Fistful of Caps (Oregon Trails) [FULL/FAST]

"Shut up Danny." Earl growled, stepping through the doorway with his new found compatriots. "You can pick it up after you leave here, it's not much good t' ya in here when yer claiming yer our 'friend', now is it? So shut up an' listen, listen good. We may 'ave a job for ye t' do, t' prove yer with us. Are yer followin' me?" He paused, folding his arms over his chest, pale hands disappearing beneath his arms.

After he checked to make sure his point had gotten through to his old, childhood friend who wore the armor of the men he so hated now, he'd nod. His boots clicked into the stone as he turned and walked back to his position by the wall, gently leaning his back against it and kicking one of his boots up to press the back of it against the wall. His eyes were alert, and focused again, despite the weariness also starting to dawn on the rest of his features from their long adventure today. He had ambushed a patrol of NCR soldiers, ran away and dived into a ditch, gotten into an extended firefight with a technologically advanced faction of assholes with machine guns, barely gotten away from that, nearly blown up his current two allies with a dirty trick of dynamite, discovered his entire village had been executed, and now he was about ready to blow his best friends brains out for everything that had happened.

He was fucking tired.

Earl brought one of his callused hands down, and rubbed the hilt of the knife shoved into his belt. His mind drifted away for a few moments, wondering how he had gone from the past time of raising cattle and protecting his sister to gunning down men and women in streets, and tying dynamite to men and shoving them at those who didn't want to hurt him. He could hide behind the NCR invading all he wanted, and claim that he just wanted to live a normal life and be left alone, raising brahmin and making a family, but then he'd be a damn liar. Truth was, and he knew it- he enjoyed it in a way. It was what he was good at. He only felt truly at home when his six-shooter was out, and the hammer pulled back, his back against a wall with opponents on all sides of him. The thrill of surviving another encounter that should have by all rights killed him. It was who he was, a gunslinger.

The girl who had spared his life, and come to save their town before the NCR came? She was one too. He had known it before, but now he really -knew-. The way she carried herself, and her revolver were evidence enough for the rancher turned gunslinger. Bullseye? He was one too. A man who had a past Earl thought he'd prefer not to know, but a gunslinger all the same. And here they were, three gunslingers with all their weapons and gear, all the iron inside of them, ready to take on the boogeymen of the wastelands. His cracked and dry lips twisted into a slight smile beneath the shade of his brown hat. Despite everything that had happened, and no matter what happened next, whether he'd be remembered or not by people, he knew one thing for sure.

All of them would be remembered for the blood that was soon to wet these sands. Whether it was theirs or their opponents remained to be seen. But, it was a moment of complete awareness he felt towards everything. He was shocked at how distant and casual he felt towards his own death. He was a part of something strange and new, and he had a purpose beyond herding brahmin up and down a hill to find water supplies now. His companions didn't fully trust him yet, but that was fine. He trusted them, and he was going to do his part. If they didn't do their parts, they'd probably all be dead anyway, so whose to care?

These thoughts, Earl Walker, the rancher turned rebel turned gunslinger kept to himself, allowing the others to handle the stranger in power armor before them.

Cat stared at Bullseye, and the mercenary seemed to ignore it as he looked over his own weapons. Finally, he turned to face the rest of the group. The man looked uncomfortable to Catherine, and the idea made her uneasy as well. Whut is he thinkin'? The woman studied his hands and his throat, attempting to gauge the true level of his unease when he started suddenly:


“Alright then, Daniel, Earl's goin' to lead ya to the back way under the Dixie Pig, give you that dynamite, and you're gonna get there and blow it to hell. You wait ten minutes 'fore ya light the fuse. Give us all time to get in position. Cat, you and me gonna' take out as many patrols as we can quietly before that times up, then get to a vantage point, pick 'em off as they scatter from the explosion. I'll take left, you take right. Earl, you do the same, but cover the back. Make sure no one gets out that way either. Make sure you all get on a second floor of a building. Don't want to get hit by crossfire. And remember to not to kill the officer fellow if ya can avoid it. Let's move.”


