Postapocalyptia | IC [Episode 2]

[Swith Witherward]

"Thank you, Mr. Clark," Esma offered a polite head nod to the man, grateful of his understanding. She wouldn't discriminate based on personal dislikes. "Anyone interested in serving on my team can approach me in inquire. I look for calm minds and dependability. I can teach someone to move quietly."

Esma's tension uncoiled a little once she realized Temir rose to address Willis and not to punch Wrothwild. The tinkerer's question hung in the air and then went unanswered. She tilted her head back to regard the man standing beside her, then turned her attention to Mathias.

Undoubtedly Mathias still had quarters here in Ticaret. He had ingratiated himself to her people and thus had earned the right to a Rom's residence at a reasonable rate. Outsiders were normally housed in rooms or suites within the Outsider section, and even a small private room in the Bridge or Towers with a communal bathroom was an expensive venture that left the pocketbook dry. It was better to stay at an inn within the Towers and pay a daily rate. Of course, she expected Devine and Willis to cover that expense for the others on the team. There was no way in hell she or Mathias should be expected to take them into their own homes.

"Mathias, have you had a chance to stop by your home yet? Would you like to swing by for supper?" she gracefully pushed off her pouf and stepped to the side to avoid knocking into the tinkerer. "And you, Temir? I sincerely wouldn't mind continuing our discussion. I'm sure Mr. Clark and Mr. Devine have chosen very nice accommodations for you at one of the inns, but I can't imagine you've had very many relaxing - or free - meals since you've left home."

Max weighed the option of staying in a lumpy bed verses kipping on the rig's fold down cot. Both involved buying his own dinner, and he was about to ask if Esma could recommend a good place to eat, but she spared him the effort.

"Mr. Grey, I also owe you for saving my life. Let me make it up to you and your sister." Esma smiled under her veil. Perhaps a meal would be a good way to nullify any remaining discomfort shared between two tech-heads. They'd need to work as a strong team if they were going to keep the convey running smoothly.

[Highfort]

Temir looked on in slight offense as Willis insisted on ignoring him and addressing the newcomer. He supposed business came first, but some part of him was irked that after ordering them to conserve their strength, the team's leader couldn't be bothered to tell them how exactly to do that or where that would be appropriate. Esma's suggestion spared him some annoyance and he turned to offer her a warm smile as he considered her offer of a free meal - he hadn't yet thought about how he would have to spend his own money prior to getting paid at the end of this Spirit-forsaken mission, which didn't interest him in the slightest - and of warm, genuine conversation about the finer points of the Cult away from such unwelcome, uncouth individuals as Wrothwild.

"A relaxing meal would be nice," he nodded at her finally, content to find his own bedding if Willis and Devine were not gracious enough to provide any, "And we do have to get along, so I suppose it would be most useful to the Kindred Spirit and Her Will if we were to all sit down and get to know each other over dinner."

Turning behind his cushion, Temir took his pack and rifle and slung them as he readied to leave the quaint little coffee and smokeshop. Ticaret had piqued his interest and he hoped that the Kindred Spirit led him back to this little oasis in the desert sometime soon, perhaps after the mission for AA was over. Hell, if the locals would have him, he could retire here and set up a little nook for the Cult. Perhaps offer sermons on the good days and, on the bad ones when the locals weren't so receptive to him preaching in the street, he could ply his trade as a mechanic to passing travelers. An idyllic life in the middle of nowhere.

Now that he was getting on in years, he had to consider his old age. The tinkerer did not want to end up like Wrothwild - perhaps the old man liked adventure but Temir enjoyed not dying of a gunshot wound or being burned alive. The Kindred Spirit would ultimately determine what happened to him, but he hoped She had good things in mind. Perhaps praying to her for a nice, quiet retirement would not be amiss?

"Esma, I don't suppose you would need help in the kitchen or with any chores?" the tinkerer did not forget his manners, so thoroughly beat into him by Cultist mentors when he was a mere boy and an acolyte, "It would be remiss of me to sit down at your table without offering some work in exchange. The Kindred Spirit frowns upon those who do not do their part when offered a great boon, and a hot meal suffices in this case, I think."

[Mincaldenteans]

"Training, right, this will go swell," Aubrey said with a small huff under his breath. Training all day wasn't his concern so much as it was Clark appointing someone to be Chief Lackey with the added task of profile psycho-analyzing the rest of the team. How far would that go, Aubrey wondered? All of them were strangers to one another out for the common job and none of them seem too inclined to delve deeper into each other's business past the surface pleasantries. With the exception of Temir and Esma's familiarity, and Mathias quiet demeanor that didn't seem to stop the Rom from being equally, or more, close - this hardly made a cohesive team. And now she was tasked to evaluate them? Ridiculous.

Aubrey bit his reservations down, Esma didn't deserve his immediate judgment or sprouting resentment, she was given a task to do like any of them would have eventually; Aubrey just didn't like being poked, prodded, qualified or quantified, and when one got really down to the core, it wasn't anyone's damn business.

"We got a place to meet up?" He asked a little louder though it seemed to have drowned with the rest of the inquiries kindly ignored by Willis for the newcomer that Devine had taken a new seat to interview with.

"Right, I suppose that's my cue to leave," Aubrey said with a nonchalant shrug, setting his empty coffee mug down and stood up. The question now was where to go: food and drink required money, and pick-pocketing wasn't as hard as it looked, but it was time consuming. There were rations somewhere in one of the vehicles, probably Big Berda, or at least he hoped there was - and the seats were comfortable enough to rough out for the rest of the night. Good as plan as any unless he struck lucky with some unsuspecting person for the night. He straightened the short jacket he had on and looked to the group of them. He didn't intentionally mean to ignore Nicole's question for names, but the conversation had jumped back and forth quickly - even the drag queen couldn't get out quickly enough - and there wasn't much point left in staying. The talk of sharing meals only meant more time to bond and forge friendships, Aubrey didn't handle those well, namely because he never had a friend. It was beneficial in the end, Aubrey reminded himself, less ties meant less burdens.


--//\\--

"H-he asked...and I just answered..."

Devine looked to Willis then, his eyes simmered with annoyance that told tall dark and broody that he wasn't humored to being here if Orera was only going to be vague. The drag queen sighed, the prospects of a(nother) helpless girl was not on his list and he'd be damned if he took a second liability. One kid was more than enough.

"All of you have accommodations," Devine said out loud to the rest of them without turning his head. "Two to a room, that no-tel motel we passed on by entering the city is where you'll find your digs for the night. Meet at the convoy tomorrow, best place as any."

His attention shifted back to the young woman. He caught himself from tapping his nails upon the laptop's side to convey his impatience. Instead he grabbed it, settling the computer on his lap. "Listen sweetheart, I ain't got time for twenty questions and no amount of pussyfooting is going to keep my patience," he said softly though the end of his sentence was pronounced in emphasis.

Devine continued, "How 'bout you start with your qualifications."

[The Carlisle]

Eira came back with a fruit tart on a plate, setting it down in front of Shimmer along with another glass of milk. She knew it wasn't the most healthy thing, but Shimmer was good today and deserved something sweet. She loved sweet things; They were a nice change of taste from the usual canned bread and beans. Plus, nothing else here was good for her. She'll have to look elsewhere tonight if she wanted to fill her belly. But for now, something nice.

Eira eyed Willis when he wanted to talk to her later tonight. Not with daggered eyes, but with some seriousness; an almost practiced look, like it was done several times before. While she didn't know the exact reason for it, she knew it was about her reputation. Usually it was either her killing and eating their friend or her adventures with Dupont. The former always ended up with a corpse and her disappearing, with the latter having the possibility of that happening. She didn't know which beef Willis had, but she had a hunch it was the latter. Mainly because she didn't have a gun drawn on her yet. Regardless, she wasn't looking forward to it.

