<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">Yankee, he's like, “Yeah.  I'm gonna lose my fucking bike, Captain, ain't I?”  That thought seems to strike him.  “Fuck, might as well just leave it off and let me go,” he goes on.  “Broken down in this place, Captain,” he says, like that's really it, that's all that needs to be said on the topic.  Then a sigh, a real heavy one, ragged on the end.  There's coughing.<br/><br/>Havel's got experience, plenty of it, with those bikes; he's got no problem telling just how far off they are, hell, just where on the road they're at.  He might even be able to pick out the bikes and their riders by the roar of their motors, especially since he isn't wasting any of his brain-power on pesky things like <em>vision</em> right this moment.  Or maybe that's just rumors.<br/><br/>The bikes roar up and then they roar down, quieting their cacophony as they slow down and eventually stop, not far from Yankee and Havel.  Kickstands clicking into place and settling on the asphalt.  No sound at first, until the nearer bikes kill their engines, and then it's boots on asphalt.<br/><br/>The first voice is Whiskey, he's like, “Ah hell.  This is even fuckin' worse than we heard.  Fuckin' a, Gnarly, you dumb fuck.  Captain, what's goin' on?”  Whiskey is an ugly fucker.<br/><br/>Second voice, that's Brandy.  Her and Whiskey, they're twins, and she's even uglier than he is.  Not that Havel can appreciate that right now.  “Is that Yankee?”  She's kind of got to yell over the other engine's that're still going.<br/><br/>“Who the fuck shot Yankee?”<br/><br/><strong>Havel</strong>, you know the deal.</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">This stranger, she's like, “I don't need water, I need the <em>doctor</em>.  That's you, right?  Get your clothes on.  We got a guy down...”  She kind of looks rushed.  “Look, Captain says he'll deal with you straight, so let's not fuck around, right?  Yankee's dying out there.”<br/><br/>John says, “Shotgun also tells people who just barge in while you're in your undies that you mean business,” and he nods toward the guest.  “See her?  She's got a gun.  She means business, right?”  He's not the king of bedside manner.<br/><br/>The visitor, she gives John this real annoyed look, looks him up and down and decides that he's not even worth the effort.  Her bike is still chugging out there.  “Look, the bike's running, and you know the Captain's good for it, but if you don't put your fucking pants on and get on my bike, I am going to cause you both some very major problems.”  Ruth maybe doesn't deserve that, but it seems like John did enough to rile her.<br/><br/>At least she's not going for gun.<br/><br/><strong>Ruth</strong>, what's up?</div></div>