DeletedUser
"fine. i'll take five mags of 7.62 and a pair of hand grenades. i'll give ya 20 gold pieces and four damn good fighting knives. he held out the coins and the knives that he'd taken from the thugs.
DeletedUser
[{hope you're still accepting, if not please notify me and disregard this post! 
}]
Name: Catori Rael
Age: 22
Natl.: Native American
Weapons: Tribe Hand Crafted Bow and Arrow, Two Glock 17 9mm Hand Guns, and a Gator Folding Guthook Hunting Knife by Gerber Knives. Her Jeep Cherokee might be considered a weapon if you count the fact that the entire front is bayoneted, the wheels seem to have Romanesque spikes coming off the hub caps, and is outfitted with a XM214 Microgun
Profession: Runner/One Woman Cargo Transport
Bio: The Leaders on the Hopi reservation in what used to be the Northern part of Arizona always assumed that the end of the world would be mans fault, not natures, and knew it was coming soon. That’s why five years prior to the disaster a small group of followers started to mobilize. They started to build into the ground, making five large networks of underground communities and when the disaster happened they retreated into them. Of course nobody was really prepared for the extent of what happened or things like the mutants and diseases that continuously bombarded the survivors. In the end only two large scale networks survived until the day the sun returned and eventually, one generation later, they combined with each other. Luckily of the two, one had even gone as far to make a high tech underground farm that provided some basic vegetables.
Unfortunately though, this of course brought unwanted attention from bandits and thieves, thus another generation later to the present day, five of the most able young adults were outfitted to go on individualistic runs. They went out trading corn for ammunition, new weapons, and anything else the tribe needed. One of these runners was Catori Rael, one only two females chosen for the running, and notably one of the best. Catori Rael had originally resided with her family in one of the larger houses that were eventually built over the underground systems, until every one in the house contracted one of the new disease. Catori had came out the only survivor of the eight it infected and, as a newly orphaned fifteen year old, was put under supervision of what little, but fair, government the people had. Needless to say, the girl grew up strong and was later chosen for the job after being recognized by one of the leaders.
Of course, with a difficult upbringing, Catori remains to stay a positive individual, only one with a cynical personality and a sarcastic sense of humor.
_________________________________________________________
It had been noon by the time Catori had sold the last crate of the corn, one of the more popular products that her tribe was continuously growing underground. She had brought the cargo three days worth of travel from the reservation to earn enough money to buy some crates of basic riffle gun ammunition. The riffle was the main gun that the tribe used to protect their land, which was now rich, underground, with food that was rare to the bomb scarred world. Catori had set up camp as close to center of the makeshift market place as she could at dawn and had been haggling ever since. She tried to keep the down time in her runs two days, or less if she could, knowing that time was of the essence when it came to bringing back the ammo she came to get.
It looked like it would be a two day-er though as she packed up what scraps were left of the vegetables, knowing that they wouldn’t be bought if the late afternoon sun got to them.
Later, her money-specific pouch jingled while she walked away from the attendant that was watching the car field, after paying him. This car field had proven over the years to be a safe spot in the market place to park no matter what was left in her car. She had left her bow and arrow and guns in the car tonight, along with the last crate of mixed vegetables, but took her knife to protect her new bankroll and prepared herself to step into pick pockets galore, placing her hand on the pouch which was securely sewn onto the front hip of her jean capris. She had made killing today but knew any of the good sales that would have gone off today would definitely be gone by now, so resolved to find some where to stay for the night, opting out of sleeping in the Jeep for the third consecutive night in a row. The only question now, after she had stepped into the throng of people in the market place, was where she would find to sleep.
Before she could even continue the thought of finding a place to rest her eye caught sight of a Hummer in the market place with cargo strewn about it. Thought it wasn’t the car it’s self that caught her eye, but the large amount of loot and what she hoped to be crates of ammunition, thinking ‘It wouldn’t hurt to look, this looks like a new trader and there seems to be a surplus which is good for sales. . .’
She walked over, and started to skim with her eyes, waiting for the attendant to be done with business. He was already busy with what she assumed was his associate and also seemed to be in the middle of another sale. She was fine with waiting though, her eyes already found what she needed; it seemed her time here would be short.
}]Name: Catori Rael
Age: 22
Natl.: Native American
Weapons: Tribe Hand Crafted Bow and Arrow, Two Glock 17 9mm Hand Guns, and a Gator Folding Guthook Hunting Knife by Gerber Knives. Her Jeep Cherokee might be considered a weapon if you count the fact that the entire front is bayoneted, the wheels seem to have Romanesque spikes coming off the hub caps, and is outfitted with a XM214 Microgun
Profession: Runner/One Woman Cargo Transport
Bio: The Leaders on the Hopi reservation in what used to be the Northern part of Arizona always assumed that the end of the world would be mans fault, not natures, and knew it was coming soon. That’s why five years prior to the disaster a small group of followers started to mobilize. They started to build into the ground, making five large networks of underground communities and when the disaster happened they retreated into them. Of course nobody was really prepared for the extent of what happened or things like the mutants and diseases that continuously bombarded the survivors. In the end only two large scale networks survived until the day the sun returned and eventually, one generation later, they combined with each other. Luckily of the two, one had even gone as far to make a high tech underground farm that provided some basic vegetables.
Unfortunately though, this of course brought unwanted attention from bandits and thieves, thus another generation later to the present day, five of the most able young adults were outfitted to go on individualistic runs. They went out trading corn for ammunition, new weapons, and anything else the tribe needed. One of these runners was Catori Rael, one only two females chosen for the running, and notably one of the best. Catori Rael had originally resided with her family in one of the larger houses that were eventually built over the underground systems, until every one in the house contracted one of the new disease. Catori had came out the only survivor of the eight it infected and, as a newly orphaned fifteen year old, was put under supervision of what little, but fair, government the people had. Needless to say, the girl grew up strong and was later chosen for the job after being recognized by one of the leaders.
Of course, with a difficult upbringing, Catori remains to stay a positive individual, only one with a cynical personality and a sarcastic sense of humor.
_________________________________________________________
It had been noon by the time Catori had sold the last crate of the corn, one of the more popular products that her tribe was continuously growing underground. She had brought the cargo three days worth of travel from the reservation to earn enough money to buy some crates of basic riffle gun ammunition. The riffle was the main gun that the tribe used to protect their land, which was now rich, underground, with food that was rare to the bomb scarred world. Catori had set up camp as close to center of the makeshift market place as she could at dawn and had been haggling ever since. She tried to keep the down time in her runs two days, or less if she could, knowing that time was of the essence when it came to bringing back the ammo she came to get.
