Survivor: Wasteland Convoy

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Kadaeux, Sep 19, 2015.

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  1. A New Beginning
    3rd May 2117.. or something like that..

    Edinburgh Airport


    The Edinburgh 'airport' long lost mockery of the name sat there as a bee-hive of activity on this most... auspicious... day. The 'Eddies' were abuzz with activity as the majority of the tribe were busy cleaning out the husks of ancient aircraft that had served as their homes, armouries, warehouses. The more set-in-stone tribal elders watching over disapprovingly, less than twenty had elected to remain behind, and had fought to keep all the best equipment, but the convoy could not be denied.

    The Prime Movers were being hooked up to their trailers in one of the vast hangars under the tender touch of their masters or mistresses, from 'Le Petite Firebomb' with her rig to Big Bertha as Brienne of the Knights Stirling working on its big engine, across from them Mitchell and his crew were working on the big Jumbocruiser Bus, next to the crew working on 'the Bus'.

    In a separate hangar Billy Bayliss worked on the Tow Truck as Elizabeth and her men worked on the Minibus that served as a virtual gunship for the Convoy. With them the crews for Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum scrambling to make sure all weapons were loaded. Nearby Stone and his Medium Utility were preparing as well.

    In a third hangar, the lightest vehicles were being prepared, Jacob with his Impala, Katherine with her Sports Car, Francesca with her Mustang, Lance and his Buggy and who could possibly forget, Reggie and her gang of Bikers!

    Soon the air would be filled with the sounds of engines.

    The Wasteland Convoy was on a crusade for Eden, and the lamentation of the Elders couldn't stop it now. First stop, Blackburn, near the Whitehill Industrial Estate!
     
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  2. Stone looked around at the flurry of activity. Today was a historical day. Whether they made it to Eden or not they would be remembered as legends. His two crewman, Brick and Rock, were inspecting the individual track links. Everything down to the bolts on the seats had to be in perfect condition. Stone busied himself by counting bullets and inspecting weapons on a blanket he laid out on the hood. They were short a few cartridges.

    "Oi! Brick. Where're the fuckin' .357?"
    "Try the toolbox."

    Stone checked their toolbox and there were the bullets. "Bullets stay together, near or on the weapons rack, ya hear? I don't feel like dying because your lazy ass doesn't put stuff where it belongs." Usually he wasn't so angry towards his crew members, but events to come were putting him on edge. This was a mighty convoy, but there were mightier beasts in the vast wastelands ahead. He packed up the firearms and put them on the rack in the back seat. Brick reported on the truck.

    "We're in peak condition, sir. I'd feel sorry for whatever tries to stop us."
    "Very good. Hop on. We'll move her outta the hangar."

    Brick sat in the drivers seat. (Btw it's on the left side.) Brick poked himself through the roof and manned the spotlight. Rock took the right rear HMG. Stone honked the horn three times and turned the ignition. The heavy half-track roared to life. Thick black exhaust rose to the ceiling of the hangar. He maneuvered around the tow truck and out onto the crumbling tarmac where he turned off the engine and awaited the others.
     
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  3. Francesca cracked open her Smith & Wesson, checking each cylinder to make sure they were loaded. They were, thank god. She slipped them each into the holsters she had build into the drivers seat and exited the car. It was amazing to think they were actually about to do it. To leave this decrepit graveyard and go find some other decrepit graveyard. Not that she had any aspirations or hopes about this "Eden" everyone was so fired up about. She wasn't sure she thought it existed. But if it did....

    She was brought back to sense by Monty's shouting. She looked at him with a scowl. "Wadda ya want, fool?"

    Monty sighed, holding up the spare rocket they had for the RPG.

    "This won't fit on the rack. Do I put it in the ammo case, or what?"

    "If you can find room, yeah. Just make sure Gerald knows where it is. He might need it."

    Monty nodded, ducking back down into the trunk. Gerald walked around the corner and tossed the Intervention to Francesca, who caught it easily. He rubbed the back of his neck as he approached.

    "That should be it. I was able to find that lying around the armory. Apparently the Elders haven't secured it yet, so I took it. They won't need it, right?"

    Francesca snickered and moved to the trunk, placing the sniper next to the rocket launcher on the rack. They would have one hell of a time, getting this thing across the continent like this. If their suspension didn't give out, one of them might just die. Maybe all of them. Even with that possibility hanging very real in the air, she couldn't shake the smile from her face. This was going to be fun as all hell...
     