"Af-after I get my g-girl to bed," she said. She finished her coffee quickly, with Shimmer copying her mom, knowing it was time to go. Eira got up, helping Shimmer up, and left with the girl, Shimmer clinging to the fruit tart in her hand. Eira was gonna go to the accommodations Devine procured for them, but not before stopping by the market to get Shimmer to eat. If Willis wanted to talk, he'll have to wait.

[Cerillium]

Turning his head towards the sound of Mia's voice, Zed remained quiet at first. During his moment of mental acuity, he felt exposed, an otherwise unknown sensation of self-consciousness about the scars that ran across his upper body like roads on a map. Then Mia spoke again.

"Don't think I'd mind one. Just about done 'ere." He responded, checking one last time if he hadn't forgotten to put anything back in place, especially the plating. The internal intricacies of his arm did not tolerate much, and required a far amount of protection - first and foremost from the sand and dirt Rigel Three had so much of. With a heavy thud his armor and coat landed on the ground. Zed followed shortly after.

Though most of upper body was scarred enough to draw anyone's attention, it was his arm - the one that was still flesh and blood - that drew the most. It was surprisingly pristine, with only a few scars here and there - about as much as you'd expect on any vagabond. What actually stood out more than that, at least upon closer inspection, was a faint difference in pigmentation of his arm compared to the rest of his torso, separated by a border of scar tissue that trailed across his skin like a like a bangle around the boundary where his humerus ended and his shoulder began.

Considering he was still wearing his mask, even Zed realized it made him look like a Psycho - more than usual - with his exposed torso, missing only a sufficiently crude weapon and an ample repertoire of profanity to complete the picture.

"How rude of me, this ain't decent lookin' at all." Zed muttered, reaching for his body armor on the ground and snapping it back on before donning the heavy coat. Despite its appearance, the fabric was quite suitable for desert weather, whatever it was.

Mia smiled at the strange man's acceptance of her offer. A heavy thud drew her eyes towards Zed once more, and her heart skipped a beat at thought of him falling off the rig and snapping a leg. But no, he was only casting down his gear. Relieved, she fetched two glasses from their padded slots amid the cooling coils. The bowls clinked together as she filled them from the tap, but her eyes were on Zed.

The exposed patchwork skin and deadly limb gave Mia reason to pause. Was he maniacally grinning under his mask, perhaps anticipating latching on and pushing a 100 milliamps through her heart to tip it into fibrillation? A grin flickered across her lips. We all die sometime, right?

She failed to notice the odd arm until he stooped to retrieve his body armor. Mia kicked herself over a squandered research opportunity. Perhaps there was a way to get him naked again? Of course, he was a member of the group ergo it would be incredibly rude to knock him senseless just to study him. She supposed the engineer's hooch quickly cooling her fingertips wouldn't cause him much of a wallop. And then Mia considered the embarrassment she caused her brother to endure, and the fact that her nefarious plans usually resulted in more tomfoolery than was necessary. The tech-head handed a glass to Zed and pulled a folding lawn chair from a side compartment for him to sit on. She unfolded her chair beside it.

"Alright, Doctor, I have a question for you," she began gingerly, her fingertip nervously tapping the glass and sending minute ripples through the hooch. "The fact is, I find you captivating, but for reasons you might not expect."

Mia turned her head to better see the man. "Everything about you screams Blacklight to me, even if you want to say you've never heard of them. Oh, laugh if you want. Blacklight's experiments with alien artifacts seem three parts conspiracy theory and one part fact. But I look at your arm and I can't help by wonder if you are one of theirs. And if so, has Blacklight found a way to merge machine with man, including nerves? Because I'd dearly like to get my hands on that technology."

The corner of the tech-head's top lip pulled back and quivered as she fought back bitter emotions. She was tired of chasing ghosts in the desert. Empty leads, cruel tricks, and nothing substantial ever gained. Defeated by the day's events, Mia lowered her lip and glass, and stared into Zed's gas mask's lenses.

"You see, my mother suffers from Refsum disease. It's a very rare lipid metabolism disorder, but it causes degenerative nerve disease and ataxia. Too much phytanic acid accumulates in the plasma and tissues. The progression is staved off by diet, but what's left is a woman whose every movement causes excruciating pain." Her brow furrowed as she attempted to convey her idea in a way that didn't sound too insane. "I want to create a secondary neural network for her, a device that interfaces with her spinal cord to process signals and control involuntary movements, to help her, to give her back her life. So please, Doctor, tell me if such a thing is possible. Or tell me that I'm barking at the wind. I just don't know anymore."

She looked away, preferring to lean back in the chair in order to better appreciate the sun sinking below the tropical ring that surrounded the oasis. Her free hand tugged loose the aviator cap and goggles covering her braided, honey-brown hair.

"Go ahead and laugh, Doctor. They say it's the best medicine," she ventured before sipped her brew. The sharp alcohol seared the sensitive tissues lining her mouth and throat, and the fumes packed a heavy punch to her sinus cavity.

"Baws," she rasped as she slapped the wilted cap against her thigh, "I forgot the paper umbrellas and olives."

---

Esma's invitation brought a smile to Max's face but it was fleeting, thanks in part by Devine's accommodations proclamation. Oh fuck no. Fleabag motels weren't his thing. He'd kip in the Bastard, or else beg Esma for a space bit of floor space although, honestly, he wasn't certain about the size of her quarters. He expected something smallish.

"Well, I'm useless in the kitchen," he ruefully chuckled, "and my mother always said I was a nuisance there. But I'm more than happy to buy the food if we go by the market area. Team effort, right?"

The tech-head rose to follow Rom and tinker from the cafe, but his eyes momentarily locked on Aubrey's as the man announced his own departure. Max's lips pursed. Right, team effort. So far, Devine's flunky hadn't insulted anyone or behaved like a shithead. Perhaps Max could pick his brains about the upcoming mission. Max winked at him. "Come along, mate. You can help carry the groceries."

[Monfrox]

Orera's eyes widened, but her bill was blocking her view from them. Qualifications? She could accurately put rounds through targets at over 100 meters. She could lob grenades into a second story window on the first try. She could hold her own in a hand-to-hand fight and come out with a few bruises and scrapes for her troubles. But surely, Willis expected this of an ex-PMC operative. So, what else could she do?

"I can...c-cook. And I-I have experience...in farming and g-gardening."

If need be, she could tell Devine about the military experience, but she still wasn't sure about that. She didn't want to fight anymore if she didn't have to, which is why she didn't list those onto that. Besides, if Devine doubted her, Willis would be able to set him straight about her fighting skills. Just because she didn't want to fight, didn't mean she couldn't, as she proved in that bar.

[Mincaldenteans]

Orera's eyes widened, but her bill was blocking her view from them. Qualifications? She could accurately put rounds through targets at over 100 meters. She could lob grenades into a second story window on the first try. She could hold her own in a hand-to-hand fight and come out with a few bruises and scrapes for her troubles. But surely, Willis expected this of an ex-PMC operative. So, what else could she do?

"I can...c-cook. And I-I have experience...in farming and g-gardening."

If need be, she could tell Devine about the military experience, but she still wasn't sure about that. She didn't want to fight anymore if she didn't have to, which is why she didn't list those onto that. Besides, if Devine doubted her, Willis would be able to set him straight about her fighting skills. Just because she didn't want to fight, didn't mean she couldn't, as she proved in that bar.

