[center][h2][color=54C571][i][b]Sam Smith[/b][/i][/color][/h2][/center][hr]
Sam woke with a groan and a stretch, listening to and feeling his body protest; he’d [i]never[/i] been a morning person, and things certainly hadn’t improved with age. Climbing out from under his blanket, he got to his feet and stretched once more before getting dressed to start his day.

His place had stared life as a nice pre-War two car garage, the associated house having burned down not long after the bombs fell. Being unclaimed when he’d arrived in Whitlash, he took it over, converting one corner into a sleeping area and the rest into a mixture of cooking and storage. Stoking up the wood stove to push back the morning chill, he rummaged about in the old chest freezer he used as a cooler for food storage. [color=54C571][i]Need to get back out there.[/i][/color] He thought as he dug through. He was getting down on his foraged stuff and he tried to leave the pre-War scavenged food for emergencies.

With the stove hot, he set a frying pan on top and tossed a piece of bighorner on to cook. A couple of quick flips to keep it nice and rare he then lifted off the heat and onto a plate. Adding some chopped barrel cactus fruit and a honey mesquite pod to the pan, he put it back on the heat and added a little wine. Once that was cooked, he poured that over the bighorner and sat in what passed as his living/dining area, an old armchair and coffee table.

Once done, he cleaned up and closed the damper on the stove, letting the flames die down. He was about to pull out a map of the area and see about doing a little hunting and or scavving when the bell rang. [color=54C571]”Fan[i]-fucking-[/i]tastic.”[/color] He muttered. Making sure his armor was sitting right, he snagged his scattergun from beside his bed and tucked it into the thigh holster he’d made for it, before putting on his overcoat, hat and grabbing his carbine from its place by the door.

Gear sorted, he stepped outside and made his way a short distance to the town hall. Already folks were gathering, a low hum of conversations as they wondered what was going on. Positioning himself against the back wall, he took a nip from his flask to drive off the last of the morning chill from his old bones.