Raven Rawne

@, All this food talk, combined with Harley's reassurance of their safety, caused Garreth to "abandon" his post and retreat into the cave proper, taking his toys with him. The mare seemed to know what to expect around here, and if she could relax, then so could he, right? Besides, it's not like Garreth could keep watch indefinetly - he was rather tired himself. Aaaand now she was asleep. Garreth laid down the rifles away from the fire, which seemed to be slowly dying anyway, and sat by it to catch the last minutes of warmth. It was warmer inside, but still not as warm as he was used to. He then proceeded to eat what Harley left for him. It wasn't much, but it should keep him going for sometime longer. Let's just hope the town tavern is well stocked... As the griffon ate, he looked around the cave to make sure it's the only chamber, and with some satisfaction he saw it was indeed the end of it. That means there was only one entrance. Once the dinner was finished, he turned his attention to the healing salve. It may not look particularily inviting, but better that than amputation, eheh... It took some gymnastics to free his righr arm without removing the uniform's top completely, but Garreth didn't want to compromise the already fleeting warmth. Up close, his first "battle wound" proved to be far less severe than the pain would suggest - just a glancing shot, barely reached the tissues underneath the skin, and already clotted with dried blood. Reluctant to open it up again, Garreth carefully smeared the paste on top of it, wincing as it tingled against the damaged parts, then waited a bit until it dried some, and finally dressed again. He didn't use his tie as a makeshift bandage, although he considered this option. "Vanity before reason..." - he muttered to himself. At the same time, Harley shifted a bit and Garreth thought he woke her by his rambling, but it seemed she was still asleep. Although whatever she dreamed about didn't seem pleasant, if her expression was any indication. Heh, even plagued by nightmares she looked rather... attractive. "Stop right there - you just lost your job and it would be best if you never showed up in Manehattan again, your escort partner is probably dead, and you're thinking about mares?!" - he thought to himself, suddenly angry at his own ridiculousness. Suddenly aware that the fire before him started to die out, and with nothind to feed it further, Garreth decided it would be best to get some rest. Tomorrow will be tough. Using the same trick as before, he sat against a wall, pulled up his legs and hugged himself with his wings to remain warm, and quickly dozed off.

@ Gareth heard Harley approaching from behind and tried to appear professional, but the way he held the gun was quite obvious. He didn't look away from the approach when she came to the entrance. For once, while she did her best to sound calming, who knows how these things work? Another reason was that he wasn't sure if she had her clothes on. Better safe than sorry. Once Harley got back inside the cave and asked him about food, he suddenly realised that he haven't eaten since 3 PM. - nothing exceptional in itself, he often had to stand on duty for the whole day long, but today was not an ordinary day... "Sure, griffons eat the same things as ponies do. We can also eat meat and fish, but we can be vegetarian alright."

@ ...did somepony say the T word? "T-Timberwolves?" - note to self, try not to sound like a schoolfilly when faced with the prospect of being stalked by eldritch abominations. "But, you lost them, right? Because they don't swim?" - suddenly feeling like his weapons are way too far to reach, the griffon grabbed his carabine and held against his chest, like a foal clutching to their plushie. Suddenly wide awake, he scanned the approach like a searchlight, fearing to see a pair of glowing green orbs...

@ Garreth listened to the mare's reply. It sure was rather chilly compared to what it was during the day... At least she was close to the fire, probably still drying her clothes. The cave chamber was deeper into the cliff, unseen from the entrance. A good feature for a defensive position. But one question kept coming - where did she even get so wet in the first place? Upon hearing the rest of Harley's sentence, he asked with some concern: "It's quiet alright, thankfully. You said you were injured? Anything serious? "

@ A couple minutes have passed, and Gareth got a bit accustomed to the low light environment. The world outside their hideout started to have some rudimentary features, illuminated bleakly by the crescent moon. He thought about scrubbing the dirt off his clothes with the bayonet but decided against it, since it would both make noise and make him easier to spot than when he just sat and stayed immobile. The temperature dropped noticeably now that the sun was out, so Garreth pulled up his legs and hugged himself with his wings to keep warm. Upon hearing Harley call out to him, he stirred and called back: "Thanks, I'll make sure to use it. You okay there?"

