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Blank      You ever have one of those day? Well, Blank has. Actually, as far as he can remember, that's the only day he's ever had. The twenty-somethinger is walking through the desert rather aimlessly, stumbling along and holding his head with one hand. His hand is stained with drying blood, and there's a bewildered look on his face. He....also has kind of a sunburn over parts of his chest and legs. The areas that would normally be covered by a shirt and pants, and currently....aren't. He does have on a stylish pair of gray boxers covered with red hearts though. Presumably, this one of those days isn't going well for him.
Lockreed The desert sands tell many tales, from the sun-bleached bones of creatures long forgotten to the signs of brutal struggles those yet living must continue to endure. Today one of its tales is of a lone wanderer, just one set of tracks freshly imprinted upon the fine grit's surface. There's something about these track which suggests the person leaving them isn't doing so well. Their guard is probably down. They may be lost.

They may be easy pickings.

For as empty as the Wasteland is there are some who occupy it, such as the lady now following this set of prints. Bright green hair, half of her head shaved to stubble, dusty biker leathers, and a crowbar in hand speckled in what could either be rust or dried blood. She's closing in on her mark. Lockreed is on the hunt.
Ashur The Legion has no friends; before its unstoppable march, all the world is a den of vice and sin meant to be conquered in the name of Caesar and the inevitable Pax Romana.

Needless to say, that means those who bear the Legion's marks have few friends, too, even when they're no attached to it. Ashur could strip down, purge himself of the distinguishment.. but some lingering sentiment, some deeprooted pride, rejects it.

As such, he finds himself outside El Dorado, avoiding the settlement as he often does-- instead, the giant treads the cracked earth, crushing small, mewling shrubs beneath his booted heel, baked by the sun. The day's mild, but cloudless-- there's little respite from the bright heat that steel-gleams off rock and junk and every inch of dirt.

But there, in the distance, near a half-dead copse, he sees a man. And so he pivots, draws his tattered cloak around him, the golden bull clear on his back, and advances.
Blank The injured man sees somebody moving towards him in the distance, and his face actually brightens. He raises his free hand towards Ashur, turning his steps to stagger towards the Legionairre. Or however you spell that. When he gets close enough to see him and his uniform, which should be a pretty clear indicator of who this man is or was associated with... he doesn't really react. He gives the outfit a curious once-over, but otherwise doesn't seem to care.

"Hello there!" He comes to a somewhat unsteady stop in front of him, and offers a smile. "Ah, nice day we're having isn't it? Very sunny." He looks around the desert nearby, then returns his leyes to the warrior. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know....where we are, would you?" He would indeed be quite easy pickings. Of course, he doesn't actually have anything worth taking. So that would make the effort kind of pointles, wouldn't it?
Lockreed Following this lonesome set of tracks seems to have not been wasted time as now there's a voice, one which isn't too far off. Now, the smart play would probably involve hiding behind a dune and gathering some intel, recon and all of that fancy crap. Figure out who is involved and what is going on before making a move.

Raiders tend to operate a little differently.

While Blank is asking someone else, someone yet unseen to Lockreed, the neon-haired lunatic suddenly comes leaping up from over the top of a nearby dune, howling out a "RUAH!!" with a crowbar held up high ready to bring it down upon the first skull it happened across.

Then she stops so short that the sand comes rushing down around her boots like the cresting of an ocean wave, staring with wide eyes and weapon yet raised high overhead. It lasts for all of a second before she points the crowbar directly at Blank and starts laughing hysterically!
Ashur The distance is closed, and Ashur settles a few yards away from Blank. A hand lifts to cup his furrowed brow and block the light, letting him get a good look at the man. His nostrils flare, the corner of his mouth curls downward, and with a narrowing of his eyes he speaks. "Ave," in the Legion's usual ah-wey pronounciation, so it might sound like an unprovoked and poorly-spoken banishment. "Had a run-in with some bandits, did you?" He scuffs his toe on the ground and squats, snatching a rock from the ground. The hand that grabs it is bandaged, and those bandages embrace his forearm as well, serving as a bit of cushion and support for the set of brass knuckles over them.

He's about to continue on when Lockreed manifests, cresting a hill of sand and dirt and rushing close like a charging beast. "Mm. And they have come to finish the job. Shameful-- this land needs saving."

