#generalkalani

Knoxx: Grumbling in agreement-

Helena has her legs draped casually across Samuel's, lounged with only a mild care for the world at the moment. It might've been her third or fourth time rereading the novel in her hands though that hardly mattered to her. The restful reverie was more about holding onto the peace and quiet than it was really taking in anything written on the pages again. A sigh and she leans enough that one shoulder meets his.

       ❝ How long before we're called back, do you think? ❞

Father's out by the lake.

...out of context, that's one of the stupidest sentences Sebastian could come up with. But he's confused at the sight of him, unsure what a man of such stature is doing all the way out here, especially at this unholy hour.

His cigarette lights up as he takes one last drag of it. Sebastian only turns away to put the damn thing out on the ashtray before him.

Though renting this cabin for vacation had simply been a pretense for his stay, he has to admit the lake is a tranquil sight when nobody else is around. Sebastian's taken to sitting out on the deck just to watch the water and the sky and wind down from his work in the day, and drinking and smoking like he can't wait to die. Krimson City may be home to him, but it isn't very often he gets to live in nature like this, and there's something to be said about the wind, the silence, the scents; there's something to be said, too, about drinking whiskey outdoors for once instead of alone at a shitty little bar.

Joseph Seed's presence doesn't necessarily put a knife in his non-existent plans. It does, however, make Sebastian a little self-conscious. Unbidden, the desire not to look like a fool in front of him because that's Father rises inside him, and Sebastian has to shake his head and scowl because where the fuck did that come from?

In place of any bizarre emotional states, Sebastian rationalises that a tourist wouldn't catch the attention of a whole religion's damn leader. So long as he's quiet and behaved-- and he has been, against all odds-- there's no reason for anyone to give him the time of day.

Oh, shit.

"You what?" What in the hell would get anyone undercover in here? Wade's first instinct is to look around and gauge who it is Amos is trying to watch, but considering he hasn't heard any movement behind them yet-- no panicking, no attempts to flee-- he suspects no-one's especially paranoid of them.

So, without Amos' permission, he slides into the booth like he was always meant to be here.

It had been his mother's idea to stay on this governor's good side, and while Charles had significant reservations involving himself with anyone who called themselves a "governor", his sense of filial piety had overridden everything else.

Do whatever it takes for us to get on his good side, his mother told him, and so of course Charles had agreed to go on a supply run meant to bring back "significant rewards". Apparently white Americans have no sense of business acumen, though, because the posturing had come far quicker than it ever would have if Charles were still in Taiwan.

He has to resist the urge to glare. For what reason do these people immediately assume the worst of someone meant to be an ally? But he stills his tongue and calms his temper.

Looking over his shoulder, Charles meets the governor's gaze again. You couldn't just let me walk away in silence, old man?

What comes out of his mouth instead, however, is: "You're welcome to come with me if you want to test my efficiency."

He is so friggin' screwed.

The one pistol he has on him (first ever neo-Atlas beta test, bee-tee-dubs) is out of bullets, Rhys has no more grenades (or the time to put one together out of scraps), and the skag that's still after him is so unbearably abnormal he thinks his life is going to end very, very painfully. But, hey-- he probably should've expected as much when he decided to mess around on Pandora, anyway.

Rhys swallows, and he shuts his eyes against the shudder of the steel container he's locked himself in with every shove of the skag against it. It bangs itself desperately at the walls, making noises that Rhys thought he'd be used to by now-- noises that, in the end, aren't even the scariest thing about this whole thing. Not compared to the hiss of acid, because he had the good graces to come across a skag that dripped the glowing green shit.

"Well," he says to no-one, knowing it's only a matter of time before the steel corrodes entirely and the skag either a) burns him alive with its acid; or b) rips him to pieces, "we had a good run, right? Found a Vault, did good about reviving some of that tech, managed to make some of your own..."

Even without bullets, the dead pistol in his hand is a damn beauty. If it's the last invention Rhys will ever complete in his life, at least he can say he made it with real quality.

"...so what if you die in the past? To a skag? That's definitely better than dying back home after achieving nothing. You did... something. You had friends. You helped your friends find the treasure. No regrets. You have no regrets--"

The container overturns, sending Rhys careening towards its top and banging his head with a "shit!". The wall the skag had been banging itself against is now facing the sky, and with his vision blurred and his eyes trying to focus above him, he sees the steel starting to melt away. Daylight filters in through the small hole, then streams as the hole gets bigger, and in a last ditch effort Rhys pulls his baton out and turns it on.

"--just... go out... fighting."

The skag's mouth shoves into the open hole, and with a yell Rhys shoves his cybernetic arm and the baton it holds between its teeth. The immediate hiss of his arm as it burns from corrosion is unheard amidst the stimulation of electric impulses shooting through his nerves like lightning shocks with the tech's rapid malfunction. And the last thing he sees before the pain knocks him out is that the skag falls off... but knowing his luck, it probably won't join the rest of its dead brethren in the dirt.