| Resistance Planning |
| Summary: | Harkins hosts a meeting. Lays down some rules. Gives some guidance. Big scene! |
| Date: | PHD03 |
| Related Logs: | Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank) |
| Players: |
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Late in the afternoon, Harkins has been sitting outside on a log by the fire for most of the day. He's been lethargic and not moving too much since Warday, mostly keeping to himself around the lodge. At the moment he's getting a small fire going in the stone-circle pit, a large black rifle never far from his side.
Banks has made his way out as well, looking around a bit thoughtfully as he glances around. He's been doing some walking just around the lodge, but never out of eyesight of the building. Stepping closer to where Harkins is seated, he keeps quiet for now.
Amun paces back and forth within the vicinity of Harkins, his hands buried within the pockets of his Pyramid uniform, creating large bulges at his sides. He's been pretty quiet as of late, keeping mostly to himself even though he hasn't seemed to directly shy away from the others. A heavy breath flows from him as he sighs, shaking his head at the lack of action. Waiting to die, it seems, his head hanging somewhat low. "When are we going to actually do something..?" he murmurs aloud as he notices others gathering nearby.
Ramone sits by that same fire, wrapped in a blanket and with a glass of water in his hand, which he sips pensively, his glasses slightly askew. He has cleaned up a little bit, and seems a great deal more in control of his wits than when he initially came. He looks up at Amun, cocking his head. "When we have something we know we can do, sir. I will let you know if I have any such observations." He says somewhat shyly.
Old Harkins continues stroking the embers, tossing on a few small sticks to get the cooking fire going. Noticing the prowling Amun with his question to no one, the old timer cracks a stick across his knee as he speaks. "In a hurry to die, son? Last I checked, things weren't too friendly out there." There's a quick glance to him then back to the fire. He's quiet a few more moments, gathering his own thoughts. "Guess we've got the few for now." The fire builds slowly, flames never rising more than a foot from teh ground. He turns behind him to fetch a dutch oven and slides it over the fire. "That'll take a bit to cook. So we might as well hear each other out." He settles back on the log and looks between them. "You got somethin' to say, let's hear it."
Amun scoffs a bit, his head shaking as he glances up toward the ceiling. "We've got options… I know more of you have to be aware of the Battlestar that went down here. It couldn't be more than thirty miles away. We should be all over that thing, and since we've waited so long there's no telling how many other people have gone through the wreckage taking all of the stuff that -we- could be using…" Shrugging his shoulders lightly, the young man continues to pace back and forth. "And no, I ain't in no hurry to die, Pops… Just a hurry to do -something- other than sit around and wait for that to happen. You dig? Like coach always said, it's when you don't act that you end up with regrets."
"And it's when you act without a well thought out plan that you get in serious trouble," Banks offers a bit thoughtfully as he moves to seat himself. "And by serious trouble, I mean 'people start dying'." Shaking his head a little bit.
"I am all for securing more supplies, sir." Ramon says to Amun, as truth be told he doesn't know anyones name, and being respectful seems to be the best bid for toleration. "But we have to weight that against what we have now. As you said, we may have to deal with other groups of survivors, who may or may not be as well armed, sir. Desperation does strange things to a human, and remember, we aren't alone in any likelyhood. So we have our would-be conquerors, and _everyone else_." The teacher muses. Not shooting anyone down, just looking at variables. Variables are simple.
"Thirty miles? Kid, that frakker exploded at high altitude just above the horizon. To the Eest. So if you're keen on marching more than a hundred miles over the radioactive blast crater of Ambrose Air Base, get hikin'. Been nice knowin' ya." Harkins isn't angry, just tired. He's watching the oven cook in front of him on the fire. Small embers glide into the air, floating up past the branches above. He then nods to Banks. "That's right on the money." He sits in silence while Ramone speaks his piece, nodding at the end. "True enough, but we have guns. Being here, we have more than you might think. After dinner, I'll had rad doses for everyone, too. But you have an interesting point. Do you guys think we are facing human terrorists? Some sort of sudden uprising and war? Or are we facing something else? It may seem irrelevant but you damned well better know who you all are talking about fighting against."
Amun seems to get quiet rather quickly, and even a little bit pained as his expression would suggest at Banks' words in particular, only to have it compounded as the teacher chimes in. "Yeah, I know how that goes… A friend of mine got shot on the way here…over some food," he offers to the others, shifting his body then to alter the path of his pacing a little bit farther away from the small group that seems to have gathered. "Fine, maybe you're right," is offered to Harkins. "Still though, a hundred mile hike might not be the worst idea in the worlds… Not considering what we're probably up against. Me and this guy," he starts, gesturing loosely to Banks. "We had a little converstion earlier. Thinkin' it might be the Cylons… Private army couldn't of done this. Mercs, or terrorists? That'd be downright ridiculous. Even terrorists don't wanna wipe out -everyone-…"
Keeping quiet for now, Banks nods a little bit as he listens, studying the others present, for now.
Ramone takes off his glasses, wipes him off. The damn things just can't seem to stay clean. "I am not for standing still, sirs. I merely point out we have many unknown variables. Cylons, terrorists, other survivors, its important to take stock of our skills and inventory before we take any major steps. Ammunition, supplies, skill sets, etc. We may be survivors, but that does not make us commandos over night."
Ramone says, "We need stock of what we can do, what we have, and how far we are willing to go….do we even have a solid objective, sirs?"
Harkins listens quietly while everyone speaks again, eyes still downcast towards the fire. Everyone is sitting around the pit, a dutch oven giving off the scent of cooking potatoes and meat. The rifle by his side sits within arms reach. When he speaks, its low and quiet. "I fought in the first war. Did a lot of stupid shit like diving into things without a plan. Hoping that I would be lucky enough to get out. I dunno if I'm lucky anymore considering I've lived to rationalize what you're saying." Harkins lifts his eyes to look at Amun. "There are people out there who are just evil who would do this, but with what I've heard and seen?" He sighs in a bit of resignation. "Nobody is a commando here. Hell I gave the Corps thirty years and I wouldn't even call myself that. But I think you've got a point, son." He looks to Ramone, then. "We're lacking a lot of important things. Especially information. I know our displacement for supplies because you all are on my property. We can ransack Gladwell probably, but no telling what we can pull from there. But our objective?" He chuckles, the sound old and tired. "Shit, man. One thing at a time. …We all need to consider what it will mean for us to take up arms. And I mean really consider it. You're alive as of this moment."
"Nobody's sayin' we're commandos or anything… And you're right, we should figure things out a bit more. You're all right. Know who can do what better and so on, but we have to put a bit of haste into the whole thing or else we're going to get caught with our pants down. That's all I'm really sayin'. Planning is good, but you gotta be able to do that with some semblance of urgency… Good to know we've got a serviceman in the group. Even if he is old as Zeus…" Amun offers to the others, his back turned to them as he closes his eyes and moves a pair of fingers to pinch and rub the bridge of his nose. "Somethin' I've been meaning to ask…" is started, and the dark-skinned man slowly turns around, his eyes focusing onto Harkins. "What's the most important thing that we need to get outta the way so we can even start to move in one direction or another? Think we need a concensus on that…" This said, he drops down into a seated position, his arms wrapping around his knees as he leans forward to look to the rest of the group.
