The sun is hanging low in the sky off on the horizon ahead of you as you set out to find Doughboy's killers. Roark told you earlier he had heard rumors of people moving out of the ruins lately, setting up camp nearby along the river moving west. Shy of the odd scavenging group moving through, they're the only foot traffic near Monroe that's unaccounted for, and so you set off looking for them. Roark put you in touch with Amy, a local scavenger who likes to stay close to home. She says she saw signs of smoke in a small abandoned shop to this morning just after dawn. She's guiding you all out. You're half-way to Chester before you spot some smoke rising on the horizon. It's easy enough to spot from the old GAR highway you're on currently.
Thirds, most of the area leading up to Chester is woodland, but it looks like these people have set up camp in an urbanized stretch you've scavenged before — the place was mostly picked clean, so you'd imagine it's only a waystation. Since it's only a few hours away from Monroe, you can only gather that these people must be on their way back, or are extremely slow moving.
Clarity, you're moving roughly in the direction you did earlier today, towards the greyhound station. A bit southerly, but generally in the same vicinity.
Rue, Amy is leading the pack, but she stops when she sees the smoke ahead.
"So uh... You need me to stick around? Get you in any closer?"This is Amy, for the record. She's done her fair share of walking around the area.
Comments
I admire lil Amy, out here on 'er own. She's tough. Hikin' like this is rough on my shoulders, but there aint no damn way I'm gonna say nothin' 'bout it. Wished I had me somea that salve. I keep my mind on them peaches, an havin' a drink with Thirdie, an mebbe a visit later from Foster an Harrow.
Pain aint nothin if ya got yer mind occupied. Ya just gotta keep clear and watch out fer trouble, too. Can't be some fool runnin' around with nothin' but dreams in yer head. Gotta keep control. Push the pain away an hole it inna box, think o' things yer after, and stay alert on where ya are right now. Easy peasey. Lemon squeezy.
Amy wants to hightail it? That's fine with me. I hand her a bit o' trail mix an a few hairbows fer her trouble. "We got this, Amy. Thanks fer yer help. You head on afore we get there, ya hear?"
I'll hitch up Shelly, and head on t'wards the smoke.
I thank Amy for her help.
"Rue, Thirds, we're not far from the Greyhound Station I was at earlier. This could be Hugo, I suppose, though I'd be surprised if they were finished with the scav so quickly." I unlimber Joy, keep her ready in my right hand. I walk on toward the drifting smoke, side by side with Clarity.
Big high five for Amy. She's real good on the rocks, in the wild. Sounds are different out here.
I look down the way. Chester, yeah? Almost down to scavving the buildings themselves. Prolly some attics still left. Doors, glass. A few places to still steal copper from roof equipment. If you can fly.
"Chester a little thin for Hugo." I shake my head. Don't think it's them.
"Hey, y'all," I say as I lookit Clare an Thirdie walkin with me. "Ize thinkin 'bout how we could get these a-holes to fess up. 'Cause if we stroll in sayin' we's after Doughboy's killers, then theyze gonna lie their asses off."
I reach out as we pass an oak tree and yank off a nice-sized leaf, start pullin' on it till it's a good lil pick fer my mouth, "If one o' y'all said yer after Dough fer somesuch, huntin a bounty er somethin', then they'd fess up quick, ya know?"
That leaf strips down just right, an I stick it inna corner o' my mouth, "Then we can hurt 'em real good... fer justice an shit."
I check my shotty. Best done out of earshot anyway. "Or say you owe him a half-barter."
"That's a plan, sure. Looks like I'm nominated to do the talking." I know that people make fun, behind my back, about my stories, but they listen. I can take that reputation...
I lookit Thirdie an grin. "Yeah, that'll work. Mebbe Thirdie'll be the debtor? Ya'll know what a talker 'e is." I say it all sweet, 'cause he don't like to talk much.
I look at Clarity, then at Rue. "What? I talk." I'm trying to crack wise. Might be too subtle.
That makes me chuckle. I shake my head, "Naw, Clare's the talker o' the three o' us. Yer just here to look good, Thirdie." I give 'im a wink.
