[b]This Post Begins Day Two[/b] [hr] Archie was the first to rise from the queen-sized bed where he and Roberta had laid their heads the previous night. Despite his exhaustion from the mission, it seemed that his habitual early-rising would win the day. He had dreamt of the Arena that night, though whether it was a pleasant dream or a nightmare, he couldn’t decide. Groggily, he got up and changed into a new set of clothes, hopeful that Roberta would remain asleep throughout the ordeal. His movements, even now, were subtle and slight as he tiptoed towards the door, stopping to take a look at himself in the full-body mirror. He frowned slightly, then quietly stepped through the door, shutting it behind him. He sat down at his “dining room” table, the massive paper with the drawing from the previous night still sitting there. Archie tore a piece off of the corner and began to create a rather unusual shopping list. [i]Six Eggs A litre of milk Matches Hedge trimmer Beard trimmer Medium-range semi-automatic weapon Water truck (?) Large explosive device Shaving cream [/i] He sighed. Getting half of this stuff would be impossible. Eggs were in short supply on Ash, but without a balanced breakfast, how could Archie and Roberta hope to defeat a class two hollow? … Oh, and obviously there were other issues too. Trying to find or build a bomb large enough to blow up a worm of this size might get him branded as a state terrorist. The bomb was an idea he’d had as he was drifting to sleep, and hadn’t yet mentioned to Roberta. If they could trick the worm into eating an explosive device, they’d hardly have to do any fighting: just detonate the thing and have Roberta dissolve whatever was left over to ensure that it didn’t regenerate. The empty water truck would be hardest of all to get, though, since the Wintergold Government managed water transport. While there was no government law enforcement in Ash (or Dust, for that matter), Archie might be what you could call a ‘civil servant’. As much as he disliked the way Wintergold was managed, the local authorities were generally amiable towards whoever made their jobs easier. This included those who captured and killed wanted criminals. He was going to have to rely on the goodwill that the people held towards him, their friendly neighbourhood Bladed Devil. And so, the lean-muscled man-of-action began his morning routine. He put on his Kevlar vest and hiking boots, and began to sing quietly to himself. [i]“When I wake up, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who wakes up next to you…”[/i] He grabbed his shaving kit and mirror from underneath his kitchen counter, as well as a glass of stale water, and began expertly shaping his facial hair, using his razor with the same skill that he used his rapier. [i]“When I go out… yeah, I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who goes along with you…”[/i] By the time he was finished, it would be impossible to tell that he just spent several days tracking an outlaw through the desert. Good thing, too: his facial hair was as iconic as his swords, and he wanted to make especially sure that people recognized him today. Speaking of swords, he affixed Pen to his waist and the Bastard’s Bastard to his back, and tucked Spider Bite away into a sheathe affixed to his lower back. [i]“If I get drunk, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you…”[/i] Last but not least, he grabbed the large bag of coins that had been given to him as Long John’s bounty and tucked it into a large backpack, which he wore over the Bastard’s Bastard. [i]“And if I haver, yeah I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s haverin’ to you…”[/i] And with that, Archie triumphantly exited his house, and began to belt out the chorus of the same song he sang when he woke up every morning. [i]“But I would walk five-hundred miles and I would walk five-hundred more Just to be the man who walks a thou-sand miles to fall down at your door!”[i] He began to pick up speed, briskly jogging along his usual route as he belted out powerful note after note. He was a good singer, though it was a song better done as a duet, but he hadn’t met anyone who knew the damned song since Cyrus and he had gone their separate ways. Thinking of his brother wasn’t enough to throw off his singing, though: he continued through the various verses, his heart rate steadily climbing as he reached the song’s climax… [i]And when I come home Yes, I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who comes back home with you I’m gonna be the man who’s coming home with you.