Vroom, Vroom

[Bryden]

It was true. What people kept telling him. What they’d been repeating most of his life. (Ok, all of his life.) Shilough really was pretty damn useless.

Scrawny. Short. Weighed about ninety pounds, soaking wet. And even if he was soaking wet, he would probably barely be able to enter the same weight class as a drowned rat. In fact, if you asked him, he could confirm that: he HAD fought rats before.

They’re mean, ok?? And sometimes they go after food that you want.
Because holy powers forbid he ever have to fight another real human for food. He’d be dead faster than a modded motorcycle crash. And he didn’t need that. He’d spent his life working too hard clinging to a frayed mess of an existence to let anyone roll over him now. Not now that he was almost old enough to take care of himself for real.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. He’d been convincing himself for years that once he hit a certain age, everything would be alright. He’d be able to take care of himself. He’d be strong and big and as powerful as everyone else in the world.

But as he got older, he realized just how stupid that was. At his teenage years at last, yet puberty was doing nothing for him. He was still as weak as ever. He still looked more like a twelve-year-old-girl than a fifteen-year-old boy. Long dark hair, skinny frame, and irritating pint-sized stature. Stick him in a dress and he might as well be someone’s kid sister.

But he was clever. At least, he’d like to think so. He could hide out pretty effectively (he wasn’t dead yet, was he?). And he was able to figure out food for himself less violently than everyone else in the world. And he never touched any of the things that everyone else filled their bodies with. That had to count for something, right?
Wrong.

In a world that had been in shambles longer than Shi had been alive. Longer than his parents had been alive. Or their parents. It was probably on the decline someplace around his great-grandparents, whoever they were. They might have lived in the great, sprawling cities of glass and steel and concrete that nobody living had in memory anymore. They might have had jobs and houses and happy families. All of those things had gone the way of the dinosaur by now. Along with the vast majority of the human race.

Everyone else in the world- (maybe a million across the entire planet? two million, tops) - was either like Shi: weak and worthless. Or like the gangs: powerful and dangerous

There really wasn’t a whole lot of space for middle ground. You either joined a gang and became the predator, or joined a village and became the prey. And if you were smart, you knew that the gangs were the way to go. Even if you were weak, at least you’d be strong by the time you were a fully accepted member. Or you were dead. Either way, it gave you a final solution.

But there were some people that even the most drug-fueled and cracked out of gangs didn’t have judgment poor enough to bother with. People like Shilough.

At least he wasn’t stupid enough to get near enough any of them to worry about that. He knew what they’d do to him. And he knew what a village would do to him, too: fodder for the first gang that came along wanting something. He would rather die alone then be killed with a group, thankyouverymuch.

So he was alone, trying to keep himself alive in his own, quiet way. Keeping out of villages, keeping away from bike gangs. Not bothering nobody.

Or that had been the plan, at least. Other people seemed to have different ideas.

Ideas that involved press-ganging scrawny Shi into service. Drug-mule Shilough. That wasn’t exactly where he’d been picturing his life going.

“You can get us the drugs or you can die,” the man had growled as he shoved Shi, forcing his back to connect with a crumbling wall, making him wince. “Now get the fuck outta’ my sight.”

So he ran. He never went to pick up the drugs- there had to be a reason that the gang themselves didn’t want to do it, and it couldn’t possibly mean that Shi was any safer. He ran away instead.
They didn’t like that so much.

Now he was running for his life over crumbling asphalt; tripping over barren patches, lungs burning, head feeling light, legs aching with every step. Anything to evade or outrun the men on motorcycles. Anything to get away. He had to-

“Oof!” He felt a gloved hand grab his hair. Damn that length! He felt his head ricochet back as his legs forgot to stop, and then felt himself being whipped around as his attacker pulled his bike around to a stop.

“You cheated us, you little shit,” the man growled as he dismounted, dragging Shilough with him. He stopped a pace or two away, slamming Shi into a wall of rough, sharp stucco. He cried out.
“I-I didn’t do any-” he gasped.

“You didn’t get the drugs, now you don’t wanna’ die,” the gangman cackled, “That’s cheatin’ us!” He flipped the boy around and hit him with a fist to the face.

