Futuristic The Long Winter (IC)

[KindlyPlagueDoctor]

Ham was very much ready to pounce on the guards, he eyed one of them up and just as he was about to launch himself forward he heard another voice. Ham watched as the new person talked with the others, frequently swapping his gaze between them. Ham was surprised to see the others disperse and leave. Until just himself and this new man where left. "Ham?" he asked, tilting his head towards the doctor.

Shireling

 

[Darth]

Nathan was about to turn and face the man who had insulted him. He heard low murmurs and snickering in a low volume behind him. But before Nathan could turn to face his antagonizer, he was suddenly taken by the shoulder, and swiftly led outside. Nathan was confused at first, and began to think that a drunken caravaneer was shoving him outside to start another brawl. After a few steps into the cold street, Nathan realized that the one who had brought him outside did not have malicious intent. At least that's what Nathan could tell from the stranger's first impression.

To Nathan's surprise, the stranger was the young soldier who had been sitting in a booth. The soldier suddenly looked younger up close, a young teen from what Nathan could tell. The "boy" stood just a tad shorter than Nathan, though the soldier still stand relatively at his height. The stranger extended his hand after a quick salute. The stranger now had a name: George Washington. Nathan did a double take at his name finding it oddly familiar. Nathan pondered a moment, but dismissed the thought shortly after. Nathan reached out his own hand to meet the offered handshake. Though upon closer inspection, George's gloved hand was slightly dipped in blood. Nathan took his hand anyway, and gave the young man a firm hand shake. Nathan then retracted his arm, wiping his hand on his coat.

As Nathan suspected, George was a soldier, wearing a white uniform to camoflouge in the snow. Nathan realized that George looked almost too young for a soldier, though he couldn't tell his true age.

"Well then George, my friends call me Nathan" Nathan said, introducing himself.

"Suppose I owe you a thanks for that," Nathan continued, "Them drunks don't know when to quit."

Pat

 

[Shireling]

The Long 35 Bar
​

Afore long, as Nathan and George sidled out of the bar, a man came over to Lindsey's table and sat down. He noticed her drink and smiled sort of in an off-colour fashion. "Would you like another, miss?" He said tilting his head to the side a bit. He was a dirty-looking wastrel, but an obvious silver tongue and charmer. Probably a snakeoil salesman. He wore a dirty set of overalls and a light green wool coat with a tacky plaid tie about his dingy collared shirt. "I don't believe I've seen you around before." He said, pulling the next line from the shyster's playbook.
Crumbli

Kankakee Clinic
​

The receptionist looked left and right, the doctors dispersed and pretended to be busy so as to avoid the conversation. The middle-aged woman stood and leaned over the counter.

"Listen," she whispered conspiratorially, "the guards have been sneaking around here. They know our medical supplies aren't 100% legitimate, but you've been getting sloppy." Her face got darker. "And Dr. Rodgers," she said, namedropping the doctor who owned the clinic, "he left to barter for a pre-war EKG machine. With something like that, we could make this place into a real hospital and not the dingy Civil War surgical tent affair."

Her features grew dark. "But here's the thing. He left two weeks ago to take the ferry down river to St. Louis. He was supposed to wire me when he got to St. Louis, but he hasn't and he should have been there by now. The rivers are safe, so says the Army, but he might not have made it that far. The guards are gonna be crawling all over this place looking for wills and taking statements. We can't have you around, and I can't take," she looked towards the jars, "whoever you've got in there. If you can find Dr. Rodgers, maybe he'll talk. As for me, I can't do it. There's too much risk."
Petroshka

Kankakee Streets
​

Elias turned back towards the creature and wiped a bit of leaking mucus from his nose. It was cold, and even though there were fires everywhere he would catch something if he stayed out too long without his coat. He could only imagine what this poor thing was experiencing out in the street. He followed the creature with his eyes down to the uncovered manhole in the street and promptly closed it so that no one would accidentally fall in when the snow covered it. He turned to look at the mutant again only to hear the word...

"Ham."

He squinted and narrowed his eyes at the creature. Did he just say, "Ham"?

