It's just a stretch of dust and sand between Zion National park - their last stopping point and campsite - and Las Vegas, their destination. They opted for a motorcycle as a transportation means, fast and easy to manoeuvre in tight spots, fitted with an enforced front and a big windshield, the bike is powerful enough to force them through a tough spot but not enough to withstand a siege, obviously. They just better not get caught. The trip is approximately two hundred kilometres and not a single one of those two hundred have been fun.
The distances in The States are always ridiculously longer when compared to the Europe. Grey got used to just making a do by walking even when it came to the Nordics. It might take a couple of weeks to get where he wanted but it hadn't been that bad. He'd be walking for months if we'd want to do that in America. He has been on this side of the puddle for a year or two, gotten familiar with the locals, helped them to search for something to change the situation. Nothing yet has come along. He came to Zion with another group, one he had been travelling with for a couple of weeks. They left a week ago, Grey stayed because these people were doing something different. They actually were putting themselves on the line.
This expedition they were on now was merely an information gathering mission. They would go in and see if they could find out more about a mysterious item called Pandorica. There had been rumours milling about the thing for ages. Grey had heard about it back in Europe the first time. There were several versions of the story. It was the reason for this disaster. It was the end of the world. It was the salvation. It was nothing of the above but a way to another world. (Grey suspected the last one was a pipe dream.) It could even be a person if you asked him. The bottom line was that no one really knew but there was a lot of talk about this one thing. It was worth checking up when someone said they had seen the world painted all over a certain part of Las Vegas.
They rolled in the city with the motorcycle after a long day of driving through the shitty condition on the road. They'd need to gas up on their way back. Grey patted her leg where she sat behind him when they drifted past a bunch of cars, some of them with intact lids on their gas tanks and pointed. They could probably get their go-juice from there for the trip back.
No, none of the two hundred kilometers had been fun, but Geo had learned to roll with anything early on. Miami was almost a literal lifetime away by foot. She'd learned to travel far and wide, how to make friends and allies with a tank and a gun.
She was only so lucky that she had a crew to rely on forever, or at least, until they could find something to reverse this mess. Pandorica, they called it, but Geo wasn't sure if to trust it. Of course they'd chase after anything that could help, but... the name...
Maybe it was Pandora's Box, in reverse. It could suck in what was thrown into the world. That had been one of her sillier ideas. It was fun to think of it that way, though. It's not as if anyone had a true answer to the mystery of Pandorica, outside of a mural of the world somewhere in the former glory of Las Vegas, Nevada.
Geo had never been to Las Vegas. Truth be told, she was kind of excited. So much of this world had been undone into ash, but she couldn't help it: everything was new to her still. And why not? So much had happened to her, to her crew, yet she tried her damned best to stay upbeat despite it all. It'll be an adventure! she'd told him.
He scowled. It delighted her.
There was no laughter, or much of anything coming from her now, only a soft click of her tongue when he patted her leg. She'd buried her face into his back, and, wouldn't you know it, she fell asleep.
She gently began to trace shapes on his back, slowly, deliberately.
It was a good thing someone didn't have to stay awake for all those hundreds of kilometres. Somewhere along the way a strap of rope had appeared around her, keeping her attached to his back without him having to sacrifice either of his hands on the job.
Now that she was awake, he loosened those straps around his chest so she could sit up properly if she wanted.
The thick layers of cloth that he had on didn't make communication easy but he had learned to listen to her very carefully. So he did that, focusing on the way she drew the letters. His voice sounded like it was coming from a bottom of a pit when he replied through the combination of goggles and gas mask. "We're in Las Vegas."
He rolled the bike beside the cars on the side of the road and twisted open the gas tank with a piece of metal. It took a few minutes to get the gas flowing through a pipe into the bike's tank. Once that was on the way, he leaned back against her, stretching his arms above his head. 200 KM was a long drive without a single break, he felt stiff and loopy.
She hadn't realized a rope had come around her waist. At least she can count on Grey to make sure she stays in one piece.
