Nov 29 02:49:59 107 PA - First House in Laramy Between Warriors

From Chronicles

Nov 29 02:49:59 107 PA.

TOWN OF LARAMY

Sebastien might be found outside the General Store, clad in a slim white jacket and a pair of sacks. He stands before Sara, her gear in a pile nearby, and the horse looks surprisingly clean. He's currently working on the armor and other stored gear, scrubbing with a variety of new-looking cleaning supplies and oils from the store out there in the street.

Leaning up against the side of the saloon, just sitting right on the ground is Gabriel, helmet off, gauntlets and greaves off, but the breastplate, groin, and upper arm and leg armor features remaining. He seems to be doing the classic warrior tradition of grabbing sleep when it's available after combat seems to have gone... not knowing when it may come around again. The older gentleman's head is lolled to one side, and his mouth is moving as if he may be speaking. Seems reasonable, considering the beating that he took.

Sebastien finishes scrubbing the barding and frowns at the gash along the side, the right side of his face drawing a touch pale at the expression. He leans in close and then turns aside, considering Gabriel's armor. Then, with a sudden smirk, he takes one, and then another casual step towards the older man, crouching beside him to reach down and fiddle uselessly with a sponge as a pretext to listen to what words may escape the aging soldier's lips.

"Ya tebya lyublyu, do skorova svidaniya, Natashka," Gabriel mumbles quietly to himself, if someone might be leaning in really close. Perhaps intrusively close. Rudely close, even. In fact, it's probably the subtle change in thermal energy near the man's head that causes his eyes to swing open, and his eyes to swivel side to side. It takes only a - blink of an eye - to notice the man standing over him. But instead of greeting the fellow, Gabriel yawns widely and asks, "What time is it?"

"Around three," Sebastien replies. He may not be directly over Gabriel, but he's standing awfully close. Sebastien squeezes out the sponge, completing his pretext, and shakes it unnecessarily. "This city is independent, but the Coalition has a strong presence here. They run patrols similar to the one that aided us. They recruit from here. And this," he makes a small motion at the CP-50 that he's partially obscuring with his body, "is not sold. You can get one only by stealing it, generally from a dead soldier. I would put it away, monsieur, while you are here."

The warrior from the early 20th century quickly gets to his feet, slapping on armor as he goes, save for the helmet. The speed is quite impressive, really. The L-20 is scooped up and swung over his shoulder, as is the rifle, which some people, if they were to take a picture of it and compare it to a picture back at the Library, they might identify as a Soviet Dragunov Sniper Rifle manufactured around 1945. Fortunately, Laramy is not exactly Paris, as they say, and there's quite sufficient debris laying around to cover the heavy rifle. Sure, if someone asked Gabriel about Paris, or anything having to do with the country or people of France, he'd have nothing good to say about them. But the analogy remains apt. "Thanks, Sebastian. These people collaborators or something? I don't see anyone marching in lockstep looking for contraband."

Sebastien just peers up at the now rapidly-moving man, uttering softly, "Calmly. You're making a scene." He waits a few moments until the rifle is mostly covered, then straightens, turning back towards Sara to begin strapping on her now-cleaned barding. "Desperate, mostly. Small towns like this survive on trade. It is a convenient layover between the East and the Western reaches. Kingsdale is ... less convenient. Out of the way, less neutral, higher prices, you know. Political. They are not doing so well right now, with bandits hurting trade and burning farms, and the promise of Coalition safety is appealing. Some would congratulate that spoil of yours, but others would turn you in to garner favor."

Gabriel mutters something that contains the words, "Laramy," "French," "pussy," "bastard," "collaborators," and ends with the phrase, "...should have cut it into parts and rented the whole country out as a sub-let." However, his eyes turn to Sebastian on the ground, as he resets his rifles across his back. "Well, thanks, Sebastian. Assholes." Vixen's presence outside of the saloon is noted with a quick and sloppy salute as one might offer a civilian under his charge, and then he expels a long breath. "So, how long are we going to be around, anyway? Maybe I'll ask a few questions."

