Vincent chuckled. While the fireman's helmet was a wise choice of desert wear, the thick insulated coat had to be one of the stupidest things he ever saw a person wear out in the wasteland. He stood his ground and fished a sample bottle of whiskey out from his coat pocket and tossed it to the ground. He pointed to it. "That's yours. Free of charge."<br/><br/>Very carefully, Vincent placed his ruck sack onto the ground and raised his his white gloved hand. While his eyes focused at the fireman through the lenses of his reflective shades, his lips parted to speak very deliberate words. "Sir, I know nothing of the surviving party, but from what I can gather, they are too dangerous for a man of my profession to affiliate himself with. As for yourself, I can surmise that you're too disheveled and weak to be a raider, otherwise I would have shot you." He removed his helmet and indicated to the bodies strewn about the cracked landscape. "The possessions of the dead are yours to take, if that is what you wish. I've enough trinkets in my bag to sustain myself for the time being. Please, take the whiskey as a peace offering. It is quite smooth."<br/><br/>He returned the helmet to his head and retrieved a pipe from his jacket, which he proceeded to pack with a moist pinch of tobacco. After three spent matches he had the bowl good and burning, and the sweet scent of cherries wafted through the air. The fireman's befuddlement began to irritate Vincent rather than amuse him. His patience had gone short, and he stamped his boot heel into the sand. "Go on, go take your spoils! I've had my entertainment for the day."