Sure enough, the creature said it again, this time with a different inflection and tone. He was certain after a bit that the poor thing was surely mentally retarded. He stepped a tad closer not wanting to alarm it and, wanting to earn his trust, he fished in his pocket and took out a small bit of beef jerky from a leather pouch, handing it over to the creature.

KindlyPlagueDoctor

 

[Pat]

Washington shook his head at Nathan's words. "There's much worse than drunks out here. You show them an ounce of uncertainty, they'll take a pound of your flesh." He spoke, eyes darkening as he thought how literal the metaphor could often become in the inhospitable quagmire that is the Great Lakes Wasteland.

"Ever kill a man with that rifle?" He changed the topic, gesturing at the weapon Nathan carried with him.

 

[KindlyPlagueDoctor]

Ham watched the man, scanning him up and down. He might be trying to trick him into a false sense of security. He watched as the stranger went to close the manhole he had come from, closing Hams one way home. It was getting fairly cold now, and Ham was only dressed in some rags.

Ham kept his eyes on the man as he walked closer, but he was slow and not aggressive. Ham saw the man pull something from his coat pocket. It looked like meat, smelled like meat, so by that logic it must have been meat. Ham took the piece of jerky and began to chomp on it, ripping it up between his teeth. He finished it rather quickly, looking back at the doctor. "Ham" he said, looking at him.

Shireling

 

[Crumbli]

Lindsey McGregor, Kankakee trading outpost.
Shireling ​

Receiving her change from the bar hand and quickly shoving it deep into her pack, she figured she could 'relax' a little more. In a new place surrounded by unfamiliar people such a thing was challenging at best, impossible at worst, but she wouldn't be accused of not being willing to give it a go. She raises the glass to her lips once more, finding she didn't really enjoy her drink when the man decides to sit across from her. Right from the start she didn't like him. He sat down at the table with her and then wanted to talk. He didn't even start off with the right words.
She looks him up and down taking note of his attire and equipment. He doesn't strike her as armed from what she can see and his dirty clothes, lacking any form of proper armour, aid in her conclusion of him not being any more of a threat than the rat from outside. Still, he didn't sit right with her. Something about him was wrong and if he wasn't going to shoot her he was going to steal from her. She searches for an excuse to not use her words when her eyes fall back upon her glass. She grabs it with a firm hold and keeps it to her lips as she slowly downs the drink in its entirety. It was awful but if it meant not having to talk to others then she'd make that sacrifice.

When the drink was over he begins talking again. A soft growl escapes her lips as he insists on them engaging in discussion. Why he had to talk to her and her specifically was something she couldn't understand but there were a lot of things about people she couldn't understand. She places the empty glass on the table and decides to try and be polite. As polite as she could be anyway. She parts her lips and tries to find the words she wants to use, instead being greeted with nothing but silence. She turns her face to the ground and presses her teeth together. "Hnngh," she groans before the words come to her, "winter's nails strangling my lungs! Whispers in the sands. Crashing. Carolina."

 

[Darth]

Nathan thought for a moment at George's words. Indeed this was an unpredictable wasteland, however, Nathan couldn't help but feel he had been shielded from the reality here. The long years he spent down south was a far cry from the region he now found himself in. George seemed also to ponder at his own statement, casting an empty gaze for a brief moment before asking another question. Pointing to Nathan's Ruger, George asked if Nathan had ever killed anyone with it.

"Not yet," Nathan said, adjusting the slung rifle on his shoulder, "The only life this has ever taken is that of a few deer, maybe a wolf."

"Suppose that'll change soon, now that I'm here," Nathan said trying to be humorous.

Nathan realized after he said it, that the joke may have been too far of a stretch.

"So," Nathan said trying to keep the conversation, "What's a trooper doing out here alone?"

"Don't you boys hang around in units?"