"They want to live," Sebastien replies softly. "The Coalition is at least reaching out, providing patrols. How are we not the assholes for doing more than the fascists? There are some private citizens from Kingsdsale who step in when things get truly dire here, but the city itself? Self-interested. Those soldiers who you see, the ones who do come here? They're from Chi-Town, or farther. They don't know these people. But they care."

Gabriel shakes his head. "Please, they don't care. I might not have been here long, but I know a dictatorship when I see one. There's never been a dictatorial army in history that wasn't made up of one-percent believers and ninety-nine percent poor conscripted or too terrified not to enlist bastards just being taken along for the ride." He seems less than impressed with the explanation, waving his hand slowly to take in Laramy. "You have to make a stand, one way or another. I respect people more who choose to be my enemy than those who wait around to play both sides and see which direction the winds blow." His eyes then turn toward Sebastian. "Kingsdale? I could really care less. I don't even live within the fucking walls. I enjoy being left alone, and I do God's work by helping those whom I can. Maybe I'm wrong. But at least I've made a goddam choice." The older man then leans back against the wall, grunts, and crosses his arms across his chest.

Sebastien grins slyly at that, finishing buttoning up Sara's barding. He does one last check of the straps and buckles that hold it in place, coaxing the horse to move a little to ensure it's not too tight, and then begins adding his saddle and bags. "The white knight, here at last!" He declares, a pale blue eye fixing on Gabriel. There's a joke there, something private, before Sebastien looks away from the man again and asks, "So when you get back, you will donate your profits to the betterment of Laramy, oui? Doing the work of God to affirm your choice to help against the tide of oppression?"

Vixen comes out of the saloon with a smooth step, her coat far less spiff with its shredded back. But it still flaps nicely, what's left to flap. And she has a casual hand on her belt, close to her sidearm. She pauses a few steps out, glancing around with her head cocked slightly. But after a moment she seems content with the area and she notes Seb and Gabriel casually. Turning, she walks over towards them at an unhurried pace.

Shaking his head, the older man replies, "No, it's their choice to make, not mine. I'm not here to force anyone one way or another. Like I said, I respect the man who chooses to be my enemy. But eventually everyone must make a Stand -" somehow the tone of his voice seems to demand a capital letter "- or by inaction, they have chosen to stand against the side of what is good and right. All that it takes for the triumph of evil is for good men to stand aside and do nothing." Despite the perhaps philosophical musings, Gabriel manages to turn his head and smile as Vixen emerges. "I didn't do so well getting you here in one piece, did I?" he says in a thick Kentucky drawl.

Sebastien muses, "Perhaps. But I think many of the people who make no stand, do so because they wish to keep their families alive. That has a nobility of its own, non?" The young one glances up at Vixen, smirking at the armor now that they have some down time. Straps, buckles, and whips. My oh my, Gabriel, I do believe she is in one piece." pub Options?

Vixen smirks at the two of them as she pauses nearby, arms lifting to lightly cross her chest. "I'm fine. I'll have to get a new coat probably, but this one has lasted longer than I expected. And not a dent on my armor yet. You learn to move fast where I grew up." She then considers them both as she says, "Getting sides hammered out is why I'm here. Doesn't matter how Laramy stands, if they don't side with the Coalition. One way or another they'll be made to fall into line. The Coalition is all about control. If they don't control it, it isn't worth shit to them. And if they do, they turn it to shit. So either way you're screwed. Might as well live free."

There's a shrug, and Gabriel suggests, "We could train people as partisans. I've had a lot of experience with that." It comes as a flat statement that can't help but sound believable. "You don't live free if it's only because you're cowering beneath the heel of a conquering army. Make a fucking stand. Better to die like a lion than to live a lifetime like a mouse." He coughs, then says, "Of course, it's best to continue to live like the lion and kill the other bastard." Gabriel then stands up to his full, massive 5'4" height, free of leaning against the wall. In a lower voice, one so as not to carry, he asks, "I realize that this isn't my business, I'm not here to know, but if you'd like to fill me in on exactly what kind of 'hammering' you're doing, I'd be interested. But I know that I'm not necessarily in the position to be privy." That last word sounds very incongruous coming out of the drawl.

