Postapocalyptia | IC [Episode 2]

[Highfort]

"Lucky me," Temir offered a grimace and then a chuckle toward Max, "If that man is ever caught, the Cult will end up doing most unpleasant things to him for sullying its name. At least you guys stopped Ladin before he managed to do anything worse. I can't exactly afford surgery even after this crazy mission is over and we get paid."

Pausing, the tinker pulled a piece from the bread that Esma was passing down the line, chewing on it before taking another gulp of wine and pondering whether Ladin would make a good addition to the Vagabond team. At the very least, he could fight. Whether he could be trusted not to kill him or anyone else was another matter entirely, given what Temir had just experienced of the large man's temper.

He decided it would be best to mull over the development while he was cleaning pots and washing pans. For now, the guide had insisted that they eat and he intended to eat and drink his fill. Gluttony was frowned-upon by the Kindred Spirit, but so was spurning the gifts of a neighbor and friend.

The one who knows and cares for many is rich in that which will give eternal life: the favor of the Kindred Spirit.

Temir was the first to broach Esma's question as he swallowed a morsel of bread smeared with a generous helping of hummus, "I'm concerned. Wrothwild seems to me to be a very unfriendly character and I'm not sure I trust him on my team, or on any team for that matter. The thing that irks me about being so tech-heavy is that the AA is providing us with very little to work with. Mortars and assault teams are more the specialty of a mercenary outfit, not a bunch of random Vagabonds like us. So the question now is whether they picked us because they were cutting corners or because they're very stupid at picking teams. Dropping people like us into APE isn't going to end very well or secure them their package."

He paused to chew on a bit of meat from the goulash, "Or perhaps they'll have a change of heart and actually supply us with something useful for a change, like combat mechs or heavy armor. As it is, we look like the scrap teams the Cult sends out or the sort of group you'd see defending a caravan - not material to take on hordes of raiders surrounding a crash site."

[The Carlisle]

Even though evening was approaching, the market was still bustling with activity. Merchants trying to sell their wares and buyers trying to search for the best deals and the best product. Eira guided Shimmer through the crowds, keeping her close to her. She had the look of a hawk, searching for food and predators. It wasn't the first time she took Shimmer through the market, and it wasn't the first time people tried to snatch the little girl. Slavers or pedophiles looking to destroy her life for their own personal gains. Shimmer herself kept close to her mom, her experiences printed into her instincts.

With one hand grasped to Shimmer's, her other held a bag with food. Hard bread, dried fruits, a fresh tomato and head of lettuce. Enough for a meal for the night and some for the road. Eira was never much of a cook, with a lifestyle dependent on canned bread, baked beans, and vitamins. Stuff carried on the back or in the car that you can trust to never spoil until you open to eat. But with Shimmer now, she learned some simple meals to feed the little girl, stuff to help compensate for the preserved goods she will eventually learn to live off of on a daily basis.

Eira stepped through two people to look at one last food stall. The fresh produce weren't as fresh as they could be, probably sitting out all day. But they would be obviously cheaper. Eira sifted through the produce, grabbing an onion that looked palatable. "Momma... can we go now..." Shimmer said, hungry and uncomfortable with all the people around. "D-don't worry, I-I'm done," she said. She bought the onion and headed out, with Shimmer close in hand.

---

The walk back took some time. Evening was upon them, with Rigel's star casting orange rays upon the landscape. Shimmer spent her time looking at the horizon in awe. "Mommy, why does the star become orange before night?" she said for probably the fifth time. "D-don't know. I-it just d-does that," Eira responded, an honest answer. She felt she knew it, long ago. She had an education back on the ship, even when she was stuck in the Asylum. But years in the desert, focusing on survival, learning new skills, her brain replaced old knowledge with new. Knowing why the star turned orange didn't help one survive the wastes, nor put food in ones mouth, or hide from bandits. Shimmer frowned in disappointment, but continued to look at it. She'll get her answer eventually. But for now, she was content with looking at the pretty orange light.

Eira's first stop was the large vehicle named the Bastard before hitting the hotel. Back in Great Khan she moved all her food onto the Bastard's storage to lighten Lil' Bit for the mission. She wanted to grab a can of beans before heading to the hotel. Immediately she spotted the gathering of some of the team. She knew Lucius and Mia immediately. She didn't recognize the punk girl at all, must be a new member of the crew or Lucius's date. Walking up to the gathering, she spotted the last person. She stared at this person intently, as if she was seeing a ghost. Zee...??? What was he... she... whatever the fuck they were doing here??? Why didn't she notice him before. I mean, he must have been on the crew for the past days... She didn't know why she didn't notice until now. that mask stuck out like a sore thumb. Guess they never crossed paths before hitting the road... or maybe her brain was suppressing his image before. Zee was the type of person to make her do that.

"H-hey," she said, entering the group. She looked to the grill, looked to Mia, and raised her grocery bag. "I-I got some," she said, then turning her head to look back at Zee," v-vegetables. I-if you wanna u-use some..." Shimmer was also looking at the man with the black mask, more confused and curious than anything else. She was looking because Momma was looking, and she wondered why she was. Was he an old friend?