Pat

 

[Petroshka]

Alana swung her head around from side to side slowly absorbing the woman's words, when they finally registered in her brain she stopped and stared at her for a few seconds as her fingers tapped on the counter. Sighing turned her attention to the jars of blood, ever since the guard's started to increase their attention around Kankakee they've made her life more and more complicated. As her thoughts ran though this her tapping on the counter increased with any annoyed she got. But the tapping stopped with Alana simply replying. "fine" She quickly grabbed the two jars and left the clinic in somewhat of a hurry, and when her skin felt the rush of the icy cold she grabbed her gas mask and took a deep breath of the sweet numb feeling of nitrous oxide that she just couldn't live without.

It would seem that she would have to go get this rogers, at least in compensation for the work she did for the blood she worked for, escorting should be that hard. Alana started to walk back toward the bar, noting a crowd but she wasnt interested, the only think crowds made her think of was how easily they would all be gunned down if someone were to be having a grumpy day. When she got to the Bar's door she opened it but she was stopped by two bodies that were blocking the doorway which peeked her interest but also annoyed her. "Move, you're blocking the door." She started at the two noting that one of them seemed to be a guard of some sort which urked her slightly more than it should have.
Pat Darth Shireling

 

[Shireling]

The Long 35 Bar
​

The deadbeat who had been harassing Lindsey blinked a few times and tried to process what she had just said, but failed to put it into any context where it could mean anything. It got him a bit spooked. He went to say something back to her, but a man who was presumably his friend grabbed his shoulder and hauled him around.

"What are you doing, Vince, she's batshit crazy. Can't you tell? Fuckin' waster with her brain all fried." The other man said, waving his hand dismissively at her. He was a tall, swarthy man, probably a farm or ranch-hand from the farms outside the settlement.

The rest of the bar got a bit quiet and looked towards Lindsey and the two men, sort of scared of what she might do her being all odd and carrying about an ax with dried blood and all. Not the strangest thing ever, but sort of strange. The two men backed up a bit.
Crumbli

Streets
​

Elias smiled. He felt as though he had earned the creature's trust. He looked him up and down and tutted. "We need to get you out of this cold and into some proper clothes or it'll be a gambler's pick which will kill you first: the guards or the cold."

Using another piece of jerky, Eli coaxed Ham back to his hotel room causing a great stir when he arrived in the lobby. The French-Canadian concierge clerk balked.

"Monsieur, mutants are not allowed in mon establishmen'." He protested.

"Mutant?" Elias said, feigning insult. "Why this is no mutant. This my kid-brother in from the riverboat. There was an accident on the river, and he had to rough it here. He just got in behind of me, we was supposed to meet here, you see."

The clerk continued listening credulously.

Elias continued, "Well, you see, he's my poor retarded brother, sir. We sent him by the river so he would be safer and we only had money for the one ticket. I'm taking him to the Temple of the Line where they can take better care of him. Only they found him on the shore with the boat sunk and him hunted by wild animals and some such and it's been a terrible ordeal sir, and would you put my poor brother through the ringer callin' him a mutant? Why, he only looks that way because of the cold and ain't had nothing in twelve days leastways. He's skin and bones sir!"

As the monologue went on, Elias got more exaggeratedly indignant and insulted. People were starting to drift in from the backroom bar and give the clerk a dirty look, so he relents and says.

"Mon sincerest apologies, monsieur. Let me get your brozer and yourself somezing to eat, a please. Ze kitchen cuisine, a on ze house."

Elias's face melted into a self-satisfied smirk. "Why yes, sir. I believe that is appropriate. And perhaps if you brought up a bottle of your best brandy the mistreatment that my poor brother has seen here won't make the Kankakee papers."

"Mon diu!" The clerk exclaimed. "Ze meal will be up sir, a quickly as ze cook can work. Pardon moi, monsieur. Pardon moi!"

Satisfied, Elias took Ham and withdrew from the dingy lobby, its flickering lights and dirty carpet, and up to his room where thankfully the radiator under the window was heating the place nicely. Once there, he took out his pack and presented Ham with a set of trousers, a sweater, and an old pair of oxfords and some socks with holes in the toes. He handed the assortment of clothes to Ham and wondered what he would do with them.

