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Futuristic The Blight [Chapter 1: The Calm Between]

Yang Xiao Long

Yang Xiao Long

Sunny Little Dragon




  • The Blight [Chapter 1: The Calm Between]
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    "Welcome back ladies and gentlemen, this is Marshall with Pleasanton Public Service Radio. In the news today the Raiders came back from yet another successful sortie into the wasteland, expanding our maps by another several kilometers in diameter. Meanwhile after their recent conflict with the NSF the red masks are still recovering, in our local pubs…



    Now onto weather, the heatwave continues, the sun is shining at a sweltering 38 degrees, and the sky is clear. My recommendation? Camouflage and a good scope. Seriously though, a pretty good day for hunting if you don't mind the heat. If you can afford it bring water, most of you wasteland assholes might not care, but if the Reavers don't kill you dehydration will. As always this is Marshal, Signing off.”







    Just your average day in the city of Pleasanton. The sun is shining down, impartial to the ravaged world orbiting it that was once teeming with life, now only a fraction of its population remain due to an unforeseeable epidemic that reduced life on it to a twisted mess over the span of merely a decade. Whether or not this Blight was a fluke of nature, supernatural, or by design you may never know; but there is one thing for certain, it’s a fact of life now. One which for many of our people today has been all they’ve known, born in the early days of the Blight. Only few remember the green trees, the sprawling cities, the complexity of everyday life by first hand experience.



    Though right now you probably aren't waxing too poetically, You’re just living life like you always have. How you are depends on who you are of course! As a wanderer you’re probably in the middle of the commercial district. The markets bustling with activity, people bartering over whatever it is they need, children running away from their marks giggling clutching to whatever they had just stolen, bounty hunter's either coming from or going to the gate decked out in combat gear. Here and there a vehicle would pass. That didn't matter to you, you had your own goals, your own ideals. Your story, and past were as different from the next Wanderer’s as morning was to night. Though there was probably something in common with him, the willingness to leave the walls, to risk it all just to live free. Why you were here? Who knows, might be you were running from something after all a set of NSF dogtags was starting to become a common sight on wanders who were of military age, or towards something a new life perhaps, or perhaps you were just there for another job, another bounty. It’s been a hard life, but it’s your life.



    Meanwhile elsewhere in the city despite it being early in the morning a familiar bar is packed with men and women. All of them sharing something in common, a memory of a battle in which a home was lost, a battle where many of their brothers and sisters had fallen. The sign of their mourning? A common Red Mask; though that was not what it was intended to be. Not before the battle of Fort Scar, not before the NSF drove them from their home like common Bandits. Those people those mercenaries were recovering and recovering quick. Soon they would reclaim their former glory, they had already begun taking contracts again. This time out of Pleasanton, out of a city who had a force that could rival the NSF, out of a city who now had the protection of them: The Red Masks.



    As the Red Masks licked their wounds, another group was strapping on their boots. The Raiders, the most badass mother fuckers in Pleasanton, possibly even all of the wasteland were beginning their day. Greeted by the familiar sounds of their part of the capsule. The grunts and thumps of sparing coming from the gym’s sparring pits, the synchronized crash of boots as unit’s ran PT through the sprawling halls of the bunker, the low constant din of the mess hall that was always there at meal time. While off duty many Raiders stay in their home, the capsule, the current height of humanity and science. A spotless environment in which the livelihood of the human race is stored. The Raiders were met with the familiar hum of machinery and soft whoosh of air vents, today would be like many other days. Get their duty assignment, requisition any equipment they needed, and then out into the wasteland through the series or hermetic doors that formed the barrier to the outside world.



    While the day was early, there were a group of men and women up before even the Raiders. The men and women of the Pleasanton Volunteer Militia, general referred to as the Militia they were a bit more than that. Not just defenders of the city, but keepers of the peace. Their day had started off much like any other, got up, ate, put on their uniform, then they met at their headquarters in the governmental district for morning parade, after that it was onto the day’s duty. Either watching the gate, guarding the walls, or patrolling the streets, all in all it was routine. Though for those off duty, they might still be strapping on boots, readying weapons, for many members of the Militia in their free time took jobs as bounty hunter's. Leaving the sanctity of the walls for glory and better pay, it wasn't so much as they disliked working in the Militia, it was so much as the Militia didn't necessarily pay too well.



