Much to his apparent delight (as well as a few others who were idling nearby, judging but the short chorus of chuckles), Nevada could only spare a moment for a concerned glance over her shoulder towards Dominic at his call. Whether by the gruff cowboy's original order, or by the encouragement of the paramedic's "warning", she was far too focused on scrambling up the stair way to offer much more response than that. Even with the lack of proper nutrition they were suffering of late, and the diligent hours she'd put into work this morning, she still had enough energy to rush up the stairs without a hint of any pause or delay. Even with the extra motivation, it was still surprising that she had much stamina left in her. Of course, it helped that she was one of the few who actually had the privilege of eating the previous night, if only because it was her turn. She wasn't going to let it go to waste.

It wasn't more than a couple of minutes before the raven-haired girl returned to the top of the railing. The blanket in question, mingled in with a sheet, was half folded and draped around her head and shoulder, while the aforementioned bag of laundry was lugged by her hands over her shoulder, creating a semi-hunchback impression from under the blankets. She seemed a bit overloaded, but it would seem the young asian was intent carrying both loads in one trip. However, she took her time getting down the stairs this time, keeping her eyes focused on her feet, at least aware that it was too hazardous to rush it in this situation. A heavy set of breaths were audible to the she made it down the path, passing by much of the courtyard as she made her way to the pair of tubs and rows of clotheslines that they'd set up for this purpose. She dropped the bag in their general vicinity, along side the blanket and sheets, breathing a hefty sigh of relief to take the weight off her.

Having returned to her station with a new load secured, Nevada took a moment to linger, stretching her arms up high and back straight with a deliberately exaggerated yawn, eliciting a muffled moan as her joints cracked in a mildly pleasant manner. As she rolled her neck back and forth idly, wiping a bit of sweat that was collecting on her forehead against the arm of her sweater as she stretched, her brown eyes peered over the facility grounds, noticing that there were a lot fewer people lounging about in the minutes that passed. Whatever was happening this morning evidently had stirred some of those around. A force laugh caught her ear, turning her attention towards Tom as he played off his momentary scare with New Mexico, although a bit of a smirk briefly graced her lips, recognizing it for what it is. At least she wasn't the only one who was a bit jumpy. As was her habit, she appeared to linger in a thought for a bit at the strangeness of the morning, although she could equally just be enjoying a moment or two of the warm, peaceful day before getting back to work.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:13, Sun 08 Mar 2015.

Thanks. Hank sighed, giving the birthday boy a half-hearted wave as he went off. The last thing they needed was a contaminated water supply, but that didn't mean dragging a body out of it was something he envied doing. He didn't know how many people were aware of this development, but was sure NM would warn anyone he came across on the way to Tom. Well, let's get this out of the way, shall we. Rotating his shoulders he turned headed toward the canal.


--->To canal

In reply to Nevada (msg # 68):

Cauldershore paused before heading to the canal. He had heard Bohannon's remarks towards Nevada and saw the way she scrambled upstairs obediently. The older gentleman wandered over to the young girl, knowing that there were plenty more capable hands to pull the body from the water.

Cauldershore took a stool next to Nevada as she watched the others milling about. "Good morning Nevada." he said politely as he took up one of the blankets in her pile and dipped it into the wash water, scrubbing as he spoke. "So now, are you from Nevada, or do we just call you that due to your sweatshirt?" Cauldershore wondered, wanting to get to know the girl better. Cauldershore was a man who liked to get people to tell them their life stories. It somehow comforted him. Like, if people still had stories to tell of lives having been lived, then maybe all of this wasn't for nothing.

The petite asian teen's gaze shifted quickly as she caught Cauldershore in her peripheral. Unlike Benson's dramatic and sudden entrance into the courtyard, the asian teen was hardly surprised by the approaching bartender. She flashed him a brief smile, sighing softly before she took her a seat neat the tub on her knees underneath the folds of her denim skirt, readying herself to get back to the laundry. "Good morning." She replied, with a respectful nod from her position, one he no doubt was quite used to by this point. However, her thin brow raised a bit more curiously as he seemed to join her, clearly not expecting it. "O-oh, you don't have to do that..." She said meekly, trying to be as considerate as ever, although she wasn't quite rejecting his presence either. Once he took a seat and started scrubbing the soaked blanket, she seemed to ease herself once more, and joined in, leaning over the tub as she fed more of the cloth in the lukewarm, sudsy water.