[/i] At this point, he broke into a full sprint until the end of the song. A testament to his endurance, he managed to keep singing for the entire remaining minute and a half of the song, even as he ran towards the center of Sentinel. His ballad had long-finished by the time he reached his destination, but there was still a grin plastered to his face, hopeful and optimistic for the day ahead. “Mornin’, Stanley!” Archie exclaimed as he entered the general store. It was usually empty this early on in the day, and today was no exception. Small as it was, there was one thing which differentiated it from the other stores in the area; a refrigerated section. That was incredibly rare in these uncertain times, even more so in Ash. After his last bounty, Archie could finally afford some damned protein. Of course, everything was still behind the counter, which was sealed off from the rest of the store by a large, metal grate. Stanley didn’t trust the lawless denizens of Ash to actually bring what they wanted to buy up to the register and pay for it like civilized people. A mercenary guard leaned up against the left wall, wiping some dirt off an old assault rifle he was using. The radio was playing off in the background, and the peculiar radio host caught Archie’s ear. “Ah, I love this station.” “Really?” Stanley chuckled, “You been hearin’ what they’re saying about you?” Stanley was a man in his early-60s, with a stained white undershirt and a grey comb-over. He’d seen his fair share of war back in the day, though he didn’t often talk about it. “About me?” Archie was quite flattered that he was being recognized for his hard work my Dust’s only major media outlet, and turned up the radio’s volume to hear better... [i]*as the song ends, a voice comes from the radio-- you can’t quite tell if it comes from a man or a woman, but it seems to draw you in* “Welcome back, tumbleweeds! You’re listening to WTJR! Tumbleweed 191--” *in a sing-song voice* “Oooo-kaaa-gaaa!” *in a much, much, deeper voice* “Playing only your number one hits…” *in normal voice* “Good morning listeners! Did you make it through the day yesterday? Do you wish you hadn’t? Is the toil of a constant, seemingly endless repetitive dala of harsh existence beginning to wear on you? What about your family-- they’d miss you if you went right? Do you know that? Would anyone really miss you if you hadn’t made it to this morning? And if they did, how long would they miss you? What lasting effect would you have on existence that wouldn’t disappear as soon as they met their end?” *there is a short silence* “I’m starting heavy and black like my coffee this morning, tumbleweeds! Let’s get it all out in open air;” “You are alone.” “You may suffer.” “And you may die.” *a longer silence* “But dude, have you ever gotten your dick and-slash-or clit sucked? Sorry if this isn’t family friendly y’all, but you know what else isn’t family friendly? *there is a short pause for the rhetorical question* “[b][s]EXISTENCE.[/s][/b]” “All I’m saying here is, and this is just my theory, I’m just throwing this out there to be tried against the fire that is the scientific method. But I feel like good head might be the best thing ever? Like, I hate to say it, but I know a lot of you out there haven’t gotten any of that [b]good[/b] head. “ “Like, y’all [b]think[/b] you got some of that good head, and maybe it was good-- but it wasn’t [b]good[/b]-- like real, all-natural, no-additives [b]really fucking good head.[/b] Like, they... like lick the taint and go for the rimjob and shit, good. Like they do crazy voodoo with their hands and tongue and keep sucking after you climax... Like… Like… your eyes roll in the back of your head and you have an out of body experience. You meet your past lives during this session of oral sex-- Like some [b]good[/b] head.” “I know what you’re asking yourselves, listeners. ‘Why’s Roro talking about all this head? When is it going to stop?’ “ “Well, listen up-- this is my theory, but I think that the opposite of death might not be life, but may in fact be very, [b]very[/b] good head? Like, head that gives you a religious experience. Like…” “Okay, like, think of it like this-- think of like, the Adam and Eve and Garden of Eden--” *Amarillo whispers into the mic* “For those of you who aren’t Christian; it’s basically the story of a magic devil snake who tricked a man named Adam and his female rib-clone, made entirely for the purpose of companionship, servitude to the man, and incestuopus sex, she was named Eve. They were apparently the first people ever. Anyway the devil snake tricked Eve into eating an apple, and that made God mad so he made pregnancy hurt and death a thing-- even though he’s described as all knowing so he totally saw it coming.” *Amarillo’s normal voice returns* “Okay so like, what if it’s all a metaphor! What if Eve isn’t taking a bite out