Her hands came up in tight fists, arms stretching and pushing against his back. She felt stiff and sore all over, too, but she's pretty sure if she gets up, she's going to trip like a newborn giraffe. She's almost sure she has marks all over her face from sleeping in a gas mask. As it is, the lenses are foggy from the who knows how long nap she decided to take.
She's taking first watch tonight.
Las Vegas looked nothing like the postcards. Nothing really did anymore. The obvious answer would be to head for the Strip. If they could find people, they could probably ask around, get a few answers. That meant tipping off people, too.
S. T. R. I. P.
It's their best bet, despite the risks that could come with walking into populated territory.
With a bit of a groan, she finally wills herself to get off the bike. She has more to say than just that. Once she's standing, popping her back and arms as any would do, she starts to rummage for the tattered notebook and pencil in her oversized jacket. Geo starts to write in a furious scribble.
Grey leans back against her fists, pushing his shoulder plates back and with a satisfying pop his chest opens up and he gives a groan. Yeah, driving has never been his favourite kind of jobs.
"The place where the hotels and casinos used to be?" he asks. He thinks he heard one of them mention that yesterday. "You'll probably know better than I do where to go for that." He has no idea, to be honest, to even where to start.
The tank is full by the time she's done with writing and he turns on the bike again as he reads her scribbles. "Yeah, I know. Leave that to me. Hop on, I'm going to drive around the corner and put this bloody thing into a circle." By which he means he'll spell it. Anyone going anywhere near it will feel sick just thinking about taking the bike. He pushes the bike back and and turns it towards the middle of the road again.
The notebook and pencil disappears into her jacket again. Briefly, there's a moment where she wonders what would happen if the notebook got lost. Not much to her, she could live.
It's what's written in it that's not quite so safe. The notebook stays close to her, always, just for that fact alone.
She holds up her hands, wiggles all of her fingers dramatically. Magic. Hard to believe magic is real, like the stuff in the books and the movies, but here is Grey talking about circles and hexes and spells.
Her boots kick up ash and dust as she starts to walk over to Grey and the bike. As she walks, she holds up her right hand, sort of claw-like, really, with her index finger jutting out much further than the rest of her fingers, and starts to shake it up and down. She quickly starts to make a loud hissing noise and starts to move her hand across the air.
She's out of red spray paint, Grey. She needs spray paint.
Honestly, her very to the point kind of communication is something he appreciates. Usually people talk out of their asses. They lie and they cheat and blow smoke up your ass as much as possible. He doesn't talk much. Only when he needs to. And she can't talk, so it's like a match made in heaven. Or hell, however you want to see it.
He snorts at the wiggly fingers and shrugs at her, nothing else to be said about that. Yeah, magic. Nothing very mysterious about it to him, but most people don't obviously see it like that.
The spray painting clue is also understood and he has to spread his arms for her. With a brief glance it's easy to see that most of the shops around them have been looted years ago. They'll have to venture deeper into the city to find that shit.
"I have some regular paint?" he offers as he turns the bike to a side street and starts looking for a place to park. wide enough hole between the cars to fit a magical circle in, that's what he needs.
She frowns and shrugs. It'll do in a pinch, but it's not the same. They'll find spray paint, she's sure of it. No one really went looking for spray paint unless they were a part of a crew.
There's a moment of silence here as she observes their surroundings. It's... eerily clear, for now. Maybe it's the location, or the time. There could be a million reasons for it. Maybe it's not necessary? She'd heard how Las Vegas started to thrive because of the living spaces, the hundreds of thousands of rooms across the strip in the hotels.
Ah! In her sweep, she spies a space. He's not always the most forthcoming with... well a lot, really. In the same way he's picked up on her cues, she's picked up on his. Geo can't pretend to understand the magic Grey wields, but at the very least, she can understand what it takes to... do magic? Make magic?
Another question to the never ending list.
Geo jabs his arm once and points to the spot. Safe? Maybe?