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  4. Frederick's windshield glass gleamed a bright orange as dawn broke across the flightline. Billy admired the scene and ran a hand over the surfaces he'd spent so many hours cleaning. The new coat of tan paint he'd paid for had come out looking like blended dog shit, but with a little sanding and stenciling he'd come to love it over the past few days. "Nobody really cares if you look good, ol' pal, just that you can get their ass out of a ditch." he confided to Frederick as he tapped the truck's armored door. Swinging himself up onto the bed he saw a boy about 19 working the action on a Browning .50 caliber machine gun mounted on a low tripod with it's legs welded to the cab's ceiling. "You think that placement will work, Kirk?" Billy asked with a grin. "Hell yeah! I've never got my hands on one of these beasts before!" the boy replied with an ear-splitting grin. Billy chuckled as he made a final look over of the towing rig and it's set of electric & hydraulic lines. Between the newly installed turret, an m240 bravo on the dash, and a harpoon launcher mounted over the passenger-side wheel well, their forward firepower was the best it'd ever been. Jester and Dustin both let out whoops of approval from the cab as an impressive half track roared to life behind them and took the lead in exiting the building.

    Billy had a feeling this was going to be a very lovely day indeed.
     
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  5. "Heave!" Petite roared, shoving forward on the tanker.

    "Ho!" Her crew followed, the tanker jutting forward and slamming into the rig.

    Once the recoil of the impact flushed through the tanker, Petite's crew went about the real work. One went to attach the tanker's cables to the rig, one to fill the tanker, the rest to the various turrets around the rig. The chorus of nearly a dozen weapons being examined began to play as Petite strode to the rig's driver seat. Hauling herself upward to the first step, Petite swung the door outward and clambered inside, letting it creak shut behind her.

    A single, wide bench had been welded into the front and back of the rig's interior, giving enough room for six. From the rear benches' windows pointed two large-caliber, up-sized guns that could swivel in a limited arc around the front of the rig. A top hatch opened to allow crew in and out of the rig, though (more importantly) gave the driver direct access to two harpoon launchers. A fist now slammed on that hatch. Agitated, Petite thrust the hatch open.

    "Hey boss," Bullet Wrench called through the opening. "Tanker's bein' loaded now - should I call up the pump for the rig?"

    She nodded in response.

    "I'll get that goin', then."

    Without waiting for the man to add another parting shot, Petite shut the hatch with a flourish and set about the process of starting the rig. With one switch left to flip, Petite reached by the gear shift, relieved to find her sawn-off still there. Flipping open the breach, seeing two bullets were primed and loaded, the woman slid the weapon back into its holster and reached for the pistol that rested beside it. It too was fully loaded.

    "Clear!"

    Petite blew the horn twice and let the engines roar into life, flicking that last switch. Through the rig, she heard her crew shout with their approval. They would be on the road soon enough.
     
    #5 J_"Kraken", Sep 19, 2015
    Last edited: Sep 19, 2015
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  6. Billy had woken up early that morning, taking the rare initiative to shave. He’d traded some spare ammunition to a local for a hand sewn pair of leather pants, and as he sat in the cab now, he rolled the legs up over his boots. Damn he felt optimistic.

    “Is the radio still acting up?”

    “Naw,” Jester answered from the alcove behind the front seats. “I found a short in the mic handle yesterday when I tore her apart. I guess mashing on the thing doesn’t make your signal go any faster.”

    “A couple of these up yer ass‘ll make ya go faster!” Kirk chimed as he leaned in through the ceiling hatch, holding a polished .50 cal shell. Dustin slapped him lightly on the face with mock anger, and they all laughed realizing even dumb jokes could be funny on a day like today.

    As the truck pulled up alongside the right side of the G63 half-track, Billy reached in the pocket of his worn denim jacket, producing a pack of what appeared to be small cigars. He unlatched the armored slat panel where the driver’s side window should be on a normal vehicle and holding up the pack, asking the men in the Mercedes, “Care for a smoke?”
     
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  7. While around them the other crews worked on their vehicles and made them come alive a number of the Knights of Stirling held a gathering, ten of them kneeling in a line with their swords drawn and leaning upon it with the tip placed on the ground. Their heads downcast as they seemed lost in prayer, a elderly man his features marked with old scars that never truly healed crossing over half his face walked before the line of praying Knights. He was dressed like them in the same armour yet he also had a set of robes covering it and was waving a censer with smoke trailing from it. "Blesseth be morn." He intoned, invoking a chorused reply from the kneeling knights.

