Having remained in stoic silence leaning against the big gun, Jane raised her sunglasses, "Pete, I'm stickin' here. You need my hand for this thing. But we're takin' some of these folks with us, and if that means tacking it onto my bill, so be it."
With that, the sunglasses went back over the eyes.

The Glow sometimes works in mysterious ways.

Sigfried was mostly interested in hitting the road. The rest of the group were making their way along, but weren't too far.

At this point, most of the townspeople were looking downright ashamed. Especially after hearing Jane, Dakota Jack, and Arthur. Even Pete. The couple trouble-makers in the townie ranks seemed to have faded away.

Interestingly, Brother Edgar's words seemed to affect them the most, even if they weren't directed at them. They had formed into groups, debating what course of action they should take, galvanized by what he'd said.

The mayor, a dark-skinned hispanic woman in a battered cowboy hat, came up to Brother Edgar. She spoke in a flat Arizona accent as she addressed him as one would a Brother of a religious order.

"Hermano, I'm Shiela, the new mayor here. We heard you talking about adapting, maybe it's not so much your folks or the truckers that need to change and adapt, it's us.

"Them muties... them people are going to be our neighbors when they get where they're going, and we're the ones that done them wrong by not doing anything about those pendejos that were here before. Are we not our brothers' keepers? I think it's high time some things changed around here, and thanks for helping us see that."

"We decided if these fellers ain't gonna take your people, we will. Free of charge. We got horses and a truck, but it doesn't run too good. It'll take some squeezin', but we figger we can do it. We'll even loan some tools and lumber to help get things started with your town."

Then Shiela turned to Peter and Roadkill.

"El Hermano en Purpura, the Brother in Purple, his words have touched us, made us see things differently. If you will take them instead of us... we don't got a lot to give, those bastards sucked us dry and didn't do us the courtesy of leaving many of their carcasses behind. Still, we got fresh food and you and your crews are welcome to have a meal on the house if you'll agree to take those folks down the road a spell. We managed to grow some vegetables and there's beef, eggs and milk. What do you say? You can have an honest-to-God trucker's breakfast!"

Ah, the mythical "trucker's breakfast". It was a steak, done rare, with fried eggs on top and has browns. Junkyard was one of the few places you could get one.

The Glow sometimes works in mysterious ways.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:17, Sun 27 June 2010.

Still sat on top of the rig's cab, Nix leaned over the edge so that he could speak to Roadkill in the cab below.

"Hey boss.  One thing.  If Peter and Jane take off and leave us behind then we loose that cannon as protection.  Might be worth the juice just to keep paired with them!"

Roadkill rubs his face as he ponders the offer and then spits into the dirt. A good meal was hard to come by and the rumbling in his stomach told him that he was due.

"It's not far," Roadkill says when he looks up, "and I'm not one to pass on a free meal."

After a pause he says, "I can agree to that, though it sounds like these folks here don't really want my help," he adds with a gesture to the band of mutants. "There's plenty of room though if'n you're still interested. If not...well, I guess we'll see you on the road then."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:57, Sun 27 June 2010.

In reply to Ian Roadkill Colby (msg #36):

It was Sigfried's turn to look ashamed.

"Brother Edgar, will you forgive me? I let my pride blind and deafen me. You've made me see things can be different, not just that we should change, but that the non-mutants can change, too." The theological implications of this were a little dodgy from a Doomsayer perspective, but now probably wasn't the time to get into it. "Brother, we may not need a ride, but we'll take one if it's offered in friendship."

In reply to The Marshall (msg #34):

When free breakfast was mentioned, the Colonel stomach rumbled appreciatively. He'd been living of Milrats stretched with what he could trap and find for some time now; real fresh food sounded like a treat.

He took of his boonie hat and put on the red barrett with the proud emblem of a diving eagle with bolts of lighting in tis claws and crossed lances behind it. Now dressed formally, he walked up to the group with the woman who had declared herself to be the mayor.