[Mincaldenteans]

"Too soon to tell," Aubrey spoke up first, spreading the hummus on a piece of flat bread. He took a bite of it and chewed slowly, it was mildly seasoned and the sandy blonde did his best not to make a face in reaction to the somewhat bland flavor. Thankfully it wasn't too much, at least he could avoid the hummus and settle for everything else that smelled delicious.

"You and Temir seem to be getting along well. Speaks familiarity. When Mathias walked in," he gave a nod toward the quiet man before settling his gaze back upon his food, "looked as though you know of one another. Speaks history. Now, for the rest of us..."

Aubrey could only give a slight smile, "I've never seen someone like Devine before. Ex-mils and muscle for hire are a dime a dozen out in this forgotten rock of ours. The old guy, preachy fella? Don't know about him, but I suppose if the old man won't slow us then its none of our business who Devine hires out for hands. That other guy, whats his name with the hat... Armin? Amen? Spanish accent," he shrugged, "Can't say much, ain't seen him much and won't that just go well over tomorrow if we're another pair of hands short.

"Honestly, I'd cut out and go... but where? I don't have any place to go. Doom to ever roam, it seems."

The ex-con took a bite of his piece, the savory flavors of a home cooked meal a welcome sensation that eased him from his darker statements.

--//\\--

"Some of our noble entourage left to have a family dinner. Seeing as neither of us are invited, how about we share a room at the motel you mentioned? I think it would be beneficial for us two to talk."

Do we?, the thought ran through the drag's head screaming at him to utter it with enough emotion to drive the priest away. He didn't, instead Devine could only fight the moment to laugh. And fought he did. What could possibly be on the old man's mind that wasn't preachy to talk about. They were worlds a part and he doubt they'd find any common ground. But hey, if money appealed to the guy enough to get picked up in the sands, maybe the world was smaller than the drag queen thought. He pursed his lips, tapping a finger upon it as he considered the offer.

Ah what the hell, the man was going to have to put up with Devine getting his make up off and getting into something more comfortable than this ensemble. "Well, their lack of manners is our benefit then, yes?"

He took to Wrothwild's side and hooked his arm, the guy was a tad shorter than him and the image of the two of them strolling down the bazaar was equally entertaining to the crowd and the drag queen. They walked into the motel, the drag queen letting his arm slide past Wrothwild's as he rummaged for a key in his right pocket. Someone was a the front desk muttering some inane thing not worth Devine's attention, however the shrill voice was enough for the drag to dismissively waive off with a flick of his hand. Silence cut in as he unlocked the door and ushered his chaperon inside.

The room was a bit more spacious than the usual accommodations, but Devine had requested his specifically as such. Rank hath its privileges and all that and just because the rest were used to living in squalor didn't mean he had to. He gestured for Wrothwild to take a seat, setting the laptop down next to his belongings and in plain sight before disappearing into the bathroom. "So," he said from afar, and away from the priest's eyes, "You wanted to talk. About what?"

[Cylarn]

-snip-

"We have accommodations for the team, as Devine stated when you first arrived in this establishment," he said in response to her question. "If you need a bunk buddy, we could share a room. Before you make any assumptions, it's not a plea for sexual activity."

She was worried about being made out, but faces came and went. Besides, she was under the care of Willis Clark. He made eye contact with her, remaining silent for a few moments before speaking.

"You're with us now, at least for the duration of the contract; anyone that fucks with you, fucks with me. You have my word on that."

Before Willis could say anything else, Armando approached, bearing with him four mercs. Willis turned in his seat to face them, his eyes studying them. They were a freelance crew by the looks of it; no patches meant that they weren't affiliated with any of the major players. They all had that military demeanor, and they had the gear to back it up. Willis stood up in his seat and faced them, maintaining that stern, but neutral stare that a commanding officer gives his troops. Armando introduced their leader as a Sergeant Hanne. Willis gave her a firm handshake, and released his hand back down by his side. He wasn't going to waste a conversation; everyone needed to rest and cool down for the next day.

"Sergeant Hanne, I'm Clark," he said. "If you want to go by titles, call me Major Clark; doesn't really matter though. I have to check up on my vehicles, but if you're serious, I want you at our convoy at first light. We've got the biggest rig in town, and that's not an opinion. Won't be hard to find if you know how to look. If you've got vehicles, I'll want to see them. Tomorrow is training day, folks. I'm sure that Mister Manhoso has filled you in on our task. Catch some shuteye, and be ready to train tomorrow."

Willis turned back to Orera, and gave her a curt nod.

"Welcome to my outfit. If you're still concerned about your safety, feel free to tag along."

He then turned back to the mercs.

"Feel free to tag along, or find your own accomodations. Remember: first light."

It was a bit rude for him not to speak further, but he had other things to do that night and even he needed shut-eye. He walked out of the hookah bar and began to walk down the street. It wasn't an extremely long walk back to the rig, and Willis found Eira, her daughter, Zed, and Mia, looking as though they were preparing for a cookout. His eyes settled on Eira.

"Miss Takahashi!" he called out. "A word in private, please."

He motioned over towards the rig, and approached the driver side of the cabin, before opening up the door.

[Esternial]

Though the offer was appealing, Zed declined. Rarely did he eat solid food - The M.U.G. was capable of synthesizing more than just liquid, and all the nutrients he needed could be slurped up through a straw. He did occasionally indulge in solid food, but he only did so alone and on very specific occasions - this was not one of them.