KindlyPlagueDoctor

 

[Pat]

Washington blinked. "For the work I do, hanging around in units attracts far too much attention," he paused, "particularly the unwanted variety," he elucidated.

A waster of slight frame bumped into him and Nathan, oblivious to the world around them. She, the soldier based off her voice alone, barked an order at the unlikely pair to move out of the way of the bar door despite their lack of a proximity to it, a command barely recognizable as English muffled by the gas mask she wore. For his part, the private first class gladly oblidged her royal highness, wordlessly stepping aside.

 

[Darth]

Nathan glanced at the woman who had asked George and him to move away from the door. George and Nathan complied and silently made way for the stranger. The woman wore layers of clothing, topped off with a heavy coat. She also had a mask strapped to her face. Nathan pondered a moment, his first experiences in this wasteland were quite interesting. Nathan was only on his first day, and he had already met some "interesting" locals.

As the two made way for the woman, Nathan let a few words slip out.

"Pardon us..." Nathan said half-heartedly.

Pat Petroshka

 

[Pat]

Washington decided to lay out all his cards on the table for Nathan to see. "I have a proposition for you," he announced. "Come with me to Chicago. I'll pay you ten dollars a day for watching my back, and in the meantime, I could teach you the tricks to make it out here."

He grinned the first genuine smile he's felt since swimming in the Potomac River as a boy. "Perks are - the badasses with the top-shelf guns will be on your side."

 

[Darth]

Nathan took a moment to process George's words.

"Chicago? Wonder what's going on there..." He thought to himself.

"I suppose I'll take you up on that offer," Nathan said grinning, "I think I'll need a bit of that wasteland-knowledge."

"Plus... I'll get paid..." Nathan thought. He needed money considering a fifth of what he had gone to that shot of gin.

Nathan held out his hand again, wanting to shake on the agreement.

"Deal then, eh?" Nathan said.

Pat

 

[Pat]

Washington shook Nathan's hand once more. The stranger's help could be a mighty boon to his efforts to liberate the slaves of the Great Lakes Wasteland from their bondage, and potentially a damn fine soldier. He just didn't know it yet. "Should we head out now?" The P.F.C. queried in a warbly, almost singsong, intonation.

 

[Darth]

Nathan gave George a firm handshake, wondering where their adventures would take them. He realized he hadn't even asked what they'd be doing. Though, judging by George's military nature, accompanying George would most likely lead Nathan into a firefight.

"How exciting..." Nathan thought excitingly.

George asked if their newly founded party should depart just then.

"Sure," Nathan replied, "Not like I got unfinished business here anyway."

Pat

 

[Pat]

"I'll take point then." Washington announced. He led the way out of the Kankakee Trading Post's gates with his newfound companion Nathan in tow, and soon they lost sight of the ramshackle settlement and were walking the open road of the Great Lakes Wasteland along the old cracked pavement of the Illinois Route 57 on the way to the Great Lakes Caravan Company Headquarters.

 

[Vudukudu]

Ryan Valentine and his personal guard had left Union Station three days ago. The trip on foot was about twenty hours, largely through Republican territory up until they resupplied at Tinley Park. From there on out, it was almost a straight shot south, right along Route 57. They hadn't bothered hiring on a scout, given that they knew their own territory well enough and that following a dilapidated, moderately well-traveled highway didn't require a ton of planning. That said, Ryan's eight guards, sister included, were a military outfit, and they'd gotten their briefing. Between Tinley Park and Kankakee was about thirty three miles of open road, a trade lane subject to frequent raider visits and the occasional slaver. They traveled quickly, seven blue uniforms marching through the snow guarding their captain and her brother. The Metro Republic, small as it is, was host to a military force both well-trained and well-equipped. The Republic had started small, but once their control had been consolidated, they had breached the National Guard armories in Chicago. Decades later, they were still armed with M16A2s and a variety of service pistols. On the one hand, that made them a valuable target. On the other, most raiders got the message - these people are not to be fucked with.

On the last day of their journey, Kankakee loomed in the distance. Their point-man, a brown-haired kid, maybe 18, named Donny, waved his cap in the air. "There it is!" He called out. "Kanka-motherfuckin---"

Bang.

