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Sparrow Early morning and the Crescent moon is on it's slow dissent, reluctant to give up her sky to the oncoming El Dorado Sun, who will punish those beneath it with firey, sweaty fury. The knight patrols are already out an Sparrow is sitting out for her early morning breakfast at a small table out on the patio to her house listening to her windchime and peeling pieces off a mutfruit with a knife. Stockton sits across from her with a cup of something steaming as they chat. "I'm not going to be able to do the research alone. I just think I need to be the one headed down there to help collect the sample because these fools like to rush in and nearly get themselves killed. What I really need is to get my hand on a syringer so I can take the damned sample from a distance."
Apostle     Hssk.
    It's her rebreather heard before she really makes her appearance, Apostle's leisurely pace perhaps suggesting that she's suffered recent wounds that keep her from charging through the place like most others around these parts seem to do. Behind her and to the side is Vector, a rifle resting against his shoulder as his paranoia-inspired gaze flicks from target to target as though he thought the world itself were out to attack them.
    Maybe it was.
    "...and she's thinking of rage, like an ember or a burning acid swallowing up her knotted viscera. Blindness like the kind that leads men to perpetrate horrors, animal drunkenness..." Her mechanical, tin-can voice robs her statement of any of the emotion that might bend it the way of humanity. "... the jungles of the mind... in which we become the beasts, predator and prey..." It appears that she's speaking to her travelling companion, not to those that sit perched on their porch like the world hadn't come to an end.
    Apparently she hasn't acknowledged the recovery of a society.
    Her eyes turn toward the two as the low conversation catches her attentions, a brow quirking as she stares toward Stockton with that vague sort of recognition one might get more from deja vu than actually knowing what they were looking at. She squints at Sparrow, glances back to Vector, and then to Stockton as though one of them would have an answer to the question she never asked.
    "We seek the swift Sparrow." Is that code? The hell is wrong with her? "That we might howl the wind."
    ... Of course.
Vector     Medieval style villages are acceptable, since things are a bit closer together, and there's less wide-open gaps. That doesn't stop Vector from casually turning and walking backwards before facing forwards - a motion that's calmly repeated a few times until the man has a better mental map of the immediate location, and then it just turns into him turning his head around and peering at any little nook and cranny that may possibly have someone, you know, just sitting, waiting for Vector to drop his guard. That's not paranoia, that's simply knowing all of the facts. There's always someone out to get you.
    "Better than El Dorado," He states to his rambling companion, "Metal jungle in there has too many people. Get too many people together, it always starts to go ugly. In the end. Animals." Is what the man makes from her statement, responding to it like they were having a pleasant daytime chat about the weather.
Stockton Stockton is tapping a finger against a piece of browned paper with tobacco stuffed in it, rolling it between his fingers to create that signature handrolled cigarillo. When he's done he moistens it down and seals it. Setting it onto the table with a few others. Finally taking up the first made so he can light a match to the tip. "I didn' figure, but I'm still gonna wonder why it's gotta be you stickin the needle in. Syringer? Alright, we need to find us one'a those then." He nods emphatically before they're joined by the Cult of Speed. Tilting his head towards the odd pair, he offers at least the female a polite greeting nod. "Good ta see yah," he offers in greeting before blinking slowly between the both of them. "You seek Sparrow, er somethin' she's got?" he asks curiously before glancing to Vector, "We're hopin' there's a lil more time tween now'n then."
Sparrow "We do." She agrees to Stockton with a small frown. "And it has to be me because the other doctors are central to El Dorado or pregnant, that's why." Sparrow's young for a Doctor, her world is just begining after all. Despite the weathering of her features from the El Dorado climate, preamture crows-feet and lines around her mouth her eyes bealay her age. Bright, unclouded, young. The blonde cowgirl has been given, in compensation for her contributions, a 'lavish' by apocalyptic standards home near the center of Avalon's small village like veneer. She nods to a pair of knights who rove past on their horses on patrol, tipping her knife in a a salute before calloused weather-worn hands set her fruit down for a moment once she hears Apostle speak. "You come a long way for me. I do travel to folks who need me you know. Just gotta send a courier. But after we're done you should have a look at the shops. They might have things you're interested in." She sets her knife in the table and glances at Stock. "C'mon up let me get my kit and I'll have a look at you? Ya aint still wounded from those Cazador are ya?" Vectors commentary is given consideration but no response and very little in the way of emotion in her small attempt at a smile.
