Overton City

The bar was filled with the familiar scents of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and eccentric foods. People inside chattered among others, effectively creating mixed voices that made it difficult to listen to just one conversation. The old radio the bartender had received just enough signal to play music. An exceptionally strange figure came forth from the outside wastes, cautiously observing the area before stepping inside. A few heads turned, but they turned them right back. Scarlette was her name, or Scar for friends. She took a seat on one of the stools and the bartender made his way over to where she sat. She promptly removed her helmet and mask, placing them on her lap before facing the man who waited for her order.
He seemed somewhat interested in her sudden change of appearance but it wasn't extraordinary.
"I'll take a Nuka Cola Vodka." She grinned at him, handing the right amount of caps before he nodded and went off. She leaned forward on the bar and sighed with relief. She glanced up for a moment to watch a few men argue about their game of pool. Once the bartender placed her drink in front of her, she put all her focus on it.
If there was only one thing Scar could love, it would be the taste of her favorite alcoholic drink.
Scar used this time to enjoy her drink and to reflect on her never-ending journey that was sure to continue shortly-- unless she got drunk.

CINDER POST

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

"Fuck this shit," Cinder flipped the table over, which sent the dice flying. As they moved through the air, he watched as a few men leaned into place their money on the dice roll. The one guy was wearing a raider's outfit and he was placing his money on 6-6-4. Another male, hardly over sixteen, was guessing it would be 1-5-3. The woman in the red silk dress was urging her pimp to pick 2-2-2. A rich snob of a man was calling it 6-4-5.

"Six. Six. Six." Cinder's two-toned eyes danced with a flame of delight as he watched the dice collide against the rumble floor. Sure enough, the first dice to stop landed on a six. The woman in red spilled her drink, which caused her pimp to go hard and, immediately, request a private room. The youngster frowned as he folded the bare remains of his money into the pot. It was now down to the three of them and two more dice were still rolling about.

The second dice bounced off the side of the bar, which brought it to the rug in the other room. Frozen in its tracts, the lad that had lost it all ran to its side to announce the land. "Six," he smiled as he watched the rich guy snort and leave.

Rushing back to the action, the boy too a seat beside Cinder, who he had been eyeing for the past hour now. Just as soon as he was seated, he jumped from his seat to watch the dice worm its way down the bosom of the woman at the bar.

Not wanting the game to lose its momentum, Cinder walked over to the woman. "I do believe you have something that belongs to us." Leaning in, he whispered in her ears, "If you can manage to flip it so it lands on a six, I'll split the winnings with you 50-50." Stepping back, Cinder winked at the woman. "Well, are you going to fetch us our dice or shall I remove it for you."

For having a handsome face, Cinder lost his attractiveness by the harshness that came from his voice and the nasty nip of no remorse that he tended to coat his words with. Cinder was not a man that could charm a woman with his lips. Not at all. It probably didn't help the guy out that his was semi-electronic sounding. It, to an extent, got annoying. Everyone could always hear him breath and exhale. Sneaking up on people, let's just say it wasn't his specialty.

Needless to say, his fellow Knights of Blood called him the "Darth Vader of the Wasteland," a nickname Cinder was not fond of. But, despite it all, Darth Vader was an appropriate nickname. After all, Cinder's voice and sounds mimicked that of the Sith Lord. Plus, they both wore a face apparatus and donned themselves in black.

Scar realized her drinking was getting slightly out-of-hand when her caps were over a thousand less than what she had, wandering into the damned city she happened to find out of luck. Speaking of luck...

She peered over at the commotion at a nearby game. She wasn't much into gambling, but the situation the players had themselves in proved to be quite the sight. She giggled at small things others said and an interesting character, not with a regular face-- to put it simply. She turned her body sideways on the stool to lean across the bar to watch them comfortably. Normally, she'd join deals like this but her drink caused tipsiness and her perception was pretty off. The bartender believe it'd be best to leave her be and not to hand out any more drinks for her. The man lost his dice in a skimpy-looking woman and he appeared to be flirting with her. She tried smiling, even if no one was around. This guy definitely caught her attention-- to bad she won't remember much in the morning. If she found a bed to sleep in, that is.

'Dumbass, getting drunk in a place like this. You're going to end up waking up next to some ghoul like last time.' She thought to herself awkwardly burying her head in her arms. Too bad for her, she was already half-way unconscious and heading for dreamland.

'Dad would be pissed. His little girl is losing her mind in a fuckin' bar in some city. Shit, I'll probably end up getting raped or something in my sleep.' She thought, angering herself. She opened her eyes again and focused back on the game. This was no time to be sleeping and definitely not the time to be caught off-guard.

CINDER POST

Sucking his teeth, he saw no point in waiting for this woman to take her sweet old time fishing the dice from her bosom. Hand snaking down her blouse, he retrieved the dice and flicked it down the bar. Watching it roll along, his eyes shifted up some and meet the rusty brown eyes of Scarlette. Sure enough, the dice fell just short of her spot, but it didn't stop Cinder from approaching her with those cold eyes of his.

"Heh," he smirked behind the mask that veiled his face. "Would you mind telling those fucktards what the final dice reads?" Leaning in close to her slender body, Cinder straddled his arms around either side of her neck. Fingers sprawled out across the bar's top, he kept his head stationed to her left, which was just out of sight for the men playing the game. "Go on, bitch," he coaxed one final time before he snatched up what was left of her drink. Downing it in seconds, he shot the glass toward the hoard of men that were now approaching his rear flank. Hissing at them, the breathing apparatus made the sound seem almost like that of steam pouring from a teapot.