He nods, satisfied with the spot between two trashed cars. It's big enough and in a relative cover, not too conspicuous. Parking is a quick affair, the magic, not so much. He thanks her with a hand landing on top of her head, then he's already at work with the magic. She could look around while he's at it. Magic unfortunately is ritualistic enough to take a little bit of time.
He doesn't draw anything to the ground, that has an unfortunate habit of being worn off when it rains or something else smears upon it. He pulls out a handful of stretching gum-like substance out of his pocket and starts to spread it, pushing it down onto the asphalt at even intervals. He's going to spill a certain key items inside that circle and close it with an incantation.
Once he's done, he'll heft up a backpack brings out an old tourist map from his pocket, marking the spot he left the bike in before pocketing the thing again.
"Geo?" he calls out, his voice muffled by the mask but loud enough for her to hear him from quite a distance, obvious tension in his voice.
She had watched him with fascination as he set up some of the magic. Is it so bad that she kind of wants to learn a thing or two?
Even if she doesn't think she'd be very good at it?
It all looked so complicated, and then the incantations... how could she do anything like that without a voice? She could really only frown, despite the expression being hidden behind the scratched up gas mask.
Her response comes in the form of a shrill whistle, closer to a bird singing in the dead of the day, instead of a person. She swings her sniper rifle over, fitting the butt into her shoulder, gripping it and hovering her finger on the trigger.
Geo whistles again, now more urgent to get his attention. They should move anyway. They can't stay out here.
He'd be happy to teach her a few symbols that she could draw for protection. She'd just need to tell him that she wants to learn. In fact he might insist eventually, because there's no reason not to and he'd like for her to stay safe.
He follows her whistle, jogging to her. "Do you need the paint now or later?" he asks. Maybe they should loot the abandoned shops. It should be easy, the doors are already broken down and windows shattered.
"That one," Grey says and points at a Home Depot. They could definitely find some spray paint in there.
She nods, but makes a carefully positioned jerk of her head, towards the other buildings. Geo suspects they're not alone, and if they can get inside, at least they can afford cover.
Her index and middle finger cross one over the other, the universal symbol of "jinx!"
But to her, it was the quickest, most effective way of conveying a completely different idea: together. Obvious as it should be, the suggestion is really more of a reinforcement. She could handle being alone.
It's just that she'd really rather not be alone.
Geo simply begins to move now, slowly, resolutely, watching her step as they begin their approach to the former glory of home improvement. She'd be happy to find some gear and stuff to make traps, honestly. They'd make up for the potential lack of spray paint.
Grey doesn't look right away but he gives the surrounding buildings a brief glance when they start moving, scanning windows under his brows while his head is tilted towards her, trying to find something, a sun glare, movement, anything. But he can't detect anything at least right away. He walks closer to her than usual, though, ready to grab her to safety if something happens.
Broken glass grinds against the asphalt under their boots as they enter the building. He pulls his gun out of his pocket and loads a round in the barrel. Just to be sure.
"There's probably a backdoor to this place," he murmurs to her as they walk past the registers and further into the shop. "We should exit that way."
She nods, hearing him, hearing the grinding of glass, the dull echoes of heavy boots and the shuffle of their clothing.
The light is... not great, to say the least. Home Depot is, at best, a giant warehouse. Small wonder someone hadn't tried to claim it as a home or a bunker, really.
The place has been ransacked, but not quite picked clean. To Geo, it seems as if the people who raided the place weren't very creative of future uses. Things reliant on electricity stayed behind, while those reliant on gasoline were, of course, gone. Bits and drills left ignored meant really a new modification or addition to a weapon.
Batteries are a commodity. Despite having a flashlight, Geo rarely ever used it. She took to matches instead, when it became a necessity. So far, the light pouring in from the entrances work fine.
She stops at a lane, a self checkout area, and curiously passes her hand over it. It's how they used to work, right? Or something like it. It's been a little while. Geo moves on towards a lane line with heavy metal rods of all shapes, lengths, and widths. New weapons?