"I've got everything I need right here." He replied calmly, tilting his glass slightly in his hand before slurping from the straw. If he didn't know any better, he might have thought that Mia was trying to get him drunk, and it was starting to work. He wouldn't admit it was her personal concoction's doing, though. The liquor he had at the clinic already saturated his body with alcohol.

Mia's explanation managed to illict a chuckle. She and her brother certainly had an odd, slightly questionable lifestyle. The meat hooks in their 'Bastard' didn't escape Zed's keen eye, and his inquisitive nature - a trait he had managed to sustain even after all these years - urged him to get to the bottom of it.

Though his curiosity certainly did try to force a series of questions from his mouth, at the same time Zed had a feeling that was restraining him. A slight discomfort.

The reason Zed usually didn't get along with people was due to his latent psychopathy and overall lack of empathy. But with Mia, he felt a degree of comfort in her presence, something he didn't feel around most other people. She managed to raise his interest, and not simply because she had terrific calves, Zed actually wanted to know more about the person that was so obsessed about him, or at least what he stood for - Blacklight.

This mutual interest, both for unusual reasons, was something that troubled Zed. Maybe it was just the liquor, or maybe Mia's ameniable and friendly personality was a shell concealing a shade of darkness underneath.

Fuck it. He had to know.

"I've been meaning to a-"

Before he could properly start his sentence, Lucius interrupted them with his presence. Zed jerked his head towards the woman, two cold purple-tinted lenses gazing at her, as if staring straight into her soul.

"Guess we won't have a shortage of spare kidney in our rag-tag band of adventurers." He commented, before taking another sip from his drink. He'd leave Mia's third degree interrogation for later. Hell, maybe she'd die. That'd be swell. Avoid the conflict altogether.

Then Eira showed up, and she was staring - how rude. At least she was overtly insane in the membrane, what you see is what you get. Zed managed to appreciate that in a person. Whomever fucked her up did a good job.

Clearing his throat, Zed stood up and rummaged through his coat pockets, pulling out a Polaroid camera and, arms stretched and lens pointed towards him, took a picture. After a short moment, the camera pooped out a picture. He took it, he shook it and he offered it to Eira.

"It'll last longer."

[Ayreonia]

The room was far too fine to be representative of the whole motel, if its exterior and lobby were any indication. Zsa Zsa Devine had no doubt picked better-than-average accommodations for himself and let the rest of the congregation shack up in whatever fit the Association budget he had been given. Fitting for a man so obsessed with the earthly, it was. Wrothwild smirked, but there was no malice in his mind, oddly enough.

He took the offered chair as the other went to powder his nose or some such thing. "Don't lock yourself in there for too long," he requested as Devine closed the door. Old age did not come alone, as his bladder was wont to remind him.

The drag's muffled voice didn't address that, but instead cut straight to the chase. "So," it thrummed through the door, "You wanted to talk. About what?"

Wrothwild laid his coat-bag with the guns on the floor and removed his boots. At least he would be ready when his bathroom break came. "Nothing," he replied, "and everything." The left boot had difficulty coming off. "I used to run a little prayer group back east before Fate brought me around here." A grunt, and the boot came off. The ankle it had been hugging was a bit sore and swollen. Another grunt, this time not out of exertion but of displeasure. "Mostly young people, a few of your age. One night, we were talking about how prayer was tied to one's mood and whether there were situations one shouldn't do it. Most of us agreed that any place and time was right, but this one kid, he was usually quiet and reserved, he raised his hand and told me God wouldn't like him praying on the shitter." He took his socks off, too. As far as Postapocalyptian standards went, his feet were relatively odorless. "Talking to you through a bathroom door, I can see where he was coming from."

Digression, the bane of all old farts. "Anyway, let's start the 'everything' part of our discussion. You do realize AA is counting on us to die, I hope?"

[Swith Witherward]

"I doubt they'll supply us with mechs or armor," Esma pushed her empty plate away with a sigh. "And I think we're going about this the wrong way."

The thought had chewed at the fringes of her mind since leaving the back room of the bar. It didn't matter if Bad Mother had any renown. It didn't matter that Valis had a mech suit. It didn't even matter that the main rigged was pimped for battle. They were not a crack military team, and never would be, and the sooner their leadership accepted that, the better. Attempting to plan a military operation was nice, but taking green people into combat was taking a major risk.

"But if we're going about it the wrong way, what's the right way?" Esma filled her glass before passing the wine bottle off. She had finally voiced her trivial concern but now her mind took her in other directions.

Her gaze drifted towards Keskin as the paddelus stretched after his long nap. The toes of his rear legs curled as the limbs extended to touch upon her couch, and he pushed against the heavy furniture, dislodging a vibrantly patterned pillow. She snorted in amusement and allowed her eyes to focus on the cushion's intricate stitch work. It was so similar to the fading rug the twins kept on top of their rig, and Esma recognized the Turkish influences woven into both.

"When we first planned our course of action, the Greys suggested we disguise ourselves as a caravan. I suppose they took a good look at our group and determined we really couldn't pass ourselves off as any sort of mercenary unit? So here we are, the day before "training", and in the course of a few hours tomorrow we will somehow transition into a unit cohesive and skilled enough to survive contact with the enemy. I don't see that happening. Everyone seems too independent, and too ready to fly if shit gets real, myself included. The only commonality between us is greed: we're willing to reach the objective because of the promise of money. That's not enough to hold us together. If you all die, more money for me, right? There's no familiarity, as Aubrey said."