It looked like it would be a two day-er though as she packed up what scraps were left of the vegetables, knowing that they wouldn’t be bought if the late afternoon sun got to them.
Later, her money-specific pouch jingled while she walked away from the attendant that was watching the car field, after paying him. This car field had proven over the years to be a safe spot in the market place to park no matter what was left in her car. She had left her bow and arrow and guns in the car tonight, along with the last crate of mixed vegetables, but took her knife to protect her new bankroll and prepared herself to step into pick pockets galore, placing her hand on the pouch which was securely sewn onto the front hip of her jean capris. She had made killing today but knew any of the good sales that would have gone off today would definitely be gone by now, so resolved to find some where to stay for the night, opting out of sleeping in the Jeep for the third consecutive night in a row. The only question now, after she had stepped into the throng of people in the market place, was where she would find to sleep.
Before she could even continue the thought of finding a place to rest her eye caught sight of a Hummer in the market place with cargo strewn about it. Thought it wasn’t the car it’s self that caught her eye, but the large amount of loot and what she hoped to be crates of ammunition, thinking ‘It wouldn’t hurt to look, this looks like a new trader and there seems to be a surplus which is good for sales. . .’
She walked over, and started to skim with her eyes, waiting for the attendant to be done with business. He was already busy with what she assumed was his associate and also seemed to be in the middle of another sale. She was fine with waiting though, her eyes already found what she needed; it seemed her time here would be short.
DeletedUser
The steam convoy lay directly in the path of a horde of mutants, things looked grim, that is for commander Jean. "Withdraw now I say!" "Sir you are being dramatic, it willl be easy to get through." "Are you mad? In fact you're being insubordinate, in fact I'll have you-" *WACK!* "Sorry sir but if it threatens our mission I have the right to subvert you, mow'em down!
DeletedUser
Justin put the man's money into his pouch and watched as he walked away. It was the young people, he learned, that you had to keep an eye on. They seemed to think that they could get away with things. No one would shoot a kid, would they? Everyone carried a gun, so everyone else was afraid to cause trouble.
Justin noticed a young woman coming towards him; her skin was about the same color as his. She was looking at the ammunition. Justin turned to Isaiah, letting her browse.
"We should pack our things, I'm getting tired," he said.
"Same here, it's been a long day."
Justin noticed a young woman coming towards him; her skin was about the same color as his. She was looking at the ammunition. Justin turned to Isaiah, letting her browse.
"We should pack our things, I'm getting tired," he said.
"Same here, it's been a long day."
DeletedUser
The steam convoy proved to have met its inconvenient end. Vehicles and crew were being massacred by the ultra mutated zombies, leaving only on choice for the assistant. "Sir wake up!" "Wha? You little double-" "Sir it's a slaughter from where we stand I don't know where to go!" Jean stod up and took a look around, wrecked vehicles were scattered all over and people screamed and yelled in pain as the mutants crushed their groups. 'My god! I can't believe you idiots could do this!" "Sir I-" "Shut up! A lot of good citizens of France and civilization are dead because an incompetent fool like you has directed us into a slaughterhouse. I should have you executed now, at the moment though we need all the manpower we can get." The situation looked grim as more of the mutants closed in on the French survivors suddenly I cry came from the spotter. "Sir sir I see a gap in them that we can get through!" "Really?" "Yes if we move now we can escape, however what of the-?" "It's too late for them, better that some of us survive than none. Full Speed Ahead we must evacuate our position!" So whether a miracle or not the last remaining convoy vehicle withdrew through a small gap, heading southeast...
DeletedUser
tom tied the mags and grenades to his belt and walked away from the hummer. it was time to find somewhere to sleep for the night. he scanned the square. there was nowhere that was obviously offering accomadation. he cursed under his breath and began to walk towards a van parked outside a saloon. it was time to get his hands dirty...
DeletedUser
Lost in the fact that she had found what she needed, she almost didn’t hear what the two traders weren’t talking about. The words ‘pack-up’ threw her and her eyes darted away from the ammunition that she had been admiring to the two men, saying “Oh wait!” a little louder then she had intended. Catching her self she continued, gesturing to the three boxes she had been looking at “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you before, but I’d like to buy those three crates of ammunition you’ve got there; How much please?” Her eyes went back from the one man to the other a couple times, not positive which one would handling the money, but didn’t think it mattered much seeing that they both seemed to be partners of some sort.
DeletedUser
As Justin haggled with the woman, Isaiah started to load the truck. He had a smile on his face; he'd worked hard, made some money and a new friend. And to top it off, they were going to buy some land tonight. Isaiah had been around for a few moons, so he had a few trusted contacts and loyal friends. As hard as times were, it was usually very risky to deal with "business" men. Cheats and thieves were common.
As Justin haggled with the woman he had a smile on his face. Perhaps he was becoming a business man. Of course, it could have been because he'd had a good day. Hard work, friends, and money had a euphoric effect. He might have given the woman a better deal because of it.
As Justin haggled with the woman he had a smile on his face. Perhaps he was becoming a business man. Of course, it could have been because he'd had a good day. Hard work, friends, and money had a euphoric effect. He might have given the woman a better deal because of it.
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DeletedUser
The single vehicle and its crew found itself journeying towards Savannah, finally arriving with barely enough coal to bring it another mile. The crew dismounted. "Ahhh, so this is Savannah. I hear they have somewhat stabilized this place and that in fact there is even a proper real estate system. Pretty impressive for these American bums, right Captain Poirot? "Why yes sir! I would say that they're one of the most civilized groups we've encountered since the east coast. However I hear crime is high and the markets are bursting with firearms and to top it off service industry is almmost nonexistant." "Oh, well Poirot, you can come with me. You my sub-commander can go send out people to buy supplies. Now come Poirot let's visit a market before it closes and see ho civilized these rogues are..."
DeletedUser
"So for all three crates I'll give you two hundred and ten gold pieces, seventy pieces for each. That, or if your willing to lower the price, I have a crate vegetables back in my car," Catori said point with her thumb behind her in the general direction of the car lot that she used. The man she was haggling with seemed to be in a good mood with the way he was smiling, and even though the deal was strictly business, his attitude was contagious and Catori found herself returning the smile. At the rate that the price was going she would have plenty left to still buy fuel and decent place to stay for the night, and maybe even enough to to find some things for herself.
