[color=gray][indent][right][h1][color=9d362f]Zeltzin Sandoval[/color][/h1][/right][right][sub][hr][color=9d362f]Mentions:[/color] None  [color=9d362f]Location:[/color] Webb Family Coffee House / Summit Motel [/sub][/right][hr]
[/indent][indent]Zeltzin audibly scoffed - not purposefully, but reactionarily - at the mention of silver bullets and ghosts. She set her mug to the side on a small singles table next to her as she shook her head at the notion. She had heard about enough of what she needed from this meeting - it seemed they were all serious about heading into the swamp. She wasn't sure if it was the right path to their end goal, but really it seemed nobody did, so she might as well try it. It couldn't hurt - or, at least [i]probably[/i] wouldn't.

The notion of acquiring protection from the swamp's elements was an appealing one, and she was pretty sure she had seen a small gun shop at least once as she rode through the town. But there was something else itching at her as she planned our her route. So far, there were a lot of warnings and contextual signs that would naturally lead one to believe the swamp was more dangerous than just gators - they alone were unlikely to harm humans. Sure, cry wolf and all that. But there seemed to be [i]too much[/i] crying for there to be [i]no[/i] ground for the claims to stand on. Maybe there was something in that swamp - maybe some fucked-up buffalo-bill character - or some super-gator or some shit - who knew? Zeltzin didn't plan on getting flayed by anything, be it gator or serial killer, so she'd make sure to be prepared even if it meant wasting a bit of green to do so.

She didn't stick around for lengthy goodbyes, leaving her mug on the table and making off through the front door to reconvene with her motorcycle.

[hr]
A short bit later, Zeltzin rolled up to the Summit Motel, her bike rumbling beneath her as she drew it into a spot and disengaged it. In the hour that it'd taken the lot of them to collect themselves, she had taken a trip to a local gunstore and made a quick transaction with the owner - a bit of an older guy - that was honestly rather painless. She'd scraped together any money she'd brought with her, totaling to a few hundred dollars in cash, and found something that would be suitable for gators, at the least. Resting on her back was a lengthy, black canvas bag. Inside it was a side-by-side breach-loading shotgun - not brand new, but in solid condition - something that was definitely serviceable for any mundane tasks they might have to undergo, like clearing a gator off a path or something. Assuming the swamp even had any paths leading to the manor.

She wasn't sure what preparations the others had made, but she only really accounted for herself. After she dismounted the bike with a restrained grimace, she popped open one of the saddlebags and plucked out a drawstring bag weighted with a couple water bottles, a box of assorted shotgun shells, and all her knives packed inside.

Looking around, it seemed a handful of them were already reconvening with one another. Her eyes were drawn to the silhouette of Ophrenia, a bare shotgun slung over her shoulder as she arrived. A part of her felt a little queasy about the idea of trusting the girl with a gun. Either way, she didn't exactly [i]expect[/i] another of her party to bring a long-gun along, but she could've never known what the others would think of. It seemed a bit redundant, assuming all they would be trouble by was gators - which Zeltzin very-much surmised would be the case - but, if they split up for any reason, at least it would be useful in that regard.

For the time being, she took it upon herself to rest her butt against the seat of her bike as she sat back against its side and waited for the rest of their squad to arrive.
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