The British survivor's question gave her a brief pause as her dark-brown eyes instinctively looked down at the sweatshirt in question, while she absently pulled on the heavy texture of the blanket. A soft chuckle escaped her lips while she as she held herself steady on her raised thighs. "I suspect most know me by the label. It's been my title long before I joined with the Caravan. I don't talk much about what came before. Not many of us do, I noticed." She stated, her high-pitched tone taking a bit of an serious tone as she spoke, pulling the rest of the blanket into the tub with the sheets with some effort. However, as she leaned back to a more comfortable position, a more affable smirk wears on her lips, as she looks up at him. "It's a nice name, though, isn't it? I think it flows well off the tongue. Ne-va-da~..." An almost light-hearted voice emerge with her latter pronunciation as she takes her time with the name, ending with a modest giggle. "It's a bit easier to say than, say, Wisconsin, or Massachusetts."

After her brief tease, Nevada dips her hands back into the soapy water, helping him with the task of attending to Benson's blankets. "Forgive my ignorance, but I can't say I'm terribly familiar with the name Cauldershore. Not that it's a bad name, but I just don't recall it from anywhere. Where does it come from, if you don't mind me asking?"

Cauldershore pondered a moment, elbow deep in wash water. "I can't say I'm too terribly certain my dear." Cauldershore sported a frown. "If I had to guess, I'd say maybe the early Caudershores made their homes on the coldest parts of the coasts and were named for it." The bearded man shrugged off the etymology of his surname. "I never really felt at home in the Cauldershore clan back in England. And when my father moved us over to America, well I still didn't feel at home. Not until I found and fell in love with New Orleans. Once I got there, everything just felt right."

Much like the helpful Brit, Nevada kept her work up while they discussed, only momentarily peaking up from time to time. His frown was met with an understanding, sidelong nod, seemingly not minding his lack of knowledge about his family surname. It just happened to work out that way sometimes, a conversational dead end. However, as he described his feelings of home, a small but genuine smile arose on the edge of her lips, a gentle sigh escaping her mouth that seemed to resonate with the idea. "Yeah. I think I get it." She said, somewhat mysteriously, peeking up at him as if she could relate to his words.

A brief silence returned to the pair, aside the sounds of the water splashing about, and the subtle song of hearty breaths that accompanied a good bit of work. After a few moments, an inquisitive glance found itself on the quiet girl, her short black hair draping around the right side of her neck as she turned her head to face him. "So, what was New Orleans like? I've never been." She asked innocently enough, although her thoughts seemed to analyze the statement a couple of seconds later, disturbing her enough to actually set a pause in her manner. "...Well...you know, not before all of...this..." She clarified, with a strong tinge of awkwardness in her tone of speech. She forced a bit of a smile and tried to carry on with her work. "I mean, I've heard things, but not from the most reliable of sources, I think. Debauchery and what have you, but I think they were conflating Marti Gras with the day to day life." She said, followed by a bit of a feigned laugh, almost as soft as a sigh, obviously dismissing the later description.

Cookie kept her distance and her vigil on the rest of the camp, letting the new ones sort out the canal mess.  She'd been considering their options.  They had access to water here, and if they followed the waterway soon enough they'd come to some kind of building that may be suitable to stay a while.  She didn't know why NM was so quiet toward her; maybe he'd seen her conniption fit in the fort.  Reflexively she touched the baseball bat, and did all-round sweep again for signs of trouble.

