Karavan (Between Runs)

Here's the thread for stuff between runs. There's going to be quite a bit of transit time, so I expect quite a bit of activity here.

Karavan.

(It's amazing how three syllables can so accurately describe a desperado situation) O o . Thought Kraft, to himself, as he quietly adjusted the monocle within his left eye. (Symbolic of the ancient caravans of old, massive migrations to better living conditions or simply living conditions, period. But throw a 'k' in there, and one gives the impression of chaotic barbarism. Highly accurate.) The dapperly dressed fellow grimaces and turns his gaze aside as another sharp thrust of wind tosses grit at his face, the monocle slipping off its perch on his cheek and quickly zipping back into his breast pocket on its tethered line. The wind dies down, and Kraft reaches up with gloved hands to carefully wipe sand from the orbs of his eyes - least he get an occular tear.

After a moment's thought, he quietly pulls his glasses out and perches them upon his nose instead.

"Ali ali!" he shouts as he turns his attention back to the loading workers he had temporarily engaged, waving a hand as he approaches them. <"Watch that crate. It's very delicate."> He switches to turkish easily; Fluently, but still with an American accent. Letting the haulers load his cargo into the brand new Buffalo, bought especially for the occasion. Lips twist downwards, briefly, at the thought of the cost; Prohibitive. That would've earned him some fine looking chrome. But, should the plan pan out, he'll be well set here in this new life..

As Doctor Theus. Mike Theus. His own little private joke...

On most occasions, Nalan refrained from having much of anything to do with newcomers until they came to her. Granted, that hardly meant much considering most yabanci came to Karavan ill-prepared for the hardships of life on the road. At some point they would need their fragile vehicles toughened up, reinforced to work in the blowing sands of Central Asia, and when that time came Nalan was always on hand to offer friendly advice and provide needed assistance.

But today was an oddity. There were no bikes waiting at the shop for her, no worried jeep owners fretting over their ruined rides. All was quiet at Vuslat's Chop Shop, and quiet was boring. Nalan had lost count of the number of times she had rearranged her workspace; Vuslat demanded cleanliness and order. She'd already discounted the idea of building something from scratch out of the spare parts at the shop, maybe a toy or automated utility of some sort. After tossing several ideas around she turned them all down, and instead walked out. Abandoning her post might buy her some flak from the old man later, if he noticed her absence, but Nalan didn't care.

As it turned out, her impatience paid off. Nalan wandered through the aging and battered fleet of vehicles, making her way between prefabricated buildings without any real purpose. Navigating Karavan wasn't a matter of memorizing landmarks - those changed with every move - but rather one of learning to recognize themes. The tribes all had their little markers, similar flags on top of their trucks, painted symbols scrawled on their structures.

Right at the outskirts of two of the tribes' areas, Nalan spotted it. A bright, flashy, young RV, just waiting for its chance to take on the road. The choice of vehicle made Nalan nod with approval, though she did have some reserves. The Buffalo might be good off-road, but the things had a bad habit of developing kinks after pushing them too far. Still, not a bad addition to the group, and Nalan even suspected the thing may have been modified already. Curiosity got the better of her, and she headed over to get a better look. Her interest only grew deeper as she spotted men in the back loading boxes and equipment into the RV, and she turned to one of the workers as he jumped back down to get another crate. <"Say... whatchya puttin' in there?"> she asked in Turkish, resorting to the default language of Karavan.

Said worker begins getting the next load - rough ink stamps proclaiming it as 'medical supply' in several different languages, freshly moved into the Karavan from the current posting. There really aren't that many, but anyone who can sew a man back together was a welcome addition to the roving tribes. The worker takes a moment to look at this young, 'armed' Karavanli and grins. Teeth yellowed through too much scuff and sand. <"Boxes."> comes the reply, before the man laughs and continues to load. Tribal humor.

Kraft, meanwhile, has quietly turned to survey his 'home city' for the forseeable future. Jobs aplenty, for both aspects of his particular 'talents'. He had, with some trepedition, downloaded his free copy of the Yassa and given it a coursery once-over. While it wasn't terribly difficult in terms on comprehension, it did give him a slight pause. As a yabanci, should he break this bizaare tribal code, who would turn their hand in an attempt to punish -him-? It was a worrisome thought, one that had him staring quite morosely towards the distant, massive blimps. Lone Star and Knight Errant were easy; So were security corps. Just look for the uniform.

