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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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"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.

Which means he hardly even noticed the bullet in the base of his brainstem that leaves his dead before he hits the floor.

"So no one who's heard of us did this."

"Definitely not. Unless this is one of those insane 'lull them into a false sense of security' things, in which case I've seen it done better."

He hefts his skillet. "I gotta say, I love cast iron."

Lawton has nothing to say to that, so he doesn't.

"Would expect something more interesting by now, though."

"Yeah..." Thomas looks up at the sky, eyes scanning for... anything.

"I'd say it's too quiet, but I'm trying to cut back on my cliches."

"Good idea," Lawton agrees. "It'd be a pity if you got more cliched."

"Says the hard-boiled heartless assassin." At least Lawton doesn't have a Heart'o'Gold.

Damn straight he doesn't. Next you'll be accusing him of having family issues.

...oh wait, right.

"Hey man, I'm a dying breed."

Thomas looks around. "Given our current situation, that's entirely possible." Floyd may have his guns, but Blake is stuck with a freakin' cast-iron skillet in the middle of nowhere.

Lawton raises an eyebrow in Blake's direction.

"not the first time I heard that."

"Not the first time I've said it."

"So... I guess we should stop standing around. Let's search these people and see if we can figure out what's going on."

"Do I gotta?"

Blake just sighs theatrically and rolls his eyes as he walks over toward the nearest body and begins a practiced rifle through pockets.

And, just think, Lawton would be his first choice for someone from the team to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with.