A rolling shoulder, a cracking neck, and Ashur softball lobs the rock to Blank with a grunt. It's better than his bare hands.
Blank The sound of a wild cry behind him makes Blank spin around, one hand going for a gun that isn't there. He sees the neon-haired bandit coming at him, then.... she's laughing at him? His face goes red...der, then he says, "What the hell, lady?" He crosses his arms over his sunburnt chest, for a second forgetting hsi headwound. If either of them were to take a look at it, it's pretty clear it's a gunshot wound. He's pretty lucky that it didn't kill him. And that he's even able to walk around, however unsteadily.

Then he turns back to shur. "Huh? Oh... maybe?" He touches his head wound again. "I don't really... remember what happenned." Then he's blinking in surprise as the Legionairre tosses the rock to him, catching it easily enough before looking at it. He looks between Ashur and Lockreed, then finally decides to move to stand behind the guy who didn't threaten him with a weapon. "I'm pretty sure I was shot. At least, I dug a bullet out of there with my fingers. Wasn't a very big bullet, thankfully. I don't see a gun on her. And..." She glances down at himself. "She seems, well, surprised that I'm not wearing any clothes. So probably an unrelated attempted robbery."
Lockreed Lockreed is all but rolling amongst the dunes cackling at poor Blank's expense! She followed those tracks..all the way out here..and the "Poor bastard's got nothin' left, Baaa-hahaha!"

The only thing capable of getting her to sober up at a time like this? Seeing one of the friggin' -Legion.- "Aw man, who invited the damn bull into the china shop? Y'all've got -way- worse problems'n me." Not that it's going to stop her from idly meandering closer to Blank with the weapon held low in both hands before her like a magician with a cane, grinning like a drugged-out lunatic.

"Nice night for a walk, eh?"
Ashur The aforementioned Bull presses his left hand to his right shoulder, adjusting the modified football shoulderpad he wears. He looms largest in the group by a wide margin, staring down at the mostly-naked man and the mostly-crazy woman. "Profligate," he snarls at the second, gesturing toward the fellow that's bravely advanced to the rear. "Is this some sick game-- near cripple a traveler, unleash him, and see how far he gets?" There's a fire in his eyes, and it stands out all the clearer with the dark ink around them for contrast.
Blank "Hey! It's not my fault. I was just...." His expression goes blank for a moment. "I was....something. I'm sure I was very careful." He gives his head a light shake. "I never did get an answer on where we are." He inches a little more behind Ashur as Lockreed approaches closer. She DOES still have a crowbar after all. And she was there to rob him. He looks between the soldier and the raider. "Uhh. If you kill her, try not to damage her pants, okay?" Priorities, people. Priorities.
Lockreed To the question and borderline accusation there's a loud snorting sound from Lockreed's direction, appropriately followed through with her spitting off to the side into the sand. "Never seen the guy or his ugly shorts in my life, but that -does- sound fun. You volunteering to be next?" Yes..despite being grossly under-sized and out-gunned she's issuing a verbal challenge toward Ashur.

Speaking of out-gunned, don't raiders tend to travel in packs? It's kind of their thing, individually they're a bit too screw-loose to be effective predators. She's probably making a great example of this, too. There's no war cry, no one else coming over that dune. Just Little Miss Psycho Green.
Vault Girl Everyone's backs are turned as the monstrosity climbs atop a near-by rock and hunches over. It is only Ashur who notices that they are being watched and that feeling of being stalked this entire time? It was not entirely unfounded.

The hunchbacked, reptilian creature behind you all stands nine feet tall with powerful muscles and a thick hide that is no doubt resistant to gunfire. It has long humanoid arms that end in thick razor sharp claws that are twelve inches long and capable of disemboweling a Brahmin in a single swipe.

It opened its mouth to roar loudly. Intimidation or communication? If the latter, it was not meant for you. Deathclaws, like sand people rarely travelled alone.
Lockreed Lockreed may never get an answer from Ashur, which may well be a good thing as the guy could probably turn her into a stain upon the sand. In any other situation the look of utter shock and sheer terror that suddenly flashes across her face would be every bit as hilarious as finding Blank in his underwear had been to her. It's nothing short of a miracle that she doesn't also lose her crowbar. Or her bladder control.


