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Only the Red Chips; #NothingToSeeHere
Topic Started: Jun 22 2015, 07:03 PM (244 Views)
Johnny
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Scavenger
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Patrick woke up early in the morning, earlier than he usually does. The sun wasn't all the way out yet but the outside world was cast in a light grey tint and the world seemed dead. He was alert and fully awake, he must have slept well as he felt Well Rested!

Deciding to get an early start to his chores he took his BB gun off the nails above his bed. He had decided to move it to a more prominent location in his room instead of just tossed below his bed where no one could admire its beauty. He grabbed a small cloth and what was left of some Water Displacing, 40th formula oil from a drawer in a small nightstand. He stripped what he could off the BB gun, although it was really just for looks as what nothing really important came apart, and ran a little bit of the oil in the nooks and crannies and in the barrel. He then thoroughly cleaned the outside of the gun until his reflection could be seen clearly on the black metal.

This was really more of a form of meditation for Patrick, with such minimal moisture levels in the wastes he didn't really need to clean his weapon with oil, and in fact only did so every so often, but he always cleaned the dust off of it in the morning and when he went to bed. His BB gun was his most treasured possession of the few possessions he had. After he cleaned it, he set Stryder back on its throne, the two nails above his headboard that set the gun as the focal point of his barren room.

He went downstairs, knowing to avoid the third step as it was creaky and walked into the kitchen. Patrick's parents lived in a good sized pre-war house outside Copperton's boundaries. His father Michael, a gentle-natured and wise soul, sought out different forms of producing income. He was an extremely adaptive person, with general knowledge in tinkering, maintenance, electronics, agriculture, hunting and bushcraft, and many other fields. After being alive so long in the post-war world you just learn some things, and this has lead him to being a respectable man with a small wealth that he never flaunts, even going so far as having the house away from Coppertons eyes.

Michael Flynn was already downstairs tinkering on a wooden box. He rose early, and worked late almost every night. He looked up from his tools and smiled at Patrick.

"Good Morning, Patty! You're up early." He said, curious to why his son was up before dawn.

"Woke up feeling good, Dad. Thought I'd get a head start on my chores."

Michael smiled and gave a hearty laugh that was so warm and contagious it made Patrick laugh too.

With that Pat grabbed the special clothing he needed for his first chore. His dad usually wore some type of chemical safe suit, but Pat just donned another layer of heavy robes over his desert clothing. He then drew his goggles down over his face and wrapped his head in a desert scarf as tightly as possible. This was his least favorite chore as it was the hottest thing you could possible wear in a desert, but the sun was just peaking over the hills and the wasteland was still cool.

He walked like you would imagine an EOD specialist from the pre-war times, dressed in their heavy suits, would walk. He basically swung his legs in crescent like motions with his arms unable to rest against his side. He made his way to the bee colonies that they kept and checked each one. They looked good and ready and Pat cracked open the shelves, letting the honey flow out slowly into the large glass bottles they kept.

His dad had worked with a ghoul to design these special bee hives, he said the ghoul had remembered some ancient, pre-war design that allowed the honey to flow like maple out of a tree. With some tinkering on Michael's part they were actually successful in replicating the design, or at least something that worked similar to it. The bees rarely became agitated from the harvesting of the honey but still, there venom was potent, much more powerful than in the pre-war days. The venom often caused vivid hallucinations and complete muscle relaxation, and sometimes caused excruciating pain and some other ailments.

He walked all the way back to the house, the bottles full of honey would have to be picked up in a few hours when the sun warmed everything up and set the honey to flow faster. It usually took Pat around 3 to 4 hours to completely drain, clean, and haul the honey; although it took much less time for his father to complete the same tasks.

Pat went back and sat with his father. He watched him work for awhile, fascinated by the skill of his dad's hands. They talked a little, laughing about some trivial matters, and complaining about how hot it was going to be. Pat was pretty happy, he never really talked to his family like this and he felt alone a lot. He finished up the rest of the honey harvest after a good while of talking to his dad. And went back to his room to get Stryder to shoot some cans, he was going to head to Bucket Town later after he killed some cans.

When he got to his room he felt something to be off. Everything seemed normal but still he could perceive something was off. He looked through his belongings and nestled along with some of his gear he found an envelope sealed with blue wax with the stamp depicting a crab. Pat was slightly frightened that this got in here as it most certainly was not earlier when he woke up, but he was so dang curious he couldn't help himself. He slowly pried open the envelope trying to keep everything intact in case he wanted to reseal it.

The letter was hard to read but after some time Pat deciphered it. He read it several times, making sure what he was reading was real. He pored over every last detail of the text and letter. He opened up a small pad and wrote down what he could, a depiction of the blue crab, the contents of the letter, and on his daily planner he wrote what his apparent mission was.

Pat couldn't do this alone, and he couldn't do it blind. It required him to travel to a distant town but Pat didn't even know where this place was. He needed some information so he headed to the only place he knew people talked most. He needed to sneak into Bobo's.
James O'Connor
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: 10

Special: 4,7,4,8,5,7,5
_________________________________________________

Patrick Flynn
Level: 1
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Special: 4,8,4,4,5,8,7
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Johnny
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Patrick laid in bed, sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead and he couldn't tell if it was from the damn heat or anticipation. He hated sleeping when it was hot so actually preparing for a mission was a good way to keep his frustration down. He heard the characteristic sound of the third step creaking. His dad was done tinkering with his projects for the night and made his way to bed. Slightly after the creak Pat heard his parents bedroom door click shut.

Pat waited in the darkness for a little while longer, he waited until he could not wait any longer and he was certain his parents were asleep. Then he slipped out of his bed already dressed in his desert clothing. His clothes were perfect for him, they were loose and cool and were a mottled color of browns and grays and black. The clothing was great camouflage during the day as it blended in well with the surroundings, but with his small size and quick and quiet movements he might as well been using a Stealthboy at night as he was practically invisible to anyone not specifically looking for him.

He had a special way out of his house that he wanted to try. He slipped out his window and onto a roof that covered the outside porch. He got low, actually a little scared he would slip and roll off the roof, and moved slowly to one corner. Very delicately he slid his legs over the ledge, and lowered himself slowly into a dip position and then swung to a full hang. There was a wooden column at each corner of the porch and he now wrapped his legs around one of them, then he let go with one hand and wrapped his arm around the column before letting go completely and letting himself slide down it like a fireman's pole.