of an ordinary apple at the suggestion of a snake, but like… a snake really wanted her to [b]suck[/b] on Adam’s apple. If you catch my drift.” “My drift is that, like, the devil snake is Adam’s penis when he’s horny, right? And Eve eating an apple of knowledge is a euphemism for sucking him off. In case that went over your heads.” *Amarillo sighs, takes a sip of a beverage, and shuffles some papers* “Well! Speaking of death and heads, let’s get to some news, fresh off the presses here, y’all-- apparently the death of Long John seems to have been some kind of final grain-esque crop on the metaphorical desert-pack mammal’s back-- we’ve been getting pretty much steady reports since we reported on his death yesterday. It seems that while the general sentiment is an anti-Long John outlook on the issue based on a survey some intern took this morning in the office--” *whispering can be heard* “Oh,” *more whispering* “No wait-- “ “New survey here, tumbleweeds! The resounding sentiment by a landslide, with an 85% margin is ‘Who the hell is Long John?’ followed distantly by a Pro-Long John at 12% of our office…” *a breath* “For those of you that can’t do math, that means 3% of the people in our office are anti-Long John.” “Perhaps more interesting, however, is that within that pro-Long John camp, there seem to be a few people so moved that they themselves are hunting the bounty hunter! Which is… like kind of ironic, if you think about it!” *Amarillo chuckles* “What do you even call that? Bounty hunter hunters? Anti-bounty hunters? Haha, Dust… you never leave a person bored, I’ll say that much.” “Independent of the hunters, Long John’s family is offering 250 gold lira-- that’s 300 bullets-- for the return of Long John’s head. Since I guess they want to bury him with his head...” “Okay, then!” “In other news; Area King’s Retreat, Hedon Woman shoots down off-course Sanguine Papacy Surveillance 'Shrieker.' ” “ ‘Bitch jus’ fuckin’ no-scoped that whirly-berd!!’ reports witness.” [center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnxpHIl5Ynw[/youtube][/center] [hr] Archie stood in silence as the music played for a minute or so, meeting eyes with Stanley a few times, before exclaiming briefly yet poignantly: “... What the fuck?” “Did you not hear their earlier coverage of this? They think Long John McClive was some kinda Robin Hood character. The people’re pretty pissed at you, actually.” Stanley leaned forward on his counter. “So, what’ll ya have?” “He--... wait, what?!” Archie glanced behind him to make sure nobody had followed him in, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Stanley, there are people trying to [i]kill[/i] me, all because I collected the bounty their favourite murderer-thief. What should I do?” “The news likes to exaggerate things, Arch,” Stanley said casually, running his fingers through his grey comb-over, “Just lay low for a bit. Think you can manage that? Or are you gonna go brag about how your skills are so wondrous, you had to valiantly fight a band of THUGS, hired by the family of Long John McClive?!” “Are you making fun of me?” Stanley laughed heartily. “Fuck yeah I am. Now are you gonna buy something?” “... A litre of milk and a half-dozen eggs, please. And a can of shaving cream.” As Stanley bagged his groceries, Archie nervously tapped on the counter and glanced over at the mercenary guard. “Don’t look at me,” the mercenary said, “I’m glad Long John’s dead! He robbed my cousin!” “Was he rich?” Stanley asked. “He was a carpenter, so no, not really,” the mercenary replied. “Can we please focus more on the fact that there are people who want to murder me?” “You’ve got to learn to deal with not being the centre of attention all the time, Archie,” Stanley said, bagging up Archie’s order. “That’ll be twenty gold lira. Shit’s expensive, what with the fact that we’re in the goddamned desert. Really, are you that desperate for breakfast?” “You know, at first you were getting on my nerves, but you making cracks at my expense is taking my mind off the mob that may-or-may-not be gathering somewhere.” Archie took the required twenty lira out of his bag to pay for his overpriced goods and went on his merry way. Of course, as he went from store to store completing his shopping list, he noticed things getting less and less “merry”. He was able to obtain a hedge trimmer, matches and beard trimmer without issue, though he received several dirty looks at Hank’s Hardware. Thankfully, Hank himself wasn’t reluctant to serve him, though he did receive dirty looks from some of the other patrons. Several of them followed him out when he left with yet another bag full of various useful things. He tried not to pay them much mind, but the continued to