What do you do?
I think she likes me?
But now's not the time. Couple of chuckleheads out there. Time to see what the what.
I hold up a spread hand. Not looking at them, but wait. Peering ahead. I hear motion. Crouch, move forward, stepping careful. Quick, quiet. If there's a good vantage point, I climb to see. Tree, maybe.
(Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 4, 2. Total: 9)
What should I be on the lookout for?
Which enemy is the biggest threat?
I see that Thirds is checking out the lay of the land, scoping the sentries. I've seen him in action before, know that he tends to miss the ones that stand still and just watch. I can be still.
You should be on the lookout for those five guys. It looks like they've got a stockpile of scrap metal they could use as cover if they really wanted to get in a firefight — and the biggest threat on the battlefield right now is a guy you actually recognize: a guy named Balls, who's well known for being crazy, and messing people up with his shotty. He got the nickname because he doesn't have any, but he does more than enough to compensate.
Clarity, you probably hear them first — crackling sticks and rustling leaves to the left of you. There's a good 20 yards between you and them. If you don't do something, they'll spot you — and if these guys are the same people who did in poor Doughboy, you can only imagine what that means.
Rue, what are you doing while these two are scouting out your position?
This is Balls, for the record:
Just in case, I've dropped prone, an I'm sightin' in the camp ahead. Ima good thirty feet back o' Clare an Thirdie, which does put 'em in my shot a lil, but I aint usin Shelly to fire from this far. Just good to stay low, an watch my lil watchers.
I may not expect Rue to build the future with me, but I trust her to cover my back, for certain. Thirds is reliable, if twitchy. I step out, make myself obvious, Joy still down by my side. "Not here for a fight, fellas! Just looking to ask some questions about someone that I owe some barter to. Heard he might be out this way. Name of Doughboy?"
You all hear Balls scream back, "the fuck? Where are ya?"
The lead scout, Clarity you recognize him as a former resident of Monroe named Bar, pauses a moment before answering, "Clarity? That you?" His partner is holding up the rifle, aimed vaguely at Clarity. He looks up at Bar, surprised, but keeps his mouth shut, and the gun at the ready. Bar doesn't answer Balls. Instead, he adds, "you don't wanna be here, Clarity... Doughboy ain't goin' home. Just head on back to ol' Monroe."
This is Bar. He's not nervous in the slightest. In fact, he looks decently fed, and confident for a change. What did he do in Monroe that seeing this side of him is a big of a shock, Rue?
Well hell, wonders don't cease today. Last I seen Bar, he's all frakked up 'bout Parcher. See, Parcher was his "one an only". Them two were in capital L love. O' course, they were young, dumb an fulla cum. Parcher got hisself kilt, an ole Bar was all frakked up 'bout it. Just... wandered off.
Holding tight. Maybe they think he's solo. Keeping eyes on Balls and Clarity and Rue and the rifle dude.
I stand still. "Why don't I want to be here, Bar? What's going on, and where's Doughboy?"
The young man standing next to him, a wiry thing with a high-pitched and nervous voice adds, "don't fuckin' matter — listen to you, sympathizin' with these folks — accident or no, he killed one of our guys. You kill one of our people, and that blood gets answered. Now you better run along, Clarity — what we're up to ain't none of your business."
He's talking really loud... You suddenly hear Balls call out, "That you, Ratpack?" They're slowly moving towards you, watching carefully for trouble.
What do you do?
Eye fer an eye? Didn't even know Dough had a gun on 'im. If he did, then that's fair. Raider law. If Dough had fam'ly, then it'd be worse. I sure do hate Balls. That man's messed up. Reminds me o' Crater from the ole days. Crater'd soon kill summin than deal with "their crap". Had all kinda 'scuses for what was "crap" to 'im.
I still got a shot lined up, but I aint really hiding too well up here. As soon as they spot me, it's gonna get touchy as all get-out in here. I know I can drop three afore they got a chance, but them four down 'ere by the scrap, they'll hole up an be harder to get out than ticks. I can 'nade 'em, er get Thirdie to runnit up there to make sure, but then I'm outta 'nade fer BS payback.