@, Hearing the familliar voice, Garreth relaxes a bit and shouts back: "Come on in!" Once Harley made her appearance, he noticed that somehow she got herself completely wet, despite tha arid environment... "I-I uhh, sure, get those clothes dried, no problem. Maybe save some water so I could clean my arm a bit, eheh?" - he chuckled a bit nervously, feeling his crest rising up slightly. "I'll take watch by the entrance and you make yourself comfortable." - he picked up both weapons, not really sold on the idea of leaving his issued carabine, despite being low on ammo, and headed to the cave entrance. Once there, Garreth detatched the bayonet from the G43 and rested it against the wall, then put the Winchester next to it, an only then did he lean on the entrance wall, partially obscured by the rocks, both weapons within reach. He tried to look up the time but he couldn't read it in this dark. Resigned, he looked around, taking in the dark surroundings and listening for any signs of life other than the mare inside the cave.

@, ...and then she left. Garreth looked down on the Winchester she gave him, lights dancing on the metalwork from the small fire. Must've been all those blows to the head. Failing to figure a unicorn could make sparks... "Nice gun." - he said to himself, then unloaded the tube magazine. Ten rounds. Time to look for s'more... Garreth reloaded the rifle, unslung the Gewehr from his back and placed both against the wall, but within arm's reach as he looked for some more rounds for the Winchester. Something stirred outside, causing the griffon to instinctively reach for the G43, roll around on his back and point the gun at the entrance. Silence. Garreth propped himself on his wings and got up, then slowly moved outside. It was nearly dark but the barren neighbourhood offered no cover for anypony who would want to sneak on him, so that was a relief. Figuring out it must've been the wind, since there were no tracks he could see or any other signs of life, the griffon scooped some sticks and leaves to add to the fire and went back in, while keeping an eye on his surroundings. Once the fire took his modest offering, Garreth resumed the quest for Winchester ammo. He found a bandolier with 40 rounds in it, and unloaded 3 rifles for 34 rounds total, then reloaded his rifle to full capacity -15 rounds. Now that he had some more spares, 69 exactly, he sat by the fire, both weapons within reach, and started thinking on his next move.

@, "A bounty hunter? I never thought ponies did such things for a living... I am, was, a security guard in one of Manehattan's private security companies - "Lockdown Security". The owner just named it after himself..." - Garreth rolled his eyes at the last remark. It was a stupid name alright. "After what happenned today, I'll be lucky if I find work as a mate in one of the cargo ships..." - his voice trailed off as the thought sank in. Luckily, the cave Harley mentioned showed up just before them - a small hole in the red sandstone cliff, just enough for a pony to walk in in height and wide enough for three ponies to walk in at the same time, give or take. The area around seemed barren, save for some dried vegetarion. Fading sunlight illuminated the cave's inside, but just barely. They went inside and dropped their stuff a bit further in. The cave was cool and dark, so Garreth had no idea if it's the only chamber. The echoes weren't enough of an indication as far as he could tell. "There are some dried leaves and sticks outside, but nothing to sustain the fire for any length of time... I think I saw some rustbuckets that wouldn't turn much of a profit..." - Garreth was unsure how Harley wanted to start the fire anyway, but she was a bounty hinter, so maybe she new some tricks. He reached out in near darkness on the cave and produced two coach guns which clearly saw too much abuse in their life. "Will these suffice? Oh and I'd rather unload them, wouldn't want a surprise..." - the griffon quickly checked if the guns were loaded, and one had shells in both barells. - "Maybe we could use the powder in some way? Tear a shell open and ignite it..." - with both guns held under the right arm, he squinted at the shells in his left claw, trying to figure out how to make a fire out of them.

