Postapocalyptia | IC [Episode 1]

[Imperial--japan]

"Unfortunately, I think having someone who gives away that they are from the Mandate would prove an issue. Though the Cult has no problem with Mandate followers, employment in a Scrap Team or any other Cult group is conditional on not being a member of the Mandate. Miss Xiones, I apologize but if we are going to front as a Scrap Team you will have to hide your Mandate identity." Constanza somewhat faltered in her speech upon hearing this. So far, she had been relatively quiet. She knew it would be best to let the experts decide on how the mission would be carried out, but now she was being asked to hide her identity. As though her faith was something to be ashamed about.

"Mandate followers are known to accommodate caravans, and various groups in their travels. Whether for safety or other reasons. Would it be so hard to believe that I'm a lone follower who has done the same?" She asked, hoping that she wouldn't need to hide her identity. Despite her desires, she could definitely understand where Temir was coming from, as uncomfortable as it made her to follow through with what he was asking.

"Though, admittedly, I did agree to this business venture. If it is truly necessary for the success of this group, I shall change. I just hope it isn't truly required of me," she compromised. Hopefully, Temir would take into account her former plea, and better yet if she was actually correct. In the end, she would not wish ill will upon her cohorts, and would do what was necessary. For that is what a true follower of the Mandate would do.

Then Zed piped up with his idea, and Constanza wanted to back away as soon as she could. It was a sickening thought, and she couldn't help, but voice her concerns.

"As much respect as I have for the experience of Vagabonds sir, does that not seem a bit disrespectful to the dead? Surely that won't be needed." Constanza gulped. There were some truly interesting characters out there.

[Esternial]

As a doctor, Zed was not unfamiliar with respect for the dead. He probably had more experience with dead people than the religious broad standing in front of him, but a small part of him urged him not to start that line of discussion.

Don't say it.

"Have them sign a concession form first." Zed suggested with no semblance of sarcasm. He reached into his coat and procured a piece of paper. About as crumbled up as his medical license, but relatively in better shape. It was an organ donor consent form, but slightly edited to allow use of not only organs, but the entire body for any usage deemed fit by the physician. He made good use of everything, which Zed considered quite respectful.

"Alternatively, we can also defeat some people in a honourable duel. If they fall by your hand, you receive their body as a trophy."

"Or so I've been told." He added, noticing the visible discomfort on Constanza's face. Not that it'd help.

"Personally, I consider burying the dead more disrespectful than using as much as you can from their dead body. Make them useful after death. Give them new life after death."

Oh crud, I said it anyway.

[Jessjohnesik]

Johanna silently took every bit of information in. She quite liked absorbing knowledge for possible later use, and a lot of what's been talked about within the group would certainly prove to be useful at some point in the future. The mechanics of the group certainly seemed skilled in their area of expertise, so Johanna had little doubt the vehicles would be in great condition by the time they're on the road. Not that it was that much of a deal for Johanna as she'd be riding her bike most likely, but she definitely hoped the bikes would be able to be stored on the rig. Johanna wouldn't say anything however, primarily because so far everything that was happening pleased her to various extents, in any case nothing worthwhile intervening.

Aubrey, who had previously been cold a con man by Devine, spoke up in regards to the weaponry the group will be utilising on their little mission. This was something Johanna understood, certainly, and something that would definitely affect Johanna on the trip. Although she had her own close range weapon, she was lacking a long range one. While to some asking for such a thing on one's first date with their employer might be odd, Johanna preferred to be able to execute her job properly, and that included getting that rifle. In any case, Aubrey gave Johanna a reason to voice her opinion. Though her statement will likely be short and continuation probably shorter or non existent. She preferred to keep to the shadows of social life, with the occasional egotistical statement here and there. This social life, or rather lack of thereof, had taken a toll on Johanna's morale.

"I couldn't agree more with Aubrey over there." Johanna promptly and somewhat suddenly stated in support of Aubrey's concerns. The man seemed fairly capable, albeit obviously not as capable as Johanna. Their niches in the group might cross over, in fact such is likely. Johanna would, however, prefer to work alone on tasks given to her by whoever is in the command. The absolute majority of people would likely get in her way should she be forced to continually work with someone. Not that this has happened to Johanna. In fact deep inside she occasionally wondered what it's like to closely work with other people, even though that's not to say she can't function in teams. Besides the occasionally rare disobedience of orders, Johanna's organisation helped her achieve much in a team, given the teammates are at least somewhat close to her level.

