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Cowritten by [@Dyelli Beybi], [@InfamousGuy101], [@Bingelly], [@PrinceAlexus], [@Tesserach], [@Expendable]
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James wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as he heaved another heavy crate of gold onto the cart. The weight of the bars was impressive to say the least; he could feel the strain in his arms and shoulders even as he moved with practiced efficiency. His shotgun hung casually over his shoulder, it felt heavier now. 

As he straightened up and stretched his back, his gaze landed on Volodar, who was himself busy stacking another cart with crates, all with a precision that only an elf could manage. Carter smirked, a flicker of amusement lighting up his tired expression.

“This should be a good haul,” he said, his tone half-approving, half-wry, his eyes looking out into the horizon in an empty gaze, “Though I’ve gotta say, a crane wouldn’t go amiss right about now.” Slinging the shotgun over his other shoulder, he glanced back  at Volodar, his smirk widening. “Unless, of course, you’ve got some secret elvish magic you’ve been hiding. Levitate these crates into the airship, and you’d be my new favorite person.”

"I assure you, Mister Carter," Volodar replied as pushed the laden cart. "If I had such capabilities, I wouldn't be so foolish as to treat them like a showman waiting for the most entertaining moment.  Such gifts may have saved me quite a bit of trouble in the past."

Chamer commented, wheeling past the pair. His cowboy vest and jacket had been shed on a nearby tree, his clean shirt soaked through at this point with stains of sweat. "Lighten up fellows." He chided. "We're moving divisions' worth of supplies. Just us and our bare hands! Right out from under communalist noses. And then we're going to fly off with it into the sunset." There's a boyish grin Chamer wore then that made it sound even more outlandish, and yet, the man had simply given a literal description of what they were doing. "You ever pull off a coup quite like this in all your years Volodar?"

"In terms of treasure?" The elf cocked an eyebrow. "Never, at least as quickly as this, though I can recall far more audacious escapades and equally historic events."  He paused speaking for a moment, and look of warm reminiscence swept away Volodar's usually cold expression. "I fought for Equaterra during it's war for independence. I was a revolutionary for a brief moment, more out of boredom than anything else, but it was a cause and it paid well after they won. My commercial ventures elsewhere certainly benefitted as well.  I did, however, eventually have to flee the country after some impropriety concerning the newly-established President's wife."

Chamer smiled, looking to Carter and pointing at Volodor with a wide grin. "See there, that's a man that knows how to live a life!" He looked back to Volodor. "One day you and I need to go drinking together sir."

Carter let out a low chuckle, shaking his head at Volodar’s tale. “Well, I’ll hand it to you, Volodar—scandal with a president’s wife? That’s a top-tier way to leave a country. Makes this whole gold venture seem boring by comparison...” He glanced at Chamer, smirking, "That’s a life well lived if I’ve ever heard one.” Makes you wonder how we measure up.”

As they pushed their carts along the uneven ground, Carter’s tone shifted, still conversational but more thoughtful. “You know, I’ve always wondered about elves—how you lot live so long, see so much. Must be something, having centuries to work with. Makes you think about all the stuff you could do if you had the time. Guess us humans, we don’t get that luxury, but maybe that’s the point.”

"An elgan baker in Ustantaka and a human baker in Carnelfenney live very similar lives, Mister Carter." Volodar replied. "The elgan baker is still only a baker. His human counterpart still wakes up in the morning, warms the oven, and kneads the dough, and bakes the bread quite similarly to the elgan until he dies."

Carter stopped pushing the cart for a moment, looking over at Volodar with a thoughtful expression. “You’ve got a point, Volodar, but here’s the thing; your elgan baker’s got centuries. Maybe he gets complacent, figuring there’s always time to perfect his loaf.” He shrugged, brushing sweet against his forearm, “The human baker? He knows he’s got a few decades if he’s lucky. That kind of pressure makes him push harder, try new things, and maybe even outdo the guy with all the time in the world.”

He started pushing the cart again, smirking slightly, “Sometimes not having forever is what keeps you sharp."

"That's a rather romantic notion regarding the capabilities of one's race." Volodar paused for a moment as wiped the sweat from his eyes. Notably, he did not return Carter's glance as he returned his attention to the cart. "But I can assure you that laziness and complacency is as much a human sin as it is an elgan one."

"If I had to spend four centuries of life doing nothing but baking bread, I'd put a bullet in my own head." Chamer commented. "That or become a Communalist."

"I would contemplate it as well, I am sure," Volodar agreed, "Falling upon my sword, that is to say, not joining the rabble."