Not that she minded what she was wearing, the jean capris along with a black tang-top, but with as much extra as she was expecting today, she could have more than just two sets. In the few moment in waiting for the trader to name his price, her hazy green eyes shone as these thoughts ran threw her head. Not only of the clothes but maybe something to use when she washed up when ever she got a chance. She remembered back a couple months when she had had enough left over to buy some shampoo, not anything like the stuff that there was back at the reservation, and it had made her long black hair shine. Today, she thought, it probably looks dust, in the same exact kind of braid that it had been in back then.
DeletedUser
"Come Poirot, it looks already like the market is closing, perhaps we find a deal, no?" "Perhaps sir." The pair of Frenchman approached a stand where a woman and two men were haggling over prices. "Ah see look at the fine Laizzez Faire American economic system at work, however I see that those men have some ammunition of interest to us. Come Poirot let us slink into the line behind the woman and see what their prices are." With that the two painfully obvious Frenchmen attempted to listen to the conversation.
DeletedUser25825
Name: Phram
Age: 19 Winters
Nationality: Outlander
Weapons: .45 Calibre Double-shot 'Zip' Gun, Bolos, Hand-crafted Double-Ended Spear, Length of Rusted Chain
Profession: Outlander
Bio: Phram was born into one of the tribes of nomadic people who are collectively referred to as 'Outlanders' by the more civilized humans. They are called Outlanders simply because they exist deep in the harsh desert environment outside of the more protected walled civilizations, where few venture due to the slim chance of survivability of the region. There is not much known of Outlander culture because; Outlanders are nomads and have no known established places of dwelling, Outlanders visit protected zones very rarely for trade, and the convoys do not have currently established routes of travel into the deeper desert where Outlanders are known to travel. The one attribute Outlanders are known to have above and beyond most all others is their ability to adapt and survive within this brutal landscape. Slavers dream of capturing Outlanders to break and then sell to the more enterprising convoys as guides, however they are quelled by the fact that Slavers that dare venture into Outlander territory are never heard from again. Overall, Otlanders are a strange people whose customs and mores differ greatly from civilized humans, and have a penchant towards brutal and efficient savagery when they're tested or feel they've been challenged. It is for these reasons that Outlanders are mostly ignored or feared by the civilized, and are therefor generally given wide berth when present.
Description: Phram is a plain looking woman who stands slightly below the average height for females. Though she is not tall, her body ripples with sinewey muscles, and she carries herself in a manner which conveys a near palpable sense of fierceness. Her brown hair is medium length, unkempt, and held out of her eyes by a leather strap studded with brass rivets, which encircles her forehead. She wears a scaled, reptillian hide top similar to a camisole, with pounded iron plates of armor over her shoulders, a leather kilt, and no footwear. Her elbows and knees are covered in a similar crudely pounded armor plating as her shoulders. The only other striking feature of Phram is the series of ritual scars and swirling tattoos, which identify her tribe and other significant things to Outlanders, which cover her face, neck, and arms. She slings a wicked appearing spear tipped on both ends with jagged metal, which appears capable of both slashing or piercing, and a length of rusted chain hangs from a wide, intricately woven fiber belt. The only other obvious thing she carries is a tote-like bag, which was crafted from some dark-haired shaggy animal.
Phram finally navigated the crowded, confusing labyrinth of mud streets of the walled city, and entered what appeared to be the market center. She hovered near the entrance to the square, and observed the loud, hectic hagglings of both traders and buyers. The dislike of this situation was easily discernable on her features, as her brown eyes darted from situation to situation. She narrowed her eyes slightly, stepped forward and was jarred by a collision with a large brute of a man who had failed to notice her. The man frowned down at her, blinked as the color drained from his face, and then stepped back holding his empty hands up in a warding off gesture with a muttered, "Sorry bout that". Phram tilted her head slightly to the side, and regarded him silently as he turned tail and fled back the way he was coming from. After a few moments, Phram returned her attention back towards the situation which had caught her attention originally. She proceeded forward until she neared a transpiring barter between what appeared to be a Conyover and, more importantly to Phram, Catori.
She stood quietly, watching Catori haggle what appeared to be the final stages of a trading agreement with the Convoyer. Uncle had told her a story of a tribe of peoples dwelling seven daywalks East and four daywalks South. As she studied Catori's features, she became more convinced she might belong to the tribe uncle had spoken of. Her attention was pulled away from the exchange as a heated arguement broke out not far from where they stood. Two men argued back and forth, which quickly transpired into trading blows. Phram did not observe any weapons being involved, sniffed disdainfully, and returned her silent observation towards the two.
*OOC - I hope that I am not too late in joining up in this RP. Post-apocolypse is one of my favorites, and I do hope that I can join you all. If not, I apologize and please disregard this posting until I can remove it -
Age: 19 Winters
Nationality: Outlander
Weapons: .45 Calibre Double-shot 'Zip' Gun, Bolos, Hand-crafted Double-Ended Spear, Length of Rusted Chain
Profession: Outlander
Bio: Phram was born into one of the tribes of nomadic people who are collectively referred to as 'Outlanders' by the more civilized humans. They are called Outlanders simply because they exist deep in the harsh desert environment outside of the more protected walled civilizations, where few venture due to the slim chance of survivability of the region. There is not much known of Outlander culture because; Outlanders are nomads and have no known established places of dwelling, Outlanders visit protected zones very rarely for trade, and the convoys do not have currently established routes of travel into the deeper desert where Outlanders are known to travel. The one attribute Outlanders are known to have above and beyond most all others is their ability to adapt and survive within this brutal landscape. Slavers dream of capturing Outlanders to break and then sell to the more enterprising convoys as guides, however they are quelled by the fact that Slavers that dare venture into Outlander territory are never heard from again. Overall, Otlanders are a strange people whose customs and mores differ greatly from civilized humans, and have a penchant towards brutal and efficient savagery when they're tested or feel they've been challenged. It is for these reasons that Outlanders are mostly ignored or feared by the civilized, and are therefor generally given wide berth when present.