Apostle     "We have come on a mission as directed by the Mayor of El Dorado, to receive payment for services rendered unto her office."
    Apostle nods toward Stockton, as though admitting he asked the right question.
    "It is not we who need treatment, but Velocity -- she misses her organs, the arid terrain steals her breath." In her hand she holds a ratty piece of paper, which she raises toward Sparrow, slinking her way those last few steps that close the gap of distance, leaving the porch to seperate the two pairs. She wiggles it as though in offering it, and should it be taken there will be Sparrow's name, 'WHEEL', and the signature of the Mayor.
    Expectant, Apostle stares at Sparrow unblinkingly, crinkled paper held tightly between two fingers and her thumb, creasing it even further than travelling about in her pocket had.
    "A path so important must be walked by our own feet, not carried as the burden of another for some price paid."
    Either she's talking about her path, giving her opinion on why Sparrow feels it needs to be her sticking in the needle, or both. With her, it's often difficult to tell. Her clothes are still torn up, there's gashes in her coat that are rust red with her blood, and wounds can be spied beneath, but they've been rather crudely and effectively stitched up, and lack the redness of infection. So, she's strange, but at least she's truthful about not needing help in that aspect.
    Finally, her eyes flick toward Stockton. "I trust Ma is informed of our gratitude?"
Vector     "We're healthy." Vector offers towards Sparrow, if only so that the medieval doctor doesn't have to worry about wasting extra supplies or having to take out a kit. "As can be expected out here." He adds in, a not-too-subtle jab at his own paranoia.
    "The boss has the right of it," He states, "Velocity cannot live while her organs are spread out amongst the Wasteland. Soon, she will thrum and drive, and live and breathe as she should." He speaks of the vehicle as if it is a living thing - and perhaps, to the man, it is. He doesn't join them up on the porch, instead casually turning on a heel as if to admire the little village in its splendor - a motion ruined by the fact that his fingers habitually drum against his rifle, pausing only to stretch and grip the weapon firmly to reassure himself, and then going back to drumming once more.
Stockton Stockton just nods once and starts packing up the rest of the cigars into a cigarette tin that he can stuff into his duster. His combat mask is on the table, that intimidating T-visor staring out at the knights as they ride by. His focus shifts from Apostle to Vector and back again as the former approaches. The deal is about the same as he dealt with, but at least he dealt with it. Now it's Sparrow's turn and he looks at her with a slow blink, "Didn't know you had a part too," he chuckles and shrugs one shoulder before looking back at Apostle, a firm nod, "I did, she sent me back with these," he digs into his pocket and comes up with a neatly packed parcel of brittle paper and some twine. He tosses the package to Vector since he's not doing anything. Inside are two pair of hand darned socks, Ma Volkner appreciates gratitude, and manners.
Sparrow Sparrow slow blinks at Apostle taking the sheet and eyeing it, "Wheel? Kitty, what the hell are you talkin' about? I just moved all my things I ain't got no wheels." She flips the paper over immediately to see if there's another clue and then scratches her head. "Healthy, as can be expected around these parts, is walking around in casts and fighting men in dark alleys while blind. So your statement isn't very reassuring but if you're sure, I won't press." She looks towards Apostle again for a moment and shrugs, "C'mon inside, we'll look through my things to see about this wheel but I don't even like the smell of rubber."

She's half muttering to herself but stops when Vector waxes philosophical about doing things personally. She falls quiet after that and heads inside the open double doors into t he houses properly.

"Part?" She wonders of Stockton finally as she spins slowly in her place looking for anything that resembles a wheel. Not that her house isn't a bit cluttered.
Apostle     "Steering." Apostle offers.
    A blink. "Steering wheel." She reitterates.