    "For it brings a new day."

    "Blesseth be the journey." The elder knight calmly intoned next, triggering a new chorus.

    "For it brings us to the dark places were we shall cast light."

    On cue the headlights of the massive rig the knights were in front off turned on, casting them in the light and banishing the darkness of the hangar they were in and its engines roared with approval and a horn sounded. Over the sound the priest resumed the final part of the prayer. "Blesseth be the Knights of Stirling."

    "For they ride to protect and mend what is broken."

    The knight with the censer stopped before the tallest of the kneeling knights, bringing forth a pouch and placed his fingers inside, coming out with ash on them as he formed a symbol on her cheek marked by a long scar. It was a symbol he seemed to have drawn many times, the ash on the knight's cheek now vaguely resembling a thistle. "May the angels of Combustion and Diesel keep our engine going and without thirst. May the angel of Evel Knievel inspire our driver to keep us in one piece."

    Brienne of Stirling looked up as he finished the symbol on her cheek, smiling softly. "Amen."

    Once all the knights were anointed with the ash symbol of a thistle on their cheeks they went to their tasks to finish preparations for the great journey. Brienne found herself in the trailer that had in great gothic lettering sprayed on 'The Anvil'. Hearing the sounds of machinery and the grunting and cursing of men and women alike as they worked hard. She watched as a head poked out of a hatch, looked around and spotted her. "Brienne! Get over here, will ya! And be snappy about it ya dolt!"

    Chuckling she approached, "Sir Ian, always so eloquent." She looked amused at the older knight whose face was stained with sweat, sooth, oil and other materials.

    He reached out and dropped something which she caught, a pistol clip. "Finished the latest batch of bullets for the glock pistols. We got some reserves now for the journey ahead." He said as he rubbed his face. "Still think this is some kind of idiotic crusade we are going on but ah nobody listens to a old coot."

    She chuckled, weighing the clip in her hands before putting it in a pouch on her person. "I think the same old friend, but many people are leaving and the journey might be dangerous so it is our duty to go with them."

    "Poppycock!" Came the reply and Sir Ian spat out a phlegm on the ground beside her. "You just heard the route would bring us possibly in the range of those rascals of Ni and want another crack at them for driving us out of our home!" He snorted and laughed, "I don't blame ya girl, none of ours do, we all want a crack at them vultures and their unhealthy obsession with shrubberies, whatever those damnable things are."

    Smiling she just inclined her head, making no further comment on it. "I leave you to your duties quartermaster."

    "And I to yours." He turned around and frowned, cursing up a storm as he vanished from sight, his voice muffled but still clearly audible outside. "Oy, you daft nimrod. You call that a sword, that's more like a pointy metal stick. And that's a insult to pointy metal sticks! Do it again!"

    She stifled a laugh and continued, coming upon the second trailer which was being loaded with the last of the supplies. Nodding to the knights busy hauling and storing away crates as well as the crew performing last rites of maintenance to the 8.8 flak cannon turret emplacement situated atop the trailer.

    The last trailer of her rig was her pride and greatest worry however. Called the 'Blessing of Lady Diesel' she was a modified rig to contain the means to quench the thirsts of their engine and that of others in the convoy. It had to be fiercely protected. Two attached platforms, one on each side manned by a number of knights to protect it from would be boarders and make sure the gunners of the turrets would not fall to the onslaught of any savages on the road to Eden.

    Satisfied with her inspection she walked back to the front of the rig, to Big Bertha herself, her engine roaring to life as she stopped at the door and climbed on. Yes she and the Knights of Stirling would soon be on the road and see what lies on the road to Eden.
     
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  8. Stone looked confused for a second. "Who the fuck did you have to kill to get those?" The last time Stone had seen a cigar was years ago. Rock and Brick looked puzzled. They had never heard of cigars.
     
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  9. Katherine McCormick

    Chewing on a straw, Kate layed sprawled out on the hoof of her car, back leaning against the windshield. She was looking at the Knights, who where huddled around their great vehicle some forty feet from her, in the middle of some kind of prayer. Listening intently, Kate wondered how such a company could possibly form in this wasteland. Then again, maybe they didn't. Maybe they came from elsewhere. Kate didn't know, and hadn't bothered asking around. It was only now the thought crossed her mind.