@, Garreth looked up from what looked like factory fresh Colt revolver in his claws and noticed the sun was indeed rather low. He habitually consulted his wristwatch: "Seven thirteen? Time flies when you're in mortal danger... Y-you say we're staying out of town for the night?" - he was taken aback by the proposition, but didn't have any better ideas. "I don't know really, I haven't really camped since summer camps in school... been a while, you know, but I'll try to be of use." "O-okay, I'll follow you. Just let me gather this stuff first, alright?" Garreth dashed for his carabine and slung it across his chest using the leather strap it was equipped with. Then he extended his left wing to make a cradle shape and proceeded to load anything left on the ground onto it. Soon he had to support it with his left arm and load with the right one, which caused him some pain. He picked the full helmet last and so encumbred he proceeded to follow the mare to the cave she mentioned earlier, while inadvertedly looking around for any sign of the bandits. She did mention they creep out at night, right? Once they marched a bit into the orchard, Garreth decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to start some conversation. She did save him back then and allowed to tag along when she could just scoop the best gear and walk back home... "Sooo, uh" - he started, hesistantly - "What brings you to this scenic, and as it turned out, bandit ridden, neighbourhood?"

@Roxy Sparx "Hmm, alright" - the griffon nodded. Thankfully he calmed down already after what was by far the worst fight he was in his whole life, and regained the ability to think rationally. He'd rest his carabine against the nearest tree in order to avoid fouling the mechanisms, suddenly remembering that the cleaning kit was in the truck, as most of his posessions... Then he removed the helmet and tossed it near the pile, upside down, figuring it could do nicely as a bowl for spent shells and such. His neck was starting to ache from the weight anyway. "I guess we can put the small things in it, it'll be a bit easier to carry that way." - he explained as the steel bowl made a tiny crater in the dirt. One last thing before joining Harley in the labour of sorting through their loot, Garreth made, a somewhat comical given the circumstances, attempt to srtaighten his clothes and remove at least some of the now dried dirt which dotted his uniform. "Damn, this will be hard to wash..." - he muttered to himself, oblivious to the futility of his attempt to regain a presentable look. After deciding that things are in the correct places and he can't do anything about the stains, he mimicked Harley's cross-legged position across the pile and started to rummage through it, tossing spent shells into the helmet, all kinds of clips and ammo next to it, and asking Harley where to put various items if he couldn't tell which grup they belong to.

@ Gareth sighed: "I guess you're right... quite a trek once we gather all that stuff..." Since the introductions were over, the griffon got back to looting his assailants remains, fishing out ammunition, weapons and whatever seemed like could be sold. Harley was right, they didn't seem like some half starved degenerates robbing ponies to survive... For once, their clothes were mostly in good shape, they had watches, pendants or other things that could turn a profit if they needed bits, and, yes, those guns weren't exactly cheap, or old for that matter. He couldn't say much about ammo though, since he just used what he was issued with and never really got to know which brands were good. "Look at thaaat..." - he whistled after rolling another corpse in it's back, revealing what must've been a BAR... before it's huge owner bent the barrel when he dropped dead. "Well, maybe your friend will give us a fair price for scrap." The gun landed on a small pile of looted items in the middle of the road. Minutes passed in silence as Harley and Garreth were scavenging on separate sides of the road, until they finally decided they picked the place clean. "Okay, we have the gear. Soo, what now?" - he asked a bit confused, looking at the pile.

@Roxy Sparx Garreth apprached the nearest corpse when the mare spoke. "If that's rusty, then I'm not sure if I want to see sharp." - he cocked his head in the body's direction. Poor guy lost his hat... along with most of his head. Not a pleasant sight... "Garreth. I wish I could say it's a pleasure too, but, you know, with this mess and all... Still, thanks for the save. I bet they would jump on me if not for your timely intervention. Most appreciated." - as he proceeded to shake the mare's hand, a sharp flash of pain made him wince a bit, but he returned the gesture and only then looked at his right arm. "I'll keep that in mind. Oww, didn't feel that one a second ago." There was a hole in his uniform, and upon closer inspection it seemed a stray bullet glanced his arm. Nothing too alarming though. A cursory glance on his other features proved that he seemed otherwise uscratched, albeit his pristine grey uniform was a mess: aside from the bleeding hole in the sleeve, his jacket and breeches were in mud and grass, same with the open paw cavalry boots. Even though his black main belt seemed intact, the ammo pouches were askew, same with the gun holster. The flapping black tie and previously white dress shirt that now was anything but, completed the dismal display. Then he rememebered about the helmet and removed it to take a look at it too - just a few scratches - and put back on again. "Guess I'll get to it then, grab whatever can be sold from these jerks."