Description: Phram is a plain looking woman who stands slightly below the average height for females. Though she is not tall, her body ripples with sinewey muscles, and she carries herself in a manner which conveys a near palpable sense of fierceness. Her brown hair is medium length, unkempt, and held out of her eyes by a leather strap studded with brass rivets, which encircles her forehead. She wears a scaled, reptillian hide top similar to a camisole, with pounded iron plates of armor over her shoulders, a leather kilt, and no footwear. Her elbows and knees are covered in a similar crudely pounded armor plating as her shoulders. The only other striking feature of Phram is the series of ritual scars and swirling tattoos, which identify her tribe and other significant things to Outlanders, which cover her face, neck, and arms. She slings a wicked appearing spear tipped on both ends with jagged metal, which appears capable of both slashing or piercing, and a length of rusted chain hangs from a wide, intricately woven fiber belt. The only other obvious thing she carries is a tote-like bag, which was crafted from some dark-haired shaggy animal.
Phram finally navigated the crowded, confusing labyrinth of mud streets of the walled city, and entered what appeared to be the market center. She hovered near the entrance to the square, and observed the loud, hectic hagglings of both traders and buyers. The dislike of this situation was easily discernable on her features, as her brown eyes darted from situation to situation. She narrowed her eyes slightly, stepped forward and was jarred by a collision with a large brute of a man who had failed to notice her. The man frowned down at her, blinked as the color drained from his face, and then stepped back holding his empty hands up in a warding off gesture with a muttered, "Sorry bout that". Phram tilted her head slightly to the side, and regarded him silently as he turned tail and fled back the way he was coming from. After a few moments, Phram returned her attention back towards the situation which had caught her attention originally. She proceeded forward until she neared a transpiring barter between what appeared to be a Conyover and, more importantly to Phram, Catori.
She stood quietly, watching Catori haggle what appeared to be the final stages of a trading agreement with the Convoyer. Uncle had told her a story of a tribe of peoples dwelling seven daywalks East and four daywalks South. As she studied Catori's features, she became more convinced she might belong to the tribe uncle had spoken of. Her attention was pulled away from the exchange as a heated arguement broke out not far from where they stood. Two men argued back and forth, which quickly transpired into trading blows. Phram did not observe any weapons being involved, sniffed disdainfully, and returned her silent observation towards the two.
*OOC - I hope that I am not too late in joining up in this RP. Post-apocolypse is one of my favorites, and I do hope that I can join you all. If not, I apologize and please disregard this posting until I can remove it -
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DeletedUser
OOC - We're glad to have you!
__________________________________________________
Isaiah helped the woman with the crates of ammunition and came back with the vegetables. Meanwhile Justin had started haggling with a man who would have stood out in a crowd if he hadn't been covered in dust like everyone else. He wore a leather cap and goggles covered his eyes. Thin tan pants were stuffed into his tall leather boots, and a pair of leather gloves hung from his back pocket. He seemed distracted as he shopped, as though something were wrong. Sweat dripped down his face; he had definitely been in the sun all day. The way he leaned on one foot suggested that he had spent it walking. He reached into the pocket of his brown jacket and brought out a small cloth pouch which bore an emblem identical to the one on his lapel which read: French Foreign Legion, Commander Jean Lafitte IV.
__________________________________________________
OOC - I hope you like my description of you, Jean. If you don't, I'll change it. It was my impression of what a steam soldier would look like.
__________________________________________________
Isaiah helped the woman with the crates of ammunition and came back with the vegetables. Meanwhile Justin had started haggling with a man who would have stood out in a crowd if he hadn't been covered in dust like everyone else. He wore a leather cap and goggles covered his eyes. Thin tan pants were stuffed into his tall leather boots, and a pair of leather gloves hung from his back pocket. He seemed distracted as he shopped, as though something were wrong. Sweat dripped down his face; he had definitely been in the sun all day. The way he leaned on one foot suggested that he had spent it walking. He reached into the pocket of his brown jacket and brought out a small cloth pouch which bore an emblem identical to the one on his lapel which read: French Foreign Legion, Commander Jean Lafitte IV.
__________________________________________________
OOC - I hope you like my description of you, Jean. If you don't, I'll change it. It was my impression of what a steam soldier would look like.
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DeletedUser25825
Phram stood near the Convoyers, watching as more and more people drew near as they discovered the haul being offered was quite impressive. She rested her hand on the satchel at her side while wondering if she had anything remotely interesting to offer to the Civilers dwelling in this city. Her thoughts of the items she’d scrounged in the last ruins she’d been scavenging within proved a rare distraction from her awareness of her surroundings. She failed to notice three seedy individuals grouped nearby and muttering to each other while eyeing her up. She cleared the cobwebs from her mind and scanned the crowd for the woman who’d grabbed her attention earlier.
She tensed as rough hands suddenly grabbed her upper arms from behind. She lifted her feet off the ground, and struggled against the two holding onto her. She frowned and bared her teeth as a slovenly man with a gravelly voice stepped in front of her, patted a revolver holstered at his side, and warned her not to struggle. She relaxed her tensed arms and he grinned, revealing a mouth full of rotten, yellow teeth as he stepped closer and grabbed her chin. “Yeah”, he hissed, “You’re gonna make a good slave.” Phram snapped her head forward, slamming the stud-covered strap covering her forehead against the bridge of the man’s nose causing him to howl and backpedal as he covered his mashed nose with his hands. She immediately dropped her center of gravity and spun, shaking loose from the shocked Slavers holding onto her.
She turned to face the two Slavers as they drew knives and charged her. She grinned fiercely and crouched down. As the two men were within striking distance, she sprung forward like a loosed spring. Phram dodged the first Slaver’s clumsy stab towards her, and ducked and spun under the swiping blade of the second. While spinning behind the second man, she slammed her armored knee into the side of the second man’s knee, finding satisfaction in the resounding crunch and resulting anguished scream elicited from the man as he collapsed into the dust. As she straightened to her feet to face the other Slaver, she shook loose the rusted length of chain from her belt. The Slaver looks less sure of himself as she bares her surprisingly white teeth. She swings the chain at the man’s face, and he dodges backwards. Phram obviously appeared to expect the chain to connect and feigns a sideway stumble.
The Slaver grins and rushes in with his knife raised for an overhead stab. He plunges the knife down at Phram, and she slams her body into his, knocking him backwards. Phram’s chain again lashes outwards and tangles her chain around the man’s neck. He lunges forward with a stab at Phram once again, and she easily side-steps the attack as she tosses her end of the chain between his legs. She aptly catches it on the other side of him, and gathers it up quickly. The man drops his knife and wheels his arms comically as he tries to stop his forward momentum. Phram maintains the tension on the chain, effectively keeping the Slaver on his toes. She looks towards the other Slavers, both of whom roll in the dust whimpering at their injuries. She turns the Slaver she’s holding, places her foot on his backside and shoves him head-first against a large crate. The Slaver groans as his head impacts the metal side with a resounding clang, and he sinks slowly down onto the dusty street.