Shilough didn’t even have the time to scream before the rest of the gang joined their leader around him, weaponry in hand and steel-toed boots laces tight. Didn’t even have time to gasp before they set in.


(Post-apoc future involving drugs, biker gangs, and brutal stuffs. Been hitting Fist of the North Star a little hard? Ooooh yes I have. I'd love to get a gang together by the end of this. XD Hop on in!)

[GnomesAteMyCake]

"You might wanna drop the kid, Anton."

Knife raised, the tip daggling dangerously close to Shi's jugular, the brutish man holding him raised his eyes to the end of the alley where the voice had come from. He squinted for a moment, the dim light behind the figure making it impossible to see his face. It was a man, about 6'1 and wearing a hat. Possibley cowboy. A thin trail of smoke was rising over his shoulder.

"Come on, tough guy. You want the little shit? You come closer and get him," Anton growled, pushing the blade forward so the tip nicked Shi's neck. A small sound, almost like laughter came forth from the figure, and he did as he was told, the light from a smashed-up wall light illuminating his face. A square jaw, deep set eyes and longish red hair, his wavy bangs falling into his eyes. A scar was visible running down his cheek, though where it originated was hidden by the brim of the dark cowboy-style hat on his head. The shirt he wore was dirty and ripped, much like the clothing that everyone was forced to wear these days, and his jeans were so filthly it was hard to judge what shade of denim they were. Despite his overall grubby appearance, he was an intimidating figure.

The fact that he was holding a shotgun one-handed, the barrel zoned solely on Antons head helped a little as well.

".....Reagan..." Anton muttered, his hand loosening it's hold on the boy's neck. Tipping the brim of his hat back, 'Reagan' fixed the dealer with a stare. The scar did indeed run up over his left eye, the once bright green eye fogged over and useless. The man smirked, the cigerette between his lips twitching as he did so.

"Nice to see you remember me," he said quietly, but the silence in the alley allowed his thick Irish accent to carry to the group. "You know why I'm here, Anton; I owe you one for the eye..."

"So you want the kid? Take the little bastard! Do what you want with it! He only screwed me over, he ain't worth my life!" Anton spluttered, grabbing Shi by the scruff of his neck and throwing the boy towards Regan. Shaking his head, the Irishman cocked the shotgun before taking aim again, the fact that he only had one eye not seeming to affect his aim any.

"Not enough, Anton..."

"Fuck you, man! You said you'd let me go! Yeah, I took your eye, but the payoff was fucking worth it! You remember, right man? You won't hurt me, right?"

A smirk. A shot. Anton shrieked as the bullet skimmed his ear, taking a chunk of it away.

"Don't let me catch you again, Anton. This was a warning; We don't work together anymore. Stop sending your boys with offers. There's a reason they don't come back." His hand clamped to the side of his head, Anton fired one look of burning hatred at the red-head before bolting, his gang trailing behind him after staring blankly at Reagan for a few moments.

"You're dead, Reagan, you hear me?! Show your face around here again and you're dead, cocksucker!"

"Of course, Anton. Of course," Reagan muttered to himself, pushing the short-barrelled gun through a loop on his belt and pulling the cigarette from his lips, tappping the ash before putting it back. Noticing the boy on the floor in front of him, Reagan bent down to look at him, turning his head slightly so he could see the boy with his good eye.

"Looks like they got a grudge against you kid. You might wanna leave town; that'll knock Anton for six, but he won't be down for long." Rising to his full height, Reagan stuck a thumb in his pocket before turning on his heel and walking back the way he came. "You're just a kid. Therefore, you don't owe me a Favor. It happens again, and you just might."

(( For the record, I won't be playing Anton again, nor any of his gang members. They're all up for grabs, if anyone wants them. ))

[Gafe]

As the Reagan guy walked further away, a strong voice spoke up.

"Now that the bikers and cowboy are gone, it's your time to leave, kid."

From behind a crumbling, cut down, cement corner with a glassless though still perfect window frame that resembled a cruel joke about both, its once-proud house and the once-proud society, a woman surfaced. She appeared to have been hiding from the men who'd just visited, but a steady grasp on a small gun was quick to push that thought aside.