He landed on both feet silently and stared back up towards his window, feeling accomplished for his late night escape. He was actually pretty proud of how he slipped out the window and down the column and thinking it over kept him occupied, and he was almost startled as he finally came upon Copperton.

He was wary, although he knew no one would notice little ole Flynn sneak into town he still felt as though he was being watched. I guess if someone was good enough to sneak into his own room to place a note he wouldn't be able to really know if someone would be watching him from a distance. That note still bothered him and as he crept along in the shadows, hugging close to buildings and walls to stay hidden he thought about that letter. He knew now none of his few friends or even his bullies were behind it. The wording, the wax, the crab, the cursive; it was all too elaborate and fancy, too well written and neat to be a kid's writing. Not even the girls he knew could write that well.

Pat circumvented most of the town and ended up behind Bobo's. He had lost focus and his mind had been wandering again, he kept thinking about that note and he cursed himself under his breath for not paying more attention. It was still early by a night owl's clock and Bobo's was busy. Pat crawled into the small crawl space that led under the building. No grown man could fit into this small of an area so Pat wasn't afraid of being caught. He crawled around, listening intently and even pushing his ear up to the floor boards to try and hear some of the conversations.

He crawled around for awhile, in his mind he figured someone must be talking about this place. He was in [Luck] tonight, because after a few minutes of being right under the bar he heard something that peaked his interest. The first thing he heard was something about a place called Stint or something. Pat had never heard of it before, but he had never heard of the town he had to go to either so he thought maybe they could be connected.

As he listened to these two people converse a third man entered the conversation and hushed them up.

"Hey not so loud around here, you never know who's listening. Hell, our enemies could be right under our noses in a place like this and we'd never know, especially the way you smell Dmitri, you pig."

Flynn panicked a little as the trio stopped talking about the Stint, he tried to peer between the floorboards but could only see the flicker of light. He could see where someone was standing over him as the light was being blocked. Pat needed to move.

He maneuvered out of the crawl space, checking that the coast was clear before exiting. He moved around to the side of the building the bar was on. He knew there was a door here that Bobo himself used to get into the kitchen and bar area, and this would provide easy access to where Pat needed to be. The door, however, was locked and thwarted Pat's plans of an easy access.

Pat stepped back, "There's always a door." He muttered to himself.

He glanced over the building and found what he needed, a very small hole worn into the wood. The whole was not very noticeable but was very obviously created from a radroach gnawing its way into the kitchen. Surely the roach had been killed, maybe even fed to customers, but hole remained. It wasn't an easy fit but Patrick was able to contort himself enough so that he was eventually able to pull his legs through. He was in a dark room, probably a pantry but he couldn't tell.

Even though he couldn't see his surrounding well Pat could see some light breaking through a crack under a door. He made his way slowly over to the light, like a moth to a flame, stubbing more than one toe on his way. He did his best to remain silent though and was not found out. Cracking the door open he realized he was indeed where Bobo kept his stocks. The barkeep himself wasn't in sight and Pat slipped out of the door and behind the bar. He counted out how many feet he assumed he had to travel until he was right over the spot he had just been in. He had crawled all the way to the end of the bar, there was noticeably less people here but Pat could definitely hear the same voices and strange accent he heard earlier.

He opened a cabinet and slipped inside, he had to curl up slightly and was a little uncomfortable but he could hear the shady men talk about their dealings. Pat learned a little, he knew that two of the men were from a place called Mosko, which matched what was on Pat's note. The third man was a caravaneer that the two men were trying to coerce into bringing a shipment of goods to their town.

The men discussed some details to the caravaneer, they talked how he would have to be careful of some people the men called "Ashers" who were dangerous to all import caravans.

"And listen," one brute said with a thick accent that made understanding difficult, "don't come too close to the Kreml Casino, its mined and snipers and some annoying as alarm robots patrol its floors."

The caravaneer replied with a thick southern accent, "Listen buddy, I don't know what the hell a Kreml is."

The other brute chimed in with a noticeably less thick and obviously faked accent, "It's like our headquarters, comrade. It's where the boss stays and does business. Used to be an old casino until the fun KGB arrived."

The first raider hit the second one over the back of the head.

"He has one bottle of vodka and look at him, he drones on for hours."

The caravaneer said he would think about their offer but would need some time, and with that he left to ponder his choices. Patrick would be able to keep tabs on him and find him easy enough, his accent was thicker than the honey his parents sold.

"In that case, another bottle of vodka would be appreciated." The second goon said, but this time the first agreed. They seemingly don't get to drink much.
James O'Connor
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: 10

Special: 4,7,4,8,5,7,5
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Patrick Flynn
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Special: 4,8,4,4,5,8,7
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Johnny
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Patrick was able to stay near the two Mosko men for most of the night. He didn't actually need to move far to listen to them. He learned a lot and pieced a lot of information together. The two men were from a settlement, that used to go by a different name and was only prosperous due to a casino in the center of town. Eventually the casino was shut down and warlords began struggling for control. The one who stood last was named Konstatin and he developed laws to ban gambling and drinking and other illicit activities. The two men talked about the good of the people a lot and what they were doing to help the people.

Pat didn't really understand most of what they talked about. But he pieced the necessary information together to know this was not the most friendly of places and he would not be welcome to taking things.

Pat had heard enough for the night and left. He made his way back home, head spinning with ideas. He had one week to figure something out before the caravan made its way to Mosko. He began formulating plans one after another, deciding if it would fail or not before moving on to the next plan. He wrote down a few plans, and his notes he had gathered from the night before he slipped into his bed.

______________________________________________________________________


James O'Connor
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: 10

Special: 4,7,4,8,5,7,5
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Patrick Flynn
Level: 1
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Special: 4,8,4,4,5,8,7
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Johnny
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Pat woke in the morning and his gut was alive with butterflies. He was having second thoughts and cold feet about this mission but quite honestly he was a little scared. He didn't want to disappoint the Youth Committee but he was also frightened that they were able to place the letter without getting caught, if they could sneak into his house to hide a letter surely they could sneak in to take a child out.

He shook the thoughts out of his mind and got out of bed. He looked over his notes from the night before and tried to think of more plans of action. After a little while of thinking he had an idea that he thought good enough to execute, but first he had to finish his chores.