"Good points, all of them," Banks offers a bit quietly. "Especially that part about information. Because without any information, people don't know what choice they're making, whatever choice they end up on." Shrugging a little bit, "What good would being alive be, if it only means dying slowly from the radiation, or waiting for whoever did this to search through the entire planet to kill what's left, or something like that? And what good would fighting back do, if that'll be all life's about?" A brief pause, "There's a whole lot of ifs and similar words there, that only information can tell us."
The rustling of leaves and the movement of feet across ground becomes audible as a figure emerges into view, having followed the armoas, the sounds. Standing just at the peripheral the man freezes and stands there, watching the others and clearly keeping distance like an animal uncertain of the presence of others. (Achilles)
Ramone returns to his own little world for a few moments, sipping at the glass of water as he gathers his thoughts. "How much could we spare for a reconnaissance party? Even if we decide against fighting, we should have a fallback location." He offers with an upraised finger.
Harkins nods to Amun, chuckling. "Thanks. I think. But I'm not the only one. We've got a Gunnery Sergeant Anthem Hollas here as well. He's good people and he'll be a valuable asset no matter what." He looks back to the fire, thinking on his own again while Banks speaks. "Again, very good point. If we don't have a lot of us, I've got enough rad doses to last us.. maybe a couple months? We're at about six thousand feet. From what I remember, radiation settles more at lower altitudes. We should be okay here for a little while. But as for fighting the rest of our lives?" Harkins shrugs. "What's the alternative? See, I'm an old man. I'm at the end of the road anyway. I could die here at my lodge and be okay with it. And what you all are proposing is a young man's game." To Ramone, he looks towards the sky above. "I can probably spare a decent amount if I know people are coming back. I'd think the information would be worth it to all of us. As for a fallback? Hell, man.." The sound of rustling leaves brings Harkins to settles a hand on his rifle. He eyes the newcomer for a moment. "Hi there."
Banks nods a little bit, before he turns around as he hears that rustling in the leaves, studying the new arrival rather carefully for a little while.
Achilles stands back looking like he was caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Finally, he begins to creep forward, cautiously and speaks in a cracked raspy voice that sounds as if it has not experienced usage in some time. "H…H… Hello."
Ramone looks at Harkins for a moment. "I understand your dillema, sir. That you open your home is more than enough to secure you a place of gratitude. But with the military as far as we know scattered to the winds if not gone, we are one of the last framgents of humanity….if this happened everywhere else. We owe something to the species to give her a last hurrah." How odd, this meek pencilneck trying to be bold, almost inspirational.
Ramone says, "I'll go first. Ramone Barlow. Chemistry teacher, amateur racer. I can point a gun in the right direction, I can fix or build anything with a bit of grease and a few bad ideas. I am also told I can keep even the rowdiest group of Junior under control. I don't have a gun, but my car is somewhere just short of the property. Not sure how much use that would be, but at least it would give us SOME mobility if we could get some fuel in it."
Harkins looks the newcomer over still as he approaches. The old man gives a slow nod with his greeting. "Got some food and conversation if you're interested." The hand doesn't leave his rifle quite yet. "You injured or anything, kid?" He then looks back to Ramone. "I'm not looking for gratitude, son. No thanks are needed. Just respect the location and the property and we'll be okay. Way I see it, we're all pretty invested in survival. Don't do anyone any good to frak with you all's temporary home." He gives a little smirk and lifts a stick to prod at the coals cooking the dutch oven. The potatoes must have some seasoning. The meat, too. Hints of pepper lift to mix with the scent of burning pine. "Retired Master Sergeant Monty Harkins, Colonial Marines. I can shoot, blow small things up, cook, hunt, and survive out here. Been doing all that simulateously for the last twenty years. That, and I've got the guns and ammo to do it. Law enforcement left me alone, I never caused a single problem." He looks to Banks.
Looking first to the new arriva, then to the others as they speak. "Lukas Banks, retired police detective back on Picon. Has been running a bar back here ever since I retired. Skills would include the use of firearms, driving, use of logic and investigation, and a bit of psychology, although I'm far from good at handling people and technical things."
The group is sitting and standing around a small cooking fire in front of the lodge. There is a large dutch oven cooking in the coals giving of the smell of lightly peppered meat and potatoes.
Ramone rises, coming towards Achilles. "Now now young man, I wasn't much better when I came in. Have a seat by the fire, have a glass of water. You are just in time to discuss the fate of our little enclave of Scorpia's Last Sting." The teacher chuckles faintly, leading him towards food and companionship.
"Good to have another police officer up here, Mister Banks." Harkins nods to the man. "Sounds like you have some good experience." He then looks towards the newcomer (Achilles). "Shit, son. Lemme get something for that. Sit yourself down like the man says and we'll have some dinner in a few minutes." He slowly rises from the log, taking up his rifle and disappearing inside the Lodge for a few minutes.
From inside of the lodge, the door opens and Damon, known as Frank, steps over to the group. Face as quiet as ever, he's replaced the shotgun he's given Banks with a rifle that Angelica gave to him. Rifle slung over his shoulder, he lights a cigarette and steps over to them, gaze sweeping over them. Stopping on Achapri for a moment, he nods quietly to her.
Achilles looks back and forth between Ramone and Harkins and takes a step back as if to protect himself, like that proverbial frightened animal taking that guarding of himself as he looks between the pair. "Hmm.. mmm.m.mmm." He almost gurgles as if unsure of words.
Following the signs of smoke, Passryn guides the wide-hooved warhorse with a steady enough hand, the muscular beast moving with a deep-resounding pounding of the ground as it bears both rider, clad in her normal priestly gear plus heavy breastplate, shield hooked to her shoulder, greaves and a warbelt over her hips, protecting her groin and holding her sword, crested helmet bristling in the air— the hrose bears some bloodied burden, besides. "Hail!" she calls to the group as she approaches them, drawing the warhorse 'round and hefting up the deer haunch she brought as a guest-gift.
From a quiet corner somewhere, likely the kitchen, comes a very quiet Angel, weapon at her side, a cup of something in her free hand. No, the woman's not coming in on little cat feet, but she is fairly light-footed as she moves.
Banks is keeping silent for the moment, looking around a little bit. Pausing at the new arrival with the horse, studying her carefully for a few moments.
Ramone watches these new arrivals, tabulating their worth in supplies, in skill, and such. "Good evening, ma'am." He allows as he watches the Amazon and her great beast make their way to the camp. He is suddenly aware that he has no change of clothes, and certainly nothing as intimidating as that affair the woman with the sword bears!
