Ahhh sweet tenacity. Markus thought as he watched and listened to the tormenting devils.

"I'm in, Royal flush!" Markus spoke in joy and smiled as he placed his set of cards on the tables.

The cards were all in the suit of the club, one of Markus's more favorable suits. He then motioned to Mercury and awaited to see his hand. Markus knew, there was little chance of Mercury winning though, only a set of aces would be able to beat that, and he had already counted the cards and made the calculations of the odds. It had been awhile since he had played games as such, but had gotten into them much more frequently ever since the event.

Miles was not willing to perform any of the kinky "services" old Mrs. Edwards wanted from a young lad like him, so he moved on to the next farm, which was owned by the Hoyle's, an old couple who was doing rather well in the growing produce business. Mr. Hoyle had a couple of relatives living in the Town, so chances where high Miles would get fed just for taking a letter or running some errand back home.

He didn't even get a chance to knock on the door, when Mrs. Hoyle came out of the house with a very nervous tone on her voice, grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

"Come in Miles! Look! I think there are bandits raiding the farm of those freaks down east"

The Hoyle's weren't what you'd call "mutant lovers" nor were they "mutant haters". They were "mutant tolerant", the kind who walked a line in between, always smiling, complimenting and chit chatting with you when you were around, but as soon as you turned your back, who knows what sort of names they called you. The fact Mrs. Hoyle had called her mutant neighbors "freaks" in his face, was testament of how worried she was and couldn't care less about proper etiquette.

Young Miles saw a chance to not just eat for today, but maybe fetch himself up to three days of supplies if he protected the Hoyle's house. Bandits were common, though in this area they were usually a disorganized, opportunistic lot who would cower and run away as soon as they noticed someone willing to stand up to them, so he grabbed his rifle, signaled his dogs to follow him and stepped outside.

"Don't worry about it, Mrs. Hoyle. I'll go outside and stand watch."

There was practically zero chance of bandits making a dent on the neighboring mutant farm's defenses and if any of them even bothered to look at the Hoyle's for easier prey, they'd notice the armed man with two big ass scary dogs standing side by side and maybe that would make them mull things over. Miles observed the action from a prudent distance and managed to catch a glimpse of the attackers.

Oh, wait a minute. These weren't ordinary bandits at all.

They were Amazons.

Miles stepped back as he struggled to find the doorknob behind him without looking. Had they seen him? How many of them were out there? His hand wrapped itself on the knob and he couldn't open the door. Mrs. Hoyle had locked it.

"Mrs.HoyleopenupMrs.Hoylecomeonopenupit'sMiles!"

Townies did a few things to kill time when they were bored. The big dogs loved their poker, betting food and items they'd rarely use so they could bet them again come next game. The smaller dogs usually prowled near Markus' tent, catching a tune or two from his collection and remembering the good old days when music was a push of a button away. Some men enjoyed hearing Roach's arena fights on the radio and betting on the outcome, but there were times, usually during cold nights, when some men would gather around a fire and talk about Amazons.

They were half naked hot mutant chicks living on their own in a bone fortress. How could they NOT talk about Amazons?

These conversations always started as whispers of wary, cautionary tales. Katrina did this, Kitra did that, Aura almost killed me, but as soon as liquor started to flow, they'd turn into lustful longings and boastful bragging. Miles had met or seen some of the Amazons back in the day at one point or another, but the one he knew the most was Syn and that was a half lie. She was a secretive, manipulative woman and men only knew from her what she WANTED them to know. The fact that his own brother and his clones held her a modicum of respect was a clue of what she was capable of.

What he found odd was that Syn was not in charge of the Amazons. People said that honor belonged to Queen Maxine. Over drinks, when words became slurs, some men joked about how much they'd like to be her king but as soon as they sobered up, you could see the terror on their faces when they were reminded of their drunken blabbering. She was rightfully feared by lesser men and all of these cautionary tales and prudent warnings came back to Mile's head when he saw the whole pack of them ransacking a farm BARELY A FEW HUNDRED FEET AWAY FROM HIM!

Mrs. Hoyle opened the door and Miles and his dogs sped past her, then he closed the door shut again, locked it and ordered the Hoyles to hide in the basement. He pushed their sofa to block the door's way, closed their curtains, blew out any candles, blocked the back door with a leaned chair, hid in the kitchen behind a half wall with his rifle ready and swallowed some spit down his dry throat.