She looked down at Shi, still cowering in the floor, her hair swayed to the dusty breeze of the afternoon. She was a brunette, and her strands did not travel further down than her neck. Her haircut was clearly handmade, presumably by a rusty knife, and was more focused toward not being long than it was toward being presentable. Like anything wasn't anymore. Here eyes, a darker shade of gray than the moon, seized the boy's body. An eyebrow was raised, it was a surprise that someone as scrawny could actually survive the weather, let alone the gangs.

"What're you waitin' for? This is my territory and you better get going." She clicked her gun for an added threat. The woman looked at the boy from a safe distance. She wouldn't be surprised if a person like him carried the rabies around. Or perhaps he was just some druggie who'd stolen from 'Anton' and his crew. She'd prefer if he was the former. Junkies were highly unstable. He wasn't even well-fed, not even by her own standards, she realized, the boy was not part of a village either. Well, curses. How the hell would she get him to leave if he had no place to go?

Whatever. It wasn't her business. "Get a goin', Christ knows I have my hands full with Benjamin." She was growing impatient, she aimed the gun at Shi's leg. From her wrist dangled a thread bracelet that read "Meredith."

(You made me do this Bry, you SHALL NOW FACE THE CONSEQUENCES)

[Bryden]

This had to be the most abrupt day of Shilough’s short life. Going from forced drug mule to avoiding being a forced drug mule to running for his life to being beaten within an inch of his life and now-

Well, what WAS going on now?

His head was spinning with pain and confusion, and he was barely able to absorb the arrival of the new figure, some big guy (Shi was starting to figure that all the strength in the world must have been absorbed already by the time he came along- what other possible explanation could there be?), and the big guy seemed pissed. He jacked up the aggressor before Shilough could do much more than scramble out of the way, tripping over himself in the process.

And as soon as the man had shown up, he was making his exit, leaving a newly earless enemy and a wide-eyed Shilough in his wake. For a moment, Shilough lost his voice entirely, and was unable to do much more that sit there, dizzy and gaping.

That condition was quickly exacerbated by the threat of yet another new figure- this one gun-toting and looking supremely pissed. He looked at her with eyes wide enough to display full whites, and opened and closed his mouth a few times before his voice came back to him in fragments.

“Suh-sorry, m-ma’am,” he managed with some level of difficulty. “I didn’t m-m-mean to b-other you.” Bother her? He was the one who had nearly died just then! But he was too timid by half to say a damn thing to that end, so he scrambled to his feet, promptly tripped and fell back on his ass, and then struggled to get up again.

“I’ll be- guh-going. Suh-sorry.”


((Oh, puh-leeze. I told EVERYOne to join, I never twisted yer arm. and you know you love post-apoc, Gaffers. XD Sorry for the lack of zombies, though.))

[GnomesAteMyCake]

(( Shame for the lack fo zombies, but a grunge-filled world like this one works just as well ))

Reagan was almost at the mouth of the alleyway when he heard the voice of a woman, and she did not sound happy. Groaning, his rolled his eye before looking over his shoulder, his lips brought down in a frown as he saw a hand holding a small gun sticking through a glassless window, the barrell pointing at the boy on the floor who hadn't moved an inch since Anton had high-tailed it away. Whoever she was, she didn't seem to like the boy trespassing on her little slice of heaven. Still, nothing taught lessons quite like scarring injuries (Reagan could testify to that), and he was about to turn around and go about his business when the kid opened his mouth and spoke.

“Suh-sorry, m-ma’am. I didn’t m-m-mean to b-other you.”

It was that voice- that pitiful, broken voice of a lost child who'd seen and been through more shit than a child should- that made Reagan stop, and look again. Fuck....it looked like a girl....from where he was standing, not to mention he only had one working eye to look at it with. Still, the size of it indecated a preteen. Maybe twelve? Reagan would've been about that age when this kid was born, and he didn't like to remember what he'd been doing around that time.

No. No more charity Reagan. Remember what happened last time? That was a grown woman, battle-scarred and tough as boots, and you still failed her, he thought to himself frantically as he willed his feet to walk, to put as much distance between him and the pitiful child behind him as possible. You can't help him. He's better off without you...

