#til these are called trapper hats...

[sidsthekid]

a hat for you! and a hat for you! hats for everybody!!

[a-wanderersdiary]

Diary of a Wanderer-Entry Twenty One

Our little travelling band got a lot bigger today, from two to five. Six if you count the horse. (Note, I should probably ask Jana if he actually has a name.) They seem like good people. Well, they didn’t try to rob us anyway. Practically makes you a saint out here these days. 

Jana and I had heard them before we saw them, or heard what they were doing anyway. We were coming to the top of a low hill road when the sounds reached us. The steady thunk! thunk! thunk! of a heavy splitting axe being driven into wood, over and over. Voices, the occasional cracked joke. I hopped off the cart and moved to the top of the rise.

Three people, stood in the middle of the road, working to chop a collapsed telephone pole in half. It must have fallen during the storm, completely blocked the road. Two of the people had their backs to me. They passed the splitting axe between them as they worked to chop the pole. One was shorter, slighter built. Wearing a black and yellow hoodie and dark jeans over doc marten boots. The other was tall, broad and wearing rumpled denim and a ratty trapper hat.

Finally there was an older guy, wearing a faded paramedic’s uniform. He spotted me at the top of the rise and moved to aim his sub-machine gun up at me, so I calmly set my rifle down and stood.

I called out to them, explaining we were friendly, that we could help clear the road and had food and water to share. By then all three of them were looking up at us. The older guy asked us to come down the hill slowly. I called out to Jana and they seemed surprised to see the horse, but no one opened fire. No one cried out. Jana and I made our way to the base of the hill. 

Jana introduced us, said we were going south and didn’t want any trouble. I stowed our guns in the cart, but kept quieter. Of the two of us, I knew I looked sketchy.

The older guy calls himself Don, the woman in the hoodie goes by Alex. She was the first one to point out if we’d been bandits, we’d have shot them when we had the chance.

The last guy’s Conway. He jokingly asked if we had some of our moonshine for sale, and that seemed to break what tension was left. Given ten minutes later we were setting up a cooking fire together. 

Don says they’ve been travelling together for a long while. Had a working car til it ran out of fuel just after the storm, they’ve been hoofing it since. I don’t think he wanted to say it but their packs seemed light. Running low on food.

Jana said they could come south with us for a spell. I wish she’d asked me first, but either way I would have said yes. Just as we could have shot at them, they could have killed us if they wanted to. Especially after we stowed the guns.

We’ve just finished sharing a drink, though Alex declined the offer and went back to work chopping the pole. I knew better than to ask. Conway’s the most outwardly friendly. But, I don’t know. Is he trying too hard? Make us let our guard down? Don on the other hand still seems wary, but...I think he’s just worried. He’s old enough to be any of our fathers.

 I’ll keep an eye on them tonight, just in case they try and pull any fast ones. I’ll just have to sleep in the cart tomorrow. Sorry Jana.

-Red  

[amancalledboy-a]

They faced the Hillbilly in a trial a few times, but they never really met him outside of one. With what they've heard from asking Trapper about him though they supposed they should at least try to talk to him. With a bag with a few tools in it they found in Gas Haven Blaine trotted in Cold Wind, "Hello? Is anyone here?" the defender called out. It might put them in danger with any other killer that might have been here too, but they were willing to take the chance. - @dexdbydxylight

Max was getting an awful lot of people to come visit his expansive farm, he didn't feel particularly that put off by it. This place was the stuff of his never ending nightmare but at this point he just rolled with it. Nothing he could do to change it.

He was resting in the shade of a tree, arms thrown back behind him, using his hands as a cushion for his head as he rested against the trunk of the tree; feet kicked up on his chainsaw's molding. Chewing on a piece of grass as he listened to the never-ending song of the cicadas in the the midst of the summer sun. His straw hat providing additional shade for his closed eyes.

That is of course, til he heard a voice call out from among the field of corn.

Startling him, he scrambled to set his hat back on top of his head to see, his other hand reaching for his chainsaw. But he realized that voice didn't belong to any of the killers nor of the survivors he usually dealt with. He chewed nervously on his blade of grass as he followed the voiced toward the direction it came from.

Watching the survivor from the dizzying rows upon rows of corn.

Oh, this here was the survivor that he'd seen hang out around Evan; that means they weren't too bad, right?

"...'ello there, what'cha doing out here?"

@dexdbydxylight