Another "End of the World" Role-play [ReLoAdEd]



Dorjan stood a few yards from an old city bus dating back to pre-war times. With no less than a half dozen hunting rifles aimed at different parts of his body, he got a feeling of unease from the militia, dedicated to guarding this settlement. Dorjan's gaze was drawn to a man standing on top of the bus, directly ahead of him. From his appearance and stature, it was safe to assume that this was the leader of the militia. Clothed in a dirty, red knee-length jacket, blue, worn, mud-ridden jeans, black work shoes and a white hoodie with the hood pulled up over his head. This man was certainly the best dressed of the militia to say the least, he was also the only one with an AK-47 assault rifle and the only man not to be pointing a gun at him, rather having it slung over his back. Dorjan, examining this man in what seemed like an eternal silence, also noticed the courier bag slung over his shoulder, khaki in color, his grey, messy beard of a decent length, unkempt and the lit cigarette between the man's pursed lips.

"What's your business with Aurora's End... Stranger?" The man asked, his left hand staying firm in his coat pocket, while his right raised to grip the strap of the rifle.

"Refuge!" Dorjan replied, an authoritative volume to his voice so as to make sure he would be heard.

"Refuge you say?" The man asked before a pause, other members of the militia began to murmur among themselves although their body language indicated they were more relaxed by Dorjan's admittance. "You sure don't look like a refugee." The man paused again to allow the now spent cigarette butt to fall from between his lips before stubbing it out with the heel of his shoe. "If it weren't for the fact that you're not carrying no fancy weapon, I'd be inclined to say you look like more of a bandit."

Dorjan paused before giving a reply, his left hand tugged at the gas mask hanging around his mask before allowing his rucksack to slip from his shoulder down to his right hand, the same hand that had been firmly gripping his hatchet. Dropping both to the ground, he held up his hands for a brief moment before resting them down by his sides as the dust settled around his bag and ax. "I'm not looking for a fight, and I'm not looking for no trouble." Dorjan kicked the bag forward with his foot, his hatchet dragged along the ground with it. "Refuge... That's all."

The man, leader of the militia said nothing. However, within moments a member of the militia emerged from the bus and began checking the bag.

"He's clean!" The militia member shouted back to the leader before pushing the bag back towards Dorjan with his foot. Dorjan took the bag and the hatchet from the ground, although made sure to hold the ax in a more relaxed fashion.

"Well alright then..." The leader muttered down, barely audible to Dorjan. "I suppose you'd best get yourself inside and we can see what we can do for you!" He called out, down to Dorjan specifically, at an elevated volume as the statement was obviously meant to be heard.

Following the gesture of the man who had checked his bag, Dorjan followed through the bus and out the other end into the settlement. Safety, at long last. Walking down the dirt tracks, Dorjan took in his surroundings, this was the first non-bandit settlement he had ever been in without the intention of raiding. The calm, relaxed environment was something to be admired, although none of the settlers seemed to give him more than a passing glance.

While making his way to a make-shift tavern that he had been directed to by a militia member, Dorjan was caught up to by a fellow dressed a little like a cowboy of old. As he suspected, this man introduced himself as the Sheriff of Aurora's End and went by the name, Wayne.

"You were checked at the gate?" Wayne asked, authority clear just through his tone of voice.

"That's right." Dorjan replied, tilting his head a little, wondering what exactly the Sheriff was getting at, despite having a fair idea.

"They didn't see your piece no?" Wayne gestured towards the hand-grip of the Glock-17 that protruded from the waist of Dorjan's trousers.

"No, I suppose not." He replied, pulling his jacket over the grip so as to conceal the gun.

"Look." Wayne began. "I don't know you and to be quite honest, the longer I don't know you, the better." He paused and looked over Dorjan and his rugged appearance. "Because if I have to know you, well... You're not going to be off to the best start, you catch my drift, son?"

Wayne was about fifty, Dorjan had a way of telling the general age of a person, usually never off by more than a year or two. He'd obviously been around before the bombs fell and having never grown accustomed to the Old World, Dorjan could not even begin to imagine what it must have been like to go from the pinnacle of technology back to the dark ages, only to begin crawling your way back again. "Yeah, I catch your drift alright." He replied, sternly.

"Well good." Wayne replied, just as sternly. "Don't go causing trouble and don't be flashing that gun about and we'll be just fine, y'hear?"

"Yeah. I hear you." With this Dorjan and Sheriff Wayne parted ways. What a welcome... Dorjan thought to himself, sarcasm evident, even in his thoughts, as he made his way to and entered the tavern, aptly named, "The Pumphouse".

Twix watched what he supposed was some kind of militia patrol along the tall tyre wall that blocked the street some way on, In the centre a rusty old bus seemed to form some kind of entrance, he couldn't see much from the stray pile of rubble he'd concealed himself behind, closer to the wall the ground had been cleared, no doubt to stop people sneaking close in.

The two circles of glass that allowed him to see through his gas mask fogged momentarily as he breathed out deeply, he reached up touching the white bobble hat that had become a sort of good luck charm muttering under his breath as he did;
"Okay... Okay you got this"

He grimaced behind the blank face of his mask as he stood, he was still sore from where a gnarled root had been sticking into his side as he lay unmoving waiting for a rabbit or hare to leave the burrow he'd tracked down, it'd taken hours but the pair of rabbits that swung freely from the straps on the back of his jacket made it all worth it, he allowed himself a small grin of satisfaction as he contemplated them.