They wander into the shop, looking at things that might be of use for them. Grey keeps a look at the doors and at least half of his eye on Geo. He's not going to let either of those out of his sights. But he has time to dig up a half buried billhook under a pile of small reflectors that have spilled out from an upturned basket. Delighted, he straps onto his belt and keeps going.
There are other things that he finds useful, little knick knacks that he puts into his pockets as they walk through the corridors. The best find is a silicon tube and a gun for it. He'll get to do some spell casting for their bike later on.
Eventually he comes across the paint section, picks up a can of boat varnish and then a couple of spray cans for her and wanders back beside her again, pressing the spray paint onto her hands and nudges her towards the storage door at the back which has been twisted out of shape.
She just tilts her head as she takes all of the cans. Honestly, she wanted to see what else she could dig up...
But time's short, she supposes. The paint cans are stowed as best as possible into her backpack, inside her jacket, wherever really. If all else failed, at least paint in the face would be an unpleasant distraction for them to run.
Footsteps light, she makes her way towards the exit. How much longer would they need to walk to really get into the heart of the strip? Mental calculations hoped not long. To keep along the main roadway really is their best bet to get there quickest. So once they're out, she points downwards, a once heavily trafficked street now stalled by dead cars.
Walking is something that Grey doesn't mind. It's his usual mode of getting around. It might not work in America between the locations but within the cities it's fine.
He hefts his backpack a bit higher as they slip through the storage unit and then the doors that have been torn open.
They barely get out before a bullet ricochets from the asphalt in front of his feet and a voice above calls: "Stop right there." Grey isn't about to listen, but instead grabs Geo and dives back into the storage while bullets rain on the street outside.
The sudden motion makes her jump, but hey, she's hitting the deck and ducking for cover. There's only a look she can shoot at him that reads "I told you so."
A quick peek, and... nope, there goes another hail of bullets flying overhead.
"We know you're there! Show yourselves!"
Geo starts to ready her rifle, snapping as best as she can to the wall without giving away her position.
Well. She does have one really stupid idea. She signals to her backpack, to a spray can that just might need to be sacrificed.
They're lucky and no bullet actually hits a target. Maybe the shooters don't have a clear line to them after all. Grey follows her behind a pile of pallets. There's a chain that hangs from the ceiling, connected to the sliding door that has been pushed up. He looks at it, wondering if he could bring it down. They'd have a better protection if he'd manage that.
Then he sees her pointing at her backpack and making those claw like hands again. He dives a hand in without thinking about it any further, handing her one of the spray cans.
While she could throw the can herself, it would be a waste of time for her to shoot it in the right spot, at the right time. She mimes briefly a real nasty throw, more like chucking the damn thing like a baseball, then proceeds to pretty much give it back to him.
If he takes it? She'll waste no time in preparing her gun.
Alright. Everything she does is pretty straightforward and he gets it. He grabs the can, throwing it a few times in the air to get a feel of it. Then he makes sure she's ready.
"I'll loop it," he says. She should have plenty of time to shoot wherever she decides to make the impact. The ceiling above them makes it a little difficult to get a good angle but he'll manage.
Once he's sure she's ready, he scoots a bit farther away from the pallets to get some room for the throw and lobes it at their attackers.
And in less than a second, she's aiming, shooting, and wow that makes one hell of a mess and a terrible sound. It's enough to incite panic among their assailants.
Goodbye red spray paint. Later, Geo will mourn it. For now, they have to run, past wild gunshots and angry yelling. She darts between aisles and stacks of plywood sheets, only checking occasionally to see if Grey is close behind.
By a miracle, an exit is left without anyone waiting for them on the other side. She whistles only once, quick and urgent to direct Grey as she books it to the street.
Maybe the Strip would be safer? It's a hope Geo decides to let go as the bullets crack in more spread out bursts.
Grey could be way ahead of her by the time they get to the street. He has longer legs by far than she has. But he doesn't want to leave her to keep the tail. That's just it. And he doesn't even gasp when a bullet bites into his arm, just keeps going.
