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You decide to relax... but stay alert. You don't like this. It could be an ambush, or a set up.
You pace the room, fidgeting with your knife, while you peak out each and every window. The arms dealer looks a bit nervous.
“Brun, I don't like your new friend here very much. He always looks like he's thinking bad thoughts.”
<span class="mu-r">”It's his first time, he's a little high strung. But he has a point. We don't want any trouble, just give us what is ours, and we'll be going.”</span>
“Still, you could always stay a bit longer. My wife is a great cook. Maybe some freshly squeezed juice and- oh wait, I think I hear the car coming.”
Within a few minutes, you have your package and you leave. Thankfully, your cover was not blown. On the long, quiet truck drive back to the reservation, you find yourself lost in thought.
The Westlanders. Once their own people, now just another hue of Mainlander. They chase the dollar, watch out the windows suspicious for their neighbors, but still put flowers in their hair. Does Brun not see it? Does he not see the blondes will suffer the same fate?