The religious rhetoric around the table was getting on her unusually calm nerves, forcing her to shoot quite an amount of mildly unfriendly glances at both Constanza and Temir whenever they started talking about irritating subjects. Johanna wouldn't adore if they'd continue their argument regarding whatever deities they had implanted in their head during their childhood. The Mandate?, sounded like a bummer to Johanna, whatever the fuck that was. She figured it was some sort of holy book likely.

Before Johanna could speak with her suggestion, Willis seemed to have started mentioning his own list. Johanna approved, plus the man probably knew more about what exactly they needed than her.

"AA have plenty of money to throw around, and sometimes, like in our case, not enough forces to soak that money up. They'll probably give us what we need." She further commented on Willis' last statement regarding AA's financial capabilities.

"In fact, if it's possible of course." She started in a sarcastically polite manner, "could I add some frag grenades to that list? A small handful of stun grenades could potentially help too." She added with a slight smile.

[Chedastan]

Lucius didn't react at all to Mathias's talk of acupunctures, if anything he could at least be more confident in him than Zed at least, despite his odd deal with potatoes. Of course a acupuncture probably wouldn't do much anyway... He liked the suggestion of getting more in the way of small arms at least, he could always use a more suitable weapon for this job, or any job for that matter, but he always been accustomed to picking whatever he can use, and going off that, so either way he wouldn't had mind at all really. He had noticed Zed approach them, who had then preceded to explain away the M.U.G. he presented to them. Lucius couldn't help but feel that he had recognized it from somewhere before, he wished he was less forgetful than he were with some of these things. But when Zed mentioned that the people that made it were dead, some realization came to Lucius... He looked at Zed for a moment, trying to remember anything else, but he stopped when Zed mentioned the morbid idea of chaining corpses to their vehicles. Before Lucius could say anything to that matter, Constanza had spoke up to question the idea, apparent through a moral standpoint. To which Zed had then given them his view on the dead to her.

"Y'know some raiders and tribes take the sign of corpses chained to vehicles as a sign of usually either a challenge, or a sign of there being cannibal tradesmen." Lucius spoke up to them on the matter, but then he thought for a moment on how the bodies would need to be acquired if this were to happen, something he could likely do without a lot of people noticing, at least not in time. But he knew many problems could arise from that, and this in general. But he knew not to fear, there'll be another time for it soon enough.... Lucius remained solemn and silent, waiting for someone else to voice their opinion on the matter.

[Cerillium]

The twins made occasional eye contact with each other as they carefully listened to ideas expand. Confusion set in as discussion went on, none of it having to do with the odd mug or religious people. (Although Mia once again found herself drawn towards their Blacklight companion and his wonderful toys. The intrigue dissipated the moment Zed mentioned bodies.)

"We're not putting bodies on our rig," Mia's arms crossed as she squared off with Willis. "It doesn't say "beware". It says "ring-a-ding, come and get it, predators!" It's a lure. It'll smell by the time the sun sets on it, and we'll be plagued by scavengers."

"Sir," Max cut in, "Respectfully, UNSEC has a commanding presence. We're usually well equipped to deal with things. We have the ability to call for support. This group doesn't have the luxury of three IFVs and the people don't look the part. Like you said, sir, "think like raiders would". Too heavy and we break down, they'll hit us. They'll hit us when we're resting too. We go in light and they hit us with fire superiority. We need an advantage, like you said."

Mia's hand slipped into her coat and withdrew a fading photograph. It lingered in her fingertips a moment and then she passed it to Willis. The captured image featured the twins and a second female sitting atop an ugly old fuel truck.

"Our rig," she moved to Willis' side to point to the vehicle, touching her finger to various parts as she spoke. "You wouldn't know it by looking at it, but it's fully armored. We've rigged it with a popup turret. There's quad GAU-19s there. Hey, four bastards each putting out two thousand rounds a minute to take out a raider band sitting five thousand meters away? That's a major pucker factor for any approaching dirt bag. She can survive wind, sand, and water. But when raiders and bandits come calling, all they see is an old fuel truck. They greatly underestimate us. That's our advantage."

"Right, we don't go out looking weak," Max added, although his eyes refused to look upon the photograph. "We show that we're armed. No caravan walks around without some displayed firepower. Not uncommon for stragglers to join up with them for that reason. Protection. A single Cult vehicle rigged with spikes is just a tag along and so looking for scrap in a canyon fits. Add a merchant vehicle. Some beast riders. A couple cycles. Maybe another vehicle or two. A few nomad tents pitched at night. Typical caravan. Devine's pretty rig is pimped and loaded for bear, and nobody is the wiser because only our group knows what she's capable of. The AA pays for the upgrades and additional expense of camouflaging them."