    "What're you doing Kate?" she heard a familiar, accusing, tone ask her. She turned her head and found Ranald Bishop looking at her impatiently.
    "Enjoying the fine day that is today, Bishop."
    "That's great. You know what'd be even better? If you helped me get this piece of shit shotgun mounted properly." the man answered. Rolling her eyes, Kate caught a last look of the Knights finishing their prayer as she rolled off the hoof. Bishop and her other crewmate, Rhona, weren't the most gifted when it came to vehicles. Kate, on the other hand, sure were. She spit out the straw and looked at the shotgun. It was a freakish thing - big and menacing looking - but it had certainly seen better days. Then again, what equipment hadn't? Kate and Ranald spent the next couple of minutes mounting the thing on the back of the Dodger. When done, Rhona showed up and began checking their weapons. "Think this'll be worth it?" she asked, referring to the voyage. Kate shrugged her shoulders. "If it means we won't spend the rest of our days rotting away here, I'd say yes, right?" she answered. Truth be told, Kate was less than inclined to believe that Eden was anything but a bedtime story taken larger proportions and severity by naive and/or hopeful grown ups. Even so, it wasn't Eden that made the decision to join the travellers an easy one. It was the journey. Kate had spent most of her life on the road, and she loved it. Being constantly on the move, discovering new places - that was was life was all about. Regardless of whether Eden was real or not, the trip alone would be worth it.

    Smiling, Kate got inside the Dodger and ignited her, listening to the roar of the engine.
    "Trust me, Rhonda, this is going to be one great ride."
     
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  10. The morning had finally come, and Lance could hardly contain himself "This is it! We're outta this hell hole! Bigger brighter tomorrows ahead!" He bounced on the light turret mounted in the back of the buggy, setting the shocks to a rythmic squeaking. It was all he could do not to shout. They'd been travelling for the better part of his life and settling down, even in Eden, stIill filled him with dread.

    "Well if you want the Buggy to live to see tomorrow you might stop that." Crispin said giving Lance a sharp crack across one of the hands holding onto the turret cage sending him off balance and slipping to the ground. For sharing the same age, Lance found little in common with the man. Though he was probably one of the more competent Gunmen he'd met, so he deserved a pass.

    "Oh shi-" Lance barely managed to sneak along the side of the Buggy to avoid being seen.

    "Honestly Lance?" The bastard at least had the decency to hide his amused look as Lance shied away from Reggie's sight. "Have you even spoken to her?" Silence took hold of him at the question. In truth he wasn't entirely sure if he had. There had been nights in his cups with Mitchell -the man could make a decent brew out of anything- where he could almost remember talking to a Reggie-shaped haze, but it also could have just been a hydroponics rack.

    "I-" He managed to stammer out before he was cut off.

    "Lover-boy still too scared to show his face?" It was Jak of course. How that woman knew what was going on all the damn time was beyond him, but she had an aggravating knack for it. Yet another trait that irked Lance now, but that he knew might save his life down the line.

    "Fuck yourself J." He grumbled as he slid into the driver's seat as nonchalantly as he could despite his rapidly reddening cheeks "Admit one thing to your closest friends, and you never hear the bloody end of it." As his hands slid into the comfortable 10 and 2 positions worn into the leather wrapped wheel all the taunting melted away. In this seat he was completely comfortable.

    Just like a child with a toy, he found he was holding his breath and he released it as the familiar turn of the engine gave way to ignition. The sound was better than any drug Lance had ever experienced, and the now humming buggy seemed just as eager for the road ahead as he himself was. As Jak took her sweet time getting into the passenger seat of the rig, a simple enough chair with their radar unit hastily patched in, Lance gave the Buggy gas, and the four wheeled menace took flight from the garage.

    Soon finding himself buzzing along the tarmac, in a practiced movement he slowed enough so as to avoid flipping over, and spun the buggy around in a 180° turn, the tires screeched, and smoke billowed from the rubber burning, but Lance felt more alive than he had in the months since arriving at Edinburgh. Finally as the front swung around to face the garage they had just left the buggy stopped. Lance held a larger grin than most denizens of a wasteland would ever know. Jak an unwavering attitude of 'all business' that she always seemed to maintain whenever she found herself inside a vehicle, and with two very loud, very obscene curse words it was apparent how Crispin felt as well.

    Who needed Eden when there was such fun on the roads?
     
