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Exchanges around the campfire were always a fantastic opportunity to network with new clients and open new opportunities of prosperity. However, a quick glance at the Governor’s lot would lead you to the conclusion that none probably had enough caps to make it worthwhile. So, Franz simply sat back after introducing himself and let the others speak. He had tales of adventure, accounts of legends, and even personal goals that would inspire any who heard them. Tonight, those would simply stay bottled up inside him.

As night grew deeper, Franz decided to set up against a tree which faced the wagons. You see, he didn’t sleep the same way as most did. One eye would stay open which you could hardly tell among the folds of wrinkled skin and he would snore through his nose while his mouth remained sealed, all while in a sitting position. For any would-be chickenheart thief, a merchant staying up to watch his merchandise wasn’t worth it. However, wild beasts would be another issue altogether. 

Unfortunately, it just so happens that the secondary issue was brought to the forefront as it was heralded by a blood-curdling growl. Franz would snap out of his lull and had gotten ready to make a run for it before remembering he had company with him. It was safer here than the dark woods that surrounded their campsite but some of the others were ready to trek into the unknown to find their benefactor’s daughter. They were brave and it was ultimately the smart thing to do, lest their bomb accidentally goes off. 

[color=a0410d]“You folks better not get lost out there.”[/color] That was all Franz had to say, implying that he was staying behind. The first thing that sprung to mind was to check if their delivery package was still with them but Frankie mentioning his intent to dig a grave caught his attention. Only now did Franz find out that Isaac had been decapitated mercilessly. It was a common sight in the wasteland, but no father should ever witness their child’s death. Franz simply shook his head before retrieving two bottles from his own stash, one of vodka and the other of whiskey. He would approach Shepard and hand him the latter.

[color=a0410d]“Condolences… It’s best to not dwell on this but I do offer one thing. Free of charge, in fact. Your son’s soul needs to be laid to rest and this bottle of vodka was made with water from Saint Jack’s river. Give me a bit and he’ll find peace in the trade waters of the afterlife.” 
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