There was movement on the wall now as the militia took notice of his presence, hunting rifles took him in their sight and he nervously fingered the worn handle of his browning hi powered semi-automatic pistol as he crossed the open ground, his empty pistol that is.

As he neared the wall an older looking man in a dirty red jacket standing on top of the bus called out to him, a note of wariness in his voice and a burned out cigarette butt by his feet;
"Hands where we can see 'em" he paused for a moment as Twix slowly held his empty hands out in front of him, he seemed to relax some what as Twix complied.
"What's your business in Aurora's End?"
It was at this point that Twix realized he was still wearing his gas mask and that the old man who happened to have an assault rifle strapped across his back had no chance of hearing his muffled greetings with it on, he pointed to the mask and -as the old man nodded- slowly unlatched the straps round the back of his head, he latched the mask onto the front of his jacket onto a pair of specially placed clips revealing his tanned face, well the top half where the lenses of his mask let the light stray was tanned, his lower-face was a paler white making him look somewhat odd, he breathed deeply savouring the fresh air he hadn't tasted for many hours, sure he was used to mask air by now, didn't mean he had to like it.
"met some travellers out on the road, few weeks back per'aps, said this was a safe settlement, could do some trading 'ere, so 'ere I am"
The old man regarded him sternly for a moment
"These travellers... they have names?"
Twix -rubbing his face where the gas mask had pressed into it- thought for a moment, remembering.
"aye... Jane and... Oliver was it? said they was headed far east, meet up with some family or some'ing."
The old man nodded to himself and gestured to the militia, who thankfully lowered their heavy rifles.
"Aright kid, your in, don't cause any trouble, understand?"
Twix nodded as he jumped up the bus steps, the metal floor of the bus rattled loudly as he marched to the other end -no doubt the rattling was intentional, try sneaking through that!- and out the other door, which just so happened to put him inside the walls.

He was patted down by a young looking militia man before he was let off into town, They found the pistol, knife and other accessories but made no comment, they missed the $50 he had stashed in a small waterproof bag on the inside of his gas mask, after he was declared 'clear' he was directed to a make-shift tavern further into the village.

As he walked the well-cleared dirt path towards the tavern, the well named 'Pumphouse' , he kept his gaze on his feet, nervously ignoring the curious stares of the locals, if he'd been looking up he might have seen a man dressed somewhat like one of the old 'cowboys' giving him a once-over before dismissing him and walking off in the direction of the gate.

At the door to the Tavern Twix paused, breathed deeply and touched the hat, and with that he slowly entered, hoping to go unnoticed by anyone already inside.

Viktor rose from his bedroll early in the morning. Some of the embers leftover from the fire he used to roast his squirrel on during dusk the previous night were still burning. Viktor had finally run into Aurora's End when the sun was setting the night before, and decided there would be less of a risk of getting himself turned into mince-meat by guards if he entered the town in the morning. He wasn't all that interested in testing the guard's paranoia when nighttime came around given the rumors of the large amount of bandits in this region. Viktor ended up sleeping on the outskirts of the town's ruins in a small platform that had low but sure walls on all four sides.

Viktor packed his bedroll and ground cloth into his backpack before dining on his leftovers from the night before. He hated how incredibly bland the meat was, and it reminded him of the stories his father would tell him about the food when he was a child in Russia. Now was not the time for reminiscing about his father's stories though Viktor decided, now was the time to see if he was going to have a place to stay for the next while. With that, Viktor finished his "breakfast", finished packing his supplies into his backpack, and headed off towards the entrance.

Upon his arrival to the bus, he went through the routine he was becoming unhealthily use to of getting at least half a dozen guns pointed at him. A red-coated man with an AK-47 slung across his back standing on top of the bus interrogated him with the usual questions like "What brings you to this town?" and "What are your intentions?" To which Viktor replied with his usual responses like "Looking for a place to stay" and "Trying to find a job." The routine was the same in all of these small settlements and really started to become a drag to Viktor. While he did quietly inspect all of them for faults, he never had the intention to do harm to the town; it was simply something he had learned from his father.

After the open interrogation, he was let into the bus, in which he went through the usual search. One guard patted him down, removing his weapons and placing them on a table before continuing the pat down. The other searched through his pack, making sure he was not carrying unwanted items into the town. When the pair were finished they handed all of the items back to Viktor and let him go on his way into the town. Upon walking away from the bus he heard the man on top of the bus once again yell "Halt!" to some new poor wandered just trying to find someplace to stay.

He wandered the town, exploring it and seeing what may prove useful to explore later and what would not. After he had made his round, receiving the usual strange looks from the settlers who live in the town. Viktor decided to make his first stop to the tavern titled the Pumphouse to get a drink celebrate his successful living to arrive here.

