ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Smash An old jukebox blears out Johnny Cash's Big Iron to a crowd that shows all the musical appreciation of a dead bug at a concert. A dozen or so soulless looking mercs fill the bar with elbows and grime-covered glasses as a tired-looking man keeps pace with refills. The one other table that has someone sitting at it looks like he would put his head through the ceiling if he stood up, and lacks the firearms that are otherwise ubiquitous throughout the establishment. Instead, a bloodstained axe is leaned up against the side of the table. The seat across from his is pulled out as if in invitation.
It is safe to assume that this is the giant people have been whispering about. The one looking for people, but waving away hired guns. The one looking for people that are less careerists, and more lifestyle committed. Smash. Big as life, sipping on a drink that looks like gasoline and smells formaldehyde.
Darling Into the Cantina steps the woman known as Darling, her hand reaching up to run through her hair slowly as she scans around the room before making her way over towards the bar. A short discussion is had between the woman, and the bartender, which culminates in her being directed over towards the large man's table.

A short moment later, Darling approaches Smash's table, moving to seat herself at that open chair, "I hear you are looking for people." She says as she settles in.
Smash The giant of a man, nearly seven feet tall and likely over three hubdred pounds, does not have to put any effort into his voice for it to be heard above the music and the din. "I hear you're lookin' for a seat." He lifts one big foot and shoves the chair across from him out a bit more in lazy invitation. His icy eyes look her up and down without discretion, not seeming to care if she notices. It is not her curves he examines-at least not only her curves-but attire, equipment and posture. His eyes find their way back to her face as he reaches out and pulls the handle of the axe back a ways. A few of the mercenaries glance over, but no one continues to stare. At least no one sober enough to matter.
Darling "Mmmn Hmmn." Darling says as she settles in at the table, nodding her head ever so slightly at the giant, and not seeming to perturbed at the scrutiny, she's carrying gadgets, a laser pistol, and some sort of pip-boy at least. Perhaps not as impressive as a giant bloody axe, though.

"Safer with folk then going it alone, and I have some special talents to offer." She says to the big man, "What exactly would I have to do to earn a seat in your clan, or crew, or whatever?"
Smash The man muses momentarily. "Let's call it... a posse." A few of the mercs move to another table as Smash speaks; talking loudly about some card game they enjoy playing. "First," he puts a finger that would make some men self-conscious tip down against the table with a light thud. "You tell me what ya have to bring to this table." The background noise of the cantina picks up as everyone is now speaking above the din. It gives a gradually building sense of privacy. "Second," he points out the door towards the hot, windy night. If one can call it such. The solstice has the sun up at an hour that decent folk are trying to sleep. "We head out into the wilds and see if you can handle the job." He turns the finger now to point at the woman herself. "Third," he gives her an unreadable look, as far as dangerous looks go. "We swear you in. Do all that?" He sets his hand back down on the table. "Then we's family. And I don't let no motherfucker fuck with you."
Darling "I see, a possee, well." Darling says with a little shrug of her shoulders, glancing across the room briefly before letting her attention settle back on the beast of a man. "I'm a doctor, and I can make chems." She says, "That's what I bring to the table. Do you want me to bandage you up, or something else to show that I know how to do it? Or is there some other test you gotta adminster?" She asks, settling back just a little bit, "And what does the swearing in entail, exactly?"
Smash The words 'doctor' and 'chems' has Smash's sun-bleached eyebrows lifting a touch in response. She has his attention, potentially. "Swearin' in is a posse secret, but if you can clean this up..." He trails off as he removes the leather vambrace off his left arm to reveal a two day old laceration across his forearm. "Then ya can consider the first step taken care of, and get ready to hit the road with us in the next day or two." He lays his arm palm down on the table so she can get a better look at it. "But fuck up and, so help me, you'd better be a wiz with them chems." His beady eyes stare unblinkingly at her face. "What'd'ya say, doc?"
Darling "I'll do what I can to take care of that little gash of yours." Darling says, rising up from her seat and moving around to the edge of his table, "I don't have a lot of supplies, and I don't want to do any serious treatment in the bar for this here." She adds, but she pulls out a scrap of cloth which she uses to start cleaning the wound, before pulling out another rag which she uses to start bandaging it up. "I'll need to take a look at it again in another couple days to make sure everything is healing right."
Smash Smash watches intently throughout the treatment. He does not have any medical experience, but he has been patched up enough times to know when someone knows what he or she is doing. When she finishes, he looks up at her and nods. "Alright, doc. Don't go far. We leave tonight, tomorrow, or the next day. Welcome to the posse, doc. For now."