Both of them held their tongue regarding the offered sermons. They were devout atheists.

Mia shook her head. "Temir, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not comfortable trying to pass myself off as a member of the Cult. Sure, I'm intrigued by some of the tech you people got but, if anyone were to question me, my clueless answers might cast the Cult in a bad light. Don't want to give you people a bad reputation."

[Galdius]

With the topic of upgrading the vehicle now seemingly over, the discussion quickly took a new route, with the heated subjects of weaponry quickly grabbed hold of the conversation and it seemed like it wasn't going to let go for a good while and for the right reasons, at least when weaponry was concerned. Like she had brought up earlier, her personal ammo supply was starting to run a little dry, mostly due to the fact that she tended to use both of her pistols at once, duel welding whilst her handguns with something that would make any military minded person either laugh or cringe, depending on which side of the gun they ended up on. But it wasn't like she was lacking any sort of tactical sense or that she didn't know how to use a rifle like some liked to claim before getting shot in the face, she actually once had a rifle if memory served her correctly, a Vektor R4 to be exact, a South African variant of the Galil ARM which in turn "Borrowed" from the infamous AK-47's design. But that rifle had since left her grip and had become lost long ago, which was a shame, she deeply missed the piece, it had gone on many adventures with her and had her back better than any person ever could, she had a deep relationship with it, which at the time was almost an extension of herself, leaving a gaping hole of where it had been robbed from, and the only things to fill that void had been her two PT-740's, with her using the two of the weapons with rather deadly effect, her duel welding concentrated fire soon becoming her preferred method of using the two guns thanks to the joys of being naturally ambidextrous. It was style that she was rather effective with and she welded her guns with a fairly bit of malice, with one guy attesting to her rapid fire shooting, calling it "Woo style." Although to be fair this could have been and very likely was insult, as she didn't really know he was, but she chose to take it as a complement, making her feel just a teensy little better about herself. But it wasn't without its limitations, she be hard pressed to hit anything past a hundred yards or so thanks to the accuracy on her pistols, A situation in which a rifle was sorely needed, something that GI Willis had apparently long since thought of for the entire group, with her being a fair bit behind as usual..

"What he said." Cathy whimsically grinned, her right hand idly pointing GI Willis in agreement as her whole body seemingly continued to fidget, unable to remain still as usual like everyone else, her right foot tapping against the floor in a rhythmic fashion but no tune could be differentiated from the soft thumping off the wooden floor. "You know what would be nice though? Some of that military grade see-in-the-dark shit you see all these war junkies running around with, you know, night vision! just a few pairs for the drivers, cus nothing says please come fuck my shit up more than headlights and spotlights if you ever have to travel at night." She suggested in a very jovial and excited tone, her wide grin still stuck on her face as she wondered how hard it would be for a vagabond type to get there hands on night vision goggles, coming to the concussion that it would be somewhat difficult.

"A vektor R4 would be nice too." She muttered, covering it with a cough as she said it for some reason, likely her subliminal attempt to acquire a clone of the rifle she had lost. The conversation then quickly turned over to camouflage for some reason that baffled her, mainly because it wasn't the kind that she expected they'd be talking, with it rather pretending to be a trade caravan or cultists so not to get shot, which was strange, as bandits tended to shot and robbed just about anyone that seemed weak, especially those whom they considered to have a holier than thou attitude, which she could imagine a few people in this group having, with her eyes drifting onto Miss CQC knife welding mandate thumper Constanza and Mister I scrap for the Kindred Spirt Temir. Not that it was a bad thing, a bit of spirituality did wonders for some.

Charly, personally, would rather drive around mostly out in the open, vehicle largely un-camouflaged and armed fairly well along with some hidden secret weapons that could really fuck ones day up, then again, the dropouts weren't exactly the sharpest tools in the shed. Before she could add anything else largely irrelevant to the conversation, it took a much darker tone with robo-doc proposing that they bungeecorded corpses onto the side of the truck. Charly reacted by softly snickering with a slight tone of uneasiness as she assumed that this was the gas masked man's attempt at some dark humor. Oh, how funny the lanky gas mask man was. But it soon became apparent through conversation, that the doctor was very much serious, and possibly just a bit more nutty in the head than everyone else in the little group. It was at which point she soon sought an out from the conversation, not really interested in talking about dead bodies being strapped to the side of trucks in order to scare away potential attackers, much rather wanting to talk to the white haired women who had just bumped a cigarette, who hopefully wasn't into bungee cord death BDSM.

