[u][b]Mary Hawthorne - Her House[/b][/u]

"That'll be lovely, I thank you. Wasn't sure if the was a guesthouse or Inn in town for me to stay at." Rick replied, then suddenly became agitated and stood up excusing himself from table, "SInce I'm...Since I'm going to be staying here...perhaps I should check out the town."

"Lovely weather for it", Mary replied, "I'd go with you but I have to clean up the saddle of the horse and find his owner...if they are still alive, anyhow."

Rick left via the front door, and Mary finished her lunch then packaged up the leftovers and put them in the refrigerator, then washed the pans. With two of those robots working, she could get this house properly cleaned in a fraction of the time it would have taken her to do it. Something odd about Rick though....he seemed better educated, and less worldly than the Wastelanders she had met. And he seemed to be eager to hide that as well....like he was protecting someone or something. But then she hadn't exactly been fully forthcoming either....she had understood exactly what the Cultist's battle-cry was, words in a language never intended for human tongues to utter. As for what it meant specifically...she would have to research it. She would investigate tonight...for now she had other things to do. She went into the living room, where two of the robots now sat upright, their legs curled up underneath them, being charged by a device Rich had connected to the two of them. The third, partially disassembled, sat off to the side. And sitting on a old folding construction sign was the saddle she had taken of the horse, dried blood spattered all over it. Finding some saddle soap in one of the saddlebags, she thoroughly cleaned the saddle and saddlebags, removing the bloodstains. Once clean to her satisfaction, she put the items back in the saddle bag and moved to drape them over the saddle, when suddenly a knock was heard at the door. 

"Hello?", came a man's muffled voice outside. It wasn't Rick. Mary walked to the door and opened it, a stranger stood there, a tall, scruffy looking man in jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt. At his hips were a pair of semi-automatic pistols. 

"Good afternoon", Mary said, "How may I help you?". She heard out the man's reply then spoke again. 

"The Horse?", she asked, "He's not mine, sad to say. I decided to step in when I noticed he was left tied up outside the Diner all night with no food or water. He's not yours either....you look too healthy for that, the saddle and bags were covered in blood and there isn't a mark on you."

"With that said", Mary continued, "If you know who he belongs to, I'd be obliged if you would introduce me. I'm sure they would like him back, not to mention the contents of the saddle bags."