It's a miracle they aren't like two broken barrels leaking out when they finally duke into a crossing alley way and keep running. He presses a hand to his arm and jogs behind her, occasionally glancing back to see that they're not being followed.
Once they've crossed enough space between them and the shooters, he tells her to stop with a grunted "Wait," and pauses to catch his breath while leaning against a wall of a building, his heart beating and sweat pearling onto his forehead from both the effort and pain.
He's hurt? When did that happen? She frowns, worry lining her face, filling her eyes as she makes her way closer to him.
No, she's really not thrilled about that. One bullet is better than the alternative, at least. The problem now, besides the obvious, is that they'd been spotted. There would be no surprise, at least on her behalf, if they were tailed all the way into Vegas proper.
When she sets the backpack down, she starts to dig for anything, honestly. They'd been out of gauze for some time. She'd had to improvise by making a small supply of cloth strips. She pulls a deep blue strip from the bag, holds it up for him. It's all he can have, if he agrees.
"Thank you," he says as he takes the strip of fabric and starts to wrap it around his arm, pulling it tight over his clothes. As long as he can stop the blood flow for now, it's going to be fine.
He isn't thrilled about the situation either, but it definitely is better than being shot full of holes. One little clip is fine. It went straight trough, too, so he doesn't have to dig up the bullet later, which would have sucked something fierce.
"It's fine," he says to her without needing her to express her worry somehow. He can see it on her face. "It's just a scratch, really."
The look on her face, the one he surely feels, can be summed up as yeah, sure.
She throws her head towards the direction of the Strip, still probably some miles from here. Much as she'd like to hunker down and make sure nothing else is out of place, they'd (probably) be safer within one of the hotels. Surely they'd have someone with some kind of medical knowledge.
Then again, even the obvious seems like a miracle lately.
For now, they could leave this place behind with whatever roving groups that decide to prey on the newcomers to Vegas. They'll need to double up when they leave, no doubt.
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The distances in The States are always ridiculously longer when compared to the Europe. Grey got used to just making a do by walking even when it came to the Nordics. It might take a couple of weeks to get where he wanted but it hadn't been that bad. He'd be walking for months if we'd want to do that in America. He has been on this side of the puddle for a year or two, gotten familiar with the locals, helped them to search for something to change the situation. Nothing yet has come along. He came to Zion with another group, one he had been travelling with for a couple of weeks. They left a week ago, Grey stayed because these people were doing something different. They actually were putting themselves on the line.
This expedition they were on now was merely an information gathering mission. They would go in and see if they could find out more about a mysterious item called Pandorica. There had been rumours milling about the thing for ages. Grey had heard about it back in Europe the first time. There were several versions of the story. It was the reason for this disaster. It was the end of the world. It was the salvation. It was nothing of the above but a way to another world. (Grey suspected the last one was a pipe dream.) It could even be a person if you asked him. The bottom line was that no one really knew but there was a lot of talk about this one thing. It was worth checking up when someone said they had seen the world painted all over a certain part of Las Vegas.
They rolled in the city with the motorcycle after a long day of driving through the shitty condition on the road. They'd need to gas up on their way back. Grey patted her leg where she sat behind him when they drifted past a bunch of cars, some of them with intact lids on their gas tanks and pointed. They could probably get their go-juice from there for the trip back.
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She was only so lucky that she had a crew to rely on forever, or at least, until they could find something to reverse this mess. Pandorica, they called it, but Geo wasn't sure if to trust it. Of course they'd chase after anything that could help, but... the name...
Maybe it was Pandora's Box, in reverse. It could suck in what was thrown into the world. That had been one of her sillier ideas. It was fun to think of it that way, though. It's not as if anyone had a true answer to the mystery of Pandorica, outside of a mural of the world somewhere in the former glory of Las Vegas, Nevada.
