[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/MKK5m0sX/Kid-s-Hat-2.png[/img] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/G2xPk9Gk/Jiggy-2.png[/img]

[b]Level:[/b] [color=8258fa]4 (2 -> 4/40)[/color] | [color=fed428]2 (11 -> 13/20)[/color]
[b]Location:[/b] Paved Wilderness -> Hammerhead
[b]Word Count:[/b] 1166 (+2 EXP)

[color=8258fa]Power (Equip):[/color] Compass Badge

[i](B-K level up TBD)[/i]
[/center]


Hat Kid’s search turned up nothing; nothing that she was interested in, anyways. She wasn’t likely to find anything in the open, empty, unremarkable stretch of off-road wasteland, but she had to be sure. She would have to be sure everywhere she went. [i]That[/i] routine was sure to become tedious in a hurry. If only she had a better way of finding… [i]wait![/i] She paused and squinted quizzically mid-thought and decided to check substantially reduced inventory for the relevant key item that she could have sworn wasn’t there before. To her surprise, however, she found it--another one of her badges. Strange… she couldn’t recall having it with her when she left the castle, and she certainly never got the opportunity to repurchase it. So how did it end up in her pockets again? Well, no matter. [i]How[/i] it came back into her possession didn’t matter to her if it could help take most of the guesswork out of future exploration. She shrugged in acceptance, pinned the badge to her hat, and set off to tail the rest of the moving convoy.

Banjo and Kazooie wouldn’t be far behind, but Banjo saw fit to make himself useful to the salvaging process. Though, they were limited in ways in which they could help without having any experience in automotive repair--or rather having plausibly deniable experience… maybe. They’d been driving around in what may or may not have been their own handiwork, but the important part was that it was eighty percent cargo bed. They had the benefit of taking with them what they couldn’t fix on the spot, which pretty much amounted to the bunny-eared ranger’s motorcycle and not much else on account of the bed’s size. While Banjo did the heavy lifting to get the crumpled remains of the Master Cycle into the Trolley, Kazooie couldn’t help overhearing and getting annoyed with the sentient rodent boasting about [i]their[/i] twosome while putting a meta, capitalistic spin on his ramble.

[color=f60000]“Get a load of Weasel Boy over there, stealing our bit…”[/color]

[color=0aaaff]“You think he knows that most of these guys have their own games, like us?”[/color]

[color=f60000]“Or that they’re penniless hasbeens like us? Probably not.”[/color]

[color=0aaaff]“*sigh* Yeah… Good thing we live in the country.”[/color]

After loading the bulk of the bike and the bigger pieces missing from it, Banjo would call for Linkle’s attention. “Excuse me, Miss. This is your bike, isn’t it?” he inquired rhetorically with a gesturing thumb. “If you need a ride, you’re welcomed to hop in the bed. Sorry there’s not much room, but I figure you’d prefer it to walking. Also, sorry about what happened to you’re bike,” he finished while rubbing the back of his head, topping off his polite offer with an added layer of empathy. Whether she accepted it or not, him and Kazooie would finish up and be off after the others in short order.

The convoy arrived at an active service depot, their company effectively more than doubling their clientele on what already looked to be a decently busy day for them. They were received warmly by an elderly man who was clearly the owner of the place and his kin who helped him run it. Curiously, the red glint in their eyes showed lingering signs of Galeem’s influence, so it was strange to be regarded cordially rather than threateningly. Whether the same could be said for [i]all[/i] of the station’s patrons and attendants remained to be seen, but for now, the change was more than welcomed (even if it meant they would still have to somehow release them later).

Kid didn’t need her scooter serviced, so she parked right outside the diner and headed inside while the others talked shop and took care of whatever business they had. While the establishment’s exterior gave the impression of belonging somewhere… colder, the quaint aesthetic and inviting atmosphere indoors made it an almost perfect fit anywhere. Business was oddly slow for the time of day, which may have had to do with being located at a pit stop in the middle of nowhere. They probably didn’t get a lot of regulars; just passersby like herself and her party. The relative vacancy of the joint left the child with her pick of seating, so she picked an empty barstool at random and planted herself on it. As a bonus, they were SPINNING barstools. [i]Nice![/i]

Kid loved sitting, especially in fresh new locales. The only thing missing from the scene was a majestic view, but that made it no less picturesque. After her seat slowed to a stop midway through its third rotation, she relaxedly kicked her feet while taking in the setting and its strange offerings. Most notable was the full table of various breeds of dogs playing a game of cards. The player dog with the extra-dimensional neck stood out even among them. He certainly had a bold strategy going. He could see the hands of his opponents, but not his own; a move that mixed classic and unconventional. Whether that made him a cheater or an innovator perhaps depended on the type of game, player consensus, and the dealer’s ruling. Whatever the case, the Courier--who had just joined the table with a declared aim of claiming the pot--might have his work cut out for him.

Redirecting her attention to the bar, Kid scanned the shelves and menu for whatever they would be legally allowed to serve her, which excluded most of everything behind the bartender. Speaking of which, it was surprising--and probably ill-advised--that a license to handle alcohol would be granted to someone with a flaming head and hands, not that she would be ordering any. It was a miracle in itself that he could handle cleaning supplies and water, the latter of which she would start with to wash out the dryness in her mouth from spending all morning driving through the barrens. While she was working on her first glass, she would be figuring out what food and drink to get to follow it with… and how she was going to pay for it.

Back at the garage, Banjo dropped off the motorcycle with the more mechanically inclined to leave in their much needed care. Before the bear and bird could catch up with their fellow party members in the diner, they caught a dispute going on between a black-clad quartet that could easily be mistaken for a boy band and a young handicapped swordsman calling their ability into question. At the polite distance Banjo kept, it was difficult to make out the nature of their argument, but it was clear that it was due to escalate if left alone to play out. Luckily, the human(?) brawler of their group intervened and attempted to diffuse the situation before a fight broke out, and judging by the white-haired man’s apparent withdrawal, it seemed to work out…

[color=0aaaff]“Whew… I thought we were gonna have to step in for a minute there…”[/color]

[color=f60000]“Honestly, I was hoping we’d get to place bets.”[/color]