She looks at the gathered people, watching the action. Not observing any threat, she crouches down and unwraps the chain from the third Slaver. She stands, tucks it back into her belt and retreats from the area.
She tensed as rough hands suddenly grabbed her upper arms from behind. She lifted her feet off the ground, and struggled against the two holding onto her. She frowned and bared her teeth as a slovenly man with a gravelly voice stepped in front of her, patted a revolver holstered at his side, and warned her not to struggle. She relaxed her tensed arms and he grinned, revealing a mouth full of rotten, yellow teeth as he stepped closer and grabbed her chin. “Yeah”, he hissed, “You’re gonna make a good slave.” Phram snapped her head forward, slamming the stud-covered strap covering her forehead against the bridge of the man’s nose causing him to howl and backpedal as he covered his mashed nose with his hands. She immediately dropped her center of gravity and spun, shaking loose from the shocked Slavers holding onto her.
She turned to face the two Slavers as they drew knives and charged her. She grinned fiercely and crouched down. As the two men were within striking distance, she sprung forward like a loosed spring. Phram dodged the first Slaver’s clumsy stab towards her, and ducked and spun under the swiping blade of the second. While spinning behind the second man, she slammed her armored knee into the side of the second man’s knee, finding satisfaction in the resounding crunch and resulting anguished scream elicited from the man as he collapsed into the dust. As she straightened to her feet to face the other Slaver, she shook loose the rusted length of chain from her belt. The Slaver looks less sure of himself as she bares her surprisingly white teeth. She swings the chain at the man’s face, and he dodges backwards. Phram obviously appeared to expect the chain to connect and feigns a sideway stumble.
The Slaver grins and rushes in with his knife raised for an overhead stab. He plunges the knife down at Phram, and she slams her body into his, knocking him backwards. Phram’s chain again lashes outwards and tangles her chain around the man’s neck. He lunges forward with a stab at Phram once again, and she easily side-steps the attack as she tosses her end of the chain between his legs. She aptly catches it on the other side of him, and gathers it up quickly. The man drops his knife and wheels his arms comically as he tries to stop his forward momentum. Phram maintains the tension on the chain, effectively keeping the Slaver on his toes. She looks towards the other Slavers, both of whom roll in the dust whimpering at their injuries. She turns the Slaver she’s holding, places her foot on his backside and shoves him head-first against a large crate. The Slaver groans as his head impacts the metal side with a resounding clang, and he sinks slowly down onto the dusty street.
She looks at the gathered people, watching the action. Not observing any threat, she crouches down and unwraps the chain from the third Slaver. She stands, tucks it back into her belt and retreats from the area.
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DeletedUser
OOC:Not to worry, I wasn't even sure how an unarmored one would look.
"Now sir, I see that you have the bullets of the calibres I require." Said Jean to the salesman. "I also believe your prices, are a tad too high, I believe if you cut your cost by a fifth we can make a deal." The man looked at Jean like he was cookoo. "However well we're on the subject of material, do you possess anything of higher caliber, say artillery round perhaps, even 30mm will do. Also if you had coal, now that would be nice-" Poirot tapped Jean on the shoulder, "Sir look, there is a fight!" Almost everyone watched as a strange looking women proceeded to badly batter three men smashing them into the dirt. "Sir look at her she-" "Eh stop, that is one of those obtuse Outlanders which are less civilized than this market, however as long as we don't get in her way Poirot we'll turn out fine, anyway sir about that ammunition..."
"Now sir, I see that you have the bullets of the calibres I require." Said Jean to the salesman. "I also believe your prices, are a tad too high, I believe if you cut your cost by a fifth we can make a deal." The man looked at Jean like he was cookoo. "However well we're on the subject of material, do you possess anything of higher caliber, say artillery round perhaps, even 30mm will do. Also if you had coal, now that would be nice-" Poirot tapped Jean on the shoulder, "Sir look, there is a fight!" Almost everyone watched as a strange looking women proceeded to badly batter three men smashing them into the dirt. "Sir look at her she-" "Eh stop, that is one of those obtuse Outlanders which are less civilized than this market, however as long as we don't get in her way Poirot we'll turn out fine, anyway sir about that ammunition..."
DeletedUser
Past
Jeff Ridges heard the roar of APC 3, as it's massive engine roared, like a dragon from a fairy tale. He could see it, the thirty foot tall titanium alloy behemoth knocked over evergreen trees as if they were twigs, the scattered remnants of the mutant horde scrambling from under it's treads in a panic. A few of the forward machine guns opened up and tore into a group of stickies that had amassed to make a charge for the vulnerable Jeff Ridges, who was till holding the unconscious Rowdy, like an elephant held a rider, without notice of the weight.
The heavily armed occpants of APC 3 filed out the combat hatch on the let side of the lumbering behemoth. Some opened up with their small arms on stickies who were unfortunate enough to be in the area, while two others unfolded a stretcher and laid the armor clad killer out. A trauma kit was brought out, aswell as the correct antivenom that saved the victims of sticky attacks.
Meanwhile, in Jeffersonville, Trader Falcon stepped down from APC 1. The occupants of the pest hole were still inside a squat cement shelter, Falcon looked over the structure with a critical eye, noting the scortch marks along the cement walls. He shook his head, this was probably the nuke shelter the inbred folks of Jeffersonville came out of when the snows melted.
Trader Falcon braced himself for the meeting with the moronic townsfolk, as he knocked on the steel door of the shelter. From inside, he heard the rumblings of the town's baron, a fat man that had an eye for obviously fake jewelry. The town's cheif of security Tidus Mcgreely, was the one who spoke through the door however "Back away from the door and put your hands on your head."
"I'll do no such thing, Mcgreely, if you want your weapons you come out and get them, or I'll take them as fuel compensation." Falcon barked, in the low gravelly tone that he was known, and feared for.
"Alright, me and the boys will come out. Luckily we had your payment down here, so it's safe." Tidus almost heasitantly, opened the door.
The group of Jeffersonvillie residents wheeled out a blanket wrapped shape on a handcart. The security men of the ville clustered around it, their weapons free.