    Yeah. Just your average day in the wasteland, July 4th 2061 to be exact. Nothing special about it really, well unless you live in the United Remnants of America, or had at one point. What you make of the day is up to you. Good luck... A storm is brewing.



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The Blight [A Soldier of the Wasteland]

A Quest running alongside the RP. Feel free to join in, as it may help expand your view of the world.

 
Max hummed quietly to himself as he observed the mission board. He gently tapped his finger on the wall next to the display as he pondered his choices. "Well... let's see." He clicked his tongue quietly and sighed. "I'm always down for busting some Reavers... but ah, I haven't had my warm up yet. Maybe it's best that I don't right now." He scanned over his other options. "Huh, catching some runaways, hmm? Yeah, I can do that." He stretched his arms, the springs and bearings in his metal arm crackling and popping as they groaned from the motion after being stagnant so long. "This should be nice and simple."
 
"Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god." Rasool spoke poetically through harsh tones, the bounty board stretched for quite awhile with certain contracts from certain individuals with separate reasons, descriptions, and backgrounds. The sweat in his lightweight, flexible, nano-tech armor remained concealed through a large beige trench coat. The hideous face concealed by layers of bandages and a John Dillinger death mask. Rasool was not apart of the recent Red Mask raids which left their forces crippled momentarily, they would be up and running soon enough but were they stood in their current predicament the Red Mask could only recuperate.

Rasool snarled and made morbid groans as his eyes scanned the bulletin board with utmost caution. "Hnnngh...... Hnnnngh...." Rasools head seemingly vibrated as he sniffled heavily and chattered through his teeth, phlegm sat in his throat and boiled inside his larynyx. On top of that his head began to hurt again, pings beamed with heavy beats that could shatter the Earth if they were real. "It..... Calls..." Poor Rasool muttered to himself, another delusional ramble. He had stumbled towards the left, pings grew ever so louder as he moved leftward. Unintentionally bumping into a man whose arm whirred and sputtered in agonizing sound. Rasool would begin tapping the paper with the contract details while eyeing his arm.

Yellow-green fluid seeped through bandages, flowing down to his neck and dripping off his chin. "Ten percent.... Ten percent." Rasool spoke awkwardly enough to his arm, the pops and crackles drawing him nearer, he hunched over. Studying the strange machine before returning to full posture. Rasool looked anorexic, frail, and unwell as his body was malformed. Tap-tap-tap, his fingers rapped on the contract sheet before ceasing. "Ten percent of the proceeds." The man in the Death Mask awaited for a response.

Assailant Assailant
 
Sakamoto Yoshimitsu

Sitting at one of the empty tables within the well crowded bar, a young male kept his head down to keep himself from being seen by the others that currently occupied the same room as him. Staying in silence while he sat there, it was only a matter of time that a middle aged man came over just to put down a small sized kettle that had steam coming out from the spout as well as around the edges of the lid. Right after placing down the kettle, the same man had placed down two small white cups right beside it before taking his own gaze up towards the customer before him. "Here's your tea sir." With payment already given for his drink, the mysterious male only kept in silence until the server became to leave to attend to his own duties. After which, the male simply began to pour himself one cup full after another full of the light brownish liquid before sipping down every bit of it until the kettle itself had been emptied.
Honestly, while the male had sat there in his gear the entire time he knew well enough that there were plenty of eyes that had watched him with confusion and even concern about how he wasn't sweating bullets from how his clothing looked rather thick, especially with all the metal. For a normal person, this would of course be a problem but to those who knew people like him; this kind of heat wasn't much to deal with and the clothing did not bother him. Being a wanderer has put him through multiple different extreme conditions of weather as well as conditions against both beasts and Reavers alike that have made just sitting in heat with plenty of clothing just a simple burden.

Finally, by the time he had finished up the rest of his tea, the helped himself from his seat before taking his leave from the bar. Once he had stepped out the door, with the bright sunlight shining down on him, the kasa that he wore kept any bit of actual light coming down to make full contact with his face allowing him to see in front of him without too much issue. As it had appeared, there were multiple people stepping up to what had appeared to had been a board of sorts; curious to know what the board had stated on it, he wasted no time to approach it as well just to find that it had 'missions' of sorts on them with all different kind of requests on them.
Truthfully, none of them seemed to catch his eye other than the one that stated something about Reavers occupying a nearby town's supermarket. Arching a brow at the sight of this one in particular, he had just arrived into the city not too long ago and he was sure that he hadn't come across any Reavers on his way here; so maybe it was possible that the Reavers only just arrived there after he had come into the city. All of that just sounded bad all together, rather than have a troublesome threat come rushing into the city and cause panic, the wanderer simply reached forward and replied to the request by putting his name down; Sakamoto Yoshimitsu.