Lookin' ugly. I don't like the score o' this at all.
Idiots. Eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. Now what they expect Monroe would do? "Blood gets answered?"
This Bar sounds okay a little. Balls a motherfucker. Lil guy, Ratpack, sounds bamboozled. Maybe mama bear Fagin goes down and the cubs scatter?
Marking the others. Point 'em to Rue if I can, quiet. Ready to draw or dodge. Cuing off Clarity and Rue. I look behind. Both shoulders.
"Are you certain it was Doughboy that took the shot?" I'm ready for the fight that seems likely here, but I'm trying to give Rue and Thirds time to get into position. I look at Ratpack. "Son, you might think about your reasoning. You say Doughboy killed one of yours, so you killed him. One of ours. That's a big circle that ends with everyone dead eventually. Don't mistake me, though. I'll break you over my knee like a stick for kindling if I have to."
Ratpack doesn't follow your reasoning, "so he shouldn'a shot our boy Tictac! It's only a circle if you folks decide your boy Doughboy didn't fuck up — which I guarantee Hugo would take offense to!" He adjusts the rifle on his shoulder, and adds, "I wouldn't fuckin' count on breakin' me 'fore I blow a hole through you though. You ever seen what a gun does to flesh? It ain't pretty."
Bar puts a hand on his shoulder, "that's enough Ratpack... Holy hell." At this point, Balls is getting dangerously close. Bar looks nervous. He shakes his head, "c'mon Clarity... Don't do this. How far izzit back to Monroe? An hour's walk? Don't make this more than what it is — Doughboy killed one of ours. He's dead to make amends for that. Just let it go, and we all walk away." You get the impression from Ball's proximity that this is your last chance before he'll spot you.
What do you do?
Outnumbered two-to-one. Bad odds. I'm no coward, but I'm also no dummy. I look to Rue, maybe catch her eye. Tip my head twice to Monroe like GTFO?
Huh. I wonder if Bar is lying.
It's Clare's play. If it goes down, Balls gets the first shot. An then the idjits down there inna scrap. C'mon, Clare. Time ta shit or get offa pot.
Hugo again, and Balls on the way up.
"Alright, son. I'll step back. I suppose there's no sense in getting my own self killed to make a philosophical point. If you decide to take on Monroe directly, though, there will be hell to pay."
I turn and leave, showing Ratpack my back.
I can't believe Clare's lettin' this slide! Well, if he aint got the fire to go to war when they kilt one o' Monroe, then I'll back 'is play.
Sure 'nough, Ima come back an get my pound o' flesh.
Huh. Really? I undo the strap on the sawedoff holster. Tense, get ready to move.
Just as I come level with Rue, I meet her eyes as she watches me above the barrel of... Shelly, I think is what her gun is called. I can see she's pissed at me walking out, but she doesn't know everything yet, does she? Slow, deliberate, still walking, I give her a broad wink, and then toss my head back toward the camp just a touch. I switch Joy to my left hand and put my right on the 9mm tucked in my belt.
Rue's move. I'm confident she'll pick up the signals.
Bout damn time.
I'll wait fer Balls to move up, let 'im jaw at us. Then Ima unloadin' on him an Ratpack.
Bullets fly out of Shelly with a loud RATATATATATATAT! and the world erupts into chaos. Pink mist sprays out of several newly formed holes in Ratpack's body, and the back of his head blasts open as he falls back to the ground. Leaves and branches of trees fly in every direction as Rue brings the machine gun to bear on Balls. His left shoulder flies back, then the right, and he tumbles to the ground screaming — not that you can hear him over the din.
Bar dropped to the ground at the first sign of trouble, but not without getting hit by a few bullets, and the crew following Balls are screaming and scattering into the thick underbrush. Two of them don't make it. The rest don't make it unscathed. After a brief moment, you hear the sound of a hunting rifle being fired from the underbrush. A few scattered bullets hit the trees behind you, Clarity, It's coming from the direction where Rue dropped Ratpack.