Harkins re-emerges from the lodge carrying a small plastic first aid kit in one hand and his rifle in the other. He spots the woman immediately. "Great gobs of shit. That's one helluvan animal." He stares for a few seconds, looking her over. "Nice slab. Got some deer already in the pot and a carving table inside if you want to add. You're welcome to eat with us if you like." He steps off the porch slowly and moves towards Achilles, offerign the first aid kit to him. "Not my specialty, son. Maybe someone else here knows how to patch." He moves back to sit down on the log and looks around. "Alright.." Those aged eyes survey the group. "We were discussing the prospects for our future. Some people here want to take the fight to whoever nuked the colonies. Personally, I'm more interested in ensuring you all understand what that means and hearing other people's thoughts. So.." He looks to the new arrivals. "Speak your mind," he gruffs.
The ghost that is Angelica drifts over toward Harkins, pretty much automatically, moving in a few steps behind the larger man. She's making no move to assert herself, no move to greet anyone. In fact, she's watching the group with a pensive expression. There's a flicker of recognition in her eyes as she spots the woman on the horse, but she makes no sound of greeting, almost as if she's mute.
Dragging off of his cigarette, Damon looks around before he nods slowly in Angelica's direction. Exhaling a sigh of smoke skywards, he ashes it to the side and looks in Harkins' direction. "…whoever nuked the colonies. Sounds like a great point. I told one of these folk here about how great I thought his idea was, pointing out that we've got civilian rifles." Damon says quietly. "…if there is something to fight back at, we don't have the firepower nor the hideaway network. My vote for now is for getting information, foraging."
Achapri throws down the slab to the ground, the easier to dismount. Which she does with surprising grace, considering hte sheer amoutn of metal weighing the woman down. She ties off the warhorse's reins to a tree and then squats to take up the haunch by the hoof and bring it up over her shoulder like the club of Heracles, standing and approaching the fire. "We're armed for war; we're trained; we're ready. We only need to know the enemy and where the battle lines have been drawn." No waste of words.
Achilles looks at the first aid kit and turns it over in his hands, frowning a bit. His blue eyes drift over the others and after a few hesitant moments, he begins to move towards Ramone and holds out the kit towards him. "H.. H… Help?"
Ramone gets what medical supplies he can scrounge up, then directs Achilles to sit. "Hold still." He directs, a bit of the classroom coming back as the spectacled man tries to at least provide some comfort to the wounded boy. Boy well, because of being frightened.
"Not all of us are warriors, maiden of Ares. We have just as much duty to try and survive as we do to perish. We are not a legion." He offers in polite rebuttal.
Harkins stokes the fire with a small stick, asiding to Angel, "Could you please give that dutch oven a stir?" He pokes at the coals under the iron pot and looks to Damon. "So what then, Frank? You're just willing to fight and kill whatever as long as we had some military-grade hardware? C'mon man. Let's relax and develop a plan and a concensus. But I do agree that we need information. That should be our first priority." He then looks to Achapri. "We? Miss I'm not quite sure who or what you-" he looks past her "-all are. Though I don't think I can discount the motivation." The old man's face gives off the hint of a smirk.
Achilles looks at Ramone and nods his head a bit before shrugging up his shirt to give the other access to the wound. After several moments he speaks, his voice sounding a bit more firm and sure as time passes. "Achilles." He states towards the other as way of introduction.
Angelica puts her cup down, nodding to Harkins with a quiet "Yes, Sir," before she moves to take her spot by the fire. Wow, obedient little thing, isn't she? At least she's not mute. Her intellect, though, is probably up for debate.
Looking to Angel taking Harkins' direction, Damon drags off of his cigarette and looks back to Harkins. Sighing out the smoke in a non-deflating manner, he looks over all of them, including Pass. His serious eyes scan them before he shakes his head a few times. "We're not fighting Cyclops. We have no way of detecting rads. As it stands right now, fleeing back home if we get frakked results in everyone that's hiding here winding up dead. I'm for it, but we need supplies. Body armor. Intel. Rad medication. All of that shit if we're doing this." He shrugs. "I know a few places might have some…but doing this blind is suicide. Best thing we can do for now is use our brains and not our tears."
A glance of acknowledgement to Ramone at his words, no reply uttered, but she heard him, and thought his statement had enough merit to acknowledge. Her attention returning to Harkins, then, "I disagree." She speaks plainly, then puts forth her own proposal, having thus introduced it. "I suggest we take survey of the lands we possess and consolidate ourselves to defensible territory, setting up defenses to protect those—" a glance to Ramone, "less inclined to the battle-cry. Then we scout out from there for further information as to the lay of the land."
Amun had been seated off in a corner of the room, his arms wrapped around his knees and his chin upon the over pass. Listening to the others speaking, his brow furrowed and more than once he'd looked skeptical, as well as approving over what had been said. When Harkins chimes in again, a light smirk touched his expression. "Hey, I've got an idea…" he offers then, raising his hand as if he was in some kind of class and not a group of nobodys hoping to live out the next week. "Why don't we decide on someone to put in charge? Usually a team…not saying that's exactly what this," he begins with a laugh. "But usually a team works better with at least somebody is agreed upon to call most of the shots. I played Pyramid, pro…" And it's more than likely that if anyone is a sports fan they will recognize him. "Without a leader on the field, things tend not run quite as…smoothly."
Ramone shakes his head. "You misunderstand me. I did not say that I would not fight, but that we need to plan this as if we were setting up a kingdom, or an empire. We should spend as much time rebuilding as we do destroying. Self sufficiency, not vengeance must be our perogative." Though he does seem fairly impressed by the Hellene maiden, perhaps revising some initial first impression.
"Every…" Cough clearing of throat noises come from Achilles and he tries again, voice just a croak. "Every civilization, every group, has a heiarchy. Has leadership. Otherwise all voices compete and no voices are heard. Every tribe has a chief, every jail has a warden. I new… I'm… new to you all. But… but…" He blinks and swallows. "Sorry."
"As I was sayin earlier Frank, we're up at six thousand feet. Radiation will settle the lower altitudes first and kill everyone there. I've got rad doses we can have after we eat." He doesn't comment on the rest. Harkins falls strangely silent and watches Angel work at the food for a moment. He glances to Achapri. "Maybe. But I think Ramone's words are worth giving weight, too. If we place our imperative on fighting and not being able to survive, then we'll be dying rather quickly. I imagine you and I and a few others here can live off the land pretty well but everyone else here is going to need at least some minor help." Its said matter-of-factly, not meant to be condescending. Harkins doesn't seem in the mood to offend. Then he looks to Amun and Achilles. "True enough. But we aren't even sure what we are facing yet. Before we go selecting things like leaders I'd like to know what kind of leader we want or how about what we are doing? I mean no malice, but we should probably have some solid displays of leadership and intelligent thinking before we go appointing anyone. Can everyone here agree on that?"
