#ratherxintense

ramona inhales sharply. her adrenaline pumps through her veins enough that the injury only stings slightly, yet it still stings. ramona takes several deep breaths to keep herself steady & from losing consciousness; her shoulder can't be bleeding that much already, can it? the bullet's probably lodged in there, but that's quite alright, she's dealt with far worse ( she's died, for example. ) "ugh, fuck, i'm sorry you gotta deal with me..." she mutters, leaning her back against some tattered brick wall, a cigarette dangling between her lips. her makeup's smudged, & her eyeliner and mascara around her eyes give her a raccoon look. even her lipstick stains the cigarette butt. "i'm usually better about this type of thing," ramona chuckles.

not far from where they are, a raider lies dead in a pool of his own blood. he was tough, but she's been tougher. maybe a little too tough, for the raider had his throat slit after she shot him in the leg & he went tumbling down. the blood on her face & her shirt isn't all hers.

"it doesn't hurt all that much," ramona mumbles, taking a puff of her cigarette. "i promise." but it's clear on her face that she's still feeling that sting. "just, uh, make sure it doesn't get infected, okay? i don't need to lose my good arm." her hair, at this point, is a complete mess. "you know, you're awfully sweet, takin' care of me & all..."

Smell fuckin' what air-- fuckin' bat shit ass asshole. The only lottery that matters? He thinks to himself, confused he eyeballs the stranger as he comes to a full stop, Nipton.

'Fuck off! Win your own fucking lottery!' The other mans words hit Roy's ears like an annoying BUZZING bee, he wants to swat the other man down. It would be so easy and his trigger finger itches at the hilt of his pistol. He was a powder ganger by the looks of it, so truth be told he was lucky The Courier didn't shoot him on sight. Instead he barks back as the stranger runs off past him. Goddamn lunatic.

“Yeah FUCK YOU TOO PAL, up yours!” Roy sneers and when he does the smell of fire hits his nostrils, singes at his senses-- what's worse was the STENCH of flesh cooking itself wafting from the pyre, the CROSS beside him.

'Up on a cross, head on no pole,' Roy replays the words back in his mind and for a moment there's a look of brief fleeting HORROR registering across his features. "Fuck." He utters, staring at the body to his left and the others as his gaze shifts further down, so many; it reminded him of the things his father told him about, from that old tattered bible. Thinks these guys ain't coming back three days later from this. Roy clinches his fists, he should pull out his gun, but he doesn't.

Just what the hell happened here? He steadies himself, swallowing hard. He hadn't seen anything like this before and if he had, well he couldn't remember it anyway. Roy bounces on his heels, he doesn't know if it's just excitement or a nervous tick anymore. He doesn't care either way, doesn't notice it as he bounds forward, fists clenched-- just incase.

More bodies strung up, more heads on pikes, it took a great deal to disgust Roy if he was being honest, he took SPLENDOR in his own violence, sure. As messy and macabre as it was, but this? This was clearly a whole town...it was a MASSCACRE. His nose scrunches, the smell of fire and burning bodies starting to get to him. He wants to be angry, but most of all he wants to understand why.

Then he spots the town hall, a few guys; five from what he could count, there had to be more...always was. He doesn't think he could fight anymore if that was true, that wasn't even considering the dogs up ahead-- AND a dog headed man before them all at the top of the stairs, surveying the scorched earth like some sort of GOD KING among the riffraff. Roy's hand etches, creeps towards his gun, he needed to leave, needed to get out before he became one of the unlucky lottery losers, apparently. Then he's spotted, he knows it even with sunglasses blocking the dog headed mans GAZE, feels like it's burning into him as if he was on the pyre too.

"Fuck." Roy speaks again, that seemed to be the mantra of the day.

@ratherxintense sent: "I don't know who you are or who you work for, but I don't care. I'm leaving."

【 💣 】— The bomb collar was fastened tightly around their attacker’s neck as they kept her pinned, and after a few kicks and back-handed slaps, she was dragged to her feet and pushed ahead, wrists bound and kept on a short rope like a beaten animal on a leash.

      The courier should have known better than to try attacking them by herself, and in a frontal assault rather than an ambush. She had been beyond angry at what the Legion had done to the place she had once rested her head, the place that she hadn’t called home, but where she resided when not on her various courier jobs. Thinking about it, had it not been for Benny, she too would have been caught in the lottery trap as well. If she ever got out of this, maybe she wouldn’t brutally murder him in a fit of rage... because that certainly didn’t work out here.

"What is updog? I've never heard of this place.."

For the first time in what felt like months, her wrists were not bound. But the collar around her neck was worse. The familiarity made it feel heavier. The fear that crawled at the back of her throat, tasting bile as her kept her fists clenched, desperately trying not to rip it off, not to scream and thrash.

She knew that there was something going on. She’d been washed, and was now wearing a long dress. Not the rags they’d been keeping her in. Whatever was going on, it was something the priestesses saw as important enough to get involved. They weren’t telling her, however.

❝Keep your eyes down and stay silent.❞  The speculator, Iovita, scolded her as she was escorted inside.

Mairwen, of course, didn’t listen, not really. Head partially bowed, she kept her gaze roving until they finally stopped in front of a pair of men. One, she recognized as the slaver she had bought her. The other one, however, shorter than her and younger looking, she did not recognize.

She had to keep herself from scowling. ❝This one’s name is Felicitas, she was bought recently, sir.❞