[center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/935994562026016780/1042155323756130407/WalkerHeadPic.png[/img] [h3]A Lotta Talkin'[/h3][/center] [hr] [b]Town Hall[/b] [i]Whitlash[/i] The next to enter the Hall was the Ghoul, and Walker noted the man's own position across the way. Far as he could tell, he and Sam Smith shared a lot in common--"old men" by everyone else's definition, wanderers who simply stumbled into town one day and then stuck around. And he had seen the mutant hit a crack shot more than once...but then, the way the rumors went, he'd had over a hundred years to practice. Walker felt confident that he'd gotten just as good in less than half the time. But other than that... He'd never let it show, and thus far hadn't said anything. But to be perfectly honest...Walker thought of Ghouls like time bombs. So far as he knew, they [i]always[/i] went Feral. It was just a matter of when. And anyone who claimed they weren't disgusted with the mutants' looks were lying to themselves out of social virtue, in the old Texan's point of view. Sure, it didn't mean you had to treat the man any different...but human beings had a tendency to avoid or feel uncomfortable around stuff like that for a reason. So, when he couldn't help thinking like that...it seemed the more polite and honorable thing to just avoid Sam where he could, and keep interactions short when he couldn't. More of the Mormons entered the old church as well, filtering between the pews. Aside from them, Walker saw Eliza take a back row seat in front of Sam. When she pulled out the .45 and swiftly checked the safety, Walker once again admired the weapon. Not enough people really knew how to take care of their equipment anymore, at least not like the girl did. Wherever she was from, she'd clearly been trained and educated. The same was true of Elijah, who came close to blocking the doorway as he placed a hand on his weapon. Walker mentally took back his last thought about the man's education, and blew out the edges of his mustache. No need to put hands on a gun if you weren't about to draw--the last thing they needed in this crowded little matchbox was for someone to get jumpy or an itchy trigger finger. Raven, and those three dunderheads he called a "militia," were next through the doors. Alexander, the northerner whom Walker suspected had just come back from a patrol, also took up a position on the wall like many of the others but not at the back of the room. Instead he posted up about halfway across the room. Whitlash had accrued itself quite a little posse for itself over the past few years...a lot of combat experience, it seemed, for a little out of the way gaggle of farmsteaders. Finally, Mayor Nicholas and that little croney of his, Johnathan, climbed onto the podium. After a quick and pointless thanks and assurance that they had, indeed, rung the bell for a reason, the fisherman got [i]to[/i] the reason. [i]Dammit, shoulda bet somebody. Would've won the caps.[/i] Walker rolled his mouth as if he were going to spit, but held back for the sake of the old church's floorboards. So Raiders had captured one of the outlying facilities Whitlash operated, along with everyone working in it--including one of Nicholas's daughters. When Walker heard that, his lip curled and his nose wrinkled...like a dog with its hackles up. In his mind, an old scene played out-- [i]A little girl was screaming. He was trying to get through the door--it finally gave way with a vicious kick. Smoke was starting to fill the house. He saw the man standing over the girl and cocked the hammer back--[/i] His name was called, snapping the man out of his flashback. Somehow, he was able to replay what Nicholas had said despite disassociating for a moment. So the mayor wanted him, and some of these other rag-taggers, to take on the Helena Raiders Legion? Walker had heard of a Legion before, but for some reason these didn't seem like the same varmints. The rest of the town was told to disperse--but Walker had an iffy feeling about things. [i]Nick should've called our names from the get-go, then told the rest of 'em to leave without any more details.[/i] What if someone from the town decided to try and play hero, or do something else equally stupid and risky? What if the Raiders had a man or woman on the inside? Or some thick browed idiot decided they wanted to run away from home and live the criminal life, and decided to give the Raiders a heads-up as a way of ingratiating themselves to the gang? Well, he was stuck in it now. Best to pay attention. The mayor outlined the rest of the situation, and again Walker rolled his mouth. His eyes never left the map from the moment it was unrolled, as he committed every squiggle to memory. That was something else he was proud of, at his age...although it also made sleeping difficult, some nights when the memories he [i]didn't[/i] want decided to pop back up... When Nicholas asked if there were any questions, Walker knew it was going to open a damn flood gate. Conor wanted to know the enemy's numbers--a smart question, but one that Walker imagined would be useless. Even if Nicholas had a scout or two setting eyes on the factory, they were apparently dealing with a "legion" of Raiders. This group might be able to call reinforcements--or said numbers might've already arrived. Any report they were liable to get couldn't be treated as gospel, only speculation. And you could spend all day speculating and never get anywhere. Elijah was confident--too confident, for Walker's taste. And he immediately laucnhed into a plan for a stealth operation. The Texas didn't like the repairman's body language; like Elijah already felt in charge of the situation. Then Sam chimed in, in his gravelly voice. Walker's brow furrowed. He understood the point the Ghoul was making--but felt like Sam had it backwards. Raiders weren't the type to keep to deals, and sure as hell wouldn't give up the hostages and leave first. To Walker's mind, if they [i]did[/i] give in to the thugs' demands and deliver food, supplies, and so forth, the raiders would simply take the hostages with them until they were far enough away to escape pursuit, [i]then[/i] release the hostages to run back home. And that was only [i]best case[/i] scenario. Given Walker's experience...the Raiders would just take everything and demand more. The whole "kill 'em all," bit, though, that he liked. And even the staked bodies part. The Ghoul's methods were as gristly as his face, but that didn't have to be a bad thing. Raven wanted to know about the Raiders' weapons, armor, and tactics. Again, smart questions--if somebody worth a damn would teach these boys, Whitlash wouldn't be short on leader-types. But having too many chiefs and not enough indians would be a problem in itself. Then, though, the conversation turned to soemthing about drugging the food, sniping, negotiations, and then Walker tuned it out. [b]"Stop."[/b] said the old man, raising his voice in a loud growl for the first time that morning. He looked at the others, then directed his gaze at Nicholas. [b]"Who's leading?"[/b] If there wasn't a leader, someone to say "ten hut!" and have the rest snap to attention, then this whole damn thing would turn into arguing over the best way to do the same damn things over and over. Whether all these different suggestions were feasible or not--Walker had no idea where Raven expected to get a damned "delayed action sedative" in a podunk town where the closest thing to a hospital was a tent full of Mormons--was one thing, whether their group could agree on who got to do what was another, and Walker didn't have the time or patience to put it all to a vote. Neither did those hostages at the factory.