There was a handful of silence whose only real companion was the gritting teeth in Devine's clenched jaws while he glared at Orera with resignation and fatigue. It had been a long day; all Devine wanted was to strip the make up off his face, get to talking with AA, hopefully get a few hours sleep somewhere in between, and face tomorrow with even less enthusiasm than he had since the start of this job. And now he had a young woman to contend with whose timidness was so not on his list; a cursory view of Devine himself told everyone exactly where he stood on being shy.

"What part of twenty questions and lack of time did you not get, sweetie?" Devine said with a derisive tone. The drag sagged into his seat and crossed his arms, the manicure nails glimmered slightly and he took a more careful look at Orera. "Para-military or some kind of formal training by the looks of it unless you're a fraud; which then you completely fail at whatever persona you're trying to wring out of that gaudy outfit of yours. If it's some kind of authoritarian or intimidation vibe you're trying to exude, you have no edge..."

Devine leaned in a little, tilting his head, "But I'm thinking if Willis took this much trouble to have you seated it means you do more than flip an egg with a spatula and water the sunflowers every morning. I'll thank you not to waste my time, chica. Answer my question."

[Monfrox]

That, was a kick. Either the face or the ass, but a kick. Orera was no fraud, not by any means. She lifted her hand and pulled the face mask down to uncover her mouth.

"I...am not...gaudy..." She said calmly. At that point, she made eye contact. "I've put in three years of my life to a company that sold me like a dog when it was convenient for them to save face. I've trained long and hard to keep sharp, and it's that reason that I'm still alive. I was a rifleman. The core of the combat unit. The "Jack" of the squad. I was expected to fill all other roles if it was called for it, which I could. Not well as the others, but still. I put my time in and got out when I found out I was expendable. With my training and experience, I fought and snuck my way out of the compound and started living life as a fugitive."

She pulled the mask down a bit further to expose the scar around her neck.

"They tried to kill me. You see how well that worked, but the Vagabonds have already cashed in the bounty. They don't care about me anymore. I was in that bar fight, yes. I took down three men on my way out. I'll say you've got your answers, haven't you? If not, then I'll be on my way before the authorities close off the checkpoints and subject passers to searches and carding, at which point things may get a bit ugly on my way out. I don't cause a scene if I don't have to."

Orera pulled her face mask back up and waited to see what Devine would say.

[Mincaldenteans]

Devine's closed glossy lips formed a smile he couldn't help forming. He looked at Willis and made a head gesture at the girl, "So she does have teeth, after all. May not be as flashy or obvious as some but," he turned his head to look at Orera once more, "no two packages are alike. Are they, sweetheart?"

He exhaled, letting a breath out he didn't know he kept until now. Devine got up from his seat in one fluid move, brushing his long jacket out of habit. He gave her a neutral look, "Be at the convoy tomorrow morning, too easy to spot us since we got a rig and that heffer sticks out like a sore thumb. Lose the mask tomrrow; I won't ask twice on that. What you do after that is your business. Prove yourself tomorrow and you're in the crew; survive long enough for the job and you get a cut of the profits. Since you proclaimed to be a cook, guess that'll be your duty if you pass muster. Name's Devine, I didn't catch yours, I will tomorrow."

The drag queen turned to face Willis for a moment, gave a nod by way of departure and left the duo.

--//\\--

Did he just get roped in? How'd that happen? Did he miss something? 'Why me?' was the loudest question buzzing in his head right now but the man was smart enough not to blurt it out. Aubrey glanced at Lucius and the young woman attached to him; he could see them being a part of the group, they seem more sociable (but what did he know?) than him. The sandy blonde knew he wasn't much of a conversationalist, only speaking up when necessary, and the second loudest question was how exactly he'd fit in. Things were so much easier being alone. He held back a sigh, coming to the conclusion that dinner was bound to be awkward. The idea of fresh cooked food sounded much more appealing than convoy rations, so perhaps it wouldn't be so bad.


Stick to the food. Yep.

"Um, sure, alright," Aubrey stuttered out as he glanced at the small group and lightly scratched the back of his head.

[Swith Witherward]

Esma parted the entrance curtain and beads to emerge into the bridge's bright, unnatural light. The passageway's foot traffic had increased now that the chaos caused by the earlier bar brawl had died down. She stepped aside to allow the others to emerge.

"I won't need too much help in the kitchen, unless you'd care to keep me company with conversation," she advised Temir once everyone was standing in the passage. His offer to assist with chores fetched a smile to her face. They definitely hailed from different cultures, and the differences between increasingly amused the Rom. Still, an offer was an offer and it would be rude to decline. "Maybe the next time we pass through, you can take a look at the supurgesi - electric sweeper? - and tell me why it ignores lint?"

The general market was bustling as caravans prepared to move out for the night. The press of bodies made navigating somewhat difficult, and the voices and music meant that Esma had to shout to be heard. She kept a sharp eye on the men and potential pickpockets as she haggled with vendors. Max wasn't gouged too badly, and they'd managed to find a few extra goods to make the promise of long desert drives seem more tolerable.

They left the market center and skirted past a few outgoing caravans as they made their way towards the ornate gate which lead to Esma's housing block. Her voice was still slightly hoarse as she explained, "Our quarters are off limits to Vagabonds, nomads and raiders alike, unless those persons are invited. I suppose we're a bit introvert-"

"Kadir, you worthless, sister-shaming, Cultist sikkafa!"

A giant of a man dropped from the back of an idling vehicle, his meaty fingers balling into a fat fist as he stormed towards them. Animals and pedestrians parted to allow him to pass. His face twisted into a snarl as he roughly shoved a man out of the way in order to stand before Temir.

"You fucking bastard, I'll teach you to fuck my sister and disappear!" The nomad drew back the fist.

[Chedastan]

Lucius mostly sat back and relaxed himself as the others at the table talked. He was somewhat paying attention to what was being said, at least with concerns to their newest recruit. He couldn't say he thought much of this woman, other than she seem like some variation of the soldier, "Willis" type. All that he could care for was that she was at the very least useful to them, which should hopefully be guaranteed at this point. Though it's not like if he could, he would argue with them on any of that, as he was the man that brought in a young woman for them. Lucius just causally looked around, seeing if he could make some observation on something, though there wasn't much he could do with here. He did notice the con, Aubrey, look at him and Nicole briefly. How curious, he thought. Realizing that he didn't talk to this man that much since they started working together a few days ago. Maybe he should see what he's about then?

He looked over at Nicole, who was doing much of what he was already doing, which was looking around. He hoped it was wise to bring her with them, she seemed one of the more... "mundane" types, in comparison to them. She soon noticed that Lucius was looking at her, and appropriately turned her head to look at him, wondering why. "Yeah, Lucius?" She had asked him.

"You should mat down your hair down a bit, it gives your head away." Lucius made up an excuse, he then looked away.

"Oh, right, I should do that, thanks." She blushed a little, maybe hoping he said something else.

---

He causally walked around with the rest of his group in the market. He didn't have any money still to spend though. At least the pickpockets can't be bothered with him then, but he knew he probably should had asked someone for something, or pickpocketed himself. But he couldn't be bothered at the moment. Yeah, the people here looked too savvy for that, at least to do it quickly. He must had figured that everyone in his group must had found out by now that he had nothing to spend with, I mean it felt obvious to him, but then again he had realized that he was also still playing the part of a nomad still. He himself wasn't too worried though, no doubt he could work with anything here. As they walked out of the market place, and Esma was explaining to them about the housing in the Rom quarters. He obviously noticed the rather large brute coming towards them. He honestly didn't feel as concern as one should be, as he doubted it was for him.