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  11. A Misadventure of Crew Jacob and Reggie: Battle of the Pudding
    A Tempest and Sarzu Collab




    In the hangar, the biker gang tried to look as if they were busy about preparations, but overall, they knew shit about vehicle maintenance. Reggie was the only one out of all of them who could even tell a nut from a bolt and even then she was no mechanic. So for the most part, they tried to look like they were packing there scant belongings as they gossiped about the others in the hangar.

    Kim picks between his teeth and articulates with his pistol, pointing in the direction of the blonde hair woman and her sports car. “Isn’t that that Scot?”

    “Ay, ay! AIN’T YOU THAT SCOT?!” Reggie shouts over at the woman, hands cupped around her mouth before she snickers, “Yeah, she’s that bloody scot. She shoulda got a real ride. Girl can drive, though.”

    Kim nods, sucking through his teeth, “Girl can drive.” He sniffs as he looks over at Trip as she leans over, fiddling through her box of crap. He lets loose a wolf whistle in appreciation and she flips him off, “Oi, a boy has to let a girl know what he wants. Speaking of,” his eyes trail over to Lance, “Kid. Has. Got. To. Act. Someone else is gonna jump on it if he don’t.”

    Reggie looks puzzled by his comment before muttering, “Isn’t he just a bit weird, though? I mean, he seems a bit jumpy, to me. Get a pint in him, he seems chill enough, but oi, before he’s just… Odd. Am I the only one who notices this?”

    Kim shakes his head as he notices Ahab tearing through the hangar for something, “Oi, Cap’n. What ya doing?”

    “WHEEEERE IS IT?! It was that damned Dutchman, wasn’t it! I know it was, I’m gonna show that Dutchie whatfor, I’m tellin’ you!” he roars as he goes clomping towards Jacob and his crew.

    While around them everyone seemed to make their final preparations to their vehicles, the crew of the 'Rijdende Hollander' were sitting around a makeshift table playing cards, having finished their last checks earlier and with nothing left to do they had resorted to gambling.

    Jasmijn clacked her tongue as she looked at her cards and then looked at the two others before she spoke up. <"So.... why are we going back all the way we came and then possibly go even further when we only just barely got here in one piece?">

    Jacob rose a brow and shrugged, "Because we are bored? Also speak English would you, it's rude to those who took us in to speak a language they don't understand." He waggled a finger with his free hand and smirked.

    He received a snort in return. "Took age to learn from you. You dork with your.... what is word." She muttered a curse, <"Fuck it, you dork with your ancient 'texts'.">

    "Oy, thou shall not take Terry Pratchett in vain. Those books are in my family since the great upheaval. And probably the main reason we kept being taught English by the eldest of the family so we can bloody well understand what the ancient texts say." He looked at the third member of their group. "But for as why we head back... to the Great Tunnel. Well, life is hard, this Eden might be a big scam of nothing but a dream or fantasy but at least it gives us something to do. Besides almost everyone is going so where else are we to go? Kareltje, would you start playing your cards already? Waiting on you." He glared at the smirking Kareltje who seemed rather amused with himself once more.

    "Lady, gent, I am afraid I am the winner here." He showed his cards. "Seven aces, five different colours." He laughed as Jasmijn cursed and tossed her cards to the ground and reached for the winnings with a triumphant look in his eyes. But was stopped with a 'tsk, tsk' sound from Jacob.

    "Now, now." He showed his own cards. "Five jokers and... the ten of spades."

    "Goed gloeiende.... Jij verdome hufter!" Kareltje cursed and muttered as he glared at Jacob. "Why did we decide to make that card the ultimate card again?"

    "Because it's the only ten in the entire deck of card Kareltje my friend. Now then I believe all of this is for me?" He smirked and went over the winnings, a pistol clip, and some dried meat and... "Holy cow, Kareltje where the hell did you get a entire bucket of pudding from?" He asked incredulously as he held the bucket just as he heard a commotion from nearby and turned around at fast approaching footsteps.

    As the nigh toothless grizzled middle-aged man comes up to the table, his eyes go wide, his head crooks up at an angle and he begins to shake all over. His face contorts with rage as he begins to cry out, spittle flying out, “I knew it! YOU BLOODY BILGE! SCURVY RATS! THIEVING… THINGS! YOU’RE PROBABLY IN IT WITH THEM LAND WHALES, AIN’T YA?!”

    Reggie and Kim exchange glances and mouth an ‘ah hell,’ as they run to Ahab. It was too late, though. The self-proclaimed sailor of the sands launches himself towards the table and his precious pudding, a man possessed.

