WtDS - Beantown

Steve watched Mireya go, shaking his head slowly as if to clear it before turning back to his messy assortment of parts and pieces of technology. He pretty much just wades in, flailing his way through the heap of junk to begin something of a mad "quest" to find the stuff Mireya needed him to find. It wouldn't take him TOO long; he sort of had a roundabout idea of where some of the items might be...Maybe.

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Katya rolled her eyes right back. She knew well enough where clothes were, but she'd just woken up, and food was the first thing on her mind. As Cotton commented on Swaine's condition, the eye patch in particular, she grunted and moved over toward the counter alongside him. "Yeah...Not sure about the eye patch, either. Could be light sensitivity? Or maybe he has a glass eye and he just doesn't put it in when he wakes up...These days, who knows? Half the people I know have some part missing or patched up. I met a guy from Battery City once; had a damn camera for an eye. Only thing he could do with the hole after he got bile from one of the wasteland creatures in it. Never found out which creature...Guess I'll just have to avoid getting monster gunk on me if I don't want any weird outcomes. Let's see what's for breakfast, though. My money is on crappy scrambled eggs and some fried meat; it's always fried meat."

Katya wasn't too far off the mark with her guess. At the counter, a bored-looking soldier seemed to be the only one manning the cafeteria right now, at least in the front. Obviously not wearing a hair net - some worries about hygiene are pretty absent these days. Bigger things to get concerned about and so on, really. The scent of food being cooked can be smelled wafting in from a back room, which would be pleasant if it didn't have a distinctly burnt edge to it. And the fact that there's a definite... 'oldness' to the smell, like the place hadn't gotten a thorough cleaning in years. Today, it looks like, surprise surprise, fried meat of indeterminable origin is on the menu, alongside rather musty-smelling baked beans and... that's about it. With the frigid climate of the north, the only fruit and vegetables that can be hoped for all comes in a can.

Cotton grimaces as he reaches for a stack of (rather unwashed-looking) trays on one side of the counter, sighing as some food is ladled onto his waiting tray. The meat, notably, looks dry and hard enough that it could be used as an improvised bludgeon. And the liquid the baked beans is in seems to be... congealed in a really disturbing way. Such that it lands on the tray in roughly the exact shape of the ladle, and stays like that. Almost like some kind of disturbing gelatin, in a way.

"Never got a decent meal up past the frost line that I ain't shot myself..."

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The sisters didn't have to look very long. At a junction in the hallway, Swaine comes heading down to the left of the girls, around the corner. Thanks to the two being on the side of his eyepatch, he doesn't see them until he very nearly crashes into them, with how sharp the turn is. He rather quickly takes a step back once he finally does see how close he came into stumbling right over Eileen, nearly spilling his cup of coffee in the process. Drawing his free hand to his lips, balled up so he can let out a couple of dry, quiet coughs, he shakes his head. "Sorry, ladies. Blind spot."

Eileen let out a short exclamation as the Captain and she collided, shuffling back to avoid any potential spills. Irene reached over to steady her sister, giving the other woman's shoulders a squeeze as she looked to the older man. She watched him cough, a flicker of concern passing over the sterner twin's features. Eileen, meanwhile, offered a flustered smile and a shake of her head. "It's fine, sir. We should have watched where we were going, too… Glad you showed up just now, actually - we're having trouble remembering where your office was... Are you alright?"

Steve found just what he was looking for in relatively short fashion, sorting through all of his junk and, sure enough, finding quite a few of the components Mireya needed with no difficulty. Soon he had the entire list pulled together, and had tossed all of the items into a plastic waste bin for easy storage.

Once that was done, he began gathering OTHER supplies; those he knew he'd need if he was going to go with Mireya to try and do something about that truckload of cargo just waiting to be scavenged. No sense going off half-cocked; he'd gather up food, let his water purifying and thawing mechanism run so he could bottle up some potable drinking water, and see about whatever else he might need. An old plasma cutting torch, cargo bins, bungee cords...The usual.

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Katya takes note of the meal; more of the same, as she had expected. She was a bit disappointed that she wouldn't be getting runny, crappy eggs for breakfast, as oddly she'd had her heart set on it, but at least beans were filling. She examined the meat briefly as she got her tray as well, quirking a brow and taking a piece between her thumb and forefinger, squeezing. "Hrn...Mole rat. Looks like it's been run through a purifier and basically jerked before cooking. Looks like crap, doesn't taste near as bad as you'd think. I'd figure an old timer like you would've had your share of it out in the wilds, eh? Although I suppose cooking it yourself, how you want, puts a better spin on things."