It was the sound of the gun being cocked that had him marching back up the alleyway, his mind screaming at him that this was a terrible idea while he egnored it completely. Reaching the boy's side, he reached down and closed a hand around the boys arm, tugging him to his feet. He tried peeking through the window at the woman, but her face was in shadows and he couldn't make out any features.

"Sorry about this, ma'am," he said softly, sweeping his hat from his head in the imitation of those gentlemanly cowboys from the old tales, a small smile on his grizzled face. He knew he was no work of art to look at (at least not anymore), but at least he could be near certain that she was no oil-painting either. "The kid's a little slow; I thought he was behind me. We'll be leaving you now." As he was about to stalk back the way he came, child in tow, he caught the name on the bracelet around her wrist. After a few seconds, he managed to read it, a smirk breaking out over his face.

"Meredith....the Meredith? Wow... never thought I'd get a chance to meet you. A lot of people think you're dead, you know. The name's Reagan, you may have heard of me. Listen, you ever need a Favor, you seek me out; you've done a lot for me, even if you never realised it." Putting his hat back on his head, he nodded at the woman once before dragging the boy away, his fingers going to his pockets to fish out another cigarette only to find it empty.

"Shit..." he muttered to himself, spitting the butt of his finished cigarette out and shouting out over his shoulder;

"Hey Meredith! You need me, I'll be at the Gathering! I need me some more smokes. Meet you there, sweetheart!" Smirking, Reagan finally let go of the kid's arm as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, staring down at him with reasonable interest.

"That's the second time I've saved your ass, kid. Think that means you owe me a Favor..." Reagan stated, his white eye almost glowing in the gloom. "Let's start with you telling me your name, and then why you were worth me sticking my neck out for you. Oh, don't give me that wideeyed look; she would've shot you, and me too if I didn't know here. We got off lucky."

(( Hopefully those two terms I've added are okay. In a world like this, I guessed that 'Favors' would go far since there's no currency. You save someone's life? They owe you a Favor. They give you something you can't trade for? A Favor is owed instead. And a Favor could be ANYTHING.
Also, every Apocolypse landscape needs a place where people can gather to trade stuff; supplies, Alcohol, cigarettes, Favors etc. What better name for this blackmarket of sorts than the Gathering? ))

[Gafe]

As the pair of males left through the alley, Reagan for a second time, Meredith's gray eyes followed their footsteps. You really could learn a great, whole deal about someone from the way they walked. The cowboy's stride was confident, but there was a little something in how each of his feet landed... maybe some variation of caution. The kid, however, managed to walk like both, a baby giraffe and an aggressive drunkard. Although he lacked the gracefulness of either. Whatever. He was really annoying anyhow.

They were mostly out of sight by then, yet Reagan's words still rang in her ears as if he hadn't moved more than an inch. Meredith....the Meredith? Wow... never thought I'd get a chance to meet you. A lot of people think you're dead, you know. In a brief moment of desperation, Meredith threw her just-about weightless pistol against the wall beside her. It bounced off and landed on the floor, ringing with the acute sound the lack of rounds provided. And Meredith was just about repulsed by that all-too-familiar sound.

What the hell? How could this cowboy show signs of recognizing her? How dared he show up and mix up her business? But more importantly, she'd striven all her life to be nothing more than a shadow to everyone. The world was in shambles, and she wasn't about to join a gang. Being inconspicuous was just about the only way to be left in peace. This wasn't to say, of course, that she was a submissive slave to the gangs or to whomever. Her turf, no matter how minuscule, was her turf. The only time she'd left the subterranean for more than a week had been years ago with a couple of people who were better off dead now. And they probably were. Reagan had damn better thanked her for something totally unrelated, or she might as well search for new livable space to thrive in within the next seconds.

In her despair Meredith did not notice the pair of eyes boring into the back of her skull. An innocent-faced, but full grown man, removed a manhole cover from over his head and walked out from underneath the street, eyes fixed on the woman the whole time. It was the screeching noise the lid made that caught Meredith's attention. She jumped, frightened in her lack of attention.

"Oh, it's just you, Benjamin." She realized. The man nodded in response, and pointed in the direction Reagan and the boy had left. He looked as if he was asking for something. Meredith spoke up, "Fine, I suppose I'll be at The Gathering soon." Benjamin practically beamed, only for her to turn around, almost uncaringly.