follow him as he turned down various streets and even alleyways in an attempt to lose them without outright running away. Finally, after reaching the space outside the gunshop, he stopped. “Can I help you people?” he said, turning around with grocery bags still in hand, “I’m busy...” __________________________________ Roberta grumbled, stirring faintly in the strange twilight between sleep and wakefulness. The mattress was much more comfortable than she was used to, and it didn’t smell of things she’d rather not think of. She blinked once, and sunlight streamed into her eye, momentarily disorienting her and shattering the remnants of her not-so-peaceful slumber. Same dream, as usual. At this point she was so used to it and the nightly pain it brought that she’d become desensitized. Not a whole lot made her feel pain anymore, after the kind of pain she’d been through. Funny that, pain being an anesthetic down the road. Bullets, knives, teeth, poison, none of them pained her anymore. She could register damage to her body, but it didn’t hurt. Drowning in a sea of sensory silence. “Fuck.” She said simply, turning onto her back and staring at the ceiling- perhaps it might reveal the solution to… something. She’d already registered Archie’s absence, and contemplated following him to make sure he didn’t get himself killed. After all, she needed him to find the Hollow. Sighing, she pulled a small handheld radio out of her pocket, dialing in to the frequency of that DJ who’d sprung up recently. It was decent listening at least. [i]“Perhaps more interesting, however, is that within that pro-Long John camp, there seem to be a few people so moved that they themselves are hunting the bounty hunter! Which is… like kind of ironic, if you think about it!” *Amarillo chuckles* “What do you even call that? Bounty hunter hunters? Anti-bounty hunters? Haha, Dust… you never leave a person bored, I’ll say that much.” “Independent of the hunters, Long John’s family is offering 250 gold lira-- that’s 300 bullets-- for the return of Long John’s head. Since I guess they want to bury him with his head...”[/i] Roberta bolted upright. That… wasn’t good. From her brief experience with the man, he’d be quite happy to boast of his recent kill to anyone willing to listen, and apparently, there were plenty of people who would be willing to listen, and more. Most everything of hers was in a neat pile and she quickly scooped it up, throwing her backpack around her shoulders and grabbing her various weapons as she sprinted from the house. There was too much money at stake to sit around. __________________________________ “Now, ladies and gentlemen...” Archie said, setting down his groceries beside him, “I’d advise you to kindly get the hell away from me, or I’ll have to do something drastic...” One of the men who was holding a broken bottle waved it around as he spoke. “Like you did somet’n drastic ‘ta Long John, right?!” “Yeah, I did do something drastic,” Archie retorted, raising his open hands in front of him, “Because he was stupid and ignored my warning, and tried to kill me. I wanted to take him alive. Now let’s all calm down, before someo--” “DID YA TELL LONG JOHN THE SAME THING?!” a woman holding a pool-cue screamed, “Before you SHOT him?!” Archie thought back to his fateful encounter with the murderer-thief. “Actually, yes... and I got interrupted, too, because he reached for a gun and tried to shoot me in the face.” Roberta watched from around a corner, a good liter or two of seawater converted into a superbase floating next to her as she watched the exchange. She could just shoot them if they tried anything, but melting faces and throats tended to be even more discouraging -and terrifying- than simple bullets. But again, that all depended on what happened next. “You know,” One of the mob members said, reaching into his coat pocket, “They say history repeats itself...” “It does,” Archie said, realizing that he didn’t actually have his gun with him, “Now if you’ll please drop the gun. I don’t want anyone to die today.” Roberta tensed as one of the group reached into his coat. She let the seawater slide back into the plastic container she’d found for it, she could use it later. In its place, she pulled her shotgun off her backpack, checking to make sure a slug was chambered before aiming down the sight, cranial hardware syncing with the weapon and calculating windage and other ballistic data for her- even if that was unnecessary at this range. Regardless, whoever tried anything would receive a 12 gauge slug to the chest before they managed much. The man didn’t even fully pull out his gun before he started laughing. “You don’t even have any guns!” Without another word, Archie lunged