Tallahassee had been travelling for what seemed like days with no issue whatsoever. "Its always the last mile," he thought to himself as he crouched behind rubble. The bandits had spotted him roughly a half mile back, he noticed them a few miles ago. Now it seems they had finished just watching, he was forced into quick cover by the sound of bullets. The bandits where charging, and quickly, firing into the air. The bullets continued to sound off, "Is it a scare tactic?" Tallahassee thought, "Perhaps they are trying to seem like a bigger group." Suddenly the bullets stopped, he decided to chance a quick look. Not three seconds above cover and he was shot at, but he got what he needed. "Two targets." He spoke to himself, a habit he didn't enjoy but had someone acquired. "Not much firepower but enough i suppose." Tallahassee got out his pistol, a puny 9mm he stole from a neighborhood long ago. He heard no movement and no gunshots had been fired, now was his chance.

Tallahassee quickly popped up and pointed the gun at the nearest bandit. Out of habit the bandit dropped, giving him time to move to a closer pillar. He was out of view of both bandits, yet only ten yards from his nearest attacker. A quick glance showed him the other bandit had ducked as well. "Good they have no idea where i am." He quickly popped out and, before either assailant could attack, he fired one shot into the nearest bandits head. The familiar thud of his corpse falling was music to Tallahassee's ears. The second let out a scream at the sight of his dead friend. Tallahassee heard running footsteps slowly fade into the distance. "Typical cowards." Tallahassee thought. He heard the sound of shuffling where a corpse should be. Gun at the ready he approached to find the man he had just shot struggling for his gun with a fairly devastating looking wound. "Aw come now man please don't fight it." Tallahassee said aloud. His words went in vain, the man kept struggling. "Damnit, i hate this part." In one move Tallahassee pulled out his knife and slit the mans throat. "Sorry bud, cant afford to risk you being alive." His would-be killer was wearing a, now bloodstained, jean jacket with a patch over the heart. It was a snake eating it own tail. No words, with a small circle border around the snake. He quickly cut it off and put it in his pocket.

"This is just a kid" Tallahassee thought, "cant be more than 20." His gear was none more impressive, a 9mm in even worse condition than his own with only 6 bullets, a switchblade, and a pack of cigarettes. "How where you gunna smoke these with no lighter kid?" Tallahassee thought aloud. He pocketed the smokes, loaded his spare magazine with the bullets and laid the switchblade in the kids hand. Just as Tallahassee was about to pack up and go he noticed something on the ground near the bandit. It appeared to be a cigarette but was hand rolled. Upon picking it up and sniffing he discovered something that made his heart flutter. "IT"S A JOINT! Thank you so much kid! if you weren't so bloody and gross I would kiss ya!" Tallahassee exclaimed. He put the joint in the cigarette pack and started walking again. Aurora's End was nearby.

After another hour of walking Tallahassee finally saw what appeared to be a man made wall. Closer investigation showed the material to be tires, he was paying such close attention to the wall he hadn't noticed the bus with a militia pointing assault rifles at him. "STOP!" This made Tallahassee jump and instinctively reach for his gun, upon seeing the militia he determined that to be a mistake. He put his hands in the air, "Whoa there! Why don't we all calm down?" he said. "What is your business at Aurora's End?" Tallahassee noticed the speaker as an older gentleman with an AK-47 on his back, lit cigarette in his mouth. "Well, see now I'm on vacation, and a little birdy told me you guys have the best margaritas in town." Tallahassee said, with a thick layer of sarcasm. "Cracking wise will earn you a bullet here stranger." Not even a smirk crossed the military mans lips. "Now ill ask one more time, What is your business here stranger?" Tallahassee took his queue "I just need somewhere safe to stay for a week or so." The militia leader gestured to him and a couple members came up and checked Tallahassee. "One 9mm and one knife sir." One member yelled to his leader. "Let him be, don't cause any trouble stranger, I'm watching you." With that the bus doors opened and Tallahassee walked into the safe haven. "Its Tallahassee sir, just for future reference." He said as he walked, "Hey buddy, where can i get a drink?" He asked a militia member, he was pointed to a small shack with a equally as impressive sign, "The Pumphouse".

Flint sat at a table within the tavern known as "The Pumphouse" He had gotten to the town a few days ago and was playing poker with some 'friends' he has made. By friends he meant that they played poker with him and that was all but It was the closest relation he had with anyone right now. He picked up his drink and drank the dark liquid, he wasn't sure what it was but it was alcohol and it was cheap. Flint looked to the two men in front of him then back to his cards. "Raise 50 cents" Flint remarked throwing down a poker chip from his pile. He looked to the door and noticed as one by one people began to enter "Looks like new meat for the grinder" Flint joked as his poker buddies laughed, the man to his left raising the pot another 50 cents. The game continued and the conversation rose and fell as it usually did mostly insulting each other or saying a story that they had heard. "Seriously guys im telling you, Jim, you know the bartenders son. He told me this guy came in one day and talked about collecting these 50 starred bottle caps!" Flint and the other man laughed. It was common that this man was known for him believing everything someone says especially if treasure was involved.

"Okay...remember to breath Adrian, remember to breath...that is the key!" A distant voice could be heard somewhere deep into the dark sewers, digging their way in all directions under the ruins of the city where Aurora's End now stood. The sound of heavy breathing came closer and closer, and soon the breathing wasn't the only thing heard; the sound of footsteps following the voice, something with four feet, something big and dangerous. It was a human being chased by what could only be described as one ugly rat, and the human was Adrian.

