Storms of Steel and Diesel - A Mad Maxian RP (Started; PM if Interested)

DarkRawen

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Cor had tried, but he had made a dumb mistake. A stupid, damned mistake, though he wasn't entirely sure it had mattered. He should have attacked, shouldn't have tried to talk his way out of it, but of course he had tried to. Of course it had failed, almost every person he had ever met had been sociopathic maniacs, if given the chance.

Still... I had at least thought they would let her go if I fixed their guy... or I could just have done something.

People normally took his offer of help, because they knew he was useful. Now? All his tools had been taken away, and he was locked into some cage with other people. He wasn't sure what the purpose was, but someone mentioned getting eaten.

Cannibals?

He frowned, those who ate other humans were a nasty crowd. Cor could sort of understand making use of everything possible, but cannibals were just bad news all around.

No wonder they didn't care about that one guy. They're probably preparing him for dinner, right now.

Cor curled up a bit, someone or something had touched his leg and he didn't know who it was or where they had been. He wasn't even sure where Izzy was, before he heard her voice, sobbing, not far by.

"Momma, Poppa save me... I'm scared."

"Izzy..." he trailed off, Cor couldn't bring himself to say anything, and she likely didn't hear him either way. He had failed her.

And when she had the chance t' end it... I stopped her. And now we'll both suffer a terrible fate instead, worse than just getting shot.

Cor didn't exactly need another reason to feel terrible about this ordeal, and he closed his eyes, feeling his own hands shake. He wasn't entirely sure if the droplets running down his face were tears or simply sweat, the room was terribly damp, after all, and it was difficult to breathe.

"I'm sorry," he said, aloud, though he wasn't sure if it was for Izzy or to himself. Perhaps both. "This is such a mess."
 

booksv2

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Aug 17, 2012
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Sitting with his back against the transports wall Daka keeps himself tight with his knees against his chest and his arms around his bent legs. Staring over his knees at the rest of the blood bags in this place he clicks his teeth together in time with the bumping and shifting. The harness on his body was still tight and rubbing against his skin. The absence of his cuttas was making him nervous, tightening him up into a smaller ball.

Looking out over the other people trapped he thinks to himself.
so many blood bags. Where do they want to take us.. and if that thing over there doesn't shut up i might have to use my cuttas on him.

Glaring over at the person who couldn't keep their mouth shut and their rambling was getting on not only his nerves, making his blood itch and squeeze his legs against himself tighter.
 

Texas Joker 52

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Jun 25, 2011
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As the Interceptor roared through the ravine and away from the loader behind them, the gunshots from the remaining pursuers seemed to abruptly cut out. It had even taken him a moment to realize that he couldn't hear them over the sounds of the engine, and he wasn't sure if he should have felt relieved or even more anxious. The fact that the loader had gone out of sight wasn't reassuring, especially since he could still hear it.

With a bend coming up, Rasp hoped it led to freedom and open plains.

The moment they came around the corner, his hopes drained at the sight of a sudden drop, and he slammed on the brakes. Not a moment too soon, either, since the front tires would have skidded off the edge had he given it another split second.

He stared ahead at the cliff and grimaced. In front was a dead end. And behind? He slowly looked back and narrowed his eyes as he heard the loader come closer.

Turning to his partner, Rasp grabbed at his rarely-used seat belt and strapped himself in.

"Buckle up." he grunted.

The Interceptor shuddered a moment later as the industrial loader caught up and pushed them over the cliff's edge.

They hadn't known about the net.

[hr]

Several Days Later...

Out of a variety of horrible places they could have been in, Rasp would have considered the shipping container the two of them were sharing with the Rats' other captures to be only moderately bad. After all, he had a feeling that the destination in store for them was worse. And at least it was arguably better than the ravine that had eventually led them there.

The two of them shared a corner of the container and had managed to largely keep it to themselves despite the closeness to the other prisoners. The dank, stale air only made them feel more packed in. But the others had left them alone, which was something Rasp was grateful for, and for two reasons. First, was that Eddie was hurt.

Immediately after they had been pulled out of the snared Interceptor, the Rats that had caught up immediately started to threaten Rasp with retribution for killing their kin. But Eddie stepped in, and had gotten their attention with some clever jabs and snark. The result was that he was beaten, and brutally, and Rasp was forced to just watch. Otherwise, he would have been killed, and if he fought back, they would have killed him first.

Now, he was chained, bruised and bloodied, and Rasp could only do so much to look after the old fool while he slept without their weapons.

The other reason Rasp was grateful that they were, for the most part, left alone, was because he was actually a she. Out in the wild, a woman was almost always at a greater risk whenever they were captured, for a variety of obvious reasons. It was natural that since she could, she posed as a man whenever they interacted with outsiders.

So when she was patted down for any hidden weapons, the relief she felt that they hadn't found out that she wasn't in fact a man, was palpable. Though, since there had been mention of a eunich fetching a higher price, they may have easily mistaken her for one. The idea wasn't much comfort either way.

As she glanced over at Eddie, she felt a sharp pang of worry, since he hadn't woken since the beating, and she wondered if he would wake up at all. The fact that he was still breathing was reassuring to a point, but it had been a few days. He should have woken up by now.

As some of the others started to bicker among themselves, a low growl rose in Rasps mangled throat and she glared at a few of them. But, she didn't so much as spare a glance at the young woman who was whimpering to her own companion. Those two didn't grate nearly as much as the ones in the middle of an argument.
 

Neuromancer

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Then

That was quite the fall.

He had to give it to the rats, the buggers knew how to set a trap, even if they overdid it. That loader was sure to have been drinking gas like a chronic alcoholic wanting to forget. It spoke of their power, in a way. "The prestige of the tribes is measured in their motor power" Top Dog once told him, "The more and bigger their motor is, the greater the testament of their power. Motor thirsts for oil, it craves it, and the more you have, the bolder you have to be to quell it. Motor is our way of life, but it can also spell our death."

He was right, the lines of cars that he and Rasp'd seen left in the middle of the vast, seemingly endless desert, abandoned by its drivers without a drop of oil or gasoline left were too many to count, and the drivers couldn't have gotten very far on foot. So, the fact that they had a loader aswell as all those bikes spoke a bunch about their stregth. Or perhaps, how desperate they were, given that they started it up just for a single car and two people.

Either way, they were captured now, hands on the back of their heads, guns being pointed at them from every angle. To try and fight would be suicide, though given some tribes he'd seen suicide would have been the best outcome he could wish for. Hopefully they were only dealing with slavers or cannibals that were hungry enough to kill them quickly.