forward at the man, covering half the distance between them before he could even blink. Though he struggled to pull the firearm from his coat, he took a wild haymaker punch to the right side of his jaw before he was able to get a shot off. Archie looked down at the man and flexed his arm muscles. “What about THESE gu--?” A concussive blast sounded from behind a building off to the right. The man under Archie’s chest took the hit, the slug passing all the way through and essentially removing his heart and part of his lungs. A second blast followed in short succession, with a second gang member collapsing to the ground clutching his chest. “God FUCKING damn it!” Archie screamed, looking around to see who could’ve fired the shot. The gang members stood frozen in place as well, not wanting to meet a similar fate, with several of them dropping their weapons immediately and running away. Another blast sounded from the buildings to the right, and a third gang member wildly waving a pistol around also collapsed like a sack of bricks. Another blast, but this time none of the remaining gang members were shot, instead buckshot pellets slammed into the ground near the feet of one of them, and she nearly dropped her own weapon, turning and running on the spot. (Actually I was thinking him rounding a corner and swinging on reflex because person with a big shotgun. It also gives his skills a bit of credibility or whatever with her just barely managing to dodge and probably losing some hair.) (that or skimming some metal) “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?” Archie yelled, following the sound of the gunfire. He pulled out his sword and dove behind a large barrel, then began rushing through an alleyway to get behind this mysterious shotgunner. As he swiftly ran the building’s perimeter, he gripped his bastard sword with both hands, coming around the bend with a powerful, almost reflexive upward swing. Only halfway through the motion did he realize who was on the receiving end of it. (I’ll let you decide how it hits her) Roberta registered someone behind her relatively quickly, running through possible options in the split second it took for her to turn around an- the fuck was Archie swinging that thing at her for?! Yelping in surprise she tried to push off the wall and out of harm’s way, but the swordsman was fast and he’d caught her off guard, the sword came down and sheared off a lock of her hair, smashing into her armored forearm as she attempted to ward off the blow. Quickly grabbing the sword and twisting it out of Archie’s hands, she pinned the man to the wall, “The fuck was that for?” Archie had ceased continued attempts at hostilities when he realized who it was, but was similarly caught off guard by the sheer strength of her robot arm. “The fuck was THAT for?! That was a 12-guage shotgun! You could’ve shot [i]me[/i] with that thing! How was I supposed to know that’s not what you were trying to do!?” Archie pulled at the robot arm which was keeping him pinned in place. “Jeez, what the fuck?! Get offa me!” “Perhaps you shouldn’t try killing me.” Roberta grunted, stepping back and walking over to her dropped shotgun, picking the weapon up and slinging it over her shoulder. “Besides, those were slugs and the gun was synced to my brain eyes, the chance of missing what I aimed at was a tenth of a percentage point.” “Brain-eyes? What the--...?” Archie picked up his sword and grunted. “For the record, if I didn’t see it was you, you would’ve never been able to disarm me...” he grumbled, his pride slightly wounded. The gang had stopped shooting at them. “I hope you’re happy. Three people are dead now, and now we’ve pretty much established that ‘shoot-on-sight’ is fair game. God fucking damn it, Roberta!” Roberta shrugged, “And if I hadn’t shot they would’ve likely opened fire and killed you for killing some son of a bitch who stole and killed and was for some reason loved by the masses. You may be fast, but you aren’t faster than a bullet last I checked.” “Roberta,” Archie replied, taking a deep breath, “He was the only one with a gun drawn. I could’ve talked him down from that. Notice how none of ‘em started firing until you did. Hell, most started running away! Those aren’t criminals, those are just random assholes! This isn’t a ‘let’s beat him up and take him to the McClive Family’ fight anymore, this is now a ‘kill or be killed’ fight.” He took another deep breath, placing a hand on his forehead. [i]Calm, Archie... be calm...