What do you do?
I make a serpentine run toward the source of the bullets, crouched low but moving fast. The 9mm is safely down by my side, but I'm ready to drop Joy, bring the gun up, aim and fire. I assume it's Bar shooting, and I'm reluctant to kill him because of his history, but I don't let bullets speak unanswered.
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 3, 1. Total: 5)
What the hell, Clare? Walk past me, gimmie the nod to open up, an then run right in there in my line o' fire?
That's fine, I didn't wanna hole up here with 'em runnin' all 'round. Ima pick up Shelly an move straight north, pickin' through the scrub an gettin close onna campsite. I figger Thirdie an Clare can take care o' whoate'er's left o' them three while I move up.
Way I see it, Ima pick off one er two with Shelly, er they'll hunker down an I toss a 'nade in 'ere and flush 'em. Least, that's my plan fer now.
Shit.
One motion, I'm diving out the tree, roll. Come up running with the sawedoff. Cover Clarity, let off a few blasts. Hope it's not Bar. Whistle sharp to Rue so she knows me. Still moving, forearms up to cover my face. Twigs and leaves and shit. Different from the Ruins. But the same. Still got shots. Get cover. Looksee.
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 5, 3. Total: 9)
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 1, 4. Total: 7)
Thirds, then the gunfire stops, but Clarity must have missed it. It's just the briefest of pauses that tips you something is up, and it's eerie. Maybe he's reloading, or maybe whoever was pulling the trigger suddenly suffered from a lapse in consciousness. Then you get your answer...
Clarity, You leap over a bush and into a small (read: very small) clearing in the thicket. On the ground lays a muddy, bloodied Balls, smirking up at you next to a discarded rifle. His shotgun is leveled at your face. You have a split second to react before he pulls the trigger, and BLAM a shell of searing hot lead shrapnel comes tearing into your side. It stings like a bitch. Have you ever been shot before? If you have, you'd know that a shotgun blast at this range should hurt a hell of a lot more.
OOC: Suffer 1-harm all said and done. I did some behind the scenes evil.
Clarity & Thirds, Thirds comes crashing through the thicket after you, Clarity, and Balls is lying there on his back, deliberately switching the barrel's aim between you. He's bleeding hardcore, and he doesn't really have long for this world... Even with proper medical care, this man would never fully recover from tonight. You both know he's got one shot left in that shotgun, "don't neither of you fuckin' move, Y'hear? Or I'll blow yer fuck buddy's head clear off!" He spits a mouthful of blood at you both. Clarity, another shot like that and you know you wouldn't be so lucky...
Bar and Ratpack's corpse are nowhere to be seen. What do you do?
Rue, if you're keeping an ear out for Clarity, then you probably spot all that going down. Otherwise, you can see that the group weren't stupid enough to head back to their camp. With the exception of a few backpacks left by the fire, and a couple of bedrolls and makeshift tents, the place is empty. If you're explicitly hunting them down, that's a different story — is that what you're doing?
Well, I tole Roark I'd run 'em off, seems like I did. I know it's gonna come back on us. I'll snap offa shot at Balls if I get an angle. Then Ima head to them backpacks and grab 'em quick so's we can lit out.
I stagger. This is not my first rodeo, I've felt this pain before, sharp and burning, and I'm still here. I drop Joy from my left hand, but I only really need one hand for this. I shoot Balls. In the head.
Seize by Force +1 xp
(Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 2, 2. Total: 7)
Suffer -1 harm
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 3, 2. Total: 6)
Oh, I wouldn't overdo it for a little while if I were you... Especially if you don't want to make it worse. Your ears are kind of ringing, from all the shooting, but you're still standing.
Thirds, Clarity seems to be OK... Well, as OK as you can be for someone who was just shot twice. It looks like he'll be able to get up on his own, and most of the other members of Balls' crew have scattered. You hear it first: a scream from back where you came... A woman's scream. What do you do?