Wandering away from group slowly, disappearing from the conversation like she was never there to begin with, quickly glided over to the white haired maiden who appeared to be sitting in silence and was a bit tipsy by the looks of things, a signal that the conversation would likely reveal more that she would normally give away, or that things might turn just ever so aggressive more quickly, with her money being on the latter. "You never did tell me where you're from." She interjected with a wryly smile as she towered over the women who looked only a few years older than she was. "It was rude of that tart of a barmaid to interrupt our little chat, so how about we continue it?" She asked, her tone more polite than usual as she continued smile away. "I've got the ciggies among other things if your interested, you've got some booze apparently, so how about it?" At least she didn't have to introduce herself personally, she was terrible at those.[/align]

[Highfort]

More suggestions were yet added to the mix about how to disguise the group and dissuade raiders, and Temir nodded in turn as each individual offered their advice. Except for Zed's suggestion of lashing up corpses, to which the tinkerer could only offer a slightly-unhinged jaw and a tilt of the head. Clearly, some Vagabonds weren't fully present, though he understood that the doctor would be a valuable team asset when everyone started bleeding.

He was just a little worried the gas-masked individual would be the cause of the bleeding.

Max's suggestion of integrating a single Cult vehicle into the caravan formation suggested earlier, coupled with Mia's gentle indication that she was not interested in being inducted into the light of the Kindred Spirit, told the tinkerer that the welcome extended to him would not be offered to his faith. He shrugged at both of these statements - nonbelievers were free to choose their own path and he had no interest in starting a fight to convince them otherwise. It was up to the Kindred Spirit to impart the revelation upon them; all he could do is offer himself as a witness, nothing more.

Spring-boarding off of Max's idea, he cut in, "If I may, we can probably scrounge up a workable fleet of vehicles over the next few days if we go around the market. Bound to be a trader or two down on their luck who needs to cut their losses. If someone can find me a pickup, I can probably convince some of the acolytes to assist me in properly fitting it to be a Cult vehicle. With your rig, Max, and Devine's, as well as the motorbike and the other buggy we can probably pass off as a caravan. If you'd like assistance with rigging any of the other vehicles with some surprises for the raiders, just draw up some schematics and I can put in a request for the Cult to handle some of the handiwork."

He fell silent once more as he gauged the situation. The mechanics of the group appeared to be fairly level-headed, which he found to be a relief; he wouldn't have to maintain the fleet alone. The doctors seemed helpful enough, though Mathias seemed more interested in healing than Zed, who struck the tinkerer as more an organ salesman than a legitimate physician. He couldn't judge the combat elements of the group here, though he hoped for his sake as well as that of the rest of the team that Willis, Costanza, Joanna, and the rest were not inflating their egos when they indicated their competence.

[Transoxthraxia]

She heard the woman approach her and speak, but it took Slat a few seconds to register everything the woman, whom she had had a brief conversation earlier. She had asked where she was from initially, apologizing that the conversation ahd been interrupted earlier, before offering cigarettes and 'other things', offering to share and hangout. She stared at the woman for just a bit, before talking. "Ah, yeah, sure, that sounds good. Hey, have some." She said, taking a large swig of her nearly-noxious, very-high percentage homemade booze, before offering it to Cathy.

Adjusting the backpack on her back in order to move it to a more comfortable position, she spoke to the girl, answering the questions. "I'm ah, from everywhere. Everywhere and nowhere, I suppose." She looked up and down, creating an awkward pause, before continuing. "I'm from one of the nomadic clans, if you couldn't tell by thiss." She said, gesturing to her garb. "Though I doubt you would know them by their name." She said, tactfully trying to avoid telling anyone that she was originally a Gouge-Tongue. "And you? You don't seem like the settled type. Especially not from a city like here. Are you one of the Sand Trawlers?" She said, using her term for nomads.

After the girl had responded to her first question, she continued to talk, trying to get the woman's opinion on the rest of the group. She cracked a rare smile, before speaking. "Sso," she spoke, her "s" impediment coming through strong, "How dead are we, do you think?" She took a deep breath, the alcohol taking hold of her, before she began to speak again, her filter disappearing quite fast. "GI Joe the UNSEC idiot, a crazy doctor, a despicable toddler, who I swear will kill us before the end of the trip, and the greatest assortment of mismatched Vagabonds, that I've ever seen."