Giving no time for questions or concerns, the mercenary moved to the ladder, climbed the hatch, and tossed it open. The evening breeze entered the ancient manhole, traveling down the ladder well and greeting Cat's cheeks. She gave one last look back to Earl and Daniel, reluctant to leave the two men alone... even if only for a second. As she turned her gaze back up the ladder well, the gun woman caught Bullseye's mischievous look before he disappeared from her view and into what felt like the unknown.


Catherine couldn't help but smile as she twirled the blade three times in her hand. "See yah after tha dust settles." the woman said in a calm voice. As she placed her ungloved hand on the rusty ladder, she thoughtfully added; "...granted you got what it takes." challenging Earl with a smirk. "You bes show me what kinda outlaw is worth a death contract to the NCR, tha Barons, and tha Crimson Caravan." she said as she adjusted her hat. Brushing a rogue lock of golden hair from her face, Cat placed the blade between her teeth and ascended the ladder. As she climbed out from the manhole, her senses seemed to expand and adjust to the expansive night. Cat Fyre had momentarily subdued her pesky fatigue.


She slunk across the alley and to the corner of a home. Taking the blade from her teeth, Catherine stood against the wall of the structure, obscured by the shadows. She looked across the alley to Bullseye, and she gave him a nod simply because she could not think of anything else to do at the moment. Waiting quietly for Earl and Daniel to emerge from the manhole nearby, the woman produced a second throwing blade from her belt.


The streets of Tull were dead silent, and Catherine found little amusement at the thought before her face regained it's peaceful appearance. Focus. she told herself as another evening gust kicked her duster lazily against her legs. Allowing one of the polished blade to hang from the alley, Cat scanned it's mirror-like reflection. Her street was clear. For the moment. The woman stretched her arms and glanced back across the street to Bullseye. Soon he would disappear around the corner. Eventually there would be a gunfight and possible massive explosions. The simple but real chance of never seeing the man again threatened to make her leave her position. Unable to sort through the confusion in her head, her hands worked in a mock sling several times.


Far fewer blades than foes. She would have to use the heirloom weapons eventually, and the idea allowed her to regain control. Her father's pistol wasn't the most difficult weapon to operate. But to operate it with ruthless efficiency took all of her concentration. As she awaited the assault to begin, Catherine began to clear her mind.

[]

Bullseye leaned cautiously against the corner of a building, peaking around the side for any show of movement. When he didn't see any, a quick look back showed Earl and Daniel out of the hole and Cat seeming to stretch. The unnatural feeling he felt in the hole evaporated with the wind as he gave the others one last reassuring nod and moved around the corner. He started counting in his head as soon as he was off, fast and low. He wished, not for the first time, that he had a more reliable way of counting time, but by the count of thirty he was to the next corner, peering around and looking for any sign of life. With no movement here either, he continued his way forward, reaching the main street by a minute, before peering around the corners again.

With still no sign of Enclave patrols, Bullseye couldn't help but sense that something was wrong. He had expected patrols consistent with the other groups he'd met over the years, but even raiders weren't usually this sloppy. Was it possible that the Enclave had left while they talked out a plan in hiding? Silently, he crept across the street, and barely caught the sight of metal in the corner of his eye. He sucked in his breath as he recognized a half buried frag mine near the edge of the road, and quickly finished his crossing. Hoping he hadn't been spotted, he peered around the corner of the burned out building, looking down the road. As his count reached a hundred and twenty. He could only make out a few, but by his guess the outer limits of the town had been trapped.

Better however, was the lantern light he saw from a second story near the edge of the road. From the looks of things the Enclave had set up sentries in the taller buildings near the edge. He hoped this meant they didn't have enough people to run proper patrols, and he crept along the dark alleys. It only took him another hundred seconds or so, and he carefully looked inside the first floor of the makeshift sentry tower. The first floor seemed empty, and he carefully flanked around to the back door. Quietly sneaking in, he made his way towards the stairs, and immediately stopped his approach on the first step. The old wood creaked heavily under his boot, and he withdrew it and backed away into a shadow, slipping a knife from his belt.

