ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Franky It was early morning again. Maybe it was another day or the same day? Who keeps track of these things? Smoke from fires lingered low in the air, their need for warmth no more with the sun casting shadows over adobe walls and sheet metal huts. Towns people moped about, shuffling off to do merc stuff or find their next meal amoung the rabble.

    Franky stood in the street, checking his pipgirl to shuffle though an area map of Jack's town. He mumbled a little before looking down the street. Then toggled a switch for the pipgirl on screen to wink before cutting to a black screen. He dug into his trouser pock and withdrew and pouch of brown fiberous resin. Grabbing a pinch and shoving some into his lips, he shook his head a moment at the taste or the effect.
Aris Just now, the dark haired woman shuffles out of that shabby inn and into the street behind Franky. Judging by her expression and her hair, she's just woken up, although she's already wearing her gunbelt and revolver. What else does a woman need? "Puto sol..." Aristide curses softly, rubbing her eyes a bit against the rising sun. Standing close enough now, she steals a shielded glance at Franky's pipgal just before it winks off. "Awful early for plannin', macho. Ain't even had a beer yet."
Franky "Mhm." Franky manages, spitting a stream of brown from his mouth. A pause, he turns away from Aris to pull the rub of brown fiber and flick it into the street. He turns back to Aris, giving his head a tilt at her beer comment. A grin, "Here, try this." Franky offers her the bag of dip. "Should have drinks where we're going." He starts down the street, "We'll be deading raiders soon enough, Chica."
Aris Aris's freckled nose wrinkles at the proffered bag. "Unless ya want me throwin' up all the way there, I'll wait for the drinks," she muses, pushing the bag back to his chest. When Franky turns to walk, she follows beside him at an easy pace, readjusting her Stetson to better shield her eyes from that offensive sun. "Deadin' raiders, my favorite pastime." Her lips press together in a wry grin. "Where we headed?"
Franky A grin crept across Franky lips as the bag gets rejected. Rolling it up he sticks it in his cargo pocket, "Get some more bodies for the cause." He nods his head, eye's shifting down alleyways and the front ends of empty builds and the occasional home or business. Their path takes them past the lounge toward the back end of town. Smoke lingers from a repurposed car port, casting shade on to a cart and a man grilling food in a brown apron and a hair net. There are several plastic tables and chair around to sit. Two shirtless men occupy one table, relaxing to the mac with their feet up. Probably ex-gunners or wannabe's. "Here's our stop." He glances over to Aris, "Hungry?"
Aris Dark brows raise at 'get some more bodies', but the smell of whatever sort of meat that is cooking over an open flame distracts Aris enough not to really care what the plan is for now. "Always," she answers him, already sidling up to the cart under the carport. She does glance briefly at the two men sitting at that table nearby, gray eyes shifting to Franky after. "You buyin', ojos azules?" Her grin is pretty.
Franky Franky has a serious streak as they approach the cart, eye's searching out the shirtless dudes without cares in the world. Aris's smile softens his all business moment, giving a grin. "Couple of kebabs. And four beers." Franky tells the aproned cook, holding up his left hand out of laziness to indicate the number of drinks. He sets a pile of caps on the cart, a moment later Brown Apron hands over four bottles of beer to the duo. "Try not to shoot them." Franky whispers, motioning her to follow. He approches the shirtless mens, setting two beers in the middle of the table. "Looking for work?" Brown Apron watches from afar, presently sliding meat onto sticks to fill Franky's order.

    Both men perk up at the sight of fresh beer and fresh job opportunities. "What you got?" The most relaxed looking of the two, wearing desert fatigues and brown leather boots. The other sports blue jeans and cowboy boots, both have bodacious pecks, and short undercut mops of hair. One black and the other blonde.
Aris "Five," Aris corrects him smoothly, holding her five-fingered hand in front of Franky's. Grinning sidelong at him, she swipes two of the five drinks as they come, and nods a little at his request. "Harder to shoot 'em with two beers in my hand," she reasons, popping the top off one and downing a good half of it. She follows him towards the two jabronis sitting at the table, standing back a little and to one side as Franky speaks to them. Rather than answer 'A job, dumbass' to the man's question, she takes a long swig of beer and lets her partner do the talking for now. Better that way.
Franky Franky gives Aris a look after setting the beers down, leaning back to check her back pockets. He frowns then looks back at the two men, "A paying job at that." A smile cutting Franky's face hoping to capitalize on Aris's comment. "AtomVu, kill some raiders, take their shit." Franky states, looking between the two men.

    The Brown haired merc with brown boots braves a smile at Aris calls them, collectively, Dumbasses. "Cute." He mumbles, letting out a sigh and dropping his feet from the table. Leaning forward he grabs a beer on the table, "I prefer, Cross." He smiles at Aris, looking over to his blonde haired partner. "That's Twig." He motions for Aris and Franky to sit down.

    Twig is all smiles for Aris, only dropping his feet off the table as Cross tells them to sit.
Aris Back pockets are empty except for her ass, Franky-- Aris seems to have smoked all her cigarettes. Just now, those men's smiles are met with a pretty one of her own, her eyes the only thing that give away what sorta holes she's imagining putting in them. She waits until Franky sits and, if he does, rather than take a seat she leans down along the back of his chair from behind. When the men divulge their names, she murmurs in a stage-whisper near Franky's ear, "Cute." But otherwise, she drinks and listens.
Franky Franky nods and drops into a chair, a sigh, he looks over at Aris reaching out in an attempt to take one of her spare beers. "I'm Franky, this is Aris." Franky gives both men a shrug, hoping to get down the nitty-gritty after intros. "You guys any good pulling triggers?" A shift between the lot.