She adjusted herself on her cushion and then regarded the men seated at her table. "My people are also called "Gypsies". Oh, it's a derogatory word now, if spoken by outsiders. It came from gypcian, short for Egipcien, a derivative of Egyptian. We passed ourselves off as itinerant Egyptians. Whenever we encountered new cultures, we would tell them that we were exiled from Egypt as punishment for harboring the infant Jesus so long ago."

A smile crept to the Rom's lips. "The thing was, our flamboyant ways were a cover. Yes, we hailed from India, and thus our culture was already vivid. But the Europeans we encountered had never seen Egypt or India. Surely the nomadic people at their gate were from that exotic, biblical-traced land? It would be a sin to turn aside the very people that had kept their savior-god safe. So they let us in, and we adopted just enough of their language, culture and customs to ingratiate ourselves... until we wore out our welcome or people came to realize that we kept our own laws and traditions regardless."

Her hand reached out to stroke Keskin's back as he brushed by her to flop on the floor between her and the tinkerer. The creature breathed a sigh, then rested his head on Temir's leg.

"He wants his ears rubbed, but mind the quills along his spine," she advised before turning her attention back to the topic. "What if we passed ourselves off as something we're not in order to get in the gate? We could become anything we want. Renown is easy enough. We pay the right people to say the right things, and let our fake reputation proceed us. Or maybe this is all the wine talking."

Her final statement was accompanied by a soft laugh. Even if it was the wine talking, Esma preferred to die by poorly attempted trickery rather than running into a bloodbath with a bunch of headless chickens.

[Tiltjuice]

Mathias finished the last bite of flatbread and hummus. The bowl had made its rounds beyond him and lay on the edge of the cluster of dishes, now.

The loosely woven brown fabric of his clothes shifted noiselessly as he reached out and lifted his carafe. That had been his attire of choice for a long time; easy to wear across long stretches of desert, and wash and dry when called for. It helped, too, with not being touched, covering as much of himself as it did.

A small sip trickled down his throat and then he set the glass down, feeling the warmth bubble up. Most of the others arrayed around Esma's table he trusted so far as Vagabonds generally trusted each other, with the obvious exception of the gracious hostess herself. Their long history carried great substance with him, but so far the others were carrying on well. And Keskin had great instincts, as well.

Keeping all that in mind, he sat back on his cushion, producing a stick of cinnamon from seemingly nowhere and rolling it between his fingertips in thought.

"We carry diverse goods and skills. Could we pose as a merchant caravan? A well-armed one, perhaps."

[Highfort]

Temir took Esma's advice and avoided Keskin's back with his weathered fingers, instead opting to scratch behind the creature's ears to soothe it after a long day spent traveling and in combat in the harsh desert. Even if Keskin was adapted to the desert heat, the tinkerer thought it impossible that the loyal animal enjoyed it. Perhaps it tolerated it, but the sun found a way to bake and get beneath the skin of even the most hardy inhabitant of the dunes.

"A merchant caravan would only invite raiders to pick at us," Temir shook his head, sighing as he pondered their options, "We should attempt to blend in - pass ourselves off as scavengers and survivors. If we highlight the fact that we have coin, goods, or a mission, the raiders will be interested in taking those from us. Whenever the Cult sends out scavenger teams, they hide their identities and make sure to appear as normal a possible. Not too poor - because that invites desperate raiders for what look like easy pickings - but not so rich that they draw unwanted attention."

He fell silent as the food churned in his stomach and a listlessness fell over him from the combination of wine, meat, and bread. A good night's rest would do him well. He still had dishes to do, however, and the team had plans to make.

"Or, if posing at a merchant caravan is still on your mind, we could tag along with existing caravans before peeling off toward the site," he sniffed, hand tracing across one of the sharpened quills on Keskin's back, careful to avoid the tip, "It's not unheard-of for merchants to find protection in groups and we could do the same. That way, we could drop a rumor or two and have them weave our reputation for us. It's a whole lot more convincing than bribing someone and having them renege when they're out of earshot."

[Swith Witherward]

"Perhaps a caravan," Esma nodded to Mathias, "But Temir has a point about inviting raiders to pick at us. It's a shame we can pass ourselves off as raiders, or a supportive faction."

Hell, throw Wrothwild and Bad Mama at them. Add a dash of Zed and a teaspoon of Armando and Lucius, and bake at 180 C°. Frost, serve with a glass of Devine, and garnish with Valdis and the other military types. Esma pinched her eyes tight and tossed back her head, finally succumbing to whims of sleep deprivation as she giggled out her fatigue. "Can you imagine? Us? Raiders!"

The Rom unfolded her legs and began to gather the dishes. "No, I suppose there's no other way. I do like the idea of tagging along with other caravans until we reach the split point. Safety in numbers. We won't achieve anything if we can't ward off a simple raider attack. And I still am uncomfortable about what you all mentioned earlier - how are we going to defend the damn thing if we actually manage to take it?"