Here, armed was a by-word, and every person was both criminal and cop.

And then a slight disruption in the calming noise of work flow caught his ear, the bespeckled Kraft turning about to spot the young woman speaking with his current and temporary help. A single eyebrow lopes its way upwards, before the Doctor begins to walk towards this young woman - glasses flashing through the spectrum of thermal and back again, tinting slightly rosey in color as they do so.

"Excuse me." He begins, before pausing, and switching mental linguistic gears to Turk. <"Excuse me. May I help-"> He pauses for a moment, to study the young woman's cybernetic appendages. Openly. The soft whirring of his glasses as they redirect and sharpen the image. After a moment, Kraft nods his head sharply, and gestures towards the Buffalo. <"Follow me, we'll get you situated."> He's already beginning to walk back towards the Buffalo, a definitive sense of purpose about him.

Mysterious!

The faint whine of servos draws the attention of both the crew and the young man and woman, who turn to see the newcomer. Valkoinen approaches the couple, his chairs legs easily navigating the rough terrain. A moment later, he pauses before them. "Excuse me, would you be a Mr. Thus? Doctor Mike Thus?" His pronounciation isn't quite correct, though the name is close enough to be recognizable.

It takes a moment for 'Dr. Theus' to respond to the query of his name - ingrained habits of the hunted. . o O (But then again, that would involve two complete failures - one, of my own slightly-less-than legal SIN, and the second of Immodesty. Between the two, I would prefer to think that my SIN had been discovered as fake. But why would anyone bother to check, especially in Karavan?) O o .
Having cleared himself of that brief spurt of paranoia in remarkably good time, Kraft turns back towards the chair-bound approachee. The workers, nearly finished with their task, become part of the background to this rather unique little situation. The rose tinted glasses whirr softly once more, as Kraft looks between the young, cyberdized Karavanli, and the fellow in the Orderly craft. There is a slightly impatient frown, before he brushes down his suit, and nods once.

"Yes? You speak Turk?" He asks, a curtesy in such a mishmash of cultures. Considering the setting, he has switched to speaking turkish entirely now - dropping the English. "I am Doctor Theus." A hand folding in towards his chest, to make his meaning clear - at least until he ascertains how well the cripple understands.

"Yes, I speak Turkish quiet well." The newcomer extends a hand, thin and withered with age. "Valkoinen Korppi, at your service. Most call me Valkoinen or Father Val. I am Gobe to the Asatru here in Karavan. Some of my paritioners told me we had a new medicane joining us, so I though I would introduce myself."

<"Huh, okay."> Nalan nodded, respecting the obvious dismissal of the worker. Nevertheless, her curiosity burned strong inside her as she squinted behind her goggles, trying to catch some glimpse of the contents of the box as the man went about his business. The assortment of symbols printed on the side were no help to her, and she soon sighed with frustration. None of the other guys seemed any more conversational, and she didn't know any of them by name, although it was likely she had seen one or two of them around before.

No matter. Nalan tried to convince herself she didn't care, and would find out when this RV ended up in her shop, wherever that might be at the time. She started to turn away, figuring maybe the Dune Rats might have something interesting going on, when she heard a man call out to her, luckily switching to Turkish after addressing her first in English. His accent intrigued Nalan, and she smiled at him, nodding at his request. <"Sure! Where am I getting situated?"> She followed after him, curiosity returning as strong as ever, though it seemed she would have to wait, as someone else addressed the man. Her English was rusty, but Nalan was sure she heard the word 'doctor,' and then Theus confirmed. She glanced at him with a newfound respect, surprised and no amount excited that a doctor would take an interest in her! She was feeling nearly giddy, although she remained silent to let the two men talk, shifting from the balls of her feet to her heels as she looked around, waiting.

Two miles away, away from the protection of Alti Ok's green and gold standard, a young woman was feeling very thankful that her bike had rockets instead of wheels, as they were proving very good at getting her where she wanted to be. Specifically, they were right now getting her Somewhere Else.