In reply to Cookie (msg # 74):

Mahmoud had been up the usual tasks of the compound, arriving late to the canal issue but hearing of its developments up to and including the warning about drinking any water that came from the canal rather than the rainwater cistern. He had a pistol tucked into the back of his trousers, only containing a few bullets but enough to maintain some security when walking around camp. The winter had given him time to practice his aim and he'd gotten better despite having been firearms averse for most of Zombieland, in terms of skill not necessity. In one hand he idled a golf club driver, his usual up-and-close weapon, again constantly armed like most of the others, just in case. They'd been through too much already to be taken unawares, at least those of the group that knew better.

The longtime Caravaneer approached Cookie at the gathering of lawn chairs, passing by NM on the way as the teen was heading to some of the other group consolidated around Joe and Tom.
"Hey." He greeted his longtime friend, stopping when near her, remaining standing, stretching out his back a little with the help of his golf club. Despite his hunger, he felt safer than he had in some time.

"Looks like Joe is training up some of the others to take up archery."Mahmoud mentioned this to fill dead air as he tried to gauge Cookie's disposition. Cookie had shepherded the group through much of the last months through a sheer force of will, and he consistently yet silently worried for her physical and mental wellbeing despite her reputation for looking after herself quite adeptly. At times he wondered if she thought she was held back by the group, collectively. "How you doin? And be honest."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:25, Sun 15 Mar 2015.

In reply to Nevada (msg # 73):

"New Orleans simply was New Orleans. It was home. It was family. It was friends. It was the girl you slept with and never telephoned. And it was the woman you wanted to marry. New Orleans lived and breathed with the people who walked it's streets. It was every bit as alive as each one of them. And it still is. Though her personality may have changed a bit..." Cauldershore shrugged off his conceptual response. "Are you from Los Vegas?"

The chatty Brit pulled the last of the blankets from from the wash basin and draped it over the line.

In reply to Benson Bohannon (msg # 44):

Startled at the sound of the lawn chair crashing against whatever it was that it had collided with, Gary remained silent as Benson walked away from the fire. As a boy, Gary had broken his arm falling out of a tree in the front yard of his family's home, in the same upper-middle-class neighbourhood that Gary now lived with his wife and two children. Or rather, 'had lived', past tense.

When a young Gary had his cast removed by Dr. Schitlist he was overjoyed, even if only to have the ability to climb the same tree again and fall out again the next summer. That's what he expected from the Cowboy. Instead, Benson's reaction reminded Gary of his son Reilly, the younger one, on the last weekend of August before school started again. Life was hard if you had no hope.

"Wait." Gary put his map away and followed after Benson. He listened to the snarky response Benson gave Nevada as she ran away, presumably fetching laundry. Catching up, Gary spoke quietly so as not to be overheard.
"Are you hungry? When did you last have something to eat?"

In reply to Gary Szymanski (msg # 77):

Bohannon laughed an exhausted laugh in Gary's face, shaking his head. He fumbled in his pockets for a cigar that hadn't been there in over four months. "I ain't hungry Johnnie Cochran. I'm not your cranky kid. I'm unhappy. Am I not allowed to be unhappy?" He threw his arms up and pointed out their surroundings. "Look at this place! Look at the daily Hell we're livin' in!" Bohannon turned his gesture into a shrug. "What is there to be happy about?" Benson ran his finger nails through his scruffy beard and hung his head. "I don't want to do this any more. Zombieland stopped being fun a long time ago." Bohannon started walking away from Gary only to stop and turn around once more. "I should be dead. You know that? I was s'posed to bleed to death at Fort Dixie. But instead, I'm here. With you." Bohannon walked up close to Gary and looked in his face. "And the only reason I'm still alive is 'cause I failed." The cowboy shrugged like he didn't care anymore and started walking away again.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:40, Fri 20 Mar 2015.

What had started out as a fairly smooth day, as far as days go in Zombieland, was getting rougher. Gary was caught off guard by Bohannon for the second time, but he had come to understand that was the effect Benson had on people. As Benson got in his face, his attempt at swagger reminded Gary of his daughter, Samantha, the older one. His veneer of diplomacy began to crack.

