Maragaritaville

Grey Ridge, Maine. December 5th.

Grey Ridge.

A run down, rough and tumble frontier town trying to survive in a hostile environment. 

Population: Fifty.

Pretty big, all things considered. Panning down over the snow-covered lands, the collection of houses were closely clustered together into a formidable position.

The stars were barely visible through the heavy mist that hung in the sky, as it always did, even on what was supposed to be a clear night like this.

Lovely weather.

It was chilly outside. Lights came from the buildings, and the sound of voices. From one building, the brightest with lights, the loudest noise came as welll.

Many voices, raised up in shouting. The crack of solid objects against one another, the crash of furniture breaking.

Panning into a somewhat brightly lit bar.

And a loud, violent, brawl.

Amidst the chaos, at the center of the room, sat a dark-haired woman. The only one not involved in the fight. Raven haired, green eyed, she wore a wrinkled, oversized plaid shirt to keep warm in this weather. She had a bottle of beer in one hand, simply leaning back in the chair to watch the chaos unfold around her.

The look on her face hinted that despite not participating... she had likely started it.

A shot went off.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BAR!" roared the bartender, red in the face and holding the gun they had just shot at the ceiling.

What a lovely town.

It's an effective tactic, certainly. Enough to get most of the drunks to run.

The woman does not move, nor do a few of the others.

"MONROE! YOU LITTLE--" yelled one of the drunks, and lunged at her.

------------

But that was yesterday.

It ended as it always did. The local peacemakers arrived and hauled away the troublemakers. There may have been a few words exchanged and a few blows, but at this point everyone knew the drill.

By this point, she had made one corner of the prison cell into a nice comfy nook. Rolled up in her coat, sleeping off the alcohol in the relative warmth, for free, with the other drunks for company.

She woke up to a familiar headache, and as much chaos outside as she had gone to bed with. Lifting her head with a groan, she peered through the bars and out the window to see what all the shouting and shooting was about now.

Ah.

A wild roacher attack.

She lay back down, reached for her bottle, took a swig, and went back to sleep.

---------------

Road to Naperville, Maine. December 12th.

It was getting colder. December was well on its way in and winter was fully in swing.

Unfortunately, it only made work more difficult. 

Trudging through snow was a pain. Running was even worse, but where there was a will, there was a way.

Even for a full powered, adrenaline fueled, sprint.

Another unpleasant job for this weather was guard duty. Naperville was one of the bigger settlements, not too far down the road from the shining beacon in the wonderfully frozen hellscape that was here.

It was so well built, they had even managed to build up a makeshift wall to protect against some of the threats that roamed the wilderness.

Two fully armed men stood on watch up top, both huddling around a small gas-powered space heater to keep warm. Their breath steamed in the air.

A sudden scream broke the silence, barely understandable through a thick Scottish accent.

"OPEN THE GATE!"

They both jumped, then looked at each other to make sure they weren't hearing things.

"Did you--?" started one.

"OPEN THE FOOKIN' GATE!" The voice screamed again.

Somewhat hastily, they both stood up and peer over the edge to see who's shouting.

A woman was sprinting full speed toward them, showing a somewhat impressive athleticism for the amount of snow underfoot. Most likely because of the sheer panic driving her forward to escape the pack of creatures on her heel.

"What in the--" said one of the guards. "Is that Monroe?"

"Shut up and open the gate!" shouted the other, leaping to his feet and pulling his rifle off the strap on his back.

The woman was getting closer. "OPE' THE GATE YE DOATY BAMPOTS!"

What followed was a slew of shouting and what could be assumed was swearing, though in what language it was neither could guess nor did they have the time to ponder it as one began opening fire on the creatures while the other reached for the wire gate to get it open.

It was moved to the side only a crack, enough for her to slip through before being promptly shoved closed. The guard began fumbling with the lock, and the woman quickly leaned forward to grab it and help him.

The other guard's rifle boomed as he opened fire on the mass of beasts, hoping to take out a few and discourage them from continuing to claw at the gates.

"The fuck are you bringing to the town, Monroe?" the first guard snapped. The woman gave him a cold look, before she doubled over with a groan.

"I jus' ran... I dunno how many miles... don' tes' me, Wilson," she said.

Wilson snorted, and stood with his arms crossed as he waited for her to catch her breath.

"You keep bringing those things here you're gonna get us all killed," he said. There was no response, other than one hand rising to give him the middle finger.

"Boss is waiting for you. Doesn't seem happy you're late with your delivery though." He paused, and peered at her closely. "...You do have the package, don't you?"

She snorted, and looked up at him. "What part of 'I just ran for miles' did you no' get, ye gowk?" she snapped.

There was a long pause.

"He won't be happy."

She shrugged. "I am no' goin' back out there to get it right now."