No, it was for poor old Temir. "Dammit." Lucius muttered to himself, feeling reluctant to have joined them for this night. With no time for any explanation, of well anything. Lucius immediately put himself between Temir and the nomad, pushing Temir aside for his own good. Lucius then quickly dodged the punch that was intended for Temir, then grabbed the man's arm with both hands, then very quickly, forcibly, and nauseatingly snapped it like some meaty tree branch in a very routinely fashion. The man obviously screamed in pain and agony, and was completely shocked by Lucius's timely intervention. Lucius didn't know Temir that well personally, but he was still part of the team, and he felt he needed a break.

He kicked the man behind the knee, forcing him on it. Then held one arm around his neck in a very tight lock, then with his free hand, drove two fingers up his nostrils, and drove them in even more deep. The man was crying and sobbing at this point, begging Lucius to stop. But Lucius didn't care, he needed him down, now! He couldn't afford him to maybe get up again and try something stupid. He violently tore through the flesh and cartilage of his nose, and with one more yank, he had tore his nose completely off from the poor bastard's face. Revealing only exposed and blood filled nostrils from his skull.

The man understandably went unconscious from shock alone from that. Lucius let his body fall to the ground like a rag doll. He sighed, then cracked his knuckles. He then looked around, and saw that everyone nearby was looking at him, in both horror and disgust, at least that's what he would naturally presume. He looked to the other members of his group, not sure what to say, other than this. "I'm sorry you had to see that..."

[Highfort]

Temir cocked his head as he exited through the front curtain, following Esma into the crowd along with the others who had elected to spend dinner with the Rom in her humble home. Perhaps he would get a chance to meet her son, Sener. He was very much intrigued by children - having never been a child himself, for this was a necessary sacrifice so that he could better serve the Kindred Spirit by behaving as a little adult - and wished to see what had become of the boy in his mother's absence.

The crowd in the market made it difficult to see and hear the desert guide as they began stockpiling various exotic and mundane foods for dinner. Even as he peered over Max's shoulder to see the next thing Esma had put in his arms, Temir was aware of people shoving past him and groping at his clothes for any stray coins or paper they could pluck off of the tinkerer. Luckily for him, the flowing robes he wore as part of his Cult's standard clergyman's uniform discouraged would-be pickpockets, their fingers fruitlessly poking at the yielding cloth and unable to find the deeply-hidden splits where his pockets resided. His pack was swung to sit on his chest, where he could keep a proper eye on it as the group navigated through the bazaar.

Filtering out of the crowds, the Vagabonds made their way toward the entrance of the Rom quarter. The tinkerer raised his mask to conceal his identity as Esma pointed out that the Rom quarters were off-limits to outsiders - he had little interest in being identified and targeted by someone with a bone to pick with the Cult once they entered the housing area. There would be no bustling merchant groups to hide in.

His thoughts came to a dead halt as an angry voice pierced the quiet atmosphere of evening chatter. Temir's skin shivered. That sounded like it was addressed at him, even if the name was wrong. The fact the word "Cultist" was dropped did not reassure him any.

"I believe you have the wrong man," Temir turned just as the fist came back, flinching involuntarily as he prepared to duck away from what would no doubt be a powerful blow to his face. The flinch was not met with the sound of broken flesh - at least, not of Temir's broken flesh. The former clergyman stumbled back as he found his companion Lucius quickly dismantling the burly interloper with what could only be described as a disturbingly-routine sense of speed. Arms broken, nose amputated, threat neutralized.

"That was a bit... overkill," he commented after taking a moment to compose himself, the bleeding, exposed nostrils of the unconscious brawler burbling with flowing blood, "I'm sure we could've handled that a bit less... conspicuously."

As if to punctuate his point, several men emerged from within the idling vehicle, the truck itself falling silent as its engine was turned off by the driver. The five of them - one burly, like the unconscious man, and four more lithe - stood in front of the group with sneers on their faces and knives in their hands. They didn't look in the mood for negotiating.

"I see you made short work of Ladin," the driver, apparently the leader of the group, stepped forward to address Esma's guests, "Sorry for you boys and girls, we'll be making short work of you. Timbo, Zache, get Kadir."

"I'm not Ka-" the masked-man's rebuttal was cut off as a dagger flicked up and cut an ugly gash on the bridge of his nose, forcing him back with a grunt. His pack dropped with his rifle and he readied his walking stick to reply. Two quick jabs meted out to Timbo sent the thin man reeling back before his exposed back slammed against the floor. Zache replaced him, the gaunt man's knife finding a comfortable resting place in between Temir's ribs. The tinkerer let out a gasp, a bit of blood staining his mask a darker black, before falling back onto his pack and sucking in a painful breath.

"Hanzi, Jile, I want that son of a bitch dead!" the burly man sent them forward, knives whirling in the air as the closed in on the group like wolves upon juicy fawns, "You're gonna be sorry you fucked with the Badi!"

[Mincaldenteans]

Aubrey took a deep breath and sighed, sparing a glance to Max to convey just how much he wasn't in the mood for yet another tussle. "How in the fuck do you people live?" He shook his head and zipped his jacket up, walking forward to meet head first with the man named Hanzi. This guy was roughly the same height with slight of better build than Aubrey and alarming reach and speed: his fist connected with Aubrey's jaw before the ex-con could react. Out of reaction than instinct, Aubrey pulled the man down with him in a heap of fighting limbs until he managed to get the upper hand, pinning the guy down to land a few blows.

A few blows was all he got a dull thud, push and zinging crack bounced around his skull. His arms flew up, protecting his most vital areas first; he'd worry about standing later. The jabs were fierce and painful until someone managed to distracted his attacker long enough for Aubrey to counter strike, landing a blow into the man's windpipe as his attacker panicked into a struggle between breathing and getting back on his feet. Aubrey took that opportunity to kick into the man's kneecap, followed by a foot to the man's face sending him back. He wanted to thank whomever it was that gave him the opening to his counter attack, but his head was spinning and there was a sharp sting spreading across his lower lip.

The ex-con gingerly felt his lip, feeling it with his hands etched with grit and dirt. The sting intensified and Aubrey winced, definitely a split lip and a shiner - now that he registered an awkward dull ache across his right eye. Hanzi came back into view and Aubrey was silently wishing he had a gun on him right now.

[Esternial]

Mia smiled at the strange man's acceptance of her offer. A heavy thud drew her eyes towards Zed once more, and her heart skipped a beat at thought of him falling off the rig and snapping a leg. But no, he was only casting down his gear. Relieved, she fetched two glasses from their padded slots amid the cooling coils. The bowls clinked together as she filled them from the tap, but her eyes were on Zed.

The exposed patchwork skin and deadly limb gave Mia reason to pause. Was he maniacally grinning under his mask, perhaps anticipating latching on and pushing a 100 milliamps through her heart to tip it into fibrillation? A grin flickered across her lips. We all die sometime, right?

She failed to notice the odd arm until he stooped to retrieve his body armor. Mia kicked herself over a squandered research opportunity. Perhaps there was a way to get him naked again? Of course, he was a member of the group ergo it would be incredibly rude to knock him senseless just to study him. She supposed the engineer's hooch quickly cooling her fingertips wouldn't cause him much of a wallop. And then Mia considered the embarrassment she caused her brother to endure, and the fact that her nefarious plans usually resulted in more tomfoolery than was necessary. The tech-head handed a glass to Zed and pulled a folding lawn chair from a side compartment for him to sit on. She unfolded her chair beside it.

"Alright, Doctor, I have a question for you," she began gingerly, her fingertip nervously tapping the glass and sending minute ripples through the hooch. "The fact is, I find you captivating, but for reasons you might not expect."