The 30.06 round caught Donny in the right shoulder, sending him to the ground with a scream and a spray of crimson across the snowy dirt. "Contact!" Hannah yelled, raising her rifle and waving the rest of the squad to cover. The others dashed for the wreckage of vehicles or concrete barriers, and Hannah's hand seized Ryan's shoulder once the wave finished. She pulled him along, throwing him to the ground in cover, then popped up and squeezed off a burst. "Three targets, eighty feet southwest!" She called out. Another few bullets whizzed overhead, or screeched to a stop in the carcass of anyone of the long-ago rusted vehicles. A hail of return fire ripped through the raider's firing position, bringing one down. Another stood up to take a shot at Hannah, only to be greeted by a withering salvo of Republican fire. The third, just a teenager by the look of it, threw down his gun and put his hands in the air. "I surrender!"

Bangbang.

Ryan's ears rang for a few more seconds. The last raider dropped, two bullets through his gut, the life oozing out of him slowly as he hit the dirt among his friends. Hannah barked out a few orders that Ryan could barely discern, and the men set about looting the bodies and getting Donny taken care of. He was alive, but bleeding badly, and the best tourniquet they could muster only slowed it. Ryan and another man carried the wounded kid between them, pushing as quickly as they could for the safety, and potential medical care, of Kankakee.

Fortunately, they drew near enough to the city to be relatively secure from further danger, and hustled their way through the gate after announcing their presence. Ryan and his squad of troops ducked into Kankakee, making a point of stowing their weaponry once inside the city gates, and Ryan's voice filled the air. "Which way to a doctor?" He called out, turning towards the nearest person available. The man seemed surprised, so he repeated his question slower and more sternly.

The man stammered, pointing vaguely deeper into town. "That'a'way. Some guy came up from dow' south-ish with a trade caravan."

Ryan could almost feel his eyes roll into the back of his head. "$20 if you take me to him, fast-like. Hear?" Damn back-country bums didn't have the manners to help unless asked.

The man nodded, then set off in the direction of the hotel. Ryan and his comrade lifted Donny up again, then followed after him. "Listen Donny. Not dying on us today." Ryan grunted, eyeing the rapidly paling soldier out the corner of his eye. "All this land, this is the Garden around our City. You're gonna live to see it growing again." He murmured. "Urbs in horto."

Donny nodded slightly, breathing out a faint wisp of vapor. His good hand seized the amulet about his neck, its charm one of the five-pointed stars on the Chicago flag. "Urbs in horto." Donny repeated, drifting into unconsciousness.

 

[KindlyPlagueDoctor]

Ham followed the stranger, given that he had more little cuts of meat to give him. He followed him until he was in another building, with a man who had a funny voice and spoke in a strange way. Ham watched as the men exchanged words, to be honest he was getting a little bored from the waiting. "ham... ham..." he said to himself as he waited. Eventually more people showed up, but it wasn't like the other people who surrounded ham, they where looking at the funny speaking man.

Eventually however the doctor began to lead Ham to another room. The doctor pulled out some old clothes and showed them to Ham. "Ham.." he said, simply looking at them, then prodding them with his hand.

Shireling

 

[Crumbli]

Lindsey McGregor, Kankakee trading outpost.
Shireling ​

Lindsey watches the man process what she'd said. She was used to the look he gave her. The words she could find were rarely the right ones but this time she was sure she'd said the right thing. She told him she'd been walking a long way and that she came from Carolina. Then came the new person. With the addition of a new man, Lindsey's hands instinctively went for her axe. They tightened around the warn grip of her fire axe and her eyes focused on the new comer. She was ready to cut him down if he made even the slightest move for her. One annoyance was fine but when he brought friends, she wouldn't be caught in a trap. Not again.

She listens closely to his words. "Batshit crazy," he called her. He'd regret that one and she knew it. Then he moved his hand at her, as if preparing to hit her. Why else would he wave his hand in her general direction? She wouldn't risk it any longer. She stands from her chair, kicking it out behind her, pulling her axe free from its holster and looking up at him with her hand on her mask. If he wanted a fight she'd give him one. There wasn't a chance she'd let him go around calling her names.

