JesseJ
ItIsJustMe
shylarah
Joshua Tamashii
Annie2002(OOC: I used Carla as you directed me to do. I'm assuming you're going to correct it in your first post?)
Roger Hamilton was at the north gate entrance to Bentonville dealing with a situation when he looked up to see a woman on a three wheeled bike heading toward him down the cracked, weed-choked blacktop road. He knew it was Kimberly Wright immediately, from both the mode of transportation and her appearance, even at this distance. He smiled, both on his face and in his heart, at the thought of a visit from her.
"Deal with this, Sergeant," he told the man supervising the security team at the check point. More to himself than anyone else, he murmured as he began walking north, "I have more important things to deal with."
Although he was wrong, Roger thought he knew more about Kimberly Wright than anyone else in town. He'd been with the Bentonville Militia since its beginning, just weeks after the Blackout that had so dramatically changed the world and the lives of everyone living in it. As a senior officer in the force -- today he was a Major -- he'd had the opportunity to interview the woman who went by Kimmie when she first began trading in the town. He'd also put out the word that upon her arrival at Bentonville, he was to be informed immediately, regardless of whether he was occupied with other important work or not.
To put it simply, Major Roger Hamilton was infatuated with Kimberly Wright.
"It's nice to see you again, Miss Wright," he greeted her as she slowed her bike to a stop, not needing to put a foot down because of the number of wheels. He waited for her reply, then asked, "And how is the family...? The twins growing up, becoming young adults...?"
Roger had made it abundantly clear as early as 2 years ago that he was eager to see now-18-year-old Nicolas join the Militia soon. He promised Kimmie, "We'll make a man out of him. I'll take personal charge of his training and safety, I assure you. And, of course, you'll be compensated ... paid."
The members of the Bentonville Militia were some of the best paid men and women in town. Only such professional positions as Doctor, Scientific Researcher, Weapons Technicians, and such were compensated as well as those who put their lives on the line to keep Bentonville secure.
Roger had an interest in Nicolas's sister, Carla, as well. Of course, the position he envisioned for the incredibly beautiful, incredibly curvy, and now-adult-age redhead was not one of militiaman but one of bedmate. That wasn't likely to ever happen, of course, and Roger was enough of a realist to understand that. Kimmie had kept the young woman away from Bentonville after she'd once caught Roger ogling her with a hungry expression on his face. The last three or four times he'd laid eyes on her had been at the family's property, when he and his escort had been out and about collecting taxes for their security services.
"Your friend, Laura..." Roger began, hesitating a moment to see if Kimmie would correct his description of her. He was very much aware that the two were lovers. He'd once taken an inconspicuous ride out to their little homestead once for his own information gathering purposes and found them in an intimate situation that left no doubts as to their relationship status. He continued, "She's taking care of the little one I presume ... Lizzie, correct?"
Roger studied Kimmie's reaction to his name dropping and other displays of gathered and recalled information. He had a yearning for knowledge about the people around him, a yearning that was almost as important to him as was his revealing to those people that he had that knowledge. Knowledge is power, his father used to tell him. Knowledge ... and the knowledge of how to use it!
He'd expected Kimmie to have trade goods in the cart behind her trike and, thusly, he hadn't paid much to the cart until there was movement under the blanket tucked around its edges. It wasn't a chicken or kid or rabbit that moved, though, but was little Lizzie instead.
When he learned the reason for Kimmie's visit, Roger didn't hesitate to jump into action. He turned and whistled to the Sergeant who was still dealing with a man who wanted to enter Bentonville without any trade goods. He told him, "Get Miss Wright and her girl to the Doctor ... now!"
He looked back to the matriarch of the farm located to the north, smiled, and reached his hand out. In it was a blue, rectangular poker chip, the style of which -- as far as the non-gambling Roger was aware -- had normally only ever been used in casinos in Europe and the Orient. Bentonville had once been the home of the company that had made these chips and hundreds of other chips specific to individual casinos around the world.
These days, this particular chip was used by visitors to the town as a pass, allowing them access to most of the town's facilities and services. There was a second such chip, this one red, which was more restricted in nature, so much so that Roger wasn't even allowed to have one on his person without the expressed permission of his superior, the Colonel, who was, of course, the leader of Bentonville and its Militia.
"Do I have to remind you not to lose this, Miss Wright?" he asked kindly. He knew he didn't, but he would have been remiss to not ask. The last person who had lost such a pass was still in a cell at the Sheriff's Department. (Of course, that wasn't so much because he'd lost the pass and was more about the fact that he'd transferred it to someone else without authority.) He told her, "Go with the Sergeant, Miss Wright. He'll get you to the Clinic. I'll come check on you shortly."