Benjamin was ecstatic. Meredith had given him permission. He was running as fast as he could
to reach the man who'd shown signs of knowing about her past. He was running, in fact, so fast, that he reached the men before actually giving thought of what he'd do when he reached them. As he slowed down his pace, Benjamin allowed himself a small, awkward smile to greet Reagan and the shaky boy.


Meredith made sure she heard the noise his shoes made as he ran off toward the cowboy and his friend. When he was a safe distance away, Meredith - very discreetly - slipped something into her mouth.

It tasted like relief.

[Bryden]

The boy watched the exchange with wide eyes. These were big people. Dangerous people. People important enough to know of one another. These were the proverbial 'big dogs'. 'Big kids'. Whatever. they were bigger than Shilough, and he didn't like it. It made him nervous.

He found himself scrambling up to his feet, pushing himself up out of the dust that stained his hands and knees. He was already half-beaten, and he didn't like where this was going.

It was shocking enough that that lady had let him go, but for him to have been rescued? Twice? What sort of day was this? What was happening to the world?

Shi tripped over himself to follow after Reagan, giving the woman a polite nod before running away from her, chasing the other man.

"I'm Sh-shilough," he got out with some difficulty. He wasn't usually a stutterer, but he was frightened, and his lip was half-split open anyway. It didn't make talk the easiest of exercises. "And I-I'm not worth anything!"

Wow, great self-esteem there, kid. Bonus points for honesty?

"I'm useless! I dunno why you s-saved me! Really. Probably best to just lemme... lemme go?"

[GnomesAteMyCake]

Reagan huffed in amusement, looking down at the trembling boy before him, his hat slightly tilted to the side to hide his ruined eye. Kneeling down, he grasped the boys chin between his fingers to hold his face steady. Extracting a rather strained peice of cloth from his pocket, he dabbed at Shilough's lip, his working eyes focused on the rip in his soft skin while the other looked ahead blankly, the broken pupil just visible beneath the clouded surface.

"Well, I'm inclined to believe you, kid. You're what, eleven, twelve? Of course you're useless," Reagan replied shortly, pulling the cloth away and touching the boy's lip gently with his finger, watching him as he flinched. "Shouldn't cause you too much trouble... some slight scarring, perhaps." Standing to his full height, he stuffed the cloth back into his pockets and hooked his thumbs through the belt-loops of his jeans.

"Still, I can't in good conscience let you go wanderin' off. Come with me to the Gathering. If you don't find someone you know, I've got connections to a lass named Cinnamon. She takes in the abandoned kids, and she'll look out for you. Better than fending off Gangs, huh?" Smirking at the boy, Reagan motioned for him to start walking before following close behind.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him turn, his hand on Shilough's thin shoulder to make him stop. A young man was heading for them, and he could just see Meredith peeking out from her window. Huffing again, he turned to face the man head-on, subconsciously placing himself between him and the boy.

"Alright?" he asked softly, looking at the youngster with a challenging look in his eye. The man nodded, smiling, but said nothing. "I guess you're Meredith's errand boy?" Another nod. "She heading to the Gathering now?" Another nod, this one more excited and came with a wide smile. "Right. We'll meet her there then. Come on kid." With that, Reagan resumed his march, half-dragging Shilough along with him. Despite it only being a few minutes since he finished his last cigarette, he wanted another. This kid was going to be more trouble than he was worth, Reagan could feel it.

So why was he trying to help him?

[Gafe]

Benjamin, ecstatic from his acceptance to this... trip to the Gathering, followed Reagan and Shilough closely from behind. His steps synchronized with the cowboy's, they both took a right step at the same time and so did their left, not so much with Shilough, however, the boy was too shaky. His strides didn't follow a regular pattern. Not that this should be important to anyone; Benjamin, though, was a little different, he needed to cling - so to speak - to other people to feel comfortable. With Meredith behind, Reagan was the only logical option.

