Vermillion — Roleplayer Guild

Frier & Watson Brothers

Blood covered the leaves that lay upon the cold stone beneath Arthur’s aching knee. The wound beneath his linen shirt seemed to grow as crimson enveloped every thread, an expanding circle of red just below his heart. As the red, thick and dripping from his old barbed chest, made its way down to his trousers waistline, his ears rang. For a moment his eyes blurred. Instantaneously his vision returned to him and he saw clearing the country road upon which he had been ambushed, the tall oaks and stalwart bushes guarding its sides.

Then darkness fell over his eyes, a dull wet thud the last noise to come from his lifeless body.

With the scream of his .357 snubnose, Mike’s arm shot back to settle at his shoulder, the barrel resonating beside his chewed ear. The old man lay on his back among the green vines and fallen leaves, blood meandering over his hairy chest exposed by the low necked shirt, two bullet holes in his lower left side.

“Search him.” 

Called Frier from the car, his cough carrying through every word, the phlegm in his throat mixing with the breath to make him sound guttural and wounded. The youngest of the three strode forward proudly, having shot the first and effectively, grabbing the 12 guage that lay beside the corpse. A grin spread over the young mans face, dispersed as his lips pursed and spat at the floor, at the old dead man.

“Mine!” 

He bellowed with triumph, a quick nod inwards accompanying the enthusiastic tone. With his gloved hands he threw the shotguns strap over his shoulder and took the rucksack by his feet with both hands. Heaving loudly and in a frankly obnoxious manner, Keanan dragged the old and dirtied luggage to the back of the car, throwing it carelessly into an already heaped pile of scavenge.

“Hurry it up will ya?”

Frier struck the driver’s door with his knuckle duster in urgency, revving the engine slightly as Keanan neared the rear door. The second the door open the car started forward, by this time Mike had managed to rest himself into the passenger seat, and laughed as Keanan bared his teeth and growled lowly through them.

After a few attempts, and due to Frier’s impending boredom, Keanan was allowed in and they set off down the country road, passing destroyed road signs and overgrown car parks as they neared the city. None of them had a map and, even if they had, none of them had the smarts or know how to use one without getting lost.

All the same, cities meant people and people meant spoils, women and food! In all honesty, Mike was always more thirsty than hungry during the day, though he blamed that on his inherited ‘midget bladder’ - a curse among his family, apparently. Though he craved a woman every second of every day, his primal needs a much more potent urge than ever before.

“Stop!”

Keanan exclaimed, completely ignored by Friar through spite at first, though he soon slammed on the brakes as Keanan reached over awkwardly from behind him and grabbed the wheel, his body flying into the back of the chair as the car halted.

“The fuck are you trying, boy?” 

Frier said coldly, keeping a calm tone but a murderous glare toward Keanan who rubbed his body all over in pain.

“Look...bastard.”

Keanan pointed ahead of them and mumbled his last word, settling back into his chair angrily. Through the windshield they saw the outskirts of the city surrounded by thin forest and shrub, some large homes and abandoned streets, but past all that was a steel pinned cement graveyard. Dead buildings filled their view, an old construction site draped with plastic sheets - unfinished city apartments, a collapsed factory building besides them.

“What?”

Frier’s expression was one wavering close to anger but closer to confusion, eye twitching and lips shivering pressed to his yellow teeth. His eyes swept from corner to viney corner, window to empty window, then to the shiny glint of metal that moved slowly through the factory grounds.

“Well, now that...is something.”

There eyes fell upon the rolling bulk of a tank, a silhouette at this distance, but a working tank none the less. Type and power was not to their knowledge, but Mike, Frier and Keanan all dropped their jaws an inch as blood sailed along their veins, the grip on their weapons tightening, the car's engine roaring like a lion as it bounded down the hill towards the industrial ground.
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