____________________________________________________________________

Pat made his way into town after his chores were done to seek out a person of interest. As he walked through Copperton he thought he saw the two Mosko men but wasn't sure. He guessed they would head back to the bar tonight if they could. Pat didn't know but they were already drinking the previous night's hangover away.

He kept looking for the person he needed and after what seemed like hours but was more like 20 minutes Pat found the trader. Pat approached slowly, he realized now he didn't really know what to say to convince this man to help him. He frantically searched for something to say but it was too late the man had already spotted him.

The trader stared at Pat skeptically.

He asked sarcastically, "What's the matter kid, you lost?"

Pat was flustered, he came all this way and now he was going to fail and to top it off this man was making fun of him. Pat couldn't really help it, his eyes had already started welling up and at the remark of the merchant a few tears rolled over and down his face.

"Aw shit, listen kid I didn't mean nothin'" The traveling merchant said, this time apologetically.

Pat actually saw his opening now, he wiped a the tears off his face but tried to keep his eyes puffy and big and watery. He sniffled a little and wiped his nose on his sleeve then he looked at the trader with the biggest, saddest eyes he could muster.

"Mister, my daddy left me here. He went into that building over there last night and I fell asleep and then when I woke up he was gone and now I'm scared and...and..." Patrick ran on while pointing at Bobo's, he really didn't know what else to say but what he had said paid off.

"Listen kiddo I'm sure he's around here somewhere, I'll help you find him. Do you know where you live? I'm sure if you describe the shack you live in we can find it."

"I know we live somewhere called Mosko, I'm not from here." Pat looked down and softly kicked the dirt.

"Shit..." The trader muttered under his breath. "Well, I guess it's your lucky day because I've just decided to head there next."

The trader, who was hesitant about going to Mosko last night, decided to join up with a small caravan who was heading that way. Not too many traders go through Mosko, but it's a growing settlement and its starting to get more traffic.



James O'Connor
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: 10

Special: 4,7,4,8,5,7,5
_________________________________________________

Patrick Flynn
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Special: 4,8,4,4,5,8,7
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Johnny
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Patrick was pretty lucky, the merchant gave him enough time to run home and leave a note to his parents saying he was going to stay with a friend. He scribbled the note as fast he could and left it vague before heading back to the merchant. Pat found the man talking to some people on the outskirts of town, it looked as if some people were starting to build some kind of wall around the town.

The merchant finished his dealings just as Pat approached.

"Ready kid? We're taking the most direct path possible, we'll stop through a couple of smaller villages as they're expecting supply runs. We'll link with the larger caravan in a settlement south of here that was once or maybe still is called Palestine."

The merchant stopped for a second, he looked at Pat now, and you could tell he was thinking hard.

He leaned down and tried to lift Pat's spirits, he spoke gently, "Listen kiddo, your parents... I don't know who or where they are or if they even made it to Mosko. You may be too young to understand this but Mosko is a dangerous place, look around you here. Copperton may have a lot of folks living in tents here but there is little conflict, there is some opportunity and security here. The leader of Mosko, he's ruthless, a killer even it may not be the best place for you and if you want to stay here I could send word to your parents instead."

Pat was inwardly gracious to this man, that he would extend such an offer for the well-being of a complete stranger was touching. But Pat had to decline the offer, he told the man he needed to see his "parents".

"Okay then, son. But as dangerous as Mosko is, it's more dangerous on the open roads there. Caravans are often targets of raiders and tribals, whether out of desperation or animosity it matters little. If bullets start flying you listen to what he or I say, you keep your head down and if you get lost just remember 1979."

Pat noticed the heavily armed man the Merchant pointed out. He had been sitting on a step in the shade, but now stood up and stepped into the light. He was tall, with a shaved head, startling blueish-silver eyes, a long brown beard and rugged features. He wore a dirty white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, over that he had a black vest that read "Sheriff" in yellow letters. The vest looked heavy and tough. He wore a black leather belt, cargo khaki pants, and black leather boots. He had a drop-hip holster with a large caliber semi-automatic pistol, and a knife attached to his vest near the shoulder was situated upside down to provide easy access. He also carried a large rifle slung across his back, Pat could see a thick magazine but didn't know anything else about it. Pat was certain he had more weapons and gear in his pockets and possibly in a pack attached the the brahmin.


Pat was definitely intimidated by this man and the man said nothing to even acknowledge Patrick's presence. Instead the man started tightening straps on the pack brahmin and giving one last check on his main weapons. Pat turned back to the merchant who also started checking his weapons. A crack open shotgun with one barrel and a very large bore handgun. When asked the merchant replied it was called a hand cannon.

"To be fair," he said, "I really only carry it because the loud bang is usually enough to scare off a small group of inexperienced raiders. In truth there's not much effectiveness to it unless you're at point blank range, really good at knocking down doors though!" He said with a chuckle, as if that statement brought back good memories.

"Listen," The merchant began again "You won't have a thing to worry about, that man right there is tough. One of the best guards money can buy, he'll protect us both."

The mercenary spoke now, "We need to go, I'm not getting paid to sit here."

The merchant looked down and gave Pat a wink, "Let's hit the road then."

He lifted Pat up and sat him on the Brahmin, "This way you won't tire out as easier and we can move faster. Plus you're light enough that Moo-Moo here barely even feels you!"

With that the small group left Bucket Town and headed South.
James O'Connor
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: 10

Special: 4,7,4,8,5,7,5
_________________________________________________

Patrick Flynn
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: +25

Special: 4,8,4,4,5,8,7
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Johnny
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
The road South was hot, dirty, and a marvel in its own right. Pat, although rather nervous about the trip, was so excited that his gut churned and felt light and he couldn't help himself but to ask questions as children sometime do. He asked about everything he saw, as if he just opened his eyes for the first time. He asked about the plants he saw and learned that some could be used as medicine, some as sustenance, and some were used for their various side effects. He also learned a few of the ones not to eat and the merchant even told stories of rumors about whispers of some plants that actually attacked weary travelers who tried to rest under their shade or eat from their fruit.

The stories Pat heard were enough to stir a boyhood wonder that made him think differently about the world around him. For the first time in his life Pat tasted the sweet grace of freedom. He didn't have parents to tell him what to do, no chores, no bullies, no books he had to read, and no worries. In his head he knew he should be worried about the fact that he just left his house behind and the trouble he would be in when he got back but for the time being the rush of breaking rules casted down all of those thoughts that weigh us down.

