<strong>HAVEL</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">The bang of Havel's shotgun is followed almost immediately with a loud, “Oh, <em>fuck</em>,” coming up from Morgan.<br/><br/>It's not the only noise, naturally – still plenty more gun fire, most of it that SMG, a few individual pops from what must be Yankee's pistol.  Not behind anymore though, further ahead.  Even that dies down, too, until all there is is labored breathing.<br/><br/>Then two more pops.<br/><br/>“Fuck,” and that's Morgan's voice again.  Footsteps on asphalt.  Nothing to see, just white, the kind of white you get when you heat iron on a forge.<br/><br/>Someone's labored breathing.  Hard to be sure who exactly, until Morgan speaks up again:<br/><br/>“Captain, we gotta get Yankee to see someone.  It's bad.  I don't know if we can handle this back at the laager.”  A pause.  “Captain, what's going on?  You all right?”<br/><br/>More of that heaving, real strained.  Could be more than one source, maybe, just out of time, one exhaling while the other breathes in.  Either way, it sounds awful.<br/><br/><strong>Havel</strong>, what's the news?  Hard to know exactly what's happening, but the violence has died down, and it sounds like you might have bigger problems to deal with just now than one of your guys picking fights.  What do you do?</div></div><br/><strong>JACK</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">”That's so lonely,” Madison says.  “A world without a God.  I wonder how you can say it, when we look up every day and that righteous force bears down and pulls the water out of our skin, turns the skin on our back to blisters and boils.  Isn't that so?  Boy, get our guest some water.”<br/><br/>She shakes her cup so the ice cubes clink against the glass.<br/><br/>“But that God talks to us through a dead man, and that man is dead, dead, dead, cooking on asphalt as we speak.  He'll be food for the cannibals before anyone can give him a proper burial.”  She <em>tsk</em>s, like it's just such a <em>shame</em>.  “A priest is no God, but without a shepard, who will guide the sheep?”<br/><br/>She pauses, letting the thought linger just a moment before striking it home for Jack:  “Ambrosea.  She'll lead them blind to their end.  Gomorrah will die if she has her way, and our deep water will flow poisoned through this place.  What do you see, Jack?  Is it Gomorrah's time to walk with your lonely god?”<br/><br/>The scrawny kid comes back, holding a matching glass, full just short of the brim with water, freezing cold with ice cubes clinking against one another at the top.<br/><br/>Hey <strong>Jack</strong>, the <em>cannibals</em>?  What's their deal?   What do you do?</div></div><br/><strong>RUTH</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">"Ruth, you go drinking that girl's tea, I'm really sure you <em>won't</em> be patching up anymore holes.  Let's not joke, right?  Let's just be serious here."  She leans back in her chair, it kind of bends at the waist, one of those kind of chairs.  Not the sturdy kind, the spinning kind.  "You're a real asset here, but you're an asset to <em>everyone</em>, and that makes you a liability to me, right?  And that's a little frustrating, Ruth, because I don't like liabilities, but I like you.  And yeah, sometimes, we really need an angel to pull us out of the shit, and most of the time, that's you."<br/><br/>She pulls that deck apart, shuffles it back into itself, pulls it apart, shuffles it back together.<br/><br/>"But you want me to put my neck out of you, you need to be an asset to <em>me</em>, a liability for everyone <em>else</em>.  It is good to be part of this in-group, Ruth, and I'm not as bad as you think I am.  Gomorrah is stronger than it's ever been, healthier.  A lot of that is you, too.  The people know it.  So let's unify; you can be our angel of mercy.  People will <em>love</em> that.  Nobody will fuck with you or Anise again.  And I mean, what the fuck?  You're gonna run off to Cringe?  She'll just turn you into a commodity.  That's worse than anything I could do to you.  Ambrosea?  Leave you a catatonic fuck-doll?  Have fun with it, Ruth, and let me know when you come to your senses."<br/><br/>After all that, she tosses the deck back onto the table, where they splay out into a mess.  "And if you won't, fine; I'll have Dutchess and Righteous leave some blood around Gomorrah for you.  But if that's how you want to play this, then it's going to cost you.  I'm not going to let you bargain the health of my people against me; you'll take Madison to your infirmary and you will teach <em>her</em> everything you know."  Well, that doesn't make Ruth one of <em>her people</em>, but at least it keeps her in spitting distance.  Doesn't say much about what happens after Madison's through, though...<br/><br/>"Your call, Ruth.  Otherwise, suck it up."<br/><br/>Hey <strong>Ruth</strong>, what's it gonna be?</div></div><br/><strong>AMBROSEA</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">"Better than here, in my home?"  Cringe considers.  She shifts in her seat; it creaks the creak of old plastic stretching, shifts the beans around inside.  "No, but then, my home isn't all of Gomorrah, is it?  Out there, it's hot and miserable, and there's nothing to eat but beetles and beetletree fruit.  There's got to be better places than here when you think if it that way."  Not that Cringe is really into this line of thought.  She's not here to tear Gomorrah down.<br/><br/>Her eyes follow each body that comes in or goes out.  Every time that door opens, the cold air escapes, collides against the heat, makes her den just a little bit more like the outside.  She doesn't say anything, but does she notice?  There can be no doubt.<br/><br/>That warm water on Ambrosea's face, it's warm too, warm like outside, but it doesn't take long to chill on her skin.  Refreshing in its own way.<br/><br/>Cringe rises up from her bag chair, still holding that bowl of gel in one hand before her.  She wears these pants that come up so low, it's a wonder they cover anything at all -- fashion so far above function, nobody else in Gomorrah could pull it off.  That kind of luxury.  So low, the barest hint of the trimmed fuzz of her mound can be seen poking up past the waist.  She takes the few steps across the chill room, and goosebumps rise up on her arms before she makes it over to where Ambrosea sits.  She sits herself down beside the hocus, and slips a finger into the bowl.  <br/><br/>"Try this," she says, and brings her reddened finger up toward Ambrosea's lips, ready to spread it the way she'd spread it on her own.<br/><br/>Hey <strong>Ambrosea</strong>, who's the Gomorrah native you have the longest history with?  Confer with the NPC web, or make someone up.  Last time you were here, your cult awayed with someone that was important to somebody with power -- who was it?  Make someone up, tell me who their boss was before it was you.  Anyway, Cringe wants to smear some stuff on your face, are you cool with that?  What do you do?</div></div>