Jane leaned nonchallantly against the convoy's gun. It was a calculated move; it looked casual, but menacingly casual. With luck she wouldn't have to waste any ammo from the old boy. 'Tom', she called it; it was a tradition from the 'Hats. You named your biggest gun after the first person who'd broken your heart...

Nix had already started the parlay, and that was fine with her. She wasn't much the jawin' type, and the mutie priests gave her the shivers. Sure, she had a stake in the game, but she didn't want to push it; gun-hands were surprisingly easy to find in this zone, and besides, while she wasn't a huge fan of mutant-kind, she wasn't about to let innocent people sit out here and rot.

...If they were innocent.

With the sun to his back, the soft green glow from beneath the Doomsayer's hood is very apparent.  The vehicles and their crews get a good once over as he gets close enough.  Pausing a moment on the intimidating heavy machine gun and the gunner with her calculated lean.  Having recently seen the damage that one gun can dish out, he seems of no mind to start a fight.

And so, his hands remained raised in peace, palms open.  His attention goes up to the lookout on the cab and his question.  Brother Edgar's expression is open and friendly, as usual.  His voice a careful medium, no passivity or aggression, "I would speak with your driver.  I wish to see about arranging transport for these suffering souls."  With a sigh, his expression slides into regret, "After the terrible business with the road gang, I feel they would be best served by reaching their destination as swiftly as can be negotiated."  Carefully putting emphasis on negotiation.  The Doomsayer is here to try and deal, not fight or take.

Peter, as he was wont to do after a battle, stood near his pickup truck trying in vain to fix some of the uneven areas and the places where the paint had been shot or scraped off. An occasional curseword came out of him as he did so. But he did glance towards the mutants and the Doomsayer.

"I have nothing against mutants or Doomsayers, as a rule. Just the bad ones. The ones who believe in death to us non-mutants, who want our blood and our lives, they do not get anything but my bullets."

He stood up and knuckled his back with one fist. "I am getting too old for this." Then he walked towards Nix and the Doomsayer.

"A ride would be welcome, Michaela," said the Templar, considering her for a moment and then favoring her with one of his rare smiles.  "Less time on the road, more time doing good for those who are in need...and who deserve it."   He trudged on for a moment in silence, pensive and contemplating the recent past and the future.

Hearing a voice calling out for him, he turned and saw Jack, the man he had released from prison earlier and nodded solemnly at him. "How do you do?" the stoic warrior asked the man, not sure exactly what to say after the recent situation they had encountered..

Nix pointed to Roadkill in response to Brother Edgar's question.  "He's the driver and it's his rig."

Nix then returned to scanning around and noticed a familiar figure a short distance away.  He stared at the man for a couple of seconds before standing up on top of the cab and yelling.  He was certain that it was his former cell mate.

"Jack!  Dakota Jack!  Is that you?"

Jack hollered back loud enough to be heard clearly.

"Sunuva'itch!  Is that you Smokey?  I didn't recognize you in all the commotion... hey man you're not gonna believe this... This hombre..."  Dakota Jack firmly clasps his right hand over Arthur Dayne's left shoulder.  "This guy right here... sprung me out of jail, and thats not all, he leads me right up into the middle of those guys.  I mean damn man I don't know what that looked like from your side but that was some plumb loco stuff going on from my end.  This crazy mother was running around left and right swinging a damn sword, it was nuts!  This guy's got a pair so big, they must be the size of watermelons.  Can ya'll believe that!?  Sprung out of th' pokey twice!  I musta done somethin' right, my karma's been awesome lately.  Oh man, we are going to party whenever we get to... wherever the hell you're going.  Say friend how's your..."

Dakota Jack's eye wandered to Micheala.  He took her in for a moment before grinning a wide grin.  Cordially he removed his sunglasses, tipping them for lack of a hat, and used his best sly smile.

"Ma'am."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:11, Sat 26 June 2010.