He could have fled, but he wasn't going to leave the Hoyle's on their own. He was a goody-two-shoes (which by the way, were size ten, low sneakers, one was a grey Nike and the other a black Fila, both in disrepair) who cared too much about the little folk. If he could only warn the townies about the raid so they wouldn't be caught unprepared, they'd at least have a fighting chance.

He addressed his dogs in a hurry, giving them quick commands. The back door had a doggie entrance and it gave Miles an idea. "Astor, you stay with me. Tinaker, you sneak out back and as soon as you lose sight of those women, run like hell! Head to town! Warn them all!"

The dog fled as ordered while Miles stayed hidden, hoping beyond hope that the cavalry would arrive in time.

Isabel had no need for the odd paper dogs that Maxine could conjure up to aid the Amazons. Unlike the other ladies, she didn't have to travel on foot across the harsh terrain that used to be a city. Well, not on her own two feet anyhow.

The three pairs of spindly, spider-like bone legs still did the trick and remained a favorite means of transportation for her. They weren't bothered by uneven surfaces, nor hot or sharp debris littering the ground. They made it a breeze to climb almost any surface and allowed her much more speed in doing so than she'd have had without them. She bet she could give the dogs a run for their money in a race.

The "outfit" she'd taken to raiding in made it all that much easier to make use of such tools. There was no fuss over adjusting an outfit to accommodate her bones when the outfit itself was nothing but bone. As the fierce protection she'd once held over her sense of modesty had waned and eventually all but disappeared in favor of survival, she'd had less and less reasons to protest such wardrobe decisions. Adding her own touch of decoration only helped. Not only did it make utilizing her mutation that much easier, but it also saved her some necessity in patching up the clothing she owned as well as the need to find more clothing to replace what could not be repaired.

She was only slightly disappointed to hear that they'd be hitting one of the closer farms first before heading to Town to do their collecting. She really did prefer playing with the Townies over scattered farmers. However, the sight of the green patch coupled with the memory of what Allison had tried to serve her for breakfast quickly dissolved any disappointment. She couldn't help but sigh at the mention of strawberries. Those would be a real treat indeed.

Kitra's discovery of a force field was an unwelcome one. Those were always a royal pain in the ass. However, with the appearance of several people came the hope that one of them was responsible for erecting it and hopefully doing away with them would also cause the field to fail. A long blade of bone stretched itself outward from her palm as she watched the farmers take up arms. She'd allow Lady M to make the first move.

Mercury looked to Markus and grinned putting his hand above the pot. “Five Aces.” He tossed to down five ace of diamonds…he had found a magic deck of 52 matching aces so he had 47 more where that came from.

A collective groan resounded from the others. Jupiter shook his head. “Four eights and another ace…”

Zelek filed his nails carefully keeping himself clean, he had grown accustom to the lack of blood taking within the walls, there was that foxy little gargoyle that he wanted to get to know, he had to keep his mild mannered appearances up for her after all, she was about the only viable option for him as far as doting went, and the bi weekly trips to the pit sated him enough to stay sane, besides there was always the errant fool that decided to attack the city.
Those that didn't realize that haven was under coalition protection were fool hardy at best.

Hell their rep kept the farms outside of town safe. He had built a huge circular wall around the town, an hour at a time he summoned anything and everything he could to build up a mighty wall around the town, pretty soon he was going to start working on making a glass like dome over the top, but that would take time and some engineering feats from whichever one of these red guys was Mars, his guess would be the book reader there.

He looked out the window and noticed one of those demon hounds that kid had following him around all the time. Except the kid wasn’t around and neither was the other bigger dog. It was just going insane barking and going wild, something was definitely wrong.

“Hey boys, we might want to wrap this up, I’ve got a feeling trouble is brewing.” Zelek slid his gas mask on carefully avoiding his twelve inch red liberty spikes and let the copper nail file dissolve into thin air.
He went out the door and formed a large disc of available quickly available minerals, once the other’s stepped on the disk he would form foot holds onto it so the wave like motion this travel caused didn’t dislodge its riders.

“Tinaker. Lead the way!” once the hound set forth the disk was lifted on perpetual wave of mineral grains flowing steadily beneath the disk pushing them forward at a rate that nearly kept up with the dog.