"…I agree with Pyramid." Damon says flatly, ashing his cigarette and crouching down to lean against his rifle. Looking to the ground, he shakes his head a few times. "…first thing all of you should recognize is that you're all fools." He says simply. "…millions, maybe billions just died and we need to stop being fools…put our egos away. There's a chance one slip up any of us do now could either get us killed, or get someone else killed. What you were in life is nothing now, despite what skills it brings this group." He says in a ghostly manner. "…if we're nominating a leader, I'm for the old man. He uses his mind. This isn't war…we're a bunch of children to this right now. But make no mistake…" He looks up to them eyes gazing across them. "…the people you're looking at aren't guaranteed tomorrow, and the sooner we accept that, the better off we'll be. Life just got short. People die. It's not fun…but it happens. So if this shit's about revenge for you, you best check that…because you're likely to get someone killed. Most folk wouldn't know how to live without their utility bill and their fast food restaurants and hospitals. This shit just got real."
Achilles, on the other hand, garners no attention from the Warlord's maiden. Maybe because she doesn't feel there was anything of merit added. Maybe simply because it came across without the necessary strength of conviction to make her think it was worth hearing. "Agreed," she tersely ties off any contribution to the question of leadership. A leader arises by leading, not by discussing who should lead. "We can hunt for more." Is she using the royal 'we'? "But once again it will be necessary to know where the hunting is safe and where we may encounter an enemy. I stand by my conviction that we must consolidate our position and survey the land within a defensible range."
Amun smirks at Harkins' words, his head taken to shaking lightly from side to side before he rises to his feet and dusts some of the soot and dirt from his Pyramid uniform. "I think we can all agree on the fact that you seem to be keeping order to this little meeting… You've pointed out some things like our altitude, and how that'll help us. You're giving the nod to a lot of the suggestions, and keeping an open mind as ya listen. Survival is our first priority, yeah, I'm with you there…" That said, the young man looks over the others for a moment before stepping closer to the group. "I see a lot of theories flying around, and a lot of good ideas… Still, I think that we need to acknowledge what's staring us in the face. Far as I'm concerned, Mr. Harkins here…" he gestures to the older man, tilting his head a bit as he continues to look to the other gathered faces, nodding to Damon in particular thanks to his nomination. "He's a serviceman, or used to be, and he's old… I say we call you Top until more displays of leadership can be witnessed. So, it seems that most of us agree that Zeus here should call the shots until someone else is deemed fit to take the reigns."
Angel continues to stir what's in the dutch oven, head bowed as she works. If she's listening to the assembled, it's not readily apparent. If she has thoughts of her own, she's not voicing them, not now at least. The fire is tended, what's in the pot is tended, and the only person she looks to is Harkins.
"I agree with you, sir." Ramone says, gesturing to Amun. "We need a councillor, as we have more than enough technical and military muscle. We need….not just a military commander, but someone to give us identity. A philosopher king…we need time to heal, to build a society, even if it is a Death Cult." Perhaps the professor is more willing to die than his words indicate, but his reason has not left him yet.
Patched up, Achilles slowly rises up and brushes off his pants, starting to saunter and move a bit towards where the smell of food is originating. His steps seem to be still uncertain and eyes watch the others warily as he moves. Finally getting to where the cooking is occuring, he lifts a hand and points, not using words to speak once more.
Harkins chuckles and looks back to the fire as the embers drift into the darkening sky. He slowly scoots off the log and moves next to the girl tending to it. "Angel, that looks pretty good. Could you please grab us all some plates and forks?" His voice is soft as if unwilling to disturb the young lady. The rifle is kept nearby. But he looks up around the group finally. "Look. You all want to listen to me, that's your perogative. You all toss around the term 'old man' as a name. But I'm 68 years old. Its not just a name but a fact. I'm not looking to lead a war party. I own the lodge and have lived a long life. Not much matters to me anymore except making sure certain people are taken care of. I'm more interested in that. Sustaining ourselves. So you guys want me to be a voice?" Harkins shrugs. "I'm a voice. It doesn't mean everyone else here shouldn't have their say. I called this meeting to decide what we want to do: Fight or hide. We can hide here for a good long while but there's some intelligent opinions here that we can't stay here forever or launch attacks out of here - if that's what we want to do. So before we go deciding on leaders, I wanna know something.. Are we fighting or hiding? If we're fighting, I can bring more to the table. How much more will depend on what you all decide. So I'd suggest a vote."
"We fight," Passryn replies, by way of casting her vote— or simply stating as fact that that is what she does. She fights. As preparations for supper are underway, she then takes the haunch she brought as a gift into the lodge to skin and dress it for the group.
From afar, Angelica snickers.
"That's the smartest thing I've heard yet," Homer says as he emerges from some brush not too far off. "I'm for fighting, too. Nothing ventured, nothing gained." He moves over towards the fire, reaching his hands out to warm them.
"It is your home, your land, and you have given us shelter. In Antiquity, that would make you a king, sir. I vote for fighting, contingent on a proper strategy. If we can keep the radiation down and can get past the toasters, my father owned a lot of Scorpia's fabrication plants. It wouldn't be too hard for me to strip the machinery and bring it back, give us a small industrial base." Ramone offers.
Damon looks to Homer as he approaches, still smoking his cigarette. Ashing it, he takes a moment to consider. "…I'm not one to roll over and wait to die. Fight." Damon says with a shake of his head. "But I'm dead serious about this. We do this…we gotta be animals. Food is life. Water is life. No more of this shit about crying about me being insensetive for pointing a gun at a newcomer covered in dirt in hysterics because I don't know if he's irradiated or not." Damon says, nodding in Ramone's direction. "This isn't going to be worth it if we fall back on being polite people. Survival isn't polite. Wolves aren't polite."
Homer chimes in, additionally, with, "Can we stop this king talk? It's cracked. And this may be the end of the world, but I'd rather eat a bullet'n have some dude bossing me around for what's left of it."
Amun clears his throat quietly as Harkins speaks up. The man does have a way with words that's for certain, and it shows on his face as he smirks that he's rather appreciative of that quality in 'Zeus'. Moving a hand to stroke gently at the stubble that has formed about his chin, he nods his head lightly and takes a deep breath, moving back and forth as he returns to pacing. "My family, far as I know is dead… Whoever attacked planned the whole thing extremely well. If they did so as well as I readlly do -think- they did… Then hiding isn't gonna do a spit for us 'cept make it easier for them to bring the knock-out punch when the time finally comes." Shaking his head, he seems to dismiss the idea completely, even laughing a bit at the thought. "No way, man… My father always said that if you're gonna do something, you better be sure you do it right. We're obviously at war, and wars never got won when those caught up in it decided to hide." Glancing toward the woman that spoke up first, and then to Homer before a sound nod is offered along with a grin that seems to conflict with the narrowing of his eyes. When Ramone speaks, Amun's grin broadens even more still and finally he snaps his fingers when Damon says his piece. "So say we all. Frackin-A… To the last man, if that's how it has to go down."