Sebastien chuckles at that. "I must be listening to too many of the broadcasts of Vixen. Talk is cheap. Perhaps you might even rile the mob. You may get the most gullible killed, those patriots who rose to your call to arms. And then who will feed their sons, their widows? You're not ready for that responsibility yet. You no longer have a country behind you, Gabriel. You are a pecker in the woods with too many guns. Lead. Inspire. Do. Make it their choice."

Vixen eyes Seb, but answers Gabriel, "How else? Talking. This is the easy part. Seeing just what the head honchos have to say.. what they think. The hard part will be Kingsdale's council. But I think I can get their attention, if I don't have it already. They can try to ignore me, but it won't work because I'm not afraid to hit below the belt and fight dirty. Fighting the Coalition head on is pointless. Even if they stood there and took it, we don't have enough clips to cap every Deadboy. Probably got a million fools fighting for their grand vision. The key is to be below notice while they're brawling with the big boys, but reach over and get a claw in once in a while on the side without getting more than a glance. Laramy doesn't have to fight the Coalition. Just leaning towards Kingsdale is saying enough. And unless the Coalition wants a black eye that has nothing to do with getting shot up, they can't do too much about it. Yet."

Gabriel waves a moderately dismissive hand. "Yeah, I'm the new guy, I get that. But number one, nobody need a country, you just need an ideal. A man or woman who believes in his or her cause will triumph. Deaths? Yes. But that comes with war, that comes with freedom. Freedom isn't just handed over, unless some other poor bastard is told to put his life on the line to give it to you." None of this is said as a confrontation, of course, just more philosophy that is clearly becoming rather tiresome to the man at the moment. "Second, the Coalition already has both a foothold and an excuse. Only people who will see it as a black eye are the ones who already disagree with them anyway." The older man clears his throat. "You think if Laramy sides with us, they'll be left alone or something?"

"You want to die?" Sebastien asks bluntly. "Go. Die for your cause. I know the Coalition, I left them, and I still do not understand your irrational hatred of them. They are wrong, yes. There are wicked men following them, yes. Gabriel, did it ever occur to you how were saved, just then? That patrol saw a group of humans fighting a group of nonhumans in mutual combat. How did they know who to save? How did they decide their 'good guys?' They were Coalition. They shot the red-skinned folk. Perhaps you should gather your rifle and charge them until they kill you? You could help end their bigotry, show them that evil can come in a human package as well? When we fight, when we kill, it should never be for an idea. For God. It should be because we want to survive. Because someone is coming for our homes. Vixen here wishes to make Missouri expansion too expensive and unpalatable for an already-strained Coalition. I support this. If they come to kill me, I will kill them back. If they come to kill my neighbor, I will defend him as well. But when they come here with aid, when they come to defend the trade routes, frankly I don't understand it."

"They're coming here to 'help' because they want cool points," Vixen says, simply. "They don't have the resources to take this place cleanly.. they'd lose heavy with Kingsdale because Donner and his boys are a tough nut to crack. They could run this place down easy, probably. But there's no profit for them in it. But every little town and kingdom they can turn without a shot? Massive PR. They're fighting with good will here now. What I'm looking to do is to make sure no one gets fooled by the 'kindly' Coalition. Only reason those boys didn't mist us was for being human. If we were D-Bees being attacked by some human raiders, we would have gone down first. They were useful enough, but a save won't make me forget what they stand for and what the real objective is. I want them gone and our people, Kingsdale and Laramy, watching our land."