"That's so selfish!" Gary said to Benson as he shrugged. "Oh, you're not happy? You're not having fun anymore? This isn't supposed to be fun!" Gary took a step toward Benson, his voice raised. "And you don't strike me as the kind of person who was all that happy before Zombieland. All of us" Gary gestured around the campsite to indicate the members of their group "are missing someone. Every one of us has been separated from our families, but not you. You've got family right here and you'd rather be dead in Tennessee." It was now safe to say that Gary's good mood was gone.

"So, pull up your bootstraps or whatever you Southerners say. This isn't about you. Any one of us would die out here on our own. We need each other. That's the point- we need you. You don't have to be happy."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:32, Sat 21 Mar 2015.

Although she smiled at Cauldershore's attempt to answer her question, it was obvious she didn't quite connect with this reply as much as she did the previous. A color arose on her cheeks as he mentioned one of the more colorful descriptions for his lovely city, but she didn't seem particularly offended so much as uncertain in it's meaning. "I can't say I get most of that...but, it does seem like it meant a lot to you." She replied, in her polite way, the suds working up her arm as she reached deeper into the soapy water, fishing it out, while being careful not to let it fall on the floor. "Oh~! Over here. Gotta space the blankets out a bit." She said, guiding their soaked blanket to the of the more open spots amongst the improvised clotheslines.  It was a much easier task with two of them. "We should let the sheet soak a bit longer. It's probably a fair bit dirtier. We can use the other tub."

Nevada briefly chortled at his question, her shaking head waving her shortish hair about her neck. "Heh...No, thankfully. I was in Reno, and I barely left the city in-one piece. I heard from a few I met on the road about Las Vegas, though. Reportedly, the Strip is so congested with bodies, cars and wreckage that it would be nearly impossible to pass. I might not had made it, if I were there. I wouldn't advise a trip. Plenty of other casinos elsewhere." She teased, lightly, although a certain heaviness in her voice made her attempt at humor feel a bit hollow. Once again, she played coy with his question, not leading her to answer his query, being as elusive as ever.

The awkward moment was broken by the echos of two men arguing in the courtyard. The structure for the exterior didn't provide the best clarity into their every word, even with their loud voices, but it wasn't hard to piece together what Gary and Benson might had been arguing about. The petite brunette keep watch from a distance with a bit of a lingering side-long glance, but she seemed to avoid looking directly at them, keeping her focus down at the bag of the cowboy's laundry. After a moment, she huffs a small sign and takes a seat at the tub, reaching for clothes to feed into the water. "...Mr. Bohannon might be a bit...crass about it..." Her normally high-pitched voice explained, now quite subdued and hushed, once again being careful about her choice of words. "...But I don't blame him. He's not the only one. Even I find myself finding more and more to do. Keep myself busy, you know?" She explained, her almond-shaped brown eyes peeking up towards the English barkeep with a rather uncertain expression. "I was hoping it might help with the spirit of things, but I think it might have just made things worse. It's those who keep busy who seem to be hanging on. Those who can't...well, they just languish, don't they?" She asked, a bit of thought-filled heaviness to her tone, as if she were pondering what she was saying.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:06, Sun 22 Mar 2015.

In reply to Mahmoud (msg # 75):

Cookie paused to eye Mahmoud for what became a somewhat uncomfortable (for him) moment, then did the all-round look again.  Her face was poker-playing blank as she didn't try the fake 'tip me' smile on Mahmoud.  "Hey," she said at last, breaking a silence that had lasted for quite a while.  There was another pause, but Mahmoud was made of sterner stuff these days.  "Thinking," she said, in the low tones that implied serious concerns. "Thinking the Caravan doesn't need me so much now." There was another pause, this one shorter. "You - we can't stay here," she said, hazel eyes fixed on his face like laser beams.  "The horde will come and we have a serious impediment to escape - the water."   The vigilant look again, sweeping all round, and now, up and down to the water.  Perhaps it had bothered her a little that New Mexico wasn't speaking to her; perhaps it no longer bothered her that few of the Caravaneers did, at all, unless they were listening to her when she organised or directed.  Leadership was important, and while she'd never inspire love and blind obedience, she was all about survival of everyone, not just herself, and that showed in many ways.