Angel looks up at Harkins for a very long moment, studying him, then offers a bit of a smile and a nod. "Yes Sir," she says in that same quiet voice, one that probably doesn't carry too far under the rest of the conversation. She disappears into the lodge for only a few moments before returning with the requisite number of plates and untensils in hand. "Drinks are just inside the door," she announces. "On the table." Then it's back to the fire where she crouches, starting the process of dishing up dinner. Harkins gets the first bowl, or at least offered the first.
Achilles remains standing by the fire watching the food be dished up, tilting his head. He glances towards the others talking and then shakes his head with a soft chuckle hitting his throat.
"As a suggestion, Mister Ramone, if we indeed fight, I would leave this lodge as your fall-back in emergencies. I have hot, running water as long as the boiler keeps up. I've also got solar power. If industrail production is something you all are interested in, the Viper plants all over this region might be more to your liking." Harkins then looks to Homer. "Agreed. I'm not a King. I have suggestions, nothing more." When Angel offers him the bowl, he shakes his head and motions to someone else. "Guests first, Angel," he says quietly. Slowly he rises from beside the fire and sighs, lifting the rifle with him and resting it along his side. "Well that's a majority opinion, I believe." A glance to Achilles. "Voice your opinion, son, if you want to be heard. Silence doesn't imply anything with me. But I think this group should hear it." He looks to the others. "I'll be right back." With that, he moves off past the cabin and heads over the ridge.
Homer eyes Damon and says, "Tell you what, man. You act like an animal if you'd like, but if we become animals, what's the point? We're human and we have to act like it, even when it's not beneficial to our long term survival."
Achapri scrapes the inside of the hide free of scraps of flesh and drapes it to dry. That'll come in useful for something. The hoof and lower leg are also left, but separately, the lower leg good enough for making stock, the hoof, split, good for adding knobs for extra protection on a shield or helmet. In the end, nothing is thrown out, but all is left there for the owner of the place for a subsequent meal, and she emerges again to partake of what's being offered to the guests here.
"…there's a large difference right now between us and them." Damon says flatly, taking another drag off of his cigarette. "The people we don't know could be dangerous to us. Radiation sickness. Insanity. Greed. Stupidity." Damon says flatly, strange talk from a police officer who serves and protects. "…I'm not saying we kill or even turn away outsiders but even the smartest of the dumb sons of bitches has the capacity to get some of us killed. This is a time to be careful, so if we're following that man…" He nods to Harkins. "…we do what we say or don't find yourself complaining about getting pistol whipped. If I was god. That's what I'd rule. Life is a commodity now, not an excess."
Having heard the prodding from Harkins, Achilles looks towards the group then shakes his head. "Don't wanna hear what I say." Instead he goes back to looking at the fire, kneeling down near it and moving his hand towards it till it gets hot and moving back. "Ow."
Angel gives Harkins a bit of a surprised look, then nods and turns to offer the bowl to Achilles. "This is warm and it won't burn you," she tells the man softly, quietly. Her eyes focus on his shoulder rather than his face.
"Make up your mind. Did you mean be cautious or did you mean be animals. They aren't the same thing and your confusing… well… everyone," Homer says, eyes glinting in the light of the fire as he stares at Damon. "Thank goodness you aren't frakking god then. All you are is a thug with a gun."
Watching as Harkins takes his leave of the group, Amun starts to make his way closer to the chef and ends up taking a seat much closer in. Kicking his legs out in front of him, he leans back with his weight braced upon his left hand as his right drapes across bent knee. As he listens to Homer speak to Damon, a light grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.
"Those machines require dedicated power and repair systems. We stay long enough to build anything, we glow, Mr….Harkins." Ramone says, finally conjuring a name. The bantering on the nature o humanity disinterest him, it is numbers and practicality that interests him. He moves over to where the Amazon is. He nods to Achapri, looking uncertain for a moment as to whether to join her.
"I'm with you, really. I want to survive, I want to fight. Rebuild, maybe. Maybe we are going back to the ancient days, and you have it right. Those garments…you are the member of the commune, yes?"
"Damn right I'm a thug with a gun…" Damon says, looking to Amun, nodding a few times. "…but I don't see much chance of survival without a group effort. Guess that leaves me obligated to taking an interest into all of us staying alive." Damon adds, stubbing out his cigarette and rising. "That even means you, lucky you."
Achilles looks at the bowl then the hands holding it and he nods accepting it from Angel. His response is a grunt of thanks, that or annoyance as he begins to eat. Without silverware, using his hands and cradling the bowl away from any who even look at it.
The strange behavior from Achilles draws a brief stare from Passryn, but otherwise the squabbling among the group seems of little interest. Philosophical hypotheticals. Nothing useful being discussed. She heads toward Angel, who seems to be in charge of distributing the meal. "I serve Enyalios in His sanctuary," she replies, as Ramone asks it of her. "He brings us bloody conflict; we fight until we can't." Simple as that. "Are you trained in Ares?" Using the God's name instead of the word 'war.' Since the God -is- War.
Homer smiles and throws his arms wide in an dramatic gesture before clapping his hands together, "I'm lucky! This I know!" Dropping the smile, he adds in a slightly less enthused tone, "Long as you keep acting like a thug instead of a king, we won't have any problems, man."
Harkins returns over the ridge a few minutes later carrying a couple of large green.. boxes? One in each hand. They jingle metallicly as he approaches. The man looks around the group. "I see someone pointing a gun at another person on my property, you will answer to me. Period. You want to fight or scrap with each other over pidly shit, you hike until you are within sight of Gladwell. Consider this property hallowed ground. I will ask you all to respect my wishes. Now," he begins again, setting the boxes down and crouching next to them. "-humanity just took a major damned hit so if you can't behave like human beings then you can sleep outside like a dog. This is not a brothel for hooliganry. Is that understood?" He looks to everyone in turn, laying that on nobody in particular. Finally, he reaches down and pops open the canisters. They're filled with live ammunition. Probably a couple thousand rounds between them. "I've got enough guns to fire off all this ammo in about twenty seconds. If you all can work as a team, I'll open up the vault. But I want personal assurances that teamwork is number one. We all pull our weight for the group. Divided, we are a steamy pile of shit."
Amun chuckles again at the back and forth between Homer and Damon, his head shaking lightly as his face lights with amusement. "Get 'im," he says, seeming to cheer Homer on. "Be careful though… Thing about being a thug is you never have to say you're sorry. That might not bode too well in the future," he offers with a wink to big H before his gaze travels over to Zeus. "Hey, big man… You can count on me. I've been a team player all my life," he says, offering a mock salute.
"No. I was a chemistry teacher. However, it seems I will need someone to teach me Ares. If I followed anyone, it was Hephaestus. I made things, taught people how to make things." Ramone explains somewhat. No warrior, admittedly, but perhaps a little applied science would be useful in this conflict. While theoretical discussions of humanity are ignored, the fact that Harkins has laid down the law is rather comforting.