"Good morning. Does the offer of free breakfast only extend t those offering rides, or are all of the people who rid you of your oppressors included as well?" he said in a deep voice with a hard german accent.

It actually takes Brother Edgar a long moment to realize the ripple of changing attitudes.  He had taken up his new position suggesting support of Siegfried, rather than leadership of.  His thoughts had turned to hos he could turn this around later.  For him, the lessons of compromise and patience would be invaluable to the new settlement.  Invaluable to the bright future he knew to be true.

The mayor's words re-lifted his attention.  Surprise being obvious.  Then a slow smile grows across his glowing face.  He nods his thanks gently, but doesn't dare interrupt just yet.  The Glow was working a miracle and he would not disturb such a fragile thing.

His attention goes then to the "mutiny" of the road-crew and the eventual giving-in of the Driver.  He can't help but look a bit stunned.  More surprised than anyone at this turnaround.  Taking a moment, he bows his head and murmurs a quiet prayer to Saint Darwin, whose changing influence was obviously at work.  Change.  Adaptation.  Hallelujah.

Lifting his, literally, shining face again.  A slightly more glowing streak is visible curving down from the corner of his eye.  He places a hand gently on Siegfried's shoulder, "Forgiveness is unneeded, but granted if you wish.  Just earn this miracle.  Learn."  He looks to the mayor and bows his head to her, "Thank you for your offer.  I hope it can be the beginning of much cooperation between your people and mine."  To the crews, the townspeople, and the band of mutants he raises his voice, "Let us all share what little we can and enjoy a breakfast together.  In friendship.  Then we can continue our journey."

Roadkill shrugs indifferently and interejects by saying, "Yeah, sure. You can call it friendship if you like. Makes no difference to me."

Hell, we can all sit around the campfire and sing koombaya if it makes you feel better and gets that steak and eggs in my belly he thinks to himself.

Roadkill then shifts his attention to the mayor and calls out, "Hey mayor! Your town in need of anything when next I'm coming through? Sounds like you've got food, but what about medicine? Tech? You need luxury items? I'm frequently in the market to do a little trade."

The mutants are called back by a much-chastened Sigfried. A feast was prepared.

Normally this would bankrupt most towns, but they had much stockpiled in order to feed the many members of the gang, now deceased.

As well, it was verified that the badly-scarred stranger was the likely source of many of the suspiciously precise high-calibre head wounds that could not be explained as random hits from the cal-fifty or other small arms. He was welcomed into the fold by the townies.

The steaks were small and tough, the eggs a little on the stale side and the veggies more than a little wilted, but there were truckers' breakfasts for all. While they ate an anemic-looking pickup truck wheezed over to the semi. It was loaded with tools and lumber, and a few volunteers from Pantano Station were ready to accompany the muties out to their new home and help them get started on home construction.

There was even some ersatz coffee, made from chicory beans and flavoured with unpasteurised milk and a little sugar. Over breakfast, Mayor Sheila talked with Roadkill, discussing trade and what the little town could offer. It seemed the Convoy didn't like to come this far south, and so while they had some surplus food and other hand-made goods to offer, plus salvage, there was little trade through there.

Sitting across from the hideously-scarred veteran, it was all Michaela could do to avoid staring at his face. Or what remained of his face. It looked like someone had taken a blowtorch to one side and a nailgun to the other.

Looking down, she berated herself for being so yellow. Forcing herself to look into his eyes, she smiled warmly and asked, "excuse me, sir, do you mind if I ask your name? I guess you were a comrade in battle yesterday, but I've not seen your... seen you until now." She flushed a bit in embarrassment but kept smiling.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:14, Sun 27 June 2010.

The Colonel looked up from his meal when the pretty young thing across from him, asked him for his name. He was of course aware of how most people reacted when they saw his face. Though he had been a handsome young man once, he hadn't be such for the last thirteen years.

"Colonel Kurt Shaeffer. I'm pleased to make your aquaintance. That's how you say it, ja?" He smiled carefully, as he didn't want to scare her.

He put his knife down and held his hand out for her to shake.

