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</div><div style="position: relative; margin: 0px auto -15px auto; max-width: 582px; background: #352f2c; border: 1px solid #655f5b; font-size: 14px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 5px; line-height: 30px; color: #ccc; text-align: center; z-index: 1"><a class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fblackdahliaroleplaying.com%2Fthreads%2Fdead-hunting-accepting.18052%2Fpost-295825&amp;hash=3b678ceda6b3269a3a4271ecd2f625ca" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/threads/dead-hunting-accepting.18052/post-295825"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:white">Landry Garnet Caldwell</span></a></div><div style="margin: auto; max-width: 582px; max-height: 300px; overflow: auto; background: #1a1a1a; border: 1px solid #655f5b; padding: 10px; font-family: georgia, sans-serif; color: #ccc; font-size: 13px; text-align: justify"><br/>
It was going to be one of those days.<br/>
<br/>
Everything constantly going wrong. Landry had woken up before the sun to pay a visit to a patient he was seeing in the Fourth, and on three different occasions, on the way there and back to his place in Third he'd had to pull his gun on the desperate souls who'd do just about  anything for a little more than they already had. Which wasn't much to begin with. But he refused to dwell on the corrupted state of the Spire's powers that be. It wasn't the day for it.<br/>
<br/>
Landry fiddled with the marbles red guitar pick hanging from a chain round his neck. A chain that'd broken earlier in the morning and sent him in a frantic spiral hunting down another. It was the only thing he had from his life before the Spire. Before the end times had crashed down around him.<br/>
<br/>
Speaking of end times, his med kit was dangerously low and in desperate need of a top up. But of course when it came to getting a hold of medical supplies, just popping up to the Second layer and getting a refill wasn't realistic. He's need to take on a few bounties in exchange for what he needed. Except, leaving the Spire on solo runs was as terrifying as it was suicidal. You had to be a certain kind of crazy for that, and Landry liked to think he still had a few marbles left. Having gone on a few solo bounties after having left Joe's crew, Anarchy Flock, Landry wasn't too keen on continuing to go at it alone. Been there, done that, no thank you.<br/>
<br/>
Which is why he's outside the Spire walls, regretting his decision to wear three layers as his boots crunch over rocks and dry earth. It's still early morning and so not all that hot, but his dark hair which is just a little too long is starting to cling to his forehead and the back of his neck. He can't say he's all that thrilled that Montana decided to set up the meet in the middle of nowhere, but he's dealt with worse for less, so setting aside his opinions he huffs it around a particularly large bramble patch.<br/>
<br/>
Spotting two figures already waiting: Montana, the guy behind the whole thing, and the woman, he didn't know her. Head seen her around a few times, the dog more than anything he reason he even remembered seeing her. He's pretty sure there're supposed to be a few more joining them, but a quick scan of the the immediate surroundings shows no new faces, so he jogs the rest of the way to meet those already present. "Thank goodness, with the way my day's been going, being late would've been the cherry on top." Shrugging out of his backpack, he lets it fall to the ground at his feet as he pulls out of the navy green canvas jacket. Tying it round his waist just above where the trench knife and semi-auto pistol sits holstered. "How's the rest of your mornings been? Better than mine I hope." He says with an easy smile, as he rolls up the sleeves of his dark grey button down. "How many more are supposed to be coming?" This question, directed at Montana given he would likely be the only one present who would know.<br/>
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