Burnt Umber [Closed] - Printable Version

Burnt Umber [Closed] - Printable Version

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Burnt Umber [Closed] - megs - 05-12-2017

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - saronym - 05-13-2017

The desert stretched for miles and miles in every direction like a vast gash of red dust with cacti and twisted, jagged vehicles reduced to scrap metal clinging to the wound.

Owen was in a truck that sped along the old broken road but he knew if he stood still out in the desert and scanned the horizon there’d be no sight of life or movement as far as the eye could see. The best one could hope for was a hot breath of wind that would swirl dust around. Nothing to indicate life except an eddy of dust. The only sign the world still lived.

Darcy navigated the truck northward along the highway waiting for a sign from Owen as to where he should turn off. They were in pursuit of a job they’d heard about with the infamous Sierra Madre gang. Owen knew how to find them so he withheld the information forcing Darcy to drive while he drank himself into a barely cognizant stupor.

Every now and again he would nod off to sleep and Darcy would slap him across the chest with the back of his hand to wake him up.

It was the dust. It was the dust that drove Owen to near madness. Dust drifting about the windows. Dust filtering through the buff he kept bunched around his mouth and nose. The sky red with dust, smoke from campfires were a bloody billowing. Always dust down in the creases of his skin. Irritating his feet, eyes, hands, mouth, nose, ears.

The land was shifting from sand dunes to something harder and more rocky, but no less dusty. The landscape was dotted with plateaus. Once upon a time billions, or was it millions, of years ago this valley was filled with water. When the tectonic plates crashed together mountains formed jutting above crystalline waters. During the ice age, monstrous icebergs and glaciers migrated and sheared the tops of the mountains clean off leaving them with flat tops.

Owen liked the plateaus, he imagined at least three times a week scaling one and jumping off. Taking a one-way plunge thru the dust once and for all. For him it was either throw his fucking self off a plateau or burn in the sun. For now he burned.

They were getting close. It was the skull that dangled, winding and unwinding in gusts of wind, tied to an old Pepsi billboard Refreshing! that told him the turn off was soon. Owen sat up. He peered through his binoculars scanning the horizon for the point. It would be easy to miss.

“There.” He slapped at Darcy’s arm with a black leather gloved hand that was almost rubbery from the alcohol consumption. His muscles slack and useless. His other hand pointed firm. Made of metallic alloys and cybernetics, it wouldn't matter how drunk he got, it wouldn’t go slack when his BAC increased. Having been assaulted numerous times over the mechanics and hardware in that damn arm he kept it covered at all times and did his best to ensure nobody felt the metal beneath his sleeve and glove.

How many men had he killed for getting that strange glint in their eyes when they’d discovered that arm? Well if he threw himself off a plateau they could certainly have it.

“There. See the grill of that old Ford. Turn right after that. Follow through the plateaus there and we should see ‘em.”

Sierra Madre. He hoped they weren’t killed on sight or stripped of their gear. He rather liked their old truck. The thing was a veritable tank, spiked tires, extra grill on the front made of criss crossing rebars for ramming things, and his favorite part: the alligator skull they’d fastened as a hood ornament. It gave a little je ne sais quois kind of aesthetic. Plus the extended bed in the back held their two dirt bikes, weapons and other gear, and was suitable enough to sleep in.

Nah, he would die before he let someone take their truck. He imagined Darcy would too.

The truck crept towards a camp that grew from a speck into something sprawling. It was larger than even expected and more intricate.

Owen rolled the window down and found himself leaning out of the truck and yelling, “JULIANNA. HEY JULIANNAAAAAA.”

He didn’t even know this woman, the gang leader, but that wouldn’t stop him from calling for her like an annoyed boyfriend trying to get his girl to open the door to the room she’d locked him out of.

