The Melting Snows [Ireland]

[Scotland]

Spring was starting to show its face, promising warmer days ahead. The winter snowdrifts were growing smaller and breaking apart, letting the sun touch the ground and coax young new life out of the soaked and cold ground. To Scotland, this meant spring herbs and vegetables would be at their most tender. This fact was what drove him to gather up a bag, a few digging tools that wouldn't be missed, and his hand axes. There could even be fresh meat to be had, even as skinny as the animals were likely to be.

He only took along his axes because he didn't want to weigh himself down with his sword unnecessarily. Fighting zombies on official missions and self-imposed missions had re-honed his muscles, returning old strength and endurance to his body, but it would be nice to head out the door and not have it be due to facing the hoards. There hadn't been any zombie activity spotted out in the forest or on the plains around the compound in the last few days, suggesting they were being blessed with a quiet period. Maybe all the zombies had finally dropped in their tracks, like the scientists had claimed they would. Eventually the zombies would decompose far enough their suffering would end. Someone should go check, but it wasn't to be him. Not today.

Normally he would have told England, head of the household, where he was going. Of course, that would be if he was heading away from the compound. He was only stepping outside it, to areas under surveillance. It wasn't crawling with zombies like the cities, and Scotland didn't expect he'd run into trouble at all. He wasn't telling England shit. However, the chance always existed, which is why he took his hand axes. He was also seeking someone else to go out with him. Should there be zombies under the melting snow, at least one of them could run back and sound the alarm while the other slowed the zombies down by being a meal. At the same time as he was seeking herbs, he was seeking any hint of the fair folk. Maybe they came out in the spring here. As much as he didn't care for them, it was bizarre not to see them, as much as it would be for the average person to enter a city and find it devoid of children. His choices for a failsafe were limited to others who would see the fair folk, which was further narrowed down to the nations he could stand being around. Norway, Wales, Northern Ireland and Ireland fit those requirements.

So it was that he was wandering about the compound, trying to locate any of the mentioned countries. He was loaded for fern and fae, having slipped a thin iron chain about his neck, carrying a second one for his failsafe companion. He was in more traditional wear to welcome the spring. He had put on a long-sleeved grey sweater that he didn't mind getting dirty. His kilt was forest green and patterned with red and black lines, complete with a sporran or small carrying pouch that hung from the belt of the kilt. His boots still rose to his knees as he was expecting to have to tromp through mud and slushy snow. He skipped gloves at this point, and threw his dark cloak over his shoulders to help cut the wind. His kilt hung to his knees and between it and the boots, not much of his legs were exposed. Anything left exposed would just have to toughen up and get used to the cold. Of course he would feel a draft, as any true Scotsman was of the opinion if you wear something under a kilt, you're just a man in a skirt.

[Up to you to decide where he finds you.]

[[x] Ireland]

It was springtime once again. Normally when this season started, Ireland would be filled with joy and hopes that her people and country would be blessed with much prosperity. However, now with the zombies polluting the world and its occupants, the good people seemed to refuse their blessing to the world. Though nature's beauty did not completely disappear with the coming of the zombies, spring lacked a certain "something" that only peace could bring.

And peace was one thing Ireland desperately needed that day. She was having such a hard time living in the same building with England again; it almost felt like she was being punished by something or someone for separating from him all those years ago. Feeling tortured beyond belief if in the same building with him, she decided to leave for a bit and "scout out the forest and the possible obstacles that the changing of seasons might have produced". Or at least, that's what she told someone on her way out of the warehouse that day with her cleavers attached to her pants.

While she was making sure that there were no zombies too close to the warehouse, the safety of the other countries was not the most important thing weighing on Ireland's mind. Instead, the thing she was concerned about was the seeming lack of any good people since she had arrived at the warehouse that she had been able to locate other than the occasional banshee. It worried her that they weren't around, yet she could not talk to many others about them. Out of the small handful of nation representatives that had the capability of seeing the good people, there was one she absolutely could not stand and a few others that she did not know well enough to ask about such things. Which left her with about three people to talk to: Wales, Northern Ireland, and Scotland. She had not spoken to any of them since she arrived, and Ireland hoped to see one of them soon.

[Scotland]

[So I respond properly, is she outside? I'm not sure where she is to be found]