The dark sewers were rarely used due to the darkness, but that was what they had Adrian for; he could see as good normal in darkness, though now he felt of little use running away. He cut a corner and turned around, pulling out his .22 Colt Revolver and making sure it was loaded. "Good...full chamber..." He muttered, and slowly backed away while aiming the gun where the rat would soon stand, ready to tear its teeth into Adrian. And as soon as its head poked around the corner, the gun was fired and a bullet penetrated the rat's skull, killing it instantly. "Who's the sewer rat now? Well, still you, you big-ass fucker..."

Adrian appeared a few hours later back on the surface, dirty and smelly from his adventure down in the sewers, but it was worth it. He walked through the ruins of the once grand city and soon stood in front of the bus-entrance to his home. The old man standing on top of the bus examined the figure approaching the town, but quickly told the militia to lower their weapons. -"Adrian, good to see you alive and...well, just alive then. What did you find down in the sewers?" The old man said, for once with a pleasant attitude in his voice. Adrian looked up at him and patted at the backpack he was carrying.

"More than usual, actually; tools, light bulbs, some old books, even some 9mm and .22 ammo. And a huge rat, so I'm expecting just a little more in return than usual." Adrian answered him, smiling up to him and wiping his face with a small napkin. He didn't mind the smell really, he was too used to it by now, but now he only wanted to get done with this and clean himself.

Adrian was let through the gate without too much hassle, the militia searched him (to their great displeasure since he smelled like shit, literary) and let him on his way. The backpack he handed over to an armed man standing outside a rather well-kept building, the sheriff's office, while the guard told him with a smile that he could keep the .22 ammo, he had earned it. So with a smile on his face and a box of .22 ammo in his pocket, Adrian walked to the "The Pumphouse" to get a drink and clean himself. And he dearly needed it, as the first thing that hit the tavern once he entered was a disgusting smell of shit and sewage, coming from Adrian.

"...Don't mind me, I'll get myself cleaned."

Geist walked along the street of Aurora's End, the dust blowing gainst his coat causing it to flap in the wind as he approached the tavern. A weathered sign reading "Pumphouse" swung in the wind inside through the dirty scum covered windows shinned light with dark figures moving within. Swinging open the door Geist walked in fixing his ruck sack as a few eyes left their bottles and card games to look at the wanderer. Walking up to the bar looking around at the inhabitants of the tavern. sitting himself on a worn ripped leather topped stool adjusting his coat as so he was not to sit on it inhibiting his ability to get up from his position at a oments notice. Knocking his fist against the top of the bar the brkeep wandered over.
"Howdy, Geist." He said as he grabbed a dusty glass and grabbed a glass bottle pouring the amber contents into the glass.
"Thought I told you not to call me that." He said in rough gravelly voice as he lifted his gasmask only enough to reveal his mouth to drink.
"Well, you an't giving me your name what in hell am I supposed to call you?" The bartender said as he watched Geist take a sip from his glass.
"Then you call me nothing." Geist said as he put down the glass and pulling his gasmask back down, turning his back toward the bartender he look over the crowd. He listened closley to the torrent of conversation and laugh that filled the room. Silently watching over the crowd looking at each face tryiing to determined any new comers or people who might cause trouble.

"It is time to go. Yes there could be no doubt in my mind. Between the crumbling facilities, lack of food, and putrid sanitary conditions, it is time for me to leave and never come back to this putrid place. I couldn't possibly make a penny of these folk anyway." The dainty red haired girl whispered into her glass of harsh liquor as the drunk house or whatever ridiculous name this place had. Just about everybody in passing would think the lady is crazy as they could hear her mumbling inaudible words into her glass. People get labeled crazy that way but quite frankly this particular lady didn't care. In fact, she just might be a little crazy after all. It certainly wouldn't surprise anyone that knew her family given that they were a collection of lunatics but this one, Myra Dime, might have just been the sanest of them all.

...Don't mind me, I'll get myself cleaned.

The humdrum voice of a man, with a stench so foul it brought tears to Myra's eyes, weakly proclaimed its passing immediately behind the her small stature. Turning from the bar and her drink, Myra was startled by the rat still in the slightly older man's hands. She glared at the walking patron before uttering an insulting remark. "I'd also recommend getting your head checked out." The comment was short and Myra quickly turned back to her drink and her ramblings.

She appeared rather brave in the face of nearly dozens of man that were packing this bar, but in truth, Myra was terrified of just about every individual in here. She was pretty much the only female basking in the crowd of the bar so she stuck out like a sore thumb. Her only comfort came from her sidearm tucked neatly in her overcoat and a rather large fellow with a bald head in the corner who did nothing but eye the place down. Dumb as Myra has 'affectionately' called him because the man was a moron. However, he was loyal unlike her other bodyguard, Dee, who had still yet to make an appearance this morning.

Dorjan sat on an old battered armchair, a table, barely standing lay between him and an elderly man. The man had let it be known to Dorjan that his name was Murk, or at least that's what people called him. Other than his age, Dorjan saw a striking resemblance between Murk and the man who left him for dead; Munch, down to the name. Dorjan was rubbing the fingers of his left hand, one of which he'd just pinched with a blade in his all time favorite pass-time, five finger fillet.

"I'll give you one more shot before you start having to wager." Murk spoke, his voice as hoarse as his scraggly hair was grey. He smirked. Dorjan kept eye contact with Murk, only breaking it to examine the smile that crossed Murk's lips. Raising his glass of some sort of alcoholic spirit to his lips he still kept looking through Murk, a look crossed his eyes that had only done so on seldom occasions before.

