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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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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.

Apples mean orchards. Thankfully, slobbering isn't something he's done since he was a child -- or, to be fair, since the last time someone knocked him unconscious -- but his face certainly lights up at the news.

"Oh, I'm not the troublesome sort." For the most part. "Does this Lucy lass grow them, then? I tend to the orchards at home."

"No," Babs laughs at the image. "Lucy doesn't grow them. She imports them."

"But if you wanted to set up an orchard around here, I'm pretty sure you could get some support. Fresh fruit is one of our biggest draws."

She turns and rolls toward the door. "C'mon, I'll give you a tour of the kitchen."

"I'm not sure we're planning on sticking around quite that long," Eleanor says, matching her tone to the wry smile that's now on her face. "At this farm, or in this world."

Tailing the wheelchair, Eleanor finally tucks her gun into the waistband of her cargo pants. This woman seems sincere, but so have many others they've met on their travels. Hence, it remains handy.

"How about bacon?" she ventures as they proceed indoors. She doesn't sound too hopeful.

Jamie is content to bring up the rear, especially as it allows him to follow the path of Eleanor's gun.

"We could start one," he offers quietly, eyes still glued to those hips. It's not that he's given up on finding the way home; he's just stopped looking so hard, and takes each day as it comes.

"Bacon covered apples?"

He had a cast-iron stomach.

"I don't know if we've got any left, but you're welcome to check," she waves at the refrigerator. "It's really a question of whether one of the Sokka's has been in here recently or not."

She snags an apple from the bowl on the table and tosses it absently toward Jamie in a lazy arc that will take it over Eleanor's head.

"No," Eleanor says to Jamie.

She makes no attempt to snag the fruit. She's already making a focused beeline for the fridge. The door is flung wide, and the contents inspected. The contents are then rummaged through with increasing signs of desperation.

"Fuck," she says eventually. "Nothing. Not even ham."

She turns away morosely and the door flumps shut.

After easily catching the apple and sending Babs an appreciative grin, Jamie takes a bite. Watching Eleanor is one of his favorite pastimes in this world, and she doesn't disappoint. He snickers at her expression as she turns around.

"Goddess, I wish it were otherwise. She'll be inconsolable the rest of the day."

Quick, someone go slaughter a pig.

"She doesn't need it for nutritional reasons, does she?" Like, she's not going to actually die without bacon, right?

Babs is glancing over at a laptop which displays all sorts of indecipherable data. She might be able to swing something if it were that important, after all.