[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]

	To quote the immortal words of David Mustaine, [i]"Hundreds of miles, rolled off today. Roadsigns lose their meaning, minutes tick away."[/i] Maybe not hundreds of miles, persay, but when you're staring down the multitudes of square miles of corn and abandoned buildings that just seem to scream "Meth Lab", it begins to get tedious. Massively tedious. The sweet and salty popcorn does wonders to increase morale, such as these two man have morale that can be measured by the yardstick and/or litmus test of the common man. It gets to a point that, despite Keystone's hesitation to put on the musical stylings of his favorite performer (and fellow East Ender) in front of El Jefe, the big guy found his hand inexorably drawn in the direction of his playlist. Resistance growing fainter and fainter with the more rows of corn that they passed, it was only a matter of seconds. 

	The mixed blessing of a tire blow prevents this from happening. It gave Keystone something else to concentrate upon. A distraction, if you will, from the undeniable pull of Adele Adkins. He would have to come clean eventually about it, as if it was not something made clear by previous actions. But he could suspend his disbelief for a little while longer - at least as long as it would take to flip out a tire. It came standard with the vehicle, as most things did; MSS was not known for sinking a lot of money into extra perks in vehicles unless specifically requested for certain members of their fold, nor did they want to go cheap, either. A spare tire and the means to repair such a circumstance were positively within the realm of probability. 

	Both men hopped out of the SUV, glad to have the opportunity to stretch their legs for a bit.  They ambled to the back of the vehicle, appropriating the spare and giving each other odd looks as if trying to use psychic powers to get the other one to actually change the damned thing. In the end, Keystone relented. He justified his willingness to do so with the explanation of, [color=b8860b]"Yuh huh there, Boss. You're a crack shot as compared to m'self. I'll do the heavy, you make sure none o' these buggers from Cousinfuck, IN sneaks up on the car, right?"[/color] He proceeded to set the jack and begin a'cranking. 

	Meanwhile, Caesar gave a quiet chuckle and did as asked. He gave the car a once-around, pulled a weapon but kept it hidden. A place in the middle of nowhere (though he did like the way in which Keystone put it, using the compound word "cousinfuck" as the proper name of a place followed by the state in question) with a blown tire is exactly a decent spot for an ambush. Perhaps it was unnecessary overkill, given the mundane nature of the obstacle upon which they tested their mettle, but 'safe' and 'sorry' rarely met in a descriptive without the promise of something quite negative otherwise. 

	Several minutes later, back on the road, the urge to play music returned.