She chuckled, taking a bite out of the piece she'd examined, and then moved off to get the biggest cup of coffee she can. That, coupled with a bit of Big Horner milk, wasn't too bad for breakfast as far as she was concerned. Growing up on military food did that to a person's tastes, it seemed. She settled in at one of the tables and pretty much just dug in, ignoring whatever oddities or unpleasant traits the food presented; it was better to eat bad food and be full than wait for better food and go hungry; that's the way of the Wasteland.

Swaine nodded with a light wheeze, drawing his hand away when he's finally caught a decent breath. He downed some of his coffee to help with his throat, a weak sigh following after he swallows. "Not for a long time, miss Beckerman. The only charitable thing I can say about myself is that at least my condition isn't as bad as it was a few years ago. Only just." His expression remained neutral the whole time he was speaking, but the two women may have noticed his eye straying to the side and downwards for just a moment. "So. Still losing Bighorners at the ranch, I assume? Always things like this that happen whenever we're heavily undermanned. This way, ladies, to my office."

Stepping past them to go along the hallway that neither had come from, he motioned over his shoulder for the sisters to follow him. Taking another sip of coffee as he walked, he turned another corner in the hallway, until he comes to a stop in front of his office door. It isn't labeled or anything, and it has a glass window on the front... which is cracked so heavily you can't even see through it. Slightly more visible are the trio of holes seared through the door. Judging by how thin the burns around the hole looked on this side, it looks like the source of the holes came from inside rather than outside. He reached for the doorknob and stood aside, offering to let the two women go first. "Something I should say up front. Both of you know how understaffed we've been since the business over in Springfield. I can't offer you a squad of soldiers in full power armor. I do have a few other things I can offer, but times are lean for all of us."

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Cotton followed Katya to a table, sitting down opposite of her. The benches were mismatched, but at least this table had benches. Though the opposite side of the table had something... charred looking stuck to the table. Like a lump of gooey charcoal. Good enough reason not to be on the opposite end. "Down south, past the frost line, fresh plants grow. Most've 'em ain't worth much, but it's a damn fine sight better than century old canned vegetables. Even been to a couple'a farms that were able to get old world crops growin'. Takes good soil for that. Very rare." He stuck his fork into the unpleasant bit of meat, holding it up to his face with a frown. "... And then there's this. Hell, the meat looks better raw than whatever they've done to it here. Free food is free food, though." He pushed aside any of his reservations about the meal and started eating. He looked able to handle the taste just fine, at least.

It hadn't taken Mireya too long to get her bike working and back into the city proper. Her home and shop was just inside the city walls. It wasn't too big, little more than a one car garage with a little extra space for a small bathroom and a some partitioned off for her living and sleeping area. Small, but well enough equipped for her needs and vocation, and, blessedly enough, already dug out. If it was one of her neighbors who had done it, she'd have to thank them.

She got up to the smaller door and unlocked it, pulling the bike inside with her. Once she had it safely set against a back wall and turned her own space heater on, she had to turn her attention on her present project - a dented but otherwise structurally sound SUVs, one of the sturdier all terrain varieties that probably saw more family vacations and rush hour traffic than rough roads and harsher climes, but once she had her way with it, and if Steve had the parts she needed, she'd make this baby ready for anything. With a broad smile on her lips, she worked her way free of her coat and started getting ready for some good, hard labor.

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The Beckerman twins followed Captain Swaine to his office, stepping in ahead when he held open the battered door for them. They didn't pause at the battered door - those sorts of things happened these days - and they moved in far enough to make the older man's entrance easy. They looked to him as he spoke, and while Irene's brow furrowed some, Eileen let out a soft sigh and nodded her head. "We expected as much, sir. We understand it, and we don't want to be a further drain on your resources… But seventeen Big Horners have been taken from us in six months. Mostly ewes, and a couple of rams. We've still got a big herd, but every one we lose means a loss in dairy, wool and meat for ourselves and the civilians and soldiers we provide it to, and we haven't had any luck with getting any help or notice with our problem yet… We'll take any assistance we can get."

"Not any," Irene interjected, a somewhat stern look on her face. "We want some experience in whoever you can spare. We don't know who or what's taking our animals. It might not end well if you send out a couple of untried grunts."

Katya settled in beside Cotton with her coffee and "food", although the term was rather generous in this case. She dug in with little care for how it tasted, focusing instead on the fact that it was going to be filling and keep her from being grumpy due to hunger for the rest of the day (and frankly, nobody wanted Katya in a bad mood). She did take time to pause and talk, however, after finishing about half of her plate. The woman had an appetite, there's no denying that.