@Roxy Sparx Garreth said nothing as the strange mare replied to his inquiry. He was still processing what happenned, and the adrenaline was slowly losing it's grip on him. He didn't object when she took his carabine and inspected with practiced movements. A sudden question brought his attention back to the present. "I, uhh, it's not really the gun itself, but rather the ammunition. Q loves to buy expensive guns, but then he has to cut corners on ammo and other gear to balance out the expense. He's our quatermaster, you know. Old as dirt. Nopony even knows his real name these days, Just that stupid inicial from "quatermaster". Like it's some action novel..." Only then did he take a more thorough look on the mare, who seemed to become preoccupied with scavenging the "battlefield". "That rifle... Are you the one who's been shooting these... individuals... from out there?" - he pointed towards the town as he finished his sentence. He then picked up his own rifle and affixed the bayonet. For what purpose, he had no idea. It just felt natural. Only then did he move from his spot towards the nearest corpse, figuring out he could help the mare pick up whatever supplies these mooks had on their now deceased persons.

It stopped raining grass, that was a relief, but the sudden lack of deafening noise filling his muddy retreat allowed Garreth to pick a noise most unwelcomed - his truck was reversing, and fast. Unable to contain his rage any longer, Garreth stood up, exposing his upper torso above the channel's crest and took in the scene before him: the bandits were in retreat, not really caring for concealment anymore as they sprinted away. Some were shot on the run by the unknown sniper that scared them. But those were just details. What mattered is that he failed his task, as, formerly his, Marecedes-Benz was reversing as fast as the beast's engine allowed. Hard Cider was nowhere to be seen. In a display of impotent rage, Garreth opened fire to the vehicle, hoping to cause something, anything that would make it stop. He emptied the rest of the second clip and loaded the third, but as he pulled the trigger, the weapon jammed. He caused no harm to the armored monstrosity, which turned around and zoomed out of view. In absence of mortal danger or any further distractions, Garreth proceeded to unload his anger on the malfunctioning Gewehr 43, cursing colorfully as he forced the weapon to spit out the round and unjam. "You piece of junk! You ALWAYS jam when I need you! ALWAYS!!!! I bet that old goat Q is having some sick entertainment in issuing us scrapmetal to defend ourselves!" Finally, after some persuasion, the reviever moves and ejects the round onto the grass and loads a new one without incident. @Roxy Sparx Startled by the sudden appearance of another pony, and seemingly out of nowhere too, Garreth jumped and turned around. Fortunately this time he wasn't holding the trigger, discharging would be even more embarassing. "Wha? Oh yes! Right, um, could you bring that truck back? And it's driver too, in one, unbloodied piece?" - he smiled broadly, clearly not yet realising the full extent of what just happenned here.

It could have looked better. Once the lead started flying from both directions, Garreth jumped into the melioration channel he was inspecting a moment ago, peering out to take a shot and duck again. It seems Cider had enough luck to get back into the cab without getting one in the head, if the returning fire from inside was any indication. From what he could see, Garreth was facing multiple assailants grouped on both sides of the road. How they remained unseen until now, he had no idea, but the thick apple trees were excellent cover for their advance. Both guards were aiming at the bandits when they were changing position to another tree, when they were in the open, but despite their rather accurate fire, it seemed those bandits kept creeping closer... Garreth emptied the first 10-round clip within minutes, which wasn't good news. He had just 4 mags for the G43, and 4 10-round clips for his Mauser c96 sidearm stuffed in his pouches and pockets. He couldn't miss a shot, but it was surprisingly hard to concentrate when you're being shot at... "I just hope Cider's doing better..." - he muttered to himself before chambering the first round from second clip. He wasn't. The moment Garreth emerged from cover to redouble his efforts at beating the ambushers, he noticed that the closest brigand was hugging the tree adjacent to the road from the truck's right. Unable to take him out, the griffon shot his companion a couple tree rows further and ducked just in time - a bullet scraped the crown of his helmet, turning it into a ringing bell. "G-AAAAH DAMN YOU!" - he shouted, then shook his head and hollered as loud as he could: "ON YOUR THREE, FIVE METERS! GET THAT #%&@$*! The only response he recieved was a hail of bullets peppering the channel's crest, forcing the griffon to keep his head low and wait till the shower of dirt and grass ends. Then, a familliar sound, and most unwelcome too, considering the circumstances - a loud shriek of overbuedened hinges holding the truck's reinforced door, followed by the unmistakeable boom of a coach gun. And they didn't have one inside, so that means... A loud splash to the right announced that one of the raiders jumped into the channel, cutting the trail of dark thoughts short. Garreth turned to face the adversary, slipping in the water and hitting the side of his impromotu trench with the left shoulder and discharging his weapon. The earth pony staggerred, luckily hit, allowing to put another, this time aimed, shot in his muzzle. The lack of gunfire booming from the truck seemed to confirm his fears. For all it's worth, from now on, he was alone in this mess. @ Maybe not alone. Garreth heard a distant sound of a rifle from the general direction of the town, echoing from the apple trees, the silent witness of this uneven battle. Soon another roar accompanied it, and a third one, forming a steady pace. The covering fire that kept the griffon pinned for the last minute or so quickly dissipated as the brigands apparently sought cover. The situation seemed to have improved a thousand times, if not fot the unmistakeable screetch of those blasted hinges, singalling somepony opened the cab door again...