Speaking of whom, the man turned around discreetly, slowly, to let his gaze fall on Meredith. If she was staring after him, he didn't want her to feel as though he worried for her by looking back not five minutes after leaving, like a parent watching a child get farther and farther (albeit he wouldn't be able to tell who classified as the parent or as the child). Granted, Benjamin did worry, but he didn't want to make it blatantly obvious. Yet, when his stare took in their turf, Meredith wasn't there anymore. He did not know what to make of that.

Trying to dismiss it as a good thing, the man turned back to the road ahead. Had he done so half a second later, he would've walked right into Reagan. His foot slipped as he tried avoiding the older man's larger frame. He stumbled sideways, arms waving wildly in midair as he tried recovering what balance he'd lost. In this, he was moderately successful. Standing straight, pose regained, Benjamin couldn't help but blush. That wasn't the kind of situation he liked to be in after meeting new people. Shameful. He tilted his head downward, trying to avoid eye contact with either Shilough or Reagan, desperately hoping they hadn't seen his profoundly lacking demonstration of acrobatics. Instead, he copied the cowboy's pace once more, without actually realizing it.

Under the murky sky, which shifted colors from brown to a lighter hue of brown, Benjamin looked no different than most other people that weren't part of a biker-drug gang. Unkempt clothes torn at the edged and thinned with constant wear, dry skin, and shoes with nostalgic soles. He didn't carry anything that could be used strictly for self-defense purposes, no weaponry (Meredith wouldn't let him). Although somewhat muscled by the strain of day to day life, the young man looked as if he shouldn't be alive still, like a survivor among survivors. Benjamin neither looked though, acted tough, or thought tough and it'd been two years, tops, since he'd paired up with the, by contrast, much rougher woman that was Meredith. There was something about his face that screamed 'naïve' to everyone within a three mile radius, marking him as a potential target for anyone with even a minimal predatory nature. Still, Benjamin was apparently unharmed, defying the new world order.

Benjamin was ecstatic. He'd never gone to the Gathering before, not to its core anyway. He could have barely contained his yelps of excitement.

[Bryden]

((Dammit, you two! This is supposed to be a quickie! The whole point is short and sweet. I hate you fucking novelist super-geniuses. >< ))

He flinched slightly at the touch, but relaxed as he found it to be merely a gentle bit of assistance with his still sluggishly-bleeding lip. Thick, clotting blood still oozed from parts of the boy like juice through the broken peel of some saccharine fruit. The dabbing didn't really help, but it was the thought that mattered more, right?

The more difficult thing was keeping from staring at that broken eye. It was so strange and Shi wanted to follow the natural human inclination to stare at the newfound and different. But still, politeness remained even after years. Shilough managed- but only just barely.

He ran the back of his hand over his mouth when Regan moved away, blushing awkwardly. "Thanks..." he muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

"I'm not a kid," he informed the man as they started walking. His tone was not irritated or protesting. Merely informative. "I'm fifteen. Not a kid. I don't need a home for abandoned children. I'm not a child. And I'm not abandoned."

Well... he didn't think so anyway. To be perfectly honest, Shilough had no idea what had happened to his original caretakers. He didn't even remember them. Surely somebody had taught him how to speak and walk and all the rest... but he didn't know who. He had no memory of ever being with anybody at all. It had always just been him.

A bit unsteady on his feet, he followed after Regan- the only person who really seemed to know where he was going or what was happening. Shi didn't know the other person or why he was tagging along, but he didn't question it. Better not to.

Though he did glance back to see the guy tripping up a bit. Polite and quiet, Shilough took the better part of valor and said nothing.

"So... what's the Gathering?"

[GnomesAteMyCake]

"Not a kid, huh?" Reagan mused, rubbing the side of his nose with his thumb before looking down at Shi, who's head reached his elbows...barely. "I was at your age. Sure, it wasn't easy, but I wasn't on my own...neither should you," he added gently. He didn't smile at the boy, but his face appeared slightly softer. Pushing his hands deeper into his pockets, Reagan took a left off the empty, vehicle-littered street they were walking down and into another alleyway; it was safer to be out of sight.

"The Gathering? Surely you've heard of it; it's where we are all gather to trade. Nothing's worth more than anything else these days, so whatever you have, you give for what you need. I need cigarettes, and I've got information that can get me them. My info isn't worth all that much, so I might be haggling for a while. If you've got anything that you don't want anymore, or you need something more, then get ready to part with it."