Angelica offers Amun the next bowl of stew, utensils included, and offers a quiet, "Please pass these around?" Either she's not paying attention to the conversation, or she's got absolutely nothing to add. She does, however, pause as Harkins comes back and mentions the vault. Brows go up and her lips part as if she's going to say something - but nothing comes out.
"I'm in. There's nothing left. Either die alone or stick together and die alone later." This from Homer is aimed at Harkins. "I just want to make it crystal. I'm willing to accept this is your land, so the basic rules of law apply… and you seem open to the idea of democracy for everything else. As long as we stay that way, you won't have any problems from me."
"Ammunition's a vital commodity." Damon says with a smirk, shaking his head lightly. "Every bullet we got should be used for the right thing." Damon says, watching Homer for a long moment, giving him a bit of a staredown. Showing he's not afraid of any of them, he slowly tilts his eyes back to the rest of the fire. He looks in Harkin's direction. "I know a few places in some of the towns nearby that will probably have intact stockpiles of munitions, provided that they aren't glowing they probably survived the blasts." He pauses, taking a bowl into his hands. "…I'll show you where they are if we can get to them."
Achapri tips up her chin in a look of acknowledgement to Ramone. Hephaestus once took Ares captive with his clever arts. A pursuit worthy of respect and powerful. She says none of this, of course, being a woman of few words, but the respect for his trade is artlessly communicated in the head tilt. "You'll be indoctrinated in the bloody arts soon enough, I warrant," she simply replies to him. Whether that's an offer or not is up to interpretation. She then gives her attention to their host, and nods her tacit agreement. To disrespect a man who takes you in as a guest is against the very heart of the scriptures. She certainly has no intent of doing so.
Eating his food and licking his fingers while doing it, Achilles mouth works to form words but nothing comeout. He's almost muttering under his breath. That or the young man is eating and not doing it with his mouth closed.
Amun breathes a laugh as he's passed a bowl only to be asked to pass it to the next person. "Yeah, sure… Maybe I should've kept my mouth shut about the team player bit, huh?" he offers to her before looking for the next pair of empty hands. "Yo, Captain Thug, you eatin'?" he asks, lifting a brow as he rises to his feet to trek over to the other bloke.
"As I said, theres probably mountains of scrap and machinery down there. You get me down there, I can take it apart and help bring it up. Turn this into a defensible keep with a proper workshop. We can't defend the viper plants, and building fighters is a waste. We need infantry and vehicle mounted weaponry, as I wager none of us are combat certified pilots." Ramone leaning in, clearly getting into this. He turns toward Achapri, tilting his head and nodding.
"Any assistance would be appreciated."
Out of the woods comes Salazar. A cigarette glows as she takes a drag, smoke blowing out with her next breath. A kitten rests in the crook of her arm which detracts somewhat from the badass she has going otherwise. She approaches the fire slowly, from behind Damon. "Nice stealthy fire you've got there."
Harkins dips his head to Homer. "I'm not a President or a King or the ruler. I ask for you all to respect this property while you are my guests." He looks around once more. "Now listen up because I'll say this once and you pass it around to others that you see: If this is as bad as we all suspect, then money is gone. Your homes. Your family. Your influence. We just had the 'Reset' button hit. The only thing we all have are our word to each other. Your ability to show and give respect is probably the only spendable commodity we have left that is equal seeing as we are strangers. You give respect, you get respect. Some of us may have done shadey things in our our lives. But now is your chance to redeem yourself if thats the case." He lifts a fistful of ammunition, the rounds spilling between his fingers. "Now, no more preachin' from the old man. I'm tired. Help yourselves to food and drink. I'd like to hear thoughts about recon and gathering up some information." He slides a gaze to Salazar as she enters. A smirk is offered. "Thank you, young lady."
Homer nods to Harkins. "I heard something about a Battlestar crashing planetside. Might be worth checking it out, seeing what might have survived the crash supply wise… I'd like to volunteer for that venture." He adds, as an afterthought, "I know how to use a rifle. Had it beat into me, pretty much."
Achilles looks up from his stew bowl towards Harkins and studies the older man for a long while. He stares at him in silence for long moments before speaking in his cracked voice. "Speak… later… we should speak later."
Damon takes the bowl and looks over his shoulder at Salazar, watching her closely for a moment. Eyeing the kitten in her arms, he looks back to the fire after taking the bowl from Amun. "…captain thug…" He says simply with a shake of his head. "You should listen to the warrior woman over there. The lot of you are gonna be made into men pretty soon." He says, watching the dutch oven, he nods to Harkins' words. "I don't owe anyone at this fire any respect. They frak with the survival effort, I see no reason why they should be kept in the loop." Damon says simply, drinking from his bowl. "…I'm not interested in waiting for people like mary over there to try to make me feel regret for pointing a piece at someone that might be irradiated. This isn't about friends. This is about mutual effort." Damon says coldly, his voice like warm bourbon. "…sooner you get it out of your heads that I'm interested in being friends, the sooner this starts to work." He says, tilting his head a little to get Salazar in his view as she approaches.
Achapri waits her turn for grubthings with the patience of one accustomed to going without. "Are you asking for indoctrination? We haven't in the past opened our doors to any but those who have proved themselves worthy. But I think for the current situation it would be prudent for me to put it to communal discussion whether to allow outsiders into the commune for training and protection. If there are those here who decide it would be the safest place for people," she adds. She's certainly not going to drag people there.
Amun laughs at Damon, shaking his head as he turns to make his way back toward the chef, his hands outstretched to accept his own meal this time. "Made into men pretty soon… You've gotta be kidding me. Godsdamn thugs.." he offers with a chuckle. "Nothing to ya though, Captain.." is added after a moment. Last thing he really wants is a fight, not at a time like this. The 'Warrior' is glanced to next, and a brow raises as she mentions her commune and a bit of a chuckle escapes him. "This oughtta be rich…" he offers to no one in particular before his attention returns to Angel.
"Mary huh? I guess I struck a nerve with the thug thing, huh?… and I meant it in the best of ways." Homer's smile is devilish. "Tiger, I'm not trying to make you feel anything. I'm trying to point out the fact that you seem psychotic and perhaps means we should point a gun at you instead." Then he notes, with less venom, in Achapri's direction with a direct look, "No thanks."
Angel remains quiet by the fire, dishing up the food until all of the bowls have been filled and passed out. Once everyone else is served, she takes her bowl and moves over to a comfortable corner not too far from Harkins.
Harkins looks at Damon. "Frank, nobody is asking you to be cushy with someone. You want to sit outside the campfire, you're welcome to. But you're welcome to sit around it with the rest of us as long as we can all be civil. The rules apply evenly to all of us. If I can't be civil, I'll go inside, too. But that's how things will be here on this property by my wishes." He's even about the whole idea, not intending to be threatening. But the man moves away from the tins of ammo and sits himself down on the log with his rifle. "That battlestar exploded at pretty high altitude just above the horizon. We'd have to hump probably a hundred miles or more East over radioactive grounds near Ambrose to get to it. Did anyone see any blasts to the West of here?"