So Patrick learned, he caught glimpses of animals darting down into their burrows and holes as the party tromped by. He watched their shadows grow long and brought his cowl up over his head to hide from the sun but still he watched and asked and learned.

The first town came up quickly, so quickly in fact that Patrick resented that the small settlement interrupted his meditative-like observation of the wastelands. But still Patrick learned, he watched the merchant as he produced a duffel bag full of goods. He gave the bag to a man who came out of the local bar. Obviously the owner, the man handed over a smaller bag full of payment, although in what form Patrick did not know.

The man went back into his place of business carrying the duffel which clinked and clanged as he went up the porch stairs and through the door. The merchant then took some time and conversed with a few locals who came out now to see the wares. Not many bought goods and in truth the Merchant didn't carry much to sell that wasn't already a scheduled order.

He had a pattern, every week or couple of weeks the merchant would bring certain goods to certain towns per their request. It was routine, and routine almost always beam a weakness. Prying eyes watched secretly from shadows as the party entered the town, the kid made no difference in whether this caravan would be sacked but the tall man with the gross amount of weapons was something to fear. The tall mercenary was known through these parts as efficient, merciless, and deadly. The prying eyes retreated, deciding to mug a poor citizen or steal a can of beans no doubt.

The party continued on, this time with at a faster pace. Patrick wondered if this was because they had finally shed some weight, or because their shadows had grown much longer against the sand. This length of the trip was expected to be the most dangerous part of the trip. Many caravans had gone missing in these parts and the weight of the silence suppressed even Patrick's meticulous questioning.

Instead Pat listened and watched, keeping his mouth shut but his eyes and ears open. At first the silence was deafening but then he noticed little things. Wind caressing the gentle slopes and rubbing against the sparse brush. Coyote yelps and howls in the far distance. The crunch of gravel under the thick rubber soles of the two men and the click of the hooves of the pack brahmin against the eroded pavement.

Patrick didn't notice when the mercenary had unslung his long rifle but he noticed now. He saw the man was scanning the horizon, listening to every odd sound, and was holding his weapon at the ready. Patrick glanced over and saw the merchant was also carrying his shotgun now and Pat wished he had brought his BB Gun, if only for the feeling it gave him.

The Merchant noticed Pat and gave him a soft smile and a wink. Pat smiled half-heartedly back, inside he was beginning to feel a sharp nervousness creep through his legs and gut.

They continued on, Pat was rapidly scanning his surroundings as shadows and brush fueled his paranoia. Just before the sun set the party crested a hill and a quaint little village was nestled below them. A new town but a near identical exchange, a fat greasy man exited the local tavern, paid the merchant, and took the duffel. But this time the merchant followed the grease ball around the back of the bar. The merchant tied Moo-Moo the pack brahmin up and the three entered the building.

From what Pat could discern the merchant took a lesser payment for a room to stay and a meal. The owner of the establishment lead them to the bar and Pat and the Merchant sat down. The mercenary stayed standing, Pat noticed his hand hovered around his large handgun.

Pat wheeled his attention back to the conversation between the Merchant and the proprietor but lost interest quickly. He scanned the room just as the mercenary was doing. It was rather empty in the tavern but Pat watched some of the shifty characters in the place. They were almost all drug addicts, but Pat didn't know that at the time.

The bartender gave the three men a beer, a loosely wrapped cigarette, and Corn Smut. Patrick and the mercenary gave their beers and cigarettes to the merchant, well they were more or less taken from Patrick since he didn't entirely know what they were or what they did to you. Pat enjoyed the Corn Smut and the mercenary permitted Pat to take a sip of water from his canteen. Pat didn't notice the mercenary eat his corn smut but it wasn't on the bar anymore.

Patrick was allowed to retire early to the room they had rented while the Merchant conversed and the Mercenary scanned ever vigilant.
James O'Connor
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: 10

Special: 4,7,4,8,5,7,5
_________________________________________________

Patrick Flynn
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: +25

Special: 4,8,4,4,5,8,7
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Johnny
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Patrick was woken up from an uncomfortable sleep on a dirty bedroll by the Merchant.

"Time to go kid, sun's coming up."

Pat didn't want to get up, it was way too early for him. He closed his eyes again and almost fell instantly back to sleep if it wasn't for the Merchant pouring water on his face. The water wasn't cold without refrigeration but it turns out that the shock of getting wet still has enough power to jolt a kid awake.

Groggily, Patrick found himself back on the Moo-Moo, the pack brahmin's back. He barely remembered how he got to that point or where he was as sleep inertia held back his mental capacity. As it happens he was incredibly sore today from bouncing up and down on the brahmins back yesterday. His muscles were stiff and cramping, and they still had a ways to go.

The steady clicking of hooves on pavement and the crunch of gravel under boots was constant, annoyingly so. Pat wasn't as happy with the trip this morning, his excitement had waned and stuttered until it died with that uncomfortable sleep.

The Merchant had lied to Pat, the sun wasn't even close to coming up when they left. It was still a dark gloomy gray landscape for an hour or so after they hit the road. Pat pulled his loose garments closer to his body and shivered a bit. Before long a loud grumble sprang forth from the inner depths of his stomach. He looked down at his belly with a frown, he was expecting raiders or predators on this trip not starvation.

The Merchant led the reigns off to the side of the road, they walked under an old billboard whose advertisement had long since faded. The Mercenary was obviously upset and some words were exchanged between the Mercenary and the Merchant but Pat took little notice.

The Merchant took out a few odds and ends from his pack and then some brush from the surrounding area and started kindling a little fire. The hired gun, in the meantime, climbed the billboard and sat at a perch. Pat sat down next to the small fire and warmed himself, his spirit went up like the smoke. The Merchant built up one side of the fire and separated some of the hot coals from the fire, he laid an iron pot and a taller metal contraption on the coals.

Breaking through the morning gloom Pat inquired about the pots and asked how the Merchant had started the fire so fast. The Merchant smiled and without saying a word went back out of the fires light. He returned with some more dead brush and sat next to Pat this time.

"A fire is a beautiful thing, its a tool to be used and a friend to take care of. It needs just a few things to be born. It needs tinder, kindling, fuel, and a spark. Just like how you need food, water, shelter, and love to survive. I keep this little box with me everywhere I go."