The baron hobbled out of the bomb shelter next, his fingers glittering with giant red and blue rings. "I trust everything is in order, Falcon. We won't be relinquishing our part of the trade if anything is out of place."
"I didn't get my reputation for cheating people, Baron. Why should I treat you any different?" Falcon replied "At least your ville is safe and still standing."
"And for that we are grateful."
Trader Falcon was already moving, as Tidus Mcgreely started to pull his shotgun to his shoulder. Falcon stepped in close to the security cheif and backhanded him across the face with his left hand, as his right clamped onto the shotgun and pushed the blast towards the thre sec men clustered around the blanket wrapped handcart.
One of the guards took the blast to the stomach and he curled over, his double barreled shotgun falling to the ground. Blood geysered from between his fingers, as he tried desperately, to stop his stomach from sliding out of the massive hole the shotgun had caused. The other two were hit higher, and immediatly dropped, as their faces were turned into a ruined mass of torn flesh and splintered teeth.
Falcon then shoved the stock of the shotgun forward and smashed it into Tidus Mcgreely's stomach, causing the cheif to fall backwards, the wind knocked from his lungs. He gasped on the ground, as APC 1 thundered into life and five men stepped from inside and walked towards the handcart. They wheeled it away, as Trader Falcon reversed the shotgun and pointed it at Tidus.
The sec chief's life ended a moment later and Trader Falcon turned "Let this be a lesson to you, Baron."
The trader stalked back to APC 1, his newly aquired shotgun tucked under an arm. The baron ran beside Falcon "You can't do this! We need those supplies, damn you! Stop!"
As Trader stepped onto the ladder of APC 1, the fat baron pulled a small pistol and trained it on Falcon's back. Almost like an after thought, Trader Falcon flipped the shotgun around in his grasp and fired backwards.
The Baron of Jeffersonville bucked forward, as his small legs were torn from his body. He lay in the street, his legs lying in a puddle three feet from his body, as Trader Falcon climbed the ladder into APC 1.
Once inside, Falcon sat down in the commander's chair and told the driver "You remember that walled ville a little ways from here? Take the convoy there, those rifles will trade real good there."
"APCs 2 and 3, diplomatic relations have fallen through, we're pulling out, link up in the pass headed to codename Wallville." Mouse spoke into his microphone.
Present
The inhabitants of cadename Wallville were very happy, when the massive trade convoy of Trader Falcon's rolled into town.
Rowdy didn't take much notice, in the day and a half it took to get to Wallville, he had recovered full strength and he now wore his TAR Industries armor as he had in the past, walking in it, as if it were jeans and a t shirt.
He strode among the inhabitants of Wallville, until he noticed a crowd gathered around a fight. Three men were on the ground, they looked to be, well, dead. The woman unwrapped a heavy length of chain from one of the dead raider's necks and then started to leave. She was coming in his direction.
DeletedUser25825
Phram moved through the marketplace, leaving the Slavers to be dealt with by whatever authority claimed power here. What she sought in this marketplace might be found in others, and she was not one for repeat scenes with people who believed they could own others. The gathered crowds ebbed slowly out of her way as she continued forward. They seemed restless to her. Bloodshed and violence often brought out poor choices by others who have grown bored with their lot in life, and suddenly seek the adventure they got a brief glimpse of. She loosed her battle spear from her back, and held the shaft in her left hand as she began to walk with just a bit more pep in her step to get away from all of the curious eyes on her now. As she re-armed herself, the crowd apparently got the message and gave her a wide berth.
Phram observed Rowdy, decked out in gear she’d never seen before, and slowed her advance slightly. The man, an obvious soldier or guard, was simply regarding her, much like the others that were present, so there for unlikely to hinder her exit. As she neared him, she lifted her battle spear and rested it over her shoulder almost carelessly. Rowdy had no doubt it was a ruse towards a more defensive setting, however, it was not exactly threatening in any manner. The woman was prepared for a fight if need be, due to some perceived threat from him. She looked in his direction as she continued walking, and simply nodded slightly.
Phram observed Rowdy, decked out in gear she’d never seen before, and slowed her advance slightly. The man, an obvious soldier or guard, was simply regarding her, much like the others that were present, so there for unlikely to hinder her exit. As she neared him, she lifted her battle spear and rested it over her shoulder almost carelessly. Rowdy had no doubt it was a ruse towards a more defensive setting, however, it was not exactly threatening in any manner. The woman was prepared for a fight if need be, due to some perceived threat from him. She looked in his direction as she continued walking, and simply nodded slightly.
DeletedUser
In fact, I do have some 30mm ammunition," said Justin with a smile, "I'll go down one tenth in price." He showed the Frenchman the bullets all while keeping an eye on the crowd. Since it was evening, the crowd was thinning, yet newcomers were still entering the market. Isaiah had loaded the truck and was talking to a young man. After agreeing on a price with the Frenchman, Justin loaded the rest into the truck and walked over to Isaiah.
"What did he want?" asked Justin.
"He wants to join you," answered Isaiah.
Join me to do what?"
"Raiding, of course, what you do!"
"Oh," mumbled Justin. He supposed that he would let everyone think that. He had made good money. "Let's go see that land."
Justin pulled the Hummer off the road. The market had been paved with stones. Out here, the roads were dirt. However, they were still in Savanah; the builders of the city had enclosed a great amount of land within the city walls. Justin liked that. It struck him a smart defense. Justin and Isaiah walked over to a woman waiting for them.
"Hello," she said, "My name is Ashley." They shook hands.
"My name's Justin Michael."
"It's been a while," said Isaiah.
"Yes, it has," said Ashley, "I'm glad I have the pleasure of selling real-estate to you." She smiled.
The two of them tromped through the trees. Tromped was the only word that came to Justin's mind. He could hear every move they made. Plus, they were slowing him down. Justin was at least thirty yards ahead of them.
"Here we have a very fine spring of fresh water," said Ashley in a very persuasive voice, "This is definitely prime land." She was covered in mud. Justin highly doubted that she considered it prime land. He did consider it prime land, but he wouldn't say so. He wanted to get the lowest price possible for this land.
"It's covered in forest and brush," countered Justin, "It will take a lot of hard work to make this land usable."
"True," she said simply. Obviously, she wanted to continue calling it prime land.
"Well, I think we've seen the land," called Isaiah. Justin had seen the land. Those two hadn't. They started to work their way back to the truck. When they got there, the two of them stood leaning against the Hummer. They were breathing heavily too. Justin stood looking over the area. He liked it. It would be a great place to set up.
