|Blythe Market: Chapter III|
|Time & Date||7/22/2015 / Time|
|Summary||Tallin arrives at Moly Mountain with his cargo.|
Eight hours after the Runner has left his post and only two hours after a quick stop at Barstow for a top off of his fuel tanks, Molly Mountain pass comes into view on the Mojave Freeway. It's little more than a bump on the road - but it's there. A fortified small patch of dirt guarding one of the natural passages through the mountains and on the way to Old Vegas. The sun is starting to set in the west, the shadows grow long and night approaches with a drop in temperature.Tallin drives up towards the path to the pass, stopping for a moment as he looks at it. He forces himself to keep from thinking about the cargo. He needs to keep a clear head for what he's about to deal with. He takes a moment to make sure his weapons are ready, just in case, before he sighs and says to himself. "Alright. It's time to finish this. Gaia, I have followed the path set before me; Show me what you want me to deal with."
He then turns to head to the drop off site.
The sky begins to darken and tinge with reds, oranges and blues as the sun starts to lose its perpetual battle with the polluted sky. The sun begins to set, the western clouds turning purple, red, and gold. It's hazy and warm.
The drop off is a small patch of level ground just before the faint attempt at fortifications that someone's built back in the day. Mostly abandoned at this point, there's no one really there to get into anyone's business. Once off the road and at the 'landing strip' of all things, the Runner was told to use the beacon to single whomever it is that is to come and collect the cargo....and that's when the Cargo starts to thump, pound and wiggle furiously within the coffin-like sidecar attached to his bike. Plantif, bellowing screams call out for help, to open the box and the like. Previously, when pulled over in Barstow there was only a few, faint murmers of sound from it - and only when listened to. Now, it would seem that the cargo has woken up.
Tallin closes his eyes, then shakes his head. "Gaia, please don't tell me I was hauling a vamp." He stops the bike, getting off to move to the coffin. The beacon is set on it as he speaks. "You want to tell me why you've been packed in a box?" He was told not to open it. Nothing was said about talking.
Marmm mrm aroapw owuer pg foua aa ou f GUU! Or the closest equivalent to what you might hear through the opaque durra-plas container. At only five feet long and nearly two feet wide, it's the smallest vampire you probably have met. Still, why would someone put anyone in such a thing? Why would a vampire allow himself to be transported in such a way? Its nearly dusk - the shadow have grown long enough to start to merge together into a single carpeting of twilight. Any kind of intelligent speech would be difficult unless you would either listen super-close to it or perhaps turn one's hearing up a few notches.
Tallin is able to do something just like that, and he sharpens his senses, then sits on top of the thing. "I wonder if I sound like that to you."
"I said - what the fuck is going on? Open this damn box you Frel!" Frel? That's wastelander slang. The voice is male - but young by the pitch. He's wiggling still within the box and thumping around a little as though he were trying to get out of it. "I'm hurt...who the hell did this to me?" he asks and then adds, "...this is NOT why I sold myself."
Tallin thinks on this a moment, before he gets up, then says. "Kid, first, if you understand me, I'm impressed. That takes some very fine hearing. Second, when you sold yourself, you gave up your choice on anything. Third, I don't have any idea who did this, but Avin gave the contract. I think I'm going to have to look into Blythe more intently."
And with that, the sun has set behind the hills. Darkness starts to crawl in from the east and with it the occasional yip or noise of any natural creature from the Wastes. "What's that noise?" says the voice within the box in between wiggles. "Get me out of here..." he yells as a demand more so than a request. Wastelanders aren't used to the word 'please' - it doesn't mean much. "I'll give you something good...swear..."
Tallin sighs, reaching for the beacon. "Kid, believe me when I say, I would release you without price, if I could. And believe me when I say, it sickens me that I'm stuck using a tactic I've hated my superiors for. Unfortunately, I need to know the type of people Avin sent me to meet with."
There it is, the first testing of the bars of the cage of his soul, the beast sensing wrong.
Yeah, he has to agree with the beast; This is wrong, and it's hard to take that final step when it conflicts with what you believe. He closes his eyes, holding the unlit beacon.
"Mother... there are times when I wish you were a little louder with your voice. I am your Knight of Winter. Show me what it was you wanted me to see. Help me walk the path you wish of me." He says, then opens his eyes, looking at the device he holds.