Roleplaying > Moderated Freeform

Pontiac (Post-Apocalyptic Arco)

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EchoMirage:
There was a certain temptation to say "yes I do" and keep sitting, though that avenue of humor was best reserved for [Engineer] and most people's reactions to it were rather poor. Celeste had been provocatively literal-minded like that when it suited her, though she was dead, taken by the accident.
Eva loved linguistics, for the nuances and fine points of human speech were so unlike programming, which left no room for error; indeed, language felt alive, and using it likewise.

Turning the flashlight to its lowest setting, she examined the shelves - apparently, there was canned food and some gear; she'd have to make an inventory and choose what to take along after the bikers left and it was safe to make noise. There was no sense in staying here; locations were not home - people were.

Slowly, she opened a can of peaches, luncheon meat and sweet corn, placed them on a piece of cloth, folded old newspapers to resemble napkins and two more pages into simple flowers, which she placed in an empty paint can.

Wiping two spoons and handing D'Shannon one, she sat next to the meal and prompted her: "It is served - sadly, I can currently do no better; please, take no offense."

Scrasamax:
"Take no offense? This is splendid," D'Shannon whispered, "I've been eating snared squirrels and wild cherries for days, taste is good but one too many cherries and you spend more time 'sitting'.

There was a rattle at the door to the safe room, one of the raiders was trying to check them out. D'Shannon dropped her spork and pulled her 10mm pistol.

(actions?)

EchoMirage:
'May Asimov turn in his grave' Eva thought, and withdrew the shotgun [Engineer] stored there for just such occasions from the locker. Loaded it was, the oily rags it was wrapped in removed swiftly. She'd have to forge some better hardware in the likely case that the situation outside deteriorated further during her sleep.

Though she was aware of the laws of robotics as they were penned, such situations necessitated weighing the sides - her inaction would see D'Shannon harmed, that was likely; the behavior of the looters would answer another - whether they were actually a detriment to the human race.

She turned off the light, and waited.

Scrasamax:
Three days Eric had hunted the Raiders, they were sloppy, and slow. Instead of making good time, they stopped constantly. He didnt even have to stay close to track them, if they stopped moving they either lit a fire or shot at things. If there was neither, they were scavenging ruins that had been scavenged a dozen times over. Lazy, stupid, violent.  They had shown up at the edge of his freehold a week ago, traded shots with the patrol and seemingly fled. The next night they rode in like demons and had burned down half of the buildings with molotov cocktails as well as killing or wounding a dozen freeholders, more than half of them women and children.

The boss seemed to be content smoking cigarettes and tossing trash into the shell of a burning tire, the two others were more intent on breaking open a locked cellar door, (Survival, Observation) it looked like the area was inhabited, or had been recently. People who huddled in these ruins seldom made it obvious that they were there, but a trained eye could spot the details, unbroken windows, cleared hedges for line of sight, obstructed main doors, the like.

If there werent squatters hiding inside the cellar, there was more than likely something of value down there.

Dossta:
Eric stepped quietly closer, drawing into the shadows of an abandoned building about 50 yards away; easily within the killing range of his bow.  Running his hand absently over the smooth wood, he studied the raiding group.  Picking off the leader might throw the others into confusion long enough for him to draw and fire again, perhaps.  But killing them here would also deprive Eric of his lead back to their base, and he was determined to wipe out the whole stinking hive if he could. 

Though he burned for their deaths, Eric was a patient man.  He slowed his breathing, clearing the anger from his head.  Their deaths would come soon enough.  Leaning back against the wall, Eric watched the men with a predator's eyes, keeping an ear out for any new arrivals.  He hoped that whoever had been in the area recently had cleared out, or had sense enough to hide.  As the two lackeys began breaking down the cellar door, Eric also loosed his old pistol in its holster, just in case. 

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