"WHERE ARE THEY!?" yelled one of them, jumping out of a bike, giving them both death glares as he saw them. "Which one of ye killed me brother? Which one of ye fuckin' bodybags fuckin' did it?!" Eyeing Rasp, he made his way towards him with quick steps with a frown filled with disgust, body language showing the bearest of restrains from violence. "Ye the one doin' the shootin', weren't ye? Ye the one that shot me brother's rider, ye? I'll cut yer fuckin' balls off!" he poked the blunt part of his knife on Rasp's thigh, "Eunuchs aare on high demand these days, ye'll fetch a higher price!"

"He shoulda worn a helmet."

The rat turned to face him, one of his eyebrows twitching, staring at him with what seemed like maddened rage. Completely forgetting Rasp even existed, he walked up to Eddie, raising his head to meet his eyes. "The fuck'd you say to me, furball?"

"Safety first, am I right?" Eddie chuckled, grinning, "What, didn't your parents teach you two to wear a helmet? 'Motorcycle accidents are quite common! Wear a helmet, live a long life! Bless me with grandchildren!" he mocked, as though an aged father demanding grandchildren.

The Rat clunched his fist, trembling from rage. "You have a death wish, don't you, old man?"

"Oh no, he he he, not at all! I just find it funny. You know, how your bro died like a *****!"

His cheek exploded as the Rat, evidently having reached his boiling point, hammered him with a haymaker. He could taste blood, and almost returned the favour. Almost ripped the little rat's face off, showed him that dogs can be as deadly as cats if riled up. Instead, he motioned Rasp not to do anything rash. The moment either of them made a move, they were dead.

"You call that a punch?" he grinned as he wiped the blood off his lip, laughing, "No wonder your bro was such a-"

A flurry of punches followed, as Eddie's face was flung left and right; with each punch received, the itch on the back of his head grew, wanting him to give in, but all that Eddie did was keep gesturing Rasp not to do anything. When the onslaught was over, he felt his entire face throb from the pain, and one of his eyes swelling up. The Rat's breath was heavy, and his face sweaty; not a marathon fighter, that one.

"That it?" Eddie mocked, spitting blood on the ground. His knees had grown a bit weaker and his vision was spinning, but he'd be damned if he let the Rat see it. "I've seen 12-year-olds give more of an impression than you. I'm surprised you and your bro survived this lo-"

"SHUDDUP!"

A heavy knee landed on his stomach, and he fell on one knee, coughing, gasping for breath, but grinning all the same. For a brief second, he pictured himself beating ratboy to death with his own leg, but he kept motioning Rasp not to do anything. Catching his breath, he started to laugh once again.

"STOP LAUGHING!"

A stomp, followed, throwing Eddie on the ground, followed by an angry flurry of more foot stomps. Protecting his face with one hand, the itch in the back of his head grew ever more tempting to scratch. But he kept gesturing Rasp not to do anything. Was he motioning for Rasp or for himself at this point? It was all a bit blurry in his head. He was reaching his limits, getting real close to grabbing the little vermin's leg and throwing him on the ground, real close to making his face -if there was any of it left when he was done- unrecognisable.

But then, someone grabbed Mr. Mouse from the shoulder and pushed him back. He was a tall, toned man, less than a head shorter than Eddie, his glare showing a degree of cunning and calculation that set him apart from the rest. Indeed, if ratboy was Pinky, this one was the Brain. "Enough." he said, his voice authoritative.

"Since he killed your brother, I allowed you to rough him up. But roughing up and damaging the merchandise are two different things.

"He he he... 'twas nuthin... Barely even felt it..." Eddie said, grinning weakly, his teeth blood red. With the adrenaline setting down, the pain started kicking in, and his vision grew worse as he struggled to keep from passing out. The Rat King eyed him, reached out, and took his hat. "I know a guy that collects these. Should fetch a high price, given its condition. Thank you for your patronage.

Eddie didn't have the energy to object or fight back. It was difficult enough to keep one eye open (the other had already given up), and he couldn't even raise a hand. As darkness surrounded him. his last thought was that he really wanted that hat back.

Now

The dank air assaulted his nostrils, making him feel rather nauseated. As he opened an eye (the other one was feeling rather uncooperative, blackened as it were), the barely illuminated room spun, his blurry vision turning it into a mish-mash of dark colours whirling around in his head. His arms were chained, hisface felt like it was run over by a truck, and his torso wasn't much better; every breath was painful, as was his attempt to raise it.

Far from the best awakening he'd ever had, all things considered. But also far from the worst.

Lumbering his body upwards, he let his back rest on the metallic wall behind him, and turned to his partner-in-crime, shooting a pained lopsided grin. "Hey there chief, worried ya there for a sec, didn't I?" He rattled the chains holding his hands, "Damn me, must've left quite the impression. eh? At least that rat didn't hold up his promise to castrate me!" He tried to laugh, but all that came out was a mixture of laughter, cough and a pained groan.

He turned to look at the rest of the occupants, most of which were unremarkable, except for a young man, taking care of a girl barely enough to be thought of as a teenager. At the sight of them, he couldn't help but frown and feel a considerable amount of sympathy for the crying girl. Life was cruel, and crueler still for children. If this was what he though it were, the girl didn't look like she'd survive long.

He let his head rest on the wall for a sec and took a -painful- deep breath. "So, Rasp," he said, his voice serious for once, "I seem to have missed a few things. How long was I out, and what happened in the meanwhile?"
 

Tortilla the Hun

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May 7, 2011
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Much to the contentment of many of the shipping container's occupants, the scrawny man had quieted down. Now he seemed to be occupied with peering through one of the holes in the corrugated walls of their mobile prison. When the light touched his face, it was apparent he was somewhere in his middle ages. It was hard to tell exactly where, considering the scars and pock marks that spotted his visage.

The woman that was lying in the middle of the floor was fast asleep and her breathing slowed considerably. She was very still, only moving when the rig pulling the container jostled over an uneven spot in the dust. The large man she had irritated earlier, however, was growing antsy. While he wasn't the most uneasy person present, he would've made for a decent contender. He fidgeted, cracking his knuckles every now and again. Whether it was fear or fury, something in him was stewing and was nearing the point of boiling over.

"Oh dear," the scrawny man whispered, his voice drawing attention to the added sounds of a new roaring engine. Then came the bullets.

The first reports were distant and the impacts just ahead of their mobile prison. The next came from atop the very rig that pulled them. In the exchange, the aim of the ambushers went wide. A dotted line of the shots was punched into the container. There was a squelch and those nearer the scrawny man felt the spatters from the head that was unfortunate to find itself in the line of fire.

