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The Runaway.
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Outside an abandoned house. [west, south, north, east, house]
Set against the backdrop of the tortured sky, the ramshackle form of a rickety
pre-war house looms here, a grim reminder of the omnipresent decay of
post-apocalypse life. It's survived the years, but only barely, the slanted
windows and yawning doorway seeming almost to leer out at those who pass by.
Improbably, a dotted path of cobblestones remains, leading up to the porch.
The cold night zaps the heat right out of you.
Brennan
Sharp gusts of wind rip across the landscape, kicking up massive clouds of
biting sand. Through this a lone figure trudges stolidly, trying to make
headway through the cutting gusts. A lean man, his head slightly bowed,
attempts to seek out some shelter. Nearing a dark shape that might provide
some shelter, he changes course, staggering towards it. As he comes close
enough to make it out as a house, he grunts, picking up speed.
The harsh winds and whipping sands tear across the wastes, battering the
rickety building mercilessly. Inside, a solitary figure moves about the empty
rooms, examining each slowly, with the aid of a small lighter. It's times like
this he's thankful that he's already in the cover.. an hour or two later, and
he would have been caught in the storm, and never would have found this place.
The house's front door is brutally ripped open, hinging all the way
over to slam into the wall. The lean man throws himself into the house, falling
limply to the ground. Agonizingly, he sits back up, grabbing the door and
swinging it forcefully against the wind, to closed. Sighing deeply in releif,
he tilts his head back, and lies against the door, parts of his face now
resembling ground meat.
The loud sound reverbrates throughout the empty house, barely drowned out by
the passing storm. With that, Brennan's finger raises from the lit cigarette
lighter, and turns around, slowly, fearing the worst. Pocketing the lighter in
his jeans pocket, the slender man's right hand goes for his holster, and pulls
out the now-familiar weapon out, and peeks out of the dining room, to the
doorway.
Bryan sits silently for a few moments, regathering his wits, before haltingly
getting up to his feet, joints cracking and popping. He winces slightly, then
reaches down to fumble through his jacket pocket. The is a hiss as he strikes a
match, raising it high to make out his surroundings. Satisfied, he rummages
through his pocket again, bringing up a cigarette, which he lights.
Brennan glances at the figure near the doorway of the house. The pistol in his
hand feels like a frozen lump of steel, a killing weapon if there was any. He
bites his lip as he finally makes the decision to go out and confront whoever
it is at the door.. and he steps out, cocking the pistol as he does so, a sound
barely audible over the screams of the storm outside.
Bryan snaps his head towards the sound lowering both his match and cigarette
slowly. He leaves them at chest level, held in open sight, the match now
burning close to his fingers. He speaks, his rough voice sounding strained,
"I'm sorry, didn't know anyone was here." The match drops to the floor, his
burnt finger twitching slightly, "Could leave if ye'd like."
The pistol in Brennan's hand trembles slightly, trying to keep the man before
him in his sights. He can barely hear what Bryan says, over the sound of the
storm. He says, his voice raised slightly to at least cover the storm's noise,
"Who are you, and what are you doing in this house?"
His eye twitching slightly as blood from his pulverized forehead drip
across it, Bryan squints slightly, trying to make out the gunman throught the
darkness. He shrugs, before speaking, louder this time, "Bryan Drake, Desert
Ranger.. And I'm gettin' outta that." He gestures back towards the front door,
creaking slightly against it's constant battering.
Brennan slowly lowers his pistol, trembling slightly in his right hand. "Desert
Ranger .." he slowly says to himself, feeling slightly relieved. He takes a
step closer to the slightly injured man, his pistol still held, black attache
case in his other hand. "You're injured." he states blatantly, in a parched and
cracked voice.
Bryan shrugs dismissively, "Just some sandburn.. I'm fine. If I can ask, who
might you be?" While waiting for an answer, he slowly unslings his pack,
setting it softly on the ground. Dropping to a crouch, he begins to fish
through it, searching for something.
"Jason. Jason Reeze", Brennan says, swiftly lifting the firearm in his right
hand again to the general direction of the ranger in front of him, as the
ranger rummages in his pack. The pistol trembles in his hand. Clearly, he's not
used to doing this. The cracked and parched voice says, a little loudly,
"Slowly. Slowly take what you need from your pack with one hand, and the other
raised above your head."
