The moment the truck pulls out of the lot and into the streets she drops the act, Madeline McCormick’s face contorting away from vulnerability and back into a boisterous, near-incongruent level of arrogant pride.
“HAAAAHA!!!” Her voice blares over the low rumble of the active engine, loud enough to reach the currently disconnected mind of Alto. A gear shift grumbling pain throughout the frame, the woman pressing the accelerator pedal as she sends forward acceleration from the hulk of rusting iron. “And that’s how you save thirty bucks! Whatta ya think about that huh?!”
The Gunslinger blinks slightly. “W-what?”
“We got thirty bucks below budget from that!” She continues with a snap of joy. “See Alto, it's all about playing with emotions. That’s how you really get the haggle to work. Gotta find what really hits them head on and then BLAM! Really strike that point home.”
He just sits in the passenger’s seat, avoiding eye contact with her.
“Oh come on, why the long face? We got a truck at a discount and at least two hours earlier than we expected. Hell, that guy even threw in a canvas cover for this thing so we’ve got a one-stop covered wagon! Even better, we've got ten extra bucks for gas and whatever other snacks they’ll be selling at the fuel depot. Cheer up a bit!”
He speaks to her as if talking to a child, a quiet voice holding the terrifying implication of gods above. “It's not good to lie.”
She scoffs at him, the response in the justification for actions acquired. “Alto, he was trying to sell this thing for eighty bucks. It was gonna get scrapped anyway, basically did him a favor taking it off his hands.” Madeline switches character, sarcasm palpable to any onlooker. “Plus, he still tried to negotiate with a pregnant woman and her poor mute husband! Oh gods above! May Stratos and Strata protect that girl! And may Alina bless that child so that they…”
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Too many names spoken in vain alongside an uncomfortable chair bringing an uncharacteristic mood to the Gunslinger. He ends the conversation sternly, the final lines crossed for his silence. “Stop.”
Another scoff, the young woman abiding his request.
It's oddly quiet in the outer city, the carnage of March’s upheaval remaining focused in spaces surrounding the tower and newly formed miracle. So deceptive that one could perhaps argue for the normality of current situations.
The Bandit drives the vehicle, keeping the rusting hulk away from the major arteries of highways and main streets. Curious glances received from occasional foot traffic, enough of an oddity to warrant a fast visual inspection but nothing more.
An exception as she asks the question to a passing worker, the factory overalls marking him as a truant within the still on-going workday. A voice called over the groaning of a barely maintained engine, her undisguised voice with a distinct centralian accent fast in tone. “Sir! What’s the nearest road to the southern depot?!”
The man’s grizzled voice derives from countless packages of cigarettes, rough but still understandable. “Down the street about two miles and then a left on second-third-second avenue! Should be right there!”
She tosses him a single .22lr round from the vehicle’s cab, a thoughtless token of appreciation. “Thaaank you sir!”
She returns to Alto’s attention. “People hate groups, but love one another. It's all about using that love, and understanding how we can use it.”
Alto dismisses the lesson with a single principle. “To deceive is a sin.”
Madeline shrugs at the simplicity of the words. “Ok look. The three ways of really convincing someone to do something is either a gun pointed at their face, a fistful of dollar-bullets, or having a child in immediate danger. And the only thing we got right now is guns, and I’m not in the mood of shoving iron in someone’s face. Much less something completely unloaded like your lil’ revolver.”
The Gunslinger is about to open his mouth before she continues. “Sin or not, it's gotten us a car for a bargain. So how about you just keep watch and shut up with the lectures while I drive.”