Bryan was driving at breakneck speed when suddenly a huge sneeze wracked his body. He did, however, manage to keep the vehicle under control. The mask's diffuser hissed as the sneeze became vapour. He sniffed as he sped along the open plain.
Someone must be talking about him. That probably wasn't good.
===============================================
"I mean no offense, but yer mustache is ridiculous."
Payton gave a bark of genuine laughter at this. "I suppose it is a little by-gone-era, isn't it?"
"Pixie."
"Worry not, Mister Carmine, I can take a joke," said Payton lightly. "I do so enjoy working with people such as your Captain. It's a nice change of pace from the spineless people on this planet I keep running into."
"I need yer men. You wan' my carbon. Assumin' the deal ain't more complicated than that, let's talk numbers. That sound good ta' you?"
"You'd be right in assuming it is... a touch more complicated than it would at first seem. But first, a small matter of information I thought I should pass along. Captain Monroe, you may be familiar with the reputation of a man named Edward Canton. I know for a fact Mister Carmine is. If not, then you'll know him as the bounty hunter, Metal, and the man who grounded your ship and as such made it possible for Father Austin's hordes to get aboard. I thought you should know, the man is in my custody." Payton shook his head with what could have been genuine regret. "I am afraid the coming months will not be pleasant for him." He appeared not to notice Whiskey glaring daggers at him after he said this.
Pausing to place the wooden box on the table, he said, "with that out of the way, yes, our negotiations should proceed. And please accept this gift." he pushed the box open, revealing a neat array of cigars, and took one. "I must admit, I favour the pipe, but worry not, I went to special care to procure the finest cigars money can buy."
Lighting Pixie's cigar for her, and then attending to his own, Payton took a drag before speaking. "As for the money, well, I will not pretend that becoming yet richer than I already am, rich enough even, to accelerate some personal projects, does not intrigue me. There is, however, one very valuable thing I require from you on top of this."
========================================================
Upon finding that the shops were open, Ruffles had acquired the fabrics needed for what he understood was probably Amy's scarf. Ruffles remembered his own scarf, although sadly it had burned in an engine fire, and he hadn't had the heart to ask for a new one. It had been pale blue, with grey zeppelins on it.
The fabrics now sat in a paper bag with a few bottles of soda next to it on a table in another shop while he browsed. The shop had a printer in the corner so that customers could print their own T-shirts. He'd selected a white one and was fiddling with the console. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up. He had just pressed print when he heard a sneering voice behind him.
"What's this shit? Sewing something fer yer mommy?"
Ruffles glanced around. A man with a beer gut, who reeked distinctly of gin was looking blearily at him, with a hand in the bag of fabrics.
"Nah," he replied. "It's a thank you gift to your mom for all the lip service."
"Aw, you'll pay for that, ya goddamn ******," slurred the man. Ruffles ducked his first swing, and before the man would take another, his knees were swept out from under him and he was being savagely pistol-whipped in the temple. Knelt behind him, administering said pistol-whipping, was a man in a suit and sunglasses, with his red scarf visible over the top of his shirt.
Ruffles picked up the still-warm shirt from the printer and stuffed it into the paper bag with the sewing supplies, picked both the bag and his sodas up and headed to the door. "Thanks, I guess," he said.
As he'd thought, Wilkes-Vines had put a tail on him. That was strange.
Someone must be talking about him. That probably wasn't good.
===============================================
"I mean no offense, but yer mustache is ridiculous."
Payton gave a bark of genuine laughter at this. "I suppose it is a little by-gone-era, isn't it?"
"Pixie."
"Worry not, Mister Carmine, I can take a joke," said Payton lightly. "I do so enjoy working with people such as your Captain. It's a nice change of pace from the spineless people on this planet I keep running into."
"I need yer men. You wan' my carbon. Assumin' the deal ain't more complicated than that, let's talk numbers. That sound good ta' you?"
"You'd be right in assuming it is... a touch more complicated than it would at first seem. But first, a small matter of information I thought I should pass along. Captain Monroe, you may be familiar with the reputation of a man named Edward Canton. I know for a fact Mister Carmine is. If not, then you'll know him as the bounty hunter, Metal, and the man who grounded your ship and as such made it possible for Father Austin's hordes to get aboard. I thought you should know, the man is in my custody." Payton shook his head with what could have been genuine regret. "I am afraid the coming months will not be pleasant for him." He appeared not to notice Whiskey glaring daggers at him after he said this.
Pausing to place the wooden box on the table, he said, "with that out of the way, yes, our negotiations should proceed. And please accept this gift." he pushed the box open, revealing a neat array of cigars, and took one. "I must admit, I favour the pipe, but worry not, I went to special care to procure the finest cigars money can buy."
Lighting Pixie's cigar for her, and then attending to his own, Payton took a drag before speaking. "As for the money, well, I will not pretend that becoming yet richer than I already am, rich enough even, to accelerate some personal projects, does not intrigue me. There is, however, one very valuable thing I require from you on top of this."
========================================================
Upon finding that the shops were open, Ruffles had acquired the fabrics needed for what he understood was probably Amy's scarf. Ruffles remembered his own scarf, although sadly it had burned in an engine fire, and he hadn't had the heart to ask for a new one. It had been pale blue, with grey zeppelins on it.
The fabrics now sat in a paper bag with a few bottles of soda next to it on a table in another shop while he browsed. The shop had a printer in the corner so that customers could print their own T-shirts. He'd selected a white one and was fiddling with the console. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up. He had just pressed print when he heard a sneering voice behind him.
"What's this shit? Sewing something fer yer mommy?"
Ruffles glanced around. A man with a beer gut, who reeked distinctly of gin was looking blearily at him, with a hand in the bag of fabrics.
"Nah," he replied. "It's a thank you gift to your mom for all the lip service."
"Aw, you'll pay for that, ya goddamn ******," slurred the man. Ruffles ducked his first swing, and before the man would take another, his knees were swept out from under him and he was being savagely pistol-whipped in the temple. Knelt behind him, administering said pistol-whipping, was a man in a suit and sunglasses, with his red scarf visible over the top of his shirt.
Ruffles picked up the still-warm shirt from the printer and stuffed it into the paper bag with the sewing supplies, picked both the bag and his sodas up and headed to the door. "Thanks, I guess," he said.
As he'd thought, Wilkes-Vines had put a tail on him. That was strange.