“Well lookee here!” Owen stumbled out of the truck before it even came to a halt on the edge of the camp. “You boys got yourself something going on.” He was really addressing anyone who would listen. He pulled his leather jacket back into place after stumbling over himself and kicked at the dusty ground with his worn out boots. His swagger was part because he couldn’t help but not walk that way and part from the alcohol and part from the long drive. He had his thumbs tucked down into the front pockets of his tight dark jeans stained with red dust.

“Say, Julianna around? Gotta have a word with that girl.”

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - megs - 05-13-2017

Sierra Madre

The name was synonymous with the degenerate biker gang and the mountain range their sprawling encampment was built into. The true meaning of the words had been lost long ago, but they were could enough now to strike fear. To make a point. The city and its inhabitants weren’t some half-starved ruin to be fucked with. Through expert supply lines bolstered by intimidation the city thrived on things now considered a luxury: food, water, gasoline. All contained behind guarded walls. No one came or went without explicit permission from their leader: Julianna.

But someone had betrayed them. Someone had gotten in that shouldn’t have, and they left with something that didn’t belong to them. Something more precious to Julianna than all of Sierra Madre’s food and water, the dozen or so motorcycles that belonged to the more vicious gang members, the guns or the gasoline. Her daughter had been abducted, and by who, she didn’t know. No one had come forward with demands that would ensure Anita’s safety.

Julianna had sent runners out and into the desert, to information posts and settlements looking for news on Anita and her whereabouts, and to leave word that Sierra Madre was offering a reward for assistance.

That had been a week ago. She had still heard nothing of her daughter. Julianna was losing hope.

Most of her runners had returned, and she had been speaking with the most recent informant when she’d been alerted to the approach of a vehicle. Her heart quickened, holding on to the last vestiges of hope she had refused to let go of. She rushed to the gates and and climbed the guard tower. A worn telescope was handed off to her and she surveyed the distance with her right eye. The left was covered in a bandanna worn like a makeshift eye patch. A pink scar could be seen running from beneath the cloth and cutting through her dark skin and stopping just above the curve of her lip. “Do you recognize the vehicle,” she asked in Veridian, a nearly dead language that was used within the city as a sort of code. She dropped the spyglass; the wind slapped her black high ponytail against her back.

“No,” the guard answered. “But they’re approaching fast. Headed right towards us.”

Julianna was loathe to the idea of letting strangers into her city, even if she had requested outside help. She wanted her daughter back.

One of the truck's occupants started yelling for her as they drew closer. That last flicker of hope nearly died as she watched a man stumble out of it and stumbled towards the gates. The driver also exited the vehicle, but only at the behest of his passenger, who presented himself like a man who needed babysitting. Julianna watched them from the tower, she immediately did not trust them.

Armed guards surrounded the two strangers. The blonde one kept asking for Julianna, but no one was particularly quick on fulfilling his request. They talked among themselves, making comments and observations on the pair, uninterested in giving the blonde the attention he was looking for. Eventually there was a part in the circle of guards and Julianna stepped through it. She was smaller than everyone present; nonthreatening in a black tank top and dust-marked jeans. There was a handgun in a holster strapped to her thigh.

“You’re already at an advantage,” she said, standing with her feet apart and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. Visible green eye narrowed at the unfamiliar pair. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - saronym - 05-13-2017

Owen moved up all six feet and four boozy inches of himself up in front of the woman who came through the guards and mirrored her pose. Crossed his arms over his sternum and frowned down at her.

He looked over at Darcy, skepticism pulled his eyebrows close and squinted his eyes. He whacked his friend’s arm with the back of his hand.

“Is she a little bit,” his hand moved up and down indicating height, “shorter than you expected?”

He returned to frowning thoughtfully at her. Sizing her up, as it were. Finally, his lips downturned into a dramatic curl and he nodded his approval. He liked her aesthetic but mostly he liked her figure.

“My partner, Darcy, and I,” Owen moved closer to Darcy and hung his arm around the other man’s shoulder and patted his chest heartily. He suddenly felt self-conscious about what could be implied there and felt the need to correct himself before the attractive gang leader. “I mean my associate and I have come to bring your sweet little girl home to you.”

