Packing up

[Gus]

With only days to go before being released from quarantine, the rarely seen Gus is packing his duffel in preparation to leave. He hums and sings under his breath meditatively as he checks everything over again and again.

Cheerfully, he speaks up, "It's that time, folks, let's start getting our stuff together! Anyone missing anything?"

[Nick Sleet]

Nick Sleet pauses from packing and looks around.

"Anyone seen my lucky tie? Of course, after the island maybe that's not a good title for it anymore..."

[Gus]

"I'd say it's lucky, Sleet," Gus said, laughing amiably, "you're still alive!"

He sits down and starts putting some polish to his boots. He looks up and says, "seriously, though, I don't think you'll need a suit out in the middle of the woods, unless you're going to a big business meeting." He thinks for a minute and continues, "though, I've seen weirder here..."

[Nick Sleet]

Nick grins, looking back at his suitcase.

"To be fair, I was packing for interviewing people and going over old data in Canada; I didn't have a "stranded in the woods" contingency outfit...."

[Sally]

As he stuffs his possessions into a battered rucksack, Sally snorts and says,

"Shit Sleet, the only outfits I got 'er fer bein' stranded in the woods," and shakes his head. Surveying his decidedly lessened load, he says to Gus, "Only gear I'm missin' is the hardware they done took from us on the bus."

His ruck was much easier to pack without the rifle, the pistols, the boxes of ammunition, and so forth that usually had to be broken down and stowed. Not much room to pack on an old motorcycle, after all.

[Gus]

Gus nods in commiseration, "All you two really need is what's in here," he taps his forehead, "and what's in here," he taps his chest. "They can't take away what you're born with. Everything else is just cake."

[Nick Sleet]

Nick winces a bit, a pained look briefly coming over his face.

"I suppose..."

The expression is suddenly gone, wiped clean by a somewhat disturbingly intense grin

"No, you're right, enough resolve and cleverness can get you through quite a lot."

He fingers a new seam on his coat.

"And a needle and thread can take care of the rest!"

[Tempest]

vasily pops up near his cot.

"this is some of the best living I have had in a long time. I spent a long time on the streets."

vasily moves his meager belongings into a small bag.

"it is true you can get by with raw will and passion ya don't need all that fancy things."

[Sally]

Sally furrows his brow at Gus's words for a moment, then says, "Well, I reckon not, in terms of them takin' way what I was born with- a girl's name, abnormally large hoofs, and particularly hard noggin," he shakes his head, "but you got a point there. More'n one way to skin a skunk, after all." Sally stares at his hands for a long moment, then says to Nick,

"Needle n' thread ain't a bad thing to have 'round," Sally lifts up his shirt- a network of ugly, scarred over stitching shows where Dr. Zinc and a good number of the other inmate-medics had patched him back together after The Butcher, "in case of split seems and such," he lets out a mighty laugh and pulls his shirt back down, and turns to Vasily.

"True enough on that front, kiddo," he gives a nod, "I made it half way 'round the world n' back without ever using no internet b'fore. Sometimes, a man just needs the fire 'tween his rib cage and a decent crew to keep on keepin'-on." He tries to meet the other man's eyes and says, "All sorts in this world, and if ya got the iron in your spine to be loyal to 'em, they'll give ya that right back."

Amidst the network of scars across his chest and stomach, the former Gunnery Sergeant had the words 'SEMPER FI' tattooed in green ink inside the outline of an anchor. The letters were upside down, so that a man might be able to look upon his own skin and read it, if he were so inclined.

[cristovau]

"Do Prdele, muy pivo je nebozka!" Ondrej grumbes. "Ty vole!" He slams a small paper down, and packs his travel bag.

"So, friends..." he straightens a tie, "The delivery has new suit and tie, but new beer? NO!" He wipes a pained brow and stuffs a jacket and a handful of ties into a custom dry cleaning back.

"Those oxen in government have sent it to Whisper Hill non-stop. I don't have the beer for week now." He narrows his eyes and puts on his slightly dented sunglasses, and taps his cane on the floor. "This is no good..."

"Well," he huffs. "As we say in Czech Republic, he that keeps beer from peoples go down."