"Heard the Enclave's setting up farms up here, too. Figure when Spring rolls in they'll get to work trying to grow what they can, but I doubt they'll grow much more than potatoes and beet. More power to 'em though, they've done a decent job of cleaning up a lot of the Rads in the soil in some places." She stabbed briefly at her food with her fork, mixing the heap of beans and meat together into something vaguely resembling chili more than anything else. "Doesn't do those of us who're already dosed much good, I guess, but it's nice to know they'll be able to provide more food. Farms out here take a beating; same with ranches."

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Back at Steve's place, the Trader/Gunslinger had finished packing up assorted necessities, frowning as he had a moment of realization: Mireya couldn't do anything without the parts, so he'd most likely be better off just taking the supplies to her. Unfortunately, Steve didn't really have much in the way of cargo carrying equipment; he'd have to hike it over.

With a sigh and a shrug he finished powering down his thawer and collecting the fresh water, gathered up his various supplies and tossed everything into a hefty duffle bag. Once he had his hooded winter coat on, his gloves adjusted and his boots in place, he slung the bag strap around his torso like a bandoleer and picked up the crate of parts. The advantages of above-normal strength provided by his mutations; at least he could haul a decent load if he had to.

In short order he was outside, his door was locked, and he was off and trudging through the snow on the trail of Mireya's bike tracks. At least he could walk in the ruts rather than pushing through packed snow and slush!

Swaine's office was clean. Or at least as clean as could be hoped. The walls and red carpeting are heavily stained, but that's hardly unexpected. There's a RobCo terminal planted on a desk in the middle, with a chair that could be called 'luxurious' if it was in far better condition that is now set behind it, while on the opposite side, presumably intended for guests, is a rusted, metal folding chair. Also on the desk is something that indicates just what is up with Swaine's eye: Namely, his eye. Resting right against the desk is a seemingly normal-looking eyeball when viewed from the front. But trailing out behind it in place of optic nerves is a mechanical-looking spike. It's bionic, no doubt about it. Along the wall behind Swaine's desk and chair is a set of radio equipment on a rickety table.

To the left, the twins would be able to see the probable cause of the laser holes. A red case on the wall with the words 'In case of fire, break glass' under it in white paint, though the 'fire' is crossed out with black marker and underneath it is written the word 'shitheads'. Inside of the case is a full-sized laser rifle instead of a fire extinguisher. Notably, the glass is indeed broken. The last thing of note in the room is in the corner, what looks to be a gray-painted small, square robot that comes up to just above knee-level, balanced precariously on a single wheel, with a pair of thin arms that end in two grasping digits each. Its facing the wall and is apparently singing the words to the song 'You're so Vain' in a high-pitched voice with a metallic tone to it while looking down at a clipboard. The singing is especially bad.

As Swaine steps inside behind the two girls, closing the door behind him, the robot immediately jumps to attention, swivelling around on its single wheel and raising one of its 'hands' to salute. "Sir! I've double, triple, quadruple, and quintuple checked all of the merchant requisition records according to your specification! And I've determined you've only been screwed out of roughly 97.3 caps in the deals you made!" Swaine glares at it for a moment before going around behind his desk, taking a seat. "Fine, Claptrap. Here's something you can do for me, go check in with the Quartermasters and see how our stocks of Morphine are. Make sure to be especially thorough." The little robot lights up, its singular green eye positively glowing. "Affirmative, sir!" And with that, it wheels off out the door.

The small robot now gone, Swaine nods towards the twins. "Apologies for that. Now then, I'm sorry I've only one seat to spare."

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Considering how little disgust Cotton was showing while eating, it was safe to say he'd probably had to choke down worse before. For a traveler, that would hardly be anything surprising. "It's a good thing that... What do the folks 'round these parts call it? That 'FES' thing? It's a good thing that doesn't seem to be a problem 'round here. Where I'm from, we had more than just the radiation on our plates. Lived close to one of them Ghost Lands." He took another bite of his meal, suddenly frowning on realizing something mid-bite. After swallowing, he shook his head. "Keep forgettin' not to call them that. Zones. Had a lot of tribals back home, an' they'd call 'em 'Ghost Lands' because they though a lot of Old World ghosts lived there. Never saw a single Tribal ever step foot into the place, 'cept this one tribe what had it as one of their rituals for when a boy became a man. Think that might be why that Tribe had more women than men, come to think of it..."

He stared off into the distance for a moment before snapping out of it and returning to his meal.