He waited for a second and blinked realizing she had only asked his name, “Oh and I’m Owen.” He gestured to himself before his hand fell to his side. In its fall, it clumsily hit the gun he had holstered on his own hip.

He suddenly realized most of his face was covered. The grey buff he used to spare his mouth and nose of dust covered the lower half. A pair of dark sunglasses covered his eyes. He reached up and pulled the buff down around his neck and shoved his sunglasses into blonde hair that had been stained with red.

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - megs - 05-15-2017

The outsider moved closer and the circling of guards made motions to surround their leader, but Julianna broke her haughty posture to wave a hand and they settled. She looked the man over, and wasn’t embarrassed that she had to tilt her chin upwards to look him in the eye. He smelled flammable, like he’d stumbled through a shelf of ancient whisky.

Darcy didn’t move. It wasn’t that he was more content to watch Owen behave like an asshole. One of them needed to look reasonable. They needed this job, and Owen knew that, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t blow it.

Julianna scoffed and rolled her eye when he insulted her height. A frown pulled the corners of her mouth down and she looked as if she would just want away from the whole scene. Leaving the two men to climb back in their truck and drive off into the desert jobless. But she couldn’t stop thinking about Anita.

The slightly taller man didn’t budge under the weight of Owen’s arm. He merely grunted his agitation and tried to look apologetic for him. Darcy squeeze his eyes shut as Owen continued talking. Somehow, the blonde always made a habit of talking too much or too little and never at the appropriate times. As Owen adjusted himself to make his visages more accessible to the surrounding gang members, he moved forward and closer to their boss.

Julianna’s hand were on her hips now, and Darcy noticed she was not impressed by their current presentation. Owen wasn’t exactly the man that would fill her with confidence in their ability to retrieve her daughter.

“Julianna.” Darcy moved close enough to her to speak in an imitation of confidence. “My name is Darcy and I..apologize for him,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely at Owen. He watched her good eye track away from his face and back to the tall blonde that stood off behind him. “Believe me, I know it doesn’t seem...ideal, but I’d like to think we can actually help one another.”

Green eye darted back to Darcy’s face. “He’s a drunk,” she complained.

Darcy opened his mouth. It snapped shut again with an audible click of teeth. He said, “yes,” sharply, because there wasn’t enough evidence to refute her claims. “But he has good connections. He’s an expert tracker and, somehow, an amazing fucking marksmen. We have the best chances of finding your daughter.”

The leader shifted on her feet, the curve of her mouth still displaying unhappiness. “And what about you,” she thrust her chin at Darcy. “What do you do?”

Darcy chuckled. “I drive the truck.” Julianna didn’t laugh with him. “And I keep that jackass in order. So, if I can keep his dumb ass alive, I think there’s hope for your daughter.”

Julianna looked to Owen again, teeth grinding together. “Fine,” she snapped, sight still on the blonde. “You have my permission to enter Sierra Madre. You can collect whatever supplies you need from our stores, and then you will find my fucking daughter. And if you don’t, don’t come back. Because they’re won’t be anything for you here.”

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - saronym - 05-16-2017

“I am not a drunk!” Owen countered, as if that were an important debate. “That would imply a chronicity and unfortunately due to the recent scarcity of alcohol in my life I have been unable to achieve a -” He trailed off losing his train of thought. He blinked blankly and left it at that.

Charming.

He was aware that they were discussing credentials. The angry little woman with the one green eye had already accepted their offer for the job.

Owen looked pouty for a moment, “Wait so I don’t get to demonstrate my sharp shooting skills?” He asked turning to Darcy. He reached for his gun anyways pulling it out of the holster. He spun it around on his index finger and pointed it dramatically at a wooden crate nearby. ‘Pow pow’ he said before blowing on the end of his gun and returning it to the holster.

He giggled and pushed past the group, “Okay maybe I am a drunk. But -” he stopped and stared Julianna in the face. His eyes were suddenly clear and all the slackness of his muscles stiffened up to something akin to normal. “You, my dear, are lucky little ole me knows where your enemies like to play.”