Mia turned her head to better see the man. "Everything about you screams Blacklight to me, even if you want to say you've never heard of them. Oh, laugh if you want. Blacklight's experiments with alien artifacts seem three parts conspiracy theory and one part fact. But I look at your arm and I can't help by wonder if you are one of theirs. And if so, has Blacklight found a way to merge machine with man, including nerves? Because I'd dearly like to get my hands on that technology."

The corner of the tech-head's top lip pulled back and quivered as she fought back bitter emotions. She was tired of chasing ghosts in the desert. Empty leads, cruel tricks, and nothing substantial ever gained. Defeated by the day's events, Mia lowered her lip and glass, and stared into Zed's gas mask's lenses.

"You see, my mother suffers from Refsum disease. It's a very rare lipid metabolism disorder, but it causes degenerative nerve disease and ataxia. Too much phytanic acid accumulates in the plasma and tissues. The progression is staved off by diet, but what's left is a woman whose every movement causes excruciating pain." Her brow furrowed as she attempted to convey her idea in a way that didn't sound too insane. "I want to create a secondary neural network for her, a device that interfaces with her spinal cord to process signals and control involuntary movements, to help her, to give her back her life. So please, Doctor, tell me if such a thing is possible. Or tell me that I'm barking at the wind. I just don't know anymore."

She looked away, preferring to lean back in the chair in order to better appreciate the sun sinking below the tropical ring that surrounded the oasis. Her free hand tugged loose the aviator cap and goggles covering her braided, honey-brown hair.

"Go ahead and laugh, Doctor. They say it's the best medicine," she ventured before sipped her brew. The sharp alcohol seared the sensitive tissues lining her mouth and throat, and the fumes packed a heavy punch to her sinus cavity.

"Baws," she rasped as she slapped the wilted cap against her thigh, "I forgot the paper umbrellas and olives."

Though he very much appreciated the drink, and pulled out a straw from his coat to allow him to drink it with his mask on. He sipped his drink as Mia began to talk, and after Mia told him she was captivated by him, the glass was completely empty and Zed sucking up naught but air. It was stronger than he expected, and the doctor coughed.

Knew it. Still got it.

His suspicions were proven wrong when she elaborated, and Zed frowned underneath his mask. This woman had some sort of obsession with Blacklight, and whether he wanted to or not, Zed was about to hear why. Being forced to listen to Mia's extensive eye-watering story and plea for help was not something Zed was particularly looking forward to - nonetheless he still listened, as she gave him booze, and it would be disrespectful to drink and dash.

"Well..." Zed began, suddenly noticing his vision growing slightly blurred. He already had a pretty strong night cap at the clinic, and adding Mia's personal brew to it was beginning to affect even Zed's heavily dulled senses. If it was physically possible, the nanomachines flowing through his bloodstream would be doing the polonaise, struggling to cope with the elevated alcohol percentage. It was enough to turn any decent man into a complete ass. Since Zed was already a complete ass, all it did was make him slightly buzzed.

The doctor leaned back in his chair. "Might be. Before things went tits up, this planet probably had some advanced medical equipment here and there. Maybe that crashed ship everybody's livin' in had some state-of-the-art gimmicks. Don't think you need Blacklight, but they did put great effort in hiding their facilities, so you've got a greater chance findin' somethin' that's still intact."

Zed mused for a moment. Anyone he could think of was dead - most of them by his own hands. Only himself and the Doc came to mind, and the Doc didn't want anything to do with Blacklight anymore. Neither did Zed, for that matter, if he had to be honest.

"Could always supply her with some drugs to take the edge of. It's what I do." It was the most common cure, often the cheapest if you knew of one or more places were drugs were bountiful. Sometimes they were cheaper than water.

"Ain't much life to get back to." He mumbled, staring at his empty glass.

The facility he was kept at could have what she needed, but if Zed could even find it again there was a big chance that the scent of death drew in some of the local fauna, and probably not the one you'd enjoy meeting in a cramped underground hallway. Predators weren't what bothered him most, though. He had gone through great lengths to forget, but he couldn't help but scratch at that wall in his mind again. The doctor shuddered in his chair, overcome with a momentary feeling of dread. He knew that what little sanity he had left would be swallowed up should he ever set foot in there again.

[Swith Witherward]

Collab w/Agy, Min, Cer

The knife's penetration was a smooth, solid action. The cold metal dissected muscle and lung tissue and then pushed them aside as its owner turned the blade to break suction. The edge caught the bottom rib and Esma wondered if Rom steel would snap, but the blade held true as it cut through the thin periosteum to leave a wicked rut on Lucius' rib bone. She slammed a palm between his shoulder blades and shoved him, allowing the rival scout to drop unaided to his knees.

"The next time you decide to attack one of my cousins, I'll have your balls for temple bells," the proud woman sneered.

As Temir lay, sputtering on the ground, he felt an odd lightness begin to radiate from the stab wound. The blood seemed to flow less freely and the pain was muffled, as though everything was happening beneath the veil of a movie house curtain and he was in the audience.

“Your wish is granted,” a voice seemed to echo from the sky, drawing the attention of those in the immediate vicinity. Clouds rolled in out of nowhere and the setting sun was replaced by an eerie darkness which crept to choke and swallow the oasis.

“Hey, you stop that right now! No parlor tricks!” the leader of the group faltered and steadied himself as he moved back slightly, eyes flashing from angry to confused and a little afraid.

“Wipe your feet!” Wrothwild and Valdis barked in unison before turning away from Lucius in order to set blankets at Temir's knees. Wrothwild wagged a finger and added, “Tricks are for…”

What they were for didn’t matter. There wasn’t time.

“Breathe deep,” Max knelt beside the tinkerer to cradle his torso, and then wrapped his hands around the tinkerer’s sweaty fingertips. “Breathe deep. The Kindred Spirit gives.”

“The Kindred Spirit loves,” Esma echoed. Her hands rummaged under the tinkerer’s cloak and then a soft beep heralded the birth of the garbage scow. The Rom wrapped the tiny truck in a blanket made of stitched-together porn magazines, then placed it in Temir’s lap.

Aubrey pressed his finger to his lips to hush Ladin; the large man retrieved his nose from the floor and was now peering at the mewling machine in the tinkerer’s arms. “Don’t wake it.”

“Alright, but I’m not picking up the dead guy,” the nomad grunted, “and… uh oh…”

The constables would deal with Lucius’s carcass, but very little could be done for...

The little prize, as Aubrey noted with a tilted head and fond smile. He looked at the tinkerer and muttered with the confidence of a doctor, “Temir, It has no nose. Its nose is gone. It has no nose on its face. Where it is, I can't say, but on its face it's not.”

“He’ll have nothing to follow,” Max sighed.

“Neither do I,” replied a pink crab - in a voice that was unmistakably Zed's - as it drifted down from lemon custard shaped clouds. “Nobody remembers me. But to understand is to accept, and to accept is to drift, and to drift is to lose track, which you all have done.”

“True,” Max settled back in the rowboat and handed an oar to Temir. “And I fear...the river has no….”



“Temir? You’re going to miss dinner.”

The sun had vanished behind the verdant band that surrounded the. Max and Aubrey sat in a corner of Esma’s balcony, quietly discussing their opinion of Devine while Temir comfortably rested on the couch. They had placed an ice pack on his forehead to ease his discomfort after the nomad had decked him, and they’d let him sleep it off while Esma cooked.

The Rom squatted down to lay a hand on the man’s shoulder to wake him. “Temir? Bad dream?”

“A… strange one,” the tinkerer briefly removed the ice pack to rub his temple, swollen from the punch of the burly man, before replacing it upon the sore site to ease the pain, “Something… happened. Suffice to say, much unpleasantness that would be frowned upon by the Kindred Spirit.”