    All three of them scrambled out of the way from the table and watched big Ahab launch himself in the air and crash into the already rickety table, collapsing it under his weight as cards and other loose items scatter everywhere. Jasmijn groaning, "Oy, took a- took l- gah took forever to collect!" She said stumbling over the English words.

    Kareltje got to his feet and started to awkwardly scamper away while whistling.

    Jacob had his arms wrapped around the bucket of pudding as if it was a lifeline and blinked, looking at the older man in the wreckage of their erstwhile table and then at the approaching others. "So.... hello girls, what's up?" He nodded to Ahab, "Has he been drinking too much again and thinks cars are land whales about to swallow him up?"

    Kim looks at Jacob deadpan before popping his hip, placing a hand upon it in a feminine manner and flipping a hand back through his long hair, “Honey, I might have a girl’s name, but I am all man.”

    Reggie smooshes his face with her hand, shoving him back that way and earns a splutter, “Eh, haven’t seen him dip into the juice this morning but he’s a sneaky one. He was looking for something.”

    Ahab groans and flips over, chewing on a card that had gone into his mouth before spitting it out… The 10 of spades. “Aye, the pirates know bloody well what they did! They stole it! Stole me puddin’!” He sucks his lip in and glares up at Jacob, jaw quivering with fury at the sight of his pudding cradled so.

    Jacob rose a eyebrow, "First off, you... are a very feminine man and I still regret hitting on you on the first day we were introduced but it was dark, we all had some beers and then things got blurry and we woke up among the sheep in the hills in our underwear... but none of that at the moment."

    He slowly and carefully looked Ahab in the eyes. "I am going to lower this, I mean your bucket of pudding to the ground now, no need for violence, harpooning or otherwise hurting anyone. Ok?" He was saying as he lowered the bucket to the ground, let go of it and took a step back with hands outstretched and open. "Kareltje if you run I will hunt you down."

    Kareltje froze mid-step and let out a nervous laugh, shuffling his feet and looking at them to avoid looking anyone in the eye.

    Jacob sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jij kleptomaan...." He snorts, "Sorry about that, seems Kareltje here could not resist the sirens call of pudding, even if it clearly did not belong to him." Kareltje again let out a nervous laugh and looked away at Jacob's glare that was send his before the Dutch leader looked at Reggie with a smile. "But it's all good, the bucket seems to be sealed still, no harm done, right?"

    Reggie nods at Jacob, “Yeah. No harm, no foul. Ahab just… Takes his pudding very seriously. All 144 ounces.”

    Even as she says that, though, Ahab points at Kareltje, making biting gestures with his mouth and hisses, “Gonna gnaw your ankles off, dough boy.” He points two split fingers at his eyes and then at the plump Dutch man before he scurries to the pudding and clutches it to his chest, getting up. He pets it and mutters softly to it, “Shh, shh, ain’t none of them gonna get chu, my precious.”

    Kim, who had been pouting, looking wounded at Jacob’s words, looks at Ahab. “We better keep a better eye on him on this trip… Petrol forbid he puff his chest up to them crazy kuh-nig-uhts.”

    Jasmijn growled, rolling up her sleeves and glared at Kareltje, "No worries, I will deal with my husband, my way." She marched to him and he already started to protest but was cut off as she yanked him by the ear and dragged him towards the Impala, a whole tirade in Dutch coming from her lips that made Jacob blush for a moment and look away awkwardly.

    "Right.... yeah he will be punished, no worries about that." He then snickered. "Also which knights, the one out there that might harass us, or the ones traveling with us?" He laughed again, still finding it amusing to see those clowns in makeshift armour looking like knights of ancient times. Granted he didn't laugh with them present and had to admit they would probably save his ass on the journey to come, but they definitely needed a better look. He looked back at Reggie, scratching his beard, "On that note. What do you expect out of this journey, if I may ask?"

    Reggie scratches through her mussed hair, tapping the toes of a foot behind her as she thought, “Eh, I thought there was better out there when I brought my band around this way. Sure, they’re a fair lot of who make up what’s staying put right here now, but still… Even if there isn’t some Eden, there’s got to be some people out there who have their shit figured out better than us.”