"No more practice." Dorjan muttered, placing his glass steadily back down on the table-top. "I'll wager..." He ruffled through the pockets of his jackets and pulled out a few dollar bills and a number of coins, all of them worse for wear but still "legal" tender. "Twelve dollars fifty, three to one." Allowing the money to slip from his hand and clink off the table he took the knife that had penetrated the table-top and sat back into his chair, fingering the blunt side of the blade. "Well?" He asked, a hint of overconfidence in his voice. "I don't have all day." He muttered, imitating Murk's smile.

"Your funeral partner." Murk scraped the money along the table towards him with his two hands and then held out his right hand, "Give me the blade, I'll set your pattern." The friendly atmosphere that had up until this point rested with the two men, was now all but finished. This was wagering time, and when a man was willing to wager all he had, you had to watch your step and keep an eye out for trickery. Dorjan shrugged and stuck the blade into the table.

"Whenever you're ready." He insisted as Murk prepared himself thinking of a good pattern. Sweat beads formed around Dorjan's brow. Twelve dollars was by no means a lot of money, but it had taken him weeks to scavenge this much since he had been left for dead by people that were basically brothers to him.

"Nervous?" Murk asked, that same smirk crossing his face again as he paid attention to the telltale signs. "Don't worry, this will be over quickly."

Dorjan's eyes darted watching every space that the knife hit, the old man's technique was something to be admired but right now, Dorjan had to keep his game face on. After the last stab at the table, Murk twisted the knife between his fingers in a fashion that had him holding the blade with the handle pointing at Dorjan. "Good luck." Murk murmured with more than a hint of sarcasm, his tone of voice was drenched in it.

"I don't believe in luck." Dorjan retorted, pulling the blade from his opponent's hand, causing Murk to wince as the sharp blade sliced at his skin. Instantly, Dorjan began. Something had changed, it was like he had injected himself into a zone and in less time than it had taken Murk to trace the pattern, Dorjan had imitated it perfectly. Jabbing the blade into the table right next to Murk's hand, missing his pointer finger by a few millimeters he waited in silence for Murk to pay up.

Standing from the table, Dorjan dropped Murk five dollars of his winnings, "I'll take your smokes." He stated, pointing at the man's shirt pocket. With no argument, the transaction was made. Dorjan finished his drink and slammed his glass off the table, "Maybe next time, ey?" He smirked and walked to the bar to get himself another drink.

Flint took the chips in front of him and began to count them as they finished up the game. Flint received the money from the other players "How'd you get so lucky?" One of the men remarked as Flint shrugged pocketing the cash as his friends began to mill out of the door. Flint stood up and walked to the bar ordering 2 drinks "A screwball and whatever this gentleman wants" He pointed to Dorjan. "New in town?" he asked Dorjan looking to his hands "You been playing with a knife? They aren't toys you know" He joked as the drinks where placed in front of him . He removed the large wad of cash that he had won from poker. Removing a few bills and giving them to the bartender. Nodding appreciatively as he held his drink

Twix leaned back in the old wooden chair he'd dragged away from one of the more 'boistrous' patrons of the bar, from the far corner he could relax without having to worry about anyone pilfering his pockets from behind, he let the heady atmosphere of the room roll over him, the smell of smoke, alcohol and sweat, the loud ramblings of half-drunk patrons and gamblers, the tap tap tap as two men played a knife game, stabbing the table in-between their fingers.

The same atmosphere could be found at almost any settlement were large numbers of humans gathered around the land, well it had been so in Twix's experience anyhow. He'd been pleasantly surprised when he hadn't immediately been challenged to a drinking contest or some other form of contest as soon as he entered, usually someone would notice his nervous glance around the room and deduce -incorrectly as it happened- that this somehow indicated a lack of card playing or knife throwing ability, whilst in-fact nothing could be farther from the truth! well apart from the drinking contest, Alcohol goes right to Twix's head, and the hangovers!

Still, Twix was thirsty now and hungry, but he had the rabbits and he could eat later, he leaned forward and the chair creaked as all four legs became reacquainted with the floor. crossing the room was made more complicated by the ever moving tide of intoxicated townsmen, Twice Twix had to take a different route as chairs were pushed back or angry patrons gestured wildly.

The bar had the glossy sticky look of all well used bars, as if the wood had become so imbued with alcohol over the years it could take no more, Two men stood at one end of the bar, one of them -if Twix was remembering rightly- had been playing the knife game, they both had the outsiders look, the look of someone who can survive outside the towns, it's not something obvious, it's just something in the way you hold yourself, a certain confidence that townspeople just don't have.

Twix pulled up a chair closer to the other end of the bar and a dainty red haired girl who appeared to have drank too much.

He caught the barman's eye as he came past and with the fear of all people who do such in a bar he ordered a glass of water, hoping no one had overheard.

The barman gave him an odd look before charging him $1 and delivering the asked for water, the glass, obviously not intended for water, was well cleaned and Twix gulped down the luke-warm water with satisfaction, it had been a warm day and he'd been in danger of dehydrating.