While Mireya couldn't get to the biggest tasks ahead without the parts she had Steve hunting down, that didn't mean she wasn't keeping busy. She was hard at work patching up the worse bullet holes on the passenger's side of the vehicle. Welder's torch in hand, a protective visor down over her face, she was busily applying some roughly squared plates of metal she'd salvaged a few weeks ago. Other than the holes - and she couldn't help but wonder how those happened - the vehicle was in pretty good shape. It was missing all the seats but the driver and front passenger's, which was just fine for her and Steve's needs - or if someone wanted to make a 'mobile home' out of it. Well, once she'd righted the engine and most parts under the hood, anyway.
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While there was quite a bit to catch their eyes, the sisters eyes almost immediately went to the obnoxious singing robot. As the little bot as it made its report to Captain Swaine, Eileen was just barely reined in her smile at the loud, over-enthusiastic machine. Irene just shook her head as the scared man got it out of the office, then motioned for Eileen to take her seat, "Suppose that thing has some use… If you can stand the noise."

Eileen gave her sister a light swat on the arm as she took the one chair, while Irene settled in behind her. She smiled broadly, canting her head to side as she clasped her hands in her lap and looked to the Captain. "So… Is there anyone come to mind that might help us with our problem, sir?"

At Mireya's digs, Steve came up to her door and gave it a series of brisk kicks, thumping his boot against it to try and signal his arrival. He figured Mireya was probably in her garage, but she could likely still hear him out front. "Hey! It's me! I brought the parts you needed. I had everything, so...Yeah. Uh...It's pretty cold out here; could you let me in?" The merchant always felt awkward away from his shop; people had a habit of staring, even in a post-apocalyptic setting, at a man in a mask like his. Normally only bandits wore them, which made Steve stand out almost uncomfortably.

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Katya snorted quietly as she worked on her own breakfast, sighing and settling back in her seat. The food and coffee were doing her some good; no doubt about that. She was already feeling what one might vaguely identify as human. "Ghost Lands...Heard the name before; especially out around the mountains. Couple of places out there, you couldn't pay me to go into...Stuff isn't right, you know? And as to the idea of a tribe with mostly women...Hrm. Sounds to me like somebody had the right idea, there. No offense, of course. Just, some of the guys I've met could use a good disappearing."

Katya was probably still seething over her treatment at the flophouse the day before. She'd gotten accustomed to that sort of dickish behavior over the years, to be fair, but she still didn't have to like it.

Swaine reached over to grasp his bionic eye from the table, briefly looking to the twins before swivelling his chair around, away from them, and reached up to remove his eyepatch now that they couldn't see his face. "Yes. You might not like the number of people that will be going, but I promise you that none of them will be incompetent." He tipped his head back and raised the bionic eye, pointing the spike towards his eye-socket, and started to slide it inside, twisting it a little as it sank in further and further. "I'll tell you this point blank. Two are mercenaries. The first is Katya. She's experienced, and more importantly she has a gun bigger than, say, a large child or a midget. The other mercenary is a man accompanying her named Cotton. I don't know anything about his talents, but he's older and evidently a traveller. To reach old age wandering the Wasteland is a feat in and of itself."

The eye slid fully into place with an audible clicking sound. The officer rose from his chair to go to the radio equipment, turning it on, causing it to make the same radio static that the girls heard before at the guard post. "Dansky. Set out a call over the PA for Private Ellis to come to my office." After he finished speaking, a voice on the radio replied with a "Yes sir.", leading Swaine to turn the radio off as quickly as he turned it on. As he went back to his seat, the PA turned on, following by the announcement that Swaine asked for, making the officer smile, if only faintly. "Ellis will be the third. You'll meet the Private soon enough. As for the fourth..."

Swaine leaned back in his chair, staring at the two for a few moments before nodding. "I will be the fourth."

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Cotton chuckled a little bit, setting his fork down and just shaking his head a little bit. "Believe me, men ain't the only things whats rotten out there. Ran into a small community of women, once. Out Oklahoma way, I think. They'd steal away a man every so often for breedin'. They'd keep the girls. And eat the boys. Only reason I didn't get no trouble was that they'd already caught a poor fella just 'fore I passed through. I know what you're thinkin'. Couldn't call someone in that situation too poor, right? ... They cut off his arms an' legs, and gouged out his eyes to make sure he couldn't go nowhere. I poisoned him just 'fore I left, didn't seem right to leave a man in that sorry state."

Mireya blinked at the sound of someone kicking her door, turning off the torch and setting it aside as she straightens up and heads for the door. She pushed back her visor as a slight smile curved her lips as she heard Steve's voice, and upon reaching the door she opens it wide, calling out as she works it open. "Hey, cher. Thought I was going to come to you to get the parts."
 