Lots and lots guns followed her. So did thirteen dune buggies and nearly thirty men, but next to the guns, that seemed an irrelevant detail by comparison.

Kraft takes a moment to peer at the withered hand, almost intently; Aged flesh. The superiority of chrome, it appeared, had one more advantage notched into its board. And then his own hand sweeps out to grip it; Still gloved, of course, the glove itself slightly warmed by the ambient temperature. But only the perceptive would notice that no human warmth radiates from beneath. Might as well be shaking a glove attached to a metal pole. It's simply one of those things people don't notice until a situation in which its missing.

"A pleasure, Valkonien. I'm surprised word of my arrival spread so... quickly." A disheartening and rather dangerous fact. . o O (Information moves like fever through the tribes. Something to remember.) O o . He has yet to stop talking in Turk, gesturing towards the RV as he turns his attention back to Natal. "In point of fact, I was just in the middle of... I'm sorry, what was your name again?" This, of course, addressed to the young cybered woman who he was about to pull in as well. And back to Val. "I was in the middle of restocking." The glasses turn back towards Natal, and then down to her arms again. The soft whirr of image refinement comes again. "Come along, both of you, please. We can continue this conversation inside. You'll have to forgive me, Valkonien, I've only just begun to read through the Yassa. What position does the Gobe hold amongst the tribes?"

Alas, the woman two miles out and rocketing closer is an unknown element - until the noise and dust of her arrival become obvious enough to -be- noticed. Guns and flesh do not mix easily, at least when pointed -at- one another. Kraft raising his hand against the air as another draft throws grit at him, suited jacket briefly flared back to show a hint of a gun handle strapped to his side; Nothing new in Karavan, of course. -Everyone- is armed from the time they are old enough to handle firearms safely. Something like a pistol is probably considered refined dining wear.

Case in point, Nalan's dual shotguns clacked against the back of her ceramic armor as the gust of wind battered their position. Her dull metal arm reached up to her shoulder with surreal speed to grab onto the sling, keeping the strip of leather from letting the modified SPAS-22 slide any further. <"Oh, it's Nalan, mister Doctor... sir!"> she offered eagerly. A 'conversation,' he had called it! The Doctor was having a conversation with her!

Already she was planning on how to tell the Dune Rats of her encounter with the Doctor, his calm certainty, the slow movement of his limbs, as though restraining great power... Almost instinctively Nalan eased forward, flashing a brief smile. It wasn't often she felt this nervous meeting someone new, but it also wasn't often she met a medical practitioner. She wanted to touch his arm, feel the strength in his healer's hands-

Ugh! Nalan shook her head, sending a cloud of dust from her purple hair. Get a hold of yourself! She kicked herself mentally, taking a deep breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. This fangirlish obsession wasn't like her, not at all. She didn't want the Doctor thinking she was some sort of weirdo! Although she didn't know what kind of women he-

Gah! Utterly overcome, Nalan looked away, pretending to watch the cloud of dust kicked up by the flock of buggies. Vehicles coming and going were hardly anything new, but Nalan desperately needed a distraction.

Ace leaned forward, her body pressed against the warm metal of her hoverbike. She had to make herself as aerodynamic as possible. Every little advantage she could squeeze out improved her chance of survival. She knew she could just gun it, but she was low on gas as it was and couldn't afford to burn out before reaching her destination.

Her destination, Karavan. She had already called ahead to Jack to get the coordinantes. As she crested over another dune, she winced. She didn't want to look at it, but she couldn't help but feel the pain shooting through her abdomen from the fresh bullet wound. Some people took things way too personal, she though to herself. After all it wasn't her fault some asshole wannabe thug had decided to play grabass with her. He only had himself to blame for the two new breathing holes she had put in his chest. His lackeys didn't seem to share her view. She shook her head. Some people just couldn't get over being beat by a girl.

Her attention returened to her destination. She knew none of her persuers would dare follow her into Karavan. All she had to do was not pass out till she got there. Jack had informed her of a new doctor who would be near the outskirts. Just get to Karavan, and get patched up. That was the only thing on Ace's mind. The sea of vehicles that made up Karavan begin to form on the horizon. Ace checked her gas. There was just enough left in the tanks to make it. "Don't fail me baby." She cooed to her beloved bike. With a grim smile she gunned the engine, causing the trail of dust behind her to double in size.