    "Dear god I hope not!" Jacob said while off to the side the sound of slapping could be heard, Jasmijn had Kareltje over her knee and was spanking him on his ass, still cursing at him while the plump man whimpered and cried. Jacob ignored it and just continued, smirking. "If there are people out there with their shit figured out then they take one look at us, go 'nope' and shoot us." He said in a joking manner before he got a bit serious, "Ah well. Yeah I can relate to that. We just got around here because... well back in dutchieland we had no home left so we wandered." He spread his arms and gestured around, "And look where we ended up, in a convoy heading for the unknown. Sounds almost like one of dem legends you hear around a campfire. Let's just hope we don't end up dead like most of them heroes do in those tales."

    “Let’s hope it’s not by that… Bard? Bard, that the knights keep around for some insane reason. Bastard has a voice of a spluttering engine about to seize up,” she snorts.

    "Yeah.... I asked one of them knights what his real purpose was, apparently its emergency rations and I could not tell if he was joking or not when he told me." He shook his head and chuckled, "Ah well. Time will tell if it's a joke or not. Now then that the... pudding crisis is resolved." He reached out his arm all proper and courtly to Reggie. "May I guide thee back to thy steeds for I think we shall commence on our journey very soon."

    “Yes, thank you lord Jacob of Dutchlandia,” she takes his arm and puffs herself all proud and tries to look like a courtly woman, “Let us be on our way, there is something foul about the air here now.”

    Ahab pipes up from nearby, “Ah, ‘scuse me.”
     
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  12. “Oh, we didn’t have to kill anyone for ‘em,” Billy replied with a shrug.

    He momentarily looked away as the sound of squealing tires washed over the decrepit aircraft pad.

    (Pointing with a finger at Lance’s buggy) “It’s guys like him that drive the salvage market, trying to pull shit like that every time they have a chance to show off,” he laughed before tossing the pack to Brick, who was the closest to the cab height. “These particular beauties were from a chap with a steering column through his head and an odd inclination to park his Aston Martin at the bottom of a ravine. I asked if he’d mind if we bought a few and he mumbled something about how he was trying to quit and to go ahead and take the lot of ‘em! I figured we’d do him a solid and only smoke ‘em on a special occasion.”
     
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  13. The Final Checks.

    Trisha Warburton gunned the engine on 'the Bus' and drove it from the hangar to join the flock of vehicles gathering out of the front, Trisha was the GPSeer. She was the convoy's prime navigator and it was her duty to give the directions and guidance the convoy needed. To find new paths of others were blocked, and as the population of her bus began climbing on and bunking down with trepidation, exhilaration an some fear Trisha felt her own anxieties increase. It was really happening... she opened the weather-protected panel.

    "Blessed reflective pool of knowledge. Forgive this ones unworthy touch as she connects your life-blood with the heart of the machine." She plugged in the delicate cords with reverence. She new the images she saw were ancient. Out of date. She also knew they were 'hotfixed' maps, some gear-head had stripped out the satellite connection data leaving only the digital map readout, probably the only one still working in Europe. She saw Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum idling engines as they prepared for the journey and she picked up the microphone for the CB.

    "This is Hot Momma to Convoy," She began, "we've got a long trip ahead of us, the tanks are full and our supplies are good. Everyone, hive me a vehicle head-count!"
     
  14. Brick caught the cigars and passed them around. "Thankya kindly." Him and rock were confused as to how to use them. Stone took his and lit it. He took a puff before responding to Hot Momma. "Stone reportin' in. My engines are hot and ready." His engines really were hot and ready. His engine filter was partially made from old pizza boxes with the slogan "Hot and Ready" printed on it. He blasted the horn and his crew banged on the roof panels in excitement.
     
  15. Francesca sighed as her radio lit up with activity. At first she thought it might be about the stolen sniper, but soon was relived to find it was just a request for a headcount. She nodded to Gerald and Monty, who gathered their things and hopped into the car, getting into the trunk and passenger seat respectively. Francesca hopped into the drivers side and flicked on the transmitter. "Three in the GT, ready for one hell of a ride."
     
  16. Bunny-Bolts Beginning

    Reggie scans over her bikers as static crackles over a radio system jury-rigged to the side of her bike and hard-wired in. She eyes the wires suspiciously that were probably more crusty tape than needed to be as she grabs hold of the receiver with dirty mitts. One last glance at her bikers told her all that she needed to know. With Trip tagging the last of the bikes with a can of puke green paint she had found with a stenciled lightning bolt shooting out a rabbit’s ass, they were ready to ride.

    The leader of the gang holds down the toggle and speaks into the receiver, “This is RV, and the bunny-bolts are ready to go.”