Roadkill had been sitting in the driver's seat of the rig cleaning his sawed off shotgun when the doomsayer approached...with a whole mess of mutants behind him. He threw a couple shells in and snapped the weapon shut but left it laying in his lap, not wanting to appear too aggressive. He didn't want to end up in a mutie stewpot tonight.

A tense moment passed for him until the doomsayer spoke. The mutant's words were reassuring and he began to relax a bit. Maybe not every warped member of the human species was a cannibalistic savage after all.

"My name's Roadkill and this is my rig," he says in a matter of fact tone. "I'm heading East. If that's the direction you need to go then perhaps we can reach an agreement. But the spook juice that this baby runs on ain't free..."

Peter's eyes lit up slightly at the mention of negotiation and payment. He put on a smile that was meant to look kind, but ended up looking slightly 'greasy' like a used car salesman. "Well, now. I have some room in my truck as well for a few of you. Well-paying customers even get to sit inside the shelter of the well-armored cab with me, though seating is, of course, limited." He held up one hand, "I do not accept slavery or sexual favors, however. Though I am willing to allow one person to ride free if 5 friends pay."

Mentally figuring up how many people he could reasonably and safely ferry, he looks back over his shoulder. "Jane, are you riding with me or with the rig?"

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg #15):

There are some angry, disappointed muttering from the crowd of 30 or so muties gathered on the on-ramp.

Mostly, the comments that were heard were along the lines of, "Would we be walking if we had anything to give?" and, in disbelief, "do those brainers think we're out here raising money for cancer research?"

There were a few muties buried too (although outside of town) so the survivors felt they paid their dues in blood by helping take out the Pantano gang. Sigfried, the leader of the refugee band (besides Brother Edgar) shouldered his M10 rifle (with its remaining half-full magazine) and started getting people moving.

"Come on, if we start now we can make it by nightfall. We're not going to pay these guys anything." While Brother Edgar was their guide and spiritual leader, but Sigfried was the one they elected to lead them at Chance City after Brother Edgar moved on to spread the word of the Glow elsewhere.

Dejected and sullen, they began shouldering their burdens and walking along the road. Some looked dejected, a few looked sullen, but most looked determined to continue the journey onwards.

A crown of the "good citizens" of Pantano Station gathered. Some smirk approvingly at the penniless refugees being ruthlessly shaken down by Peter and Roadkill, laughing with hard eyes at the plight of the less fortunate. "God damned lazy good-for-nothing muties. Start givin' them free rides, and soon they'll be begging outside the liquor store, getting drunk on Welfare Wednesday and puking on the sidewalk..."

A particularly bold townsman yelled, "You tell 'em, boys! Serves 'em right! Goddamn lazy bastards! They's gotta pays their way, like all honest good folk! Ha! Ha!" He was clearly enjoying the muties' embarrassment. Most started to look away in embarrassment, and a couple stalked away in disgust.

The new mayor of Pantano Station looked guilty. Someone whispered something in her ear.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:26, Sat 26 June 2010.

Roadkill takes out a small pouch of tobacco that he had 'recovered' from one of the dead at Pantano and sticks a wad in his lower lip. He listens to their complaints with a flat face and watches with impassive eyes as the mutants turn around and start to leave. With a shrug he hops down from the cab and says to nobody in particular, "Well if they're not even going to try and bargain I can't help 'em. This ain't a damned charity."

If he gets any disgusted looks from anyone nearby he adds, "Oh c'mon, they've got some firearms. Probably some ammo too. All those things are good for trade." There is a slightly defensive note to Roadkill's voice, as if he knows he is being the bad guy here but he also speaks with a certain stubborn resolution that indicates that he has made up his mind and won't easily be swayed.

The situation seems to quickly be dissolving around him.  The Doomsayer was about to speak to the driver when his people began to rush to judgement.  He turned to his flock, only to be momentarily distracted by the comments from the town.  Will people never learn.  Knowing his responsibility lies with the Chosen, he concentrates on them.  Raising his voice only to be heard.