The sound of an explosion ripped through the air. The rig swerved to avoid the burning hunk of metal the was part of its escort. Then swerved again when it tried to correct itself after its trailer swiped the flaming car. The container's occupants were nearly thrown from their seats with nothing to hold onto. With a final swerve, and a heavy snap, the trailer detached itself and turned on its side, skidding across the dust.

As it was coming to a rest, the sounds of gunfire continued ahead. Then there was one final burst of fire. The victors made themselves apparent as their vehicle came back around.

"We'll clear the crate, then the rig," called a male voice authoritatively. "Stay on the ripper. Won't know what's inside."

"Psst!" Hissed the woman that was sleeping before the attack. She was now preparing herself, eyes staying on the doorway. She whispered lowly so as not to be heard by the raiders. "Get ready, take 'em by surprise."

"Won't see me comin'," growled that large man, wiping the sweat and blood from his brow before he wrapped a studded belt around a respectable fist.

Clang!

A sledgehammer struck the padlock.

CLANG!

Again, the lock was struck. "Bugger," a voice muttered from the other side.

CLANG!!

With one final swing, the bolt was snapped and the door was loosened. The bottom half of the hatch fell outward. The top was about to be lifted when the large man charged from within the container. When it went up, the men on either side reeled and staggered back. One managed to turn away in time. The other wasn't so fortunate?his jaw taking most of the force and was almost immediately rendered unconscious.

Bright light poured into the shipping container, glaring into the eyes of its occupants. However it didn't take long for them to adjust. The opened hatch revealed five men with clothes that appeared to be more dust than fabric. The one that was clouted by the door was layed out on the left, to the right was another trying to get to his feet before the female prisoner set upon him. The one wielding the sledgehammer was decked by a punch from the large captive's wrapped fist.

A shot rang out from the back of a dusty, open-top wagon beyond the three raiders. And it was the only one as a casing found itself lodged in the chamber of the mounted MG3. "Jammed!" Shouted the gunner as he leapt down from the wagon. There was a secondary gunner that dismounted alongside him and the pair advanced, each brandishing a machete.
 

Athol

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It was as if the rest of the world didn?t exist to Izzy; she simply lay curled up on the floor and occasionally sobbed as thing happened around her. She barely twitched when a man sitting beside her caught a stray bullet to the face, splattering her with brain, blood and bone, and when the container fell, while she did let out a bit of a startled ?squawk? upon finding herself airborne, she made no attempt to save herself as she piled into the other sprawled bodies. The harsh clanging as the lock was busted off was just another unimportant noise to ignore; even after the door was busted open, she just stared at the uncomfortable brightness, not comprehending or caring, what was going on.

*BANG*

The single shot, amplified by the open container door, was enough to get through to her shell-shocked mind. Her eyes waters at the brightness, as sound and memories came rushing back. The bodies of the other captives faded into the background, as the raiders focused into crystal clarity; her eyes locking onto one of the dismounted gunners, she snarled and rushed from the container, heedless of danger.

While the three at the container were either down, or getting attacked, Izzy rushed past all that, her victim the gunner who?d just dismounted after jamming his weapon. He saw her coming and laughed as he brought his machete across in a viscous slash to cut her down mid-charge; but she was moving faster than he realized, and was inside his swing before his blade could bite her. Leaping at the last moment, ninety pounds of fury hit him in the chest and began to tear at his face and head.

Caught off guard, the raider staggered backwards as Izzy wrapped her skinny legs around his midsection, and began to rip at his face coverings; goggles yanked free, her grease stained left thumb found his right eye socket. Jamming it in up to the second knuckle, her rest of her fingers curled around his right ear and yanked his head to that side. Screaming in pain, the raider stumbled backwards and Izzy rode him to the ground as her other hand slipped three fingers into the left side of his mouth and began tearing at the cheek.

Weapons forgotten as he fell, the raider flailed in extreme pain as Izzy tore at his face; now on a stable footing, Izzy lunged at his exposed neck, her crooked teeth sinking into the flesh, the warm coppery taste of blood filling her mouth. The raiders screams went from one of pain, to absolute terror, as her teeth sunk in, and it changed once more, as his thrashing about caused her to tear a large split in his cheek all the way back to the molars.
 

DarkRawen

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Apr 20, 2010
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Cor wasn't surprised by that Izzy didn't react to his attempt to apologize. She had entered one of her "states", the one where she shut everything else out, curled up. Small. Of course, he also knew what often came afterwards. There was a reason he kept away from her when she got like this, Izzy would get vicious and extremely violent, especially against men.

It had gotten to the point where rather than keep trying to pull her out of this state, he kept to himself, staying out of her way until she had calmed down. It could take a while.

Yet I can't help but feel bad for her.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Cor was a little too nice. Right now, he didn't feel like being nice, only like curling up himself, and try to remain... calm? He had little hope, but he didn't want to panic. Cry, sure, he wished he could just find his parents and let them handle this. But they were dead, and he was an adult man. A medicus. He couldn't simply give up, like a feeble child.

And thus, he waited. He waited for something to happen.

Something did, far earlier than he had expected. The mobile prison was attacked, and when the gunshots came, he had no choice but to help himself first, Izzy didn't even seem to notice them, and he had no energy to try to drag her away. Luckily, it seemed they both were fine. For now, it still wasn't over, far from it. Some of the people who had spoken before talked.

"Get ready, take 'em by surprise."

"Won't see me comin',"

Cor opted to see where it would go, hide a little so that he could take someone by surprise, was it needed. However, having seen Izzy awakened, he did speak a warning to the others there, before the intruders entered. It was a whisper, but he hoped at least some of them heard it.

"Keep clear of the girl," he told the others. "She'll not be kind to those who get close." With that, he stood up. He positioned himself sort of close to Izzy, close enough to try to interfere if she got hurt or if she tried to hurt the wrong person, but not for him to be a possible next target. He hoped.

I'll let those who can fight do the fighting for now.

Eventually, if they survived this, Cor would tend to the injuries of those still alive. Right now he was practically useless, though.
 

Texas Joker 52

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When Eddie finally began to stir, Rasp felt a wave of relief wash over her. He was still in bad shape, and shackled on top of it, but at least he was waking up. If nothing else, that was certainly a start, especially since she was starting to worry that he wasn't going to wake at all.

One of his eyes slowly opened, with the other too swollen to open in the first place, and he glanced over at her with a weak smile.

"Hey there chief, worried ya there for a sec, didn't I?"

