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1/9/2016 4:45:52 PM
1
He looks onward at her, the wind whipping at his cloak and making it billow, and he grips a hand on the hilt of his Scapula. With the other hand, he pulls down the front of his scarf to release his mouth.
"[b]Hey![/b]" he shouts to her, "[b]Hey![/b]"
English
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[i]She simply looks at him, approaching[/i] "What?" [i]she says, with a British accent[/i]
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"You a November operative?" he asks, squinting through his goggles.
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"NWH, why?" [i]she asks, having forgot Fireteam November was a thing[/i] [spoiler]current soldier count; 7 billion NWH soldiers. Yeah...[/spoiler]
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He doesn't know what the hell NWH is, but he disregards it. "Well... have you seen any November operatives in this town?" he says. [spoiler]Damn.[/spoiler]
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"No, came looking for my boss, he's ex November though. May be able to help you out"
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"Alright. Lead the way, then." He then adjusts the scarf over his mouth again and follows you.
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[i]She walks into the town, going into a bar, where a man in a brown duster and cowboy hat sits at the counter, drinking away at a whiskey, and the lady sits beside him, on his right[/i] "Hey JT" "Janice, who's your friend?" [spoiler]who else would I trust with the NWH but JT?[/spoiler]
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"I'm a guy from the military organization you ditched," he says, "and I'd like to know if [i]you[/i] know where that organization is. Fireteam November."
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"Pal, I ain't saying shit unless you're NWH or fn. even then, I barely tell shit to my NWH"
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"God fuçking dammit..." he says, raising a palm to his face. "Well thanks for the big help, buddy." He then turns stubbornly and walks to the door of the saloon to leave, his cloak trailing in the air behind him.
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((End))