As expected, there were a few eyes that came to the first person who decided to take up such a mission of facing Reavers, especially outside of the city without anyone else signing or agreeing to that mission yet. Sakamoto hadn't returned to give any bit of eye contact other than turn his back to the board and progress his way in the direction of leaving the city walls. "Hm, I wonder how many there are in there? I swore i saw that supermarket on my way here...it was quiet. Maybe i should place down some traps before i step in there..." The entire way he had been making his leave, he pondered how to deal with the threat of the nearby Reavers and just how he didn't see any on his way to the city to begin with.
​
 
Frank Ocean said:
"Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god." Rasool spoke poetically through harsh tones, the bounty board stretched for quite awhile with certain contracts from certain individuals with separate reasons, descriptions, and backgrounds. The sweat in his lightweight, flexible, nano-tech armor remained concealed through a large beige trench coat. The hideous face concealed by layers of bandages and a John Dillinger death mask. Rasool was not apart of the recent Red Mask raids which left their forces crippled momentarily, they would be up and running soon enough but were they stood in their current predicament the Red Mask could only recuperate.

Rasool snarled and made morbid groans as his eyes scanned the bulletin board with utmost caution. "Hnnngh...... Hnnnngh...." Rasools head seemingly vibrated as he sniffled heavily and chattered through his teeth, phlegm sat in his throat and boiled inside his larynyx. On top of that his head began to hurt again, pings beamed with heavy beats that could shatter the Earth if they were real. "It..... Calls..." Poor Rasool muttered to himself, another delusional ramble. He had stumbled towards the left, pings grew ever so louder as he moved leftward. Unintentionally bumping into a man whose arm whirred and sputtered in agonizing sound. Rasool would begin tapping the paper with the contract details while eyeing his arm.

Yellow-green fluid seeped through bandages, flowing down to his neck and dripping off his chin. "Ten percent.... Ten percent." Rasool spoke awkwardly enough to his arm, the pops and crackles drawing him nearer, he hunched over. Studying the strange machine before returning to full posture. Rasool looked anorexic, frail, and unwell as his body was malformed. Tap-tap-tap, his fingers rapped on the contract sheet before ceasing. "Ten percent of the proceeds." The man in the Death Mask awaited for a response.

Assailant Assailant
Click to expand...
Max started as the strange man approached him as he did. This man... ah, one of the church? But would would a church man be doing here, looking for bounties? He watched with hidden disgust at the man's figure, leaking and moaning, as if his entire body were an old machine which had been worn and aged to the point of disfunction, abandoned but left to run eternally. He almost shuddered. An exile, he decided. Yes, that must be it.

That was about the time the man started talking business, peaking Max's interest. He gave another cursory analysis of the man's diseased carcass, better though it would have been for him. He didn't have a problem with a partner. This was just a warm up for him, anyway. He didn't care, and few people would settle for such a low cut.

"I'm fine with that," Max said, nodding and relaxing his stance a tad, though ever on his guard. He couldn't tell if the man was right in the head... or rather, he was most certain the ghoul was not. He prepared his reflexes, just in case something should go awry. "However... no offense intended, but you can handle yourself, right? They're likely just cowardly debtors, but you never know if they'll try something. I won't be responsible if you get hurt."

Myxyzptlk Myxyzptlk
 
The very slightest notion of acceptance gave way to Rasool scribbling his signature, chock-full of gibberish onto the majority of the bottom half of the contract. "Wonders paint pictures of a beautiful story." Rasool spoke in a whisper that whined and cried a somber tone. His partner expressed his concern for Rasool, a first, Rasools eyes closed so tight for a moment. His dilapidated hunched over in a gruesome manner, it sounded as if bones had crunched as they tore through pockets of mucus. "Doubts...? Liability, who's the liability, you or I?" If one could fathom the prospect of screaming while inhaling it was being done in this moment as Rasool made a ghoulish sound.