"Five thirty three PM... Took us long enough, Cider." Gareth looked away from his timepiece and onto his companion, an earth pony called Hard Cider. "Yeah, yeah, no need to get all worked up. I only got lost once, okay? It's my first convoy to Appleloosa... Besides, you could take the wheel yourself." Gareth just eyerolled and said nothing. Boss was crystal clear - the new guy is driving this time, and he's babysitting him on what seemed like a road trip, albeit in an armored Marecedes L3000 truck loaded with Celestia knows what... Just another day in the office. A sudden bump in the road broke the griffon from his musings, quickly accompanied with a flash of pain as he slammed his head into the cabin door, where normal vehicles had windows, but this rumbling oven had a steel plate with a small visor. "Oww! Do you want to break the axle and lug this stuff on your back? Watch the road!" The younger stallion shot a glance at his passenger, but decided to shut up. No point arguing with THAT guy... Still rubbing his temple and holding back his irritation, Gareth resumed scanning the surroundings. "Slow down for Money's sake, there's a small bridge ahead. Remember what I told you. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious when you approach, then stop a few metres before the crossing. Put in reverse and await instructions." Hard Cider sighed. "Okay, mom... We're almost in the city dude, can't we just get on with it? I'm gonna boil in this armored coffin..." Gareth shook his head as he put on his helmet: "No way kiddo, we do this by the book." Just a quick glance to make sure the G43 is loaded, and the griffon was outside, leaving the bored driver alone. It took a moment to adjust to the sun and the cool afternoon wind, but Gareth was a pro. He looked around, seeing only rows upon rows of apple trees in every direction, and slowly walked to his inanimate saviour from the rumbling oven's belly. He hated those trucks... "Okay, what do we have here..." A wooden bridge, about 5 metres across a small channel, wide enough for a single vehicle. Nothing alarming so far. He came closer, now peering over the sights of his Gewehr 43 carabine. The channel looked... normal. Just a glance underneath the bridge and it'll be all over. "Hey, are you admiring the woodwork or what!?" Cider was hollering from the cab, head sticking from half open door. Gareth turned around in a split second. "Get back inside you idiot! I'm taking as much time as necessary to make sure this thing will survive the weight of that... truck!" Hard Cider was unamused. "Just hurry up already grandpa, I want to eat something before they close the tavern! Rule lawyer..." *PIIING!* Something hit the driver's door with a loud metallic bang. "Whoa, what the..." Cider looked around as the second round whizzed past his ear. Gareth brought his weapon to bear, scanning for a target. Suddenly, silhouettes emerged from behind the trees and started shooting to the pair of guards. An ambush. And they fell into it like schoolfillies.

Badass normal. I remember it from TV Tropes.

My personality type? Well, take a pick: MBTI - INTJ Big 5 - RxOEI Enneagram - 5w6 4 Temperaments/Eysenck - Melancholic Just remember that putting yourself in one of sixteen boxes of MBTI has twofold consequences: it may lead to self-discovery, better understanding of oneself and better care for oneself, but being type-savvy can be a risk if you use your type as an excuse or worse, judge others based on their type.