Coldshort's Company - Playground Options

[Dantrag]

OOC: not sure where the settlement is, so I conveniently left out details regarding it.

Keara

Keara held binoculars to her face with one hand, while the other rested on Lucky's head. She saw the settlement, but there was nothing to note. No movement, no nothing. It was quiet. She would have to get closer to know anything for sure, but Laura made it absolutely clear that she not move beyond the ridge she sat upon now.

Keara felt that she was being watched, but in the back of her mind, she knew it was Gramps peering at her through a scope from some unknown position. He always was. It made her feel secure on the one hand, but something told her that it was Laura that made him do it. They were as much keeping an eye on her as they were protecting her. It was why she was never privy to Raymond's location; she could never tell if he could see her or not. One wrong move, she knew, and she was toast. It was why she chose to report back instead of learning more.

They don't trust me, but that's fine. It'll be Laura's fault if we all die just because I couldn't do a proper scouting.

"I really thought I'd won 'em over after Springvale," she said to the dog while scratching his ear, "Oh well. Let's go, boy, before I lose my head."

Keara hung her binoculars around her neck and brought an inhaler from her pocket. She breathed in deep, holding the tainted air until she felt the familiar rush of jet moving through her mind and body.

She left the ridge and returned to the others with Lucky at her heels.

"Miss Laura," she said with an oft-used, sarcastic salute, "I couldn't spot a soul over there, but I was pretty far away. I'd need to get closer to find out more."

[ureniashtram]

EDIT: Did not saw your post until today, Grif! So sorry! I edited my post so you can, y'know, interact with the REgulators. Sorry again, Eleventh Grif!

Marcellone

From the corner of his eyes, Marcellone saw James shove aside the lanky-looking man and work on the downed ghoul. The man can't help but notice that the mutated person had on a duster that looked eerily like a Regulator's, except gray. If he was one, Marcellone mused, he wouldn't have shot at a fellow lawbringer. His attention went from the injured person to the group's leader.

She flexed her shoulders a bit, trying to relax and maintain her calmness. Judging by the slightly eased look on her face, she achieved it.

"Sure as hell beats a bullet in the back though," she said with a shrug. And Marcellone can't help but agree. Getting captured was infinitely more better than getting killed, his similar experiences told him that. But veering too close to sympathy would be dangerous. It would compromise them in many ways.

"Your commanding officer will likely want to hear the whole story, or if not I sure as hell am gonna tell him it anyway."

At this, Marcellone let out a chuckle. A pained and amused chuckle. She clearly did not meet Marcellone's superior officer. Avery Nichols was reliable on beating people up than letting them explain their side of the story.

"Well, good luck with that, miss," he said. It felt somewhat strange speaking to an enemy commander, but Marcellone supposed that this day was anything but. Here he motioned for the veterans to snatch their weapons away.

A .44 revolver and a satchel filled with god-knows-what, followed by a bandolier of grenades.

When a modified RPD was presented to the bundle of captured weapons, Marcellone can't help but ogle it suspiciously, his eyes glazing in nostalgia. When he was still a grunt, one of his former superior officers had this kind of weapon too, albeit without the grip nor the laser sight. Marcellone made sure to question who ever owned this weapon -probably the ghoul- and ask him where he got such a thing.

When it was all done, Marcellone ordered some of the guys to get the rookies and haul the catch off. He turned to the woman, but before he could say something, James appeared on his side. He seemed pretty pleased with himself, probably because he showed his superiority in the field of healing to the lanky man.

"Done, let the raiders carry him."

Marcellone gave him a strange look.

"You do know that there are only two men in the 'raiders' group? And catching up on age and bones probably getting brittle," here he looked to both men, eyes saying 'no offense'. "And it is obvious that the lady here can't do it on herself. Nah, let some of the boys carry the stinker."

After a bit of grumbling and outright snarling, four of the veterans managed to lift the ghoul up. By their strength combined, they said that they could manage, even though the burden they're carrying is 300 pounds.

"OK, now that all is said and done, wrap them blindfolds on 'em," he said. He looked at the woman, spreading his hands as if in apology.

"Gotta make the location of our base private, you know?"

Here, James scoffed.

"As if these lowly raiders have it in their skills to even remember things, apart from rutting each other senseless and injecting some chems into their system!"

A silence among the Regulators. The field medic certainly had a mouth, particulary if he perceived he was in a winning position, and Marcellone decided that he had heard enough.

"Listen James, I just have enough of your gum-flappin-," but was cut off by an angry snarl from the old man in the strange armor.

"Don't call me a raider again, unless you want to see a ranger veteran in action. If I were you, I'd listen to the smart guy over there." Raymond growled to the medic. "Doesn't the NCR mean anything here?"

At the word NCR, every Regulator including Marcellone pointed their guns at him, suddenly tensed and nervous. A Ranger, a veteran one at that? Well damn but did they hit the jackpot on this one. Of course they heard about the NCR. The Californian chapter of Regulators worked hand in hand with the Rangers against the slavers there. Avery Nichols may have found his equal in combat skill in this Ranger.

A question remained though. Marcellone spoke, awed.

"Seems a little far from California, aren't you? How the hell did you survive the distance between lovely ol' D.C and the Republic? And why is a veteran Ranger doing with these . . . colorful bunch? Please don't tell me we got a rogue Ranger in our midst."

This post has been edited by ureniashtram: Aug 16 2011, 01:33 AM