And a whole lot of weirdness that he wasn’t sure the Kindred Spirit would condone or condemn, it was just too fucking strange for him to process. The absence of his beloved garbage scow did leave a slight pang of loss in his heart, though; for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.

“I'm glad to have avoided unpleasantness in the waking realm. I can't imagine it following me to the dreamlands,” Esma patted his arm. “At least there aren’t any hard feelings remaining between you and my cousin.”

“Your cousin?” Temir shook his head, holding the ice pack to it. He must’ve been out for a while if he missed meeting him, “Er, right, your cousin. May the Kindred Spirit bless him.”

“My cousin, the one that mistook you for a charlatan? You can thank him for the state of your nose.”

She rose and gestured for them to follow her into the dining room where serving bowls laden with traditional fare now filled the low, dark wooden table. Much of a Rom's wealth and status could be ascertained by display in the carvings found in furniture and wooden wall panels, but Esma preferred to keep things simple. Aspects of her people's lifestyle such as caravan animals and paddelus could be found woven into the patterns adorning cushions and blankets but her personal dwelling lacked the gaudy flash of heavy tapestries and vulgar colors; Esma preferred her environment to reflect nature's more-calming hues thus the apartment, like its owner and the food she served, was a true and vibrant manifestation of culture without any pretentious fuss tacked on to it.

"Sit, pass the platters, partake!" she laughed and then stepped over a snoozing Keskin in order to unlock her door - Mathias was due to arrive soon, hopefully with wine, and he'd need to let himself in.

[Pan Asian Amercian Coalition]

Armando slowly trundled along the seedier streets of Ticaret's foreign district. It somehow combined the opposing feelings of being a foreigner and being among your own, a feeling that was perplexing yet comforting. For him, that meant the various merchants and theives who had to live by their wit on the road rather than their strength. The narrow back alleys were packed with the dusty bodies of the rough and tumble sort, covering the entire spectrum from tough acting teens to grizzled veterans looking for a new pair of milspec boots. The gaudy neon signage and clatter of exchanging goods was a familiar sight of any merchant's district on Rigel.

Entering one of the many unmarked watering holes, Armando looked out for any who appeared to be for hire. That is as a mercenary, although the pleasures of a courtesan would be most welcome by most of the band. Armando knew the type, and had dealt with them in the past, and what to look for. He scanned the clientele for anyone of interest. Most of the people in the crowded bar were the sort you would expect to see in the sort of dive anyways; a gamete of local toughs, alcoholics, bums, gangsters, whatever dregs could still walk filled the odorous hole. However, at one of the tables stat a more interesting group of men. These men were cut from the same cloth as Willis, the professional stock of man that got rarer after every gunfight. He approached with a great deal of certainty and waited for their current hand of poker to end before speaking to the leader, who displayed his rank with a subdued patch just below his shoulder. Another thing that caught the Spaniard's eye was the lack of a recognizable 'brand' so to say. There must've been a small operation or a very new entrant into the bustling merc business.

"Would a group of men such as yourselves be interesting in a joint business venture?"

"Hey, fruitcake" the youngest of the four responded "We're don't work for yous peacocks like tha-"

He was silenced by a sharp gesture from the Sergeant, who understood what the fruitcake meant by business.

---

Armando returned to the fine coffee bar with the four men in tow behind him. They intended to meet with Willis to work out the finer points of their contract with him. He worked out their payment on the way over with the good Sgt. Hanne, a strictly professional young woman who had all the visible marks of a distinguished career; she wanted a few thousand up front, and a small percentage of the market value of whatever they were looking for. With some clever maneuvering by the silver tongued dandy, Armando secured an excellent deal. The four operatives present were a meager representation of the premium force Armando hired for an economy price. Three heavily armored 4 x 4 offroad trucks, each with a 12.7 DSHk knock-off and a crew of four professional soldiers in each would soon be under Willis' command.

With what could be described as impeccable timing, the entourage arrived at the coffee shop just as Devine began to make his exit. Armando stopped to give a few words to Devine as the Cudgel men continued in.

"I've managed to acquire some new...assets for our upcoming venture." Armando told Devine with a perfect calm but a small, self-satisfied smile before offering a tip of his fancy hat and entering. The mercs were courteous enough to wait for him near the door. The well dressed entered first and took a few steps in, before the men behind him fanned out equally to either side in a cinematic display of coordination. They proceeded ahead while Armando stood stock still before heading over himself, where Willis was interviewing some new blood. He offered a tip of the classy hat to Willis, by now having his attention and his current questionaire, and spoke on behalf of the operatives.

"Mr. Willis, I would like to introduce you to Sgt. Hanne of a local mercenary agency. They have been hired to assist us for the next few days, and I entrust their briefing to you." Armando then tipped his hat and left into the night. It hadn't been showing, but he was exhausted and wanted a good rest.

[Chedastan]

Lucius had awakened at his seat, it would seemed that he had dozed off briefly from lack on any stimulation, perhaps a remnant leftover from the drugs, he would think. He noticed there were less people at the table this time around, he think he caught someone mention dinner earlier? That would at least make some sense, and be a reasonable explanation. Nicole was still at his side at least, who seemed to have busy listening to who was left here, that was, who was still talking of course. Bored with this, Lucius got up and stretch his back. He ignored what was being said around him by his group, and made his way straight towards the exit. As he made his way out the front door, he could hear Nicole rushing after him.

"Hey, wait up! Where are you even going anyway?" She asked as she reached him.

The question confused Lucius oddly, he wasn't honestly sure how to answer it in any manner. He had been mostly inclined to go about whatever things he felt like doing, without much questioning involved to it. Of course was the "thing" was this time, he had no clue. "I, umm... Don't quite know, the rig maybe? The streets?"

"You're not sure?"

"No...Yes....Both?"

Now it was Lucius that was confusing Nicole as well. Though she at least seemed to have gotten a better grip on what to do next then Lucius has, as she had actually remembered something. "Actually there's something we can do where the vehicles are at. Like you know how I mentioned that guy I was with before I joined you guys?"

"The one I punch in the gut, back in the pub, who I may have also ruptured something. Yes."

"Well they probably have him incarcerated now, so his car is most certainly still there in the lot. We can get stuff from there if we go now probably, hopefully before someone else tries to put resale claims on it. And I doubt he's going to get out anytime soon."

Lucius had a feeling he'll expire before the end of tomorrow, with how hard he had hit him. He nodded at Nicole, agreeing to come help her carry that stuff, and probably help "open" the car door. They then soon made their way to the lots and garages, walking at a brisk walk. When they made it to there, Nicole stopped to remember where she had last saw it. As she was doing that, Lucius saw where Bertha and their other rigs were. He could maybe pick out two figures by them, it was getting progressively dark out though. He was surprise they made such great time as they did.

[Tiltjuice]

Right on cue, the door unlatched. Keskin lifted a single needlelike ear and pointed it toward the entry, but otherwise continued dozing as Mathias slipped inside. Shifting around the bottle of red wine and the smoky gray glass vase with its pale, papery potato flowers was awkward, but he managed it in the end to slip off his shoes. As he made his way toward the dining room, he set down the vase on a side table and the bottle at the edge of the dining table.

Freshening up was the work of mere moments, and he rejoined the others at the table, paying particular attention to Temir.

"That was a fairly hard knock; how do you feel now? I do have some pain-relieving preparations with me, if you find yourself in need."