Riding a large paper war dog was a surprisingly pleasant form of transportation. Maxine-animated paper was a soft, forgiving material. Kaitlyn almost felt like she was riding on a cloud, even when her steed galloped over piles of rubble that anything else might have considered a troublesome obstacle. With a torn scarf and a pair of sunglasses keeping the dust off her face and eyes and a bloodied and bullet-hole-ridden digital camo jacket keeping the sun off her arms and back, she was having a perfectly comfortable ride.

She must have looked like some kind of undead child soldier. This honestly wasn't far from the truth.

When the farm came into view, her mouth began to water. They even grew berries! This was what Kaitlyn was really looking forward to: better food. It had been a long time since she'd enjoyed something as sweet as a strawberry. She wasn't going to make that interval any longer than it needed to be; the second she had a fruit anywhere within her arm's reach, it was going in her mouth. She could almost taste them already.

Except, as it turned out, there was a force field between herself and the strawberries. A mild irritation, if Kaitlyn was right about how that mutation worked. "I'll take care of it." She dismounted her paper steed a few feet away from it.

The farm's defenders readied their weapons, not knowing what to expect from the diminutive Amazon. She gave them a good-natured wave, then laid her hands on the force field. It felt solid, but smooth, like a giant eggshell. She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.

All was still for a few seconds. Then, one of the defenders cried out in pain, cradling his head in his hands and falling over. A small stream of blood began to flow out of his nostrils. A few seconds later, the entire force field became visible for a moment as a translucent, violet dome surrounding the whole farm before it flashed out of existence, accompanied by a loud popping sound.

The little amazon didn't waste any time. She bolted towards a nearby strawberry plant and ripped off one of its fruits, which she immediately bit in half.

It was delicious. As in, eyes-rolling-to-the-back-of-her-head delicious. Especially for someone who'd had to endure Allison's cuisine for the last few months.

One particularly grumpy-looking farmer seemed as though he'd had enough. He leveled a double-barreled shotgun at the girl. Both barrels exploded with light and smoke. Small pieces of metal tore through her torso, knocking her off her feet and onto her back. Both sides of her jacket were now riddled with new holes and fresh blood, much of which already began to seep into the cracked sidewalk where she'd landed.

For a moment, all was still.

Then, the girl raised an arm as high as she could from her prone position, and gave everyone the thumbs-up sign. "You've gotta try these strawberries!" she exclaimed to the other Amazons, putting the other half of the strawberry in her mouth. Her flesh was already starting to knit itself back together.

Kaitlyn was in heaven right now, and she wasn't going to let something as minor as a couple of gunshot wounds spoil that for her.

The dog that had carried Kaitlyn was red; a sheer, vibrant red. From a distance—from up close, even—it held the same sheen as a pair of silk pajamas, the same exact visual texture. Only to the touch was its true nature clear: the sheets that rustled and swirled over its surface, forming the hollow outline of a pony-sized dog, where not silken swatches of cloth: they were paper, the same as the other dogs.

Not that any of the dogs looked like paper.

They were bright, colorful creatures, cutting bold shapes in the dusty gray ruins. They gave a carnival air to the whole attack: as if their riders were just harmless gypsies passing through, stopping for a chat at this lovely farm.

Of course, Isabel's bone spider legs might have spoiled the effect, even if their reputations hadn't preceded them. That, and their sweet little girl's eagerness to get shot.

Maxine did love the look on people's faces when Kaitlyn did that. Nothing said "resistance is futile" like a little girl picking berries with lead in her chest.

The red dog's silken-seeming ears cocked back as all this went on. Its head moved to follow something that no one else particularly took note of: the frantic bangs of a desperate young man on a door, about a hundred yards away, and the departure of a black form through the ruins.

With no particular orders, the red dog followed at an easy lope. It knew the edges of its own territory, even though they were ever changing; the redhead that its Alpha obeyed was their center, no matter where she might decide to go. About half a mile away from the farm the red dog dropped from a run to a trot, from a trot to a walk, and came to a quiet halt with its muzzle pointed towards the running black form. The black form, that itself was pointed like an arrow at the town.

A low rustling growl of paper-on-paper started in its throat. It knew the pack that lived in those walls: it had fought them before, in this form, and in others. It had been destroyed more than once: burned, sodden, buried, torn up too fine to live. It needed no new orders to know that the pack that lived in those walls was to be fought against to the death. They would not cross into its territory: not while the red dog could still function.

As the speeding black form crossed the town gates, the red dog crumpled to the ground in a thousand separate sheets. It drifted into paper thin cracks in the rubble, and there waited, on a direct course from the town to where the Amazons where attacking.