Suddenly there was the crack of gunfire from the ramparts above, followed by a faint yelp. A few moments later, before there was a chance to truly react, Zoe appeared, waving sheepishly, "Don't mind me! Little mistake... I was figuring out how your funny foreign gun works!"

Chamer was suddenly frozen in place, his own pistol suddenly out of it's holster and in his hand, though he now seemed uncertain what he was doing with it as his eyes glanced up in Zoe's direction.

Beside him the wheelbarrow he'd been hauling gold in was tipped on its side, several gold bars scattered on the ground.

"Sorry!" she called, without sounding particularly sorry, "Now I know what not to do!"

Carter had already shouldered his shotgun at the sound of the crack, his eyes snapping upward in the direction of the ramparts. He exhaled sharply through his nose when Zoe’s sheepish waving came into view. Lowering the shotgun slightly, he muttered, “Just a negligent discharge… though not sure that’s much better.” He cast a quick glance at the others, “Anyone within a mile or two now knows we’re here. Great.”

He waved a hand urgently toward the carts, “Let’s get these loaded before we’ve got company.” 

The group moved quickly now, the airship looming larger as they approached.

[hr]

Nikos swore, tearing down the ladder to the hold and racing over to the Inburian rifle he'd left leaning by the dumbwaiter. Plucking it up, he worked the bolt, loading one round, then darted over to the open hatch and peering around the edge worriedly.

Were the communists here? Was someone shooting at them? Did the missing detachment of guards finally showed up? Or was someone signaling for help?

He gritted his teeth.

Didn't they have the guns manned? Why wasn't anyone saying something?

"Oy!" he called out nervously, "Who's out there? Identify yourself!"

Carter shook his head, his voice carrying a reassuring drawl as he called up to Nikos, “Relax there, partner. We’re not about to get rustled. It’s just us, and Miss Zoe decided to play sharpshooter with the sky. Turns out, she’s not much of a marksman!”

He gestured toward the carts stacked with crates as he stepped closer to the ship. “Now, seeing as we’re all in one piece and no reds are swarming us yet, mind giving us a hand getting these crates into the hold!?" He paused, smirking slightly. “Unless you’re too busy with that rifle of yours!”

"There is a war on, you know!" Nikos blustered, lowering the rifle and engaged the safety. "How do we know there's not some hidden crack force of communists that took out the guards before we got here?"

Setting the rifle aside, he walked over to the first cart and with a grunt, shoved one end of the crate over so he could grab ahold of it. 

"Well, someone grab the other end!" he scowled. "How many bars are in this, anyway? I was told to keep a count."

"We know there isn't any crack communalists here because the fortress wasn't ransacked by fighting, and the amount of gold already missing means whoever was here left in lorries or with horse carts!" Volodar shouted back as he moved forward hurriedly to take the other end of the box. "Likely a dozen or so delivery bars in here," the Elgan continued, "but open the box and count once this batch is loaded if you must."

"What the Frak is going on, did someone discharge faster than a sailor in their first Pirate patrol." Their was no follow up fire and no signs of enemy as Hamelin panted slightly, he had a heavy wrench in one hand and a Revolver in other having armed himself incase they had a stowaway of the hostile kind. 

"Hoists everyone... we did not load main guns with muscles. We used chains and rams... mechanical advantage. Someone's gonna break bones doing it like damn chain gangs.

One at ramp but i can get on here quickly set up."

Hamelin pointed to a block and tackle system he had arranged. He was a little annoyed but also he saw it as his responsibility to mean they did not get people hurt, when he could find ways to prevent it. He was a Officer, he had a duty even if was confused who it was to in present case. 

Unless they wanted to make it harder anyways... and be idiots.

Carter smirked at Hamelin, giving the man a nod of approval as he slung his shotgun over his shoulder, “Now there’s some common sense! Glad someone’s thinking ahead—beats snapping a back trying to muscle these crates around.”

Not long after, a platform began to lower, creaking slightly as it reached the ground. Carter wasted no time, moving quickly to load the crates of gold onto it with practiced efficiency. “Let’s get these beauties stacked and up top,” he called, motioning for the others to lend a hand. “No sense in dragging this out longer than it has to be.”

Once the platform was loaded, Carter stepped back and signaled to Hamelin. “All set—send her up!” He watched as the mechanism lifted the platform, carrying its golden haul skyward. Wiping his brow with his sleeve, he turned to the group with a satisfied nod. “Good progress, folks. At this rate, we might just have everything packed up by tomorrow—if luck’s still on our side.” He allowed himself a brief grin.