Tweaking his hat, Reagan pushed open the battered door of a rundown warehouse, ushering Ben and Shi into the building before entering himself. Now that they were inside, they could hear the distant sound of people. Lots of them.

"Nearly everyone knows where the Gathering is," Reagan continued, his voice low and heavy, as if they were in a sacred place. "But it's better of have it off the streets. It was built before I was born, but it's still being added to. Sheet metal, wood, stuff like that...all of it can be traded for big stuff, because we need it to expand-"

Allowing Ben to catch up alongside himself and the smaller boy, Reagan pulled a heavy sliding door open. Light flooded into the empty room, allowing the three men to look at the Gathering.

It wasn't majestic, but it was breath-taking in it's own way. The nucleus of the market was at the centre of what used to be four warehouses, the walls of the previous buildings ripped away to create reinforced walls and roofing that previously wasn't there.

Stalls were crammed in the still small space, bright material creating canopys over each one, fluttering in the movement of flocking people and the odd breeze that managed to worm in past the gaping holes of the area.

And the people; hundreds and hundreds of people shouting, trading, waving their arms and advertising what they had. The three saw men with arms around women, frantic mothers chasing down their children...but that saddest thing was that nearly everyone was armed, even to the smallest child, a young girl about 5 with a dagger belted to her waist.

"Well...come on," Reagan said, smirking slightly at the faces of both Ben and Shi. "Keep close; I know where to find the guy with my cigarettes."

[Gafe]

Benjamin didn't have extremely aware eyes. He could speak of small, round openings in the skin of his face from which two dirt-brown irises lurked. This is to say, his eyes weren't outstanding. But as he stepped through the sliding frame, the man's eyes widened notoriously. Too many people occupied the relatively small space, all of them with some errand on their minds or a trade on their hands.

The encounter between Reagan and the biker gang an hour earlier (which Benjamin was spying on) could've easily been marked as one of the times Benji had seen the largest amount of people. They'd been a crowd to him, the population of a city for all he knew. The Gathering blew his mind and perception. Albeit the people might've possibly fit in one - maybe two - of the tall buildings the city had (destroyed as they were from centuries of inactivity), Benjamin couldn't fathom the idea of there being any other people in the world.

And, like a brick to the head, he realized why Meredith had never allowed him to accompany her in the trips to The Gathering. He didn't do well around a large group of people, large group being four or five individuals, or rather, people didn't do well around him. They weren't too friendly with his condition. They were derogatorily referred to as "H-caps," handicapped people. An H-cap was lucky to ever see the light of a tenth birthday. Benjamin himself was a bit more than double-lucky. And counting.

His hand balled into a fist, though his intentions were to grip some friendly object in search for support. As he clenched only air, he reasoned there was no need for any of the Gatherers to learn of his condition. If he stuck around Reagan and Shilough close enough, people might choose not to come near. He sure looked like mostly everyone else did, save for his usually unfaltering smile. He realized that was true enough. And smiled. He even patted Shilough in the back in an attempt at camaraderie. An attempt.

All grins and awe, Benjamin followed Reagan as he searched for the 'guy with his cigarettes.' It was almost like some thrilling adventure. He wondered how Meredith would ever go about finding them in the sea of people. She always find a way to do anything, her way, he realized. And as he let thoughts of his friend drift away like the smoke of a cigarette, he missed an entirely important point the cowboy had stated: "Nearly everyone knows where the Gathering is" and in that desolate had-been city, not everyone was trustworthy. Not everyone was unalligned with some gang.

[Bryden]

Never being around other people wasn’t exactly conductive to being in the loop. It wasn’t really Shilough’s fault that he’d never heard of The Gathering. But then, he’d never made much of an effort to find out about anything other people did. He spent the majority of his time keeping as far out of other people’s way as it was humanly possible for him to be. And in such a big, wide, and empty world, it wasn’t overly difficult. Except when it was. Which is when things like this happened. But at least it was all working out for the best! …wasn’t it?