"Nah Smokey, I lost the last thing I had that used nine mil two towns ago when the Law Dogs relieved me of it.  If they hadn't had these old cop guns of mine sitting in that evidence locker after you sprung us out, I wouldn't even have this much!"


The easygoing Dakota Jack found the good vibes more amusing than spiritually uplifting, but he wasn't about to not go along for the ride.  Things had been going a little too well lately, and he kept waiting for the other karmic shoe to drop.  In the meantime it was essential to ride the wave of positive mojo.

"Like a damn Norman Rockwell painting.  If'n Norman Rockwell painted pictures of people with machineguns and three arms eating breakfast in the desert..."

Jack finished his portion quickly; Dakota Jack did everything quickly, it was his life.  Except for one thing, no he never hurried that.  Speaking of which, realizing he had a while before anyone was going anywhere, he opened the guitar case and began to tune it, not that it needed much tuning.  Hell, I could never tune it again and most people wouldn't know the difference any more.

Still, Jack took careful care of this guitar, it was often hard to find an intact one any more, God help you if you broke a string, and this thing was pure señorita stink bait.  Testing the waters, he decided to strum four chords, D,A,Bm,G gently.  He was always amused which of the dozens if not hundreds of songs people would think he was playing.

Peter gave a small smile at Jane and nodded. "Very well then. I am glad." He almost shook his head as he watched the 'change of heart' spread among the different people. It was very strange to watch, especially for someone so used to the hard relentless brutality of the world. And of himself.

But nonetheless, he did agree. "As stated, I will take some of the mu...ah, Chosen...as passengers without problem." When the meal was offered, he did eat, although he seemed almost reluctant to do so for just a moment but then he dug in with gusto.

The Doomsayer uses the breakfast as an excuse to help personalize relations between Pantano Station and the soon-to-be Chance City Chosen.  He will do his best, without being too pushy, to introduce folks who might have something in common.  Trying to spend a little time bridging some gap between Chosen and Doomed.

Its his way.

He does make a special effort to introduce himself to each of the road crew and the other gathered warriors.  He is also sure to extend a very personal thanks for helping protect his people, misguided and impatient though they can sometimes be.  Friendly and open, a peacemaker through and through.

To Jack he offers, "I've always liked Norman Rockwell.  And I think he could do wonders with this new image of americana.  Extra arms, eyes, weapons, et. al."

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg #46):

"Yeah! I'm Michaela. Pleased to meetcha." Her accent was a little odd to his ear, as she was from the Pacific Northwest of the old USA.

They talked pleasantly for a bit. She was intelligent and bright, but they probably didn't have a lot to talk about. Michaela had grown up in New Vancouver, near Portland. She'd heard a calling and started following Arthur, wanting to become a Templar.

Before the eating started, Mayor Sheila did something some of them hadn't seen in a long time, sometimes never. She got them to hold off on eating for a second. Then she crossed herself and said, "Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen."

There was a moment of embarrassed silence while she did this, then she continued, "Okay fellahs, dig in!"

Through the meal, she divider her attention between Roadkill and his asking about trade, and the Doomsayer and the link of friendship between what would become their neighboring community. Dakota strummed his six-string.

After the breakfast, the small convoy got ready to go. Passengers and meager supplies were loaded up, Additional food and water was donated by the townies.

It had gotten a lot hotter, the sun bleached out the colours of the desert. Vivid reds and pinks of the rocks and sand faded to muted pastels and whites, the deep blue sky washing out to a burnished bronze steel. The sparse vegetation (desert grass, hardy shrubs, desert cacti) seemed to wilt or shrink from the sun which gave them life.




This message was last edited by the GM at 20:38, Sun 27 June 2010.

Traveling with the muties was a woman dressed in sturdy clothing, carrying a medical bag over one shoulder and armed with a Kalashnikov. A quiet person when she wasn't telling stories, she also dug into breakfast.

"I'm Rowan. I traveled with Brother Edgar out of Tucson. They seemed like nice people, and I figure they could use my help in keeping their spirits up and with medical attention."