Gabriel seems to appreciate Vixen's point of view, and tires of Sebastian's. "Sounds about right," he offers toward the woman. "I have no idea what the politics are between Kingsdale and Laramy. I don't know what the economics are. But I know a siege being laid when I see one." Any further opinion he may have on the subject, however, goes unsaid. Instead, his head turns and he takes in the wandering populace. "Makes me wonder if I shouldn't do a little roaming until you're ready to go, Miss Vixen. I'll go out on a limb and say that even in this world, soldiers occasionally get drunk and spill things that they shouldn't."

"How does the saying go?" Sebastien wonders, "Good fences make good neighbors. I don't mind being a fencepost, keeping them out. But the Coalition is my neighbor. I would rather learn to live with them than bathe in their blood. Do we not have enemies enough, that while these people are being reasonable, we do not be unreasonable?" He winks at Gabriel, and nods back at the inn. "When do we leave? I have limited battery life on the armor, but I would like to get back inside if it is logistically feasible."

Vixen offers, "Kingsdale doesn't want to provoke the Coalition more than necessary. Obviously a good thing, but it makes them overcautious when they shouldn't be." She then considers Seb and notes, "Reasonable is a trick right now. They want you to relax and let them slip their fingers in. I should know, I know all about getting good will going when it comes to influence. I've played the game before." She then says, "I'm expecting a meeting today. Should all go well, we can get out of here tomorrow. I don't want to stay too much longer.. give whoever is after me a chance to hire more muscle." Her brow creases. "I still don't understand that shit."

Gabriel manages to find his way out of philosophy and politics for a time. "Yeah, I've been meaning to ask - what the FUCK were those things? I mean, yeah, laser cannons are new to me, but where I come from, you shoot something in the face, and the goddamn thing goes down! It didn't even fucking notice!" He's not raising his voice, simply becoming slightly more animated in his speech. The Marine raises a noting finger: "Not just something out of Brahm Stoker, no. Damn things had metal in their heads - no offense. Just not the kind of thing that I'm used to escorting against." The man seems more irritated than upset, but also genuinely looking for answers.

"Demons," Sebastien replies simply. "You think humans are on the run and numbered because the cities fell down? Because we're all humping elves and not making babies? Those are mild compared to the worst. They are enormous, armored, and can sometimes turn invisible. This is why I do not rely on firearms, Monsieur. With how fast they are, with how armored they are, it ends up in close combat."

Vixen snorts faintly and taps her temple lightly. "I have it too, I just have better gear and don't like showing it off. Pretty crass if you ask me." She glances towards Seb, then back to Gabriel. "Leo said they were Brodkil. You want to know about the weird shit around here, talk to him. He knows about some stuff like that. Me, I never really studied. I prefer machines to freaky killer D-Bees. Ironic that they got chopped instead of chopping me. I'd never ambush someone for their cyber, but turnabout is fair every time."

"Brodkil," comes the rolled-around word in a thick Kentucky accent that makes it sound even stranger. "Brodkil. Nope, don't remember that one anywhere. Still..." Gabriel shifts his weight. "...chasing people down to cut things out of their heads is rather unusual. Closest I've heard is the complete removal of the head simply for death purposes. I won't ask what's in there," he says, gently tapping his head. "Probably best if none of us know."

Sebastien chuckles softly at that, and reaches down to pick up a small stone from the street. He picks up a rock and hucks it into the air, only to watch as it hangs seven feet up. Stationary, there in the air. "Many things are not what they seem," Sebastien speaks, peering up at that rock. "The lesson to take is that your enemy may be invulnerable to your laser. It may only be hurt by wood, by fire, by silver, or iron. Each enemy you see may be naturally armored stronger than a tank. Do you have silver rounds for that large rifle of yours?"

"Ain't seen nothing yet that don't get chewed up by a particle beam," Vixen opines. "Except maybe vampires, but I got those fucks covered too." She glances up at the stone and frowns faintly before she notes to Gabriel, "Don't worry about it. There's always something popping up here or there that's new and annoying as hell. So everyone gets surprised eventually. That's why you don't go out alone when you do go out. Unless you're really sure you can take care of yourself."

