[Csjarrat]

Little Cog waved at the guards up on the wall and scooted around the ganger's corpses as he headed for the main gate.
Skirmishes were common enough but the Mech's didn't need a war on their hands. He called ahead to have the gates open and dropped the bike a gear to deal with the steep hill.
The engine squawked at a rev it wasn't quite comfortable in and the uneven load strapped to the rear rigging didn't help much either.
He nodded at a few guys as they headed in for dinner and cog realised his kill had arrived too late to make it in time for dinner as his nose picked up the scent of chow on the wind.
Parking his bike up under the knocked-together roof, he hauled the stiffening carcass off the rigging and headed for the service entrance to the kitchen.
Giving the door a good shove he dumped the dog on the steel kitchen units and shouted to Chef.
Oi, Chef! got a fresh one for ya pal.
He half-turned to see who was disturbing his cooking and smiled as he saw little cog, proud as punch with his kill. It'd been a while since he'd brought anything larger than a hare in and this would go some way to keeping up the strength of the tribe and provide some welcome relief from veggies and soy.
Ey omae, good job! Leave it on there, i'll get cracking on it after this service. Get round the other side and grab some chow while there's still some left. He turned to a large steaming pot and whatever tune he was whistling as Cog headed round to the hall, picking up a half-clean bowl and joining the line at the servery. It was busy and full of life, everyone swapping stories, checking in with friends and shooting the breeze.
The move had been a good one and the improvement work was coming on well. It was a long way from finished but the security situation was better than ever and most of the hydroponics were in place and starting to produce useable quantities of food.
He nodded in deference to Osha at the top table as he took his bowl of stew and joined a half-full table.

[Jack_Spade]

Thorn just shrugged: "Just trying to be polite and not to traumatize the little fraggers. Although come to think of it, the little ones usually laugh when soup dribbles out through the hole in my cheek.
Believe you me, I know how hideous I look compared to your mug. It's a small blessing that there grows no longer any beard hair - I'd get a heart attack someday if I'd had to face myself in the mirror every morning."
He looked over to Bent:
"Ey Bent, wanna see a trick?" He took of the mask again and pulled a half smoked cigar from a slim case in his breast pocket and lighted it. He took a drag and blew a perfect smoke ring out of his cheek followed by another puff that went right through the ring. "Tammy at Red Lace showed me how that's done... only she doesn't use her mouth."

[adamu]

Al sprayed soy curry all over his plate, and possibly some tablemates. Not at Thorn's trick, but his comment on where he'd learned it.

Count your blessings, he thought to himself, looking down at hands that matched the ork's complexion perfectly. Al had an amazing collection of scars, but this guy made him realize how blessed he was that none had marred his movie star looks. Sure, his nose had been busted a few times, but everyone knew that just added character.

Then, mirth subsided and self-congratulation temporarily abated, he realized that Thorn was smoking. And the people had not - yet - risen up to expunge the heretic. He glanced around furtively, then discreetly took out a smoke of his own and lit it up.

The suspense was unbearable.

[saithor]

While waiting for Ratchett's reply, Gunther saw Thorn's trick, and recoiled a little at the Ork's appearance. Although if he took his own mask off, he was more likely to get attention. At the same time, he noticed that not only had the orc started smoking, but other's all around the cafeteria had started as well. It was a good thing that his gas mask was fully functional. Weren't they supposed to be banned inside this place anyway?

Either way, time was being wasted, as another glance at his comn proved, and he turned to Ratchett again. He'd wait for her reply for just a little while longer, but if he still didn't get a straight answer, he'd take his services elsewhere. He may not be the most courageous or daring person, and the Mechanicals were good customers, but he had his limits to how long he would be ignored.

[ScytheKnight]

Ratchet puffed away slowly as she walked to the cafeteria, nodding and exchanging a few words with the other tribe members. At the weapon's locker she plucked the dainty holdout revolver from its slide and placed it in the box, a barely audible sigh of reilief and relaxing of the shoulders. Even the holdout she didn't like carrying around, the big iron was locked safely inher room unless she needed it.

I hate having to carry those things around... I'm a healer, not a warrior.

Just as the den mother must fight to protect her cubs, sometimes you must fight to protect your kith.

Ratchet takes the finishes cigarette and crushes it slowly between the fingers of her cyberarm, unable to suppress a slight grimace.

Yeah, and look what that, and you, got me. I'm no longer whole because I charged at those gangers like some Halloweener on Kamakazi.