Rue, You just about had a shot on Balls, but Clarity took the fucker out first... Not before taking a shotgun shell to the chest, but still. When you make it to the campsite, the crew is nowhere to be seen, and their bags are all but abandoned. Most of them have the basics — a change of clothes, some food, Balls' bag had a handful of shotgun shells.
Once you've got the packs, what do you do?
I'm leaned in and a step towards Balls when the shots go off. I blink at the sudden splash of color in the dusk. I look to Clarity.
Really not used to someone being faster than me.
Disarming Balls gonna be easier now. "Disarmed," I whisper to myself, a single chuff of almost-laughter. No need to do it hard hard way now. I snatch Balls' gun, drop it near Clarity. "Hold tight. Be right back," I look round, twice, make sure. Then bolt off to the scream, picking a path between the brambles and brush. Eyes open, forearms up, body low. Weave and bob.
Courage is what it takes not to look at your hurt. I push myself up against a tree, hearing the scream a split second after Thirds takes off. I lope after him, as fast as I can.
Food? Well, hell yeah, now I can shut Doghead the frak up. I know how to strip a site clean in seconds, an that's what I aim to do. I can circle back round an hunt the rest later. Shells, food, clothes that look good, sundries, grabbin it all, packin. A girl screamin? Hell, Thirdie got it, I see Clare headin that way, too.
I oughta hunt some o' 'em down now. Yeah, I'll head back to where I dropped Ratpack. I oughta find a blood trail there. I'll follow that fer a bit, see what I can see.
Thirds, you're a pretty fast guy, and you're used to chasing down people through obstructions – when you finally cross he distance between you and Amy, you find her shaking about 10 feet away from Ratpack's bullet riddled corpse. She looks terrified. "Th-Th-Thirds... Is that a d-dead body?"
Rue, you hurriedly strip down the site for anything valuable, and make your way back to Ratpack's resting place... But the only thing you find there is Balls' lifeless corpse. It's getting really dark under the canopy of the trees, and there's blood in pretty much every direction imaginable... You could track them down; but who you'd be tracking at any given moment, and following the trail without light is going to be laborious. Are you going to devote the time to hunting them all down?
Hell naw, I aint hunt 'em down inna dark. Shit, got dark quick t'night. I'll head on after Thirdie an Clare. I'm comin' up behind, watchin' their flank.
Damn, even inna dark and thick brush, watchin Thirdie runnin' is nice. That boy can move.
I slow down. At this point I'm not going to borrow from tomorrow so I can look for more trouble tonight. I use Joy as a sort of cane, as much for stability as support. I keep my eyes on Thirds, cross the distance between us as I can.
Shit! Oh, good- She's just scared.
I slow down, hands open. "Amy, Amy." Take her hands in mine. "Yeah, he shot at Rue and Clarity." I'll walk slow to pull her to turn away. I don't know what quite to do. Talk soft, like to a kid? "We gonna need to get Clarity to see Bish maybe. Clare's okay, just not hunnred percent." I take a look at Ratpack's body, half to survey, half just to see."Um. Are you okay?" You're supposed to hug scared people, right? I'll try that.
Rue, Clarity, If you want to get in on this conversation, let's say you're walking over now, within ear distance. Once Thirds gets his next response in, you'll be in conversation distance.
I'm runnin up 'ere. I catch Clare as 'e gets up to 'em. Amy's a good enough kid. Seein' this an survivin', oughta be good fer 'er. I lookit Clare, "Nice work on Balls, Clare. Yer a tough summbich." Then to Thirdie, "Wanna lit out?"
"Thank you, Rue." I lean heavily on a tree. Too dark to check out my wounds properly. "I think... I'd best get my hurts seen to, soon, though. There's tough and there's tough."
I guess I'm doing it right. She's nice to hold. But what the fuck, Bar dropped Ratpack? "You're okay." I tell her. Is that right? I take a step back. I wish Cinch was here. She'd know just what kindness to do. Shit, Clarity probably in no state to speechify. Who am I kidding? He's always in a state to speechify.