[/i] Archie turned to Roberta. “Thank you. I’m just... I’m being stupid. Don’t think I don’t have a [i]reason[/i] to avoid killing people when I can, though! What if [i]their[/i] families form another counter-bounty-hunting mob? It took a long time to build up my good reputation, and I’d rather keep it that way. On the bright side...” Archie pulled the map marked with the location of the hollow, “I’ve got a way to fix it. You’ll get your money, I’ll get my good name back, and hopefully, nobody will mention that slimy fuck Long John McClive ever again. Anyone stupid enough to join in on this counter-bounty bullshit’ll forget all about this when we take that worm down.” He sheathed the Bastard’s Bastard. “Apparently the first report was even worse. They called Long John ‘a selfish Robin Hood’. Can you believe that shit?” “I’ve tried talking people down before. I got a full suite of cybernetics because of it.” Roberta glared at Archie, “Honestly if it’s kill or be killed, I don’t care. Walk away if you want. I have nothing to lose.” She started walking, towards the scene of the fight, idly kicking a rock at one of the corpses. “At least they died fast.” She turned back around, “People will look for a hero if they can find one. It doesn’t matter who, or what, they really are. They want an idol to gather around and support. If that idol is a thief and murderer and they choose to see him through rose tinted glasses as a man taking from the rich and doing whatever with it, they will. If people want to think something, they will.” Archie said very little afterwards. “I’m sorry. I just like it better when I’m the hero.” “The only stories with heroes are the ones mothers read to their children. If you’re really expecting to stay on top of the moral dog heap, you’re living on the wrong planet. Anything can happen, the people you trust most can turn around and shoot you, the people who you expect to shoot you instead turn out to be looking for something important.” She hissed, continuing to walk to the scene of the fight. “An-” “Oh, give it a rest!” Archie said, cutting her off, “Don’t try to educate me. I’ve been through as much shit as you have!” “Have you now?” Roberta whirled around, “Yeah sure, you had a shitty childhood we got that part. Guess what? Everybody on this shithole of an island or the mainland had a shitty childhood. Yours was just a bit shittier than normal. You know who doesn’t care? People with guns whose idol you killed.” “My childhood was--” Archie stopped himself, refusing to become angry for no reason again. “I know that. Of course I fucking know that. I had to fucking kill someone with my bare hands when I was twelve, you think I don’t know that?” His voice seemed shakier than normal, as a few memories of the arena began flooding back to him. [i]He couldn’t have been more than ten... he was so small, and I just...[/i] He snapped out of it. “But life isn’t worth living without people who love and respect you, even if heroism really is bullshit. Let’s just go. I have a few more things to pick up.” He entered the gun shop, feeling sick to his stomach, and knowing all-too-well the meaning of Roberta’s words. [hr] Daniella stretched like a cat from her perch on the roof. The night had been a long one, and as she woke, the infinite waves of consciousness returned to her, as static on radio, her mind distorted with the dreams of all those around her. Daniella, long limbs reaching for the sun, bathed in dawn’s orange glow. She and Danny had slept on the roof of a small pavela near the hive of the Bastard, her Abuela had long since gone home, after scouting the home out during the night. Apparently, to celebrate his bounty the bastard had decided to bring home… some… kind of automaton? A weird Gaen sexdoll? That was where the life of a man went-- it wasn’t was perfect life. But Daniella couldn’t help but feel the Long John’s existence was worth a little more than half-made real doll. She wasn’t one to question fetishes, but god damn this was becoming more fucked by the minute. As Daniella probed around, she could feel the things presence, but whatever mind it had was off limits to Daniella. She wasn’t human--perhaps not even living as far as Daniella could tell that. Her mind was a black hole to her. Archibald had been easy, Daniella and he woke up around the same time, and she very easily pinpointed where his consciousness was. The two inhabited a similar brainspace for a time-- the cornball sung to himself and then went to go buy groceries-- and Daniella waited patiently as her ward slept to her side, to see if the robot would do… [i]anything.