A den mother who's cubs are threatened with take on anything to protect them, you have inherited that from me, as well as your gift at healing magics. Yes you have lost your arm, but you have stayed true to who you are, it is a machine of healing, not of death. What you have lost of my magic, you have gained in the technology of your world to heal.

The dwarf sighs and stops trying to argue, Bear was right of course. But violence was something she always tried to avoid except as a last resort, and she hated it when Bear filled her vision with the red mist of rage. She was just glad that it only came with a need to protect, by whatever means necessary.

Waiting in line she collected her meal and walked towards a mostly empty table, seeing who was there it wasn't a great surprise why. On the way she found herself stopped by a masked figure, racking her brain slightly she recognizes one of the traders and troubleshooters that passes through from time to time. She nods to the head of the main table "Hello again Gunther, Osha is at the head table, but it's getting late. Probably best you stay the night then talk in the morning, we shouldn't have any trouble finding you a doss for the night." now indicating to the half empty table "Why don't you join us to eat?"

Walking to the table she takes a seat with a relieved sigh, glad to be off her feet. She gives some polite nods and starts eating. While she does her eyes glance over Al's scarred, almost melted hands and grimaces that there's nothing she can do for him about the old wounds. Her eating is stopped at Thorns little trick. "Thorn, what have we said about smoking in the cafeteria?" her eyes quickly cut to Al "And you Al, don't even think about it." her tone is scolding, but in a motherly sort of way with a half-smile in her lips.

She takes a few more bites of her meal. "Al, could you talk to the work crews about keeping their armor on while working? I know it can get in the way but I just spent the last hour and a half cleaning and stitching Flywheel's arm back up after he sliced it open on some jagged piece of junk."

[adamu]

Just...as...he'd...been....about...to...take...the...first.....drag.

He shot Thorn a betrayed look, as if it had been his fault.

"Yeah, sure thing doc," he muttered, stubbing it out on the table. Hippies. "As fer the other thing, well, they gen'rally does what ol' Al tells 'em, but not always how I tells 'em, me not bein' ganged up an' all."

[saithor]

Gunther checked his comn, and was forced to agree, yes, it was too late to start heading out. unless eh wanted to have to fend off a bunch of gangers on the way home. "Yesss, it probably isss for the bessst." he releuctanctly agreed. As much as he hated staying the night at a place not his own, he didn't have a choice.

Why this fear of them? You have done good trade with them in the past, and they are fellow craftsmen as well.

How many times must I explain this? My condition makes me a freak among them. To several of them I would be only slightly more trustworthy than a ghoul, because at least I don't eat the dead.

The Mountain was still curious, but thankfully chose to remain silent. It could not seem to understand the concept of racisim or of prejudice, no matter how often Gunther had tried to tell him. In the astral excahnge, he almost missed Ratchett's offer to sit with them.

"To talk yesss, to eat no. That I will do in my room later. I have a codnition that I am afraid ssseveral of your people would find more frightening than even that Orc'sss" he said pointing to Thorn. He joined her at the table, and smirked inside his mask at the scoding of the two Mechanicals over their smoking. The smirk was replaced by confusion at Al's statment however. "What? That Ssstatement, how doesss it even make sssenssse? What and how are mutually exclusssive. You can't sssay they do what but not how."

[SgtBoomCloud]

The Canteen.  The Sixth World tribal equivalent to a Viking feast hall if there ever was one.  By the time Pinion had successfully made his way through the front door, the clamor and hubbub of the tribesmen taking their meals was already well underway.  Scraping his boots at the threshold and shaking as much water from his coat and hair as possible, the middle-aged man removed his goggles and respirator, catching the whiff of the evening's grub.  Soy fillets again, a slight sauce...oh, vegetables?  The hydroponics yielded fast then.  Wonderful  Grinning, the man gazed over the room as he entered the hall proper, reaching into his coat and pulling out his SMG for depositing into the locker.  Shortly after, his eyes fell on the skinny young teen girl seated at a corner, idly flipping through some screens on her commlink, the occasional Mech triber greeting her as the moniker "Sprocket".  Without hesitation, Pinion stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, much to her dismay at the feeling of damp and cold around her.

"Go get some food, we're sitting with the tribe today" the man chided to the shy teen as he let go of her, getting in line and serving himself the night's repast.  The man was all smiles: despite his graying head and slightly lined face, Pinion's voice carried a youthful mirth to it and a friendly demeanor, speaking his salutations to every one in turn.  And there was the marvel: without hesitation, Pinion greeted each tribesman and known guest by name, a nod and pat on the shoulder for each of them.