The men back away from her and everyone else in the bar pierced her soul with their staring. Without her mask, she was naked, and by being naked they could see everything. She lets out a quiet growl to the men and holsters her axe again. She ticks her head to the side still looking at them. Her eyes take a quick scan and note just how many people were looking at her. She raises her hands to her face, pushing her fingers into her skin and dragging down. She blurts out a thought that sticks itself to her tongue in frustration. "Icy blood beats my brain to hurt. Stop it! Get out of my soul!"

She grabs her mask and begins to struggle with putting it on. She hated being watched, being talked to, and most of all she hated large crowds of strangers. Right now she was being watched by a large crowd after talking with a total stranger. She was one more word away from losing her temper and turning this giant of a man into a piece of wasteland art. This was his fault, all of these eyes were his eyes. If she could make him go away the eyes would go away and she'd be safe. She tightens the straps on the back of her mask and ticks again, pulling on her axe to make it easier to draw if he decided to take a step towards her.

"T-tiggles leads the way," she mumbles to herself. She regrets entering this bar. The drink was awful, the people are awful, and the way they make her feel is awful.

 

[Shireling]

The Great Lakes Wasteland, Near Kankakee
​

It was slow going in the drifts of snow north of Kankakee, and the wind drove the snow like millions of tiny missiles of ice. They hiked several hours north along the road, occasionally seeing animals burrowing in the snow or petrified corpses partially decayed and left to freeze and rot and freeze and rot for decades. All of the buildings were either collapsed from the weight of the snow or buried in feet of it. The landscape was barely broken up by the few dead trees that dotted the landscape and the vague outline of the roadway.

It was almost nightfall when the duo heard the crack of a rifle, distinctive and shrill, it pierced the night. The sound seemed to be coming from the east off the roadway. As they looked in that direction, they could see the amber glow of a campfire and shadows playing off the gnarled and dead pines. Pat Darth

The Long 35 Bar
​

The bar, after this whole ordeal, was dead silent. They all watched and listened to her apprehensively. When Alana entered, their gazes all shifted to her and then back to Lindsey.

"Careful, girl," the bartender said to Alana, "she's not right in the head." He pointed to Lindsey and to her ax. Petroshka Crumbli

The Emperor Hotel
​

Elias shook his head. "No, you put these on, see?" He picked up the pair of pants and held them up against his legs, then mimicked the motion of putting them on.

"See?" He asked. He then took the sweater and slipped it on over his head before taking it back off and holding both out again to Ham. "You're going to freeze if you don't at least put this on." He said with concern in his voice. KindlyPlagueDoctor

Downstairs, the clerk was greeted by a crowd of men who came bursting through the hotel doors, Metro Republic by the looks of their uniforms.

"Err, monsieurs, can I help jou? A room perhaps? A good meal? Bit of brandy?" He said in his thick Canadian French. His eyes trailed over to the wounded soldier. "Bullet extraction, perhaps?"

The lobby was a spacious room with plenty of chairs and a sofa long enough to lay the wounded man down on.
Vudukudu

​

 

[Vudukudu]

The Emperor Hotel
​

Ryan and the man helping him carry Donny didn't waste any time. "Bullet extraction it is, plus two rooms." Ryan replied, nodding graciously towards the desk clerk. "And a glass of brandy, if you don't mind. Heard you had a doctor in-house?" He asked, pointing vaguely upwards. They settled their wounded friend down on the sofa, then unbuttoned Donny's shirt and offered a brief apology before tugging the sleeve of his wounded arm out of the way, jolting him a bit in the process. Donny loosed a pained scream, and Ryan waited for him to quiet before turning to the others. They had been informed of their task already, but it helped to remind them.