She gave him an odd look, but nodded. He seemed to notice the chains after a moment and made a passing comment about making an impression. Then he looked around, paying attention to the other prisoners locked in there with them. She noted his sympathetic frown and let out an almost wheezing sigh.

"So, Rasp. I seem to have missed a few things. How long was I out, and what happened in the meanwhile?"

"Three days," she hissed quietly, "Not much. Took everything, shoved in here. Moving us somewhere."

Her head whipped around when she heard the scarecrow of a man murmur something, and she could pick out the sounds of gunfire outside. She crouched low, which was fortunate as the rig transporting the shipping container swerved, and they could hear explosions just outside. She was thrown roughly against the wall of the container, and managed to scrabble her fingers against it just in time to grasp one of the air holes to brace herself at least somewhat.

Good thing too, since with a final swerve, the container snapped off of the rig and turned onto it's side. With the sudden shift, the other prisoners were thrown onto the same wall Rasp was braced against, and she managed to catch Eddie before he was slammed against metal.

There was a final burst of gunfire outside, along with muffled voices outside that Rasp could barely make out.

"Get ready, take 'em by surprise."

The woman who was attempting to sleep earlier was crouched and ready to ambush their new attackers, and Rasp did the same with her jagged teeth bared viciously. They might have taken her blades, and her shotgun, but she still had her hands, her teeth. She could fight with that much.

Clang!

Clang!

Clang!!

When the lock was busted and the container hatch opened, the rest was a blur. The large man charged the first two just outside, only to stop at the sound of a single gunshot. The young girl that was fretting to her companion earlier looked up before charging outside, presumably to rush whoever was armed with the gun. And Rasp wasn't too far behind.

She launched herself forward and shoved past the group at the hatch, chasing after the girl with the goal of overwhelming their target. When she saw them, she noticed that the raiders only had machetes. She was expecting a rifle at least, but the fact that they both had a chopper instead made her grin, even as the girl launched herself at one. She was fast, Rasp would definitely give her that, at least as fast as she was.

As the girl tore at the man's face, he flailed, dropping his machete to the ground, which was all the opportunity Rasp needed. She snatched it up from the ground and spun low, swiping it across the back of his partner's knee. As he stumbled, she turned again and flipped it up against the inside of the elbow of his weapon arm.

It was clear that the machete was crude and poorly cared for, because instead of cleaving through the mans arm like she intended, the blade stopped a little over halfway through the elbow. But the result was that he was still down an arm, and as he struggled on the ground, she placed a boot on his mangled wrist to wrest the blade free of his meat.

As the man screamed and clutched at his limp arm, Rasp swiped the machete's blade along his throat, cutting it with only a minor jerk of resistance. He gurgled obscenely, but her only reply was contemptuous huff, before turning to face the others.
 

booksv2

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Watching the rest of the container of people Daka keeps himself contained in his little part of it. Without his cuttas and no way to know where to get them he was panicked inside, but hiding it as well as he could. Keeping still with his back against the wall he watches the talkers in the box, either talking to people they know or blustering to keep their scared inside.

Laying his head on his knees and staying still Daka missed the first half of the escalating fight. Jerking his head up when he hears the gunshot He stares wide eyed as people rush out into the sun and fighting starts outside. Jerking himself to his feet and moving through the other who were not moving or to stunned to move Daka jumps out of the container and watches as those who were outside start killing and fighting. Rather than a gun most of the people outside were holding badly made and cared for machetes. Moving to the side and jumping on the back of one of the men who were about to rush the girls who were already fighting. Reaching around and digging his fingers into the mans face Daka bites the side of his neck, blood spraying out and he mans right eye forces out by Dakas strong fingers.

Dropping back to the ground and jumping back Daka hisses as the tip of the machete hits his chest cutting a long but shallow part out of him. Holding his chest and glaring at the man Daka jumps to the side of his now blind side and keeps running around in a circle. Getting almost behind him as the man spins towards him Daka jumps forward and grabs the hand hodling the machete as he uses his fingers to dig into the other eye he reaches in and pulls it out just to crush it, making the man scream in pain. Jumping back to get out of range of his wildly swinging machete he aits till he turns around before jumping on his back again and pulling him to the ground, Daka grabs the machete and holds its handle and the back of the tip of the blade and slices the mans throat. Turning his face away as blood goes flying.
 

Neuromancer

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"Three days, not much. Took everything, shoved in here. Moving us somewhere."

That hissed "not much" must've been the biggest understatement young, eager Rasp had made the past week, and she was a master at those. Three days. A normal, well-adjusted (as "well-adjusted" one could be in such a world) would've been at least an itchy-bitchy bit shocked, but a frown and sigh was all she got out of him. He's had worse, way back in the olden days. Once he'd spent a week and a half in a coma, only to awaken as they were about to throw his body out of a speeding car, the grief-stricken begging of his mother's the first thing he heard. He had to spend the following days to prove that he hadn't been damaged goods. That was the way things worked; no matter how well known or reputable you were, you gotta pull your weight, and the moment you start being a burden was the moment you were cast aside or put down, if you felt like objecting.

Resting his head on the wall, Eddie closed his eyes and let the thought sink in. Engines roared in the distance, their noises and rhythm composing only what one could describe as a crude, anarchic symphony. It reminded him of the old days, except back then it was a hundred engines, and their symphony was one inviting violence.

But then, a new engine joined the fray, disrupting the flow. He felt his body tense up; his gut was telling him something was happening. His heart thumped quicker, and his stomach tightened- an eere sense of anticipation, a sensation similar to when battle was close. Bullets echoed in the distance, coming closer by the minute. It was not long until they were invited into this sortie, he reckoned.

An explosion hit close, causing the container to swerve, and Eddie found himself thrust around, only avoiding injury thanks to the timely intervention of his bony companion. The gunfire subsided, and a lonely engine roared outside, victor or survivor unclear. Whichever it was, the prisoners found this as an opportunity to wrest free, and prepared for a fight. "I'm alright," he waved and whispered to his companion, and prepared for what was to come.

He took a deep breath, and let the fear sink in, embracing the dread, claiming it for his own. Fearlessness was a fool's boast, in his mind. The only men with no fear in them were the dead, or the soon to be dead, maybe. Fear taught you caution, and respect for your enemy, and to avoid sharp edges used in anger. Fear could bring you out alive, and that's the very best anyone could hope for from any fight. Every man that knew what he was doing felt fear. It's how one used it that counted.

