The following is based on the events of the most recent Dystopia Rising game. Dystopia Rising is a live action roleplaying game put out by the amazing people at Eschaton Media. It is a dystopian waste land in the time after humanity was destroyed by the zombie apocalypse. This world is dark, frustrating, and a world where zombies are no longer the terror, but a way of life. The character of Jeanie is my own original character. The rest of the characters are property of the players who created them and the story tellers who ran the plot.
“Have you been training with Caleb?”
Jeanie stared up at the man from where she’d been sitting with her research notes in front of her. “What?”
“I asked you a question. Have you been training with Caleb, like I told you, or have you been sitting here, staring at paper, being lazy.”
Jeanie rolled her eyes.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me. Everybody needs a function. They don’t need people being lazy and doing stuff for ’em. Now, are you a functional unit? Did you do your job and train with Caleb?”
“I’m not a unit.” Jeanie looked up from what she was studying. “I already told you this.”
“You’re an Iron. Of course, you’re a unit. And answer the question.”
Jeanie sighed and put the bundle of notes down on the table. “I don’t have a number. I’m not a unit.”
“Of course you have a number. Just cause you don’t know it doesn’t mean you don’t have it.”
Jeanie rolled her eyes and picked up the bundle of research again. Her eyes scanned the writing, trying to find the last spot she had been reading.
“So, you’re just gonna be lazy then?”
Jeanie sighed and flung the bundle onto the table. “I’m not lazy and I already told you, last time I saw you. Yes, I trained with Caleb.”
“What did he teach you?” the man crossed his arms and rocked his hips.
“To use my knives.”
“How do I know you’re being serious?”
“We spent a half hour sparring. He bruised up my right shoulder real bad. Cut me up a few times with his knife. I clocked him in the jaw real good though.”
“I don’t see no cuts.”
“He’s my mate and a priest. He healed me up. He doesn’t like to see me hurt.”
“He’s a priest? So, he’s lazy?”
“No.” Jeanie sighed. “He teaches people to fight so they can defend themselves.” She paused and grimaced. “That’s his function.”
“He’s a priest. So he’s lazy!”
Jeanie groaned. “No. He’s not. He’s a hard worker. He is teaching me to fight.”
“Good! Means you won’t be lazy. You’ll be a unit with a function.” His gaze shifted to the left. “Excuse me,” he started in as he hurried off to get someone’s attention.
Jeanie stared at him for a moment before lifting both middle fingers into the air and shaking them back and forth.
“Jeanie, what are you doing?” There was a chuckle, a kiss placed upon her forehead, and a familiar spear was placed on the table next to her by a black furred paw.
“Just expressing my feelings to the idiot Hansfield who keeps on insisting that he treat me like a slave.”