In reply to Nevada (msg # 80):

"Everybody has their purpose. We all have something, however small, to drive us forward... keep us going." Cauldershore stopped scrubbing laundry for a moment and turned his gaze to the members of the camp. "Cookie has the Caravan. Karen and Isabelle have their children. Hank has Tom to keep safe, and Tom has Hank. Dominic and Loa have the health of the camp to motivate them. Brady has hunting to keep him busy, even if he's not turning up anything. And Benson, well I'm not sure that brooding counts." As a bartender, Cauldershore had made a habit of sizing people up rather quickly. "I think you're right. Once you lose that thing that makes your feet hit the floor in the morning, you become lost. And in this world more than ever, it's harder and harder to find your way back."

"How did you manage to find your way south from Reno, I wonder?" Cauldershore inquired about the girl's journey, shifting topics once more.

Bill hoisted up his jeans.

He had hoped that no one noticed that he hadn't followed the boys as they went to help Karen fish that body out of the canal. It wasn't that he couldn't deal with a bloated, decaying cadaver. As Sheriff he had seen more than his share of bodies in canals. Bill reckoned he'd seen a great deal worse than that in fact.
Still gulping down air, Bill didn't think he could make another trip back across the small patch of gravel and tufts of grass that separated the main compound area from the canal.

In his day, Bill had been a fit young man. He even served in the armed forces for a time during that conflict with the North Vietnamese. When he came home, took a job with he Lauderdale County Sheriff's department back in Tennessee, and started driving around in a car all day, well- Bill began to put on weight.
As he grew older, the weight remained, and did so until the dawn of Zombieland.

Now, as Bill contemplated putting another hole in his brown leather belt, he missed those days. He missed eating food everyday. He thought about it more than drinking now. Since he and the others had left Fort Dixie, and their food had been so scare (and the winter so cold) Bill's weight had began to drop. When he saw his reflection in the pools of water that hung around after a rain shower or when the snow melted, he hardly recognized himself.

In this state, Bill had almost no energy. He had woken up with the sun and gone with Brady to gather wood. Now by mid-day he was already beginning to crash. Bill took a seat in the lawn chair that New Mexico had recently occupied. He shut his eyes, 'just for a minute', Bill thought, as he fell asleep.

In reply to Cookie (msg # 81):

At first Mahmoud wasn't entirely sure whether or not Cookie was going to respond or deflect the moment. He shifted his weight, fiddling with his golf club in his hands as he for the most part patiently waited his friend out. Cookie's tone of voice caused his attention to pique, knowing they weren't just 'shooting the shit' so-to-speak. His dark eyes matched her own as he let her say her piece, realizing as she did that the times became shorter as the months went on when Cookie could speak candidly without some backlash from outsiders or new people in the group.

Lowering down to be eye level with her, using his club as a support, he kept his own voice low as hers to ensure privacy. He seemed to be assessing her like the studious academic he might have been, once upon a time, when he was not yet the man he'd become in Zombieland.
"What do you mean that the Caravan doesn't need you?" The dark skinned Caravaneer had not missed the slip of the tongue Cookie had made, at first replacing 'we' with 'you'. Mahmoud knew her concerns, the concerns many of them harbored, but he also knew the reason everyone had let their guard down over the last month, which was the need for peace even if temporary.

"Cookie.. We're friends, you aren't thinking of leaving us are you? Isabelle, myself, Dominic, Hector, Ricky, Jay, New Mexico.. We've all got your back, always. You know that right?" He kept his gaze unblinking on hers, not wanting to waste a moment of reflection that rarely came when the group was constantly running.

NM raised his hands in a gesture of surrender when the little guy spun around, knife in hand as if fixin' to misbehave. When realization emerged on Tom's face NM would crack a toothy smile at the ridiculousness of the moment, "Man oh man that would be a crappy way to die. Friendly fire." He ran a hand through his thick hair, sighing alittle in relief.

