ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Owner Pose
Bart The Knox house is always bustling. Milton and Bartholomew have a small staff of helpers that tend the grounds as well as the two brothers. Alberta the slightly older maid keeps things clean and sometimes works in the garden when the boys can't. The sweeping grounds of the old Caine residence are lovely and lush, clearly someone has access to more water than most people have a need for in the Wastelands.

Having just arrived home, Bartholomew can almost be seen from the street through the front door moving about. The familiar white background with red medical cross emblazoned on his back is rather telling at least. He disappears out of view again as he calls out to Alberta, "Tea, please. I have research to get back to, Alberta. And when you've got the kettle on, you can help me out of my gear." The other help appears now, Quinton, an elderly man in a nice suit who calmly closes the door with a look of utter neutrality on his face.
Conway Conway full gallops down Wayne Road on the back of his trusty steed, Thunder. He keeps his ass raised in the air almost like a jockey to provide more forward propulsion and less weight on the back of the horse. The strong horse manages to clear the end of Wayne Road and end up at the Knox Residence very quickly. When Conway reaches the house and enters the yard, he dismounts from his horse and ties it to a water spicket on the side of the home.

Conway walks up towards the front door of the house, peering through the front screen to see inside. He's wearing a pair of dirty bib overalls and a gun belt is draped around his waist, sagging to the left side of his hips. He balls his fist to knock on the glass door with his callous knuckles, as sloped and rocky as mountains. When he does knock, it's with some force. It's definetly loud.
Bart Inside there are sounds, muffled and mumbled as conversation ensues inside the Knox house. No doubt Milton is off wooing another lady or finding more porn somewhere, so it's just Bart and the Help. The conversation halts suddenly when the abrupt knocking occurs and there's some mild cursing - well more like ineffectual flailing as Bartholomew is cut off from getting his tea or his conversation. A few steps come up to the door and it is opened by Quinton who looks, without trying, imperious as a cat, looking down a beaked nose with slightly beaded eyes at the dusty farmer on the front porch. "May I help you, sir?" Bart can be heard in the back, shuffling about and being nosey, "Who is it, Quinton?" he demands, as if the man should know everyone who graces their door. There's an arched eyebrow from the tall butler towards Conway, expecting an answer to his previous question and basically ignoring his eccentric employer.
Conway Conway looks up at the beaked butler, squinting his eyes at him. Partially due to the sunlight but the other is intimidation. "No, you can't help me." Conway says quietly. He maintains eye contact with the butler, even if he has to look up at him to do so. Conway's muscular and vascular farmer hand reaches out to grab the butler by his dress shirt and push him aside in attempt to barge into the house without stating his purpose. He attempts this with a great deal of force, even moreso fired up and driven by hearing Bart's voice in the back.
Bart Quinton is rather startled when he's just grabbed like that, "Unhand me, you ruffian!" the old man cries out before being bodily shoved to the side, the door swings inward with the butler pinned to it by Conway's gorilla grip. At the sound of distress, the man known as Bartholomew Knox looks up with a cold and calculating look to watch the farmer barge his way into his home rather rudely. Brows furrow, and the still-armored scientist lifts the barrel of of his rail rifle level with Conway's form. A soft whine turns sharper as the coils begin charging and the harried Bart scoffs, "Excuse me, sir! I would ask you to kindly unhand my butler and cease your trespassing this instant."
Conway Conway manages to make his way inside, despite Quntion's protests. He brings Quntion forward towards his body and then springs him out with the cloth of his shirt trapped in his fist, sending him towards the wall. After doing this, he notices the rifle being aimed in his direction. "Put that rifle down. If you don't want me in here, you get your coward ass outside." Conway obviously means some sort of business with Bart.

He stands just out of the hallway still with the rifle being aimed at him. He keeps his chest puffed out, not backing down. He keeps stood in the same place he was, though. He's not moving. Conway's large rough hands are balled at his side. "I let go of your butler. I've got a bone to pick with you." He points his finger forcefully at Bart. Conway's jaw is tight and his teeth are tightly clenched together with a look of red hot anger across his face.
Bart Bart is only flustered at the matter of manners being thrown out the window in this instance. Quinton is easy to toss, he may be tall, but he's a gaunt man in his fifties maybe sixties. Upon meeting the wall, the poor butler just kind of slumps to stay out of the way, zero fight in him. "I beg your pardon?" he asks dubiously at the business to be sorted not in his home. "You come into my home, assault my help, then demand that I go outside for a discussion? What sort of lunacy is this?!" The rifle is fully charged and doesn't look like he's aiming it elsewhere just yet.

"You can air your grievance like a civilized person and I might consider putting down this rifle. Until such a time, you are a hostile entity in my home, making demands. While the law strictly forbids the murder of an El Dorado citizen, I am well within my rights to defend myself and my home." His nose wrinkles, bright grey eyes behind cracked spectacles focused sharply on the invader with clear grit and anger. "Now, what praytell gives you cause to march in here so rudely?"
Conway Conway keeps his finger outstretched at Bart, "You ain't protected by no law, you ain't protected by shit!" He looks down at Quinton slumped against the wall for a moment, and then back at Bart. "If you come anywhere near the Brigham Farm again, or Aris at all, you'll regret it." He barks at Bart, despite not being in a very good position to be saying anything at the moment. Conway straightens the straps of his overalls onto his broad shoulders, shaking his head in the direction of Bart. "First and final warning. You have yourself a nice day."