The innumerable amount of tools and utilities were displayed on his belt already. Clusters of grenades and the bolt thrower concealed within his trench coat. Rasool's hand ran across the coil-gun leaning against the wall with a more then intimate touch. "Now I become death.... The Destroyer of Worlds..." Rasools gaze shifted towards Max. Two heavy breaths, wheezes, which consumed decay and harvested the rotten emission that comes with bearing such an illness. A pollutant that only he absorbed, and then he did not wish to be seen.

There was a task only he was burdened with, acceptance from a discriminating society. The need to cover one's horrendous scars and illnesses from others and remain in the shadows at all times. One task that he was neglecting at that point of time, It was a trivial matter which required him to remain out of sight from other members of pleasanton. Rasool retched angrily at the thought appearing in his mind like a blip on a radar. Rasool was too far away from the safety of acceptance within the Red Mask but they desperately needed to recuperate. This of course meant that Rasool would be left idle for quite some time. A wave flooded his mind anxiously as his voice surged and crackled. "We'll be going? There's affinity to be gained." Rasool said as his biceps seemed to pulsate violently. His head beamed and his head shook violently.

Assailant Assailant
 
Max held up his hands innocently. He shook his head as he did so. "Hey man, I wasn't doubting you. You just can't be too careful nowadays. Too much young blood thinking they're hot stuff and all. I understand more than anyone wanting to jump into the fray and all, but you can't just act hastily," he explained, his metal arm gleaming as if it knew Max was thinking about it as he said this. When he finished, Max briefly noted his own hypocrisy, both in that the ferrous arm was a reminder of his own example of denying this reality, and in that he had yet to truly grow past that side of himself, before he continued on. "If you say you can handle it, I've gotta trust you. Just don't hold me accountable if things take a turn for the worst, a'ight?"

He walked past Rasool casually. "If you're ready to go, I guess, then so am I. Let's do this." He managed to get a few feet away before stopping, pausing in his tracks. He turned back to the deranged man and looked him up and down, taking in his strangely oozing body, before chuckling. "Ah, where are my manners? We're going to be working together, even if it's temporary, we should know what we're dealing with." He grinned and shifted his weight to his other foot, throwing back his shoulders a bit as he did. "Name's Maxwell Teller. Just go by Max though. Makes things a lot simpler." He held out his organic arm, fingers outstretched, closing about half of the distance between them with his hand, offering a casual handshake. "You got a name?"

Myxyzptlk Myxyzptlk
 
As far as young blood was concerned Rasool was 37 and seemed to be upwards to ten years this man's senior. Rasool would not correct his mistake seeing as he was covered head to toe in bandages, a mask, and heavy layers of clothing. Rasool craned his head to one extreme as his bandages grew damp with murky sweat. "Nnnngh..... Nnnnngh... Hnnngh..." Rasool worriedly whimpered as he leaned against the wall and repeatedly rebounded off of it. When Max traversed past him Rasools' gaze followed and not Rasool himself, his head still leaning to one extreme.

After re-adjusting the very awkward manner at which his head laid upon Max offered his introduction with arms out reaching. "Yes." Rasool would find himself saying as he steadily creeped towards his arm, one hand clutched his wrist in a perverse manner and the other on Max's bicep as he squeezed and shook it in random directions. What's in a name? That which we call a rose would smell as sweet, in the wise words of Shakespeare. Names did not seem to matter to anyone who did not stake a major claim within Pleasenton walls to those whose purposes were far less significant. Men coined terms unopposed for Rasool and that belittled the power and strength of a name for him.

Yes indeed, Rasool knew he was named Rasool but unless specifically asked he would not speak. "We've best to move, your means of transport, however you please, your way, we'll accomplish the task." Rasool caressed his mechanical arm like a weaver strings her glorious art across a canvas. His release was sudden and screeched a feeling of frantic concern. He bared his fangs behind his mask and moisture seeped from his eyes and down to his chin with other forms of ill moisture. Rasool arched his back "Your way, we'll accomplish the task?" Rasool repeated, questioningly this time, he ceased arching his back and adjusted his crooked physique so he stood like any other man. Rasool's hands went for the coil gun as his eyes bore lasers into Max's skull with painstaking anticipation.