[Cylarn]

Orera's hesitance to answer questions did not last long, thus curbing Willis' and Devine's increasing agitation. Devine pushed her button, and she pulled her mask down before explaining her past. She was indeed a paramilitary commando, with 3 years outside the wire under her belt. She had skills, some of which Willis had witnessed during the barfight. She had the scars to legitimize her story; she was a dead fugitive. Willis finally got the answer he wanted. He looked over at Devine, who was smiling contently at Orera's reaction. Willis gave a nod of agreement and looked back at Orera.

"Welcome aboard," Willis said, giving a smile to the young woman.

Giving Devine a parting nod as the drag queen left, Willis looked back at Orera. He took a sip of his tea as he realized that her story was similar to that of his, except he didn't have a bounty on his head. However, he knew what it was like to invest timw with an organization, only to find that you're more or less expendable.

"You know...I know what it's like," Willis stated. "I know what it's like to be considered expendable by the people you work for. I put 20 years in UNSEC - from Landfall onward - and guess what the fuck happened? One of my ex-subordinates decides to become a whore for the highest bidder and put UNSEC in the middle of something they didn't want to be involved in."

Willis took another sip of his tea.

"Guess whose ass got put on the line?" Willis asked her, rhetorically. "I was in line for a promotion to Lieutenant-Colonel, and then I am told that I must resign to save face and prevent an all-out war between UNSEC, Gazprom, and AA. I never wanted to be in charge of some expedition out in the Great Khan, but this is where I am. For expendable people like us, freelance work is all we got."

[Highfort]

Her cousin hits hard was the first thought that went through Temir's mind as he examined his nose, more tender than his forehead from the pummeling he'd been given. He was lucky Esma's cousin had only managed a few choice shots - if he'd actually had a chance to whale on the tinkerer's face, Temir probably wouldn't be able to enjoy dinner - or living, for that matter. Dried blood flecks stood as memories of the blood mustache that had been flowing down his face after the angry, burly man had sent him flying toward the ground with a heavy hook.

Shaking himself awake as delicious smells - muted by the acrid odor of iron and coppery blood in his nostrils - wafted in from the dining room, Temir followed Esma to the table filled with plenty to eat, though not much to drink. He supposed whomever was at the door would fix that shortly.

Realizing he was barefoot - probably a Rom custom, as the tinkerer never parted with his shoes except for sleeping - Temir found to his relief that his worn working boots were sitting by the door where Mathias had just let himself in. He offered a smile as the naturopath set a bottle of wine on the dining table, completing the dinner with the required beverage of choice.

"I'm quite alright. Esma's cousin would make a good Vagabond, he hits hard," Temir chuckled as he took a place at the table, plucking a bowl for himself and filling it with a helping of stew that was still letting out steam into the air, "A shame I didn't get to help you out, Esma. I'll clean the dishes after we're done."

Shoveling a bowl of the stew into his mouth, he tapped on one of his companions next to him and requested that the wine bottle be passed. The company and vittles left Temir feeling quite warm - not the oppressive desert heat but the warmth flows outward from the presence of good food and better friends.

It would be a shame if any of them died in the coming days. The promise of coin seemed so far away from the hospitality and gentleness of the oasis - minus any angry cousins, of course.

I could retire here was the conclusion that wormed its way into Temir's head. He could open a little Cult shrine with a garage and a repair shop to boot. He'd get to see new faces every day and experience adventure from the comfort of a city where law and order and pleasantness reigned. Just him, Max, Esma, maybe Mathias and his potatoes.... Paradise, of a sort.

A pang at the back of his head reminded Temir that the Kindred Spirit had work left for him to do. It wouldn't do to simply sit down and pass without finishing that one last job, that one last promise for TRUE paradise in the sky.

But was it really?

[Ayreonia]

"I'm not at all impressed by her so far," the Rom blandly retorted, "I've never heard of her, and my network is extensive..."

"I have every right to select my scouting team. I explained my reasons in a professionally polite fashion, and apologized in advance should she not understand my reasoning."

Esma's refusal to consider having Eira in her team got a quiet shrug out of the preacher. It was her decision - and mistake - to make. "As you wish," he murmured, then settling to listen to the chatter around him in silence. Funding, qualifications, profits... these things didn't interest him. Never had. Wrothwild had found that people often put all emphasis on these things, but failed to listen to themselves. To their instincts, and their faith, both in their beliefs and in themselves. Strength of spirit vanquished force of arms nine times out of ten, he had found, and judging by what he had seen, there was a serious dearth of spiritual strength in this group.

Some were trying at least: Esma's dinner invite was probably the most sensible thing any of them had done during the entire trip so far. Of course, only inviting part of the rabble was a great way to start building cliques, but it was her home, and her rules. Wrothwild could appreciate the sentiment, even if he himself wasn't welcome.

Maybe it was this same sentiment that spurred the old cleric to get up with a half-hearted "'scuseme" and go after their esteemed leader, the drag act Zsa Zsa Devine. Or maybe it was that funny nagging feeling he got about the peacock being crucial. He was no prophet, of course, but his instincts tended to be right about people. He attributed this sense to his experience with people. Others would say it was because he was just plain old. Whatever the case, it was clear there was more to Devine than the surface... and there was plenty to that.

Ticaret was getting ready for the night, and the stale evening air reflected that. It would soon get cold. Wrothwild lit a cigarette and scanned his surroundings for Devine, spotting him not far off and hailing him with a Mister Devine! He hurried to catch up with the younger man.

"Some of our noble entourage left to have a family dinner," he said, his earnest voice in direct contrast with the sarcasm-dripping words. "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."

[Monfrox]

"At least you didn't piss yourself while hanging from a tree." Orera said back. "Still, if I'm to give up my mask, then I'll need something else to cover my neck. And seeing as how I'm still trying to avoid authorities, I'll be needing a place to stay. I already checked out of the hotel I was staying at, so I won't be able to go back there. Unless you're planning on heading to Ashtown just up the road where I could be before tomorrow, then I'm not sure I'll be able to bunk down for the night with a roof over my head."

Orera was still a bit off about the whole deal, but that was more along because of the people she was with. Vagabonds had almost killed her for monetary gain, and she'd have to set aside and get rid of her prejudice of them for now if she was to make it out. It was going to be like her PMC days again; She would use them as an escape just as they were going to use her as a cook. She was glad she put her cooking skills out there first now. She hoped that she would only have to fight as a last resort.

[Cerillium]

So this is a Rom house? Max had expected some goofy tent with camels chewing cud outside the flap. Maybe a painted wagon pulled by whatever they used as horses. The reality was much different. Nice and normal and Turkish in flavor, although the gauzy fabric filtering light lent a tropical exotic air to the place. The smells were heavenly but food smells usually were when one's stomach was empty. He passed the time making small talk with Aubrey, although exhaustion was quickly sapping his strength from him and causing his chin to occasionally dip. He had just crossed the threshold into a lucid dream when Esma shook the tinkerer awake and prompted them to eat.

The bold patterned carpet padded Max's footsteps as he joined the rest at the low table. It was selfish on his part, but he hadn't called his fraternal twin. They were inseparable, true, but there were times when he felt the need to stretch without knocking against Mia. This was one of those times, and Max felt no guilt as he piled his plate with Esma's cooking.

"Don't encourage the cousin, mate," Max chuffed as he passed the bottle to Temir. "He's as connected as he is fat, and doesn't take shit from anyone. Specializes in alien tech when he can get his hands on it."

The tech-head left out the part about Ladin's involvement in the black market. Wouldn't want to give the tinkerer any more grief that night. Still, a contact made was a contact cherished. Had it not been for Temir's robes, Max would have missed out on opportunity.

