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Current Location: The Cooper Farm, Kansas

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A black Ford F-350 pickup truck moves along a narrow unpaved road towards the Cooper Farm. The exterior is a mess of cracked glass, dents, bullet holes, scratched paintwork and mud spatter, but it seems to be running smoothly. In the back, a more pristine-looking motorbike is held in place by bungee cords and a large pile of duffel bags, gas cans and other outdoor survival gear. There's also a tool box behind the cab, containing a sizable arsenal of guns, explosives and ammunition, and one very hi-tech bow. It's clear that this vehicle has been on the road for quite some time.

Jamie's at the wheel, keeping a sedate speed and tapping along lazily to a Steve Miller Band song. Eleanor is dozing in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard.

Since their arrival and subsequent alien encounter in Nebraska eight months ago, the two of them have conducted a fairly thorough tour of the United States: northerly parts in the fall and warmer climes during the winter. In that time, Jamie has learnt how to drive automatics and stick shifts, and Eleanor has figured out what his 'episodes' are, and how best to control them. They've roughed it at times, at others they've taken advantage of civilian abandonment, and there've been plenty of monsters, fights and adventures along the way. It was only a few days ago that Jamie accidentally tuned in to Barbara's automated radio transmission and discovered the existence of the Kansas safe-zone. They decided to check it out.

The truck hits a deep pothole as it enters the main yard of the farm. Eleanor's head thumps against the side window, jarring her awake.

"...Ow," she mumbles, eyes still closed. "Nice road. Are we there yet?"

[OOC: Two pups, two muns. Tag either or both.]

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Well we can't have that, can we?

"You're the cutest thing that I ever did seeeeeee," Jamie continues, looking unrepentant at both needling her and skipping a few lines to do it.

The next line, of course, goes without saying. Or singing. He's laughing too hard at her face to finish it, anyway.

"Steve Miller must have been a great American poet," he adds solemnly, hand at his heart and lips twitching. "Shall we look around?"

"Mmmhm. If you ever want to shake my tree again," Eleanor deadpans, "you'll stop torturing that damn song around me."

For what it's worth, there's a hint of amusement behind her dry gaze. Taking up the gun, she opens the passenger door and hops out, affording Jamie a nice view of her peaches en route.

"Let's do it."

Edited 2009-03-24 21:20 (UTC)

"Lady, you wound me. I've been told my singing voice rivals that of Josen the Bard. Mind you I never did ask the lass if she was referring to before or after Josen was kicked in the throat by his donkey."

Jamie addresses that last bit to the steering wheel, frowning slightly over the memory. Moments later he laughs it off and palms the keys, then opens the truck door, kicking it in the bottom right panel as he pulls the handle. The driver's side had taken a direct hit in Mississippi. Now it sticks.

Only when he's finally standing outside does he look around. "Could be promising," he decides.

"You're so full of shit," Eleanor snorts, mostly in response to the joke.

"Daytona Beach was promising, up until the harpies attacked. And you said Tucson was promising too, right before you fell into the Sarlacc Pit."

She pauses in order to snicker at that memory.

"So, yeah, I don't care how the place looks. How does it feel?"

"That's because you took off your shirt," he points out, coming up beside her and tucking a piece of blond hair behind her ear. "Which is, incidentally, why I wasn't watching where I was walking."

His grin suggests he has no regrets. They both managed to get away. Eventually. After she fished him out.

Considering her question, Jamie rubs at the day-old stubble on his chin. "It feels like we aren't alone, but I don't see anyone."

Edited 2009-03-25 03:04 (UTC)

Eleanor swats half-heartedly at his hand once the hair adjustment is complete.

"That's no excuse," she replies. It was hot. She wasn't stripping to distract him on that particular occasion. "You shouldn't have been ogling me when we were supposed to be doing a recce."

In his defense, the pit was covered and camouflaged. He probably would have fallen in anyway.

She scans around the area.

"Maybe there's someone in the barn," she suggests, waving her gun at the nearest open building.

"Then, by the same token-"

He hooks his thumbs into his faded black t-shirt and pulls it away from his chest.

"-you probably should have seen that walking Venus Flytrap last month."

Though he occasionally acts like one, Jamie is no fool. He and his large smirk quickly take two large steps toward the barn. Once he's out of her reach, however, the smile slowly fades and he drops down to run his fingers over a patch of dirt.