[Galdius]

Charly accepted the offering of hooch from the clearly tipsy women, taking the bottle from her hands before giving the contents a quick sniff, the strong noxious odor telling it that it was clearly homemade booze containing a blindingly high alcohol content, with the drink likely being suited for shots or as Molotov cocktail rather than swinging from the bottle. Alcohol wasn't really her thing, but now that she asked for it for the sake of being sociable it would be rather rude to not partake in it. She took a small swig from the bottle, the strong acquired taste of the hooch caused her to let out a singular suppressed cough, the strong alcohol content leaving a burning sensation on her taste buds.

"Holy shit on a stick, that's some pretty strong fuckin' hooch you've got there." She chipperly commented, staring with distaste towards the bottle that held the evil tasting liquid that wasn't exactly nice to drink and was likely very bad for the drinkers health, but it wouldn't take very long for one to get drunk by drinking it evidently, as the clearly intoxicated white haired women answered Charly's question about her background. She was very similar to her both in attitude and background, with the women being a wander coming from one of the nomad clans, with her now moving here there and everywhere with a destination of nowhere in particular it seemed. The question was soon turned on her, the white haired women asking about her background. "Same as you really." Charly gave the short answer first as a meek smile surfaced, with her taking another swig from the bottle, face scrunching up at the taste, wiping the of the excess that had dribbled down her face with her tops left cuff before continuing on to give the longer answer. "I personally got split from my group, went looking for them, couldn't find them even though it was a pretty big group because I'm a fucking idiot, been moving with no real goal ever since." She added with a glint of sorrow in her eyes as bad memories all came flooding back into her brain as she remembered things that she'd rather forget, the tiny details surrounding the event that would haunt her until the end of her days moving into the spotlight.

perhaps that more alcohol would help forget?

She took another swig from the bottle, face staunching up yet again as her taste buds burned, the women moving onto to talk about the job that they'd be taking on, how the group wasn't exactly the best for the job and how batshit insane it all was, the alcohol clearly taking a hold of the girl as her filter disappeared and words started to slur, mainly when it came to her trying to pronounce the letter S for some benign reason. It wasn't like she was wrong either, this was starting to shape up like the kind of job that would take you into the depths of hell itself with a very low chance of coming back. She had fought against raiders types before whilst in the big grandiose convoys, and even then the bastards where a particularly tough nut to crack, with them killing a good few of the clansmen on her side. These ones however made quick work of AA's soldiers of fortune, who as far as charly was concerned where some pretty bad arse goons and with a small rag tag group with a bunch of vagabonds clearly insane in the membrane, she wasn't about to bet her bike on at least a couple of them coming back alive never mind in one piece, and that was being fairly optimistic.

"Well..." She dragged on, removing her cigarette tin from her back pocket as she produced taking out two cigarettes from it, placing both the death sticks between her lips, lighting both after several attempts with that god awful piece of shit lighter. "I'd say as pair of nomads, we are pretty much fucked." She said, wirly grinning at miss white hair as removed one of the cigarettes from her lips, offering the embering cigarette over to the women. "But hey, better to go in a blaze of glory in out in good company whilst all shiny and chrome eh?." Her smile faded as she took a puff from her cigarette as she glanced around the room, looking at everyone in the room with analytical eyes. "Although I'm not exactly sure this freak convention is good company." her eyes lingered on psycho-bot-doc for a few seconds as she made her hushed comment, before turning back to the women, her dilated eyes locking onto the white haired drunkards. "So, what do you call yourself? charly by the way." her meek smile returned as she better introduced herself, offering the girls bottle of booze back to her, no longer believing that her own self control would keep her from dying from self inflicted alcohol poisoning.

[Pan Asian Amercian Coalition]

People had been hustling and bustling for a while now, finding their way into their respective groups, the greasemonkeys discussing the cylinders and compressors, the evangelists speaking of their parables, the fighting types verbally stockpiling all the different sorts of guns and bombs they needed. Armando listened closely to each as they listed off what they needed. One of the cultists could handle getting all the scrap metal needed for the armor plate, which left him with getting all of the regular supplies, like food, water, and ammo sorted out. Funding would be the only issue, and while Armando carried enough cash to buy out an entire caravan, it wasn't the sort of scratch that would get sixteen Vagabonds through the desert alive. Plus, it was easier to buy with someone else's money...