    Her facial muscles show some tension, as though she were trying not to squint, or more appropriately judge everyone and everything in her sight. When the package is thrown toward Vector, she follows, quirking a brow -- apparently her curiousity still exists for something more than vehicles and energy weapons. For a moment, she's confused when socks are revealed, looking to Vector to lift one shoulder in a shrug, before her head turns back to Stockton.
    She doesn't know what to say.
    There's an awkward silence from her, a disqueietted shift of her weight from one foot to the other.
    Hssk. Hssk.
    One hand comes up to tug on the lip of her hood, something that looks a whole lot like how he pseudo-doffed his hat the other day -- even without a hat. There's another soft venting of her mask before it sucks in suddenly to allow for one of her patented lengthy and unintelligable retorts, "At least, he thought, looking down at his feet, his socks were still in decent shape. It was the socks that went first. A whore he knew said that she only took customers whose socks were in good condition." She nods, apparently figuring that will convey appropriate gratitude.
    With that, she's merely following after Sparrow without a care in the world, and as soon as she's within any sort of searching distance she is ablaze with activity, scavenging like a thousand scarabs on deserted corpse in the golden dunes.
    ... She has no concept of personal space.
Vector     The socks are grasped with a slight fumbling gesture, before he then raises the socks up to his face. He looks them over, and then gives a bob of his head off towards Stockton. The man does not, however, follow Apostle into the house. Instead, he steps up and shifts so that he's standing a bit closer to the porch - but has turned so that he's facing more to the outside.
    "Soon she'll be alive again, and we can taste the road once more. Better this way."
Stockton Stockton blinks and shrugs his shoulders, "I had ta dig Ma's irrigation pipe fix outta the ground'n clean it up. I had no idea it was fer a car. Apparently they needed it an' Kitty remembered I had it, er somethin?" Stock shrugs helplessly and watches as they move inside to search for the steering wheel. While he and Vector seemingly watch the outside like guard dogs. The speech from the man has a scarred eyebrow lofting. "You said that, there anythin' else you two focus on?"
Sparrow Sparrow says, "Steering Wheel?" Sparrow turns and looks around, "Oh. Yes. Ah.. right." She seems suddenly a little sheepish as she sets the paper down on the table and moves back towards where the doors are open and reaches up to unhook the windchime from the awning and pulls a flip-knife from her pocket and snaps it out to start cutting the twine that had been holding the steering wheel to a hook. She'd wrapped twine around the outer wheel itself but left the chrome of the metal to shine through. From it she'd hung bones nad feathers, some glass shards to make it tinkle and a few copper bells. "Let me get it cleaned off here and I'll have it to you in a moment."
Apostle     "Vertibird." Comes Apostle's tinned response from inside.
    "Caps." She continues.
    Rummage, rummage, hssk, hssk. HSSK, hsk.
    "Repurposing the fallen to make way for the new, as coal to the furnace, greedily consuming, ever-burning the over-broken in the search for a spark in perpetuity... to receive those made slave to the carcass to which they are bound, and set them free upon the breeze that they might once more know what it is to breathe." Though that bit is spoken more softly, almost more to herself as she continues to search, until Sparrow begins to retrieve the piece for her. When she speaks of cleaning it of the twine, bone and feathers, a gloved yet filthy hand jerks upward as a gasp tears into her mask.
    "And some day there will be nothing left of everything that has twisted my life and grieved it and filled me so often with such anguish." Hssss, her brows lift and crease as her pupils fatten from their pinprick state in unabashed excitement as she stares at that wheel, bedecked as it is in the remnants of things that have run the sands and soared the skies, "Some day, with the last exhaustion, peace will come and the motherly earth will gather me back home. It won't be the end of things, only a way of being born again, a bathing and a slumbering where the old and the withered sink down, where the young and new begin to breathe. Then, with other thoughts, I will walk along streets like these, and listen to streams, and overhear what the sky says in the evening, over and over and over..."
    Her hand remains raised, golden eyes glossy as though she might weep. She blinks a few times, shaking her head, shuffling quickly to her feet as her tattered coat-robe and weathered tails of red and ragged fabric are gathered, calloused fingers stained by rust and grease, soot and muck slinking over the brink of the wheel Sparrow holds.