Geo had never been to Las Vegas. Truth be told, she was kind of excited. So much of this world had been undone into ash, but she couldn't help it: everything was new to her still. And why not? So much had happened to her, to her crew, yet she tried her damned best to stay upbeat despite it all. It'll be an adventure! she'd told him.
He scowled. It delighted her.
There was no laughter, or much of anything coming from her now, only a soft click of her tongue when he patted her leg. She'd buried her face into his back, and, wouldn't you know it, she fell asleep.
She gently began to trace shapes on his back, slowly, deliberately.
H. E. R. E. ?
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Now that she was awake, he loosened those straps around his chest so she could sit up properly if she wanted.
The thick layers of cloth that he had on didn't make communication easy but he had learned to listen to her very carefully. So he did that, focusing on the way she drew the letters. His voice sounded like it was coming from a bottom of a pit when he replied through the combination of goggles and gas mask. "We're in Las Vegas."
He rolled the bike beside the cars on the side of the road and twisted open the gas tank with a piece of metal. It took a few minutes to get the gas flowing through a pipe into the bike's tank. Once that was on the way, he leaned back against her, stretching his arms above his head. 200 KM was a long drive without a single break, he felt stiff and loopy.
"Where do you reckon we should look first?"
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Her hands came up in tight fists, arms stretching and pushing against his back. She felt stiff and sore all over, too, but she's pretty sure if she gets up, she's going to trip like a newborn giraffe. She's almost sure she has marks all over her face from sleeping in a gas mask. As it is, the lenses are foggy from the who knows how long nap she decided to take.
She's taking first watch tonight.
Las Vegas looked nothing like the postcards. Nothing really did anymore. The obvious answer would be to head for the Strip. If they could find people, they could probably ask around, get a few answers. That meant tipping off people, too.
S. T. R. I. P.
It's their best bet, despite the risks that could come with walking into populated territory.
With a bit of a groan, she finally wills herself to get off the bike. She has more to say than just that. Once she's standing, popping her back and arms as any would do, she starts to rummage for the tattered notebook and pencil in her oversized jacket. Geo starts to write in a furious scribble.
We need to find somewhere to hide the bike.
It might get stolen.
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"The place where the hotels and casinos used to be?" he asks. He thinks he heard one of them mention that yesterday. "You'll probably know better than I do where to go for that." He has no idea, to be honest, to even where to start.
The tank is full by the time she's done with writing and he turns on the bike again as he reads her scribbles. "Yeah, I know. Leave that to me. Hop on, I'm going to drive around the corner and put this bloody thing into a circle." By which he means he'll spell it. Anyone going anywhere near it will feel sick just thinking about taking the bike. He pushes the bike back and and turns it towards the middle of the road again.
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Oh.
Magic.
The notebook and pencil disappears into her jacket again. Briefly, there's a moment where she wonders what would happen if the notebook got lost. Not much to her, she could live.
It's what's written in it that's not quite so safe. The notebook stays close to her, always, just for that fact alone.
She holds up her hands, wiggles all of her fingers dramatically. Magic. Hard to believe magic is real, like the stuff in the books and the movies, but here is Grey talking about circles and hexes and spells.
Her boots kick up ash and dust as she starts to walk over to Grey and the bike. As she walks, she holds up her right hand, sort of claw-like, really, with her index finger jutting out much further than the rest of her fingers, and starts to shake it up and down. She quickly starts to make a loud hissing noise and starts to move her hand across the air.
She's out of red spray paint, Grey. She needs spray paint.
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He snorts at the wiggly fingers and shrugs at her, nothing else to be said about that. Yeah, magic. Nothing very mysterious about it to him, but most people don't obviously see it like that.
The spray painting clue is also understood and he has to spread his arms for her. With a brief glance it's easy to see that most of the shops around them have been looted years ago. They'll have to venture deeper into the city to find that shit.
"I have some regular paint?" he offers as he turns the bike to a side street and starts looking for a place to park. wide enough hole between the cars to fit a magical circle in, that's what he needs.