She could see her destination. She could taste it. And she would be damned if a stupid gut wound stopped her from reaching it.

From atop the vehicle, a lookout shouts something. A loudspeaker switches on.

"Attention approaching vehicles, you are nearing Karavan. Lower your weapons immediately and cut speed. Noncompliance will be met with lethal force. Attention approaching vehicles...."

The message repeats, but the guards look worried. This is a distance from the Alti Ok's main column. If those raiders open fire, they'd be momentarily outnumbered. Weapons are drawn. Cover is sought.

"Nalan, then. I ..."


Kraft pauses for a moment as he spots something unusual, his glasses flickering briefly to thermal once more, his turkish speech with its slurred American accent halted mid-word. His attention arrested by Natal - or, more importantly, whats coming along past her. While he certainly isn't -familiar- with the Karavan's antics, he does know enough to realize that most vehicles tend to slow down once they get within this range.

That, or be mistaken for a raid. His suspicions are confirmed by the broad-speaker cast a moment later, and the Doctor t'chs quietly to himself as he pulls his glasses from his face, tucking them quite calmly into a small canister, and pockets them. "Well. This is certainly unexpected. Natal, Gobe Valkoinen, I fear our little.." He pauses, unable to express what he means, and briefly switches to English. <"Tete a' tete."> Well, alright, it wasn't -really- english, but none the less. Back to Turkish! ".. Is going to have to wait."

. o O (What a damnable mess. Why couldn't this occur on the -other- side of Karavan? -Away- from my newly installed Buffalo? I haven't even alphabetized the scalpels by make and model..) O o .

With a grace almost inhuman, the suited doctor quickly moves to enter the RV - and begin swapping professional attire for something more suited to the work-field. A mile at most; A few minutes. And then he had the nastiest suspicion that his supplies were going to be broken into before he managed to even do a proper shakedown of the mobile medical facility . o O (Drek.) O o .

<OOC: Swapping into the Industrious Line Jumpsuit. Need an agility roll?>

As she grew closer to Karavan, Ace reached into her pack that she kept strapped on her bike. She retrieved a flare that Jack had mailed to her in case of emergency. A quick glance back at the trail of cars behind her affirmed that this qualified as an emergency. She used the handlebars in front of her to steady the flare as best she could. It was no easy task. Her customized bike was built for speed, not handling.

She took a deep breath as she steadied her shaking hand. The blood loss was beginning to get to her, and she could feel the darkness creeping into the corner of her eyes. Shaking the cobwebs, she squeezed down on the flare trigger, sending a bright green orb through the air. She was finally close enough to Karavan for her magically enhanced sight to make out the details of the vehicles. She pointed the nose of her hoverbike at one of the larger vehicles on the outskirts, an RV. She just had to hold on for a minute or two longer.

Just like that, the Doctor was gone. Nalan eyed the door to the RV for a few seconds, her gaze slowly dropping to the ground. Standing around waiting for him like a lost puppy wouldn't do, and neither would glaring at the cripple who interrupted their 'conversation.' Without a word to the interloper she wandered off in the direction of the commotion, scuffing her feet the whole way.

A stray thought passed her mind as she walked, though at first she veered away from giving it any attention. But the further she got from the RV, the more she contemplated the fact that if she were to get wounded in the defense of Karavan, she would need a doctor to take care of her... possibly even the Doctor. It never occurred to her that she didn't know the Doctor's name, so asking for him to treat her personally might be a bit difficult. By the time Nalan reached what she assumed would be the arrival point for the roaring hoard of buggies, she had both shotguns ready, fully convinced of the soundness of her plan. Besides, it was every Karavanli's duty to defend the town, possibly to the death! Or perhaps to the injury... just enough to require medical attention.

Hands made of plasteel compounds, surrounded in synthetic flesh, move with a surgeon's deftness; More so, for they were built to be -better- than human. The Doctor, as this appears to be Kraft's nom de plure for the moment, has shed the formal suit. A few moments later, and the field-work jumpsuit is slipped into, Kraft slapping a medpack into a secure rigging. And - with only a moment's pause to look wistfully at little cabinet in which lay his form fitting armor - picked his shotgun off the wall-mount, and headed back down, out of the RV.

