Cathleen sighed as she approached the Crimson Caravan Company. On her more paranoid days, she almost thought that they were building some sort of high-tech version of a Medieval fortress, and she decided that should would suggest a moat if she ever got the chance--and was drunk enough. She made her way into the compound, likely looking odd in what would have passed as a pre-war doctor's outfit. Finding the correct building wasn't too difficult, but getting the woman in charge to sign her up for the trip without any "professional experience" with a gun, knife, or laser weapon wasn't quite so easy. She halfway assumed that her success was partially due to her somewhat... annoying persistence.

With that done, she made her way out of the building and settled down on one of the nearby benches and slipped a pre-war book out of her pack, decided that it wouldn't hurt to read a bit to calm her nerves.

---

If there was anything Jax was used to, it was doing something stupid and probably fatal. After all, it was probably somewhat impossible to survive in the Wastes as a mercenary without having some sort of love-hate relationship with the deadly. While he certainly didn't like the idea of death, he liked caps. It just so happened that this next job would set him up for a while. So, there he was, agreeing to something else that very well may be the end of him while the sizable, self-preserving part of his mind scolded him rather harshly. After receiving a bit of detail regarding the trip, he found himself outside, sitting not too far from a woman reading. He took out his rifle and began the meticulous work of cleaning it to pass the time.

4/6/2012 #2 Report

Cathleen slipped her book back into her pack and slipped it over her shoulder. She felt of her belt, making sure that she still had her own weapons if she happened to need them. She glanced around at the hire ons, inspecting anyone with a gun, trying to gauge just how bad of a mess she'd gotten herself into. From the looks of it, several of them looked as though they'd be able to hold their own, but first impressions were never enough to put faith in. Besides, the harsh reality was that post-war life relayed as heavily on sheer luck as it did skill. She got to her feet, brushing off some of the dust that had somehow settled on her coat.

Despite a clinically calm exterior, her heart was beginning to flutter at the idea of braving the Wastes with the Crimson Caravan. After all, despite all of the protection, Caravans were notorious for being targets. Sighing, she steeled her nerves, mentally scolding herself for worrying before they even made it to the gates.

---

Jax, however, grinned and climbed to his feet. He slipped his rifle over his shoulder with a practiced ease and nodded, returning the Caravaneer's smile with a grin of his own, "'Bout time. Let's just get this over with." All he wanted was the caps; he didn't care about the action. Work was becoming a bit more difficult to find--at least for Jax--and it seemed to pay less and less each day that went by. Bodyguard jobs that used to pay a fortune were drying up, and the day-to-day grunt work wasn't exactly what he'd consider worth it. Either way, the sooner he was finished with this mess, the sooner he could go hole up somewhere for a while--until the caps ran out again, that is.

4/6/2012 #4 Report

Cathleen followed along with the group, rather purposefully placing herself near people who looked more like mercenaries than merchants. While she understood that the traders were almost required to be decent with a weapon, she decided that she would much rather be closer to the people who made a living with their guns. She picked a spot walking near a man who seemed fairly clam, decided that he was either quite skilled with his weapons--and therefore a good choice to travel near--or was a bit too confident. "Yes, interesting right up until the point when they fire rockets at you, and I'm left to try and patch up your remains," she replied, ignoring the fact that she would be included in the group if they did decided to become violent.

Jax shook his head, making a bit of a "tsk" sound as he fell back a few feet to walk near a man who appeared to be another hired gun and some sort of scientist. "Lighten up, lady," he joked, "You're getting to go where almost no outsider's been before."

4/6/2012 #6 Report

Cathleen seemed to toss around the argument about the NCR moving in, and a slight frown tugged at her lips. She didn't exactly hate the Republic, but she certainly wasn't too fond of the idea of it spreading rampantly across the Wastes. Then again, if it wasn't the NCR, it would be something else, and she certainly wasn't a big fan of groups like the Legion--people she declared to be cultists and brainwashed fanatics.

"I suppose you have a valid point," she finally announced, peering to her side to observe the man, "Call me a stick in the mud, but flashing lights and hookers aren't exactly my preferred cups of tea if you can imagine." She'd had more than enough dealing with the result of hookers and flashing lights back when she worked in the outpost; she could certainly live the rest of her life without having to deal with anything like what came out of New Vegas and Freeside again.