The merchant showed Pat a small tin box with its lid resting on rusted hinges. Inside the box were various fluffy looking plants, some where sitting as themselves and some were covered in a gel, others still looked oily or smelled different. Each sat on a little piece of paper.

"This is tinder, it can be found in nature as you see the plants in the box. Some of the pieces of tinder are covered in something that helps it burn or hotter or longer or catch a spark easier. Everywhere I go, if I use something from this tin I try to replace at the first chance I get. But all of this stuff is dry enough we should be able to make it work without this."

And he put the tin back into his pack. He then grabbed a small wiry plant from his pile and gave it to Pat.

"I want you to pull off as many leaves from these plants as your hand can hold."

Pat grabbed a branch and pulled gently, only taking the leaves off as his hand passed over. He did this until his hand was full of dry crackly leaves.

"Okay now you have to roll the leaves in your hand like this, we're trying to break up the leaves as much as possible. A spark can light smaller things on fire better than it can large things. So if we break this up into smaller leaves than we have a higher chance of success. The same thing works for lighting bigger logs. We put on smaller twigs, then sticks, then branches, and then logs because the smaller fire needs smaller fuel. And if we frayed the wood so that all these fibers come out then that will light easier too."

So Pat rolled the leaves in his hands and felt as they all started to disintegrate and fall apart. The Merchant showed him how to take his thumbs and put a dent in the ball of tinder he just made, the ball looked more like a red blood cell after they molded it to catch the spark. The Merchant then had Pat build a small teepee of dry twigs, but he left a small opening on the side by Pat.

"So now we have the groundwork down, we simply give a spark to tinder and put it in the teepee. We can do little more after that besides let the fire do what it wants to do. So take this and I'll show you how to use it."

The Merchant gave Pat a small stick about the length of his thumb, but smaller around than his pinkie finger. Attached to the grip of the small stick by a string was a flat shiny piece of metal.

"They call this a flint and steel." He told Pat, "You drag the shiny piece across the stick and makes sparks. Stick the end of the fire started by your dimple in the tinder you made, grip it between your thumb and forefinger as tight as you can, than just rake the shiny piece across it."

Pat did, nothing happened. Not discouraged he tried again, and again, and again. Finally around the seventh try a shower of sparks fell from the flint and onto his tinder pile. The Merchant, who had the slightest smile on his face as Pat struggled, was astounded and gone from his face was any trace of a smile.

He snapped out of his shock quickly though and acted on the small pile of tinder. There was the faintest sign of fire as some of the small particles of leave turned orange, squirmed around trying to escape the heat, and then died turning into a dusty white.

"Scoop up the ball and fold itself over the spark." He instructed Pat. "Good, good now it needs some air. Blow on it gently."

A small tongue of fire protruded from the top of the ball.

"Okay now, don't burn yourself. Set inside the teepee and turn the ball upside down then get your hand out of their."

Pat stuck his hand into teepee and flipped the ball of tinder off his hand and onto the ground where it landed upside down. The tongue of fire flipped directions and reached desperately into the air, along it's way it caught hold of the abundance of fuel that had been below it just prior and leaped out of its chains. It stretched out, grabbing onto the dry twigs that helped feed its insatiable hunger. Along the way it viciously snarled and nipped at Patricks slowly retreating hand.

Pat pulled his hand back quickly, clutching it in his other hand tightly. He looked on as the fire devoured the twigs and sat in it's gluttony, unappeased. He forgot the pain his hand felt. He looked at what he created and smiled, He felt useful and fulfilled.

The Merchant took some of the heavier stuff and laid it on Patricks fire, the two fires provided more than enough warmth. By this time, the sun was starting to peek over the horizon and the gloom retreated far beyond the light of the fire. The Merchant took the pots off the coals and gave a small bowl of beans to Patrick. He also gave him a small prickly pear fruit he found while getting firewood. Lastly he poured him a small mug of coffee.

The food was heavenly for Pat, and where the fire could never be satisfied he definitely was. The coffee was bitter but it fought so strongly against the little bit of early morning gloom and the heavy grogginess that to Patrick it was as sweet as manna. It soon became his favorite beverage.

The small meal was enough that even the Mercenary, who climbed down at the scent of the cooking food, took a little. Pat looked on, at the two men whom he was learning so much from, the good food he was consuming, and the small fire that he had created with his own hands. Patrick was happy.
James O'Connor
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: 10

Special: 4,7,4,8,5,7,5
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Patrick Flynn
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: +25

Special: 4,8,4,4,5,8,7
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Johnny
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
They were on the road again, and had been for some time. Since the little pit stop Pat and the Merchant had gone back and forth in constant discussion. They discussed a variety of topics such as entertainment, construction, electronics, and fixing things. In his travels the Merchant had read many books and magazine and learned a lot, if only temporarily sometimes. But he tried to give off some of the stuff he learned in a condensed version to Pat. He talked about how one time he helped a community set up a radio system and how he learned a lot about maintaining the equipment, fixing things when they were broken, and then how the radio waves and network actually worked. He said he had a mentor in each job he had ever done and that person was always knowledgeable in something that the Merchant had little clue about.

He said, "So this man brings me in when I had nothing to my name and I'm a thousand miles away from Texas. He helped me get sober, fed me, tailored clothes for me, and on top of this taught me lessons I will carry to my grave. He taught me a lot about electronics. We set up this radio broadcast system for two specific reasons. The old man wanted to hamper the effect raiders and mutants had on nearby settlements by projecting their locations and maintaining communications between communities. He was, in effect, an early warning system. The second reason he created this network was specifically for his wife, who would play on a violin each night, so that her music could spread and open the hearts and minds of those who heard it."

Pat was absorbed in the story. The Merchant could describe the old man and his wife in such exact details that Pat felt as if he knew the couple as well. He gave a slight overview on how the radios worked and explained that if systems like this were set up everywhere they could effectively save hundreds of lives.

"Endings are never quite as happy as the rest of the story though. The old man unfortunately passed away. His wife was kind enough to inform me through our mutual caravan connections. Haven't talked to her since, though I hear whispers that the Caravaneers still listen to her music each lonely night."

The party continued on in silence for some time. Pat rolled the story over and over in his mind. He wondered how he could make an impact like other great people of the wastelands. He resolved in his mind right then that he would become a common name in the world.

