[hr][center][color=bc8dbf][h1]Frankie Cabrera[/h1][/color][/center][hr]
[b][ Two Days Earlier ][/b]

“Quit your whining, Louis, and keep still or you're going to be here a lot longer.” 

Delicate and agile fingers slowly wove the thread in and out of the bloodied flesh, the wound being sewn up about two inches across the older man's cheek. A man who absolutely hated needles, blood, or pain for that matter, but also couldn't have put more trust in someone to patch him up than Frankie. “S-sorry love, it's just-"

“Yes, yes.” The other interrupted, knowing exactly what he was going to say as she cleared her throat to prepare it for a terrible impression of her current patient. “ ‘I'm not as [i]invincible[/i] as I used to be, back when I was working the ol’ railway system out in the western territories...’ “ She got a chuckle out of mocking the old man, whom she’d come to respect as a friend, and even as a moral compass to a certain degree.

“Is that really how I sound?” The other arched a bushy, gray eyebrow while trying maintain complete stillness. “So...gruff and uncivilized?”

“Nah.” Frankie snorted, It's just me having fun. Ya know, gotta laugh to keep from crying, blah blah blah.”

“You? [i]Cry?[/i]” The other snickered. “You're about as dry as the Nevada dunes, dear. I'm not even sure I've ever seen you shed a tear about anything since you got here.”

“You mean since your friends kidnapped me from a perfectly good home and family, just so I could involuntarily join this merry band of psychos?”

Louis kept quiet for a moment, but he didn’t have to say anything as the expression in his eyes gave a complete picture. The old man was one of many who’d been thrown in with the raider parties over many years, and while he didn’t agree with their tactics, he had very little recourse, and survival was still at the top of his list. “You know they aren’t my ‘friends’, love.” He finally spoke, clearing his throat. “And if it wasn’t for my mechanical know-how, I’d have been roach bait a long time ago…” He left it at that, knowing that Frankie didn’t need to be reminded of what would happen to non-compliance when running with a group who seemed to care very little for human life.

[hr][b][ Fleetwood Subway Station ][/b]

The young girl stared out into the endless darkness of the tunnel, her hand anxiously pulling at the laces on her boots, biding her time as her and the others in the motley group waited for [i]something[/i] to happen. Frankie couldn’t quite figure out why she’d even chosen to come this far east, to New York City of all places, but then again, perhaps that was her lot in life: the wander. Although, the catalyst for her decision was quite out of her control considering the last encampment of Raiders she’d been stuck with were all but wiped out, attacked by opposing raider forces, causing survivors -including herself- to scatter like insects amongst the open wasteland. One of her only friends at that time, Louis, unfortunately was unable to make it far, his weak heart giving the last few pumps before cardiac arrest took him from the world for good. And with all the medical experience and knowledge she’d accumulated over her adolescent life, not one bit of it would help the old man, as the radiation sickness killed whatever was left. She hoped, however, that Louis was in a better place than where he’d started. 

The hydraulics and gears from the overhead doors pulled her from the reverie, causing her attention to catch a glimpse of the armored soldiers strolling in like they owned the place. She knew who they were, perhaps not on any personal level, but collected enough information over the years to have a fairly solid opinion.

“[i]Great.[/i] The Brotherhood of Assholes have arrived…” She mumbled under her breath, uncapping the dented aluminum water canteen and taking a few sips before replacing the top.