The more Justin explored Savanah, the more he realized that this city was all about business. Make money, or die trying. That would do for their motto until someone came up with a better one. However, it wasn't just the people who lived here. If you wanted to make money, this was were you came. Of course, coming here was not a guarantee that you would be successful. Nothing could be further from the truth. In order to "make a killing" you had to kill someone. That meant that some were going to get killed.
In the middle of Savanah stood a colossally sized building of stone. It seemed that the people of Savanah wanted it to be even bigger, for crews of huge men in chains were pulling giant blocks of stone up ramps to the top of the building. Two or three machines, the likes of which Justin had never seen before, were also moving the stones about. Justin walked up to a "police officer" standing at a corner. They were, Isaiah had told him, like soldiers whom the "government" used to keep the peace in Savanah. However, it seemed to Justin that they let a lot of unpeaceful things go on as long as it didn't threaten the "government." Perhaps that was their way of keeping the peace.
"Sir, could you tell me where the Fortress is?" asked Justin. The officer looked at him with unbelieving eyes.
"It that huge thing right there!" he said sarcastically.
"Oh, alright, thank you," Justin said, embarrassed.
Once Justin got there, he realized that there were several stone buildings in the middle of the city. Most of these, he saw, were the government buildings. A few were the "head quarters" of powerful business men. At least that was what an old man in a local saloon had told him. There was a "Court," a "Prison," a "Barracks," and the fortress. Justin climbed the steps of the fortress. Ashley had told him that he had to present his "land title" to the government for him to legally own the real-estate which Ashley had sold him. Just to make sure, Justin had Isaiah hold her hostage while he took the "land title" to the government.
Justin stood still in awe. He looked down the corridor. He looked up the corridor. It seemed to go on forever. He looked up at the ceiling. He had to peer. Far up there he could see it. A young woman wearing a thin flowing robe came up to him with a water pitcher.
"Could you tell me where I should go to present my land title?" he asked her. She did not answer but washed his feet and sprayed him with perfume. Then she quickly left. Two officers joined him at each side, and escorted him to place only they knew where. Finally they stopped in front of a pair of huge wooden doors braced with iron bars. It opened for them and they entered. Inside was a long hall which had, at the end, a marble throne. Carved in the stone walls were seats in which many waited. Justin assumed they were waiting to talk to the man on the throne.
"This is Lord Daigmon," said one officer.
"He is the Lord of Mammon," said the other.
After what seemed like an eternity, another young woman, wearing even less than the last, came up to him.
"My Lord will see you now. Do bow and pay him homage," she said. Justin could tell that was more than just a suggestion. He walked up the long hall and bowed down. He had watched over an hour of these proceedings, so he knew what to expect. He waited and a scepter was extended to him. He got up, walked over to another officer and handed him his title and a bag of coins.
"My Lord, I present this title and tax to ask, if it does please my Lord, that I may legally live within the fair city of Savanah." He cast his eyes to the floor and waited. On the floor was a mural a soldier. Justin knew that was no accident. None who stood before a Lord of this city was to forget their power. After a short deliberation, Lord Daigmon signed Justin's title.
"Justin Michael, I hereby authorize you to live within the city of Savanah and give you this paper which entitles you to the ownership of your land." Justin bowed again, and retreated from the presence of Lord Daigmon.
When Justin got outside of the fortress he saw thousands of soldiers. Soldiers were everywhere. He looked around bewildered. He asked a man dressed in common clothes what was going on.
"It's a parade!" he shouted over the din of the crowd. Justin looked. The soldiers were walking in perfect lines, and seemed to move their legs and arms together. It was the most fascinating thing he had seen yet. Afterwards he realized that it was because of those soldiers that the muties didn't attack Savanah and get away with it. He also realized that the reason the soldiers paraded was to show off the strength of the Council of Lords.
Justin got back to find both Isaiah and Ashley eating chocolate. Justin looked at Isaiah reproachfully, but didn't push it.
"I got it," he announced holding up the title.
"I told you that you would," said Ashley with chocolate in her mouth.
"Whatever," mumbled Justin.
"What did he want?" asked Justin.
"He wants to join you," answered Isaiah.
Join me to do what?"
"Raiding, of course, what you do!"
"Oh," mumbled Justin. He supposed that he would let everyone think that. He had made good money. "Let's go see that land."
Justin pulled the Hummer off the road. The market had been paved with stones. Out here, the roads were dirt. However, they were still in Savanah; the builders of the city had enclosed a great amount of land within the city walls. Justin liked that. It struck him a smart defense. Justin and Isaiah walked over to a woman waiting for them.
"Hello," she said, "My name is Ashley." They shook hands.
"My name's Justin Michael."
"It's been a while," said Isaiah.
"Yes, it has," said Ashley, "I'm glad I have the pleasure of selling real-estate to you." She smiled.
The two of them tromped through the trees. Tromped was the only word that came to Justin's mind. He could hear every move they made. Plus, they were slowing him down. Justin was at least thirty yards ahead of them.
"Here we have a very fine spring of fresh water," said Ashley in a very persuasive voice, "This is definitely prime land." She was covered in mud. Justin highly doubted that she considered it prime land. He did consider it prime land, but he wouldn't say so. He wanted to get the lowest price possible for this land.
"It's covered in forest and brush," countered Justin, "It will take a lot of hard work to make this land usable."
"True," she said simply. Obviously, she wanted to continue calling it prime land.
"Well, I think we've seen the land," called Isaiah. Justin had seen the land. Those two hadn't. They started to work their way back to the truck. When they got there, the two of them stood leaning against the Hummer. They were breathing heavily too. Justin stood looking over the area. He liked it. It would be a great place to set up.
The more Justin explored Savanah, the more he realized that this city was all about business. Make money, or die trying. That would do for their motto until someone came up with a better one. However, it wasn't just the people who lived here. If you wanted to make money, this was were you came. Of course, coming here was not a guarantee that you would be successful. Nothing could be further from the truth. In order to "make a killing" you had to kill someone. That meant that some were going to get killed.
In the middle of Savanah stood a colossally sized building of stone. It seemed that the people of Savanah wanted it to be even bigger, for crews of huge men in chains were pulling giant blocks of stone up ramps to the top of the building. Two or three machines, the likes of which Justin had never seen before, were also moving the stones about. Justin walked up to a "police officer" standing at a corner. They were, Isaiah had told him, like soldiers whom the "government" used to keep the peace in Savanah. However, it seemed to Justin that they let a lot of unpeaceful things go on as long as it didn't threaten the "government." Perhaps that was their way of keeping the peace.