They must have been getting close by now and Pat had to formulate the rest of his plan quickly.

"Hey..." He started, not sure where to go from there.

The Merchant looked at him, waiting for more.

"Could you do me a favor?" Pat said slowly, thinking on the fly.

"Uh...sure?" The Merchant said questioningly, but didn't ask what the favor was.

"It's pretty simple, there are some gambling games and stuff in the old casino in Mosko. It's now the HQ of the settlements leader. They're trying to get rid of some of the stuff in there to free up room for different uses of the building. If we could find a cart could you bring some stuff back to Copperton? I promise if I ever see you again I will try to find a way to pay you back."

The Merchant thought for a second, Pat was scared he would see through the lie. Either he did and ignored it or he trusted Patrick enough that after some time pondering he agreed.

"It wouldn't be much of a hindrance, although it is a such a strange request. What are you planning?" The Merchant thought to himself.

"...I think that can be done." He said aloud. The Mercenary gave him a questioning look and the Merchant just shrugged.
James O'Connor
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: 10

Special: 4,7,4,8,5,7,5
_________________________________________________

Patrick Flynn
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: +25

Special: 4,8,4,4,5,8,7
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Pat knew the trio was close to Mosko long before he actually saw it. The first thing he noticed was the Mercenary unslinging his weapon. The second thing he noticed was the smell, with the breeze in his face he caught the scent of smoke. As they got closer he noticed a more putrid burning smell but shuddered off the thought of what it might be.

The third thing they saw before coming into the outskirts of Mosko was the wave of refugees leaving the area. They looked hollow, there eyes were glassed over and there skin was covered in ash.

The Merchant called them Ashers, and said they were now in what was considered the Ashlands. He said they would have to be careful because there were still pockets of rebellion found in this area. Some of the Ashers would rather die on their feet than live on their knees. But there were always some cowards who submitted to the new dictator.

Their path took them past an old farm. The fields were burned and the buildings were destroyed but the party decided they needed to take a quick break to plan out what they would do next. The Mercenary and Merchant righted some overturned chairs in the living room of the farmhouse and began talking to each other. They spoke in low tones and left Pat out of the conversation so Pat explored the small farmstead.

He walked through the back of the house and into the kitchen. Some pots and pans were strewn about the place but Pat didn't see anything of importance at first glance. He opened the drawers and found a small jar of canned vegetables that he took. He bent down and grabbed a small pot off the floor of the kitchen and caught a glimpse of a little shimmer.

Underneath a cabinet he found a small knife that looked decently sturdy. He decided to hold onto that as well. He picked the pot up and went outside. He knew what he needed so he grabbed the materials and lit a small fire and put the vegetables over the low heat.

As that was cooking he continued on exploring. He then went to the barn and climbed up into the loft. It was obviously a pre-war structure that had some post-war DIY maintenance done to it. Pat was very careful in crossing the rafters but ended up at a good spot where he could see into the distance.

That was his first glance at Mosko. In the distance he saw one tall building, it was the obvious candidate for being the Stint. There were several other buildings strewn around the town and he could see a lot of red banners. He could just barely make out people milling about on business.

Patrick kept scanning the town and his eyes caught a group of people dressed in red some several hundred feet away. They were standing in a half circle and looked awfully similar to the two men Patrick saw at the bar at the beginning of this expedition. He strained his eyes hard trying to see what they were doing. One of the men shifted slightly and Pat caught a glimpse of two people kneeling in front of this semicircle of red men. Pat could tell the two kneeling people were Ashers as they were dirty and obviously broken as some people become when all hope dies.

He saw a few of the red men curl over slightly as they were obviously laughing, then one of them drew a pistol and shot the first Asher in the back of the head. The body fell to the ground in front of the second kneeling person. The second kneeling Asher didn't even react, he had accepted his fate.

When the red men had finished with their atrocity they turned and began heading towards the farm. Pat turned and ran, he quickly crossed the rafters with the balance of a cat. When he got towards the side that was actually facing the house he didn't even bother going down the latter. Instead he grabbed onto a rope that hung from a hay loft pulley and slid down to the ground. He sprinted to the house, ignoring the vegetables he had just set on his small fire.

He burst into the old house to warn the other two men. They looked at him, startled, but Pat could not spit out the words. He just pointed and stuttered.

"R-r-red Men!"

The two older men, of course, understood what he meant and immediately sprung into action.

"Listen kid, just hide here! We'll take care of them! Wait for us to come get you!" The Merchant barked.

Pat crawled into a cabinet, the Mercenary had already headed out the door and made his way to the barn. The Merchant grabbed Moo-Moo and tied her up on the opposite side of the house so she wouldn't be seen. He grabbed his shotgun and hand cannon.

He then sprinted to the barn, just before the men got to the house.

"What the fuck?!" One of the Mosko Men shouted.

He had noticed the pot of vegetables on the low fire and pointed it out to the rest of the group. There were five of them in total and they all readied their weapons as they approached the would have been dinner.

"It's still burning! Fucking search this place!"

Two men nervously looked around, they were in the open. A third man broke off and made his way towards the barn. The fourth guy noticed this and started to follow about 20 feet back.

The last guy signaled towards the house and sent the first two to it. He scanned the open spaces but stayed near the fire.

Inside the barn, the Merchant was on the ground floor. He peeked through the slits between the wood and saw the two men coming towards the barn. He gulped down his nervousness and readied his shotgun. Quickly he glanced upwards at the loft and saw the Mercenary ready his weapon. The Merchant nodded at him and received a nod back.

The Mercenary made a quick hand gesture but the Merchant had no idea what it meant. He just pulled the hammer back on his shotgun and sent up a silent prayer. He had been in gun fights before but he never got used to them. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and his palm got sweaty. But as soon as the first man cleared the barn door he fired from the shadows at point blank. The man spun around and collapsed to the ground filled with buckshot.

The second man outside the barn hesitated then began firing into the structure. The Merchant had already moved to safer cover. The rest of the group took cover and faced towards the barn, except for the last man who had given the orders to search the house. He was caught in the open and as he looked around for a place to go a large caliber round was fired from the second story loft and struck him.

The bullet hit his neck and spun him around. He laid face down as blood glued dirt to his face. He died slowly. When was all said and done Pat would notice how remarkably similar he looked to the Ashers they passed on the road.