The fight or flight response is triggered at something approaching the speed of light. Much like a Pre-War cartoon her feet are suddenly moving faster upon the sand than the rest of her can follow, trying just as hard as she can to go as -fast- as she can without tripping and eating part of the dune!
Ashur The hairs on the back of Ashur's neck crawl-- there's an awareness of being watched that unsettles on a primal level, arousing some atavistic human-as-prey instinct he finds profoundly uncomfortable. A slow turn of his head, and there, on the dune top, is the deathclaw, staring down at them and roaring its challenge. He looks down at his faded, scratched brass knuckles, and the trailing bandages that wrap around his hands and forearms.

"... Run in a different direction than the girl, and make your way to the north. If you live, there ought to be a settlement there." He's managed to keep a certain stoic calm as he instructs Blank.. but it's not like he needed to tell anyone involved to run. Ashur, himself, watches the deathclaw, and begins to back away-- is it chasing? Warning them off? Decisions, decisions..
Blank Blank gives Reed a puzzled look. "What's wrong with you?" He seems a little oblivious, until he hears the roar from behind him. He turns around, and spots the Deathclaw looming over the trio on a rock. "OHHELLWHATTHEFUCKISTHATTHING!!!!!!!!!" THen he's scrambling in the opposite direction as fast as he can, trying to run. Angling away from Reed on Ashur's orders. Oh god, this day is going SO bad for him.
Vault Girl Blank is out of there like a bat out of hell, his two companions lose sight of him and so does the Deathclaw. Unfortunately for Ashur? He is the unluckiest and slowest out of the pair of individuals remaining and as Lockreed is running off the Deathclaw begins to pursue him.

It roars again, a sound more terrifying than any you have ever heard in the Wastelands as it signals its pack and chooses its prey.

Ashur was in for the fight of a lifetime.

The Deathclaw leaps into the air and misses, tumbling over into a heap and kicking up dirt everywhere. It takes a moment to re-orient itself..
Ashur The naked man and the crazy woman seem to have escaped-- but Ashur has never been very good at running; it is not a skill the Legion emphasizes, given cowardice in the face of danger usually results in Caesar's personal guard dragging you to his feet and executing you brutally.. and that's if you're lucky. The deathclaw yells and charges him, and he twists around, barely avoiding it and seeing the massive creature smack into the ground. It's disoriented, and for a moment, vulnerable-- so the big man rears back and pops it in its stupid fucking nose twice.

Doesn't seem like it did much.
Vault Girl The Deathclaw quickly regains its footing and balance raising up on both feet as Ashur punches it. It roars again, three times in a row, almost like a raptor from Jurassic Park signaling its pack. Then it swipes Ashurs face, cutting clean through his helmet and almost ripping an eyeball out. It then grabs Ashur and slams him down onto the ground, but somehow? The Ex-Legionnaire yet breathes.
Ashur There's a swipe of claw and the metal of Ashur's helmet is literally rent upon his head, dented and shredded even as he narrowly avoids losing an eye-- though given the sudden rush of blood that blinds him, and the rapid swelling that makes sight dark, he assumes the eyeball is gone. The pain is immense, but that martial focus and rage keeps it subdued.. for now. He lunges at it; misses; tries again. By Caesar, it's like punching a fucking rock-- a rock that's harder than most rocks, which is pretty hard. When he finds purchase, one of his own fingers dislocates, the brass ring jammed into it and twisting it with a nasty crunch.

Then there's more claws, more teeth, more getting slammed around. Figures this is how he'd die.
Vault Girl The Deathclaw tears into Ashur repeatedly even as his two former companions are long out of sight, in fact the adrenaline and fear have caused them to run all the way to El Dorado at a record pace. They have no clue what happened to Ashur, he was probably dead.

Ashur would be saved though by a legend of the wastelands.

A gigantic hairy figure that came out of nowhere to his aid, like the mysterious stranger but well, hairier.

The second creature, whatever it is roars at Ashur and pounds on its chest before punching the Deathclaw.

Ashur had been lucky.

As fast as his legs can take him despite the wounds, he will escape.