"Sir, could you tell me where the Fortress is?" asked Justin. The officer looked at him with unbelieving eyes.
"It that huge thing right there!" he said sarcastically.
"Oh, alright, thank you," Justin said, embarrassed.
Once Justin got there, he realized that there were several stone buildings in the middle of the city. Most of these, he saw, were the government buildings. A few were the "head quarters" of powerful business men. At least that was what an old man in a local saloon had told him. There was a "Court," a "Prison," a "Barracks," and the fortress. Justin climbed the steps of the fortress. Ashley had told him that he had to present his "land title" to the government for him to legally own the real-estate which Ashley had sold him. Just to make sure, Justin had Isaiah hold her hostage while he took the "land title" to the government.
Justin stood still in awe. He looked down the corridor. He looked up the corridor. It seemed to go on forever. He looked up at the ceiling. He had to peer. Far up there he could see it. A young woman wearing a thin flowing robe came up to him with a water pitcher.
"Could you tell me where I should go to present my land title?" he asked her. She did not answer but washed his feet and sprayed him with perfume. Then she quickly left. Two officers joined him at each side, and escorted him to place only they knew where. Finally they stopped in front of a pair of huge wooden doors braced with iron bars. It opened for them and they entered. Inside was a long hall which had, at the end, a marble throne. Carved in the stone walls were seats in which many waited. Justin assumed they were waiting to talk to the man on the throne.
"This is Lord Daigmon," said one officer.
"He is the Lord of Mammon," said the other.
After what seemed like an eternity, another young woman, wearing even less than the last, came up to him.
"My Lord will see you now. Do bow and pay him homage," she said. Justin could tell that was more than just a suggestion. He walked up the long hall and bowed down. He had watched over an hour of these proceedings, so he knew what to expect. He waited and a scepter was extended to him. He got up, walked over to another officer and handed him his title and a bag of coins.
"My Lord, I present this title and tax to ask, if it does please my Lord, that I may legally live within the fair city of Savanah." He cast his eyes to the floor and waited. On the floor was a mural a soldier. Justin knew that was no accident. None who stood before a Lord of this city was to forget their power. After a short deliberation, Lord Daigmon signed Justin's title.
"Justin Michael, I hereby authorize you to live within the city of Savanah and give you this paper which entitles you to the ownership of your land." Justin bowed again, and retreated from the presence of Lord Daigmon.
When Justin got outside of the fortress he saw thousands of soldiers. Soldiers were everywhere. He looked around bewildered. He asked a man dressed in common clothes what was going on.
"It's a parade!" he shouted over the din of the crowd. Justin looked. The soldiers were walking in perfect lines, and seemed to move their legs and arms together. It was the most fascinating thing he had seen yet. Afterwards he realized that it was because of those soldiers that the muties didn't attack Savanah and get away with it. He also realized that the reason the soldiers paraded was to show off the strength of the Council of Lords.
Justin got back to find both Isaiah and Ashley eating chocolate. Justin looked at Isaiah reproachfully, but didn't push it.
"I got it," he announced holding up the title.
"I told you that you would," said Ashley with chocolate in her mouth.
"Whatever," mumbled Justin.
DeletedUser
As Rowdy watched the plain woman walk toward him, menacing him with a spear, a conversation he had been involved in popped into his mind.
___________________________
Trader Falcon placed his boots on the table, in the small cafeteria APC 1 housed, mud that was now clodded dirt fell off onto the metal tabletop, but he ignored it. Clamped in his mouth was a fowl smelling cigar, that made Rowdy think of the kind his father had smoked when he was a boy.
"Listen Rowdy. We lost a few men in the fight with the stickies, it seems we were a little to quick to send in the ground troops. As we speak I have a man rigging up some forward mounted flamethrowers. We're running low on manpower and a convoy short on manpower is one that's ready to take a dirt nap."
"I know what you're getting at, Trader. Wallville won't like us taking their fighting men away from them and that could spoil future trades with them." Rowdy replied, as he spooned some tasteless substance into his mouth.
"I don't care if they don't like it, McAlister, we have bigger guns then they do and we have the trained professionals to use them." Falcon blew a plume of smoke into the air "Be on the lookout for anyone who you think has the balls to ull their load. You bring me back a few mercies, Rowdy, that's an order."
“Yes, sir.” Rowdy replied, as he finished the mush inside the bowl.
__________________
“Ma’m!” Rowdy called to the woman with the spear, as he raised an arm and reached slowly for his Automag "I don't want to fight."
___________________________
Trader Falcon placed his boots on the table, in the small cafeteria APC 1 housed, mud that was now clodded dirt fell off onto the metal tabletop, but he ignored it. Clamped in his mouth was a fowl smelling cigar, that made Rowdy think of the kind his father had smoked when he was a boy.
"Listen Rowdy. We lost a few men in the fight with the stickies, it seems we were a little to quick to send in the ground troops. As we speak I have a man rigging up some forward mounted flamethrowers. We're running low on manpower and a convoy short on manpower is one that's ready to take a dirt nap."
"I know what you're getting at, Trader. Wallville won't like us taking their fighting men away from them and that could spoil future trades with them." Rowdy replied, as he spooned some tasteless substance into his mouth.
"I don't care if they don't like it, McAlister, we have bigger guns then they do and we have the trained professionals to use them." Falcon blew a plume of smoke into the air "Be on the lookout for anyone who you think has the balls to ull their load. You bring me back a few mercies, Rowdy, that's an order."
“Yes, sir.” Rowdy replied, as he finished the mush inside the bowl.
__________________
“Ma’m!” Rowdy called to the woman with the spear, as he raised an arm and reached slowly for his Automag "I don't want to fight."
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DeletedUser25825
Phram regarded the man reaching for a weapon, and paused within striking distance, yet not moving her weapon at all as it was still just resting atop her shoulder. Her face revealed no emotion as she observed Rowdy. She spoke calmly in an obvious accented English as she said, "Then we are of like wants soldier. I wish to leave this place, and return to the wastelands, as is my right." She brought her left hand down slowly, and smoothly so her spear was once again held at her side at waist level. She nodded to the man and moved around him, placing her free hand against the bag hanging at her right side, as she began moving. She gave Rowdy another fleeting glance as she began to pass by.