    “Oi, wench, I ain’t no wee bunny rabbit! Still say we ought to be to be The Mariners,” Ahab grumbles as he gets on his bike and tries to rub the symbol off his bike.

    “Even you voted for it, so get over it.”

    Ahab sniffs and mutters about having been three sheets to the wind as his engine roars to life. Kim flashes a smirk at the salty dog and pulls out of the shed as Trip starts her dirt bike and takes off. Reggie just shakes her head and wonders when the two of them would realize they did not know where they were going.
     
  17. On the Road Again...

    With the pudding crisis resolved and Kareltje pouting behind the firing mechanism of the forward mounted minigun while his wife was staring daggers at the back of his head while assembling her sniper rifle together in the back while Jacob chuckled and turned on the engine, smiling broadly at the roar of his beloved V8 Engine. Feeling it's power thrum through the entire chassis as the tracks of the Impala started grinding over the hangar floor to the exit when the radio, installed by their gracious hosts, buzzed on and people started saying acknowledgements and callsigns over the radio.

    Jacob picked up the Receiver shared looks with Kareltje and Jasmijn and spoke into it, "This is Dutch Waffle-" He smirked at the shared groan from the couple sharing his vehicle. "To Hot Momma, we are ready to go and roam the lands once more. Do you want us at the point of the convoy?" He was still smirking as he placed the receiver back. "What?"

    Jasmijn rolled her eyes, "Really? That is our callsign?"

    "You got one better?" Jacob asked with a raised eyebrow.

    "Big cheese?" Kareltje ventured, "Auch." He muttered as he got slapped by both Jacob and Jasmijn on the back of the head.

    "Dutch Waffle it is." Jarmijn agreed with a sigh.

    "Excellent and off we go, assuming we can keep up with those Bunny Bolts." He said as he revved the engine and made the Impala lurch forward. "On the road again... Just can't wait to get on the road again..."
     
  18. Jester leaned in close to the radio, it's amber glow just as alluring as always. With a precision only learned through rote practice, he adjusted the knob a hair to the left and heard the radio chatter come through with wonderful clarity. "Roge' Hot Mama, this is "Wacky Fox" reporting for duty, over." The click of the freshly cleaned mic lever was music to the man's ears alonsgside the steady cycling of the idling diesel engine.
     
  19. Scandal

    The sun beat down upon them, and Lance couldn't help but feel more foolish by the second. His stunt had put them well ahead of the rest of the convoy, and with the exception of one other crew they were alone. Crispin had quickly seen to falling asleep, the bastard, and Jak had somehow managed to find some way to otherwise occupy herself as well. Leaving Lance idle with his thoughts, and it amazed even him how devoid of thoughts he was. You'd think living in a wasteland of a former world, with all the horrors it entails would foster some level of deep thought. Yet he had none.

    Instead he was left twiddling his thumbs, and occasionally trying to annoy Jak into conversation by tapping the steering wheel in some ill-remembered tune or beat he was sure he'd heard somewhere, sometime. Thank God then, for the eventual crackle of life that sprang into their onboard radio. Lance's hot shot out like a bullet towards the radio, but before it got halfway there Jak had it snatched up. She cleared her throat, and waited for others to respond. A pause came and she took her moment. "To Hot Mama, Jak and crew aboard the buggy, we're prepped and ready on the tarmac. Waiting on your word." Slowly she returned the radio to its proper place, before seeing Lance's mouth hanging agape.

    "What. The. Hell Jak." Starting slowly, not entirely processing what she had just done to their credibility in the convoy. "Really? 'The buggy'? You're a real artist aren't you." He stated plainly. Ignoring the obvious confusion in her face. As if he'd let them be eternally known as 'the buggy'. The Raiders would kill themselves laughing at that name. He grabbed up the radio again, as Jak protested.

    "Lance, don-" she managed before Lance clicked the button and started.

    "Dutch Waffle, Lance here with Jak. You can take point when The Dune Runner is a flaming wreck and you pry it from my cold, dead hands." He said as jokingly as he could over the radio, and returned the receiver satisfied he'd saved them from public disgrace.

    "... You're still a child aren't you." Jak sighed dismissively. A massive temptation to taunt her further overtook him. He knew the response would be a slap if he was lucky, a punch otherwise, but the words couldn't go unsaid. It almost ached him not to say it.

    "I know you are, but what am I." He half mumbled, eyes on the tarmac ahead, and engine purring lightly. The pain soon that followed was worth it.
     
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