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There's a moment of silence here as she observes their surroundings. It's... eerily clear, for now. Maybe it's the location, or the time. There could be a million reasons for it. Maybe it's not necessary? She'd heard how Las Vegas started to thrive because of the living spaces, the hundreds of thousands of rooms across the strip in the hotels.
Ah! In her sweep, she spies a space. He's not always the most forthcoming with... well a lot, really. In the same way he's picked up on her cues, she's picked up on his. Geo can't pretend to understand the magic Grey wields, but at the very least, she can understand what it takes to... do magic? Make magic?
Another question to the never ending list.
Geo jabs his arm once and points to the spot. Safe? Maybe?
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He doesn't draw anything to the ground, that has an unfortunate habit of being worn off when it rains or something else smears upon it. He pulls out a handful of stretching gum-like substance out of his pocket and starts to spread it, pushing it down onto the asphalt at even intervals. He's going to spill a certain key items inside that circle and close it with an incantation.
Once he's done, he'll heft up a backpack brings out an old tourist map from his pocket, marking the spot he left the bike in before pocketing the thing again.
"Geo?" he calls out, his voice muffled by the mask but loud enough for her to hear him from quite a distance, obvious tension in his voice.
It is pretty damn quiet and he doesn't like it...
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Even if she doesn't think she'd be very good at it?
It all looked so complicated, and then the incantations... how could she do anything like that without a voice? She could really only frown, despite the expression being hidden behind the scratched up gas mask.
Her response comes in the form of a shrill whistle, closer to a bird singing in the dead of the day, instead of a person. She swings her sniper rifle over, fitting the butt into her shoulder, gripping it and hovering her finger on the trigger.
Geo whistles again, now more urgent to get his attention. They should move anyway. They can't stay out here.
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He follows her whistle, jogging to her. "Do you need the paint now or later?" he asks. Maybe they should loot the abandoned shops. It should be easy, the doors are already broken down and windows shattered.
"That one," Grey says and points at a Home Depot. They could definitely find some spray paint in there.
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Her index and middle finger cross one over the other, the universal symbol of "jinx!"
But to her, it was the quickest, most effective way of conveying a completely different idea: together. Obvious as it should be, the suggestion is really more of a reinforcement. She could handle being alone.
It's just that she'd really rather not be alone.
Geo simply begins to move now, slowly, resolutely, watching her step as they begin their approach to the former glory of home improvement. She'd be happy to find some gear and stuff to make traps, honestly. They'd make up for the potential lack of spray paint.
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Broken glass grinds against the asphalt under their boots as they enter the building. He pulls his gun out of his pocket and loads a round in the barrel. Just to be sure.
"There's probably a backdoor to this place," he murmurs to her as they walk past the registers and further into the shop. "We should exit that way."
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The light is... not great, to say the least. Home Depot is, at best, a giant warehouse. Small wonder someone hadn't tried to claim it as a home or a bunker, really.
The place has been ransacked, but not quite picked clean. To Geo, it seems as if the people who raided the place weren't very creative of future uses. Things reliant on electricity stayed behind, while those reliant on gasoline were, of course, gone. Bits and drills left ignored meant really a new modification or addition to a weapon.
Batteries are a commodity. Despite having a flashlight, Geo rarely ever used it. She took to matches instead, when it became a necessity. So far, the light pouring in from the entrances work fine.
She stops at a lane, a self checkout area, and curiously passes her hand over it. It's how they used to work, right? Or something like it. It's been a little while. Geo moves on towards a lane line with heavy metal rods of all shapes, lengths, and widths. New weapons?
New weapons.
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There are other things that he finds useful, little knick knacks that he puts into his pockets as they walk through the corridors. The best find is a silicon tube and a gun for it. He'll get to do some spell casting for their bike later on.
Eventually he comes across the paint section, picks up a can of boat varnish and then a couple of spray cans for her and wanders back beside her again, pressing the spray paint onto her hands and nudges her towards the storage door at the back which has been twisted out of shape.
"You done?"