It's not really easy to sneak up on the farm since there's not much in the way of cover on the way in. Especially not in a huge truck. Which is why it's about this point that Babs rolls out onto the porch to get a good look at the new arrivals. The guns haven't gone unnoticed, but she's keeping her escrima sticks out of sight for now.

Huh... examining the dirt. That's new.

Jamie was prudent to move away. A vengeful boot lashes out in his direction, but far too late.

"I wasn't ogling," Eleanor humphs. "I told you, I thought you were fixing to spazz out again."

A barefaced lie, but one she's sticking with.

She rolls her eyes as he starts to inspect the ground, and glances about again. The lady in the wheelchair is spotted, as is her vaguely bemused expression.

"I know it looks weird!" Eleanor calls out. "Don't worry. He does this a lot when we get to new places. He's harmless!"

Barbara has long since stopped assuming things are harmless just because they seem that way, or because they say they are. But she's willing to play along a bit.

"Harmless, huh?" she chuckles in amusement and nods at the truck. "You found the thing in that condition?"

Eleanor starts to make her way over, hip-checking Jamie's shoulder as she passes him.

"Nope," she replies, smirking.

"This is all our own work. It was pretty much brand new when we first started using it."

She sounds proud of the fact.

"Where'd you come in from?" Babs asks, leaning back in her chair in a manner that suggests relaxation.

"We're always interested in news from the wide world."

"We've been pretty much everywhere in the last six or seven months. Around the US anyway."

For now, Eleanor's gun-hand hangs non-threateningly at her side. And the safety is on.

"We were near Lubbock, Texas a couple of days ago when we picked up a pre-recorded radio message from someone called Barbara Gordon. Said something about Kansas being safe."

She shrugs. "So, here we are."

"Here you are," Babs agrees.

She cocks her head slightly, deciding to see what she can learn before giving away too much. "You just trusted a pre-recorded message out here at the end of the world?"

"Oh no," Eleanor says, shaking her head. "We've been through a lot. We didn't trust it at all. "

She nods at her gun, without lifting it.

"We came prepared for anything."

Back by the barn, Jamie dusts the earth off his hands and rises to his feet, brow furrowed at some sort of internal debate. The sound of their voices finally punctures his distraction and he follows it with his eyes, seeming to just now notice the woman on the porch. A wide smile crosses his face, dominating his features, and his long strides make quick work of catching up with Eleanor.

"Except such a lovely welcoming party," he says, smooth but charming enough about it that it doesn't come off as insincere drivel. "Usually there are more teeth."

See? Harmless.

Babs raises an eyebrow at Jamie in what is obviously amusement. Then she glances over at Eleanor. "I take it I should consider his charm more dangerous than your gun?"

Eleanor snorts loudly.

"Right now, sure."

"Don't encourage him," she then advises. "It only gets worse. The guy can induce vomiting at fifty paces. You'll be begging me to shoot you just to make it stop."

Jamie's laugh is rich and unselfconscious.

"Don't believe a word of it," he tells Babs, coming up on the porch two steps at a time and extending his hand. "Her normally sweet disposition is on hold each day until she gets to shoot something."

Edited 2009-03-25 19:12 (UTC)

"No shooting around the farm, please," Babs cautions. "We won't really take kindly to that." And if the newcomers have a gun? Babs has the Black Canary.

Now in range again, Jamie gets the boot to the shin that he avoided a few minutes ago. It's applied almost absently, indicating that such responses are an accepted part of their relationship.

"Fair enough," Eleanor says. "Long as nobody shoots at us, or otherwise threatens our lives."

"Can you personally guarantee that?"

Babs considers who's around today before she nods, slowly.

"Yeah. You two are safe. You hungry? We've got fresh fruit."

While the last eight months make it difficult to accept her word at face value, the offer of fruit certainly helps. In Jamie's case, anyway.

"Apples?"

He's still grinning at her, making him look a bit like a puppy expecting a treat.

"Down boy," Eleanor chuckles.

"You might wanna get a rag. He's gonna be slobbering everywhere if the answer to that is yes."

"Lucy likes them, so we've got some." Babs eyes Jamie. "You're going to behave, right?"

She shoots Eleanor an amused look. Men.