Max had fallen fast asleep a the table, and Esma didn't have the heart to awaken him, but sleeping in that sitting up position wouldn't do his back any good. She gestured to a stack of empty serving bowls and smiled at Temir, and then motioned for Mathias to help the slumbering tech-head find a comfy spot. "He can kip in Ibrahim's old smoking room. There's a pallet bed in there and extra cushions. Temir, kitchen's through the door and to the left. I'm afraid you'll have to whack the little boiler with a wrench before you'll see any hot water."

The kitchen was a tidy place with a window overlooking the Oasis rim and the outsider's Span. Esma bustled in and set dirty plates on a scrubbed wooden table, then assessed the amount of damages they'd need to remedy before calling it a night. The pots and pans were already cleaned and set out to dry. Only the plates, bowls and utensils remained. She signed and rolled up her sleeves.

"If you gentlemen want a warm shower before calling it a night, you're welcome to use mine. I have no idea what fresh hell Devine booked for all of you to stay in, but you can believe it's cheap and you pay for the showers. There is space here, if you'd rather not pick fleas out of your hair come morning. My only plan for the evening is to sit on the balcony and sip wine. Rare treat for me, but one worth sharing with good people. Perhaps Aubrey wouldn't mind hearing about your people's take on the Great Well? I'm in a philosophical mood."

[Monfrox]

Orera quickly filed out of the bar with the others, eyeing over the new mercs a bit before walking along ahead of them to get to Willis.

"I'm not sure what you're thinking, but I can take a room in the rig if it has them. I don't know what kind of accommodations you have, but you must have something to support this many people and then some."

She was still a bit anxious at meeting everyone else, not sure if these Vagabonds were the same that tried to hang her a month ago. If so, things were going to get ugly. She took stock of the others around her. Many of them she saw at the bar. The one girl who had the man in tow that had thrown a mug towards her during the fight. The one man who had walked in with blood all over him, eugh. He seemed to have a lady friend now. The rather dark, tall, and eccentric person wearing clothes that should probably boil him alive yet he was acting like it was nothing. Motley crew didn't even begin to describe this group.

[Highfort]

Temir merely offered a nod at Esma before shuffling back to the living room and grabbing his walking stick so he could take a look at the boiler. Usually a good whack - as Esma mentioned - did the trick, but the tinkerer figured that he could probably fix it up if he just peeked inside. Would save the tank a whole lot of dents, that was for sure.

Following Esma in, he bent over and took a look at the boiler stored in the corner of the kitchen while humming to himself. The gears in his head turned as he noted the usual bits of corrosion and rust that accompanied age, though none of these would explain why it required 'adjusting' in order to produce hot water. As the desert guide rolled up her sleeves to wash the dishes, Temir clucked his tongue and stamped the walking stick in triumph as he lay on the floor, gazing at the machinery beneath the water tank.

"Looks like the oil burner assembly's got some loose piping; the safety keeps going off because it's not properly pressurizing," he pointed to a piece of machinery hidden from view by the tank, "Knocking the tank unsets the safety so it starts heating up again. Lemme try and tighten this and you shouldn't have any trouble with hot water anymore."

Tapping the pipe quickly to ensure it wasn't still hot, he set his hands upon the tarnished copper and shoved the two pieces together, squeaking the metal as he forced it to bond before securing the loosened nut and washer that had linked the two so precariously. Standing back up, worn hands now stained with bits of dark grease, he pulled on the hot water valve on the sink.

A momentary pause and a whistle indicated that the boiler had started up, and a thin drip of hot water began to flow through. Closing the tap with delight, he turned with a smile to Esma and nodded vigorously.

"Yes, yes indeed, should be working fine now," he pulled on the cold water tap and scrubbed the grease from his hands thoroughly, "Pass me a plate, I'll start."

[Cerillium]

"You're missing excellence," Mia chided the Doctor as she pulled plastic-sealed goodness from a freezer compartment. No hard feelings; he could enjoy his cup.

That cup! It had intrigued her when she last saw him with it. It seemed magical. Of course, magic wasn't real, thus there had to be a mechanical explanation for its properties and abilities. Comes to think of it, Temir's burn remedy was equally strange. What else was he hiding in his bag? Part of her didn't want to know. He was mystery personified and, although his mask and mannerisms lent a sinister air to him, he managed to also rekindle imaginative yearnings that swept Mia back to a period in her life when it was still acceptable to believe rings in the grass were caused by mischievous sprites.

Ha. Let's face it, he was probably a homicidal maniac.

Shimmer's light voice drifted across the lot and Mia pulled two more patties from the bag as child and mother rounded the Bastard. Their arrival seemed to thwart whatever question had been perched on Zed's tongue. She blew her bangs from her eyes and chuckled as the Polaroid vomited out an image before Eira could be hauled aside.

Mia added charcoal to the kettle and more than enough lighter fluid. She tossed in the match and paused to relish the violent woosh before calling out to their fearless leader. "Major Clark, when you're done, would you like to join us for chow? And you two? Lucius, isn't it? Join us?"



Max, lulled into zombiehood by good conversation and an ethnic meal, offered no protest as Mathias escorted him to the spare room. He bent to remove his shoes before realizing he'd already shed them hours prior. Bleary and content, he took to the soft mattress and drifted into deeper slumber.