His gun was back in his hand, waving in a circular motion to indicate the general area. “Big target you got here goin’ on here. Big target on your back, too. Your little girl is just one thing they’re likely interested in. So maybe you’ll consider taking us on full-time when we bring that sweet little fuck trophy home to mommy, eh?”

He tapped the barrel of his gun against his temple, “Think about it.”

He was obviously a bit unhinged. But, then again, in those days, who wasn’t?

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - megs - 05-18-2017

Darcy and Julianna stared back at Owen as he tried and failed to defend himself. When he trailed off she made a disgusted noise in her throat and Darcy sighed heavily, shaking his head. The spoke in confidence for a moment, until Owen speaking up again, alerted to Darcy that he was about to do something stupid. He rounded on the other man, to warn him about his behavior, but he’d already drawn his gun, waving it around and causing a scene.

The guards that surrounded them lifted their weapons all at once, training their sights on Owen, who was presenting himself an an unstable threat to their leader. Julianna didn’t cower behind her guards, but her arms uncrossed and she propped one up on her hip, and let the other hand loosely at her side. The posture appeared casual, but her hand hovered over her gun.

Julianna glared up at Owen as he approached her, the other gang members circled around them, they still hadn’t lowered their guns. Darcy looked around, nervously, as the blonde spoke with the tiny woman.

Her brow furrowed at him. “You are lucky you are useful to me,” she countered. Even though she knew she was at his mercy, especially if what he said was true, she didn’t want to felt like she owed him anything until she did. “That knowledge you claim to have is the only reason I will entertain you.”

Darcy had moved away from them and climbed back into the truck, anticipatory of their entrance into the heavily guarded community. The vehicle roared to life with some difficulty.

The small biker was visibly offended by her daughter being referred to as a ‘fuck trophy.’ “If and when you bring my daughter back will be the only time you need to start thinking about a reward.” She frowned at him, as she lifted a hand to signal the guard tower to open the gate. A heavy and metal barricade decorated in crude spikes and rusted barbed wire.

“Have one of our mechanics look at that thing before you leave,” she thrust her chin in the direction of the truck he and Darcy shared. “It sounds awful.”

“Keep an eye on them,” she demanded of her gang members, before turning away.

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - saronym - 05-22-2017

Owen was completely unfazed by the protective reactions from the guardsmen or the veiled threat she’d issued. He was lucky he was useful. He almost laughed in her face. As if he’d care what she’d do to him if she found him unuseful.

There was something entirely too easy-going about the smile he gave her as she insisted her gang keep them under surveillance. He couldn’t have cared any less it seemed. Let them watch.

He was content to swagger back to the truck and hop inside. When he was ready to ride, he hung his arm out the window and slapped the door. It was a loud and concentrated kind of slapping sound as if two hard things were knocking against one another. It was the metallic alloy hidden in leather that made such a sound against the truck door. Owen sarcastically saluted Julianna and the gang members as Darcy drove them into the city.

Owen left Darcy to find a depot to have the truck tinkered with while he found himself a place to sleep off the booze. When he woke, Owen had found that the sun was long past set and the moon and stars had made themselves visible in the night sky overhead. Of much clearer mind, Owen was curious to better make the acquaintance of the notorious gang leader and pick her mind a bit.

He was not shy in asking around for her and found the information as to her likely whereabouts was easy to come by. She could probably be found tinkering around in her personal workshop. Which is exactly where he found her, rattling around with some mean looking engine.

Owen approached wordlessly on quiet feet. He took up a post, leaning against the wall of the shop to watch her work for a few minutes. Still without greeting her, he began idling his way along the walls, examining the tools and implements she had hanging from the walls or lined along shelves. Whatever he found of interest he didn’t hesitate to touch.

