[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar[/color] & [color=darkgoldenrod]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img][/img][hr][b][color=dimgray]Location:[/color][/b] Road To Grimm I (Indiana, Amish Country)
[b][color=ff4500]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A 
[b][color=b8860b]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	A gnarled Mexican in a leather vest and secure trench coat wasn't exactly commonplace in this part of the country. Nonetheless, Caesar stood there, fueling up the company SUV with a look to his face that warned disharmonious, bodily injury to anyone who might want to interrupt or make pithy comment about the rarity of the situation. Ignoring the obvious, he did cut the very dashing if autumnal figure, stabbing the gas pump into the fuel port in a highly masculine fashion as the wind cut across the flat, open land around him, cascading his hair behind him and ruffling his coat in the manner of a Roman general's cape. Oh yes, no one could perform mundane tasks with as much epic flair as Caesar Gonzalez. 

	The occasional pickup truck or (God forbid) horse and buggy might pull in, gassing up or just purchasing day to day items, respectively. At first, Caesar was curious as to why a horse drawn carriage might be doing at a place that sells gas, let alone where one would cram the pump nozzle, but he eventually worked out that Amish people might like Oreos and jerky snacks like everyone else. Still, he felt the need to growl at one heavily bearded man whose eyes seemed to linger on him for longer than he was comfortable. [color=ff4500]"Keep moving, Straw Hat,"[/color] he said under his breath. When the tank topped out, Caesar retracted the pump and hung it back up, then waited with measured impatience for his junior associate to return. 

	Meanwhile, Keystone was inside among a knot of younger Amish women. Chiefly the ones that did the shopping when it was called for, it was still a little offputting for the burly Londoner as he was more accustomed to assessing potential threats in a new location, not from which angle someone might try to sell him a doll without a face or unpasteurized milk. The goal was to pop in, grab snacks, pay for gas, [i]leave[/i]. But somehow, soaking up the culture of the area made him realize that, in the vast and diverse world, sometimes a man just wanted to run back home and grab a curry in the East End. Or if not a curry, just to run home. Away from homespun woolen socks and wearing aprons out in public, and he had only just arrived in Amish country. 

	Parting the way through the mix of rural oddities and more modern roadside sales items, Keystone was rather taken aback to note a distinct lack of a microwave oven. The verbal urging of [color=b8860b]"Popcorn?"[/color] to the shopkeeper was met with a point in the direction of a kettle corn apparatus, oddly referred to as a Corn Kettle among polite society. He gave it a shrug. He was the outsider, it wouldn't do any good to complain or ask to change things just to suit his proclivities. Besides, he wanted to get in and out as fast as possible seeing as his one-word inquiry just alerted everyone in the establishment that he was, in fact, one of those foreigners that they'd read about in periodicals and/or immigration protests. The rampant sea of eyes birthed of questionable genetics focused on him was annoying, certainly, but as long as he was there Keystone figured that he'd give them a show. 

	Looking at the nearest Amish lady, he gave her a suggestive wink and began making his gargantuan pecs dance underneath his shirt. [i]Bump-bump, bump-bump-bump[/i]. [color=b8860b]"Yeah, that's the crumpets 'n' tea right there, oi?"[/color] he rolled out in one of the more pronounced Cockney brogues of his adult life. Turning over to the proprietor, he set back to business. [color=b8860b]"Right. Bottles of water, a sackful of that - wait, you're sellin' the popcorn in bloody [i]sacks[/i]? Wha'ever... Two of them sacks o' poppin' corn, and gas on pump fongin' three. Got me?"[/color] 

	Back outside, Caesar had the hatch open waiting for the imminent return of Keystone. The larger man returned, bearing the fruits of his purchases which he subsequently loaded into the vehicle. Caesar tipped his head to the man, asking, [color=ff4500]"Problems with the locals?"[/color] 

	[color=b8860b]"Nah, Boss. Little culture shock, is all. We good?"[/color] 

		[color=ff4500]"We're in Indiana now. Go ahead and gear back up."[/color] 

	[color=b8860b]"Yeah, Boss. On that."[/color] 

	The pair of them, likely to moderate concern of any locals out and about who cared to continue staring too hard, passed their working gear to each other from the back of the SUV. Keystone's heavier caliber firearms and massive knuckle dusters, some basic investigation equipment, and a secure coat; Caesar's collection of sharp things and pistols. They each had their way. Fresh batteries were flipped out for their personal electronics while older ones went into chargers, and the pair of them engaged standard protocol by logging their location and times with the head office. Ready to either wage war or participate in reality TV, it was a difficult call to anyone who did not know them personally. 

		[color=ff4500]"Ready?"[/color] 

	[color=bbb60b]"As I'll ever be. Grimm?"[/color] 

		[color=ff4500]"Grimm."[/color] 

	The pair returned to their positions in the company vehicle and bid the gas station a dusty farewell. Next stop, hopefully, was a city they had been hearing a lot about lately: Grimm, Indiana.

		[color=ff4500]"..."[/color] 

	[color=b8860b]"What?"[/color] 

		[color=ff4500]"Is that a [i]sack[/i], full of popcorn?"[/color] 

	[color=b8860b]"Uhh, yeah."[/color] 

		There was an audible sigh. [color=ff4500]"...fine. Hand it here."[/color] 

	[color=b8860b]"Yeah, Boss."[/color]