Thread: Worlds, among other things. Post-apocalypse RP with Lotherio & Cosmic

It wasnt the best place to live, but Cid Chavez would rather have this small hovel of an apartment in the city than be stuck out with the squatters. Sure, they had homes and whatnot, but it was basically like living out in the wastelands anyways. Here he had some power, though on power rations, he could still turn on a light at night and see around. Hell, he even had hot water from time to time, nothing like a good shave. That and he had a bed even, not some cardboard pile that looked like a rats nest that hed seen some of the squatters using before on one of his occasional trips out past the walls. Thats what he did, it was his job to go out there and get what his employer needed. Good old Partisans Corp., they cared because they needed something from you as Cid liked to think of them. Didnt bother him much, he could get that something and they kept him in a decent lifestyle. He even lived in the megatower that the real wealthy called home. Ya, he lived in the lower 20 floors where the lapdogs of the wealthy tended to stay, maintenance wasnt the prettiest, and some of the common halls, lounges, and gathering spaces contained colorful urban art by some non-commissioned artist of the night it was still better than the people living in the smaller towers of the city or worse, street level. He could almost see the sun set on the horizon form his home on the 13th floor if he went to the widows at the end of the hall and looked through the hollowed shells of a couple smaller towers in city central. Not that it crossed his mind as he double checked himself in the fairly good mirror he had, shining pleasantly under the purring florescent light he had above it the light was in such good shape that it only flickered once or twice in a five minute time span. Standing at just under six feet in height, the hair atop his head gave him a couple extra inches if he spruced it up some the sides kept shorter just because he liked to be clean. He needed new razors, so his face was a little stubbly, but he was going out to the edge of the squatters, he might as well rub pig shit all over and throw on some colorful rags for clothes. It wasnt the edge of the city, were people squatted in the buildings just inside the gates, it was the true edge, the edge of the wastelands, where people tended to trade with those idiots who travelled the barrens, who visited other cities, the real hicks. Jacket on, he wore a decent shirt underneath, white, and this over some blue denim pants with only a few holes worn into it. His feet were strapped into some steel toe boots with only a little hole at the part where his toes curled. There was a holster under his jacket holding a pistol and a sheathed knife . Pretty concealed, but his true weapon for this job was the gun strapped to his back. It was in a shoulder strap sling carrier, easy to pull out when needed. With his appearance in order, he checked the bed ammunition a plenty, camping gear, old maps, numerous canteens of water, packaged dried foods from years ago that was still good, a small music player with fancy screen, sunglasses, a compound bow and arrow in case he needed to actually ick hunt for food, a small gas grill, some cans of gas, and such. It was all there, everything he would need to survive in the barrens. And it only took him a couple of trips to get it all down to his car . He had a gate pass, kept tucked into his pocket, but they knew him - as much as he left the city. Everything in order, he sped out of the garage, through the streets, out to the gate, shared a joke with the guards about going into the wilds, and headed out through the small buildings and into that area which once served as private dwellings and homes - out until he finally made it out to the bazaar. No way theyd let him bring the car in, too much foot traffic, so he ducked it behind an old metal carrier that at one time was used to actually collect garbage. He was sure no one would mess with it, and left on foot with pistol tucked in, his rifle, and his wits. All he needed to survive out here. He was going to find a cantina to see about anyone whod heard of a city called Zana DuRadu, a long shot, even this far in the city he was pretty sure it was only a fable out here. Even if his employer insisted there was technology there that would help the citys food situation, he wasnt sure it existed, not until hed seen some of the technology Mr. Smith showed him. But before he could find a watering hole to listen to rumors, hed stumbled on the parts dealer with his nuts and bolts. Knowing a thing about cars, he might find a few parts here for his Ute, or at least something working. Holding up a gasket, he was asking, You sure I can file this out and put it over the cylinders itd help alright, oil isnt cheap and I dont need sand getting in the engine the same . The vendor, as greasy as his parts, laughed deeply, Itll fit if yknow whatcher doing slicker. Cid pursed his lips at that thought even, he know what he was doing, he was more worried how long the slightly used part would hold up for the journey ahead. Moving to duck in, the butt of his rifle hit the top of the vendors front awning, so, he took it out and set it at his side, leaning it against the table so that he could get a better look at the gasket. Using one finger, he ran it along the outer rim, It could work, but I dont know how long this seal would hold out there, pitching a thumb over shoulder to indicate the area beyond squatter-ville, I could trade, but it aint worth what youre asking, youd have to come down a bit.