As Viktor walked into the bar he saw the scene that is repeated across the wastes. The gambling, drinking, the hookups for "behind closed door" activities; it was all there. None of it seemed interesting at the time, and Viktor was hoping to get in and out of the damned place without being harassed. He knew that was highly improbably though. Still made the attempt though and managed to get to a seat at the bar with brushing past as few people as he could. He kept his head slightly tilted downwards trying to avoid any unwanted eye contact with somebody looking for a fight. Viktor made the mistake of just not simply putting on his "If you fuck with me, I will kill you" look which he usually has in this atmosphere.

When the bartender walked over to him, he quietly said "I'll take two of the strongest drinks you have." The bartender looked back at him with a wry smile, saying louder than Viktor would have preferred,"Tough guy, eh? 'Aye I'll bring 'em right up if 'ya got the money to pay."

With that said, the man sitting next to him who seemed to be sweating liquor turned to look at Viktor. "What's that he says? A tough guy? You don't look so tough to me, now do 'ya? I'll let you know I've got the toughest stomach in the Wastes, and will challenge 'ya to a drinking contest. Winner buys the drinks. What do 'ya say?"

Viktor looked back at the scraggly drunk. He thought about for the offer for a moment. A few free drinks have never done me any harm... Viktor decided against it though. "I appreciate your offer friend, but it is of no good to rob a drunk of his money." The man did not take the reply as a no however, and by the time the barkeep had came back over with Viktor's drinks, the man told him to set up his special drinking game. The barkeep simply sighed and walked back to get the other drinks needed while the man explained the game.

"Now, I'll have three pint's of beer. You'll only have three shots of the Pumphouse's special. Whoever finishes first, wins. The only rule, is that 'ya can't touch the other man's glass. Got it?" The man said as he finished explaining the game to Viktor, who simply nodded his head in reply. Seeing this set-up before, Viktor immediately knew that the man was trying to hustle him. He also knew that the man was already half drunk, and Viktor had the upper hand. After the barkeep had served a few people, he came back to the two with the beers and another shot of the Pumphouse's special.

"Alright... Ready? One... Two... Three!" The man said as he quickly grabbed his beer glass and began drinking it. Viktor grabbed his first glass, and having no idea what it was going to be like, downed it in one gulp. He quickly realized that this wasn't nearly anything as strong as what his father had made, if anything, just crude bourbon. He set the first glass down, and picked up the other two with both of his hands, quickly foiling the man's hustle. The man, realizing this after looking down from finishing his glass and preparing to put it over Viktor's last one, angered quickly. He slammed his glass down as Viktor finished his third shot. Viktor smirked at the man, who began to accuse him of being a cheater.

He soon after made a drunken barfight swing at Viktor, who quickly moved his head and simply pushed the man off of the stool with his right hand. The man quickly lost balance and fell off of his stool. The scene managed to attract quite a bit more attention to Viktor than he would have liked, hoping his stay in the town would have been quiet. Vikor offered the two remaining beers to whoever wanted them and asked the barkeep for a glass of water. Upon finishing the water and paying for it, Viktor left the Pumphouse and walked back outside quicker than when he came in. He managed to find a shady spot on the side of the building where he sat down for a few minutes.

Tallahasse stood out front of the bar, partly to size up the patrons and mostly to smoke his joint. He got a few weird looks but it technically wasnt illegal in the wastes, law had more important problems than drugs. He watched a foul smelling man with goggles enter, as well as a few drunks, but nothing interesting. That was until a man walked out. He had a strong strut about him, "Looks pissed," Tallahassee thought. "Let's go see what's up."

He tossed his roach to the side and stomped it into the ground. The man had taken refuge on a burned building. Tallahassee approached him and eyed him up. He seemed....better than the others, talented, hardened, sharp. "Well not to sharp, he hasnt even noticed me walking up" He thought. This guy was perfect, Tallahassee had plans, and he could use help.

"Hey man, whats eatin ya?" He said aloud to the man. "Walk like that you'd think your about to commit murder." He sat down next to his potential friend and pulled out his skokes, lighting one he offered another to his potential friend. "Names Tallahassee, nice ta meet ya."

Adrian stopped in front of the counter as he heard a voice insulting him, looking at the red-haired woman, seemingly drowning her thoughts in booze. Normally he would have frowned upon the insult and get himself cleaned and a drink, but it had been a long and hard day, and the way she had glared at him told him something wasn't as usual. -"Come on, Adrian, don't let that bitch get to you." The bartender quickly told Adrian, but the young and ambitious man had made up his mind.

He got himself cleaned enough for him not to stink like he was a sewage rat, and came back into the room, seeing the redhead still sitting and drinking by herself. Adrian wasn't going to do anything to her, just make sure she wouldn't throw anymore insults with that big mouth of hers. He walked over to her table and looked down at her. "Excuse me, Miss, but you had something to tell me? You've got to have some big balls to call somebody, who works their ass off every day, crazy. And what are you doing, sitting here all alone and drinking away your day, not doing anything useful for the community? No, you're the one needs to get your head checked." Adrian wasn't sure if what he had said sounded intimidating, or even like a come-back, but he felt a little better after having said it to her.