The orange dot of Bryan's forgotton cigarette rises into the air. He
continues to shuffle through his pack, finally grasping what he was looking
for. WIthout turning his back, he speaks softly, "Your aim would be steadier if
you used both hands, y'know. Road flare." He raises the red cylinder up above
his head as well, slowly getting to his feet.
"What was that?" Brennan says, unable to hear Bryan's soft whisperings over the
muffled sound of the storm outside. He takes a step closer, and catches sight
of the road flare. Nervously, the bespectacled man questions, "What are you
planning to do with that?" as he gestures with his pistol at the red cylinder
in Bryan's hand.
"I said.. Your aim would be steadier if you used both hands.. got a
real nervous twitch there. And this." Bryan waves the flare slightly, "Is
light.. If you will allow me to demonstrate." He shrugs lightly, actaully
sporting a bit of a smile.
"I know it's a light" Brennan says, glancing at the artificial light generated
by the flare. He pulls his cap a little low in an effort to shelter his eyes
from the bright light. "Just that we are in an old house, and stray sparks
could set it on fire and burn it to the ground." he adds, shrugging. "Now we
wouldn't want that, would we?" he finishes, as he slowly lowers the pistol to
his side again.
Bryan chuckles, "I suppose not.. I just thought, mayhaps you would be more apt
to trust me if you could actually see me." He shakes his head slightly, before
lowering his cigarette to his mouth, remembering it for the first time, "I'll
get rid of it if ye'd like."
"It's kind of hard to trust people when they jump you with a car with a
chaingun on the roof and try to sell you guns, ride up to you in a strange
brown beast, and call you an accountant as they suprise you in front of a
house, you know", Brennan says, as he raises his left hand to his face, and
pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "No, really, I'm not joking" he
adds, as he lowers his hand to his side again.
A quizzical look spreading across his face, Bryan tilts his head
slightly, "Right.. which one of those did I do?" Lazy trails of smoke drift up
from the corners of his mouth as he speaks, "You have the gun here. You started
this, not me. I'm just trying to keep from being ground up by that storm."
Brennan smiles slightly, the tired smile brightening up his face a little.
"You.. you just suprised me, that's all. I thought this place was in the middle
of nowhere, and I'm suprised to see so many people turn up. This must be a
really popular place, I'ld think." he says, as he slowly puts back his pistol
into place. The bespectacled man glances up at Bryan again. "I'm sorry for
pointing a gun at you. Like I said, things have been a little, uh, rough ..
recently." he says.
"This is the middle of nowhere. I practically live in the middle of
nowhere though." Bryan chuckles, releasing puffs of smoke into the air, "I'm..
uh.. a recruiter. I'm always travelling, looking for people. Sometimes there
are people here.. I'm surpised to have found it in the storm." He lowers the
flare slightly, illuminating more of his body, as well as some of the darker
corners of the room, "And watch it with the gun. People'll shoot you for
pointing it at them."
"Better I shoot them first than they shoot me," Brennan retorts, as he
sidesteps into a room, taking no chances to leave his back unguarded. "You're
injured" his voice echoes from that room, slightly louder than the muffled
howling of the storm outside. "Come in here. I'll fix you up." the voice says
again, sounding a little preoccupied.
"And leave your pack and all your weapons at the door" Brennan's voice adds, as
an afterthought.
Bryan shrugs, walking slowly after the man, still keeping his movements simple
around the jumpy man, "If you insist.. It's nothing, really" He opens his
holster and removes his sidearm, dropping it next to to his pack. Pausing for a
moment, he thinks silently, before reluctantly removing the Uzi from behind his
jacket as well, placing it on the floor as well. As an afterthough, he removes
his jacket and throws it over all his stuff, before entering the next room.
Brennan stands before a dining table. An open leather attache case lies open on
the old wooden table, and he stand right behind it, searching for something
inside of it. He pulls out a bottle of liquid and sets it on the table, next to
a less-than-clean rag. "Sorry about the precautions. Takes a while for me to
trust people.." he says, as he glances at the ranger. "Take a seat" he says,
gesturing to an old chair, as he picks up the rag and the bottle, and heads
towards Bryan.