[Tiltjuice]

Mathias himself was beginning to drowse, but wandered back through to the kitchen, peering out at the sky through the window over the sink. It was still relatively early in the night, and it had been some time since he'd been back to Ticaret. The overhead lights had cut out, leaving only the dimmer street lights.

He set aside the glasses he, Esma and Temir had been using, and then began bringing the silverware and settings up to the side of the sink. Turning, he rested against his handholds on the counter, his back to the window. Things were quiet now, and perhaps he might go for a short walk before rejoining Esma and Temir for drinks.

[Swith Witherward]

Esma stared at the little boiler - her nemesis for the past five years! - and then at Temir. She'd had her fill of the temperamental unit, and her lack of mechanical aptitude had meant that she'd lost the battle too many times to count. The Rom set her arms akimbo and glared at the now-cooperative device. "Now you'll have to mind yourself, won't you? If not, he'll come back and teach manners to you again."

She refrained from tacking an insult on to it, on the off chance the tinkerer would take it as a slight against his goddess. Just how far did his Cult's worship dip? The Rom were a touch animistic in their approach to life although they never saw machinery as something sacred.

"Thank you, Temir. I'm most appreciative," she warmly added as she handed a plate to him. "You know, the Oasis has its share of vehicle mechanics, but very few household tamirci. If you ever retire from the road and evangelizing to Vagabonds, you might consider setting up shop here. You'd find plenty of work, and more than your fill of coins and good food as reward."

In fact, the Rom was hard pressed to mind herself rather than point the man toward other things in need of tending around the apartment. She wouldn't mind her pocketbook growing lighter, but Esma understood that his day had been more draining than her own. She reminded herself that such requests would be unfair, and that she already felt guilty over his doing doing the dishes.

The drainboard rattled as she pulled it from under the sink. She set it and then offered a smile to Mathias as he arrived with more things. "Just like the old days, eh, friend? You have that old wanderlust look in your eyes, too."

Esma draped a dish towel over her shoulder and then rested against the counter beside the healer. "Five years is a long time. Not much has changed, but you might find a few new surprises out there. New life arrived and a few have passed on since you left us. They've finished the meditation garden beach side. And Asli is still single, should you happen to wander past her door. She was always so fond of your smile."

A playful wink accompanied these last words, and then the tenacious matchmaker set to drying the dishes. Honestly, Mathias needed to get beyond his dislike of being touched, she thought to herself. Ah, who was she kidding? He was a stubborn mule set in his ways. "But, on the off chance you decide not to visit Asli, we'll have a fire going and some wine awaiting you here."

[Tiltjuice]

"So much like. How long has it been since we last had an adventure? Only one or two midnight trips up the walls to the outside, to see the dunes at night."

Mathias flushed slightly, as if Esma were the teasing older sister. He shook his head slightly, with the apparent appealing smile showing through.

"I think you might exaggerate a little, Esma...but it has been a while since I've seen her. Perhaps I might drop in to see her, and pass by the meditation garden. The last I saw, it was only the reflecting pond, the gazebo and the bench underneath. Ah, the greenery! But for now, I should leave you and Temir to wine and conversation; but if you are both still up when I come back, might I join in?"

[The Carlisle]

Eira closed her eyes from the flash, startled and blinded by it for a second. She opened her eyes to see Zee flapping a picture and handing it to her. She took it from him, an awkward look on her face. It pictured her face with her eyes closed. She looked back to Zee, then the photo. It was definitely him... her... fuck it. Eira let her arm slack to the side, allowing Shimmer to snatch the photo from her hands to look at it who was curious to see what the little piece of paper showed. She giggled, seeing Momma make a funny face.

She was about to ask Zee why her was here of all places, when Willis interrupted them. Her awkward look turned more irate, as her gaze fell upon the man. She told him that she would talk to him AFTER her girl was in bed. But the man was impatient in her mind. She was about to bark again that he would have to wait... but a sudden sharp pain in her head stopped her. It wasn't a second later until she was gone, lost in her subconscious.

---

Eira blinked a few times, then grinned. It felt great to be back again. Smelling the desert air again made her feel alive again. She rolled her shoulder a bit, noticing the extra weight on one of her arms. She looked down, noticing the damn parasite again. She immediately frown. To her, Shimmer was a ball and chain, limiting what she could do and how she could spend her time. The runt needed feeding, clothing, and caring 24/7. And she couldn't pass her off, she tried before, waking next to see her with them again and an angry response in the journal.

She looked around, noticing the gathering of people and the giant vehicle, recalling she was on a mission with this crew. In fact, she noticed one man beckoning her over with an open door to the rig. Gruff, muscled, the soldier type. She could faintly recall that he wanted to speak to her or something. It was obvious to her what he was looking for in her; And if not, she can make it that. Only problem was Shimmer clinging onto her arm.

"Eira" looked around at the people around her, discriminating on which person to pass the runt onto. Her eyes fell upon the masked man. Looked similar to a fellow she saw a long while back. He held a camera in one hand, maybe a photography guy. Could entertain Shimmer. And he looked friendly enough.

"Eira" walked closer to the masked man and let go of Shimmer's hand. "Mind watching the kid for a bit. I gotta 'discuss' with soldier boy over their," she said, then looking down to Shimmer while digging into her pockets," I'll be right back hon." Dropping the grocery bag next to the cooking girl, she headed off, finally digging out the packet of cigs.

