[ There's a man with a gun loitering around medical bay.
It's a big fuck off revolver, too, but kept holstered at his hip, a part of his silhouette and as prominant feature as any other part of him. Steel grey growing through in scruffy, rough beard, a gaunt and underfed leanness to ropey muscle under worn clothing, and a wolfish way of regarding all the bright, sterilised science fiction around him that seems more it's looking for bigger predators, not prey.
He is dressed, by now, in the latter half of the jump routine, and the tattoo on his arm marks him as new. Still, he meanders through, out of place, looking at equipment, looking for signage, seeking out other people. ]
rick grimes. medical bay; closed to milagros gallo.
It's a big fuck off revolver, too, but kept holstered at his hip, a part of his silhouette and as prominant feature as any other part of him. Steel grey growing through in scruffy, rough beard, a gaunt and underfed leanness to ropey muscle under worn clothing, and a wolfish way of regarding all the bright, sterilised science fiction around him that seems more it's looking for bigger predators, not prey.
He is dressed, by now, in the latter half of the jump routine, and the tattoo on his arm marks him as new. Still, he meanders through, out of place, looking at equipment, looking for signage, seeking out other people. ]