[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 (Northern Indiana) [b][color=ff4500]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [b][color=b8860b]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center] The position of the sun had changed in the sky, far more than the seemingly misplaced pair of travelers had initially perceived. Apparently, the immense physicality and extensive training of the British Isles import did not translate too horribly well into the great and noble art of tire changing, at least not to the degree that would ever make the man part of a proper Indy Pit Crew. This was mentioned, if exaggerated by Caesar with the snarly comment of, [color=ff4500]"I'm timing you by sundial and you're [i]still going too slow[/i]."[/color] Maybe it made sense. But the meaning was clear - move it. Getting back in the car, Keystone was curious to note that Caesar had climbed into the driver's seat. He looked impatient and surly, or slightly moreso than the usual cut and frame of his attitude. Well, if the old man wanted to drive, so be it. It's not like there was much else to do, and he had been sitting in the passenger's seat for a fairly long time at the mercy of whatever thoughts were plaguing him. He was the brooding and growling type. Keystone knew. He'd been doing that for the past fifty miles or so, and it was getting to be a little creepy. If El Jefe wanted to drive, [i]great[/i]. As it turned out, Caesar's impatience translated into a lead foot, hurtling the SUV down a highway blessedly devoid of local law enforcement. Keystone finally broke down and selected some of his more uplifting tunes, delving into his collection of ...um... Contemporary British Female Vocal R&B/Blue-Eyed Soul genre-ed music. He kept it low at first, but as he became more comfortable with listening to it in front of Caesar, he gradually upped the volume between songs, as if Caesar wouldn't know it. The joke seemed to be on Keystone, as he looked up after a while to notice the grizzled Mexican staring at him from the driver's seat. Perhaps his eyes were better kept on the road, but no, the holes he was boring into Keystone were palpable, and singed around the edges. It wasn't until Keystone saw something in the distance and pointed that the Caesar let up. The column of white smoke rising from the east definitely stood out. Whatever caused it, it was huge. Natural disaster? Explosion? Building fire? They simply couldn't tell from their current vantage point. But the wisps of smoke and haze it poured over the surrounding area gave it an ominous feel. [color=b8860b]"Bloody 'ell, Boss. This place looks like Lower Uncton at a distance, eh?"[/color] [color=ff4500]"Like I know where that is, Keystone. How far out are we?"[/color] [color=b8860b]"Roundabouts 15 or 16 kilometers, more or less."[/color] Despite the insistence of the roadside signs and online directions to use the more American system of [i]miles[/i], the Brit had it in his head to resort to the European standard, if just for that occasion. One of the tiny things he could control in an otherwise uncontrollable situation. [color=ff4500]"Good."[/color] he said no more in the subject, plowing the vehicle forward while Keystone continued listening to his music.