I'll offer her my canteen, "A little water a good thing." Make sure she don't look at Ratpack. Try to stay close to her, right? Live person better than dead body. I wonder which way Bar went. And he took out Ratpack. Maybe he wants to come back to Monroe? Or just away from Balls. I hear Rue and Clarity. Let out a little soft two-tone whistle.
I lookit Clare's chest. Aint as purty as it twas a bit ago. Still, flesh heals, more or less. "We oughta get yer ass to Bish. Some barter offa the camp should pay fer it." I watch him fer a bit, "Can ya make it, Clare? I dunno if I can carry ya the whole way."
"I should make it back to town, although I don't know if Thirds will be happy with my pace."
I push off the tree and move toward Thirds. And Amy? I see Ratpack, no Bar. Seeing my wounds won't be any help to the girl, so I stay a distance away, letting the dark camouflage my hurt.
"Amy, I'm sad that you had to see this. Try to focus on what's important, though. You're alive and you'll have tomorrow to deal with what you're feeling, with the sun shining and your friends around you. Don't carry it with you now."
I nod, yup. Man always can speechify, even with his lungs hanging out.
I indicate Ratpack's body. "Bar. He's gone now."
"You wanna travois, Clarity?" See, Rue? I know words.
Clarity, Amy looks really shaken to begin with, and your words echo what she, and everyone else has been told — hardships come and go, so don't dwell on them. She nods knowingly, "y-you OK Clarity?" She pauses, taking a deep breath to calm herself and stop her stammering, "Thirds says you need to see B-Bish? Should we get m-moving?" ... Unsuccessfully, apparently.
Once I get up to Amy an Thirdie, I'm droppin' on my knees and pickin' through Ratpack's body. How's 'is boots, they any 'count? Anythin' in 'is pockets? Bullets? Rings an all?
Thirdie asks Clare 'bout travelin' or somesuch. I don't pay him no mind, I'm workin'.
A travois would leave us all vulnerable. Two to drag it and me laying down. Bad idea.
"Thirds, I should make it if I take it slow and easy. Maybe you'd want to go on ahead, let Bish know we're coming? Rue, would you mind sticking by me until we get back to town? I'd be in a poor position to face any of the runners if I came across one. Amy, you should stick with either Thirds or us until we get you safe."
Clarity, Amy nods in agreement, but she looks to Thirds to get a read off of him. She'll like go with him.
I pocket whate'er I get offa Ratpack an nod, like I don't really care. As good a plan as any. O' course, I'll miss Thirdie, but I'll catch up with 'im later on. "We oughta head back, yeah. An Amy, get on with Thirdie, he'll keep ya safe."
Not so keen to split up in the dark. Specially with anoms and Bar unaccounted for. But it's a good plan.
"Balls had any shells?" I ask hopefully.
I look at Amy, confident. "Let's do it." Get us back to Monroe.
I walk on o'er to Thirdie, put Ball's shells in 'is hands. "Here ya go, darlin'." I figger they'll head on, an I'll hang back with Clare. I hope it's quiet. Thinkin' on the dead puts me in a quiet mood most times.
After killing, and being hurt myself, I'm grateful for Rue's silence. On the road to Monroe, I don't say much, except to thank Rue for the occasional warning about an obstruction I didn't see or to call for a rest when needed.
I know people expect words from me, even those that don't really care what I'm saying. They're heavy, though, sometimes, those words. It's a burden I choose to carry, but a burden nonetheless.
I let Clare walk at 'is own pace while I move up to check ahead, an then circle back. I aint fidgety, but I am bein careful. Always twitchy after I kilt summin. After it gets dark, we're gettin' closer to Monroe proper. "Can't believe ya took two shots an walked away, Clare. That's... hell, that's somethin'."
I lookit 'im fer a bit, then ask, "What story comes from what happened tonight?"
I smile a little in the darkness, my teeth maybe catching the moonlight in a flash.
"I'm pretty sure we've both taken worse and lived, Rue. It's a hard world even now, and we've both been out in it without the advantages of a place like Monroe to fall back on."