Assailant Assailant
 

dcc8984c-9a4f-4afe-8c30-8b048da2c509.png
"Want to look for some fun?"
​


The woman was where she often spent her time, in the presence of her partner Kai Evans. Nikita had briefly viewed the mission board, but had rolled her eyes at the droll assignment. Waste disposal. A tedious but necessary evil. Not to mention the risk six members would be undertaking to complete the task. *What a pity it would be to spend your last moments of existance transporting toxic waste.* Not that she hadn't reluctantly took part in such a task before, but it was common for the woman to refuse tasks she found to lack thrill.

She had entered Kai's quarters, her usual gear strapped on; save for a mask normally worn when leaving the premesis. It was hooked onto her belt. The usual look of mischief clouding her gaze as she strode up to the man who seemed to be contemplating something, deep in thought. Nikita nudged him playfully. "Want to look for some fun?" And by that, she meant finding someone to fuck with. *Let's wreak some havoc* DVationz DVationz

 
Max narrowed his eyes for a bit, feeling somewhat uncomfortable around the man. He looked down at Rasool caressing his arm for a moment before pulling back, and Max hummed to himself. "Well... I need something to call you... I'll call you Felix then." Max stepped back and flashed a grin at him before looking at the mission board. "Alright, says we need to talk to Sloan at the Howling Wolf. That's a pretty short walk, c'mon Felix." Max gestured for Rasool to follow him and exited the area.

The walk was short, only about fifteen minutes, and pretty soon they'd arrived. He entered the bar and looked around. It was still a bit early for anyone to be hanging out, so there were only one or two patrons. Max hummed to himself and leaned against a billiards table. "Sloan?! We're here for the job posting!" There was a crashing sound in the back.

"Argh! Goddamnit! Be with you in a second!" Max sighed a bit and looked around before turning to Rasool.

"Hey Felix. You frequent bars at all?"

Myxyzptlk Myxyzptlk
 
All morning Kai had been in his quarters, tending to his equipment first thing as he did every day. After that, he had simple been lounging around, waiting for Nikita to show up or for someone to need his attention. The later had not occurred, and when Nikita finally showed, she gave a wonderful idea. "Please. Anything to end this death sentence called boredom." He got to his feet and grabbed his various pocket items, already out the door. "Let's go Nikita!"

Violetti Violetti (Tiny post I know, wrote it at like... 2 AM)
 
The song of a forgotten soul. . . Echoing through the long forgotten city ruins. Humming along. . .

Crack!

A shell fell to the concrete below as the marksman continued the same old song. It sounded like a lullaby someone's mother sang to get their fearful child to relax. . . Take a breath. . . Focus. . .

Crack!

"Shit. . ." The figure stood from his post and carefully backed away, making almost no sound as he did so. The Reavers may not be too forgiving if they actually found him. . . So he bet on the fact that the already did. Those creatures don't really put a fight up from a distance but in closer ranges he'd be looking one in the eyes. "This far out. . . Their numbers are still like this. . ." Adam did a lot of talking to himself, as he found a different ledge to post up at, he unloaded his rifle. That was quite a large herd for a few spare bullets. . . Just take your time. . .

Somewhere far from Pleasanton
 
How long has it been since she’s taken a job? Huh, it’s a bit fuzzy - and time seems to all run together anymore. Day or night. Hot or cold. It’s all the same anymore. Hollyn was seated in a corner of a bar, legs thrown up lazily onto the table as she leaned back and watched the ruffians threaten to have a go at one and other. Pff, seriously, does everyone come in here with the intention of picking a fight? Hollyn has been here for who knows how long, and why was she here? Well, it’s aboht time she’s gotten up off her lazily ass and got some work done. Being a Wanderer means she’s got to make a living somehow, and so she often takes some of the missions from the public board. Normally it’s the ones no one wants, not worth a ton of money and looking to be a lot of trouble, but this time Hollyn was going for a bit more. She had heard the bartender here, Sloan of the Howling Wolf pub, was having a problem with a couple of assholes who decided they didn’t want to pay. It would be the job of whoever took it to get them to pay up. Holly has been simply sitting and debating whether or not she wants to do this. Finally, she stood and made her way over to the bar. Not long after, two lone figures strolled in and called out for Sloan right as Holly began to open her mouth.
“Seriously?! I was just about to take that job! Ugh...” Holly exclaimed, swiftly turning around and looking up at the two men with her nose scrunched up in frustration. To be fair, she did wait a while, but still. She really didn’t want to take a trip to another mission board again.​
 