"Hannah, you're with me. Jim and Eric, you'll be staying with Donny once this mess is settled, watch over him and the rifles. The rest of you, pair up, ditch the uniforms once we have rooms, and hide your pistols on you. Hit the town. If it has people in it, I want ears there. Get me attitudes about Metro, Army, and the Confederacy, find me key players. Merchants, doctors, influencers, barkeeps. If he's in charge of people or their opinions, I want his name and where he is. Particularly important - gauge public opinion where its present, and identify any enemy agents at play." He rattled off quickly, putting the remaining soldiers into pairs with brief gestures. He kept his voice down, wary of letting their plotting be heard.

"We're not soldiers today. We're spies and killers. You identify a target that is hostile to our interests, you arrange for them to be out of town or you put them six feet below, no witnesses. Keep it quiet, keep it clean, and only do it if you know there's no other way to deal with them. Bunch of Metro uniforms show up, people start disappearing, that doesn't look good. We're here to look good. Got it?"

 

[KindlyPlagueDoctor]

Ham watched the man with great care. It seemed he had to put these pieces of fabric on his body. "Ham...ham.." he said in acknowledgement. He reached down and picked up the jumper, placing it over his head. After a while of having his vision obstructed and running into a wall he managed to get one arm though, he was making progress. He contorted his other arm in and eventually got the jumper on, albeit backwards.

Next he turned to the trousers. The next few moments where painful, not in the physical sense, but more in the fact that it seemed Ham was unable to get the trousers on. However, after a few moments of wriggling he managed it. "Ham!" he exclaimed in victory.

Shireling

 

[Petroshka]

As Alana walked into the bar that she has been in so many times before she looked over where the commotion was emitting from before casually looking over to the barkeep to get a good idea of what was going on. She only received a "becareful" from the man, judging from everyone's reaction and the woman's body language she was causing quite a problem to this establishment. Taking off her gas mask to take a breath of the not so fresh bar air Alana only stared at the crazied woman as she tried to leave, Alana walked aside letting the scared woman pass. Slightly mesmerized by red hair, Alana quickly jabbed the woman with a needle and letting the contents flow into her. But, the tranqs didn't work quick enough, before Alana could react a fist had already met her face and she was thrown back a few feet on her ass.

She couldn't feel her nose which was bleeding by now thanks to a combination of the drugs she takes with a small dab of fist to the face. Looking back up the red haired woman rose her axe ready to strike down on her attacker but, the drugs took effect. The axe feel before Alana, then the womans knees, and then her body collapsed. The adrenaline left Alana and the pain of her nose came to her and she put a hand to her nose to help stop the bleeding, the barkeep simply threw a wet napkin down to her and she used that instead. She got up and looked down on the womans corpse then around at the bar. "well is anyone going to help me drag her away?"
Shireling Crumbli

 

[Pat]

Before Washington knew it his assault rifle was in his hands. The safety flicked off without so much as a second thought. "See that hill up there off the highway?" He pointed a little right of the fire to the east, tilting his head towards Nathan. "Work your way up there and provide overwatch for me as I head towards the campfire. If something goes awry, steady your nerves and your weapon both and take measured shots."

The private first class walked off the road and disappeared into the forest, cutting across the dead trees with predatory care on his way to the light and sound that had drawn his attention. It was moments like this when he felt most alive. Others might scoff at his fearlessness, but the soldier believed with his heart that he was the best damn shot this side of the Frost Line. And he aimed to keep possession of that title until he found a good reason to holster his guns for good.

 

[Darth]

Nathan quickly found his rifle in his gloved hands. As the shot rang out from the east, Nathan found cover by diving into the snow. Nathan pulled the bolt back on rifle, and clumsily chambered a round. George was quick to react as well; Nathan could see his combat instincts switch on like clockwork. George looked to Nathan, ordering him to make his way up the hill to the east. Nathan wasn't sure of following orders from his new-found comrade, but Nathan had no ther choice. He quickly lost his doubts as he watched George act with conviction

Nathan nodded, and began to plan out his approach to the hill. The night was eerily dark, and the air fell quiet after the first shot. Nathan could see the distant light of a campfire like George had noted. Nathan held his breath, and made a swift sprint towards the bottom of the hill.

Pat Shireling