He allows his mind to wander for a moment, while his hands continue their work; Long practice amongst the denizen of Urban Brawl taught him long ago what was to go where.

. o O (Hmm. Nalan. What an unexpected development...) O o .

Shells click into shotgun, which is then slung across the shoulder for ease of reach.

. o O (Not there isn't a certain charm, but can I afford to become distracted?) O o .

A headband slid across the brow, the monocle clicked into place on the tiny arm. With a whirr, it comes to life, the smartlink system reaching out to the Predator pistol, even as Kraft checks it and loads the first round.

. o O (Shame I'll likely never see her again.) O o .
With that rather depressing thought, the Doctor finally takes a moment to peer towards the incomming raiders, his attention drawn upwards by the flare. Ah. Person in front is in trouble, then. Kraft raises the Predator up to eye level, watching the thin red AR line zip off to the distance, auto-correcting for arc. Out of range just yet, at least on the first raider -past- the troubled ... rocket bike.

Val looked up and frowned at the announcement. Trouble inbound already? Still, nothing new in Karavan. His finger flipped up the small button next to the joystick on his right side to switch the his Orderly to verbal input. "Chair, prep weapon, extend shield. Engage targets if ordered only, E&E on automatic." Servos whinned faintly was part of the metal encasing his legs slip up and out. The priest managed to snag the edges and pull it back to snap into place over his chest.

Armor in place, he swiftly reached down to the storage area in the right arm rest and pulled out a small silver, double-bitted axe. One of the chair's mechanical arms did much the same in the left rest, but IT pulled out a heady duty shotgun loaded with a hefty drum magazine. Val raises the axe to his eyes and closes them momentarily. "All Father, I may battle this day in your name. May the valkrye watch over me and may I join you soon in the Halls of Feasting." A faint flood of silvery energy seems to wash out from the axe and flow down over him. Opening his eyes, Val's movements seem far crisper and sharper as he looks around, trying to spot any threat.

OOC: Casting Force 4 increase reflexes in case I need it, grabbing my focus, chair grabbing its gun. Looking for trouble.

Spellcasting: 5 hits
Resisting Drain: 4S: 4 hits: no drain
Perception check: 2 hits

Ace's breath became labored. She felt the walls closing in around her. She felt no fear, however. She was within spitting distance of Karavan. She could see the defenses coming together. It was like her own personal welcome parade. She would have preferred something a little more low key. Her mind wandered as the blood loss caused her to lose focus. "Maybe a small band and some red carpet, with a fresh honey cake. Ooo oo those little shrimp that they serve with that sweet red sauce. What was the name of that sauce again?"

She snapped back to her senses as she realized she was seconds away from making her grand entrance via devastating fireball. That would most definitely not be the best way to impress the locals. She hit the air-brakes as she turned her bike to the side and skidded into a stop. She showered a group of onlookers, one poor sod even in a wheelchair. with a unhealthy amount of sand.

She could feel her precious ride shaking and sputtering beneath her. She ran a hand over the smooth metal. "Knew you wouldn't let me down." She turned to the group as she swung off the bike. She was glad she had picked up a Turkish languasoft before heading out. "You all going to gawk, or is somebody going to help me with this?" She opened her coat wide. Beneath the aged black leather was a two piece body suit that hugged Ace's curves like a second skin. The low cut top and bare midriff left little to the imagination. It wasn't the most striking thing however. A long trail of blood ran down the right side of Ace's stomach and continued over her leg. The gaping hole of an untreated bullet wound created a crimson river over her smooth tan skin.

*clang*
A shot glances off of the thick hull of the vehicle. Everyone ducks and the officer signals the gunner to fire a warning shot. The gauss cannon hums to life and there is a scraping screech followed by a resounding boom as two kilograms of tungsten are hurled at supersonic speeds. It slams into one of the jeeps, rendering what was once a well-tuned machine into a cloud a monomolecular vapor. The rest of the jeeps turn and peal away, adequately warned.

