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Gunman (part 2)

 
Joe Spivey's picture
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Many Years Ago.


Baka checked the grubby piece of paper that Lost had given her. ‘Ron Sanchez’s garage and construction workshop. By the pumps.’ She looked around. She had passed through Oilville a couple of times on her journeys but had never really done anything here except resupply and then get back out to where she felt safe. Too many people, she thought. New Flagstaff was much bigger but a lot less crowded. Oilville stank, not just of oil and steel but of too many people living on top of each other.

She crossed the street from the LifeNet facility towards a bored looking guard, policeman or whatever his job was. He became much less bored as she got nearer. Less bored, more threatening. His eyes became focused and flitted around to see if this unfamiliar girl was alone. His finger automatically flicking off the safety just in case she wasn’t. Baka produced a smile and offered the slip of paper. The guard glanced down at it and then flicked his head to the right.

“Down a ways. On your right. When you smell horse shit you’re there.”

Now Baka remembered. The stables. There was a garage too, of course. She thanked him and headed off.

There were bikes and a few cars parked outside the garage and some of them looked damned expensive. A couple were even kitted out in the latest body shredding automatic weaponry more common to the north. She stopped near the cars and tried to see inside the garage through the filthy windows.

Baka was still not used to being a clone. Still not used to being in the company of those who treated their own deaths like it was all a game to them. Being near them made her nervous. Even Lost, who she admired but who she was also afraid of.

But that was why she was here, wasn’t it? To get to know these strange, bohemian hedonists. And to be accepted by them. So she had accepted Lost Bride’s invitation to come to Oilville and help her in offering assistance to those who wanted to escape the desert for the slightly more civilised world beyond. She remembered her own journey north. More by accident than any kind of skill at surviving she had made it to New Flagstaff when many others had fallen on the long journey. But then, she had been driven by a powerful motivation hadn’t she? Her hand briefly touched the small leather pouch that hung from her belt.

Shaking away uncomfortable thoughts, Baka mentally pulled on the suit of confidence she had fashioned from simple necessity and headed towards the open door of Ron Sanchez’s dilapidated garage.

In her head she had imagined all conversation coming to a halt as she stepped through the door and that she would have to endure the stares of disdain she expected.

In reality only a couple of people even glanced in her direction and the flow of conversation never faltered. Baka looked around for Lost. Then again, hoping she had mistaken her for one of the others. A man pushed past her and Baka backed away to one side of the doorway, apologising in a mumbled quiet whisper that the man probably never even heard as he quickly became one of the small crowd.

She should leave. Yes. Leave, go back to Flag and have some story ready for when she ran into Lost again.

A head popped up from behind the counter, plonking a box of random armour parts onto its peeling varnished top. Lost noticed Baka immediately. Neatly dressed in ‘nice’ clothes, noticeably clean and looking just sooo out of water as to be airborne. Lost took a moment to wipe the blossoming grin off her face and then stood up.

“Oh hey! Glad you could come.”

Comments

Engel's picture

(( the Gunman story promises a long ride down the memory lane. ))


- this comment was brought to you by Oilville Primo™ -

Joe Spivey's picture

((Yes, but a slow ride down a meandering lane. There's a lot of work involved. Reading through 792 untitled RP sessions and trying to remember the context... Huy. Posting will be slower than normal for sure.

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.

Hyle Troy's picture

(( amazing you took the time to log the chats and now have this wonderful archive. Much kudos !

I would rather die peacefully in my sleep, like Grandad, than screaming, like his passengers

Veronica Volt's picture

((Intriguing story with days both before and now. I am excited to read what is to happen.



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