She had quiet a large appetite for her lithe frame.

After the meal, she stood by, ready to be assigned.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:25, Wed 30 June 2010.

"Norman who?" Nix replied to Dakota Jack and Brother Edgar.  "He some kind of mutant big enough to carry a cannon?"

---

When the food appeared Nix had wolfed down his share and anything going spare with the speed of someone who had suffered great hunger.  Having grown up as a street kid scavenging for food Nix didn't waste time with things like table manners and waiting for grace to be said.  He hardly chewed and certainly didn't savour anything - eating food as rapidly as possible was ingrained deeply in him.

When the broken down pickup from the town appeared Nix's interest was immediately peaked.

"We ain't in any particular hurry are we?" he asked aloud to those nearby.  "Let's see how well the town's truck runs before we leave."  Irrespective of the answer he moved quickly to Roadkill's rig and pulled a rusted old toolbox out of the cab.  He then walked quickly over to the town's pickup and addressed the driver.

"Hey man, pop the hood and I'll give her the once over for you!"

In reply to COL Kurt L. Schaeffer (msg #43):

"You're a German?" Roadkill asks around a mouthful of steak and eggs. "How the hell did you get here? From the way you talk it sounds like you're a recent transplant."

if COL shaeffer has visible officer rank Roadkill thinks to himself Then again, it looks like he's got officer rank. Dad always said those guys were a little slow on the uptake.

In reply to Ian Roadkill Colby (msg #51):

The Colonel had heard questions like this one before and as susual, he didn't like the implications one bit. Especially from someone who called himself after something that had been runover and killed by a car.

How people from a country that compared to his home had barely gotten out of it's historical diapers could be so ignorant and arrogant at the same time never stopped to amaze him.

"Ja, ich bin Deutscher. To answer the second part of your question," he made walking motions with his fingers deliberately misunderstanding the trucker's meaning," I've walked, as most people do these days." His voice was slightly condescending.

He smiled at Roadkill while he said it, but his smile was very different from the one he had used while talking to Michaela. This time, it emphasized the scarring and the cold look from his brown eyes.

"As for how long I've been in Amerika, since '77. Fighting your war."

"Hmmm," Roadkill says, while popping in another mouthful of eggs. "Just don't see many foreigners these days." Roadkill leaves it at that and focuses on eating and discussing trade with the mayor. He had meant the question as an accusation but apparently it was a touchy subject with the soldier.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:42, Mon 28 June 2010.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg #50):

While people were finishing their breakfasts, Smoker went outside. He adjusted the ancient engine's timing and fuel mixture a little, and dang if it didn't run a lot better! It was still smoking badly, indicating oil was getting into the cylinders, and the brakes were shot.

Kurt shrugged when the trucker turned back to the mayor. He continued to chat with Michaela and checked out the rest of "the rescue squad" ,as he was mentally labelling the people that he had supported with accurate gunfire.

After the meal, he made sure to thank the hosts. Then he walked outside to take a closer look at the vehicles. If he were to decide a setup for the little convoy, he'd have the local's pick up go first, followed by the trailer rig and the armed pick up as the last vehicle.

Of course, that was the military answer to the question and most likely it would not be appropriate; even if it was the most sensible one.

The Colonel sighed. Some things had just been easier during and immediately after the war. These days...

Anyway, the best position for him would be on the trailer. He had commo and it would provide him with the most stable firing position. He walked closer to it and began to look for a ladder or another way up.

In reply to COL Kurt L. Schaeffer (msg #55):

There was a line of chrome metal rungs leading up to the roof of the cab. There was no ladder on the trailer.

Peter finished up his breakfast and leaned back, wearing a slightly satisfied look on his face. He smiled widely and patted his stomach a few times. "Thank you, all."

He stood up slowly and stretched his arms and body. He walked over behind Jane and said quietly, "Jane, my dear, I am going to go check on the truck and make sure it's ready to roll for when everyone is ready to go. I shall see you out there in a little while."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:51, Mon 28 June 2010.