The three men began firing at the barn but they were just thugs with little training. The man closest to the barn rushed in trying to catch the Mercenary off guard. But the Merchant was waiting and as the goon looked up towards the loft a hand cannon's powerful round met him in the lower back. The force from the cannon was too much and he was dead in less than a minute of bleeding out.

The last two men panicked and made a rush for the house. The Mercenary dispatched one with ease but the last man made it inside the door to the kitchen.

Patrick heard the door open and then close. He crawled out of the cabinet thinking it was one of his group members. He stared directly into the eyes of one of the red men. Pat couldn't move, he was frozen in time and place in shock. The large man reacted first and tackled Pat to the ground.

Control came back to Pat and he started yelling and kicking but it did nothing to the large man. He pressed his handgun to the side of Pat's head and lifted him off the ground with his free arm.

"Shut the fuck up you fuckin' Asher! I'm fucking sick of getting harassed by you squabbling peasants! Now I'm going to walk out this door and I'm going to kill those people out there and then I'm going to kill you. You are my fucking bullet sponge so keep your mouth shut and make sure they don't shoot me!"

The man gave a kick to the door and it swung open. He walked outside, holding Patrick up to keep the other men from shooting. The Merchant had left the cover of the barn and was only about 20 feet from Patrick now.

"Shit..." The Merchant cursed.

"Alright you limp dicks! Listen up, I'm going to give you one fucking chance to surrender. Come out here and lay your weapons on the ground and maybe I'll let you live!"

The Merchant slowly set both his shotgun and hand cannon on the ground but the Mercenary had not come out of his position yet.

"I know there's two of you so get the fuck out here! I'm not fucking around! I will fucking kill this kid!"

He pressed the gun tighter to Pat's head but then held it out and pointed it at the Merchant. Pat squirmed slightly and the man tightened his grip on him. But Pat had successfully reached for that little knife he had picked up earlier.

In one motion Pat slammed the knife into the man's side and clamped his teeth tightly on his arm. The man curled his arm up in reflex and also fired his weapon into the air while simultaneously releasing his grip on Pat.

Pat fell to his knees, grabbed the pot of now boiling vegetables and tossed it's contents into the Mosko man's face. The man howled in pain and dropped his weapon. He staggered slightly and then two rounds from the barn loft struck him center mass. He died instantly, a bloody burned mess.


James O'Connor
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: 10

Special: 4,7,4,8,5,7,5
_________________________________________________

Patrick Flynn
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: +25

Special: 4,8,4,4,5,8,7
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Johnny
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Patrick couldn't breathe, he stood on his knees staring at the dead man in front of him. His ears were ringing from the bullets that took the man's life and his body trembled from adrenaline. He held his palms towards his face, but they were shaking so hard he couldn't believe they belonged to him. He used these hands to toss boiling water into a mans face before he lost his life.

Pat averted his gaze from his hands upwards to the Merchant. Pat realized that he didn't even know his companions names. When they started the journey they said it didn't matter because it would be a short mission, but now it seemed like the most important thing in the world for Patrick to know.

But as the Merchant ran towards him, Pat could only muster, "Why?"

Tears were slowly streaming down his dirty face. The dust on his face turned to black mud and Pat wretched violently. His vomit felt hot in his throat and a long stream of saliva stuck to his lips. He continued dry heaving after that first wave but little came out after that. Between waves of dry heaving he sucked air so he had breath to sob. His body shook as he puked, paused as he breathed in, then shook again as he sobbed.

The Merchant gently laid his hand on Patricks back and sat in silence. He felt Pat's pain, the Merchant had seen the face of Death more than his fair share of times during his travels, but each time was just as bad as the first time.

"Listen, this never gets easier. You just get stronger." The Merchant said to Pat.

Patrick was still bent over on his knees. His face was inches from the dirt but his body wasn't shaking as much. He breathed deeply, spit out the foul taste from his mouth, and then stood up slowly.

"We need to keep moving, there could be more here any moment." Said the Mercenary.

His eyes were cold and a lit cigarette dangled loosely from his lips. He showed no emotion, either he had seen enough or caused enough death that it did not bother him or he was adept at concealing his emotions. Patrick never wanted to be as unaffected by death as this man was.

He averted his gaze from the Mercenary and looked down. The second Mosko soldier to die was laying just a few feet away. Blood pooled out of his neck and turned the dirt and grass black. His eyes were hollow, he looked just like the Ashers they had seen on the road. Pat felt queasy again and tried to balance himself, but he fell into the Merchants arms before passing out.


James O'Connor
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: 10

Special: 4,7,4,8,5,7,5
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Patrick Flynn
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: +25

Special: 4,8,4,4,5,8,7
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Patrick woke up on a wooden cart being pulled by the much adored Moo-Moo. He raised his head to get a look around.

"Hey bud, how was your nap?" The Merchant said to Patrick.

Quizzically Patrick replied, "Where did you get this?"

"Well why were you decided to clock out for 2 hours we borrowed this cart from that old farmhouse."

In truth it was a decent little cart. Patrick estimated it to be four feet wide by at least the same long. It definitely had the room to bring a machine or two.

"Theres Mosko now." The Mercenary said as they rounded a bend.

Patrick saw the tall building easily recognized as the former Stint Casino. They noticed men coming and going from another building which the Mercenary dubbed the Barracks. No one knew much about this town, Patrick was sure it had few visitors and little commerce. Judging by the condition of the buildings Pat assumed there was not much infrastructure or leadership.

Patrick needed to start executing his plan, "Hey I just want to thank you for the trip, the machines should be ready in a half hour or so, take care of all your business before you get the machines. I wouldn't recommend you stay around here for very long though as you'll look like easy targets to thieves."

The Merchant looked confused, "What do you mean by trip? Are you not coming back to Bucket Town?"

"I don't think I can, I'm related to some powerful people here, once we get some things organized they should send the payment to you in Bucket Town. But they want to machines delivered pronto, if it takes you too long to get back they will probably reduce the payment." Patrick then added, "They're real assholes here."

"Alright kid, I guess... this is goodbye then?" The Merchant was obviously surprised and more than just a little annoyed.

"Again," Patrick said seriously, "I owe you more than you'll ever know."

And with that Pat took off through an alley nearby. He knew he didn't have much time. He mad his way to the casino. When he reached the casino he nearly lost his breath. He stepped back into an alley to observe.