"Well they aint getting any fresher. And you're assuming we make it long enough to find more." He replied with a chuckle, his eyes indicating that he was joking, hoping the other boy didn't take his morbidity too much to heart. It was just a way of coping with the world. "As long as I get to dictate the severity of the punches, I will take them whenever you all want. Only eighteen though, not eighteen per person in our group." The teen laughed a little, glancing towards Joe and Brady then back to the Caravaneer he was closest to in age.

"Well you're definitely paying your way, I'm sure Joe Sixpack appreciates it. I don't know if I care for the prepwork, but I wouldn't mind learning how to shoot a bow. Pretty badass when you think of it, and people always said it was fairer to hunt with a bow than a gun. Maybe you can teach me?" NM nipped the tip of a twizzler, chewing slowly and taking his time to savor the sweet. He held out the bag once more to Tom, "You sure you don't want one? C'mon.. I won't tell your brother, hehe. If you want you can share this one I just started"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:06, Mon 23 Mar 2015.

Ya. Tom scratched his neck absently, a slight scar the only physical reminder of the run with the hillbillies. His tone wavered slightly, despite the smile he kept. Like I need any more nightmares. He knew the other teen didn't mean to spook him, if anything it was his fault for not paying attention to his surroundings. Just like last time...except this time if anything happened he didn't know if he could forgive himself.

We've made it this far. Tom shrugged, regaining his composure. When the punches were limited to just him he pouted in mock disappointment. Spoil sport. I was going to get a line going.

Tom cocked his head in slight confusion when NM asked to learn to bow hunt. Oh, ah, actually I don't really know anything about using a bow. I mean we did a marking period or two in gym once, but other then that. He shrugged again, So far I've just been helping collect the parts.

Biting his lip as he eyed the proffered bag he tapped his fingers against his leg in thought. But just for a moment, reaching out and separating the shortest piece. It's not that I worry about Hank finding out. Taking a bite he shuddered, that's a lot stronger then I remember. You should just make these last as long as you can.
This message was last updated by the GM at 04:30, Wed 25 Mar 2015.

In reply to Cauldershore (msg # 82):

Nevada nods along with his description, idly keeping her hands busy with the rinsing and scrubbing of clothes in the soapy water as she ponders his examples. Once again, the observant barkeep seems to be resonating well with her thoughts, although she couldn't say if all of those examples were indeed true, the spirit of it seemed rather clear. "I have heard it said, by wiser people than me, that idleness is a disease. When I was younger, I did not understand that. I was kept too busy to ponder it much." She explained, offering a brief bit of a cheeky smirk that she didn't bother to raise her head for, ever intent on keeping her hands working.

Her momentary light-heartedness is mildly disrupted by the echos of a rather angry voice, escaping from the inner factory. It was impossible to hear the details of the debate, other than it was a woman and a man having the exchange, but it served as a reminder that gruff cowboy was hardly the only possessing frustrations to the point of hostility. In an earlier time, she might had rushed to check it out, but of late, such arguments were so common that it was harder to justify responding to it than to just ignore them and carry on. Indeed, that's what the petite teen did, save a hearty sigh. "...I think I get it now." She added, her voice somewhat ominous, before she sighed, and redoubled her efforts. However, a moment later, her dark eyes did peek towards the Brit, offering a small smile, her lips just slightly tinged on the hopeful. "...Well, it has been a harsh winter. Maybe the Spring will provide more clarity. It is the season for renewal, after all."

Cauldershore's shift of subject gave Nevada a moment's pause, but she seemed to have no trouble in going along with it. "Back then, in the early days, it wasn't unusual to find people traveling along the highways. Not all of them were looters and raiders either." She replied, lifting herself off her knees after feeding the tub full of as much clothes as it would reasonably soak, and took some of the piece they had laid around the tub hang. They didn't have many clothes pins, so they she took her time to made sure they would drape on the line in a way that they wouldn't fall off so easily, even getting on the tips of her sneakers to do so with her short frame, but she managed. "I can't speak for every area, of course, but there was a lot of good, decent folk in Mid-West. It is not all Vegas and Reno. I am from a much smaller town myself." She said, with a bit of a playful smirk, as she continued on. "I have been offered a ride more than a few times. It was enough to get me to where my home was, at least. Just off helpful souls, good will, and a healthy dose of luck, I guess."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:50, Thu 26 Mar 2015.