“So,” He said finally, breaking the silence and alerting her to his presence. “Wanna tell me how you went about losing an entire child? They’re kind of hard to misplace, if I’m not mistaken.” He moved up next to her and leaned into the engine to watch her from up close. Owen put his hand inside and fiddled with some piston pins and bearings.

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - megs - 05-24-2017

Julianna had spent the hours before Owen had come to find her, tending to her usual duties and discussing the details of the situation with Darcy. It was a conversation that Owen, perhaps, should have been a part of as the second member of the two-man team, but Julianna found that she currently trusted Darcy more and that she had not minded the absence of the rude and drunk blonde.

She knew he would come to find her eventually, which is why it was unsurprising when he appeared in her garage long after the sun had set. His entrance had been quiet and she could appreciate his stealth, but Julianna was difficult to sneak up on. She continued her work on the old engine that had seized from a crankshaft bearing failure.

She tracked Owen’s movements through her space with her eye as she worked. He didn’t say anything, just moseyed around and touched her things, which bothered her, but not enough to say something about. She figured if she had something to say he would, if not he’d shortly be on his way.

“Stop,” she insisted, firmly, but quietly, pushing his hand away from the mechanics. She huffed in irritation at the tone of his questions and wiped the back of one grease covered hand across her forehead. The gesture left a smudge of black across her dark skin, but she didn’t seem to care. She was already covered in dirt and oil anyway.

“I didn’t just lose her,” she explained, picking up a nearby scrap of cloth to wipe her hands. She gazed at him sadly, some of that hardness was lost in the space of her own workshop. Julianna loved her daughter, and the fact that she was missing was all but killing her. “I was betrayed. Someone in the city that I thought I could trust, turned around and double crossed me. They took Anita. I don’t know where too, or what they could have been offered to turn traitor. They were caught and they’re still being...questioned.” Tortured, is what she didn’t say.

“I have more enemies than I could bother to count, but no one has stepped forward. No demands. Nothing.”

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - saronym - 05-30-2017

Owen let his hands get pushed away smirking with amusement all the while at that smudge on her forehead. “You got a little -” he lifted his hand halfway as if to point at the mark she made but it stopped and dropped back to his thigh.

She didn’t seem to care and went along with her explanations.

It was kind of precious that black smudge on the forehead of a tiny woman.

He probably shouldn’t have seen her as a ‘tiny woman’ because clearly she was dangerous and in charge of a famous gang and little city, but he couldn’t help it.

Owen pursed his lips thoughtfully and turned away from her to pace back and forth in front of the engine. He folded his hands behind his back and made himself look as studious as possible. “I see. Curious, don’t you think that they haven’t made any demands of you? When you have so much to barter with here for your daughter’s life.”

He stopped his pacing and planted his hands on his hips. “A personal vendetta? Someone poking at your weak spots with the intent to coup in due time?” He posed these theories and then shrugged and raked his fingers through messy blonde locks that hung in tufts over his forehead. “This is why I stick around with Darcy only. You’re a big target. All of this.” He waved his hands around indicating all of Sierra Madre. “Huge fuckin’ bullseye, no?”

He gave up with looking at that black mark on her forehead and stepped up closer to her pulling off the bandana from around his neck as he did so. “What I haven’t figured out is,” he wiped at her forehead with the attentiveness of a fussy mother, “why do all this, huh?”

Closer to her he could see the tendril like scar running over half her face from under the bandana she wore to cover her eye. He wondered who had done it to her. And why.

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - megs - 06-04-2017

“Of course I think it’s curious,” she replied, propping her hands up on her hips. Taking her daughter had stuck a near-mortal blow against the gang leader. Demanding nothing for the possibility of her safe return only drove the knife deeper into her chest. He pointed out the bounty of her city and she scoffed, one green eye rolling upwards. “I have everything,” she agreed, but her tone was sad. “But I just want my daughter. I would do anything for her.”