Shimmer looked as Momma... erm... Granny walked off, unhappy with her leaving. It wasn't the first time she was left by her while she went on to go 'work', but she never liked it. She looked to the black-masked man, then looked at his camera. Curiosity filled her, as she stared at the camera. "Can you make this with that?" she said, pointing to the picture of Eira.

"Eira" walked up to the rig's passenger door, a lit cigarette in her mouth, opened it, and stepped inside. She wriggled a bit, getting comfortable in the rig's front seat. She wondered what the man wanted, and how much money he had. His typed were always the ones most willing to shell their cash out for a fuck, even if they needed it for food and water.

[Cylarn]

-snip-

"We've acquired some lodgings elsewhere in the city, thanks to our generous benefactor," Willis responded to Orera's question. "Unless you like sleeping like a trucker, it's two to a room."

-snip-

Willis gave a curt nod to Mia, acknowledging her request. Willis enjoyed the event of enjoying time with his people, as it allowed for them to connect, unwind, and learn more about their respective skills and weaknesses.

-snip-

Eira was ready to talk, but Willis could tell that there was something...different about her. The most noticeable indication in the change in her personality was the loss of her stutter, followed up by a less-than-favorable opinion of Shimmer, which was completely unlike Eira. Willis gave an internal sigh; he had stupidly forgotten the specifics of Eira's many different personalities, but this one seemed older, much more mature, but sensual in a way. Willis even thought that she was a bit more attractive with this personality change, but Willis Clark was not one who gave into "baser" instincts. He had a serious issue to discuss with her.

She hopped in first, and Willis followed her in, taking the driver side seat. He looked over at her, and laid out the situation for her. A stern expression lingered on his face.

"Miss Takahashi, with recent developments and the fact that this is a dangerous affair that we're all intertwined in, I'm going to have to ask you to secure somewhere here in the city for your daughter to remain, at least until the operation has concluded," Willis stated. "She will be too much of a liability as we proceed forward, and in the event that something happens to her, I foresee a serious psychological issue developing, not just with you but for the entire crew."

[Highfort]

"I might consider that, yes," Temir hummed as he accepted the soiled plate and began scrubbing it in the sink, "As all Cultists know, the Kindred Spirit does not will that machines disobey their masters. The will is strong but, sometimes, the metal is weak and needs adjusting."

He paused, washing the plate off in warm water, before his lips turned up in an amused smile and he added, "A lot like people, really. Lots of good people out there do bad things because they just need a bit of adjustment, that's all. They're alright inside; the Kindred Spirit would not create broken children if she would not make broken machines."

Setting the first plate on the drainboard, the tinkerer-turned-domestic-helper repeated the process of scrubbing as Mathias entered the room and Esma conversed. He peered silently at the duo: their history reassured him that the team was going to do alright. At the very least, they'd be doing their best to protect each other, if no one else. And, of course, as the Kindred Spirit willed it, that would help everyone out by proxy.

"You are always welcome to join in, Mathias," he interrupted both of them, "Good conversation is like a good soup; it's rarely ruined by the addition of new flavors, only altered and enhanced. Of course, a good dose of wine - or several - does help with the whole addition part of it, heh."

Setting a second plate on the board and retrieving a third, he turned to Esma and added, "It was wrong of me to not be of service when you were cooking; the Kindred Spirit demands that I offer you other help in return for your hospitality. Do you have anything else that needs fixing or tinkering with? I can always look at some of your other systems over a glass of wine while we're talking."

[Chedastan]

The cyborg's lenses were now really starting to remind Nicole of back when she was in San Franklin, she never forgotten those serfs' eyes staring at her blankly when she used to walk by them every morning and evening. This was really starting to creep her out, but at least the lenses diverted away from her to a woman she saw at the coffee place earlier, she felt relieved.

Lucius looked over his shoulder to check on Nicole, he could tell she was feeling somewhat unease, probably at Zed, he imagined. Hopefully things will feel more ease when they get on the road, they were all gonna need it actually. He knew they all needed to be competent for what's ahead, there is in actuality not very much room for screw ups. He then heard Mia address the two of them about joining the barbecue. Lucius still felt full from his...meal, but he'll still stick around, he knew he had nothing better to do with his time right now. "I'm full already actually, but I suppose I'll stay for drinks." He said to Mia simply.

Nicole on the other hand was actually pretty hungry, after realizing she hadn't eaten much of anything in the past day or so, apart from bar peanuts of course. "I'll actually be more than happy to have what you're serving." She said to Mia, delighted. She then finally noticed the woman from the coffee shop's little daughter has been left alone as her mother went with the military type, Will something? She still couldn't believe a little girl was with this group, like she only ever saw children outside of settlements mostly in big caravans. No doubt it was really reckless to have a child with them, and another thing too, she noticed the mother just stop and blink a few times or so, like she woke up, or had no idea of her surroundings. Something wasn't right here, but no doubt there might be some sound explanation for it, maybe. Nicole just decided to ignore it for now, and be more busy with getting substance.

[Swith Witherward]

Esma laughed and brushed stray hair from her cheeks. She didn't have the heart to tell Temir that her idea of keeping machines in line involved heavy application of a rod. She supposed the same was true regarding people, but beating them senseless solved nothing. It only created resentment. Machines could not resent, although they did seem to contrive to all break down at the same time just when they were needed most.

