[center][color=cyan][h2]Gerard Biserus[/h2][/color][/center]

[color=cyan]“If I can go the entire war without having to engage in something as menial as driving a truck, I'll be happy."[/color] Gerard replied haughtily, [color=cyan]"Besides, we're on a single lane, straight road in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Who is going to shoot at us? Don't answer that."[/color] Gerard added in quickly. Even after the radio had changed, the conversation quickly branched into what could be done about the incoming Vangar royal and whether or not she would be captured, killed, or turned into some hit piece against Rassvet. Much to Lance's displeasure, when everyone on the truck was WARDEN, after 10 years of nothing but, shop-talk was hard to avoid. At least for some of them- for others, the conversation seemed to just quite literally fly over their head, as their conversation was interrupted by an explosion, small bits and fragments bouncing off a shimmering barrier that Gerard had constructed around the bed of the truck when they first started the trip.

Perhaps being around Silje had numbed Gerard to random acts of violence or explosions- maybe such a hardened attitude would stop him from panicking on the field, or more likely he'd pay too little caution to the sounds of actual explosions from enemy ordnance when the time came. Gerard glanced up to the roof of the truck cab that their resident time bomb was currently sat. He'd long since asking pointless questions like 'why?'. Silje would do what Siljes did, and it wasn't Gerard's job to keep her on a leash. It was currently Justice's, and soon enough it would be someone else's issue entirely. It was a wonder they hadn't all been terribly maimed already. Reaching into the cooler beneath his seat, Gerard drew another can of soda, and with another burst of telekinesis sent it flying up out of the truck and towards Silje on the roof. The battlemage thankfully, had been banned from the booze, though keeping her fueled with teeth rotting sugar syrup wasn't exactly cheap either. 

[color=cyan]"They probably care about the Princess little enough to send her here, but enough that they'd use her death as an excuse to carpet bomb us back to maker."[/color] Gerard commented dryly, his voice raising over the volume dial of the radio Lance was actively manipulating. [color=cyan]"Political machinations are an enigma. Trying to understand them just kills my buzz."[/color]

Looking out the side of the truck and at the stretch of dirt along road, Gerard watched as a bullet shark the size of a cow broke out of the ground with a rumble. The sleek, smoothed metal of its armored carapace curling up like a ball as it rolled alongside the truck for a short while- likely sizing them up to see if they were worth its time- before breaking away and diving back into the rough, craggy soil. It probably smelled the etherium-disel the truck was burning, but they were either moving too fast, or didn't look tasty enough for it to bother with them. [color=cyan]"Which one of us do you think scares off the most wildlife? My vote is Justice."[/color]

[hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/iccZTb6.png[/img][/center]

By the loosest definition of the term, one could barely consider Sapple Springs a town anymore. It was [i]once [/i]a prospector’s town, but nobody tried to make it more than that, so when the Levistone ran dry its was only a matter of time till folks went looking for greener pastures. In their place abandoned machines, houses, and other refuse remained, a destitute collection splayed atop a small crest in the topography that jutted outward from the otherwise flat countryside like a sore. Along the old main street clung the last few stubborn remnants of life: a cramped looking Marshall's office, the rare and peculiar type of dive-bar that could only be found in the middle of nowhere and combination convenience store and gas station, connected to a rustic- and rusty- single storied motel called the Cloudgazer, if the sputtering neon sign mounted to the roof was to be believed. A small but persistent ecology thriving upon the slow yet ever constant trickle of vehicles down the High Road.

The military truck broke the solemn air as it crested the hill roaring with life: music still blaring, wheels scraping against gravel, inebriated voices unfit to communicate in hushed tones, and the grumble and groan of an engine running on fumes. Puttering to a stop underneath the LED lined canopy of the gas station, the engine gave a sputtered sigh of relief as the vehicle finally slowed down for a break. It would appear that the WARDENs were the only traffic that had come through the town that day, and while a few nosy heads poked out of windows to watch them, no one bothered stepping out of their respective buildings to welcome the travelers. 

[color=cyan]“More or less in once piece, frankly shocking.”[/color] Gerard said aloud, as he climbed out the side of the truck bed, gravel crunching beneath his leather shoes. [color=cyan]"Wonder if it'll hold until we get to Bracca, much less Aporia or Del Sol."[/color] He asked as he stretched his long limbs and began making his way towards the front desk. While not made of money, Gerard- or more specifically his family, was more or less bankrolling their trip across the country, at least as far as lodging, food and fuel went, Gerard wasn't necessarily planning on paying for anyone's bad habits but his own. [color=cyan]"We're only staying here for the evening right? Dust and gravel aren't good for my shoes."[/color]