Jax bit out a bit of laughter as he readjusted his rifle on his shoulder. "Let's hope your right and that this whole herd of a caravan is all just for show and a waste of caps--one their part, at least," he commented. He'd heard about the Courier, of course--not many people could go without hearing somehow or another. He still hadn't been able to convince himself that the stories weren't glamorized--at least a little, anyway. Still, assuming that the other man was right, their little mission might just be a bit smoother than he'd originally imagined. Getting blown to peices sounded like a pretty painful way to go.

4/6/2012 #8 Report

Jax shrugged, blue eyes watching out for signs of something nasty waiting around for a caravan to ambush behind his dark sunglasses. He casually slid on hand up to hold the strap of his rifle and shrugged. "Honestly, I couldn't care less what the NCR does as long as they keep out of my business," he announced, "They're better than some of the tribes, anyway." He'd had experience with that first hand. He figured that no one under the bear flag would be whining about a few taxes if they'd grown up in a violent, warmongering tribe like his own. Nothing would ever be perfect--the war had been proof enough of that--but things could certainly get better. He just doubted they would.

Cathleen raised a brow, appearing fairly interested in the man's comments. After all, it wasn't every day that she encountered a mercenary with a brain. It did make sense, though. If the Republic quit bulldozing their way through new territory and consolidated their power with the people first, things might just be a bit better.

"While I'm not a fan of being told what I can and cannot research, I suppose a bit of law and order would be useful if we are ever to restore some sort of decent civilization again," she decided, "But, no... You make far too much sense to be a politician Mr... I didn't catch your name."

4/6/2012 #10 Report

Cathleen attempted a force a slight smile in return, but it didn't quite look natural. She'd never been very good at appearing polite in social situations, after all. "Mad Scientist?" she replied dryly, "Cathleen Jones--your resident doctor and hacker. Sorry to disappoint, though, but the only mad science I preform is on robots."

Jax's shoulders tensed slightly at Klaas' observation. "Jax," he answered somewhat shortly, "I spent some time around a group a while back." It wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't exactly the whole truth, either. He just wasn't a big fan of bringing up the subject, especially around NCR territory. He'd had way too many bad experiences with that whole mess, and he certainly planned on avoiding it a second time around. It was better to lie in his opinion.

Besides, the past was the past, and he rather it stay just as buried as the majority of his tribe. If no one else assumed a tribal could integrate into mainstream society, he certainly didn't care enough to burst their bubbles.

4/6/2012 #12 Report

Another man walked with the guard. He wore a hood, and there was a peculiar gasmask hanging around his neck. He seemed to be analyzing the road with a pair of small, green eyes. He was taking everything around him into account; even the other guards.

He looked to the side of the road, and suddenly stopped. He walked to the side of the tarmac, and crouched down. He was looking at a couple of small prints in the sand, how it had been shifted about.

His eyes narrowed. "Cazadores..."

6/18/2012 #14 Report

The man laughed. "At this rate, buddy, they've already found us. Those are fresh, and they can sense prey from a mile off."

He looked off into the distance, a certain glint in his eye, like he wanted them to show up. Like he was asking them to come get him.

"And anyway, its stupid to run from cazadores. You'll just die tired." he said, looking back at him.

6/18/2012 . Edited 6/18/2012 #16 Report

"I didn't need to be told." the man said, taking a bow off his back and looking out again.

He knew these parts were good feeding ground for cazadores; all the traders made a nice meal. Only problem was that if Cazadores were around, Nightstalkers were there too a third of the time.

"Were you expecting this to be an easy trip then?" he said.

6/19/2012 #18 Report

The quick draw.

The idea was a bit romanticized, no? In the time it would take a man to master the quick draw, you could make it possible to never miss. But people practiced it. Maybe it was reminiscent of cheap dime novels you can find in ruins. Maybe it made you feel like a god of guns. Whatever the reason was for it, the use seemed plain useless on the trail. Most fighting was at a distance with rifles, not close range. It seemed useless. But it could come in handy, in the rarest of situations.

Charlie was the first to have his pistol out of the sheath and ready to fire when the first raider fired. Charlie had the gun in his arm, sights lined up with his eyes and he looked for a target. There was a silhouette on the horizon, lightened up by their gun fire. Charlie took a deep breath and fired twice. All you needed was too nicely placed rounds in order to finish. Even if you hit somewhere useless, say someone's thigh, a second shot would certainly place the target in so much pain they would stop fighting. Unless they were heavily armored. Charlie didn't tale that into account.

7/18/2012 #20 Report

Maybe it was a sign of his inexperience. Maybe it was a sign of his stupidity. Maybe it was a sign of bravery.