Julianna watched him continue to pace as he sound-boarded options off of her. Repeated things that she had already considered. He ran his hand through his hair; blonde tufts stuck upwards with the disturbance. She crossed one arm over her stomach and rest her other elbow on top of it. She made a face and rubbed the side of her nose in what could have been a show of annoyance. Her expression turned doubtful he mentioned his hanging around Darcy.

Hanging out with Darcy was less complicated, but not in the way he tried to advertise.

Cocking her head, she took a step back when he moved towards her. Wary and paranoid. She tried to see what he was doing the best she could with her one eye and the way he towered over her. “I wanted to help people,” she explained. The tension in her shoulders eased as he wiped the grease from her skin.

“I wanted to help myself,” she continued, noticing that he didn’t step back even when he’d finished fussing at her. She was covered in dirt and oil so his attention to her forehead seemed redundant. “I was tired of wandering, and trying to survive. I just wanted to stay somewhere. Somewhere I could feel safe. I didn’t want my daughter to struggle in the same ways I did.”

Julianna could see his gaze drifting towards the bandanna and her eye. She tilted her face away from him, and scratched self-consciously at her scar. “I didn’t build Sierra Madre, if that's what you're thinking. I conquered it,” she finished with a laugh, her wording sounded so dramatic. She was repeating the story that floated around the city. There was no actual joy in the sound. In her own ears, it sounded forced and awkward. She cleared her throat and skirted around the mercenary, turning back to the engine.

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - saronym - 06-05-2017

“I believe that.” He said gravely in response to her assertion that she would do whatever it took for her daughter. That was the only attitude one could really have about survival these days.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion as she claimed to have wanted to help others. How odd. Who could risk such peculiar desires in these times? Owen was beginning to think this tiny woman was much stronger than he originally estimated. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. Willing to risk grave injury to her psyche getting all attached to others and whatnot. Unusual woman.

Owen was much more cautious about such things. Or so he claimed to be. Only hanging around with one other person lent itself nicely to avoidance of attachments.

He chuckled and scratched at the stubble along his cheek when she mentioned her vanquishing of the city. “Right.”

Owen let a silence lapse between them as she seemed to self-consciously turn away from him. He chewed thoughtfully at the interior of his cheek before moving up next to her at the engine. Leaning against the frame, he didn’t seem keen on giving her a reprieve from the uncomfortable conversation.

His chin sort of flicked towards her in a vague sign of indicating something. “So where’s her daddy? Hm? He out there doing what it takes?” This question came out like a challenge. Like a questioning of her need to be around and help others. See what it gets you? Pain and suffering.

Owen hummed thoughtfully in the back of his throat. “Guess not if you need to hire a merc to do your man’s job. Not that I mind. Maybe the scope of my duties could expand along that vein if you catch my meaning.”

He smiled in a way that was supposed to be inviting and suggestive.

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - megs - 06-11-2017

Julianna observed him from beneath her lashes, eyes tracking him as he moved in front of the engine she was working on. She didn’t mind the silence. By her estimation the only questions left were uncomfortable ones. She wasn’t sure if his curiosity was strictly part of the job, but she didn’t see any reason not to answer whatever he asked.

“Anita doesn’t have a father,” she replied, too quickly, too sharply, too indicative that there was an unpleasant history behind the statement. She sighed heavily, shoulders lifting and slumping with the motion. She stared hard at the mechanics in front of her. “He’s...uh….gone.” She reached out to fiddle with something on the engine as if it would dissipate her own awkwardness. “Anita doesn’t know him, and she doesn’t need to. As far as I’m concerned he can fuck off to wherever he fucked off to.”

Her gaze darted upwards, she looked at him, and then turned her head to the side, and then back at him. She appeared as if she was trying to piece together his suggestion; to decide if he actually meant what she thought he did. The thought process was obvious on her face; a slight furrow to her brow.

Julianna decided to take a chance. She rubbed nervously at a spot behind her ear. “We should probably get some sleep.” She held his gaze while she spoke. She walked past him and towards the exit of the workshop? “You coming?” She tossed this question of her shoulder as she pushed open the door and stepped out and into the city.