The door was being a little tricky - it was a fairly heavy door, and the cold had a way of making doors swell, and hers was no different. She got it open in a few moments, though, and leaned against it to keep it open. She took the opportunity to look him and the duffle bag he was hauling over, and then she looked up at his masked face with a grin. "Not that I mind the delivery service - 'specially when the delivery boy's so cute." She chuckles softly, but she knew that Steve was eager to get away from more than the cold outside, so she waved him on. "C'mon then. Get a seat by the heater and we can sort through what ya've got."
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The twins listened as Swaine told them who he was going to send out to handle their problem. Neither young woman seemed put off by the mention of mercenaries, though Irene was visibly fighting a smile at the comment on the size of Katya's gun. They were both a little curious about Private Ellis, since he was given no more description than that… But both twins, identical as they were, became all the more alike in their shocked expressions when Swaine declared that he'd be part the team. It looked as if both young women had been punched in the stomachs, and it as a moment before either of them spoke.
 
It was Eileen who finally managed to find her voice, and she stammered a little, "Y-you, sir? Why?" Then she grimaced, thinking that her words might be taken as insulting, and continued, "Not that we don't want you. Just… Well, with your rank and experience…" She paused for a moment, as if at a loss of what to say, when Irene finished for her, "That's more than we expected for dealing with cattle thieves."

Katya stared at Cotton after he shared his little anecdote, a sour expression crossing her features as she sighed and shook her head. "Well...At least you gave the guy an out...Remind me not to head out to Oklahoma any time soon, yeah? Anyway...Think I'm done eating...I think I'm going to go see if they have a shower that's warmer than rain water and get cleaned up. Then we should probably talk to Swaine about work, if he's got the time. No sense wasting time."

She rose to her feet, clapping Cotton on the shoulder as she took her tray and deposited on a table loaded with other empties on the way out, heading back to their quarters to fetch her things. She didn't want to leave her gear unattended; she'd just stuff it in a locker or lean it against a wall once she found the showers. Call it old-fashioned paranoia, or just experience, but one rarely left a piece of equipment as expensive as Katya's rig alone for very long.

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Steve nodded briskly as he was invited in, half-stumbling through the door as he made his way to the heater and settled down with a huff. He dropped the load of goods at his feet and rolled a shoulder, speaking as he adjusted. "Well, I just figured it'd be easier if I brought the stuff to you. Saves you a trip, right? I got everything on your list, but a couple of 'em are just a bit beat up. I had a whole bunch of spark plugs that might work, so you can go through those and see what's what."

Swaine actually smirked a little bit at the reaction the sisters were having to his statement. He leaned himself forward, settling his elbows on the table and winding his fingers together just below his chin, looking at the two. Somewhat disconcertingly, his bionic eye is focused on one sister, while his real one is focused on the other, though that corrects itself after a moment, mercifully. "Don't sound too surprised. It's standard protocol to require an officer in any official operation that involves the use of freelancers, or members of Duty. To be quite honest to you girls? There is literally no other officer suitable for this. Everyone else is either buried underneath a mountain of work because of how stretched thin we are, or completely indifferent to anything that happens outside of their little monkeysphere."

The officer stood up from his seat, momentarily shaking a little and planting his hand against the table for support as he collects himself. Now steadied, he walks over to the laser rifle in the smashed case to the side, taking it out and ejecting the microfusion cell powering it. He raises the ejected cell to his ear, shaking it idly to test it, before sliding it right back in place, and locking it there. "Don't be too disappointed. I'm sure you girls have heard all the stories they used to tell about me, back before... Anyway. Like the time I supposedly jammed a rocket launcher up a Deathclaw's backside and splattered its guts across the pavement when it ambushed a motorcade. Or the time where I wrestled a Yao Guai and broke its neck. I'll go ahead and say that not everything's true, but there are at least a few nuggets of truth hidden in my ever so colorful past."

Swaine chuckled softly to himself as he drew back to his desk, setting his laser rifle up onto it off to the side, in one of the few places whee there are enough room. The emitter is, naturally, pointed to the wall, well away from anyone. "Anyway. While my presence in this little investigation is mostly formality, if it does lead to a fight, you two don't need to worry about me."

Around that time there was a knock at the door, followed shortly by the door opening up. The person who steps through is a woman, wearing the standard uniform for a grunt in the Brotherhood of Steel. She's a little on the tall side, but not by too much, with pale skin and short, dirty blonde hair. It's easy to tell she's on the pretty side, though her nose is noticeably deformed around the bridge in such a way that it's easy to tell it has been broken and healed incorrectly, and her cheeks are smudged with what looks to be motor oil, especially from the smell of it. Rather strikingly of all though are here eyes, normal in most ways but with blood-red irises. She has a pair of goggles raised up and sitting in her hair, and she's wearing thick work gloves, possibly gloves that used to be brown, but now they're so covered in black gunk that it's hard to tell. Sleeves are rolled up, and her uniform is stained in quite a few places, so it's fair to say that she's of a mechanically-inclined sort.