Viktor took note of the approaching footsteps and was hoping they would soon start getting quieter, but they did not. He looked up to see a man standing above him offering him a cigarette and asking what's wrong. Viktor declined the stranger's offer with a nod of his head. He knew people did not make gentlemanly gestures such as that in these Wastes to a complete stranger, irritated looking one at that. No, something was up. Viktor figured he would entertain the man while the encounter lasted, he figured he would have trouble filling his idle time throughout the day anyways.

"Murder? No no. You have me mistaken, friend. Nothing is wrong. Places like that I try not to attract any more attention than I want. Those drunken fools can't tell their left from their right. My name is Viktor by the way. Now tell me, Tallahassee, I would not be wrong in assuming you want more from me than to offer your cigarettes and talk about how the world goes round, don't you?" Viktor asked the man as he gestured an offer for him to take a seat on the ground next to him.

Viktor took note of the approaching footsteps and was hoping they would soon start getting quieter, but they did not. He looked up to see a man standing above him offering him a cigarette and asking what's wrong. Viktor declined the stranger's offer with a nod of his head. He knew people did not make gentlemanly gestures such as that in these Wastes to a complete stranger, irritated looking one at that. No, something was up. Viktor figured he would entertain the man while the encounter lasted, he figured he would have trouble filling his idle time throughout the day anyways.

"Murder? No no. You have me mistaken, friend. Nothing is wrong. Places like that I try not to attract any more attention than I want. Those drunken fools can't tell their left from their right. My name is Viktor by the way. Now tell me, Tallahassee, I would not be wrong in assuming you want more from me than to offer your cigarettes and talk about how the world goes round, don't you?" Viktor asked the man as he gestured an offer for him to take a seat on the ground next to him.

solamelike said
Flint took the chips in front of him and began to count them as they finished up the game. Flint received the money from the other players "How'd you get so lucky?" One of the men remarked as Flint shrugged pocketing the cash as his friends began to mill out of the door. Flint stood up and walked to the bar ordering 2 drinks "A screwball and whatever this gentleman wants" He pointed to Dorjan. "New in town?" he asked Dorjan looking to his hands "You been playing with a knife? They aren't toys you know" He joked as the drinks where placed in front of him . He removed the large wad of cash that he had won from . Removing a few bills and giving them to the bartender. Nodding appreciatively as he took a sip of his drink.

Dorjan had been watching the men playing a card came since he'd left the knife game. The thing that amazed him most, although to say amazed would be a bit of an exaggeration, was the fact that they were using chips. Dorjan had not been accustomed to the Old World, hell, he'd never even seen it except for in his mind when his father would tell him stories all those years ago, but in any card came he'd seen being played (although Dorjan preferred knife games), he'd never seen chips being used.

"A screwball and whatever this gentleman wants" Dorjan examined the man as he came over to the bar with what were his winnings, it was apparent to Dorjan now that you could make a lot more money from card games than five-finger-fillet. The proof? Right in the stranger's hands and pockets that was about to buy him a drink.

"So, what you having?" The bartender asked, his open palms pressed against the old counter-top, a drying towel flopped over his right forearm. In any normal circumstances, Dorjan would refuse the offer, his pride wouldn't let him take a drink from someone. However, after the last few weeks, with being left for dead and his winnings from no more than ten minutes ago dwindling away, he thought what harm could it do.

"Alright then." Dorjan uttered, pausing as a look of thought crossed his face for a moment before he licked the corner of his lips, "I suppose I'll have whatever I had the last time." The names of different alcoholic drinks never mattered to Dorjan, and usually places all served the one same spirit and the one same ale (if they had any). Dorjan was just about to thank the man, when he got ahead of him.

"You been playing with a knife? They aren't toys you know" Dorjan covered his injured hand with his other while the stranger who'd bought him a drink was looking at them. The tone in the stranger's voice was obviously a joking one so Dorjan snickered and took his drink up in his right hand, twisting his left from side-to-side, eyeing it.

"I've had worse than this." Dorjan muttered before downing the drink in one, there hadn't been much in it but it left a burn in the back of your throat. Dorjan cleared his throat and put the glass down on the counter. "Thanks for the drink stranger, but I don't even know your name..."

Flint downed the shot and winced. It wasn't called a screwball for nothing. Two things it was good for, getting drunk and fuelling cars !, well that's how it was advertised anyway. Flint lifted his sleeve to show his left hand. The scars on his fingers and one placed directly in the middle of his hand showed he knew all to well the stupidity of the game. But hey money is money right?! "
"I've had worse than this." Dorjan muttered
"Haven't we all?" Flint remarked "Flint, Flint White " He said answering the mans none-question, ordering a lighter drink this time as a small glass was filled with the black liquid he had been drinking before. He gave a couple of bills to the bartender once again then looked to Dorjan. "You've probably not heard of me and that's how I like to keep it" He sipped at his drink.

Twix leaned forward over the bar to get the busy barman's attention
"does this town 'ave a general store o' some sort?"
The barman nodded and gestured in the direction of the door.
"That would be Taffy's, out the door, turn right and keep walking, you can't miss it." a mischievous light entered the barman's eye as he continued "Can I get you a drink before you go?"
Twix looked up at the grinning barman and sighed
"aye... one for the road I guess"
The Barman grabbed a bottle of clear liquid from below the bar and poured a large glass, Twix handed over some cash and with some trepidation reached for the glass, he examined the liquid carefully for a moment returning his attention to the barman.
"Don't you have customers to be serving?"
The barman's grin only widened.
Twix, never one to forego a challenge, raised his eyebrow and -keeping eye contact with the barman- raised the glass and began drinking, the strong taste hit his throat and it took an act of will to stop him from gagging, he forced it down and slammed the glass down on the counter.
The grinning barman collected the glass laughing good heartedly as he did.
"good effort son!"
Twix grinned and began making his way to the exit.