"Mm, I agree, Mathias. It's not the same without you," Esma plucked a clean dish from the drainboard and began to dry. "If you find nothing interesting out there, swing back here for some wine. I'd like to know how life has treated you the last five years. And I'll catch you up on Sener's exploits."

She turned her head to regard Temir as he expanded on his offer. It was tempting. So very tempting. Still, the Rom had a pretty good gauge of bartering for service, and her meal hadn't warranted putting him to work on anything major. "It would cheapen your work," she advised him, "if I asked you to do anything that would require much thought or effort. The meal was a simple gesture, and your talents are worth several."

Satisfied that she'd properly outlined cultural norms regarding such things, she set the dish aside to dry another, softly adding with a warm smile, "But if you want to keep your hands busy, I have a little toaster oven that thinks its an incinerator. Perhaps you can tell me about the Well - what you know of it - while you work? Or we can take it out to the balcony and I'll entertain you with a tale by starlight? My people love whiling away the evening with storytelling."

[Tiltjuice]

"Until later, then." The naturopath excused himself in his own quiet way. Old friends carried familiarity to fall back on, but Esma and Temir didn't share that quite yet; and being back in his old-yet-new haunts allowed him a chance to see what had changed. The fall of the door was equally noiseless. Hands in pockets, the tall man ambled down the street.

The neighborhood was relatively quiet, the younger children and their parents having gone inside for the night. Crickets chirped distantly, from the uppermost levels where the greenery of the meditation gardens could hide them. He smiled in the dark and moved toward the closest path leading up the Archway.

[Highfort]

"A good story never hurt anyone," Temir replied, watching Mathias leave momentarily before turning his attention back to the desert guide drying the washed plates, "And a toaster oven to tinker with, as well. You've outdone yourself in hospitality, Esma, I must say."

Picking up a rag set on the table, Temir assisted her in drying the dishes while he got lost in his thoughts for a moment. The convoy would have to be redistributed the following day and any supplies lost during the raid would need to be replenished. Down a few vehicles, the team would need to be more careful with future firefights; the mechanics on the crew could do a lot, but if any other vehicles went down they'd be seriously crippled.

Finishing the last plate, he gestured at her to retrieve the stubborn piece of heating equipment, "Let me take a look at the toaster oven; I'll bring out to the balcony so we can talk in the coolness of the night. I think I'll save the Well for some other time, perhaps on the road in the coming days. It's hardly interesting fare at night, especially when everyone's near-comatose from food and drink."

[The Carlisle]

Fuck... from the looks of things, she thought she was on a caravan. But it sounded more like they were on a combat mission than anything else. Who the fuck was the idiot who signed decided to sign up for this with a kid. Fuck, if she wasn't so squeamish about sex, she sell her body and make the cash up instead of going on combat runs with a kid. Eira dragged on her cigarette for a bit longer from her thoughts, rolling down the window a bit and puffing it out.

"That is a predicament," she said, looking away, out the window to Ticaret, "Problem is, don't know anyone here to take care of her. And there isn't a chance in hell the boss will leave the girl with someone unless she trusted them. And there are few people in this world she trusts." She took another drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke out again. She shifted around a bit, taking the duster off and revealing the lighter clothing underneath. The cabin was hot from the sun beating down on it, and it was too hot to continue wearing it. She stretched a bit, sticking out her chest, before settling back in the chair.

Eira thought for a while, smoking down her cigarette, trying to remember something. She stared at Ticaret in the distance, mustering a thought. "That brown-skinned girl... Esma. Doesn't she come from here or something?" Eira said, not knowing for sure if she was right or wrong. She could feel Esma and the place were linked, but she couldn't tell if it was from a memory or Esma's.... heritage. "If she does, maybe we could stick the rug rat at her place while the mission goes on. She's got to have family that'll take care of the girl," she said, a grin on her face. Of course, this all hinged on Esma having family. Would suck if she's on her own, whole family shot dead or some shit. But folks of her kind usually have extended families that live in one place or at least nearby... she assumed.

[Cylarn]

-snip-

Willis sat back and listened. Predictably, Eira had no connections in Ticat and thus there was no one else she could readily trust to take care of the child. The only alternative was the crew member that had raised objections to Eira's scouting participation: Esma. Willis looked over at her, and raised an eyebrow when she brought it up. Esma made her dislike of Eira known, and Willis understood her objections. Eira alone couldn't convince Esma to secure lodgings with her family in Ticat, and Willis wondered if his agency in such negotiations would make a difference, given that no one in the crew really trusted one another. However, Willis wondered if they could engage Esma's sympathies for the child, which were not known.

"We have until tomorrow to resolve this issue," he said. "I will pull Esma aside, so that you and I may speak with her about finding a place for your daughter. Thank you for your understanding."

Willis looked out the window across from Eira, over at Lucius. He was covered in blood; that was not good. However, his eye caught Eira, who had shed some of her garb, revealing her young, more feminine features. Coupled with the slight rise in maturity with this personality, a few questionable thoughts floated into his mind, though he pushed them back. He looked at Eira, maintaining his neutral expression.

"You may go now, Eira," he said. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with me."