Plate in hand, the man found a suitable table, speaking cheerily with a lilt that almost sounded like one belonging to a salesman.  Almost.  "Evening, chummers.  Al, Bent, Cog, Ratchet (how's the arm?), Scrapheap, Thorn, and...well, I'll be damned, didn't expect you around for another week, Gunther.  Buying or selling this time, hm?"  It was more than clear that Pinion had just missed a big joke, but still joined the merriment all the same.  "Really coming down today.  Not like '73, but it's close.  Any luck, it'll wash away our refuse piles down a district, eh?"

[saithor]

"Ssselling Pinion. Needed to make more roundsss anyway thessse days. Hard to keep enough customers to pay the billssss asss isss. Asss for the rain, yesss, defintely more than usssual. Hope it doesn't wasssh away thossss pilesss however, I need thossse." Gunther said to the old man. Gunther shifted his gaze curiously to the young teen who sat down at the table. He had never seen her before, and was curious as to why such a young girl would sit down at this part of the canteen. The teen seemed uncomfortable, and he realized that the gas mask with the blacked out lenses was probably freaking her out. "Sssorry to ssstare, But I don't believe I've met you before. What'sss your name?"

[Jack_Spade]

Sheepishly, Thorn took out the cigar and extinguished it carefully on the heel of his boot: "Sorry, Ratchet - I wasn't smoking, you see? It was just supposed to be a funny trick." The cigar again vanished in the slim case and he gave an apologetic shrug to Al. Without a reason to expose his face, the mask was back on as fast as it had come off.
He perked up as Pinion made his way to them: "Ey, Pinion, nice to see you again. How's the business going?"

[ScytheKnight]

The dusky skinned dwarf smiles "I know Thorn, but you remember the last time we had a fire in here?" she looks up slightly surprised at the clasp of her artificial shoulder.
"It's behaving itself, unlike some people." she gives Thorn and Al another amused scolding look. "Been dry inside thankfully, well except for blood from orcs who want to work in ash filled rain around jagged metal without wearing armor." She snorts softly and shakes her head, raising her cyberhand, the fingers stating to extend, bending around at odd angles via the multiple, omnidirectional joints "Hopefully someone can get the need or armor through their heads and I won't have to use these to dig bits of rusty metal out of them."

[adamu]

Always happy to talk shop, Al responded to the science-fictioney-lookin' guy with the black goggles. He wore his gas mask indoors, and talked like a snake. Well, to each his own. Took all kinds to make a hippy commune. "Well, what I mean by that is, they do what I tell 'em as far as the wall goes, but they personal work habits I ain't got much say in. Reckon I'll keep remindin' 'em," he promised Ratchet, "but they's grown-ups, an' if they was the sorts wanted some health & safety type lordin' it over 'em, well, doubt they'd be roughin' it out here instead o' towin' the corp line up north in Comfortville."

He picked all the real veggies from his plate, and pushed the rest of the soy slop away from himself. "Tell ya what I can do, is start bringin' my kit out to the site, take care o' what I can out there. Keeps 'em onna job, an' outta your hair. Win-win."

[ScytheKnight]

The dwarven doctor visibly winces at this. "And likely give them an infection, my clinic is at least sterilized." She tries to relax a bit and gives a half smile, she knows Al is just trying to help. "Besides, it's my role here anyway. It how we tribes work, we each contribute to the community with what our skills are, and mine is healing. Sure Osha deals with the more badly wounded, and I take care of the lesser injuries to they're not being bothered every time someone needs a cut cleaned and a couple of stitches put in."

[Csjarrat]

Cog looked up out of his stew as sprocket headed over to the table, greeting the assorted bunch sat around it.
Alright Pin'. how's it hanging? Did y'see what happened wi' them gangers earlier?

[ChromeZephyr]

[Friday December 13 2075; canteen inside Mechanicals' Castle, Hells Kitchen/Orting, Puyallup]

Scrapheap grunted around a mouthful of food and raised his chin in the universal 'sup gesture to Pinion's greeting, making a mental note of perhaps paying Tammy a visit and seeing her version of Thorn's trick.  His eyes narrowed a touch at Cog's mention of gangers.

"Which gangers, term?  The Dire Wolves, or the Kr'...Kerchy..."  Scrap gave up on trying to pronounce the Sperethiel name. "...Aw, fuck it, dose poncy elf motherfuckers in yellow?"