[/i] If she was to be completely honest with herself-- the fucking sex doll was kind of a wrench in her plans-- and it would of fucking ruined them, too. If it hadn’t been for the stroke of luck, in that the thing [i]did[/i] eventually get up and leave. For oil or whatever. Daniella didn’t care, that wasn’t the point. The point was, she could expand her mind. And in one moment, she closed two eyes from her perch on the roof, still exposed to the gleam of the morning star as it reflected off her-- [i]their[/i] bronze skin. She closed two eyes, and opened four. She and Danny moved as a single person stretched over two bodies, and snuck into the home, in sync. [hr] Archie exited the gun store in a far better mood than he’d walked in, carrying a shiny new rifle in his arms, and several magazines full of ammo in his backpack. He’d spent a large part of Long John’s bounty on the Roberta had helped him choose a weapon to suit his needs: an old but popular Russian killing machine. “Honestly, I would’ve never known the difference between an AKM and an AK-47 on my own,” he mused, examining his new AKM carefully, “Can this really punch through a brick wall? I feel you’d need something heavier for that.” He had purchased a small scope and bayonet as well, though he wondered if he’d actually end up needing them. Of course, the more blades the Bladed Devil carried the better, and the scope would be good on the off chance he actually needed to hit something from far away. Truth be told, Roberta’s “helping” could be more accurately translated as, “Shouting at him until she got through his skull and he chose something remotely useful for his skill with boomsticks and what he actually intended to do with the weapon.”, but she was willing to let it slide. Glancing down at the man, she stopped and sighed, “The 7.62x39mm round is an excellent high velocity anti-personnel round and barrier penetrator, usually with a steel core it will easily penetrate a half centimeter thick mild steel plate and continue on. So yes, if somebody hides behind a brick wall, or cinderblock, or wood, or a car, they’ll be very dead. Just don’t expect to shoot through a particularly thick one with any ease.” She started walking again, scanning the surrounding area for more potential assailants, “I have the ballistic data of well over 100 various cartridges readily accessible. Trust me when I say hiding behind things -within reason- won’t save somebody. If you need to get someone hiding behind a solid wall of concrete, that’s when you bring out the anti material rifles, which that is not.” Looking back at the man, she couldn’t help but ask, “What did you even want a rifle for anyway? I thought your thing was close range?” “An old Mexican proverb, my friend,” Archie replied, putting on a heavy, stereotypical accent as he said: “Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight, you idiot!” He paused, continuing to examine the device. He’d managed to ignore Roberta’s judgements and screaming as he shopped, though he’d be lying if he said the cyborg wasn’t starting to bother him. She spoke as if everything she knew was inherently obvious, shat on Archie’s quite-frankly bare-minimum moral code, and that she fairly clearly would’ve preferred to pursue the bounty on her own. That said, her expertise was useful to him, even if she did deliver it quite harshly. “And honestly, just showing that you have a gun is enough to deter most crooks. My reputation used to help with that, but... well, you know what happened there.” “The crooks had guns and were angry at you for killing their idol.” “Eeeeexactly.” Archie replied, “I hope you like scrambled eggs, because that’s what’s for breakfast.” Roberta raised an eyebrow, digging around in one of her pockets and fishing out a pill roughly the size of a 20 gauge shotshell. Crumbling it in her cybernetic hand she poured the powder into a small container of water, about the size of a shot glass, gulping the mixture down. “There. Breakfast.” Archie raised an eyebrow. “C’mon, you’ve gotta still be hungry after that... was that a multivitamin or something? I like my eggs as much as the next guy, but I’m not gonna eat six of ‘em, I don’t have a fridge, and you need your calories. ‘Healthy body, healthy mind’, as my dad used to say. He’s seventy-one and still going strong, so I’d listen to his advice.” She shrugged again, rummaging around in her backpack, reaching in and at one point placing it on the ground as she looked through. “Hold on a second…” she muttered, leaning inside the bag and almost disappearing up to her legs. Faint echoes sounded from within as she cursed, searching around in the bag’s depths before popping back out, now holding a large hunk of what looked to be part of a large animal. “I’ve got my own food. And spices too.” “What the--...?” Archie glanced furtively at the bag. “How is that even--...?” Archie placed a palm on his forehead. “I know you’re the scientist and all, but you’re definitely breaking a lot of laws of physics and biology right now... I’ve got a cookfire and a picnic