"Chosen of the Atom!  Do not allow yourselves to fall prey to false assumption.  Just as we must look after ourselves, the Driver must look after his rig and his crew.  He has every right to ask for trade for a service provided.  The same right you would have in his place."  His tone turns now to admonishment as he looks over his people, "Vehicles such as these do not run on charity and I know of none that do."  He looks now to Siegfried, the protector, "We lost friends and supplies in our defense.  These people lost as well.  They could have driven on.  They had every ability to do so, but they stayed to help you all.  And asked for nothing."  He begins to look once more around the group, trying to catch eyes and let them see that he means every word, "To move forward towards the utopia that awaits us, we must all work together.  Normie and Chosen.  That does not mean we give anything away.  I would never ask that of you.  I would not ask that of them.  It means we find a compromise.  It means we are /patient/.  It means we find a way."

Once he can see that his words are having some positive effect on the group, he will spare a moment to turn back to the Driver, "Can we find a way?  I admit, we do not have much in the way of items.  But we do have skills.  Once settled in a new home, these good people can even provide trade and food.  Perhaps a contract that could benefit your Convoy?"  There is no pleading, no passivity.  Just a respectful search for reason and fairness.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:29, Sat 26 June 2010.

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg #18):

At this point, the mutants ignored Roadkill and Peter with icy contempt or feigned nonchalance. They keep walking down the road without stopping.

Sigfried wandered over to Brother Edgar. Like many muties, he still was a Christian and knew some of the bible by heart, even if his faith in the Lord had taken a considerable beating.

"Brother Edgar, the book of Matthew says, "Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you."

"We're not interested in what this brainer's selling, because we can make it on our own.

"We got one rifle and ten bullets left between us, but we have faith the Glow will protect us. When you're done wasting your breath with these normie brainers, you can meet us down the road."

He tipped his baseball cap at Roadkill with exaggerated courtesy and sauntered away.

Roadkill noticed that he wouldn't meet his eyes for some reason, but as he didn't appear intimidated or embarrassed he couldn't figure out why. Brother Edgar knew that Sigfried had been looking in the wrong direction on Judgement Day, and an after-image of a glowing skull-shaped mushroom cloud from a Ghost-Rock bomb detonation had been permanently seared into his retinas so he couldn't see straight-on.

Seeing that the muties had sand, the townspeople continued their embarrassed silence, and even the hecklers were told to pipe down.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:49, Sat 26 June 2010.

The Doomsayer cannot wait for the driver to respond.  With a shake of his head, he turns to follow after Siegfried and the others as the gather.  Moving close and speaking quieter, trying to converse with the mutant band, especially its warleader, "Saint Darwin taught us that it is only through change that we become greater.  Stubborn pride and intolerance are the enemies of change."  He pauses for emphasis before continuing, "The Glow will guide and protect you, that is true.  But it will not do everything for you.  It is through the struggles that we are forged.  Are you so deserving that you would demand to be given freely what others have worked for?  And when others do not give you what you want, you decide that it must be worthless?"

Shaking his head once more is sadness, Brother Edgar scans the crowd to find any hope of reason, "With their help we can safely cross the plains much more quickly and safely than we can alone.  By treating them with respect and honesty, we gain allies.  Allies that can help your community survive.  You have so much to gain by working together.  You have everything to lose by being prideful.  Think of St. Darwin's teachings.  Adapt."

Dakota Jack managed to somehow be distracted by what was going on just ahead of him, a real feat considering he had Micheala right there in front of him.

Ah hell.  He thought when he heard We got one rifle and ten bullets left between us.

"You, er, uh, I'll be right back."  Dakota Jack released Arthur Dayne's shoulder and then glanced back at Micheala with another #### eating grin.  "Don't go changin'."

