was the smell of burnt coffee and stale sweets. She sent a blessing and a curse to haunt the butler for even thinking something like this would benefit her, and seeing as she'd been spotted, even she knew she couldn't simply leave. Instead, she walked to one of the chairs, sat down, and started counting minutes until she would be free.

Mar. 18th, 2015


Bittersweet (narrative)

Michonne was doing what she could to keep her mind off of things. As good as the city was when it came to food and being clean, it was missing one significant thing. There was one face that she wished that she could see, and she hadn't been able to find him. That had been the first thing she'd done, scour the city looking for signs of him. Anything. All she had was the pillow that smelled like him. Not even a picture. Of course, there hadn't been a way to get a picture, had there? But the City seemed to supply everything else, why not that?

It wasn't as weird as it might have been, being dumped in this place. At least she'd gotten used to being stationary in die Festung. Now she just had to get used to having a shower every day, and not having to scavenge for food all the time. Admittedly, Michonne had begun to hoard food, all of her cupboards and her fridge were completely full, and there was a closet in the hall of the apartment that was absolutely filled with things like candles and supplies. It couldn't hurt to be ready.

People were doing things that she hadn't seen people do since the walkers began to rise. They were playing in parks, going to normal jobs, laughing. Watching television. Michonne had spent about 72 hours plopped in front of the television in what she'd come to realize was truly her apartment. She'd eaten ice cream and all kinds of candy, had soda, made a big pot of spaghetti, had a burrito.

Then she'd spent the next 72 hours being highly active to shed all the calories.

Every day she left the apartment and wandered, unsure. Every day she came back to the emptiness, hoping that she would find him there, smiling. Then she could yell at him, fight with him. Kiss him. Hold him.

One thing that Michonne was incapable of letting go of was her sword. She wore it everywhere she went. Nobody seemed to mind much. She supposed they'd seen stranger things. She unslung it from her shoulders now, as she entered the apartment after another day of aimlessness. She placed it in the holder the city had provided, the artsy display made it easy to get to the sword.

Tired, sad, the warrior started to move toward the kitchen when something caught her eye. It hadn't been there when she'd left. A cat. An ugly, multicolored cat figurine. Michonne sank to her knees on the soft carpet, looking at the thing sitting on the coffee table. She knew that Dean hadn't put it there. He wouldn't have done that and then just disappeared again. He was a jerk sometimes, but he wasn't a complete asshole. She reached out to touch it, her movements slow, worried that it might disappear on her somehow. But her fingers brushed the ear and felt that it was solid, and she snatched it up quickly, bringing it to her chest and cradling it there.

The cat was better and worse than the pillow.

Michonne sat there on the carpet, garish figure in her arms, while the sun set outside of her window.

Jan. 22nd, 2015


It's like a dream (Narrative)

Michonne felt clean sheets. She smelled potpourri or an air freshener. She felt clean. She was wrapped in a soft night shirt. The pillow next to her smelled like a man she cared about deeply. She heard the sounds of children playing.

It was a dream, she was sure. The dream she'd had before. The one of the future. Only this time, she knew it was a dream. Sleep was fading from her, and she fought to stay. They were like cats, her and Dean. They fought, disagreed, but they seemed to always make up and find themselves curled around one another. She hadn't expected to like him at all. She certainly hadn't expected to find in him somebody she could confide in. Or be comfortable around. And she really really hadn't thought that she'd develop real feelings for him. All of which had happened. She remembered how sad she'd felt at the idea of that dream not becoming a reality.

The warrior realized that she was going to have to face the world eventually, and that it was better to get it out of the way. She was ready to open her eyes and look at the dingy walls of her small apartment. To spend the day hunting the creatures on the other side of the wall, to ready themselves to the move to a new place.

Reality did not want to replace the dream, though. Even with her eyes open, she was still in the fantasy. But the sound of children laughing was coming through the open window - open, a thing that would never happen in die Festung. The fresh sheets slid over her skin like a whisper. There were flowers by the bed.

The pillow smelled like Dean, but he was not there. Nor was there a spot of warmth, or a dent in the cotton.

Frowning, Michonne rose.

Oh, it was really just like the dream. Cleaner. Yes. Much cleaner. Sparse, like an apartment she would have had now, after everything she'd been through, but clean. There were actual matching dishes in the kitchen when she peered in, waiting in the draining rack as if she'd just done them. There was food - in packages in the fridge, a working fridge. Clothes in the closet, a mixture of things she would have worn in her old job, as a lawyer, and things that she would have chosen to fight in.

Her sword was there, too, though it was lovingly placed in a display where an ordinary person might have placed a television. There were shelves of books, and the second bedroom was converted into an office.

But no Dean.

Not even a trace of him outside the smell on her pillow.

Michonne returned to the bedroom and looked out the window. She saw a city out there, not one she knew, but it was bustling with life. Her heart ached. Was he out there somewhere? Looking for her?

Other questions plagued her as well, of course. How had she gotten here? Where was she? Where were all of the others? But Dean...

She returned to the kitchen briefly, scrounging around for a plastic bag. Sentiment was something Michonne had abandoned a long time ago, yet she couldn't help herself. With trash bag in hand, she went to the pillow. She breathed deep the smell of the man who she was unsure of seeing ever again before placing it within the plastic. Just in case. Just in case. She wanted this. To be there for her. Until she the smell dissipated from the fabric completely, she wanted it. Or until she found him.

Oh, she hoped she found him.

After tucking the wrapped pillow away in a closet, high on a shelf, Michonne dressed herself, grabbed her sword and headed outside.