The hatch gave way to the heavy blow of a sledgehammer, and the other prisoners lassed and run out like rats in a cage. Perhaps not the most well-thought move; they didn't know what they were dealing with, and rushing out could've easily ended with them being gunned down, but it turned out they were lucky. As the others rushed out, he couldn't help but notice the little girl, once weeping and crying, now ripping a man's face apart with her bare hands, as though transformed in the blink of an eye. A familiar sensation.

"Keep clear of the girl, she'll not be kind to those who get close." warned the young man, and Eddie couldn't help but raise an eyebrow- he certainly kept interesting company, he'd give him that. With an acknowledging nod, he peered outside, surveying the battle. Rasp was already taking care of one of the hostiles, and the other prisoners were keeping the others occupied. Hopefully he wouldn't have to take part; his body ached with each movement, and that made him slow, not to mention his swollen eye made him vision-impaired. Slowness and depth perception were both killers on their own, their combination only serving to make the other more potent.

Alas, it would seem he was left with no choice. The larger captive struggled against the man with the sledgehammer, his opening barrage of blows not enough to take the brute down, and he had recuperated. He lay on the ground, panting, as the other prepared for a final swing, only interrupted by a full body push by Eddie. "Stay back," he warned with the confidence of a man that knew what was doing.

The truth of the matter was he wasn't quite sure. The sledgehammer, though slow, compensated for that with power and reach, and its wielder had the skill to put them both to good use. Eddie found himself in a massive disadvantage, and he knew it. They stared at each other for a few seconds, sizing up the competition, before the man lashed forward, throwing one calculated swing after the other. Dodging them proved a difficult endeavour, but after a while the swings grew more lumbering and desperate, and that was his que that it was almost time to act.

What followed happened in a flash, but to Eddie it felt more like an hour. A full-force downward swing, only barely dodged as he jerked his body to the side. He took a step forward, burying his fist deep into his enemy's face, putting the weight of his entire body on the blow. The man's legs gave way, and his grip loosened, and Eddie grabbed the sledgehammer, wrestling it away, hitting the man with an elbow and throwing him to the ground. He raised it high and the man, coming back to his senses stared in terror as he prepared to yell. It was the last expression he ever made.

Panting, Eddie took a moment to collect himself; "Still alive," he whispered, "I'm still alive." His body ached, and his breathing was hoarse, but he was still alive. "I'll keep this, if you don't mind," he told the prisoner as he raised the hammer, blood and brain matter still dripping from its head. He didn't.

Turning to see how Rasp was doing, he noticed that she had taken care of her opponent, gripping a bloody machete and looking for people to use it on.

"Hey, Rasp," Eddie said as he walked closer, resting the hammer on his shoulder, "I'll see about getting that machine gun fixed up. Recon we'll need it if anyone else decides to pay us a visit." He patted her on the shoulder, "Nice work. Provide help where needed. Talk to you soon." and walked on towards the truck, getting on the gunner's seat.

"Oh," he grunted, remembering, "And stay clear of that child."
 

Tortilla the Hun

Decidedly on the Fence
May 7, 2011
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Eddy would find that it wasn't a simple jam. After the firefight sand had settled in places any gunner wouldn't want it to. An extensive cleaning would be in order, that much was certain. The same could be said for a few of the captives after their brutal attack. Izzy especially, the blood pouring from her victim's wounds now slowing given that he was already dead. The others were already dusting themselves off from the scuffle.

It was quiet in the aftermath. At least more quiet than it was. The fight was over and blood was quickly soaking into the dust. Surprising as it may have been for anyone that would have witnessed the struggle for the rather large prisoner, seeing as there was a sizable portion of his upper shoulder missing. The equally sizable man sat up with a groan of considerable pain, dust adhering to his back in the rivulets of blood that ran down his back. His arm rested limply at his side. "Bugger shot me."

Now that the light offered a better view of the prisoners, they could better see the sheer strength the seated man carried. He could easily be described as a muscle with teeth, though those that knew it were averse to referring to him as such in his presence. He wasn't particularly tall, though it was clear he didn't need to be. His shirtless figure was intimidating enough as it was. At least would have been, was he not reduced to the wounded, bleeding man in the dust, wincing as the air touched the tender nerves.

The man ran his hand of his one good arm across his hairless head, wiping the sweat and clinging dirt from his skin. Then he scratched the back of his neck in thought, head turned to look at his exposed flesh. The soured expression on the man's face betrayed what a struggle it may have been for the figurative gears of his brain to turn. Though given the circumstances, it could just as easily be out of pain. Whichever it was, his silence ended with a vocal observation. "That's a lot of blood."

"Yeah, you don't say," exclaimed the other unnamed prisoner. She paused from rifling through one of their captors' pockets to take a closer look. In contrast to the man in the dirt, she was quite small. Her skin was dark and, as her attire suggested, not from the sun's touch. She wore a sandy flannel jacket that looked several sizes too large but she kept it reined in with leather straps around her wrists and waist. Her pants were just as baggy but with the aid of her knee pads the cuffs wouldn't catch the underside of her boot heel. She rested her wrapped hands on her upper legs as she leaned forward to inspect the torn muscle. Her eyes narrowed underneath the sweat-drenched ends of her jet black hair that was cut just short enough not to obscure her vision. "Lucky for you he wasn't a crack shot. Then again, if he was there'd be nothing for you to complain about."
 

Athol

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Izzy found herself standing over the mangled body of a dead raider, chewing on a piece of flesh she?d torn from his throat. ?Shit burglar?? She spat, hocking a bloody chunk of flesh into the remains of his face. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, unaware of the world around her; she felt good?the best she?d felt in quite a while.

Opening her eyes, she realized there were others about?and that she?d been standing with her back to them. Letting out a surprised squeak, she dropped low and spun about, her hand searching over the dead man. Pulling a crude shiv from his belt, her eyes flicked between the various people; but the attack she?d expected never came?in fact they seemed more interested in the big guy with a hole in his shoulder. ?Cor right?? She muttered. ?Izzy too jumpy?Hell, Izzy know not all people bad?? Still, until she found a better weapon?preferably her own?she was keeping the shiv.

After another moment or two, she began to realize her clothes felt ?weird?. Looking down she saw she was covered in blood, which was now starting to dry; while the others were distracted by the big guy, she began to search the dead for new clothes, or valuables.
 