table out back. I’ll make us some omelettes with... uh... what kinda meat is that?” Roberta shrugged, “Don’t actually know. It’s edible though. Surprisingly tender too, when you beat it with a hammer long enough.” She heaved her backpack up, smirking, “And I found this in a rusty treasure chest off the coast of Ash. I’m pretty sure a dungeoneer lost their bag of holding. Had a weird suit of armor and a big sword in it when I found it. Some gold coins too. Kept the armor and the axe, put the coins in Wolfwater, since they tend to know what to do with gold.” “... Bag of holding? I'm fairly certain those aren't real," Archie said, letting his gun swing down to his side as he scratched the back of his head, "Mind if I see the sword? I've actually got experience with those kinda things." “I guess? I’m not giving it to you though.” Roberta warned him, clambering back into her bag, disappearing into it entirely this time as she looked around the inside for the aforementioned sword. Amid the clutter, she finally found it sitting forlorn in a glass case in the corner, next to the suit of armor in a similar container. She’d swung it once or twice when she first found the bag, but she hadn’t really done much. She knew it was a longsword and made of something called ‘ebony’, though why one would name a metal after a kind of wood she didn’t know. Regardless, it was a beautiful blade. Gingerly, she picked it up from its case and carried it over to the shimmering portal of the real world. “Right, got it.” She called over to Archie as she stepped back into reality. Warning him with a quick, “No touching.” as she slowly pulled the blade from its sheathe, she then stood there for a little while, letting the sun reflect off the blade. “This is going right back into the bag afterwards, just so you know.” Archie glanced at the beautiful blade, silently musing about how sharp it must be. “Are you even planning on using that thing?” Knowing Roberta, the answer was probably no: she’d rather wave it around in his face and tell him he couldn’t have it. “Eventually, maybe, perhaps.” She replied, smirking, “It’s mine, and no, you can’t have it. I’ve never seen anything like it and I’m not risking it now, even if you really do love swords that much.” She sheathed the blade, disappearing into her bag and quickly stowing the weapon in its case before clambering out again, this time waving a small baggie, “Spices.” Archie rolled his eyes. “After letting you sleep in my bed and offering to split a bounty that’s more than I make in a year, and make you breakfast, you’re still rude as ever. At least let me teach you how to use it properly,” Archie pleaded, pulling out his own more common-looking sword and giving it a few casual yet expert-like swings as he walked, “The thought of such a fine blade rotting at the bottom of a magic bag makes me want to vomit.” The two had finally reached Archie’s house and walked around to the back where his cooking station was. The table and grill were located on a raised platform made of mostly-intact patio stones. “It’s not ‘rotting’!” Roberta protested, “It’s sitting in an untouched velvet lined case. I take very good care of it, thank you.” She began strutting towards the grill, “Maybe at some point you can show me how to use the thing if you really want to.” “I’d rather buy it off you, to be frank,” he retorted, “Why would someone like you need a sword?” “Because I found it and it’s mine.” Roberta replied smugly, “I’m not selling. I’ll pay for lessons, sure. But that thing’s unique, nice to look at, and I found it. So I’m keeping it.” She paused, “Besides, a lady doesn’t need a reason, now does she?” “I suppose not,” Archie said. He would be glad to have this woman out of his hair, though he couldn’t exactly ditch her before the bounty was up. For now, he paid her what courtesies he felt she deserved, hoping she’d eventually stop being so... curt. He grew quieter now, though, silently picking up his ammo and shaving supplies and returning to the front door, “I’ve gotta get a mixing bowl and an egg beater.” “Alright then. I’ll just wait here. Admiring the dirt. Such lovely dirt, see the fascinating patterns these pebbles form?” She leaned against the grill, “It’s almost as if… it’s dirt.” [i]I swear, I am going to kill this woman...[/i] Archie thought. Walking over to the meat she’d pulled out of the bag - time didn’t pass there like it did in the normal world, so it was still as fresh as when she’d killed it - she pulled the bag of spices open, fishing out a few pinches of dry rub and sprinkling them over the slab of flesh. She felt slightly guilty about antagonizing Archie, but only slightly. She was bored, damnit! Something exciting needed to happen.