Achapri returns the direct look. "It's a well-fortified and defended area," she states plainly, "But as you please," she lets it go, not intending to push the point. There's food, and that takes her attention, for now.
"I come from west." Achilles states quietly after a bit. "Many clicks… many. Hard to tell, walk day and night." He eats the rest of his bowl, licking it clean in fact before looking up. "Dangerous place… dangerous talk around here. Too many on edge. I seek sleep."
Amun receives the last two bowls, and for the briefest moment he considers taking a seat and having at the two. The momentary pause is just that, a moment and before long he's on his way to the Amazon's side. "Here ya go, Lady A…" he offers, thinking it cute. 'Lady Ares' seemed like a fitting nickname. "Looks like you could use more than the average guy," he adds with a light grin, proffering the slightly more full of the two bowls.
"Speaking of shady things…" Salazar comes up behind Damon, and hands Damon the kitten. "You should tone down the streetsmart badass. It's getting old. Oh, also." She steps over closer to Damon, so she can talk more quietly. "Give me your sidearm."
Damon quiets, tilting his head to listen to Salazar as she speaks to him. Holding the kitten in his hands, the air around him and Salazar becomes immediately tense as he glances sidelong to her, giving her a long, slow look that only manages to skim her outline. She's dead behind him. "No…" He says quietly, drinking the last of his bowl of food, staring at the fire. The sidearm is on his right hip, buckled in place. "…you got a problem, Salazar?"
"Yeah, I'd like to not glow green… count me in on recon, though. I have some experience working in a group with a rifle. My family were overly enthusiastic hunters back on Leonis." Homer offers a soft smile to Harkin. About as kind a look as he's given anyone since he got to the lodge. With the little interaction between Salazar and Damon, that somehow includes a kitten, he cants his head, openly staring at the both of them.
"Careful with the kitten. She's lost." Sal steps up to Damon's back, almost body to body. Her left hand touches his shoulder briefly, then drops. "No problems yet. Don't make one." Her body is mostly hidden behind his. While he's busy with the soup and the furball, she reaches around to his hip, flicks the holster open, and removes the sidearm. Quick hands.
Damon doesn't drop the kitten, oddly enough, but he does drop the emptied bowl of soup. Letting it bounce off of his boot to keep it from shattering, it rolls in the dirt as he slides a steaknife from inside his belt to hold it back-handed against his wrist. By then, the gun's already removed. "…Salazar…what you are doing is a very bad idea…" He says calmly, head tilted to look slightly over his shoulder at her. "…I could just as easily tell them that you're not any better than I am."
Setting the empty bowl down near the fire, Achilles offers a slight bow towards the preparer of the food before starting off towards the woods. "I will be there." He points towards a small knoll type area. "Too much danger in this place… too much anger and distrust. If need, I be there."
Harkins nods to Achilles as he rises. "Sleep well, son." He then looks towards Salazar and Damon, not quite hearing whats being said. But it doesn't linger and he looks to Homer. "If someone wants to organize a recon, I would suggest we push south from Gladwell and check things out. Any other volunteers?" His eyes travel around as he eats at the contents of his bowl. But as Salazar removes Damon's sidearm, Harkins rises with his rifle, eyes intent on the two. "Oh you two had better be quick with the explanations after what I -just- finished frakkin' saying." Oh yeah, he's mad now.
Angel had been doing quite fine, thankyouverymuch, until the Damon's bowl drops. Her head snaps up, eyes wide, hand tightening on her own bowl - though she doesn't reach for her weapon. Not yet.
Suddenly, Amun's attention is on Sal and Damon, his eyes blinking as he watches the woman disarm the 'thug'. "Hey you two, don't start actin' stupid, eh? Seriously… There even an ounce of brainpower between the two of you?" he asks, almost seeming to echo Harkins' concern. "Put the frackin' knife down, and you give him his bloody frackin' gun back, alright? If you're so eager to get into it… Then lets organize that recon," says the Pyramid player as he moves to stand within the pair's midsts.
"You could." Salazar replies quietly, "You won't. We go back a little too long." She slides the gun behind her back, though the movement is hidden by Damon's body. "We'll talk about it later." She stays positioned behind Damon, and a hand goes to his shoulder. She looks over it at the old man. "Back off, old man. You don't want to get involved in our friendly conversation. You either." She doesn't look at Amun, but she addresses him. Briefly, and with two words. "Go back to your dinner, folks."
Ramone grunts in disgust, taking a bite of dinner. "Nobody cares how bad you are, how wicked you are, how badass you are." He says to himself and to the priestess of war. He does however, seem content to let the children have their way. Sooner or later, they would realize that no one cared. That it was a ne world.
"I'd buy she's less of a danger than you, pal," Homer points out helpfully to Damon. "Plus, she's kinda easy on the eyes." Glancing aside to Harkin, he suggests, "Why don't we let her finish what she's started. If you'd seen the way the guy pointed a gun at the Nutty Professor there yesterday, you wouldn't like him much either."
Amun narrows his eyes a bit as he's told to go back to his dinner, and the man shakes his head once. "Who do you think you're talkin' to?" he begins, only to grow quiet once Homer and Ramone chime in. The silence doesn't last for long, as the contributions of the two men only seemed to make him rethink the situation at best. "Hey, I don't care what happened yesterday… If you two start getting into it, then we're going to have some problems. If you really want to have a conversation that looks like it might turn into something else… Take it away from the dinner table."
"Oh really? I don't want to get involved?" Harkins stares at the pair. "I just finished talking about how if you people want to go squabble about your childish bullshit, you do it off this frakking property. So if you guys wanna go have an unpleasant conversation, you go do it up by Gladwell before you bring us a bunch of undue attention. Or are you both just that damned stupid to go getting into gunplay in a crowd or armed people?" Harkins shakes his head, his own disgust evident. He looks to Homer, then back to Damon. "Already pointing guns, Frank?"
Damon tilts his eyes away from the rest of the group to level them on Harkins. "…Professor came in covered in dirt talking nonsense. How was I supposed to know he wasn't going to get us rad-sick?" Damon says simply as if it's common knowledge. Eyes darkening as he sweeps the group, he nods back in Salazar's direction. "This woman and I gotta have a long talk. Someone mind taking this kitten from me so that I can tend to her sensibilities?" He says, clearly something tense between him and Salazar. "…what was that about reset button, Harkins?"
The only confirmed weapon on Salazar is now Damon's sidearm. "One guy has all the guns. That doesn't seem fair to the other kids." Her tone is light, but there's a definite smirk behind it as everyone suddenly goes up in arms over such a small gesture. Damon's allowed. She IS standing right behind him. She did just take one of his two visible firearms. "Geez, Mom," Sal could be addressing any number of the would-be nannies. "Don't bust my balls." She leans a little closer to Damon. "Seriously, did I get drunk and pass out dreaming this shit at a family reunion? Any minute now, someone's gonna throw me in the pool, and I'll wonder where my clothes went when I wake up choking on chlorine. Not sure if that would be a relief. Digital video is forever." She pats D's shoulder, then turns to walk off a little ways out of the light of the fire, giving her eyes time to adjust.