DarkRawen

Awe-Inspiringly Awesome
Apr 20, 2010
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Cor couldn't help but stand with a defiant look on his face, keeping just out of range for most of the dangerous guys, hiding so that he'd be harder to shoot as well. Part of him wanted to hit someone too, get rid of some of the anxiety and fear and anger that had built up. However, he wasn't violent like that, and he knew he was more useful keeping out of the fighting. Part of him would rather just hide away, have someone come find him once it was safe again, just like he had been able to do as a child. Escape all the danger, and wait for his parents to settle it. However, they weren't alive, hadn't been for what felt like an eternity, but really only was a few years. Besides, he wasn't a child anymore.

Instead, Cor watched, looking around for anything that could help, or weaknesses or--- wait. He spotted something in the rig's cab, and quietly walked over. The fighting had started dying down, and the others were handling it well enough. Inside the cab he found containers, and inside them...

Yes!

Quickly, he got his crossbow and arrows, lighter and some gas. If he was going to be helpful, he might as well have the only thing making him useful in a fight. However, when he stuck his head out, he noticed that everything had calmed down. Izzy was walking around, seemingly out of her bad mood, but likely needing some time to herself, while the strangers that had been talking during the ride was standing together, the man having taken a rather nasty shot to his shoulder and arm.

"Lucky for you he wasn't a crack shot. Then again, if he was there'd be nothing for you to complain about."

"Try t' keep a bit of pressure on that, 'k?" he yelled to the woman, and started going through his tools. "I'm a medicus, healer, give me a short moment..." he went through the procedure in his mind.

Big gun, need t' remove some pieces of gun-scrap, probably. Lot of blood, should try t' clean it and get the pieces out, but I can't waste time. Might need t' amputate, if everything is horrible, but only if I have t'. Need some alcohol t' pour into it.

Luckily most of his medical supplies was kept separate from everything else, clean, so he got that, as well as the bottle of alcohol, some makeshift bandages, and the big knife, just in case. Making his way over to the strangers, he confidently took control over the situation. He handed a piece of cloth over to the woman.

"Here, this'll help t' keep the bleeding under control. Fair bit of chunk taken, I'll need t' sew it," he started, and got the bottle of alcohol. He offered the man a little of it, because the next step was going to hurt. A lot.

"Here I go... Try not t' struggle."

Carefully, he started cauterizing the visible blood vessels in order to force the blood around to thicken, before taking another rag. Pouring a bit of alcohol on it, he started to clean the wound -though keeping it away from the areas he had just burned- while looking for anything that could cause trouble if it remained inside, and removing what had to be. Pieces of shattered bone, for instance. He moved carefully, yet swiftly, he had to get it shut soon. If there was any comments from the people around, then the Medicus didn't hear them, he was too focused on his work. The only exception was him, taking a brief second to make sure Izzy was still fine.

Doesn't matter now. Patient.

Getting one of the last surgery needles in existence through the skin, he finally finished closing the wound, and then proceeded to bandage it up, carefully. "I'm not entirely sure the arm'll be much use," he admitted. "Might, but considering how much tissue was damaged and even missing... you'll survive, though. And I don't see any reason not t' keep the arm, as long as you keep it free from infection."

He muttered, sitting up, exhausted, but happy to have helped someone. He always liked that. Looking at Izzy, he addressed her. "Izzy, our stuff is in the cab of the wag, if you're looking for that stuff. I'll get the rest of my stuff, just give me a brief moment." He didn't address the more difficult stuff, like; "What now?" or "Is anyone here going to try to take everyone else's stuff and leave them alone?"
 

booksv2

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Keeping the large cutta in his hand Daka looks down at the man he had just killed. Pulling the blade from his ruined neck and squatting to scrub the blade with sand to get the blood off Daka looks up at the only person with a serious wound and goes back to cleaning his blade. He knew a good clean blade would take the place of even a great partner, a partner could betray you.

About to stand Daka jumps when movement out of the corner of his eye startles him, making him jump away and turn around still low to the sand as a woman jumps and glares at everyone as she pulls a shiv from the bandit she stood over. Eying her Daka could see she had torn a piece of the mans neck out and her clothes were more bloody than the man was. Moving away from her Daka starts to move around the container they had all been in to see what was on the other side when someone calling out to another catches his attention.

Izzy, our stuff is in the cab of the wag, if you're looking for that stuff. I'll get the rest of my stuff, just give me a brief moment."

Jerking and turning towards the man Daka scrambles forward and ducks under someones arm and gets to the cab of the truck, scrambling inside and looking around wildly. dumping a few boxes and yelling out he grabs his harness and pulls his cuttas out to look at them. putting them back he throws his harness back on and looks for a place for his bigger cutta to sit.
 

Texas Joker 52

All hail the Pun Meister!
Jun 25, 2011
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Not long after the chaos started it was over. And Rasp was left quietly wheezing above the remains of her only victim. A small, vicious part of her wished that there were still a few more of them to rip into with her stolen machete, but that was mainly because she wanted to get some payback for their capture and Eddie's beating. Her more rational side realized the fact that there were so few was a genuine blessing. One of the few the wastes tended to offer.

She looked up when Eddie approached, and a corner of her mouth quirked up into a half-smile. He looked like he wasn't much worse off than when he woke up, which was something to be thankful for, and he had appropriated a weapon of his own: An impressively gory sledgehammer.

"Hey, Rasp, I'll see about getting that machine gun fixed up. Recon we'll need it if anyone else decides to pay us a visit."

Quickly glancing back at the mounted gun, she gave him a thumbs-up. Then he regarded her victim and patted her shoulder.

"Nice work. Provide help where needed. Talk to you soon. Oh, and stay clear of that child."

Grunting affirmatively, she flicked the excess blood from the machete's blade and started to make her way back to the others. All the while making a point to give the young girl a wide berth even as she jumped a little and bore a shiv to any potential threats. Rasp didn't want another fight on her hands, not with the other prisoners. As far as she was concerned, they were innocent in all this. Or at least, as innocent as anyone was nowadays.

"Izzy, our stuff is in the cab of the wag, if you're looking for that stuff."

Her head perked up at that. She didn't recognize the voice, or the name they were calling out, but if the cab of the truck was where the prisoner's things were held, she was going to focus on that first. And it was clear that she wasn't the only one taking the opportunity to grab their effects, either.

A bald, heavily scarred man was in the middle of dumping some of the boxes in the search for his own gear, so when Rasp dropped down next to him, she bared her teeth and hissed. She glared at him for another moment before grabbing the boxes he overturned and started to search through them more gently.

She managed to work her way through three boxes herself, setting them aside, before she finally found what she was looking for. She let out an audible sigh of relief, and took great care and satisfaction as she slipped her kukris into their proper places, then she checked both her pack and Eddie's to make sure nothing was missing.