Lizzie wanders over from some building she was roaming about in. The little girl was on an adventure to find something useful and found a dead rat that probably starved to death. She was hungry enough to think of eating it but wasn't sure if it would be safe. Her blue eyes scan the courtyard looking for someone who could help figure this out and looks and spots Benson the Cowboy. She bet he would know this kind of thing.

The small little blond wanders his direction and sees Gary as well and smiles. In her always bold voice she looks Benson straight in the eyes and spews her tale. "Benson I was looking in the abandoned building on the far side and found this." She holds up the dead rat and gives a confident look. "I was wondering if it was safe to eat or not because I was hoping to share it with Mortimer and you to if you want."

It was widely known that Lizzie arrived with Father Mortimer the priest and they were practically family, or at least what passed for it. She wasn't sure what drew her to Benson but she tried to talk multiple times with her being turned away by the grumpy man. She was not going to give up on making him her friend just yet.

In reply to Joe (msg # 64):

Brady rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah, you bet! That sounds good, man." he replied to the offer of instruction from Joe. As Tom and New Mexico chimed in and broke the tension he let out a breath of relief. "Hey kid, happy birthday!" Brady punched New Mexico in the arm and swiped one of his twizlers. "Thanks." he said with a mouthful.

"So, are we going, or what? I'm ready."

In reply to Lizzie Daniels (msg # 88):
In reply to Gary Szymanski (msg # 79):

"What!?" Bohannon was interrupted before he could reply to Gary. The scruffy, brooding cowboy looked down at the little girl in disgust. Upon seeing the dead rat he smacked it out of her hand. "What is wrong with you? That look like lunch to you? That's the grossest damn thing I seen all day." Bohannon looked back to Gary for a moment before returning to Lizzie. "Well, go on now. Run along, Minnie Mouse. The grown-ups are talkin'. Beat it." He shooed the little girl and walked back to Gary.

He got into Gary's face, keeping his voice low like a growl. "You ain't got the first clue. I was happy. I was the best I'd ever been until my brother, my own family, turned around and shot me. You got any idea what that's like? You talk about family like it means everything to you. So you tell me, what am I supposed to do? What options do I have? Because the way I see it, I only got one. And it ain't pretty." Bohannon backed off. Maybe Gary would actually say something that would help him, but then again, probably not.

In reply to Brady Bohannon (msg # 89):

Tom looked up in surprise at Brady's arrival, caught up in trying to recover from his earlier lapse and talking with NM. He didn't have the "go with the flow" attitude his brother put forth, he preferred to let things bounce off him. At least when others were around. It had served him well after Hank went to college, and when he came back after the crash. He just hoped the other man hadn't caught the slip. If asked he wouldn't have been able to say why Brady seeing through the façade was a bigger concern then NM. Age, maybe? Where are we going? Looking past the others he tried to see if Joe had followed the short distance from the tire to the tree/weed thing growing through a crack in the pavement he had been hacking at.

Lizzie dashes back in the direction of the rat but continues to listen as she grabs it off the ground. So Brady shot Benson and that was why he was mad all the time. The little blonde looks Benson straight in the eyes as she speaks hoping to give insight, "I've been through what you have Benson. I've had my family turn on me too. Blood is not always what makes family though. Mortimer and I are proof. He is the dad I always wanted and..." she pauses trying to find a way to say her next words, "I want you to join my family. I need someone like you to help me survive and teach me things. People still care about you Benson."

Lizzie begins to get emotional and starts to cry, "I care about you. I don't want you to leave... or hurt yourself... or kill your brother... I-I want you here... Please..." She begins sputtering and just begins sobbing. She really wants to hug him and wants to feel close to him in an innocent kind of way but waits for a response. She tried to act tough in front of the man all the time and make him like her but she didn't want to loose him. Not now or ever.