    Cross taking in the introductions, rubbing his chin in an act of placing names with stories. "New here, huh?" Cross leans forward, "Just us four on the job?" He asks, looking at Franky and Aris.

    Twig smiles as he swigs down on his free beer. "Shoot 'em, move em', or communicate 'em, Man. Same shit different day." He follows up at Franky's comment.
Aris Aristide frowns when Franky introduces her, although she does let that extra beer go (for now). Taking a long swig of her remaining drink, she cuts Twig off before he's quite through with the word 'day'. "Solo responde la pregunta, ramita. Y'all better at shootin' than ya are at dressin' yourselves in the morning?" The lip of her beer bottle points briefly at their bare chests.
Franky Franky lets the banter exchange play out. All quiet while the Merc's make small talk and brags. Aris's barb about dressing has Franky amused at least, He pops the bottle and takes a pull, setting it down and giving both men a look. "150 each, all kill no capture. You in or nah?" He proposes finally.

    "Damn girl, I'm liable to take this job to show just how well I shoot." His face is serious, then he's back to looking at Franky. He lets his answer merinade.

    Twigs are raise, each hand forming a fist on either side of his head. He flexes, revealing defined biceps. "Python's got to breath."
Aris Aristide makes a sound of literal disgust at Twig's display of machismo, but she nods once anyway. "They're in," she sighs at Franky, pressing glass to lips and finishing her beer in one long pull. Setting it on the table, she leans against Franky's shoulder and defers to him now, her big mouth liable to get them shot before they even make it out of town to do the thing.
Franky That bottle of Franky's get another long pull, something about your first beer in the AM. He admires the bottle to pass the time, then he's admiring Twig's biceps. A quick glace to Aris, a small grin, "He can carry all the shit..." He hushes, then he's back to looking at Cross.

    "175 each." Cross offers, "Hazard tax for hurt emotions." Cross smiles, motioning Aris's way. He slaps Twig on the thigh as he stands up, "Imma hit the head, Twig handle the details." Cross is then stalking off towards a connex box in the background.

    "Whats the math on that total? 350?" Twig asks.
Aris The dark haired woman behind Franky snorts air softly through her nose. Once Cross goes off to piss, Aris stretches a hand out to grab that bottle back from her partner, taking a drink of it. "That maths out to be about three fifty and a bullet, correcto?" Her right hand rests on that shiny Lucky revolver at her hip. "Or 300 and no bullet." Her voice doesn't brook argument.
Franky Franky doesn't have that much time to ponder Cross's counter offer, first he gets his beer stolen. His brow furrows as Cross disappears, and Twig starting talking payment. Course Aris has plans of her own and they involve plugging Merc's. Franky stares at Twig with much protest to the 300 and an ounce of lead.

    Twig looks back at the disappeared figure of Cross. His look is uneasy, attempting to think a way out of this conumdrum. "...Yeah." He clears his throat, "Sounds about right, 300." Twig gulps hard, chuggin his beer to clear a spot in his throat.

    Brown apron arrives, dropping wooden boards as plates down for Aris and Franky. Standard Jack's town cart flair, meat kebabs with a side of some sort of drop biscuit?
Aris "Bueno." Foods done? -Now- Aristide sits down, pulling one of those plastic chairs out between Franky and Twig and settling herself at the table. She eats unapologetically, her thumb in her mouth to suck off a bit of grease. She spares a glance to Franky. "And what's my cut?" she teases him about payment..
Franky A brow is pushed up. Franky's face is one of surprise, giving the woman a long unconfortable gaze. He pans it over to Twig, "Half at the location, half after the raid." Aris gets another look, much less uncomfortable this time. "..Negotiable..." Frank decides, he looks over his shoulder reaching out to stop Brown Apron before he leaves. "A bucket of beers, and some smokes if you got them?" Franky turns back to the group now. "So I'm dying to know...What Jack like?" Franky curiosity comes out, grabbing a kebab and biting into it.

    Twig looks between the two as the talk, he sniffs a little. "Sounds good, I s'pose." He rests his head on his palm drinking a beer and admiring the food. "Jack?" He thinks, "Meh, he's a man of vision."
Aris Aris grins at Franky over her kebab, grey eyes bright. "Oh, I'd negotiate ya real good," she muses at him, taking another bite of biscuit. Once those beers come, she's grabbing another. For the first time this morning, she looks content, settling back in that chair and playing a kebab stick along her teeth as she listens to them talk about Jack.
Franky Franky nods Twig as he works on his kebab, chewing with a thoughtful wide eyed gaze of wonder at the man who is, Jack. The beers arrive, Franky takes one. Offering his biscuit toward Twig. "We'll see. What we see." A grin at Aris. He picks up the pack of smokies that are also ordered, cheap but smokes non-the-less.

    Twig takes the biscuit, assuming it not plucked by Aris's opportunistic hands. "My thanks." He adds, grabbing a new beer since there seems to be plenty.

    Everything seems to be back on track...For the job at least.