She focuses her attention on Swaine immediately, raising her gloved hand to her forehead in a salute. "Private Cory Ellis, Junior Paladin reporting, sir!"

"My hero," Mireya said, shoving the door shut behind Steve before she crouched down beside the bag and immediately unzipping it to start sorting through everything. She was more than serious when she called him her hero - Steve came through for her on requests like this more often than not. "Can't believe you had everything. Expected I'd have to do at least a lil bit of hunting myself."

She chuckled softly before she lifted the bag up onto her shoulder to carry it over to her work table to start unloading the parts. There wasn't a whole lot of space on the table's surface, but she'd manage. She glanced towards Steve with a broad smile. "You just sit a while and get warmed up. I can give you a ride back to your place whenever you're ready, if you don't mind riding behind me. 'Less you want to give me a hand getting this baby fixed up." She chuckles softly, smirking at her friend. "Help yourself to the ice box if you're hungry or thirsty. Should have something digestible in there."
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The sisters had to admit that the procedure Swaine described made plenty of sense. The fact that the captain was something of a legend, depending on who you talked to, and had the skills to back it up certainly made him an a fine asset. Eileen shared a glance with her sister, receiving a small nod and the slightest of smiles from Irene, before she beamed at the older man. "Well sir, I think we can agree this was better than a lot of our expectations. We certainly can't complain."

When the door opened and the newly arrived private made her entrance, Eileen glancing over her shoulder while Irene turned around. The twins studied her for several moments, perhaps staring a little longer than might be considered polite, but both ladies smiled in short order. Irene's smile grew ever so slightly, crossing her arms under her chest as she said in a fairly neutral tone. "Definitely can't complain."

Steve shook his head and settled down across from Mireya to watch her work. "You know me; better with a gun or some gadget than I am vehicles. I couldn't fix your ride outside if you gave me the parts and told me what to do...But I'll be fine waiting it out. I like to watch you work." Steve smirked behind his mask, although Mireya couldn't tell. He'd often just sat around her shop and watched her get her work done, simply enjoying watching someone who loved their work.

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Across the base from Swaine, and away from Cotton, Katya managed to spend a couple of minutes in the shower before the water ran cold and she just gave it up. She grunted, seated in her underwear in the locker room, taking a moment to check her gear before she'd get kitted up and go find Cotton and Swaine. No sense waiting much longer to find work.

Swaine returned the private's salute with a steady hand, holding the salute only a moment. "At ease, private." As soon as he spoke, Ellis' gloved hand lowered, leaving a slight smudge of black crud on her forehead. She relaxes her posture slightly, holding her hands behind her back and looking over at the twins for just a moment to flash a slight smile in return, before refocusing on the Captain with a neutral expression. Swaine drew his hand, balled up, over his mouth as he let out a pair of ragged coughs before continuing. "Ngh. I'm glad you ladies approve. Private, these two are the Beckerman sisters. They own a Bighorner ranch a bit out of the town's limits. You'll be part of an op to investigate the cause of missing Bighorners from their herd."

The private nodded crisply, staying focused on him as Swaine turns his attention back to the sisters. "The Private is not technically part of the Knight division, she's with the Scribes. But her job with the Scribes makes her an ideal candidate all the same. We call Scribes like her 'troubleshooters'. They're in charge of field-testing any modifications or new tech that the rest of the Scribes cook up, to help sort out any technical errors. As such, troubleshooters are about as capable in a firefight as a Knight would be. That's also why she is regarded as a Paladin in our ranks."

He steepled his fingers and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "Now, that just leaves the matter of the two mercenaries. They should be here briefly. In the meantime, if there's anything additional about the incident at your ranch that is of note, that I'm not already aware of, might as well fill me in now. I hate surprises."

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Cotton had gotten the rest of his things from the room they were bunked up in, and was standing in the hall, next to the door to the showers. He was leaned back against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his coat, just waiting for Katya to finish. He gave up on the cafeteria food, and since he knew Katya mentioned where she was going in the base, he figured he would just wait for Katya, since she was the one with the past experience with Swaine.