Jack scampered across the interstate so he could talk to Smoker without having to holler, his guitar case swinging behind him.

"I think I'm going to have to give you a raincheck on that reunion party Smokey, ten rounds of ammo ain't gonna get them freaky people too far and it's pretty obvious they're walkin'.  They might as well be a line 'o ducks 'a waddlin' down th' road.  They got that scary weirdo in the purple bathrobe, but that only goes so far."  Dakota Jack shrugs.  "The best protection against murdering bastards is another murdering bastard.  But since we don't have any of those available I guess they'll have to settle for a jackoff like me."

The Templar smiled faintly at Jack's praise.  While he knew inwardly that he was a man with greater than average bravery, skill in hand to hand combat, and testicular fortitude, he did not believe in ostentation.  He accepted the praise with dignity and humility, but did not attempt to diminish his own role in matters.  It was important for people to know that there were still people like himself and Michaela walking the earth.  The good would take heart and the bad would have a seed of fear planted in their hearts.

As Jack walked away, the Templar gave his squire a teasing smile.  "Another young man falling for your charms, Michaela," he said, his voice touched by his wry sense of humor.

PEter gave a loud theatrical sigh. He scrubbed a hand on his face and hesitated for a long moment. Then called out after the mutants loudly but mostly spoke to the Doomsayer. "Alright, ALRIGHT! It wouldn't be that far out of my way, so I suppose I can help some of them out. Maybe they can provide food and a night's rest or something in trade when we get where they are going." He sighed again and shook his head, muttering under his breath.

Nix shook his head as Dakota Jack approached and then took another drag on his pipe.

"God damn you Jack," he said, half smiling and half complaining.  "Why can you never call me Nix like everyone else.  Why do you always have to go and call me something else!"

It had been Dakota Jack who has given Nix the nickname of Smoker when they had shared a cell together.  Well Smoker was just one of the nicknames Jack had labelled Nix with.  Smokey was another but Nix's favourite had been Genius, though that had only been used once by Jack when Nix had managed to pick the lock of their cell door enabling them to escape.  Jack hadn't used it since as far as Nix was aware!

"Roadkill," he called to his friend in the cab below, uncaring as to whether he was interrupting a conversation that Roadkill was already in.  "If we need another gun I can personally vouch for Dakota Jack Cardinal here.  He's a really badass with a gun!"  Whether Roadkill valued the personal recommendation of someone as young as Nix only time would tell.

Registering that Dakota Jack intended to accompany the mutant survivors in their walk Nix then added with a grin.  "Jack, if you get killed can I have your guitar?"

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg #20):

At Peter's caving, a voice sneered from the back of the crowd of townspeople, "aw, just like all them damn wagon-burners, no backbone! Mutie-lover!" He was quickly shushed.

Stopping, Sigfried nodded his thanks to Peter.

"Give me a second, sir, to have a bit of a palaver with the good Brother here."

Speaking to Brother Edgar, he answered quietly, "Brother, we got nothin' left to give. What food we got's gotta last us a couple days until we can hunt for more. There's no shelter there right now, it's just some tumble-down adobe walls. We were gonna make some lean-tos and hang some blankets. It's just a day's walk, which we can make for free, and we're no worse off than we were before. In fact, I reckon it's likely to be safe as kittens on that road all the way from here to Las Cruces, for obvious reasons."

He gestured at the trucks by way of explanation.

"Someone who'll help you out when there's nothing in it for them is a friend and ally you need and can trust. Someone who won't, isn't. Don't matter if they're mutie or norm. If we got something to trade in the future, then this guy and his friends will come sniffing around no matter what, if he don't think that'll brand him as a "mutie-lover". A big part of adapting and surviving is using the old noggin, right Brother?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:24, Sat 26 June 2010.

