In most of his years, Walter Milhouse had seen many like it, but never had the inclination to settle in a town like Girderhaven again. Too many people, too many strangers, too many egos. This particular afternoon, He wasn't so inclined to be walking the seven miles from his squat burrow to the town again for the commonplace but nerve wracking errand of selling the ermine fur hanging at his belt. Walter had delayed this particular task as long as possible yet when the food runs short and the beer goes bad, it's time to check the traps, man up, and head to town.<br/><br/>There was another man in town, who by right of being the type of man who would buy ermine fur, served the purpose of Walter being the trapper he had been for the last couple decades. Wherever the game was, there was Walter. Moving with the fluctuations of animal population, attuned to the land and like shifting dunes, set up camp where nature told him to, often, far enough away from civilization to maintain a particular disdain for the various drifters, drunks, ne'er do wells and settlers he was secretly longing to be a part of.<br/><br/>With a nearly ancient Mosin Nagant, a Colt double action 45. revolver, and enough old, dirt colored bedsheets wrapped around him to put Peter O Toole to shame, Walter was but three miles from town when a terrible row had started... gun shots, a common enough component to his world.<br/><br/>Walter had rounded a small outcrop of rocks about a mile from town to see what was apparently the doctor, wounded, with others in tow. Amongst them a robot carrying the Doctor in a trailer of sorts. Carefully making his  way behind the facades of the old clapboard tavern, he saw the man he was looking for.<br/><br/>Once in town, he took a moment to lean against the outside of the tavern and watch the buyer, a Vincent, take a flask of something from his person and customarily offer it in the manner of two strangers meeting, tossing it to the ground in front of him. "Here you go, I no give you poison food" Walter narrated under his breath, watching the interaction of the buyer and the stranger. The stranger with the mule, now taking the flask and retreating to a hillock out of sight, Walter watched Vincent, take the pipe from his Jacket at light up.<br/><br/>Taking this opportunity, Walter straightened himself, took the wrappings from his face to reveal his thirty years of slightly wind burnt but sharp features, grizzled brown beard, dark blue eyes and shapely expressive lips seemingly taken from someone else and pasted on this rugged man.<br/><br/>*cough*<br/><br/><em>"I suppose you have another few trinkets for to trade with sir?"</em><br/><br/>Walter mumbled, making his way to Vincent, checking the ermine fur at his waist and unsnapping the holster at his right hip in one fluid, hesitant motion.