"Personally, I think all the guy needs is a pretense and he'd put a bullet in each one of us," Homer notes as an aside to Harkin, then says, "If you trust me with the kitten, I'll hang onto it whilst you have your chat, pal," to Damon, stepping forward.
She keeps her back to the wall, Angel does. She keeps her bowl in both hands and simply watches Salazar and Damon, eyes a touch wide. They're the threats, apparently.
"Alright… Alright, as long as you're takin' it elsewhere. Got no beef," Amun says, raising his hands in surrender as he backs up a few steps. When his hands lower they find a place at his sides, thumbs hooking into the pockets of his uniform. "Nice family we've got starting up here…" he offers, sarcasm heavy in his voice though there is the barest hint of a smirk upon his face.
"Rather than pointing steel at him, Frank, how about asking a new arrival if he's injured or feeling sick? Can you do that instead? If you're so afraid of other people, you tell me and I will deal with new arrivals personally. What's the worst that's gonna happen? It might kill me?" He asks the question as if he considers himself already dead. Either Harkins is quick to deal with things or he's had this mentality for a long time. "Might want to recount your firearms, Miss. He's far from the only armed one. Now take your business elsewhere and come back when you can act like intelligent people." He grunts, staring at them. When she turns to move away, Harkins finally sits back down. "Now, about this recon." He watches Damon move off. "Any other volunteers?"
Said professor looks at Achapri, then at Harkins. It seems that while he is disgusted, he knows pissing on the fire is a bad idea. "When the children are ready to cooperate, sir, I would like to discuss fortification and requisition of supplies and the possible beginning of supply routes. Food, water, cottage industry needs to be established. I am not sure how good of a hunter I am, but I can certainly help in determine what can be used for building and fabrication."
Homer quips Amun's way, "Strangely enough, all the guns, threats of violence and sarcasm? Reminds me of home. All we need is Cousin Lester walking around in nothing but a barrel with shoulder straps and some jugs of moonshine."
People getting into fights is par for the course in the commune, of course, where status is derived from prowess in Ares. But typically there's a little more fighting and a little less yammering, and so the priestess doesn't really pay it any mind, but she finishes the meal graciously offered to her by her hosts. Once finished, she stands. "We can send out scouts. I would confer with you before sending any teams, so that the reconnaisance may be orderly and efficient. We have our own territory well-fortified, and our hunting grounds well-covered. What territory will you be fortifying? Do you have a patrol rotation to guard your borders drawn up yet?"
Given the drama unfolding, one might not expect the quiet little cooking mouse to actually, well, speak. But speak she does, finally, her attention going to Harkins. "I will lead one of the teams, Sir," she tells him quietly. It's simple, really.
Damon nods to Harkins, keeping the knife in his hand as he reaches out to hand the kitten to Homer. "…I've got no intention of putting a bullet in any of you." He says simply, not clarifying whether or not if he was willing to. Turning his back on them, he watches Salazar and heads after her, talking over his shoulder to the group. "Save a spot on the recon for me…" He says simply, following her off.
Amun chuckles at Homer and offers a light nod. "Yeah, it looks like those two are old buddies though… So I don't think anything's gonna come up this. Granted… I'm not entirely sure that, that's a good thing.." Making his way back to one of the logs he takes a seat, taking the opportunity to finally get some alone time with his meal.
"Those two just love their private chats," Homer says, cradling the kitten in one of his arms as he moves to finally take a seat on one of the logs. In fact, one might realize he's significantly less tense when Damon isn't in sight. "Sidenote: this log comfortable as hell. How many days did it take to wear these ass grooves into it?"
Harkins gets a good laugh to Homer's comment, the man seemingly pascified that the other two have left. But he looks back to Professor Klump. "This place runs on a well system so water shouldn't be a concern for quite a while. Food? Food hops and bounds all over these hills. We just need to be careful about what we use and kill. What were you thinking of building?" He then looks to Achapri. "We haven't gotten that far yet. But I think we can work something out with scouting. But we're the only thing out here until you get to the Viper Assembly plant down south about twenty miles or you can hump fourty miles or so over the hills and terrain to Ambrose. Other than that, we're pretty isolated out here." He looks back to homer once more. "Wear them in? Hell man, they were lovingly sanded by the hands of virgins and inspected by an angel. Don't get any better than that."
Ramone looks about wearily. "Well, earthworks should be reasonable. Nothing that can be spotted aerially. Few bunkers and supply caches maybe? Keeps our materials decentralized and harder to locate. Guns and ammunition would be ideal, but we also need to be ready to go low as well as high tech."
"Very well," Passryn tells Harkins, moving toward him, "I will return to this plays in two days' time, at which point you can describe your scouting plan and let me know how we can best compliment the effort. I return home tonight. I give you thanks for your hospitality," she offers him her forearm in a show of respect and cooperation. "I'm Passryn Achapri, Scion of Ares," she finally introduces herself, "May I know to whom I owe the favor of returned guest-friendship?"
"May take a little longer, but a crowbar to the melon'll still take out a Cylon, I'd imagine. Note to self: find crowbar." Homer scritches the kitten between it's ears lazily and yawns, before mumbling to the animal: "I don't know if I want to know where she got you from, little guy. Chicks dig kittens though, right?… Hook a dude up."
Harkins looks to Achapri first and nods. "Sounds like a plan. You might wanna get your people into the hills, though. Lower altitude they are at, faster radiation will kill them. When you get back here in a couple days, I'll send you packin' with some rad doses." He extends.. his.. hand? "Monty Harkins, student of aethism. Thank you for the buck you brought in. Hopefully the doses will suffice to return the favor." He then nods to her. There's no malice in his voice. Monty is who Monty is. The old man looks back to Ramone. "Alright, son. Well if your intention is to go digging up my land and making this place defensible, then that's what you need to do. Hunt down the Gunnery Sergeant and get his advice on what you want to do, though. Have some things you can present to the group?" He then looks to Angel. "Doin' alright? How's the dinner?"
"I left yours in the pot, Sir," Angel tells Harkins, then moves back to the fire to serve the older man. Very obedient girl she is. "Inside is set up for sleeping and the guests. Everything is taken care of." She glances toward the kitten briefly, a little smile on her lips.
Achapri grips Harkins firmly, "It'll be appreciated. And thank you for the meal," she replies, not seeming too put off by the atheism factor. People are people where you can get them, at this point. On parting from her host she goes to untie the warhorse and lead him off, not mounting, for now. No lingering fare-thee-wells. She goes.
Waiting until the lady of Ares is out of earshot, Homer asks, "Was anyone else strangely turned on by the horse lady? Anybody?" He glances Amun's way, grins and settles in on his log, stretching out. "G'night fellas. Someone nudge me if the thug comes back with an angry face."