"So Ladin's sister - and Esma's cousin, I suppose - was boffing some guy claiming to be from Temir's Cult," he picked up the conversation where it had left before Temir awoke, "and that bloke vanished, yeah? So I guess the Cult's not eighty-sixed, since it was mistaken identity? And I guess that means people aren't going to keep trying to rearrange Temir's face."

He turned to smile at the man. "Lucky you."

---

Mia's head bobbed slightly as the good doctor advised her. She hadn't expected him to say anything at all, actually, or to perhaps to attempt to console her as an excuse to get into her panties. He hadn't. Her estimation of Zed rose a notch. Her finger traced a trail in the latent condensation clinging to the glass as she mulled over not only his words but also the mention that he personally used drugs to take the edge off. He was a man of mystery. Okay, he was weird. He probably kept a toe collection somewhere. She shook her head and rose to refill both drinks.

"She has heavy hitter meds," Mia's face remained resigned although she smiled weakly at Zed as she handed his glass to him. "They give at least some function back. But thanks for honest answers, Doctor. Hungry?"

Mia opened a side compartment to reveal an old folding barbecue and bag of charcoal, then leaned against the Bastard and sipped her drink. "I could throw some meat on. We, er, hate rations. Who wants to go a week without shitting? So Max and I take a leaf from the nomad's books and pack along the little things that make life better. We add an absurd flair to it to keep life interesting. Who knows - maybe the rest of our Illustrious Vagabond Band will be attracted to the promise of free food."

[Swith Witherward]

She didn't have many opportunities to entertain these days, and the Rom realized that she'd grown rusty, but that hadn't prevented Esma from turning Max's offerings into something tasty. Mathias' arrival only enhanced the meal more, although she refrained from giving his cheek a welcoming peck as he presented his gifts; she hadn't forgotten his dislike of being touched, even after all these years. "The flowers are lovely," she flashed a warm smile instead, and then made herself cozy at the table.

Oh, Temir's offer would not go unaccepted. There would be dishes to do, indeed. Esma normally wouldn't have minded cleaning up by herself, but a little company always made the task more endurable. "There's not much to wash, other than a large pot or two, and what's on the table here," she assured him as she passed a plate of bread. "And I don't want to see any leftovers. Not if we're leaving tomorrow night. Afiyet olsun, gentlemen - may what you eat bring well-being."

The talk turned towards the events leading up to Temir's newest bruises, and Esma couldn't prevent the grin spreading to her lip at the mention of Ladin's girth. He wasn't fat. He was a small moon and proud of it.

"Ladin's sister isn't related to me," she shrugged. "His mother is my mother's sister, so the Round One and I are cousins. Ladin's sister is from a union between his father and the third wife. Old Ramid has too many wives, and should stop getting married. Blah blah, gossip gossip. All that aside, I feel better knowing Ladin's in the area. It means there are more eyes on the desert, and that might provide us with some intelligence. I've asked him to stop by tomorrow to meet with Messrs Clark and Devine."

Her delicate brows knit together as she considered their two leaders. Vagabonds came and Vagabonds went, and Devine was the most unique she'd encountered. The Rom passed the hummus bowl to Mathias, and then folded her hands to rest her chin upon her intertwined fingers.

"What do you think of the group so far?" she finally inquired of them. "I mean, aside from colorful natures. I won't lie: I'm worried that we're tech-heavy and soldier-poor, even though we've picked up Valdis."

[Chedastan]

"There it is, c'mon."

Lucius turned to see Nicole walking into the lot itself, he soon followed suit. After a short walk, they eventually stopped in front of what looked like an old pickup-part-muscle car, that had most definitely seen better days, assuming it had any. Nicole quickly looked around to see if anyone was watching them, but it appeared that most people nearby (what few they were), couldn't even be bother to notice them that much, mostly concerning themselves with other matters entirely. She then looked at Lucius. "So here it is, can't say I feel bad about not riding in this. So do you have anything to open this with? Because I didn't exactly grab his keys back there or anything."

Lucius walked closer to examined one of the car's doors more closely. Having given it a quick glance alone, he knew he could just simply punch the window out, but even he knew that may cause too much noise, and look suspicious as hell, and he had no idea how the car alarm situation was on this car. The door itself at least looked rather easy to work with though. He rested his foot on the door, and pulled out a coat hanger that was tied to his boot. He then showed it to Nicole.

"Perfecto, now let me just lean on this so we don't look like we're breaking in." She said, as she begun to lean on the front of the car, signalling for Lucius to start now. Nodding, Lucius then straighten out the coat hanger, then slid it between the car door and window. After fiddling around with it for a quick moment, he then pulled it out, and preceded to open the door. "Got it." He said, then reaching into the car to unlock all the doors. The interior of which still left more to be desire as the exterior did. Nicole turned to look, feeling relieved that it went as smoothly as it did, and that the hard part was done. She then walked to the other side, and got in.

"Nice, nice, now we need to look for a box that has my stuff in it, I think it's in the back here." She reached over to the backseats-part-trunk to look for it. As she did that, Lucius opened the glove box and took what was of his value from it. There were some loose credits, pieces of gum, cigarettes, a .45 handgun, and modest amounts of .45 ammo, nothing really remarkable to him. He then closed it, having ignored the old tickets and fines that were still left in it, but he did saw that they were mostly from Found Angels and Great Khan City. He could hear Nicole had probably found her things, considering he then could see her try and lift a box full of things to her front seat. Lucius reached to helped her lift that and set in the middle between them.

"Man, it's heavier than I remembered it. Ah shit, the piece of shit put his shit in here too, help me sort this." She said, rather annoyed that the guy managed to sneak some of his things in with her stuff, no doubt it was either his drugs or some of his crappy ceramic collection. Lucius saw a unused duffle bag behind there, he could probably use that for putting what was valuable to him in it. He grabbed it and put it on his lap, and then helped Nicole sort through her stuff. They took out the guy's things, which was weighing the most for the box, that consisted of some really shitty looking metal plated ceramics, both of them weren't sure what they were suppose to be, but Lucius took the liberties to salvage the metals from them. There were also an assortment of drugs too that were taken out, mostly Rigelian methamphetamine, or some variation. Then finally they took out a shorten 12 gauge shotgun, Lucius definitely took that, along with the shells.

"Okay, I guess that's it, thanks for helping me with this, I appreciate it a lot." She said to him, pulling out a photo of her and her mother from a few years back from the box. She looked at the photo, remembering how much she missed her mom and her home in Temple Grandeur, and how long ago it all felt. A tear ran across her cheek, after wiping it, she knew she could only just hope they pass by it some time soon. Lucius must had noticed her starting to tear up, as he lay his hand on her shoulder, as if he in a way understood her situation and wanted to comfort her. She felt very touched by the gesture.

---

After they were done, they closed the doors and walked off with what they taken. They were gone before anyone cared to notice them. Walking around the lot now, Lucius had suggested that they drop their stuff off at the rigs, to which obviously Nicole agreed to, and also it was a great opportunity for Lucius to show her the rigs in the first place. But as they got closer, both of them could smell something cooking by the Bastard. Barbecue? They eventually got there and saw Mia cooking something up with Zed being close by. Lucius dropped the duffle bag he was carrying by Bertha, with Nicole doing the same for her stuff, and then they walked over to them. "So, looks like you attracted us, got anything to drink though?" Lucius asked Mia, gesturing at the Bastard. He glanced at Zed, then at Mia again, then at Nicole, he soon realized they haven't made a acquaintance with Nicole yet.

He gestured at her. "Oh, this here is Nicole, she's one of our new people of just today."

"Hey, nice to meet you two." She to the two with a smile. Though honestly she was rather creep out by the cyborg thing, she remembered him from the bar, it reminded her of San Franklin a little bit actually.