ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Jackson The blazing light of the New Mexico sun bathed the ruined city of Artesia in it's warm embrace as it began it's descent, casting an oddly comfortable glow across the length of the desolate landscape as the volunteers moved through the city's streets. They'd been moving along for hours now-- their patrol was nearing it's end, and the volunteers were travelling along the northern streets of Artesia on their way back toward Roswell. There, they'd trade off their shift with another group, and the search would persist. What were they searching for? None other than the Horns, a vicious gang of laser-toting raiders who'd been harassing travellers along route 285 for the past few months. Little did the volunteers realize, their shift wouldn't be ending quite as soon as they'd hoped.
As Deputy Jackson Parkes silently urged his mare onward, his eyes scanned their surroundings for what felt like the thousandth time in the last few hours. The broken down buildings were starting to look more and more similar, and he'd sworn they'd passed that same Red Rocket station at least fourty times on their way through this place. The roads were covered in stone, shrapnel, and loose debris that'd fallen off of the nearby ruins of apartments, and all was quiet but the sounds of the volunteers as they moved ever onward, destined for rest in Roswell as fast as physically possible.
Though he was becoming a bit exhausted, and more than a little bored, the deputy's senses were as acute as ever, and he was fixated on every twitch in the surrounding debris as they moved forward. It'd been a rather uneventful patrol thus far, and that was what was bothering him. As he continued onward, he spoke up loud enough for his companions to hear him, his mask muffling his speech slightly. "Eyes peeled, everyone. We're moving through a hotspot for raider activity. We've been lucky so far, but I can't tell ya' how many times I've crossed onto 285 just to get jumped by a fistfull of knuckle-dragging goons. Keep your eyes peeled, and shoot to kill if you gotta'."
Stockton Stockton is riding on the back of Brandywine, the sturdy draft mare that follows the Marshal pretty much everywhere. On a trip in between Vegas and the Federation to check-in, resupply and grab anyone else who wanted to traverse through the Mojave. Just so happens that he has a passenger on this patrol, the deputy-for-a-day, Elsie. Situated behind her, he's got one arm around her on the reigns of the huge horse. When Jackson gets low and mentions danger, the man just grunts at the redhead, like that will communicate everything. In fact, it just might. He helps her dismount and follows suit so that he can let Brandy trot backwards some distance. Away from any kind of firefight - the man isn't keen on losing the beast alright? No using her for cover. Now his senses prickle and he settles the helmet of his armor into place with a soft click. "Five meter spread, go low and slow, maybe we get the drop on them."
Melinda How did Melinda get here so quickly? Let's just say she knows her way around the wastelands, knowing shortcuts and things like that. She's pretty much grown up with the wastelands as her neighborhood, and dodging raiders and mutants is just another day on the job for her. Nevertheless, the blonde-haired Corporal manages to show up soon enough, and from the look on her face, she's pretty determined to take care of whatever needs to be done today. The disciplined expression and dedicated gaze indicate this woman means business. The mention of danger doesn't cause Melinda to flinch at all. She simply nods and salutes. "Understood, I'm ready for anything!"
Elsie Elsie, the redhead riding afront of Marshal Stockton, wears a grey hooded cowl-necked cloak, and carries at HK worn across her front while they're riding. The grunt from the Marshal seems to be all the words she needs. Because she puts her hands on the horn of the saddle and prepares herself to slide off, once he's sufficiently out of the way. Then, in a well-practiced maneuver, she takes the offered hands and allows Stockton to bring her down from the saddle before sending the horse away. Then she unslings the HK and checks it, nodding once more to Stockton. She turns and steps a few meters away to continue pressing on, keeping herself low amidst the brush, rock and debris out here in the wastes.