Bryan drops silently into the chair, shifting uneasily as it sags under his
weight. He shrugs, "If Ida been thinking of anything but the storm, I would've
come in with my gun drawn. You've simply corrected my mistake.. I won't do that
again."
Brennan sighs, as he wets the rag in his hand with some liquid from the bottle
in the other. "Don't get me wrong. I'm only trying to defend myself." he says,
as he stands in front of the ranger. He gingerly dabs the dampened cloth onto
the ranger's forehead. "This won't hurt a bit," he says, as he starts to clean
the wound.
Bryan grunts softly, "If you intend to stay here, I would go against my warning
and suggest you always answer with a drawn gun." He shugs, reaching up to
remove the cigarette from his mouth, "The types normally hanging out here
aren't as jumpy as you."
Brennan draws back, and walks towards the breifcase again. He places the opened
bottle on the table and brings out another. Opening it, he says, "I'm not sure
I understand what you mean.." and with that, he sets the cap onto the table,
and turns the bottle upside down, to face the rag. A slow flow of a thick white
paste slides out of the bottle onto the rag, and, satisfied, Brennan turns the
bottle back upright, and screws back the cap. He starts walking towards Bryan
again.
Bryan narrows his eyes slightly, " I mean that this place is frequented by some
very unfriendly people, who wouldn't hesitate before killing you and taking
your stuff. Nasty people." He snuffs his smoke between two fingers, dropping it
to the floor, "Don't let anything surprise you."
Brennan's eyes widen slightly, his dark brown eyes taking all this information
and processing it. He leans over and dabs the rag on the ranger's forehead a
couple of times. He seems a little distracted. Finally, he asks, "But I thought
this house was abandoned?", just before he moves away. "There. All fixed." he
adds, gesturing to Bryan's forehead.
Bryan shrugs, "Theoretically it's abandoned.. It also happens to be a good
stopping point and hideaway." He offers a smile to the other man, "Thanks for
the fix."
"Sure. It's my job, anywa.." Brennan stops in mid sentence, biting his lip. He
shrugs. "Yeah, whatever," he continues, as he places the rag and the two
bottles back into the case and slams it shut. His head tilts slowly upwards as
he exhales, his two hands on either side of the attache case. "Well, looks like
the storm is finally dying down .." he says, as he goes through what Bryan just
said about the security of the house.
Bryan nods, "Well , I'd best be going.. I need to get down to the Center to
report in." He gestures off to the south vaguely, "If you ever need help, you
can come down there and ask for me.. i'll see what I can do." He slides his
chair away from the table and gets up to his feet.
"I'll think about that," Brennan replies, as he lifts his case from the table,
with his left hand. "I think I'll better be leaving this joint as well," the
bespectacled man says, as he adjusts his glasses once more. "On your advice, of
course." he starts to walk around the table, and pauses in mid-step. "Well.. I
like to be alone... and all that. Do you know any place where I can get away
from society?" he asks, looking a little embarassed.
Bryan nods, turning to walk back to the entryway. He calls back, "If you really
want to get away, the middle of the desert is a good place.. Or maybe by the
Base Cochise.. people stay away from there." He kneels, picking up his jacket
and donning it quickly, stopping to look at his now exposed weapons.
"Cochise?" Brennan asks, inquisitively, as he starts to follow the ranger out
of the door, the floorboards of the old house creaking under his feet.
Bryan nods, picking up his SMG and removing its clip, checking the
remaining rounds. He frowns, "Yeah, almost due west of here.. lots of broken
robots. There's some mountains near it.. I'm sure you could find a cave or
something
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Brennan nods slowly. "Well.. allright. I might take up on that advice of
yours.." he says, as he stops at the entrance of the house. "I guess I'll be
going now," he says, adjusting his glasses, and then his baseball cap. "Maybe
we'll meet some other time, er, Bryan, was it?" he says, an eyebrow pushed
downwards.
The clip is snapped back into the weapon, and Bryan slides it behind
his jacket, securing it somehow. He picks up his pistol and replaces it as
well, before grabbing his pack and standing, "Maybe we will. Keep your eyes
open." He begins to walk towards the exit as well.
Brennan nods, and steps out into the great beyond once more..
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