"Silver?" Gabriel looks between the man and woman, one slightly more well-known that the other. I takes off the gauntlet of his right hand and yanks down on his armored neck. "The only silver I own," he states, indicating the ring on his right hand's fourth finger and the obviously-religious crucifix around his neck. What the purpose of silver may be, that remains unknown. In a thick drawl, "Far as I know, only silver I ever need. I'm not one of those men who wears jewelry, and I have no one to give jewelry to." He puts his armor pieces back on and chuckles. "Not that she's the kind of woman who wants lots of fancy jewelry."

"Last year," Sebastien speaks, and frowns. "Two years ago? The city was plagued by the undead. Blood-eating slime harmed by only fire. Skeletal soldiers harmed by only silver. And worse, most also wore armor. Many dragons are invulnerable to an element or another. Many mages are completely immune to energy attacks -- I imagine your Leonard is one?" Sebastien peers pointedly at Vixen. "Silver will harm most undead, as well as many shapeshifters." He reaches up for his saddlebags, and pulls down a short over/under with a pistol grip, and swings it open. "Two three-inch shells holding one and one quarter ounces of silver each."

"I tend to prefer creds," Vixen states simply to Gabriel. And Seb's question on Leo gets a shrug. "I haven't figured out everything he can do." As the three are talking, a man in armor comes up, but not into the circle of conversation. But he stands where Vixen can see him, in a bid to get her attention. She looks over, a brow arched and he nods. She looks between Sebastien and Gabriel and says, "Alright, time to go. You boys hold the fort, this one I do alone. But yeah, we can talk about it when I get back if you want." She lifts a casual hand, then turns to follow the man off.

Gabriel is clearly taken aback. "What are we the fucking Lone rangers? Hunting werewolves of something?" He looks off into space for a moment. "Can't remember who played the Wolfman." Then he's back to the present. "Nevertheless - in my day, silver was not a cheap commodity. Someone find another huge Comstock Lode in Nevada?"

"It still is not cheap," Sebastien replies. "It is, I am sure, more expensive than it was once upon a day. But there are less of us, the silver has not gone away, and no munitions are cheap. Explosive rounds for that shotgun are three hundred credits each. Silver is expensive, but still less. Your armor cost what, thirty thousand credits? How much did armor cost where you came from?"

Flatly - "When I was in the field, there was no armor. Didn't even wear helmets, because it made it hard to go unnoticed, and the damn things would only stop a glancing blow from shrapnel at best." Gabriel shrugs. "Then, in the city, obviously you can't impersonate your way into whatever your business is if you're wearing armor. Not that it mattered. There was no armor. Sure, the flyboys had flak jackets, but boys on the ground weren't going to slop around in the damn things. Wouldn't stop a bullet, anyway." None of this is a complaint, just simple statement of fact. Then he taps his own armored breastplate and unhooks the helmet from his waist, inverting it so that the base of the thin is up. "This stuff was free. The previous owner experienced a malfunction right here -" tapping the under-chin "-and since no one else was around to claim it, I called 'dibs.' Free is my favorite price." Further explanation is left unsaid.

The francophone raises his eyebrows, murmuring, "Must have been nice to be in such a simple place. That demon could have slapped you into three pieces without much effort. Myself as well, which is why I wear this terrible stuff." Sebastien waves at the armored platemail he wears, inside. "But sadly, it was not free. Speaking of which, I think it is time I put it back on. Monsieur, au revoir. You should hit that bar. Ask for war stories that involve things not heard by lasers. The rumors you hear may come in handy, non?" Sebastien grins, and meanders towards the inn, letting Sara fend for herself.

Gabriel allows the man to go fairly silently. Just another salute to a lower-ranking officer. "Take care." He then rather surreptitiously pulls a bit of antique machinery over to cover his perhaps bad-to-have Coalition-issue weapon. As both of his companions have now gone, he starts to wander off, with no particular direction in mind.