The Caravan Drive

Journey out, traveler, but be warned. The world is unforgiving.
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Re: The Caravan Drive

Post by illirica » Wed Feb 27, 2019 9:28 pm

Jenna wasn't entirely sure she believed the caravan owner's assurances about the food products, but she pocketed the caps anyway. The other man had offered assistance anyway, for some definition of the word. And for a price, of course. There was always a price. Jenna gave him a little smile. "Doubt I could afford you."

Probably a reversal of the way people usually turned him down, but Jenna liked to keep people guessing. She was still figuring out what to make of the group - it was likely that it would take a little while to learn what she could about them. Their de facto leader herded his creatures out of the gates with a wave. The brahmin, too.

At least they were easy to keep up with. Jenna took up a position on one side, heading out towards the wasteland. "So," she offered, conversationally, "Anyone out here for anything other than the money?"

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Re: The Caravan Drive

Post by Gecko » Mon Mar 04, 2019 7:15 am

A hoarse, crackling laugh burst out of Paul as Jenna gave a clever remark to his offer of goods. "You're somethin' else, sweetheart! I like th' spunk on you. I think we'll get along quite nicely. Although, I will get you ta buy somethin' offa me eventually." As Mr. Walker came around with his share of the money, the Ghoul took it with a nod of thanks, stuffing the pouch in his pocket. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it on the ground, squashing out the flaming stick with the heel of his dusted boots.

Mr. Walker called them all together to go on their way. Paul clicked his tongue and gave a sharp whistle, indicating to his small but mighty hound to follow. He turned his bag around as he began to walk with the group, pulling off his helmet and placing it on his head without pulling it over his face yet. It was metal and covered in layers of dust and sand and God knows what else. All of his years traversing this new world had sure as hell made their mark - both on him and his belongings.

At this point, Paul had also taken out his submachine gun. It had dents and scars all along it, but delicately painted on the handle in white was a dove surrounded by three proud stars and a smaller one by the belly of the bird. He was fond of it to say the least. His thumb rubbed against the metal exterior where the design was when the Vault Dweller had asked the group a question. The mercenary was decently surprised. Most of the time, things like this went by without much pain and without much conversation. He took the opportunity.

"Mostly to get outta boredom these days," Paul responded as he pulled the helmet down over his eyes. His voice became somewhat muffled by the helmet. "Or caps. Caps 'n boredom is what I live for. Ain't that right, Hank?" The dog, however, ignored his master, seeing how he was far too enticed by the swinging of the brahmin's tail to hear the familiar sound of his name being called. As handsome a fella he was, the hound was too young and stupid to be paying attention long enough to do anything. Figures, Paul thought to himself in disappointment of Hank's lack of response. Stupid mutt.
To quote Hamlet Act III, Scene iii, Line 87..."no."
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