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And baptized the mighty Felix, so proclaimed Max as he delighted in his great and noble knighting of such a wretched creature. A wave of Max's hand beckoned Rasool to arch his back and march behind him as the quick trek towards a bar within Pleasanton. They entered such an establishment where noise corrupted the air with it's rowdy patrons, tension flickered and was set to explode in a brawl it seemed. "Move one inch at a time.... Don't make shit rhyme, wouldn't it be easier to repeat the first line...?" Rasool had his back turned towards the bar's interior as they were already stationed behind the counter, Rasool rested his rifle there, his eyes peered out the door before the sound of a man's profanity met with the destruction of unknown materials. Rasool quivered and his lungs puffed out rapidly as a 180 degree prompted him to face towards the area out back behind the countertop.

Max asked a question unfamiliar to Rasool. As his fangs grazed the bandages Rasool could only respond with a magnificent head shake to the sides to show his answer, and disapproval of the scenery. Rasool cupped his palm over a wine glass and tipped it one way so that it flowed onto the countertop and toward the floor, cherry wine flowed through his gloves and to the floor. His skin became oily as he perspirated, the environment triggered another battle which he fought in his head, the beaming rang in his head like church bells. Rasool kneed the back of the countertop which signaled the end of his episode. "Forced, we forced feeding you lines, feeding you" Rasool with his neck craned upwards.

They were then confronted from behind. A middle aged women possibly not older then Rasool forced herself to them in complaint. Had Rasool's senses been heightened in that moment he would not have understood there. He hacked, choked, thrust phlegm out through his bandages, then oh so disturbingly turned his head like an owl. His head rotated upon it's axis before the rest of him decided to follow suit. Roughing up debtors was a simple past time in Pleasanton, it didn't require any signatures, much less the cut would be larger if you took the proceeds they had on their persons but everyone seemed in favor of Sloan's ordeals. Perhaps people's morals shone brightest when times were darkest, but regarding this case Rasool was not sure. Rasool did not need proceeds regarding this contract, he spoke outward "Five.... Five...." he knocked on wood as his eyes observed Max. "Fifty... Forty Five... Five, Fifty, and Forty Five.". His arm outstretched towards the woman in an attempt to finalize the deal.

just hannah just hannah Assailant Assailant
 
Hollyn observes the two males curiously, at least, she assumed there were two. One was covered but had the body shape of a man, so she assumed she was dealing with two men. Holly was half expecting them to tell her to fuck off, and she was prepared to get physical if it went there, although only for defense. This job really wasn’t worth fighting for but she wanted to make her irritation known. The more mysterious of the two did, however, manage to surprise her. Hollyn did her best to hold her stone cold glare but when the male hacked and twisted his head around, in a motion she can only thought an owl could do successfully, before facing her completely. He almost seemed like he was struggling to speak, but once he got the main idea across his hand extended out to her. The gears in Hollyn’s mind quickly determined what he meant.
“You wanna make a deal?” Hollyn confirmed, and this wasn’t exactly the reaction she was expecting. Should she even work with these two? She hasn’t been a “team player” since her brother died, and so Holly unconsciously displayed her hesitation by looking a bit more guarded.
“What the hell, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.” The raven haired woman responded with a slight sigh, reaching out and taking the man’s hand before shaking it firmly to seal the deal. It’s not like they would be together for long, as it shouldn’t be hard to track a couple of punks and scare the life out of them. Or, at least, scare them enough to where they come pay their damn tab. Sloan hadn’t resurfaced yet, and since Hollyn has been watching him from a distance he’s been bustling around all day. There’s always something to do, apparently.
“Hollyn - my name is Hollyn Staggs, but call me whatever you want. Who are you two?” Holly spoke up once more, brushing a piece of her dark hair away from her face as she let her arms rest lightly crossed over her chest.


Myxyzptlk Myxyzptlk , Assailant Assailant ​
 
Max narrowed his eyes at "Felix." He tried his hardest to interpret his insane ramblings before he sighed. "Alright then, buddy." He looked at the bar, where the barkeeper should hopefully be emerging from soon, and he sighed. "Just let me do the talking, then, alright?" He slumped against the bar before a strange woman approached him. He looked at her in moderate confusion. "Umm..." He gave a curt smile. "Well, Hollyn, my name is Maxwell Teller." He gestured to Felix. "This guy never told me his real name, so I doubt you'd have any better luck, but he seems cool with me calling him Felix, so I'm rolling with it."
 
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