Keep Moving On [Spike/open]

[Riza Hawkeye]

The air was filled with the scent of rust and decay, carried by the chilly breezes that tore between the mountains and through the desolate landscape of the valley itself. Once the road had opened into a bustling town full of shops, restaurants and mechanics' homes, with plenty of space on the wide streets to display a nice new piece of automail or test each other in feats of strength before venturing to whatever job you kept; now there was only buildings falling to pieces amidst piles of rubble, some of which were still being called home by people with nowhere else to go or no inclination to make an effort beyond squatting in what was once treasure. What a sad existence, but as unfortunate as it was there were people who had it worse. They were dead.

With her eyes carefully taking in the her surroundings- there were as many thieves and bounty hunters here as there were poverty-stricken tinkers and scavengers- Riza moved between the larger piles, trying to make as little noise as possible with every step. In a place like this people were generally always coming and going, especially the itinerant travelers, but they didn't generally want to call a lot of attention to themselves either. She didn't look so clean and wealthy that she'd be worth robbing, and the gun on her back should dissuade anyone desperate enough to still consider it. For now the best way to survive was to be what everyone else seemed to be and go about her own business. She'd gotten so adept at it she could generally be where she needed to be and then back out of town before any of the more constant locals realized she'd done any more than get some basic supplies.

One thing that could be said about this disillusioned place; there was always spare metal lying around, and that appealed to a lot of her father's allies. That also meant that there were generally plenty of people dealing in the only trade that had remained constant- bullets and guns. Hawkeye was a good enough shot that she never wasted a single round, but with hunting and defending herself she still used more than a few of them, and she was far too rational of a woman to go out short of them in the hopes of more turning up. That was nearly suicidal stupidity. With a quick glance around she headed toward one of of the more populous side streets where some rickety stalls were set up, her eyes moving quickly over the different wares. Deliver the message, get your rounds restocked, get out, she reminded herself firmly, her senses taut.

[spike]

Spike was still hungry. He hated it, the feeling of an empty stomach, reminded him of home, and his dead parents. But Spike could live, it wasn't as though he had cash to spare on anything really, even food. But he'd manage, he could find a bounty or something to get him through the week or even the month. He wasn't worried about it now. Walking among the busy side-streets of Rush Valley, the smell of metal and rust heavy in the air, Spike sighed. Even if there was food here, it would probably taste pretty bad, or have a lot of germs or some other contagious ingredient mixed in from all the metal shavings and carbon.

Walking down the side-streets of the place, Spike began to notice a few food stalls around him, but he knew they would not be very good or tasty, and would most likely get him sick. His luck finally turned when his eye caught the glance of a noodle stall, the noodles seemingly freshly cooked, boiling in a metal pan. They were pretty cheap, but Spike didn't have any money with him. Time to resort to the usual methods. His practice and skill at slight of hand was paying off for Spike, as he casually bumped into a few passer-by's, their loose money lifting from the pockets of the unsuspecting civilians.

Smirking, Spike wandered back to the noodle stall, handing the owner some bills, taking the freshly poured bowl and starting to eat. Spike was happy to find something that wasn't as bad to eat as he suspected, after all, the place wasn't exactly all well sanitary, except the auto-mail and metal machinery around. Standing, bowl in hand, Spike walked off, eating the noodles as he wandered the streets, the bulk of his pistol in his back waistband covered by his jacket, always loaded in case there was an incident.

[Riza Hawkeye]

There wasn't much the eighteen year old former soldier hadn't learned about the world since leaving school and going to war, and her rational nature used those lessons completely. Riza knew that most disreputable people fell into two groups, easily recognizable by their behaviors. The ones who ignored everything around them usually had something to hide and didn't want to be found out, so they didn't call any attention to themselves, even with something so simple as catching another person's eye. Then there were the ones who watched everything with either suspicion or false cheerfulness- and those were the ones that she trusted the least because they usually wanted to hide their faults by remembering those of others. That meant being remembered, something the courier didn't want in the slightest.

With the hood over her cape pulled up, both to keep off the chilly wind that came down from the mountains as well as obscuring her face slightly she continued to face forward as she walked, head slightly down and only her eyes moving subtly to take in those she passed. It wasn't her first time in this area but it wasn't a fact Hawkeye wanted the world, or even the citizens of this place, to recognize too easily, so instead of making a straight line for the munitions shop she walked at a steady pace, checking the tattered and faded signs over the doors or on cracked windows until she found the right one. Though far from conventionally reputable at least they hadn't deliberately cheated her yet and in a place so destitute that was a rarity itself- and was also enough to almost make her miss the war. At least then she always knew where her rounds were coming from. The killing and senselessness of the matter had been terrible though and not something she mourned leaving behind.

Just as she was about to step up to the door she felt someone brush by her more closely than she was ever comfortable with, then brush a hand over her side before stepping quickly away. A sharp glance sideways showed an older man but with a singularly disreputable air about him, and the move he'd attempted was one most often used by children to pick a pocket, but after so long dealing with thieves and crooks she'd learned her lessons well. Both her money and her pocketwatch- a secret sign of the resistance used as a sort of code between them- were safely stashed away inside the inner pocket of her jacket and unable to be reached without her noticing and having a person in the range of either a grab or kick. Supplies and money were too scarce to chance losing just because someone was too lazy to sell scrap metal or take a job, and this man certainly seemed able to do a bit of work.

Rather than cause a scene and take a chance on calling any attention to herself Riza simply sidestepped and gave the man a knowing look before stepping into the shop she'd been looking for and looking around. Business here was always brisk but the place was more full than usual, mostly by a variety of mercenaries and bounty hunters who crowded around the bulletin boards to check the latest wanted posters. With a stern reminder to herself not to look toward them or even acknowledge her existence she simply took her place in line and waited to reach the counter, simply listening to the disreputable hunters of men and 'wolves' as they laughed. It sounds like the bounties have gone up again, she thought to herself, refusing to tense as a sigh slipped through. That meant being more careful than ever, and getting out of town fast was starting to look like a better idea than it had before.