Wolfwood cracks a smile as he shoulders his way through the crowds.
"Little old for that, aren't you?"
The steamer is full: December is a popular destination, and the families in the cafeteria make room for two more cheerfully enough. Most of them are young couples looking for work, and there are a handful of children running around, playing games of bounty hunters versus Vash the Stampede that inevitably end in all the unfortunate bounty hunters lying around groaning in exaggerated pain.
They take a fairly unobtrusive spot, and Wolfwood leaves, returns with food and water. None of it's very good, and Michael can certainly see why fresh meat is such a commodity here. Everything available has been so processed it's hard to tell what it may once have been, but it travels well and it's filling, and that's the point.
It isn't long before Wolfwood finds himself dragged into the children's games, but he eases up with them in a way that's impossible around adults. A few parents cast curious glances at the big cloth-covered cross, but as the journey continues, the mood lightens and conversation picks up. Eventually, he tells Michael to head to the bunks to get some rest if he wants -- they'll be traveling into the evening.
They're well into the desert and the suns are near setting when it happens: the steamer's engines groan, grind, come to a stuttering halt, hissing softly as the metal cools.
And then the power cuts out.
In the darkness and confusion, Wolfwood gropes around for the Punisher, then looks for Michael as a few metallic bangs sound in the distance.
"We shouldn't have stopped. Stay out of line of sight of the doors."
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"Little old for that, aren't you?"
The steamer is full: December is a popular destination, and the families in the cafeteria make room for two more cheerfully enough. Most of them are young couples looking for work, and there are a handful of children running around, playing games of bounty hunters versus Vash the Stampede that inevitably end in all the unfortunate bounty hunters lying around groaning in exaggerated pain.
They take a fairly unobtrusive spot, and Wolfwood leaves, returns with food and water. None of it's very good, and Michael can certainly see why fresh meat is such a commodity here. Everything available has been so processed it's hard to tell what it may once have been, but it travels well and it's filling, and that's the point.
It isn't long before Wolfwood finds himself dragged into the children's games, but he eases up with them in a way that's impossible around adults. A few parents cast curious glances at the big cloth-covered cross, but as the journey continues, the mood lightens and conversation picks up. Eventually, he tells Michael to head to the bunks to get some rest if he wants -- they'll be traveling into the evening.
They're well into the desert and the suns are near setting when it happens: the steamer's engines groan, grind, come to a stuttering halt, hissing softly as the metal cools.
And then the power cuts out.
In the darkness and confusion, Wolfwood gropes around for the Punisher, then looks for Michael as a few metallic bangs sound in the distance.
"We shouldn't have stopped. Stay out of line of sight of the doors."