Bullseye cursed himself for making the noise, but after hitting the four minute mark and still no guard, he made a different decision. Slipping back outside, he made his way to the edge of the building and grabbed one of the old boards, pulling himself hand over hand up the side of the building. It was difficult to find purchase, but he soon made it to the level of the second floor and shimmied his way along the side of the cracked siding. Slowly and quietly, he slipped a hand onto a window frame, pulling himself up inch by inch, peering as careful as he could. To his relief, the room had only one occupant, the Enclave guard facing the same direction as the road leaving Tull. As silently as he could, Bullseye pulled himself over the old window and into the room, lowering himself as quietly as possible.

The second floor did not seem as bad as the stairway, to Bullseye's relief, and step by slow step made his way over to the guard. At five and a half minutes, the mercenary sprang into action, moving right behind the guard. The man had no time to react to the noise behind him as Bullseye's knife sliced open his throat and his hand moved to muffle the man's only attempt at a yell. In just a few seconds, the Enclave guards life drained away, and Bullseye lowered his corpse gently to the ground. He had no time to search his kill for belongings, as he quickly pulled his bow from his back and nocked an arrow. The creak of the stairs sounded from below, and he spun around, pulling the string taut and waiting for whichever unfortunate soul came through the door.

[[Sal, it's your post]]

((Few free minutes in IST, gonna do some now.))

An Enclave Sergeant, his cap pulled snugly onto his head- marched down the road. A NCR service rifle was held loosely over his chest with one hand, the other swinging down by his side. Two other Enclave soldiers marched with him, these two appearing more alert and prepared. The Sergeant had experience though, and believed that nothing could harm them now. They had already secured the town. One of the Privates stepped forward at the Sergeants bellow. "Put one down here kid-" He ordered gruffly, gesturing at the road.

The private stepped forward, and pushed something into the dirt. He then began walking to the other side of the road, holding the other end. Perhaps Cat would notice a sliver of a wire as it was extended. The trooper drove the spike down into the dirt.

Trip wire mine.

The sergeant had an old cigarette in his mouth, hanging out of the corner. It was the only light besides the moon, and gave his face a red glow to it. He was old compared to the other troopers. Perhaps the leaders second in command. The Sergeant wasn't aware of anything going wrong however, and felt safe and complacent.

-----

Meanwhile, another Private zipped up his trousers. He had a smooth face, and was whistling a tune as he walked up the staircase to return to his post. He had no visible weapon on him besides a nine millimeter shoved into a holster over his chest, and a knife shoved into a loop in his belt. His boots made the creaking on the staircase, and he whispered to his buddy. "Hey, Percy, I'm back-"

His face went slack when he saw the figure of death before him, and his hand quickly moved for the whistle hanging around his neck rather than his weapon. Inexperience gave him an unacceptable delay however. He had no time to dodge the incoming arrow.

----

Earl propped himself up against the back of the Dixie Pig. He had ignored Daniels order to get moving- wouldn't get moving until he heard for himself the hissing of the fuse. He fingered the hilt of his knife, holding the weapon in one hand by his side. The gunslinger's breath was slow and calm, despite the situation at hand. He knew if he was discovered, he'd have to make noise- and noise meant the end of their advantage of surprise and the cover of night. The minute he started shooting with the six-shooters, the entire town would wake up to the sound of combat, and all bets would be off.

However, he hoped it wouldn't come to that. He listened carefully to the sounds coming from within the pig, and sat down on his haunches to wait.

He pulled up the bandana to cover up his nose, and let out a quiet growl. He had heard boots as well, and was now watching the sergeant and his patrol from around the corner through slitted eyes. As a guerrilla and general user of improvised explosives, he recognized what they were doing. He wasn't pleased either. "How dare they..." He hissed below his breath. Not only had the strangers destroyed his town, they had now rigged it up with enough explosives to take down anyone who dared move in to reclaim it. No one would be able to resettle here for years, not until all the explosives were rid of.

Bastards.