Armando rose from his comfortable position in the chair, accompanied by the squeaks and creaks that emanated from the chair, that could easily have been from his gently aged limbs or the elderly chair itself. He subtly approached Devine, expertly weaving between people and slipping by unnoticed, where he almost suddenly appeared at Devine's right side, in a position and angle to subconsciously say I'm already your right hand man, man.

"So, where exactly is the garage?" he calmly, yet confidently asked "I'll need to know if I'm to get all the supplies all delivered to the right place. Speaking of which, how would these... esenciales be provided for?"

[Swith Witherward]

They began to bat new ideas about and Esma slowly tuned them out. Willis seemed intent on going full throttle and the twins seemed to favor a mixture. He had her expert opinion. It was his choice to decide what was best for the entire group. Except for the withering corpses. Gas Mask's serving suggestion was a side dish she was willing to pass up.

She found herself disappointed that they weren't going along with the Cult cover. Esma had no interest in hearing rhetoric, really. The subterfuge would have kept Schism Child under wraps (thank god), but upon more reflection, Esma supposed the let down was quite possibly false empathy.

The tinkerer's eyes had brightened when he discussed the possibility of sharing his beliefs. His smile had reminded her of Sener; his was a quiet, unobtrusive joy usually reserved for those moments when they wandered the sands just outside the Ticaret. The child would make a discovery and, delighted, he'd rush to tell his family everything he could about what he had experienced. There weren't enough moments like this in the universe. Esma sighed. It bothered her to see the tinkerer robbed of the opportunity to share. She felt badly for him.

"Do not worry. If they refuse the Cult concealment idea, I'll still dialog," she reassuringly patted Temir's arm before taking a moment to address Devine.

She was grateful for his intervention regarding Bad Mother and Morsel. He had his quirks but he was also sharp. "Mr. Devine, I have only a few humble requests. For now, I'd like to request a mount of my choosing. I'll need to scout ahead of the group, and I prefer organic speed and stealth to motorized vehicles. There is an appropriate market not far from here and the prices are reasonable."

[Transoxthraxia]

"I'm glad you like it." Slat said, without a trace of emotion on her face when Charly commented on her strong-ass booze, despite the fact that the woman reviled from the taste. Everyone did, though. Slat's taste buds were probably just too dead or to used to it to really care anymore. The woman, who revealed herself to be Charly, continued to talk about her origins as Slat listened, loosely. Sitting down in one of the chairs, she crossed one of her legs over the other, in a fashion that she deemed "very lady-like" in the drunk state that she was in. "It's sort of ironic how you can lose a group of nomads, I guess, if you think about it." She said, pursing her lips and feeling the effects of the super strong booze.

"Good company? Eh, the kid sure as fuck puts a damper on things." She then said, responding to Charly's comment about their fellow adventurers. "Company's not what I'm concerned about. Fuckin' guys might blow us up before we can even leave the city. As Charly properly introduced herself to Slat, she handed back the bottle of booze to Slat, who took it, sloshed it around, feeling how much there was left, before doing a quick calculation to see if she could indulge in some without becoming sick. She decided that she didn't care enough if she did or didn't get sick. Shrugging, she took another swig, before looking back at the woman who had just introduced herself. "Slat, I guess. I have a real name but I haven't been called by it in forever. Besides, Slat's more unique." She took another swig, her muscles twisting into a face of disgust, her body's protest to the strength and taste of her homemade booze.

"So, fellow nomad, what clan are you from? I'm sure I've heard of them from one time or another." She then asked, leaning back on her chair a little. "And, what're your plans for the rest of the day? I assume that we aren't going to be leaving in the next few hours."

[Highfort]

Esma's insistence that he would be able to offer sermons to an audience of one put Temir in high spirits, and he offered a smile - with his eyes, of course, as his face was still covered with tight wraps - as she moved to address Zsa Zsa.

Realizing that talking would get them nowhere and that Esma and that slick-looking fellow - Armando, was it? - were already getting ready to get things worked out - Temir waited for her to offer her question before offering Devine one of his own.

"Devine, as he mentioned," the tinkerer gestured at Armando, who had mysteriously popped up at the flamboyant man's side, "We probably should get things moving if we want to be ready to roll out over the next two days. Besides the garage and the specs for the main rig, I'll be needing official papers for this mission that I can pass on to the ecclesiarchal staff to requisition the scrap metal for the main rig as well as a body and parts for the accompanying scrap collection vehicle that will accompany the convoy. Just a simple briefing with your signature or stamp will do, thank you."