The building was surrounded by razor wire and mines. Ramshackle and rusted securitrons stood at the front door. Pat couldn't be sure if there more defenses outside, the inside could be a bad place to get caught. Probably not good to sneak in on the ground floor.

Briefly he thought about scaling the building, but as he looked up the building he realized that would not be possible just by the sheer size of the building. And now Pat noticed a glimmer of glass reflecting light, a sniper.

Afraid he was being watched he simply did the most unbelievable thing he could think of, fear clouded his mind and didn't give him time to plan. He simply walked up to the front door. The securitrons dutifully monitored for threats no matter how much abuse they took. But Patrick realized something, he wasn't a threat and he didn't even have a weapon. He was shorter than the securitrons and either by dumb luck or some kind of simple genius Patrick walked through the front door unsolicited.

The inside was rather dark as most of the decrepit building was ready to come down at the sound of a sneeze. The more trafficked areas were upstairs and the main gambling floor was pretty much abandoned to time. The dust and musk was dense but Patrick made his way through looking for what he wanted. A few of the machines he was needing sat stoically against the wall to his right. To his left were half moon shaped tables, and Pat underhandedly grabbed a couple of the decks and chips and stuffed his pockets before moving on.

Hugging the wall towards the back of the first room he found what he really wanted, a small and long abandoned office. Searching through the desk he found himself a pen. He ripped off a small piece of wallpaper and began writing on the whiter side.

Patrick recalled the Mercenary discussing the leader of this town. Pat knew the people under his fist were afraid of him and he also deduced they were probably relatively uneducated. Patrick was banking on this. He scribbled some big letters near the bottom to hopefully serve as a signature.

Patrick left the casino in a hurry. Exiting through the front door he walked calmly past the guard bots. He was still un-harassed and after he was well and clear he bolted into an alley. His next stop was simple, straight to the place he saw all the guards leaving.

Patrick scoped it out and picked the one he thought was the most uneducated and new. The man was by himself and just passed by the alley Patrick was in.

"Excuse me, official courier from the bossman himself." Patrick handed him the note.

The guard looked around then back at the Patrick.

"Uh...what does it say...I can't read."

"Well it says that two men answering the recruiting call from the nearby towns have arrived. The big man upstairs wants some of those old gambling machines cleared out so the men can have their own space in the headquarters." Patrick grinned slyly.

"Does it really?" The guard asked.

"Yes it does, and if it's not completed in the next 10 minutes he's going to want some heads!"

Pat left it at that and dashed back into the alley. He waited outside the casino in an alley where he was not observable. Pat grinned to himself when 4 men walked into the casino and came out carrying two of the machines Pat was tasked to steal. They set them out on the street, looked around quizzically, then left shrugging.

Pat bolted to the nearest machine and climbed into the little space where it housed its electronics. He wasn't there very long before he heard the Merchant and Mercenary come by.

The two men slid the machines onto the cart effortlessly.

"Weird... I felt like that first one was heavier." The Merchant said.

The Mercenary just grunted.

Patrick stayed in that little space for hours as they hopped along the bumps in the road. He stayed there sleeping as much as possible until it came to the dead of night when he would stretch his legs out of the machine a little and breath fresh air.

A day later, or maybe longer Patrick was unsure, the two men stopped in Bucket Town.

"Yeah this one is definitely heavier than the other." The Merchant said.

"Lets just get this done so you can pay me already." Replied the Mercenary.

"You know, I kind of miss that kid."

"You're just soft."


A little while later any passerby would have noticed Patrick poke his head out of the machine. He looked around, but no one really cared about this odd sight. He was right in the middle of Bucket Town. He got out of the machine, set the contents of his pocket on the machine and went home to sleep for a week straight.

James O'Connor
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: 10

Special: 4,7,4,8,5,7,5
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Patrick Flynn
Level: 1
Bucket Town Reputation: +25

Special: 4,8,4,4,5,8,7
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Midnight Rider
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Seeing as this was a remnant of the old event I thought I'd grab this one. The rest of the mods, while perfectly competent are not quite as suited to this task. Thanks to you in the poker room in back of Bobo's there are now two slot machines. It was actually pretty interesting to read about a character that still had a home life. 99% of the characters that hit the site are already separated from their homes. Going forward I hope you are able to capture your character's voice. It seemed like you were struggling for a bit, but at least from the reader's perspective you found a comfortable groove eventually. As a OOC side note, the events that this was building up to have kinda fallen apart so I wouldn't expect any additional youth committee tasks. It was an experimental event and some experiments fail, nothing you did. Still you helped the town and got some sweet rewards.

Quote:
 
Dealer Visor (Tier 1) - In the old casino supplies there was an old lime green card dealer visor. Its a bold fashion choice and it should keep the sun out of your eyes.

Casino Chip Lid: Straight from Mosko's own printing presses, the communist effort in the latest game craze. The design combines the hammer and sickle you love with a provocative casino cocktail waitress you're likely too young to appreciate. This uncommon Lid is worth a bit more than your normal ones. Lids: Catch the Disease.©

Common Lids x20: Even you have seen these a dozen times already. Still every Lids collection needs its filler. Sacrifice or trade away these to get the good ones from your friends. Or just straight up trade these to trapper for beer or bullets YOLO. Lids: Catch the Disease.©

Bolt Action Pistol (tier 1) - The communist answer to the zipgun, its easier to load but there's no getting around that its just a heavily sawed off rifle with no magazine. The stock and barrel are gone while a handle has been duct taped onto the action. Accuracy is poor so make sure you use it close.

Bucket Town Rep +25 - Hey who's that kid that helped Bobo get some slot machines, why that's you. The drunks all tip their glasses to you even if they haven't quite grasped your name yet.
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Gordon "Stone" Hennigan, SPECIAL: 5.6.9.3.5.10.3. Level: 6 HC
Peter McCullough SPECIAL: 4, 4, 4, 10, 10, 4 , 4, Level 3 HC

THE CURSE OF THE MUMMY

The spirits have taken an interest in you for all the wrong reasons! Unexpected challenges will come to you during your RPs but the rewards doled out will be much juicier. It is possible to live with such a curse, but if you would rather live curse free, you could simply sell the corpse and wash your hands of the whole situation.

Lmgthev: MBP is handsome
LonesomeDrifter23: Sometimes I think MBP is a being made entirely of satire.
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