    "It misses only a wrap of sinew to make it whole -- it misses only flesh, as Velocity had been robbed of her soul, to be... perfect. Please, just the way it is," She pleads, "With bone like bead and feathers like fingers caress, just the way it is." She repeats the last, fingers giving an idle tap at the surface.
Vector     "Give the boss metal and she'll make something out of it. Might look pretty. Might look ugly. It'll do what you want, though. Sometimes better than pre-war stuff. Fix anything you got, too. Even jury-rig it to run with tape and spit, if needed." Vector repllies, before giving a grunt. "Vertibird. After we drive. We learn to fly. Or, I learn to fly." He chuckles from behind his veil.
    "I drive, and fly. I shoot, and I hide. We're not heroes. We're survivors. That is the best resume I have." With that, the man raises his free hand - after the socks are stuffed into his clothing for later - to a straw hanging over his shoulder. It's pushed under his veil, and he takes a drink from the straw before letting it pop out and free again. "That's why life out here is better than life in cramped places. Cramped places breed heroes or animals. They always fight, too."
Stockton Stockton blinks when the cowgirl comes back outside and snags the windchime down, "Oh that ol' thing?" he scoffs a bit at the fact that they're after /that/ of all things. A shrug comes, "Hey, if it'll work it'll work," not like he knows the difference in parts or why they go where they do. Unless it involves a firing pin, a hammer, or a slide he is clueless. Then Apostle is going into her general vernacular and he can't help but stare a little cockeyed at the woman. Glancing at Vector he just gives up with a little huffed grump and goes back to what he was doing. The lot of 'em were crazy, Sparrow included.
Sparrow Sparrow has cut off the strings that was holding it up but the strange noises Apostle make's give the cowgirl a bit of pause, knife in hand and brow lofted a bit. She moves the knife away though and steps to the side so that Apostle can take the piece of Velocity. "Ah, well I'm glad I could help. Just means I'll have to find a new windchime." She half smiles and looks towards Stock and lifts her shoulder, "Just means you're gonna have to help me find new stuff." She reminds him then hmms, "Just out of metal or can your Boss make guns too. I'm in the market for a syringe weapon. If I can find someone who can make it effective even for just /one/ shot, I'd be willing to do a whole lot for it. I just need it fast."
Apostle     "Guns." A blink.
    "I can supply technology for his experimental gunsmithing, can do... can..." Apostle's gaze is fixed on the wheel, her mind swelled with the new thoughts, the potent excitement, hand pressing further forward to wrap her fingers around the bit of the hoop she'd been touching. They clench tightly, suddenly, as though she might have thought Sparrow had a mind to try to so cruelly snatch it away from her at the last moment. But, no, before she can, the strange woman is stealing it to herself, cradling it greedily against her chest, staring down at it as a mother might their first born child.
    With that, she's pacing back out the door with a rapacity not seen in her approach, scooting off the porch adn scuttling down the road.
Vector     "Needler. You find one of those, could modify it to use syringes, possibly. Either I can do it in the future, or you find one soon and pay someone extra for the work." Vector suggests, as Apostle grabs their prize and now takes off with her rapid steps. The man gives a low grunt, stepping back to follow the woman while still facing the pair. "We'll be going, now. Thank you for the hospitality." Offers the man.
    Then, he turns and begins an idle jog, keeping an even pace, jogging to try and catch up - and then keep up - with Apostle. It's then he begins a cadence - if only to keep himself on proper pace. It fades off quickly as the man makes pace out of the village, sounding quite a bit like the good old 'Over the hills and far away'.
Sparrow Sparrow blinks and drops her hands. She hand't intended on taking the old windchime, or rather new steering wheel, from Apostle so she tucks her fingers into her beltloops turning on her heel watching Apostle go before lifting a wave and trailing after so she can pick up her mutfruit again. "Take care, folks, come back if you change your mind about that treatment." She calls and then watches Apostle and Vector scurry back off throught he mideval town, "And don't forget to check the blacksmith and tailor." She calls before moving to drop into her chair back across from Stockton. "So how's yer ma, Anyway, Sheriff?"