As he waited for a reply, his mind drifted toward the greasy, sweat-filled garages of the Cult. He mentally parsed through all the in-progress vehicles he could recall on the production line, crossing out one by one as he attempted to figure out which ones the higher-ups would allow him to take for the team. Brief flashes of oil tankers, motorbikes, and pickup trucks went through his head and he unconsciously shook it slightly as each one was rejected. Though he had been an esteemed member of the Cult, the Kindred Spirit's followers had not gotten this far by being foolish. They would offer him no more than what was necessary to complete the mission, minimizing their investment in case things went south and they got back his corpse instead of the promised miracle cure to get the Great Khan sky-worthy once more.

His mind settled on what on Earth would've been the equivalent of a garbage or dump truck.

It wasn't flashy nor was it particularly expensive - which meant the Cult would be more willing to part with it - but it had something essential for desert travel: shelter during a sandstorm. The hydraulics, which had come partially-completed with the wreck after the Cult had purchased it from a fat man with a half-chewed cigar in his mouth, could quickly open and close the back from within the vehicle. On top of this, for some odd reason, the truck had a ventilation system built into the covered bed. Granted, the last time he'd worked on it it spewed nothing but shit-smelling dust, but if he and the acolytes could get it running the group would have a perfect sleeping area.

Or a dry storage, in case no one fancied sleeping in what formerly held shit and other forms of refuse. He couldn't see why they wouldn't, seeing as it would be scrubbed clean and sanctified with Her Word, but people would be people.

[Galdius]

"I suppose." Charly meagerly chuckled at the women's comment on the irony of Charly losing a nomad group as she sat down on one of the various metallic chairs and continued to drink the drain cleaner tier alcohol, prompting Charly to do the same, not wanting to look awkward like a spare prick at a wedding. She sat down next to her, leaning forward in the chair as she rested her head on her right hand, her elbow positioned on her knee as it bounced up and down to the rhythmic tapping of her right foot, listening somewhat diligently as she continued to talk about the path that lay ahead, moving onto the topic of how the group was likely to get them killed before they could even leave the great khan's city, and how the child was going to put a damn dampener on the whole party. "Who in the fuck bring's a child to this insane shit anyway?" Charly added, taking a drag from the death stick with her left hand. The idea of bringing a child into this mess of a job seemed ludicrously foolish thing for a mother to do, not only because of the danger of it all but from the influence that a very psychotically irresponsible group would have on the little shit, with the group likely having to put up a "respectable front" in order not to rub off badly on the child. Not that it mattered in any sort of way, judging from her attempted nut punch on someone twice her size and age, it was likely that the little girl was already a lost soul much like the rest of this little party. "Surely one of those head-mates she has would have some sense? God I hate rugrats sometimes." It was all seemingly having a rather weird effect on her, the more and more she seemed to think about people who surrounded her, the less and less optimistic she felt about what lay ahead. The thought however was interrupted by the women properly introducing herself.

Slat.

It was an... Interesting pseudonym, with its origins reeking of one of the more unhinged nomad clans that roamed this horrid planet, fitting with little slat had claimed when she had asked where she had come from before. "Well madam slat, It's nice to meet you." She said, a sly grin appearing on Charly face as slat continued to drink, an expression of disgust surfaced on slats face, hopefully from the drain cleaner she was chugging down as if there was no tomorrow, which might actually just be the case thanks to what faced them. The topic soon quickly moved back onto Charly, with slat asking about the clan that she hailed from and what plans she had for the rest of the night. "Turbo-Runts." She answered, giving out a short sigh. The turbo runts was the first and biggest of the dropout clans, with most of the other original clans splintering off from the turbo runts, they had been just about everywhere that their wheels would take them but where slower than the other clans due to the high numbers, further adding to the embarrassment of her losing them.

"As for plans.." She took another drag from her death stick, now leaning back into her chair, slouching into it as she puffed the cloud of cigarette smoke upwards. "I haven't got the foggiest, I'm thinking maybe for starters I'll probably go on a pub crawl, get shitfaced to the point were I can't remember my own name and then probably fight some cunts, because why the fuck not. Then for the main course of the night I imagine that its off to find somewhere scenic to do some C and go on an adventure into the wonderful place of never-never land." She pondered, thinking deeply on what she was going to do or rather in what order she was going to do it in as she stared intensely at the embering cigarette that she clutched in between the fingers of her left hand. "In fact, I think I'll just skip to the main course." She concluded, finally coming up with her plan for the evening, which consisted of her getting as high as a kite, just like she did most other nights, Charly was a definitely creature of habit. "Alright, your turn, what clan you from and what are your plans tonight slat?" Charly asked, her wry smile fading away into a merge one as she continued to smoke away with little control, much like slat was doing with the bottle of alcohol. "Hopefully you've got a better plan than me." Although judging by the way she was handling her drink, that was incredibly unlikely.