Charlie felt the revolver kick in his hand, watching as he could see dust kick up soon as he shot. His shots went wide. No problem. He took a deep breath and looked at the group. They could handle most of it. Charlie began to charge to the left most bandit, reasoning that he could move in a horseshoe shaped movement around and take care of the raiders. He felt wind whip past him as a shot went far from his shoulder. The revolver resided comfortably in his hand, ready for it's four remaining bullet to be discharged.

His footsteps made imprints in the sand as he ran as fast as a panicked rabbit towards one of the targets. He swear he could see the raider aim his weapon in his direction. Charlie responded by firing the bullets as fast as his finger could work the trigger. The first hit the chest, the second hit the arm, the third flat out missed and the third nailed the sucker in the head. But he was dead already. Charlie wanted to cheer, but he was too busy working the revolver as he rolled out the cylinder and slid six bullets in, all the while hoping not to get shot.

7/18/2012 #22 Report

One whip of wind turned to several, thanks to automatic fire generated from the internals workings of a 9mm SMG, held in the hand of a raider who was too panicked to focus his fire, holding the gun in one hand. Charlie tried to return the favor by firing a multitude of bullets at the man, working the trigger on the revolver as fast as his finger could pull it. Almost all however, missed, Charlie thought one hit a thigh, as the raider reloaded his machine gun. Charlie was too close range to reload, as probably in the mean time he would get sprayed with bullets. He would be a sitting duck, or at best a slightly moving duck. So Charlie had to improvise.

He threw the revolver up and caught it by the barrel of the revolver. He charged as fast he could at the man, fighting the urge to let out a battle cry that would shake the earth. Once he got so close that he could shake the hand of the bandit, he held his arm back and swung it fast, the butt of the gun slamming against the raider's head with a satisfying crack. The raider fell down dead on impact. The man would not pillage again. Charlie panted for a few moments to decide his next target, replacing the revolver in his hand with the shotgun.

7/19/2012 #24 Report

Charlie's panting didn't break the silence that occupied the air around him. There were no gunshots, no screams. Just a silence. It lasted for a time of a second and a half. Then that sweet serene moment was destroyed with the roar of a gun. Then there were several roars. He was back on the battlefield. Charlie looked around for a figure. He found one. But bad luck for Charlie, because it turned out that the serene moment may have given Charlie a second of peace, but it gave a foe the time they needed to line up a shot. Gunfire erupted from a machine gun, the gun fidgeting in the owners hand.

A sharp pain went through Charlie's leg as a bullet pierced his left thigh. It brought him to his knees, saving him from the gunfire which seemed to fly all over his head. He groaned for a moment, stifling it with grit teeth. The pain was a familiar one. At least before, he wore a full suit of leather armor. One vest didn't provide any coverage to his legs. Charlie slammed the trigger back on the shotgun. Both pieces of ammunition let out a large amount of pellets. One or two may have hit the target, stopping him for a second, as it seemed that there was a miniature dust storm around the raider from every other piece of metal.

7/20/2012 #26 Report

Charlie collapsed on the ground, not by exhaustion but by the fact it was less likely he would get shot or even noticed if he was only a few inches from the ground. He panted as he watched as the man who shot him was soon riddled by bullets by his comrades. He rolled over, his eyes observing the cloudy sky. It was a pleasant sight. It was something to think about other than the pain in his leg and the leaking blood. He waited, his breath at an odd rhythm on which he focused. He waited until someone came up, ready to assist.

He said nothing, as he had nothing nice to say, in fact the only thing he could think of to say was a wise crack, and that wasn't polite. He turned his right leg towards her so she could see. On the inner right of the thigh laid an entrance wound, a nice, noticeable hole, surrounded by blood which flowed out of it, as the bullet itself resided rather uncomfortably inside the thigh. Charlie had heard of men who wedged bullets out with knives, or even bit them out. He had someone use tweezers after his famous fight, a precise instrument, to pull them out. He was not eager for someone to rip them out.

7/21/2012 #28 Report

Charlie close his eyes as he waited for the obvious start. The bullet would leave the wound after being wedged out with a knife. It wasn't a desirable feeling. At least after that, he was given a nice, mostly clean bandage to make sure he didn't lose too much blood. Then the final step, and a wasteland must for any wound, was a stimpack stabbed near the wound. He would probably have to get a doctor to fix him up to actually start healing. For now, he would probably walk a little slower than everyone else. At least the stimpack killed the pain. He thanked his healer. He got up, his legs a little wobbly at first.

7/21/2012 #30 Report