Mireya let out a husky chuckle and smiles at Steve at his comment about liking to watch her work. She sashays over to the front of the vehicle, popping open the hood before turning towards her workbench to sort out the tools and figuring out where to start. "Alright, cher. I sure 'nough don't mind the company. Make yourself comfortable, and I'll work my mechanic's mojo on this baby. I'll have her purrin' like a kitten."

She turned her attention back to the van, hooking the appropriate tools to her belt and moving right in, bending over the engine as she speaks. "Shame your shop isn't set up a little closer," she says, speaking over the metallic racket that starts up. "Sure'd be nice to have more regular visitations."
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Both twins appraised the Private again as Swaine informed them of her credentials, and Eileen's lips curved upwards just a bit more while Irene nodded her approval. Their attention was quick to return to the Captain, though, and Eileen gave a firm shake of her head. "Not too much else that we can tell you, sir. Whoever's stealing our Bighorners is clever… Perhaps reckless, too. Waits for cover on dark nights, sometimes wait for stormy nights, to come for the cattle. Last few times we've tried setting up a watch with the folks who work with us… But you know how badly that can work out. No one wants to stand out in snow in the dark."

"Storms make tracking a bitch and a half, too," Irene practically growled, planting her hands on her hips. "There've been a few signs of their passing - mostly left by the Bighorners they've taken - and I've managed to follow them up a few miles off before they veered back towards the main road… And then with trails from other traffic, it all gets confused."

Steve made no small effort to keep from staring at Mireya's backside as she went to work under the hood, coughing quietly behind his mask before speaking up. "Well...Been thinking, maybe...Uh...I'm not in a prime location as is; maybe I could see to moving shop somewhere else once we've got the means. Somewhere nearby, maybe? Or...You know, we could share a shop. I do the scrappin', you do the fixin'...?"

The suggestion was made quietly, with trepidation. They'd been friends for a long time; somewhat more than friends in fact, but Steve wasn't sure what Mireya would say. She liked him well enough, but he was still a mutant, and that brought certain stigma with it.

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Katya came tromping out of the locker room, fully geared up and ready to go. She blinked placidly when she saw Cotton, chuckling and adjusting the rigging for her weaponry, the gatling laser hanging from the cargo straps to one side, by her hip. Her hair was still wet, but she didn't seem to much care as she spoke and started down the hall. "Seems we're both ready to see about getting our jobs lined up, eh?"

Swaine smirked lightly when Irene finished speaking. "Good..." He shook his head. "Well, not 'good', but this confirms that whatever is going on out there, it's probably human. If it was Muties or Wasteland critters, you'd know it by their trails, even in bad weather..." He reclined back in the chair, thinking deeply as he tries to eliminate possibilities in his head. "Doubt it'd be Ghouls. After the Harvard purge a few years back, they've been too scared to do anything serious... Still a couple'a bandit groups out in the snow that we haven't been able to completely get rid of, but it takes a lot of balls to strike that close to the heart of the Brotherhood."

Swaine rubbed his chin, considering things for a moment, before sighing. "We'll find out after we've put a few bullets through their sorry carcasses."

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Cotton eased off of the wall when Katya emerged, nodding at her as she passed by. He had to admit to finding all the gear she carried with her to be pretty impressive, probably especially so when compared to how he himself is equipped. It was hard for him to imagine the strength needed to carrying that kind of arsenal, quite frankly. Starting in behind her, he chuckled quietly. "Yes'm. Do a lot of work with the Enclave? Ain't really got anybody like 'em back in the parts I'm from. Used to be somethin' like the Enclave a little further north of my hometown, but it didn't last."

Mireya paused in her work for a few moments, peering in Steve's direction for a brief span. Then most of her attention returned to the job at hand, while a slight smile curved her lips. "Might not be a bad arrangement, that… 'Course, this garage may be a bit small for both our needs, shop-wise. Either have to figure out how to expand the space we've got, or scout for some place new."

A little chuckle slipped past her lips, barely audible over the noise she was making beneath the van's hood. She'd never say it to him for fear of making Steve feel self-conscious, but she thought he was cute when he was nervous. They'd been "good friends" for a while now, and what he proposed sounded mutually beneficial - and not just financially. Besides that, Mireya rarely thought about his being a Mutant . Afterall, she couldn't be casting any stones over "normalcy"… And if anyone within range of her had good sense, they wouldn't cause Steve any problems over it, either.

"We're both clever folks, though," she called out, her smile growing a bit more. "I'm sure we could work it out. We can start hashing out the details after we hit that cargo container, yeah?"
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Irene nodded her approval, a dark smile curving her lips. "That sounds just fine with me. We don't especially care who's stealing our animals past what's the best way to put a stop to it." She placed a hand on Eileen's shoulder and gave a little squeeze. "If it's bandits, that just means I'll enjoy shooting them more."