Not wanting to get caught in a bar fight for winning a rigged dice game, Cinder snatched up his dice and scurried over to the door. Whirling around, he saluted the woman who was still groping herself after being man-handled by such the brute that Cinder was. As his eyes glazed over as the raw wind cast sand into his eyes, he shot his final glance over to Scarlette.

With the door slamming behind him, Cinder took off toward the left. Rounding around the backside of the building, he waited for the angered gamblers to pour out of the bar and run after him. They, of course, did as such, but in their drunken state didn't even notice that he took to hiding. Sly smile coming onto his face, Cinder sauntered back into the bar and placed his fedora on his head at a cocked angle.

"Ah, gotta love them drunken asses," he said grabbing up a stool beside Scarlette and the lady he previously harassed. "Oh, would you look at that. The bar is only full of wenches. Just my fucking luck... to be stuck with God's lesser creation... women." Now, being the man that he was, Cinder meant the women in the bar no disrespect. He just didn't know how to play nice or word things in a gentler manner. But, it was okay. For the most part, the women in this bar knew Cinder and knew that his temper, tongue, and touch was just a part of his less than nurturing upbringing.

As the female bartender brought a scotch to his hands, the soldier cackled. "Drink up, whores. We've only got one life to live so we better plaster ourselves with liquor and forget all about this fucking godforsaken hell we've been forced to endure." Cocking his head back, he downed the glass in a matter of seconds. Slamming it onto the counter, he awaited the bartender to refill his order and to continue doing so until he was forced to be dragged to the inn next door.

(Sorry for taking 20 years to reply !!)
Still slightly groggy from the close experience of a nap and a few drinks, Scar was a little unsettled from the man who approached her. Her body tensed up at his touch; it was a foreign feeling to her. She gulped nervously, listening to his almost-electronic words, "Would you mind telling those fucktards what the final dice reads?" The dice seemed to stare at her with a familiar set of numbers. It took her a moment to process what was happening. She could feel the stares of the other gamblers-- waiting for her to speak. He coaxed her and pounded the rest of her drink. Her upper lip twitched and she hid a frown.
Before she could speak, however, the glass shattered when it made impact with one of the men approaching them. The wires in her brain connected and everything was clear. The game was rigged. She quickly glanced up at Cinder before he fetched the dice and made a run for it. She chuckled, turned the stool around and caught his glance before he exited. The group went after him, foolishly, she figured. She crossed her leg over the other and casually waited. Sure enough he was back.
'Damn right.' She thought. He owed her another drink. With great slick, he sat on the stool next to her.
His words seemed somewhat rude but with his look, she didn't take them seriously like others would. She scoffed and watched him chug down. Scar gave in and nodded to the bartender, who later brought her another shot. Eventually, she held her hand out to Cinder, "Name's Scar." She hiccuped after her lousy introduction. Not a lot of wastelanders interest her enough like he did- she figured 'How often do you see guys like this?'

CINDER POST


Another drunken woman, just my luck. Cinder had a knack for finding the wrong woman. Granted, some would argue that the wrong women were actually the right ones in disguise. Either way, he wasn't too worried about the situation. Odds were, this woman wasn't going to be a threat. Hell, from the looks of it, she quite enjoyed his little game of charades.

Sliding some caps to the bartender, Cinder smirked. It was, obviously, not something one could see due to the mask that was on his face. He was probably quite the entertainment for he had a rather unusual way to down his shots. Most people would just lift the glass to their lips and thrust their head back. Not having easy-access to his mouth, Cinder had to detach the cord that hooked into a pack on his back. Seeing as he was in a bar, Cinder almost always removed it, which would leave a circular hole with a mesh-like netting over it. It was through that opening that he poured the liquid. There was a funnel-like tube that linked directly with the back of his mouth so it was impossible for anything to spill.

It was a timely process, but Cinder had since grown used to it. If it allowed him to live, he would put up with it. Besides, it made him more badass, or so he liked to believe. After all, when was the last time you crossed paths with a psychotic bastard of a humanoid? Exactly. You haven't.

Denying an offered drink, the fedora wearing brute shoved some caps Scar's way. "A promise is a promise." It was one of a great few of his "better" qualities. At least he was a man of his word. Well, sort of. He had gone ahead and jipped her of a pocket-full of caps, but he didn't give a rat's ass. But, then again, did it really matter? He hadn't formally told the woman she could earn a profit from helping him out. Eh, either way, consequences were going to happen. He really should have given a damn. Why? Well, there was always the off chance that she would follow him. Having a follower, to Cinder, was more than annoying. Not only would he feel obligated to watch out for said follower, but he would also have to worry about correcting his reputation. It never looked good to have a shadow always tagging along, especially if you were a Knighthood of Blood member.

While he moved toward the door, he could feel some eyes land on him. "What. It was their sorry ass fault they got caught up in my game. I've yet to lose. I ain't gonna start now." With one foot out the door, he cackled. "Had I lost, you'd all be fucking dead. Whimper a word about this, and I'll be sure to kill you next time I see your motherfucking ass. Got it?"

Like that, he was gone.

With the rusty door swinging behind him, Cinder made a full circle of the building before he started to ascend up the slope to the city's exit. There was no point in staying in this hellhole another night. He would just be meet with a bullet or a blade. Cutting his losses, Cinder knew it was safe to scratch this town, Overton City, from his list of "safe" places.

Under his breath, he muttered. Stopping to take one last look at Overton City, he shook his head. "Bang," he said was he pointed and clicked his gun-shaped hand at the city. "May you fuckers sleep tight."