"Right, right, I can assist you." Nalan squeezed her way through the crowd, finding it surprisingly easy to make it to the front. "Don't worry, you'll be well taken care of here."

To emphasize her point, she knelt down, running a loving metal hand over the heavily modified Contrail's frame. The arrival of a rocket bike had rendered her temporarily distracted from her Doctor dilemma as her passion for all things mechanical kicked in. "I'll top off your tanks, fill those bumps in... ohhh, you'll shine like new!" Overcome with emotion, Nalan hugged the rocket bike, her cheek pressed close to it as she whispered, "And maybe later, when it's just the two of us, maybe your owner will let me take you for a little joy ride..."

"Stand aside."

Two words, but with the emphasis of professional command as The Doctor makes his way past the staring crowd, the Predator pistol neatly spun and re-holstered. There's even a safety strape that clicks across the top. A brief eyebrow pops up at watching that Karavanli hugging ... the ... machine.

Hmm.

Well, things are making slightly more sense, then. Refocusing, Kraft steps up towards the woman, taking a knee for a moment and completely ignoring the bare mid-riff for the wound inside of it. The monocle whirring and clicking as it switches across light spectrums to better get an idea how far in the metal slug went, magnification occuring as he makes an analysis.

"Lucky. The bullet was slowed down enough by distance and armor to slide along the abdomen sheath. Non-threatening, beyond general blood loss." All this jabbered off in Turkish, with that slurred American accent. Before the Doctor unhinges the med-kit, neatly pulling out local anestetic, surgical thread, blood-powder and bandages. "Proper treatement, I fear, will have to take place in my facility within the RV. This, however, should staunch the bleeding and begin closing the wound." The Doctor glances up, once, monocle whirring. "It will also hurt. You may want to bite down on something."

Having given his warning, the Doctor begins to apply his craft as a temporary stop-gap, hands moving with both speed and certainty that belied the surgeon's skill.

Ace couldn't believe the audacity of the girl. If she had the strength she would have introduced her boot to the little desert rat's face. "Nobody said you could touch my..." A grimace of pain cut off Ace's words as the doctor did a quick patch up of her wound. Hurt was an understatement. She plotted in her head. I will show him what hurt... hey is that a butterfly?

The stress of the ride and rampant blood loss had finally taken its toll on her. Her thoughts faded into blackness as she passed out, dead falling onto the treating physician.

The Doctor's firm voice acted like a taser administered to her spine, and Nalan jolted upright as she heard it. At first she didn't understand what cosmic forces she might have satisfied to warrant his continued attention, but she quickly realized his mind was elsewhere. More specifically, on the lady she hadn't paid much attention to previously, and the bleeding wound she certainly hadn't noticed.

She hastily scrambled to her feet, embarrassed by her faux pas, and eager to help. Maintaining a respectful distance, Nalan watched the Doctor work. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't notice she was... injured. I thought... the bike...?" All her carefully constructed apologies melted instantly as she marveled at the man's dexterous and skillful care of the newcomer. "Is... there anything I can do to help?" Timidity gripped her, but offering her assistance was the least she could do considering the circumstances.

Fortunately, for both Nalan and the Doctor, Ace's insistence on passing out from the pain - and flopping directly atop said medical professional - keeps him from becomming terribly preoccupied with the Karavanli's apologies. With a surprising amount of strength for someone not at all bulky, the Doctor hoists Ace up - drapped across the inside of his forearms, like some cheap desert action tri-vid. Add a few explosions in the background, and some swami being shot, and you've got the perfect Hollywood poster. He's even got that distant, determined look on his features.

And then the moment passes as he refocuses on Nalan, and the bike. And the offer. And nods his head once. "Yes. We're going to use the bike as a stretcher. I'll need you to help me steady it." The lips quirk upwards, into a sedate smile. "I'm afraid you've been commandered, and we've hardly gotten to know one another." And then he's moving to settle Ace across her own bike, somewhat to steady her wounded condition, and somewhat to keep trouble from coming along later.

. o O (I've known more than one 'runner patched back together in the DocWagon's surgical suite to go drek nuts because their precious ride was left behind. Generally speaking, it's the -reason- we began mandatory sedation. Hmmph. Usually we made sure they were outside the building before we related the bad news.) O o .