Eileen frowned ever so slightly at the words her sister used, but she didn't say a word to reprimand her. After the bloody, nearly catastrophic raid on their land a few years back, neither young woman had any love for bandits.

Steve nodded briskly and smiled behind his mask. "Yeah. We'll work it out...A new place, though...Who knows? We do well enough, maybe we can get a cozy shop somewhere inside the walls for a change. Somewhere a bit more secure, and with running water and power. That'd be a change of pace. Haven't lived anywhere quite "well planned" since my days back with the Caravans, swinging into The Hub for trade meets a couple of weeks at a time."

Steve tried to talk more about his times as a trader and merchant than his very successful, and extremely dark, time as a bandit. He'd done things he wasn't proud of, but when it came right down to it, everyone did what they had to in order to survive.
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Katya glanced toward Cotton briefly, her expression difficult to read for several seconds before she spoke. "You could say I've had my dealings... Grew up Brotherhood, and you know how tight those groups are. Didn't last, of course. S'why I'm a Merc and not a Paladin or some other antiquated nonsense...Now, come on. You can quiz me later."

With that, she made her way to Swaine's office and paused just outside, taking a moment to adjust the armature for her weapon before rapping firmly on the door. She didn't want to barge in unannounced, even if she and Swaine were a bit more personable than a simple "Soldier and Officer" relationship. Familiarity came with Mercenary work; you met people who liked working with you, and who you liked working with. There was no love for Swaine, as he was a stern military type, but he wasn't about to cheat Katya and Cotton, and he was always good for work. Respect was due.

"Don't count on doing any of the heavy lifting on this one. You might need to be a damned good shot to make it outside the walls with all the beasties we have crawling around here, but I'd take a Yao-Guai over having to shoot it out with a pack of intelligent... semi-intelligent... raiders any day." The officer looked up at the sound of the knocking. "Ah, and that should be the mercs now."

He rose from his seat, waking his way around his desk. Just before Swaine made it to the door, he suddenly leaned against the wall, propping himself up with it as his gloved hand pressed over his mouth. A fit of coarse, rough coughing rose up from him, a sure sign he was having an attack. Not rare, for him. A look of concern crossed Ellis' features, the private taking a step towards the coughing officer.

"Sir-" Ellis started, but Swaine raised his other hand, shaking it. He motioned towards the door unsteadily as he slumped harder against the wall. Ellis flashed a sympathetic frown, but turned to get the door as instructed, opening it and stepping aside for Katya and Cotton.

"Mmhmm," Mireya murmurs softly, smiling to herself. "Definitely some good points to living inside city walls. One of the few things I miss 'bout being in the B.o.S." Her smile went a little more bitter at the losses from being kicked out of the military. Casting a glance at Steve, though, she couldn't help but think there were still good sides to it, too.

She let out a soft sigh as she returned her gaze to the engine. Things were coming along nicely. It would take time to get done, but Mireya was good at what she did, and this was her only project at the moment, so it wouldn't take too long. "Me, I wish I could head back down south," she said, wistful. "More than enough problems down there, but at least it gets kind of warm now'n then."
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Irene frowned, but offered a small nod of agreement at Swaine's comment. They didn't necessarily want to go hunting for any fights - but wanting to be ready for a fight was another matter entirely. And both girls wanted their problem handled as soon as possible.

The twins looked on in concern as Swaine started having his coughing fit, Eileen rising from her seat as Ellis moved toward the captain. At the gesture Eileen paused, and both women's attention was divided between the man and the new arrivals. Irene focused a bit more on the mercenaries, studying Katya and Cotton for several seconds each, a very light smirk spreading over her lips as she looked at the large woman. "Well, someone's been drinking their milk every day."

"Well..." said Steve, shaking his head slowly as Mireya spoke. "Can't help the past, I guess...And I get where you're coming from; home is where the heart is, even if home is gone or somewhere you aren't really allowed anymore. Few places like that for me, back west..."

Steve sighed and pushed himself back up to his feet, taking his time to wander around Mireya's little work space, pausing to watch her work every now and again. "Hopefully this'll be the score I've been looking for...This could be big, Miry. I just have a feeling..."

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As Katya and Cotton were brought into the room, the large redhead paused to stare at Swaine, quirking a brow before speaking. "Don't die on me, man. You're my meal ticket, and I know you're tougher than that." It was when Irene spoke that she realized there were other people in the room outside of Ellis and Swaine, though. She smirked right back, one brow quirking as she looked over the twins. "Not everyone has to be sickly out in the waste, honey. They grow 'em big where I come from."