<div align="center">Leo</div><br/>Ripper hung around at his feet in one of the large airplane's that served as guard towers. Much like Tychus, he had two jobs here, and had had them since the beginning; night watch and hunter. With the both of them, their were about two or three other guards, always swapping out on a schedule. The very last night had been Leo's turn, and as the sun rose up, he prepared to depart.<br/><br/>The night had been quiet; not like that one time, back when they were first getting this place started. He remembered when Tychus had given them the heads up, but even then, things had been pretty dicey. Still, they had prevailed; the con had a good aim, much like Leo himself, and no sympathy or empathy for any threats; again, a similar note between the two men.<br/><br/>He whistled, low and quiet, and the wolf followed along as if he had been given a perfectly clear order. The large, black wolf moved with a swagger of dominance alongside its master, eying the occasional person they passed as if they were beneath him, beneath his master.  The animal was not used to all these two-legged animals, and especially not the older one that thought he was better than Leo. Why his human did not rip out the old one's throat, he did not understand, but the animal followed his orders like a good little soldier.<br/><br/>Maybe soon, they'd get to go hunting again, the animal hoped. Ripper liked it when they hunted. He always got meat, then, but today, he might have to settle for bones again.<br/><br/>As they walked, Leo took long strides, for he was a tall, long-legged man; about six feet, maybe an inch or two taller. He walked with a noticeable noise, as he was also quite large, about 250 pounds; however, he was not fat. Their was maybe an ounce of fat on him, most of his weight came from muscles, which were concealed by his choice of attire.<br/><br/>He wore a white--well, at one time, it had been white, but now it's more gray-- t-shirt, old denim pants that are faded with age, nearly white instead of blue, thin fingerless leather gloves, an old, dark brown duster with a few holes and tears in it but which was still quite serviceable, and a wide-brimmed hat that covered his shoulder length brown hair. He also wore plain hiking boots, which were in need of replacement, like a lot of things.<br/><br/>He was also host to a rather rugged beard of black and brown, thick, long, uneven and unkempt, and the net result is that he looks like a cross between Paul Bunyan and a sheriff from an old western movie.<br/><br/>The two made their way to the mess hall like everybody else, and Leo moved to claim an unoccupied table. He smelled a bit; hell, they all do, hygiene isn't that great here. But he hasn't showered in a few days. Some would call him crazy; those he would, in turn, call crazy. When water is so low, it's crazy to use it on the luxury of a shower, when one will need it for the necessity of life. The man has always been, first and foremost, a pragmatist, practically unheard of in the decadent society of the former world.<br/><br/>Ripper saw the turtle almost instantly, and barked at it; not loudly, though. The master always got angry when he was loud. But the quiet bark was noticeable, just not annoying or disturbing. The wolf snorted at it, got snapped at, and backed off to hang by his master's feet.<br/><br/>"Relax, Tych." He'd say as he pet Ripper behind the ears. "He won't eat your pal." So long as it stayed out of the man and his hound's plane, at least. Ripper did not tolerate others presence in it; it's that territorial nature of theirs.<br/><br/>Leo had not known that Tych had claimed a pet, but he had just guessed at it; seemed the most logical reason for him to have a turtle hanging out on the floor, instead of taking it straight into the kitchen.