Dr Meat Posted May 8, 2015, 12:09 pm

The desert was blowing in from the East as the convoy rolled across the bridge into Elmsfield. Two sleek black pho’s from Rhoube’s Raiders sped ahead of the rest, one breached but its crew jubilant after their fight with Xena’s Angels. Pam “Ice Cold” Corbett patted the dusty stock of her HMG and cracked a rare smile as the apes came to a stop. The Expendable Boys literally tumbled out of their estate, whooping & waving their rifles in celebration. ‘Those boys are a hazard to themselves,’ muttered Homer, a touch of affection in his voice. ‘Careful now,’ said Pam. ‘Don’t get attached. You know they ain’t gonna last long.’ Homer nodded, spat, and rubbed some desert out of his eyes. ‘None of us do, eh?’ He had a point, but what the hell, Pam thought. For today, they were still alive. The mood was good, the loot from Xena’s Angel’s an unexpected bonus, and the prospect of setting up a new squad had lifted everyone's spirits. The green hills of Elmsfield looked damn good to her. ‘Nice run all,’ said Vernon, emerging from Treedancer, the luridly painted Maxxedout merc. He tipped sand out of his boot with a grunt. ‘Little bird tells me there are some cold beers waiting for us at Joe’s.’ 'Worth waiting for,’ agreed Pam.

*Maxxed* Posted May 8, 2015, 4:12 pm

<some hours later> "Sthow...yerz dunnar like da paintjob on thar windy eh?" drooled Vernon. (who is known as The Drunken Walrus to his friends.) Lapsing momentarily into unconsciousness his head would have struck the slimy table had it not been suspended above it by his elongated fangs that pierced the table like some debauched alcoholic vampire determined to suck whatever festering alcohol that might have soaked into the veins of the table. Some ten minutes later lurching back into sentience the sodden walrusman lifts his head up taking the table with it causing an alcoholic avalanche splashing Pam and Homer and saturating the already wet behind the ears expendables who being unused to the cactus rotgut that is the renowned fare of Joes, were already sprawled insentient on the blood and muck stained floor under the table where they had sought refuge from the friendly kicks of the other patrons stumbling through the bar. "Demz Or-Tum colours I tellz ya! From afore the pockletits when we had seesums like Wunter, Sunnerz, Sing and Ortum when da leaves would goes all bloody and prudy like!" Vernon exclaimed as he lurched blindly around the bar overturning tables and smashing drinks with the table attached to his face like some bizarre face shield. Vernon probably should have been dead or at least unconscious like the expendables that he trampled beneath his flabby feet but the Neo that raged through his system seemed to have a strange ability to assist in the metabolism of cactus-grog. His left arm was broken as well as several of his ribs but nonetheless he gesticulated wildly with both arms as he devastated all around him enthused by the mysticism of the time before The Event. "I'll sort this out" Joe says to the triple breasted wench sheltering behind him as he extracts a large hypodermic device from the pocket of his seedy apron. Sidling up behind the flailing table and its attached walrusman Joe deftly stabs Vernon right between the tracks left my the walrus's penchant for Neos. Most of the patrons don't even notice as Joe even more deftly extracts Vernon's wallet as the table and walrus slump to become as one with the pile of expendables jengarring obliviously. "Yeah, well as I was saying Maxx asked me to drive Vernon up here so I could get him into rehab..."