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - saronym - 06-17-2017

The words she used against Anita’s father were razor edged and that said enough He didn’t feel the need to respond. Seemingly out of a politeness, he met her gaze when she said those things and then averted it to the engine. He nodded slowly. He heard her. He understood. There was nothing more to be said on the matter. He was, however, curious about the man - what kind of fellow abandoned his little daughter and woman in times like these, what was the nature of their relationship at the time they made that baby, when did he leave her, did she love him, was he the one who gave her that scar, etc. - but perhaps he could find out more in time.

Owen was still hovering near the open engine when she extended that invitation to him. He smiled down at oiled machinery before lifting his head and following after her. “I live to serve.” He said as he stepped up to her side.

He let her lead him through the city though they walked side-by-side. Keeping close, he sort of teased her with the brushing contact of the back of his leather gloved hand as they walked. It occurred to him that perhaps going to bed with this woman was ill-advised mostly with respect to revealing his cybernetic arm to her. He had already made the careful calculation that she needed him for the job so for now he would be safe enough.

Perhaps if he delivered her daughter in satisfactory condition she wouldn’t send a bunch of goons after him to harvest the valuable components that kept his arm working. It was a gamble he made based on some glimmer of something genuine in her eyes.

The question was, what would Darcy say when he found out. Owen grinned to himself as he imagined what his long-time friend might say.

“When was the last time you were outside?” He asked to make conversation as they walked. “It’s getting rough out there. People are more desperate than ever. Slit your throat for a measly half gallon of gas. Or less.” Such commentary was commonplace. Things people said to one another like old men used to say about the weather. Nothing new to complain about. Same old same old. But he said it anyway, out of a need to say something to her. Anything. He found himself sort of longing for conversation with someone other than the same man he traveled around with.

RE: Burnt Umber [Closed] - megs - 06-21-2017

The walk through the city to the quarters Julianna shared with her daughter was a short one, but she kept her pace slow and meandering. She was still considering the weight of her decision to invite the mercenary to her home - and her bed. Luckily, he was willing to fill the time with conversation, sparing them from an awkward and expectant silence.

She nodded thoughtfully. “It’s rough out there. I ride with the scavenging party sometimes,” she explained, lifting a hand to wave at someone across the way. The center of the city was mostly empty, a few guards and insomniacs wandered and tended to various duties. “I’m usually needed in the city,” she laughed softly and rubbed at the white scar where it ended just above her mouth. “I think they just don’t like me tagging along and bossing them around.”

His hand kept meeting hers as they walked, it almost seemed intentional. There was something strange and solid about the contact. She started to suspect that there was more to him than met the eye. “Have you and Darcy been working together for a long time?” She couldn’t tell if they were family; they had the rapport of long time partners at least. Julianna figured she could at least make an effort to keep their conversation going.

Apartment was perhaps the best word to describe Julianna’s home. A space just big enough to be separated into two makeshift rooms. A dusty floor, some shuttered windows, a basin filled with water, a safe, and cabinet for non-perishables. Hand-made toys and stuffed animals that had seen better days were strewn about. It was lit by a few scattered oil lamps. Maybe, sleeping quarters was more accurate. It was really the only thing that could be accomplished. The illusion of privacy to get some shut eye.

Julianna pushed open the door and stood near it, pushing it closed again after Owen walked inside. “Ta da,” she sang, spreading out her hands with another of those soft laughs as if there was anything worth presenting.

“You can wash up if you like,” she tilted her chin towards the basin, before shuffling far enough into the room to fall gracelessly into the bed face first. Two mattresses stacked on the floor was better than some sleeping arrangements in the desert. Despite the suggestion in Owen’s words there was no pretending there was anything particularly sexy or romantic about it. Rolling over onto her back, she kicked off her boots and let them fall of the end of the bed. She worked at her jeans next, unsnapping and unzipping and lifting her hips to wiggle out of them. The article joined her boots on the floor.