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There's a flash and a bang and suddenly there is a well-muscled man in a rather ridiculous looking costume standing in the woods. But that might go overlooked since he's also wearing a frilly white apron (someone took his more manly one) and holding a skillet in which a pair of eggs still sizzle half-fried.

"Huh," he says casually as his head swivels around searching for threats. Definitely not Kansas.

Not that he was in Kansas before...

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"Twice-cooked eggs?" Thomas frowns in disapproval. "They'd get all rubbery."

Though... Blake's never known Lawton to be all that picky.

"Better than not eaten at all, is all I'm saying," Lawton tells him, confirming his suspicions.

And as if it's only just occurred to him to pay attention to his new surroundings or the gravitas of the situation, he looks around again.

"Don't reckon there's a diner 'round here anywhere?"

Thomas sniffs at the air. "Huh. I don't think so. Smells like wilderness out here."

"Fucking great."

Just to spite reality for that, Floyd takes a deep drag of his smoke.

"And you just tipped the last of our eats on the forest floor."

Blake rolls his eyes. "There's plenty to eat out here." They'll just have to hunt it.

"Yeah, like I'm gonna want to eat something you've killed. That's really gonna spoil my appetite. No offense, Blake."

"Well if you're gonna be like that you can just starve."

He shrugs. "Or shoot it yourself, I suppose."

It's now that Lawton actually acknowledges the fact that he's armed to the teeth, in terms of two heavily loaded wrist magnums. He doesn't look at them, just shifts posture to bring awareness to them.

"These," he says, "are fighting tools, not hunting."

Which means he's just oging to have to let Catman do the hunting. Shame.

"You could stand to lose a few pounds, anyway. You should be fine until we figure out what's going on and get out of here."

Lawton resents being called fat, so he frowns down at his not-overweight-at-all body.

"Hey, nothing wrong with my weight. Which one of us is getting laid regular, anyway?"

Which reminds him: he and Blake really are alone here. Still casually, he glances around again, looking for maybe Jeannette but also Scandal, 'Doll, or even Bane. He'd take the women for preference.

"Some of us other priorities," Blake countered lamely.

Though his eyes naturally scanned the area for the rest of the team too. "This is one of the weirdest ambushes I've ever been hit with," he finally decides.

"No kidding," Lawton agrees. He finishes his cigarette finally and flicks the butt into the undergrowth.

"Which way's home?"

"Good question." Thomas looks around, frowning. "This feels very North America to me... Maybe up in the Rockies..."

He shrugs. "Any direction's about as likely to be the right way to go for civilization as another."

"Alright," Lawton concedes. He stands up, and kicks the stool to the floor behind him.

"Lead the way, Catman."

"Don't start," Thomas growled, but his heart wasn't really in it.

Floyd would never start. Really.

But he still wants Thomas to lead the way. He's the tracker.

That's only because once Lawton gets going he never stops. This conveniently precludes the need to start ever again.

Blake shrugs. Then, following his own earlier advice, picks a direction at random. "Let's head west, then." And so saying, he does.

Lawton follows, close behind Blake, still indifferent to everything.

Which doesn't mean he's not thinking, and what he's thinking is: weirdest ambush ever, unless whoever's behind itwanted to get him and Blake out of the way to get at the others.

In which case, they're also morons.

"This is pretty weird," Blake says after they've gone maybe a while. "Even for us, I mean."

Pity the suckers who attacked Scandal, much less Scandal with the rest of the crazies at her side.

Just as he says that, there's a twang above their heads to the left, and an arrow shoots straight into the path, right at their feet.

Lawton steps past it.

"Think this is some fancy pants way of hirin' us?"

Considering some of the ways people have hired them in the past... it's certainly possible.

"That or someone's just a really bad shot." Because... really... Starting your ambush with a miss? "If we wait I bet we'll find out--" he's cut off by two more arrows missing them.

Lawton shoots a young woman dead out of the trees behind them. Without looking around or even stopping his progress. Three arrows were all he needed to identify the location of the archer.

"Maybe this is just the welcoming committee," he says, over the resultant shouts.

"Maybe they don't know who we are," Blake suggests. "Because they're running the wrong way." That is: directly toward them.

The five raggedly dressed people with makeshift weapons do not inspire much in the way of fear. Not considering the sorts of people the Six spend time around.

Lawton shakes his head. He's not sure how long it'll be before they get to civilisation, and he's not exactly short of bullets.

But this seems such a waste.

"All yours."

Isn't he generous?

Blake sighs, looks put upon, and wades into the onrushing "horde" with his frying pan. The massive cast-iron cooking utensil makes for a rather effective makeshift weapon, it turns out. Bones break, blood flies (none of it his), and only one guy slips past to get anywhere near Lawton.

Not that the guy in question is paying attention to that. He's too busy staring at the man in the apron who's killing people with a skillet.