Cold fresh air hit him as he left, door swinging closed behind him. Across the street in the shadow of a burned out building two men were talking, one with an accent from some far away place, other people still wandered the streets quick strides taking them to their destinations.
Twix turned right and began walking.

A sign swung gently in the breeze, It proudly announced the ramshackle looking building as 'Taffy's General Store', Two large windows that probably used to contain glass were boarded with sturdy wooden planks and the door was criss crossed with Iron reinforcing bands, not somewhere easy to break into. Twix stumbled a little as he approached, the alcohol beginning to take effect.

As he pushed the door ajar a bell rang announcing his presence, A young looking woman -dark hair cut relatively short- poked her head up from behind a counter at the far end of the store.
"Wait there! I'll be right with you!"

Twix's eyes widened in alarm as there was a loud crashing noise, as if a pile of something had just gone tumbling, echoed around the store followed immediately by several colourful curses. The woman, Twix could now see more of her as she'd made it out from behind the counter, sauntered down the aisle in-between dusty shelves of equipment.

She wore a smart looking red polo-shirt and Camouflage Cargo-pants and as Twix realized as she approached, she was about his height.

She drew level with him and looked him up and down rather unsubtly.
"What's with the hat?"

Twix blinked momentarily stumped.
"umm-" he started but didn't quite get to finish as she went on.
"I'm Taffy by the way, you are?"
It took Twix's quickly becoming alcohol addled brain a second to catch up with events in which time she'd continued.
"What are you here for?"
under the tirade of questions Twix visibly wilted backing away almost unconsciously, he quickly stopped that and blushing furiously finally managed to stutter out a response.
"h..hey, Twix... I'm Twix"
He held out his hand in greeting as he spoke and the girl, Taffy, shook it energetically as she cocked an eyebrow at him, playful smile on her lips.
"So what're you looking for? and what's with the hat?"

Twix having regained his composure managed to answer without embarrassing himself
"I need firewood, enough for a small cooking fire, say.. 52 9mm rounds and water enough for my canteen" he said indicating the canteen poking out of his coat pocket.
he unconsciously reached up to touch his hat -smile on his face- as he finished
"The hats my luck"

Taffy's hand moved quick as a cobra grabbing the hat from Twix's head, Twix, normally fast to react, was sluggish in his response and his hand raked through his messy brown hair in bewilderment.

A mischievous glint similar to that of the barmans had entered Taffy's eyes as she pulled the hat down over her hair
"Alright, but it'll cost you $30"

Twix by this point was having trouble keeping up with exactly what was happening and did the air seem awfully dry in here? his eyes kept drying up and he had to keep blinking.
"umm.. umm sure?"
He turned away from her and counted out $30 from his gasmask, cash in hand he turned back
"and my hat?"
Taffy's smile widened
"You can come back tomorrow for it if you'd like"

Twix nodded disheartened by the loss of his hat, his mind rested momentarily on the concept of forcing her to give it back but she'd already turned away looking through the shelves for what he'd requested.

She returned momentarily, The firewood he tied carefully across straps specifically placed for the task on his back, she'd brought a bucket of water which he dipped his canteen into thankfully whilst handing over the money, when he stood back up from filling his canteen Taffy was much closer than she had been before and time seemed to slow as Twix's eyes caught on hers, his breath caught in his throat, she really has quite beautiful eyes.

The moment broke as she handed him a handful of 9mm rounds, blushing furiously -once again- Twix pocketed the rounds and took a step back towards the door.
"T..thanks"
the heavy door creaked as he pushed it open and as it swung shut he heard one last shout from Taffy
"See you tomorrow"

He stumbled away to find a clear area to light his fire and stay for a bit, the wind ruffled his hair reminding him that he'd lost his hat.

A wise man might have counted the rounds he'd bought, but half drunk men are rarely wise.

He soon found a nice clear area in between buildings in which to make his fire, it was closer to the tavern than he'd prefer but beggars can't be choosers, soon he had a nice little fire going and his rabbits heating up nicely, he sat back contently humming to himself as the smell of cooking meat filled the air.

Tallahassee took a seat down next to Viktor, "Well viktor, I cant say your wrong. Now it isnt everyday one comes across a man who carries a shotgun, or has a russian accent, even in the wastes." Tallahassee's face was brightening as he spoke, smiling at his own abilities. "Also I noticed your attire and gear suggest you have training of some sort, rule no. 1 is survival right?" As he said this he stared off at the bar again. "You look bored, and I'm sick of going through hell alone." Tallahassee looked at Viktor, "Lets start up a crew, no leaders, no bullshit, we are out to help each other and stay alive, maybe make a little cash in the meantime."

He looked at Viktor and smiled, he couldn't read this guy. "I guess thats why I
was so interested" he thought. "So viktor, what do we say?" As he said this he flicked his cigarette in the air while still staring at Viktor. "You in or out?"