[Cylarn]

Willis pondered on what the team was going to do. The creepy fellow with the gas mask...his idea was out. Not only was it barbaric and unclean, but there was the possibility that cadavers hanging from the sides of a truck would attract predators, and Rigel-3 was known for its very unpleasant wildlife. The disguises were a good idea, however Willis felt that posing as a different group - especially as members of the Mandate of the Cult of Great Khan - would be risky in a political sense, doubting that either group would appreciate being seen as an ally of AA if something went awry. He liked a combination of loading for bear and forming a caravan.

With multiple vehicles came safety; with a refined weapons organic and a variety of weapons came more safety. However, the biggest issue would be supplies. They would have to supply enough fuel to survive them for the trip there, and the trip back, not to mention that they'd need food, water, ammunition, motor oil, transmission fluid, brake fluid, coolant, and everything in between. He looked at the rest of the group, and gave his verdict.

"I like the convoy idea," he said. "We go with several vehicles, though we'd need enough fuel, food, water, and maintenance resources to last us a while out there."

He looked back at Devine.

"Fuel, food, water, brake fluid, transmission fluid, motor oil, coolant, and the firepower," he said. "The additional vehicles wouldn't hurt, like Temir's pickup truck, or a 4x4."

[Mincaldenteans]

Devine’s only reaction was a perked right eyebrow and an impassive stare at Armando. How the man presumed it was okay to get into Devine’s personal space was a mystery. He had purposely taken care not to get too close to the group but stayed within hearing distance, a clear indicator that he was part of the plan, he was a part from them.

Encroached upon, Devine turned his attention back to the list on the laptop that was itemized and catalogued for cost and estimated time of arrival. None of it would be arriving at the same time, spread throughout the night and well into next afternoon. On the upside, the task for getting scraps of metal to jury-rig Bertha with more armor was on Temir as he so politely offered; how and when said parts would arrive was on the holy man and the Vagabonds would likely need every spare minute to retrofit and get their mini convoy. The weapons were easier and Devine could handle that with a pinch. The city sold all manner of wares and AA would happily contribute to arms, quality wasn’t assured.

“The garage is on the far side of the city where Bertha is housed, the rest of the vehicles can fit comfortably there while you work on ‘em,” Devine answered without looking at Armando, although his answer would be heard from everyone. His voice died down for a moment as he had other specific ammo to request now that some standardized weapons were placed in order for rush delivery. The cost was downright robbery, but if AA was willing to pay…

“AA will have weapons by next morning or noon time, boo,” Devine addressed Willis, though he didn’t spare a glance toward him. “The rest of your personal requests will come in through the later afternoon and the next morning. No guarantee it’ll actually arrive, so I suggest you take when you can get given the time constraints.”

Armando was still too close and Devine had to bite his lip from snarking at the man about personal space. To Devine’s surprise Armando made an offer, as though it was never a request and more like his duty. The drag queen could forgive the invasion of his own bubble. Almost.

“You can contribute to the supplies; you’ll need to itemize it so I don’t double the inventory. Any food and medical supplies you can get your hands on, something of quality. Tally up the expense and I’ll have AA reimburse us, no point using your coin when you can take from someone else.”

Then came the next request to catch his attention, "Mr. Devine, I have only a few humble requests. For now, I'd like to request a mount of my choosing. I'll need to scout ahead of the group, and I prefer organic speed and stealth to motorized vehicles. There is an appropriate market not far from here and the prices are reasonable."

“Interesting request,” Devine murmured as he switched windows to look for local animals. It wasn’t an odd request, many used domesticated animals especially in this region, but their job seemed completely antithetical to having one. Who was he to argue though, it was her neck on the line in the end. “I’ll see what I can get, likely stored in the garage as well.”

"Fuel, food, water, brake fluid, transmission fluid, motor oil, coolant, and the firepower," coming from Willis. "The additional vehicles wouldn't hurt, like Temir's pickup truck, or a 4x4."

“Mmkay, boo. Well, if that’s all...” Devine trailed off, sounding non-committal though that was likely the booze finally catching up to him. He added the additional items on the list and shut the computer down moments after, getting up from his chair and stalked out of the room. “Be sure ya’ll ready hookers,” he said loudly without looking behind him, “Cause here come the motherfucking neighborhood.”


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