Reassured that everything was as it should be, she shrugged both packs on, grabbed her shotgun along with the AK-47 they shared, and climbed back out of the cab. It was tempting to just leave it at that, and go back to Eddie. It would have been more cautious and certainly would have made more sense in the world they lived in to do just that. It also would have been completely selfish, and would run the risk of having the other prisoners simply turn on them, so instead she made her way back to the container where she spotted the large man from before being looked over by the young girl's companion. Or who she assumed was the girl's companion at any rate.

Dumping the packs and weapons, she walked over and knelt beside the wounded man and across from the one looking him over. With a grunt to catch the man's attention, she placed a hand on her chest before holding it out as if to offer it.

Can I help?
 

Athol

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So far Izzy was disappointed; none of the bodies she?d checked had had any kit worth scavving, nor had they died much better than the one she?d killed. The blood that had soaked into her clothes was turning sticky, and it looked like she might be condemned to wearing them at least until they found a ville to trade at.

"Izzy, our stuff is in the cab of the wag, if you're looking for that stuff. I'll get the rest of my stuff, just give me a brief moment."

Her head snapped up at the sound of Cor?s voice, and she flashed him a toothy grin, but he?d already returned his attention to the wounded man. There he go again. She thought, looking at the healer. Izzy no understand why he always try to save ?em? Waste to day to help those with no pay, should just clip ?em wit a blade t? da head. Make it quick. Her internal bitching about Cor?s decision was interrupted by a flicker of movement towards the cab of pigrig. ?Piss fister!? She swore, darting off in pursuit.

Reaching the cab, she stopped short, and slunk back a bit, when she got a good look at the pale man rummaging through the gear. He was quite a bit larger than her, and had gotten his hands on a pair of blades that were far superior to the crappy little shiv she had. ?Balls?? She muttered. Her mood soured further when a tall, skinny man walked up and began rummaging through the boxes the scarred one had tossed aside. Keeping back from the duo she scanned the area out of habit, spotting an odd lump not far from where the container they?d been locked in had crashed.

Investigating the lump, she was pleased to see it was what she?d thought it was. Apparently there?d been a spotter riding up top?not that it?d done much good. The crash had snapped his neck on landing, and as a result his clothes weren?t covered in blood. With move born from long practice in her short life, Izzy searched the body, and stripped him of his clothes; she left the boot because they were worse than hers. Looking about and seeing no one close enough to rush her, she stripped to her skin and donned her new gear; wiping her face clean-ish with the back of her old shirt, she went back to where ?Stretch? and ?Scars? had been.

?Stretch? had gone over to where the others were, and ?Scars? seemed to be still in the cab, so Izzy took this opportunity to look through the boxes herself. ?Oh shiny!? She hiss with glee as she found her bag. Opening it, she checked, and was glad to see, that their captors hadn?t had a chance to loot her things?in fact they?d thrown the rest of her stuff into it as well. Settling her knife on her hip, she tied her gun in place across her skinny chest. Carefully reloading the gun, she dumped the brass back in her bag and headed over to Cor.

? ?Ello Cor!? She said brightly as she approached, ignoring the others. ?Izzy good now. Shit-dicks didn?t paw Izzy?s kit? got pappa?s tools and all that. Down six for Izzy?s blaster though, slags didn?t even have any good savv on ?em; but Izzy can get salvage from pigrig, so be good for next ville.? Need to tap tanks too. ?Leave bleeder an? let?s bounce?the tek?s a runner.?
 

Neuromancer

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The more that Eddie inspected the machine gun, the more he wondered how these people survived for so long. To say nothing of the thorough cleaning that was needed, the gun itself, from what little he had disassembled of it, was barely in any sort of working condition: The weapon was poorly lubricated, rusty, with parts chipped or even worn off. For it work in a dependable fashion again, it would not only need a good few hours of maintenance, but parts to be replaced. Looking at the state the weapon was in couldn't help but make Eddie frown. No matter how great a gun you have, it means jack shit if it jams the moment it matters. That was a lesson that was firmly drilled into every Warpup's head. You can only be as good as the state of your gun allows you to.

And it seemed to him that this particular one would not allow him to be good at all. At least until he fixed it up. But that would take time, and there were more pressing matters to attend to. With the fighting over and done, people needed fixing, and talking needed to be done. "What now?" was a question that would need to be adressed as soon as possible, for that simple question could drive people insane. Lack of direction and leadership always did, and though Eddie could never claim to be any sort of leader, he could at least contribute on the direction. One out of two is better than nothing, and you learn to make do with what you have.

With that in mind and sledgehammer in hand, Eddie left the machinegun as it were and left the truck. The sun shone brightly on his face, and that reminded him he didn't have his hat on his head, and that soured his mood. He was rather attached to that thing, even he didn't quite remember how he got hold of it. Speaking of things he was missing right, he was really craving for a cig. If Rasp was right, then he hadn't smoked in three days, and that was three days too long. Besides, nothing quite relaxes a man that just smashed a guy's head with his own sledgehammer than a long, drawn out sip of a good cig. But, you do with what you have. It's usually so little that you can't bring yourself to think about what you haven't, or would like to have.

He took a look at the post-fight scene. One of the survivors was ruining his blade by using sand to rub blood off. Bloody Amateurs. The rest patched themselves up. Those that weren't buried in the sand, that is. The Great Sandstorm buries all men equally, the wisewomen of the tribe would teach, and along with them any pretense of relevance, any claim at immortality. Death brought only oblivion, and there was sand enough to bury everyone ten times over.

Morbidity aside, there didn't seem to be much for him to do. The muscled survivor was likely getting his wound treated, Rasp was likely making herself useful and since no one was screaming, the little girl had likely calmed down now. A pleasant enough situation to be in, all things considered. There was no telling when they'd gather round to convene, but that didn't mean that Eddie couldn't get himself a head start. He approached the female prisoner, and lowered the hammer to show he didn't mean no funny business.

"Quite the situation, eh?" he grinned, though perhaps it'd been better if he didn't. His grins seemed to have a reputation of intimidition, or at least so Rasp had told him, and considering how little that girl says, Eddie was inclined to believe her. "I'll get to the point, since this looks like it's gonna be a long day. As things stand, it looks to me like we'll be stuck with each other for a while. So, I reckon the least we could do is get to know each other. Higher chances of survival if we stick together and work as a team, and all that. Sounds reasonable, yeah?" he pointed at himself with his thumb, "Name's Eddie. Some call me the Dead, so I guess I'm disappointing them on a regular basis."
 