The boy followed the man nervously, glancing backwards every so often to check on their third party member. He was a strange one, the third person. Shi barely knew what to make of Reagan, let alone this kid. He hadn’t said much, which didn’t help much. And Shi lived up to the sound of his little nickname- he was shy. He didn’t want to make much of an effort to speak to anybody. He’d be fine in the slightly awkward silence if they were, and they did seem to be.

“I don’t really have anything worth trading…” he murmured, slightly embarrassed, as they walked up to a large warehouse. This was it? Really? It seemed so common. So unimposing. Just some ratty warehouse. And it was quiet out here. Much too quiet for there to really be anything going on within. Shilough glanced up at Reagan, and then back at Ben, as if to question whether he was being messed with.

But then he opened the first door, and the sounds started to drift to Shi’s ears. Hm. Well, that certainly wasn’t nothing. But was it really…. The second door slid open with a rasp and a clang. Messed with? Apparently not.

Shilough’s eyes went wide, his mouth parting into a silent “o” of surprise. Un. Be. Lieveable. So many colors! So many noises! So many smells (ew.)! So many people! The young boy was utterly blown away by the pageantry before him. It was utterly crazy. He didn’t think he’d ever seen so many people in one place. It was a lot to take in, and not particularly easy to deal with. He squished in closer to Reagan in some vain attempt at seeking comfort. He looked back wildly at Ben, who’d clapped him on the back, and was grinning, apparently enjoying himself. He returned a wan, nervous smile, brushing long hair out of his face.

It was new to deal with, but at least he wasn’t alone. He widened his smile at Ben. “Pretty neat, huh?” he said, small voice squeaking with his nervousness. He played it off by looking around, taking in everything as if he’d meant to speak like a little girl. Really. Sure. Very suave.

[Gafe]

Oh, well. That was odd. Benji was startled. Shi had shared some words with him. The man opened his mouth in a wide smile. Then shut it abruptly before he made a fool of himself. Instead, he replied in, literally, the only way he could: with a grin and a nod. Body language was vital, if not all-encompassing.

The moment was, quite honestly, extremely awkward.

Silent as ever, Benji realized Reagan was on the move dodging busy merchants on one side and jogging customers on the other, he signaled for Shi to follow the cowboy. It wasn't as simple as it looked. Clearly, the man with the missing eye had practice in this Gathering business. He knew how to move to avoid running into people, not unlike a waiter in a busy tavern. Benji had only taken a couple of strides and he'd already stepped on a woman, bumped into a tall man and had accidentally pushed half the merchandise of an elderly vendor to the floor. While it didn't strike anyone as uncommon behavior (or at least, didn't seem to), the stares he was getting weren't exactly friendly. It appeared Shi was having similar troubles, and that fact alone comforted him a little. A little.

They advanced in silence, at least amongst themselves. The Gathering was extremely loud. Some people yelled as a means to let everyone know just what they had on their stands. Others questioned everyone about specific items, two dogs barked and Benji was pretty sure he'd heard a chicken. Or so he thought. He hadn't seen a chicken in years.

Reagan looked pretty confident the manner in which he made his way towards their goal (what was their goal, by the way?), but Benji couldn't help but feel they were going around in circles. Provided, it was hard to think so, the warehouses weren't big enough yet they were so crammed up with everything, one could barely look at his feet. That and it was Benji's first time here, everything looked the same, everyone looked the same, hell, he could swear a mirror image of Meredith had just jumped right in front of them.

"Reagan." The woman sternly caught their attention.

Oh, well, nevermind. It was the actual Meredith. That was certainly admirable, how she'd gotten there so fast. She wasn't paying attention to either Shi or Benjamin though. Her gray eyes were completely focused on the cowboy. Crudely, she passed Reagan a crushed box of cigarettes. Benji made out only two inside the box.

"These smokes here. They're the only thing that's left of Jonah. That and his chair." Meredith said, referring to the man who always managed to have the greatest number of cigarettes at the Gathering. her eyes were in a deep frown, almost as if she was concentrating.

She leaned closer to Reagan's ear. Her whisper came out like smoke form a campfire. "This is the twelfth recurring vendor who's disappeared in the same month. In the same month. It's not natural. I don't know about you but I don't trust this. I won't have my... protégée-" she looked at Benji, "-in here. It's not as safer as it used to be."

"That, and there's no more smokes."