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But time's short, she supposes. The paint cans are stowed as best as possible into her backpack, inside her jacket, wherever really. If all else failed, at least paint in the face would be an unpleasant distraction for them to run.
Footsteps light, she makes her way towards the exit. How much longer would they need to walk to really get into the heart of the strip? Mental calculations hoped not long. To keep along the main roadway really is their best bet to get there quickest. So once they're out, she points downwards, a once heavily trafficked street now stalled by dead cars.
This should be fun.
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He hefts his backpack a bit higher as they slip through the storage unit and then the doors that have been torn open.
They barely get out before a bullet ricochets from the asphalt in front of his feet and a voice above calls: "Stop right there." Grey isn't about to listen, but instead grabs Geo and dives back into the storage while bullets rain on the street outside.
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A quick peek, and... nope, there goes another hail of bullets flying overhead.
"We know you're there! Show yourselves!"
Geo starts to ready her rifle, snapping as best as she can to the wall without giving away her position.
Well. She does have one really stupid idea. She signals to her backpack, to a spray can that just might need to be sacrificed.
Sadly.
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Then he sees her pointing at her backpack and making those claw like hands again. He dives a hand in without thinking about it any further, handing her one of the spray cans.
"What're you thinking?"
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What was it about high heat, and no puncturing?
While she could throw the can herself, it would be a waste of time for her to shoot it in the right spot, at the right time. She mimes briefly a real nasty throw, more like chucking the damn thing like a baseball, then proceeds to pretty much give it back to him.
If he takes it? She'll waste no time in preparing her gun.
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"I'll loop it," he says. She should have plenty of time to shoot wherever she decides to make the impact. The ceiling above them makes it a little difficult to get a good angle but he'll manage.
Once he's sure she's ready, he scoots a bit farther away from the pallets to get some room for the throw and lobes it at their attackers.
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Goodbye red spray paint. Later, Geo will mourn it. For now, they have to run, past wild gunshots and angry yelling. She darts between aisles and stacks of plywood sheets, only checking occasionally to see if Grey is close behind.
By a miracle, an exit is left without anyone waiting for them on the other side. She whistles only once, quick and urgent to direct Grey as she books it to the street.
Maybe the Strip would be safer? It's a hope Geo decides to let go as the bullets crack in more spread out bursts.
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It's a miracle they aren't like two broken barrels leaking out when they finally duke into a crossing alley way and keep running. He presses a hand to his arm and jogs behind her, occasionally glancing back to see that they're not being followed.
Once they've crossed enough space between them and the shooters, he tells her to stop with a grunted "Wait," and pauses to catch his breath while leaning against a wall of a building, his heart beating and sweat pearling onto his forehead from both the effort and pain.
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He's hurt? When did that happen? She frowns, worry lining her face, filling her eyes as she makes her way closer to him.
No, she's really not thrilled about that. One bullet is better than the alternative, at least. The problem now, besides the obvious, is that they'd been spotted. There would be no surprise, at least on her behalf, if they were tailed all the way into Vegas proper.
When she sets the backpack down, she starts to dig for anything, honestly. They'd been out of gauze for some time. She'd had to improvise by making a small supply of cloth strips. She pulls a deep blue strip from the bag, holds it up for him. It's all he can have, if he agrees.
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He isn't thrilled about the situation either, but it definitely is better than being shot full of holes. One little clip is fine. It went straight trough, too, so he doesn't have to dig up the bullet later, which would have sucked something fierce.
"It's fine," he says to her without needing her to express her worry somehow. He can see it on her face. "It's just a scratch, really."
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She throws her head towards the direction of the Strip, still probably some miles from here. Much as she'd like to hunker down and make sure nothing else is out of place, they'd (probably) be safer within one of the hotels. Surely they'd have someone with some kind of medical knowledge.
Then again, even the obvious seems like a miracle lately.
For now, they could leave this place behind with whatever roving groups that decide to prey on the newcomers to Vegas. They'll need to double up when they leave, no doubt.