After the question, I think for a few minutes. "Not sure it's a story I'll tell, yet. It seems like there's a few chapters left to write, and I'm guessing most will be equally bloody. Hoping that some of those that got away carry a story away with them, though. One that warns, cautions. One that says 'don't fuck with us'."
Another pause.
"Once it's done, though in the end, it will be a story about how Monroe takes care of itself, of its people. Even folks like Doughboy who maybe keep mostly to themselves. It will be a story of not surrendering to the world, but grappling with it. Trying to make a place, like your garden, your spot in town. And, truth, Rue? I'm hoping it will be a story about you. You, finding a way to live in the world that means something more than ending lives when you're pointed in the right direction. Someday, when I'm old, if I live that long, I'm going to look at a group of faces around a bonfire and hear someone call out for the story of Rue. And I'm going to tell it."
Visionary +1 XP
(Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 4, 5. Total: 12)
Inna dim light, he prolly don't see my WTF look when 'e says 'e wants to be tellin' a story 'bout me, "Clare, darlin, you don't wanna tell no stories 'bout me. It's blood in an blood out. That's me. Monroe's just a waystation, ya know? Juss a place that don't know better, thinks I'm good fer my word, an that I'll protect 'em."
I laugh a bitter laugh, 'bout the only kind that sounds right comin outta my mouth. "Shit, Clare. These folks got short mem'ries. Few years back, Ize the one raidin', not the one drivin' 'em off." I stop fer a mite, lookit 'im, "Men like Balls, I ran with 'em, Clare. Frakked 'em, kilt with 'em."
I let that sink in fer a moment, then I start walkin' again, "Good folks like Cinch, you an Thirdie. Smart folks like Robinson. Them's good stories worth tellin' o'er a bonfire. Folks like me, an Balls, an e'en Harrow? Well hell, we're the boogie men, Clare. The stories we're best fer, is warnins to kids to keep 'em close, an under heel."
"Rue. You haven't heard my story, have you?" I pause, the effort of the hike aggravating the wounds. "I'll tell it to you full, one day, but I'll give you the summary now. Years ago I was a wild child. Killing was my hammer, and that hammer was my only tool. I didn't hook up with any gang, either. I took what I wanted all on my own - women, goods, comforts - and killed those that tried to stop me from taking it. Before I was Clarity, my name was Omar, but folks a few weeks west of here called me something else. Called me Reaper. And I was proud."
I know Rue can't see my eyes, but I swing my gaze toward her anyway. I try to take on her patois without it seeming like a joke. "Ain't no story over til it's finished, well an' true."
I listen, like I always listen to Clare. I bitch a storm 'bout his stories an all, an don't tell 'im I said it, but I like hearin' 'im talk. O' course, the man is easy on the eyes, so that helps, too. But e'en here'n the dark, I listen.
He's tellin' me 'bout his bad days, says he didn't hook up with a gang. Stronger'n me then. I aint a solo act, really. Aint never heard o' Omar afore, so that comes an goes. An then he tells me he was Reaper.
Shit. I'm standin' here talkin' to the Reaper! Chant would up an die. She tole me he's the cat's meow, an she weren't lyin'.
"Why? Why aren't ya Reaper no more?" I feel like a child askin', but hell, I wanna know. Why walk away from it?
Another pause for rest, longer this time. "Rue, I'm afraid I'm gonna need your help, limping the last bit back to Bish's. Afraid I'm not bulletproof..."
"Well, I heard the Reaper ate bullets an shat sunshine, Clare," I say as I walk o'er to 'is side. "Mebbe yer havin' me on?" He can prolly hear the smile in my voice, 'cause I'm playin' with 'im. I slip my head under his arm, and let 'im lean on me as we keep on walkin'.
"Norm'ly I charge fer deliveries, Clare." I say as I help 'im mosey on to Bish's place. "But since ya went an kilt Balls, I figger yer paid up today." Sure hope Bish aint in a bitchy mood tonight. I sure don't wanna deal with that shit.
Ima have me some peaches tonight. Wonder if Thirdie wants some.