Conway looks content with all he had to say, and it doesn't seem like he'll say much else. "Shoot a man in the back, coward." He turns his back on Bart, stepping over the long legs of the butler to walk out the front door. He pushes down his hat onto his head.
Bart Bart is so utterly confused by the redneck shouting at him. Brows remain furrowed behind his glasses, staring at Conway like he might just have two heads. For all this hostility and the very real possibility that he might shoot a man in his home, he remains cold, fixated on the man in his living room. "I take it that you'll not be wanting S.O.E.D.'s help in furthering your inventions then, a disappointment," he decides before wrinkling his nose up some. "I'm fairly certain Miss Aris is her own person and may do as she pleases, sir. While I will avoid stepping foot on your farm in the future, I cannot help but use the roads near it, you will simply have to deal with that." He shrugs, because this is all just a matter of facts, rather than any lofty opinions.

Calculating odds, he finally replies, "Unfortunately that would result in your ceasing to exist, and while I do not wish you to invade my home again, I also understand you are incapable of reasoning with your emotions, and are therefor not entirely responsible for your childish behavior" a beat, "Though that would be more of a mercy killing," He's honestly debating Conway's life like it's just chemicals and carbon. "Far be it from me to keep someone from dying if they wish, though," before finally, he asks, "Wait! What were you actually incensed about again?"
Conway Conway turns around on his porch, looking straight through the hallway to make eye contact with Bart on the other end. "You best find yourself another route." He's threatening in what he says, quite sure of himself. Even if it does seem like Conway is straight out of his mind, he holds a bit of composure. He looks up at the large roof upon the house, it's a lavish property. He also adds while turning away, "You'll be moving out soon." He steps off the front steps and walks towards the side of the house to mount his horse.

He completely ignores any of Bart's other comments, taking them with nothing mere of a grain of salt. He pulls the reins of his horse to the right to get onto the road. He starts to gallop west down the road in the direction of his farm.
Bart Bart has been called a coward, and a nerd plenty of times. It doesn't get through that logical brain of his to be an insult. How can an evolutionary tactic be wrong? He is watching the man stalk off. Until he turns around again, meeting eye to eye, he finds something distant and cold in the Eldest Knox's gaze. Calculating, running the data through, before deciding to simply pull the trigger. There's a dull thwump sound from the barrel of the rifle and the next second Conway is introduced to the exceedingly concussive force of a 2mm slug in full metal jacket from an enhanced capacitor of Bart's own making.
Conway Conway is turning away, still hollering and swearing when he hears the 'thwump' and then pain, and then nothing. Conway is pushed off of his feet from the force of the round being launched into him, falling on his side at the bottom steps of the porch. His muscles sieze up and twitch for a moment before he becomes completely limp and slips unconscious. His black felt rancher style hat lays in the dusty road a few feet away. All the fight has left Conway.
Bart Bart sighs heavily and he looks to Quinton, "Are you injured?" he asks the elderly man who happens to be quite fragile, there's an unknowing shrug from him as he starts to gather himself and dust himself off. Alberta is finally rushing in after the gunshot to tend to Quinton, helping him stand up once more. There's a little wince in his elderly features but he'll tough it out anyways. The scientist who'd made the cold and calculated decision to snuff a threat rather violently. Velma is given a fond stroke, she is the true woman in his life. Slinging her back onto his shoulder, the mad man stomps out the porch to the dirt path and the unconscious man. "Alberta, see to his mare. Quinton, kindly fetch the stretcher. We will see him home properly," he rolls his eyes, "Despite his vehement opposition to my presence."

Bart tends to Conway as best he can, using a bit of healing laser and know-how. He is eventually slung onto a sled-stretcher which is then hooked to his horse. Dropped off at his home, his mare placed in the barn or at least with a farmhand. Conway will awaken to a note:

"Dearest Mr. Brigham,

    Dreadfully sorry about the headache, but I have learned it is best to deal with emotions with cold hard logic. It seems to me that you and Aris should perhaps have a strong heart to heart, so that you might find the truth of where things stand. I do apologize for trespassing on your land, but I wanted to see you to your home properly. You will find that the authorities have been alerted to your disposition, and both Quinton and Alberta will be greeting you with firearms should you approach the property again without an apology first. I rather hope you will find sense and we can resume discourse like civilized gentlemen.

Sincerely,
Bartholomew Caden Knox Esq."
Conway Conway wakes up on his couch, groggier than usual aswell as feeling quite feeble. "Ohh.." He rubs his temples, looking around to find that he's inside his house. The headache he has is unbearable. He looks on the side of the couch, trying to locate any empty bottles of whiskey. In the middle of stirring on the couch, he hears the crumpling of paper. He slowly grabs it off of his chest, focusing his eyes on the writing despite the migrane. "Motherfucker."