Roger Hamilton was at the north gate entrance to Bentonville dealing with a situation when he looked up to see a woman on a three wheeled bike heading toward him down the cracked, weed-choked blacktop road. He knew it was Kimberly Wright immediately, from both the mode of transportation and her appearance, even at this distance. He smiled, both on his face and in his heart, at the thought of a visit from her.
"Deal with this, Sergeant," he told the man supervising the security team at the check point. More to himself than anyone else, he murmured as he began walking north, "I have more important things to deal with."
Although he was wrong, Roger thought he knew more about Kimberly Wright than anyone else in town. He'd been with the Bentonville Militia since its beginning, just weeks after the Blackout that had so dramatically changed the world and the lives of everyone living in it. As a senior officer in the force -- today he was a Major -- he'd had the opportunity to interview the woman who went by Kimmie when she first began trading in the town. He'd also put out the word that upon her arrival at Bentonville, he was to be informed immediately, regardless of whether he was occupied with other important work or not.
To put it simply, Major Roger Hamilton was infatuated with Kimberly Wright.
"It's nice to see you again, Miss Wright," he greeted her as she slowed her bike to a stop, not needing to put a foot down because of the number of wheels. He waited for her reply, then asked, "And how is the family...? The twins growing up, becoming young adults...?"
Roger had made it abundantly clear as early as 2 years ago that he was eager to see now-18-year-old Nicolas join the Militia soon. He promised Kimmie, "We'll make a man out of him. I'll take personal charge of his training and safety, I assure you. And, of course, you'll be compensated ... paid."
The members of the Bentonville Militia were some of the best paid men and women in town. Only such professional positions as Doctor, Scientific Researcher, Weapons Technicians, and such were compensated as well as those who put their lives on the line to keep Bentonville secure.
Roger had an interest in Nicolas's sister, Carla, as well. Of course, the position he envisioned for the incredibly beautiful, incredibly curvy, and now-adult-age redhead was not one of militiaman but one of bedmate. That wasn't likely to ever happen, of course, and Roger was enough of a realist to understand that. Kimmie had kept the young woman away from Bentonville after she'd once caught Roger ogling her with a hungry expression on his face. The last three or four times he'd laid eyes on her had been at the family's property, when he and his escort had been out and about collecting taxes for their security services.
"Your friend, Laura..." Roger began, hesitating a moment to see if Kimmie would correct his description of her. He was very much aware that the two were lovers. He'd once taken an inconspicuous ride out to their little homestead once for his own information gathering purposes and found them in an intimate situation that left no doubts as to their relationship status. He continued, "She's taking care of the little one I presume ... Lizzie, correct?"
Roger studied Kimmie's reaction to his name dropping and other displays of gathered and recalled information. He had a yearning for knowledge about the people around him, a yearning that was almost as important to him as was his revealing to those people that he had that knowledge. Knowledge is power, his father used to tell him. Knowledge ... and the knowledge of how to use it!
He'd expected Kimmie to have trade goods in the cart behind her trike and, thusly, he hadn't paid much to the cart until there was movement under the blanket tucked around its edges. It wasn't a chicken or kid or rabbit that moved, though, but was little Lizzie instead.
When he learned the reason for Kimmie's visit, Roger didn't hesitate to jump into action. He turned and whistled to the Sergeant who was still dealing with a man who wanted to enter Bentonville without any trade goods. He told him, "Get Miss Wright and her girl to the Doctor ... now!"
He looked back to the matriarch of the farm located to the north, smiled, and reached his hand out. In it was a blue, rectangular poker chip, the style of which -- as far as the non-gambling Roger was aware -- had normally only ever been used in casinos in Europe and the Orient. Bentonville had once been the home of the company that had made these chips and hundreds of other chips specific to individual casinos around the world.
These days, this particular chip was used by visitors to the town as a pass, allowing them access to most of the town's facilities and services. There was a second such chip, this one red, which was more restricted in nature, so much so that Roger wasn't even allowed to have one on his person without the expressed permission of his superior, the Colonel, who was, of course, the leader of Bentonville and its Militia.
"Do I have to remind you not to lose this, Miss Wright?" he asked kindly. He knew he didn't, but he would have been remiss to not ask. The last person who had lost such a pass was still in a cell at the Sheriff's Department. (Of course, that wasn't so much because he'd lost the pass and was more about the fact that he'd transferred it to someone else without authority.) He told her, "Go with the Sergeant, Miss Wright. He'll get you to the Clinic. I'll come check on you shortly."