In reply to Arthur Dayne (msg #22):

Michaela looked after Jack with an interest that Arthur sensed was maybe more than just comradely, but it was hard to tell under her sunglasses. She slung her bags and lay her Winchester across her tired shoulders, holding it by the barrel in front of her.

"Well, sir? We hitting the road with these folks? Seems to me they could use a couple more guns." She gestured to the muties, who were making their way east and picking up speed. They were pretty noisy due to a couple of rattling and squealing shopping carts piled with baggage, food and waterskins, but all in all they would make good time on the Interstate.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:47, Sat 26 June 2010.

In reply to Michaela Fukushima (msg #26):

He offered a muted grin at her as she brushed his comment aside.  "We'll definitely be moving on with them.  Something tells me that they still need some help.  Bullets if we must, but I prefer other means."  He patted the bundle of rags affectionately as it held a weapon passed down from Templar to Templar, and of course was blessed by Simon.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg #24):

"You sunuvabitch, you know if I get kilt, I'm supposed to be cremated and stuffed inside the gitar."

Jack leaned against the side of the truck, putting his sunglasses back on as looking up at Nix was blinding him.

"Hey, sounds like the Injun feller's come around to hauling a few of them out of here.  Ya know I can't rightly blame your friend in the driver's seat for wanting something for his spirit juice, but it seems like his own convoy's goin' agin' him.  Feller might not even have a rig any more if'n they hadn't picked up a bunch of sticks an' rocks and charged down a bunch o' folks with guns that were a shootin' at 'im an' his fancy truck.  I know there was like.. fitty of 'em, but that's still took some brass ones."

The Colonel walked into the station from the desert, a big sniper rifle carried easily across his shoulders. Though nobody had seen him during the fight, his contribution had been obvious by the number of gangers felled by precise headshots.

Though it had been like shooting fish in a barrel, the Colonel had still enjoyed it immensly; not only had he been killing the bad guys, but there had been a couple of challenging shots when several of the other fighters had closed in with the gangers. All in all, a good days work.

Not good was the amount of ammo he'd expended. The .338 Lapua Magnum rounds he needed for his Mauser rifle were difficult to get, though admittedly a lot less difficult than the caseless 4mm ammo for his pistol.

Quietly, he took leaned against a wall just inside the station proper and watched the situation unfold.

In reply to COL Kurt L. Schaeffer (msg #29):

The mutie who addressed Brother Edgar shook his head and answered both Peter and Jack at the same time.

"Look, the offer is much obliged, but Brother Edgar says there's nothing there. No buildings or houses, Just some adobe walls from a couple hundred years ago and a creek. We're gonna pitch tents tonight and hunt and trap tomorrow. What food we got's gotta last a few days, what supplies we got need to go towards the town."

He addressed Peter directly. "Sir, we can't pay anything now, but you'd always be welcome with us and we'd stand you for a meal and whatever we can spare if you come through. It's just twenty miles down the road and that's what, a gallon of Ghost Juice? Plus we're going your way. But we're willing to walk it if we need to."
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:14, Sat 26 June 2010.

Nix grinned in response and then added, "Yea, but I still get the guitar with youse ashes inside.  Ain't gonna make my playin' any worse!"



Nix shrugged as he answered Jack.  "Ain't my rig so ain't my call."  He seemed to be ambivalent to the fate of the mutants and the discussions that were going on regarding helping them.  If Roadkill decided to help them then Nix would as well but if Roadkill chose to play hardball for a fee then Nix was happy to take that angle as well.

Nix glanced at the pair of pistols Jack was wearing.  "Hey, what size bullets does your pistols take?  I've got four nice shiny nine mil rounds for trade if they is any use to you?"

The Doomsayer just shakes his head again resignedly.  He gave it his best shot.  You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make them drink.  It appears that not only is Siegfried and his band not buying what the driver is selling...he's not buying what Brother Edgar is attempting to sell either.

Thus, the good Brother simply steps back.  Allowing Siegfried to negotiate with the crew as he will.