DarkRawen

Awe-Inspiringly Awesome
Apr 20, 2010
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Finally, he could have a bit of a breather. Well, there was still things he needed to deal with, but right now there was nothing that was super urgent. At least he thought no one was dying. Cor looked at the rather feminine man sitting in front of him, gesturing. It was quite clear what the meaning was, and he nodded.

I might as well take this chance t' check on Izzy.


"Sure, just keep an eye on him. I need t'---"

"'Ello Cor!"

...check on my companion.

"Well then, nevermind, she seems t' be good. I'd like you t' ensure that he gets something -water, ideally- t' drink, and that there's no other problems. Let me know if you need anything, uhm, just, wave, or talk, if you can. I'm Medicus Cor, by the way." Having given all the instructions needed at the moment, he looked towards Izzy, smiling. Cor moved closer to her, but let her close the distance to the point she found comfortable.

"Izzy good now. Shit-dicks didn't paw Izzy's kit... got pappa's tools and all that. Down six for Izzy's blaster though, slags didn't even have any good savv on 'em; but Izzy can get salvage from pigrig, so be good for next ville. Leave bleeder an' let's bounce...the tek's a runner."

"I'm not sure we should just leave everyone else here," Cor replied, and looked her over, frowning at the iffy state of her mouth. He saw blood, and knew she had bitten someone, he just wondered how much of it was hers, if any of it was.

"Can I take a look inside your mouth, Izzy? I'm just going t' make sure you've not hurt yourself." He motioned for her to sit in front of him, and had his arms resting on top of his knees. "Also, you didn't happen t' pick the rest of my stuff up, did you?"
 

Athol

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"I'm not sure we should just leave everyone else here,"

Izzy just gave Cor her usual slightly annoyed glare that she used every time he insisted of wasting time, and resources, to help people who probably couldn?t pay.

"Can I take a look inside your mouth, Izzy? I'm just going t' make sure you've not hurt yourself. Also, you didn't happen t' pick the rest of my stuff up, did you?"

Izzy took a half step away from Cor without even realizing it. ?N-no, Izzy fine.? She replied after a moment. ?Not Izzy?s blood?Oh! Umm, sorry Cor, Izzy no looking for your stuff. Stupe over there.? She said, jerking a thumb towards Daka. ?Jus? tossed shit e?erywhere, t?nk sum stuff gots jumbled?best you look youself; af?er all, Cor gonna know Cor?s stuff.?

Looking about to get her bearings on the situation, Izzy finally spotted Eddie. Is Him! She thought, as terror well up inside once more; but as her hand reached the grip of her gun, another voice in her head, one that sounded a lot like Cor?s if she?d stopped to think about it, told her to calm down and remember that He was dead?by her hands after all. ?I-I-Izzy gonna check the tek.? She mumbled, heading towards the vehicle that?d ambushed them, making sure to keep a wide berth of Eddie. As she passed him, she reached for her gun once again, not to draw it, just to reassure herself it was there.

Reaching the tek, she started her survey and was immediately dismayed at what she saw. Sure times were hard in the wastes and sometimes you just couldn?t replace/fix things, but she found stuff no blackfinger worth the dirt under her nails would?ve let pass. Sand and grit almost filled the air intake, the engine was almost fatally low on black stuff to keep the moto turning, rad was dry, and the list went on and on. ?Shit pissing sand fuckers!? She swore loudly as she began to see if there was anything is the tek she could use to help her scav needed wet stuff from the wrecked pigrig.
 

Tortilla the Hun

Decidedly on the Fence
May 7, 2011
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The large man nodded as the doctor talked. He wasn't really absorbing much of the words, but he recognized that he was helping. And he was aware what the doctor was about to wasn't going to be pleasant. He winced at the sensation of his flesh searing, hissing through his teeth as the blood vessels hissed against the heat. Once the initial stinging was over with he opened his eyes to try and watch the doctor work. The visibly pained face on the man was telling of the pain he was enduring. Secretly he prided himself on how quiet he kept through the whole procedure. Appearing strong, just as he was brought up to present himself.

"I'm not entirely sure the arm'll be much use," Cor admitted. "Might, but considering how much tissue was damaged and even missing... you'll survive, though. And I don't see any reason not t' keep the arm, as long as you keep it free from infection."

"Many thanks," said the large man, looking the doctor in the eyes. "I owe you." He turned his head to the androgynous man that approached them and only nodded, acknowledging Rasp's presence but not doing much else besides prodding at the bandaging, his face souring at the tenderness.

"You carry on like you have been, you're gonna end up owing all the Wastes," ribbed the female prisoner. The man shot her a sharp glare before returning his attention to the bandaged arm. He began focusing hard on wiggling his fingers, silently gauging the sensations of his arm and hoping it wouldn't ultimately have to come off. She felt doubts about his recovery but was left with little time to consider the feeling when her attention snapped to the bearded man with the sledgehammer approaching.

"Quite the situation, eh?"

"Yes," she said plainly. Her eyes briefly narrowed at his grin and the hammer at his side. Her focus returned to the man's eyes. "Quite."

"I'll get to the point, since this looks like it's gonna be a long day. As things stand, it looks to me like we'll be stuck with each other for a while. So, I reckon the least we could do is get to know each other. Higher chances of survival if we stick together and work as a team, and all that. Sounds reasonable, yeah?" he pointed at himself with his thumb, "Name's Eddie. Some call me the Dead, so I guess I'm disappointing them on a regular basis."

"Reasonable enough," she responded as plainly as before, arms folded as she spoke. She'd grown wary of those eager to be friendly. She found that more often than not those that appear to trust openly aren't the kind of people you should reciprocate that trust to. "You'll excuse me if I'd rather do without the 'getting to know each other' bit. But it does seem we'll have to work together, unless anyone is keen enough on the idea to leave us here for dead. I'll go right ahead and make myself useful and get our bearings," she spoke with finality, walking past Eddie and toward the wagon.

"Shit pissing sand fuckers!"

The as of yet unnamed prisoner stopped in her tracks at Izzy's exclamation. She considered speaking up but after witnessing the number she did on that waster she decided against it. Cautiously she approached the wagon and sat herself down in the front passenger seat. She searched for a map and in no time at all let out a soft ha as she pulled the folded paper from between the seats. After some experienced unfolding the map was splayed over the dashboard and she was analyzing every marker and line, getting an idea of where their attackers came from and where they were going. Judging by some of the scrawling, it came as a surprised that they were literate enough to even write. She quickly looked around and there was very little in the way of landmarks. She'd need some time to get her head around it but if the little girl's fussing was any indicator, there'd be plenty of it.