If the people from the town crossed its path, it would spring from its hiding places, and defend its territory against their invasion.

---

Maxine's own dog was the black of crushed velvet. Celeste's work, of course: this dog, and all the others. She swore that the color-painter enjoyed adding her own flare to the Amazon raiding party: why else would her prices for the service be so low?

The redhead smirked somewhere over Kaitlyn's head, towards the gathered farmers. She cupped her hands over her mouth.

"Don't be so greedy," she shouted. "You can grow more any time. Poor girls like us have to go door to door, collecting donations. Why don't you let us take a few things, and be on our way? There's no need for all this violence."

Yeah, right.

"Kitra, Aura," she said, letting her hands fall back to her sides as she watched the farmers sort themselves out into defensive positions. "Would you care to make sure they're out of bullets before the rest of us join in?"

"And remember, ladies: don't kill the growers."

With certain members of her team, that bore repeating: never, ever kill your meal ticket.

After all, a little maiming could go a long way.

Prior to departure on the odd disc shaped mineral collective, Markus had shouted to a man wearing what appeared to be a football chest guard with a red hammer painted on it and an assortment of similar scavenged items. "Ready the Centurion Garrison and send them our direction, also give word to Gina to patrol in the same area!" Markus was lucky to finish his sentence, and still have the man he told it too to be able to understand it before him and his voice were whisked away in a quick lift off.

Wonder what it could be.... Markus began to take into consideration all the factors that could play a role in what would panic one of Miles dogs, and began to turn his mind to plotting any strategy for any event that may happen if need be.

Not having other means of transportation like Isabel’s bone spider legs or using something else to hover on Syn was also riding one of the few paper dogs. This one had been tailored to Syn’s infamous color scheme. It’s head, left front leg, right hind leg and tail were all blood red while the rest of it’s body was pitch black. As all of Maxine’s paper war dogs stood out from each other this one was no different.

Syn’s own raiding attire was made from pieces of some of her former outfits. Her mask and goggles fit snuggly to her face. A worn and dusty black trench coat draped down around her and reached almost to her knee high steel toe combat boots. On her right hip was the .45 caliber pistol she had picked out several years ago when Markus had offered the Order weapons. On her left hip was a razor sharp bone sword Isabel had crafted for her.

They had arrived at the designated farm and almost immediately events unfolded. First the discovery of the force field over the planted ground, and quickly after the farmers and their helpers took up arms. The Amazons ferocious reputation always preceded them resulting people either running for their lives or taking up arms in hopes of being able to stand up to the women.

Syn shook her head and smiled at Kaitlyn’s ever amusing tactic. It never ceased to be entertaining watching the girl get leveled from a blast of a firearm just to give a thumbs up and then continue on about how the strawberries tasted. It was almost like the old anime cartoons Syn used to enjoy watching.

Maxine called out to the people in hopes of getting them to lower their guard. You’d be surprised how often it actually worked as most people preferred to live than put up a fight. Syn positioned her dog to the right flank of Maxine’s as Aura and Kitra were sent to help ensure that the rest of the group didn’t end up getting shot like Kaitlyn.

Checking her own firearm Syn had a full magazine of 13 bullets, but that was the majority of what she had total. She watched her Amazon sisters move forward while keeping an eye on the defenders. Not having ranged abilities like some of the other women Syn had worked on improving her close quarters fighting with help from Isabel and Aura.

Don't you hate it when you've taken all the preparations you possibly can to hide and stay unnoticed for as long as possible and all of a sudden you need to pee?

Miles held it in and counted his bullets for the nth time. Staying hidden inside the house without making a peep was the sort of situation that could get anyone's mind wandering and thinking of the million ways this whole thing could go wrong. He was grossly outnumbered and if even one of the girls made it through the windows, what was he going to do? Shoot her? Then what? How was he going to shoot the other girls who would surely hear the first shot and be royally mad at him? He only had nine bullets and it was a slow firing rifle, more for show than anything else, because he wasn't even that skilled with it.

If he hurt any of the Amazons on his lonesome, he'd be toast. Burnt toast. Burnt crumbs of toast inside the toaster. There had to be another way.

What if he surrendered? Would they capture him? Would they actually drag his butt all the way to the bone fortress and make him their prisoner? Would they chain him to a bed and... and... he fantasized for a bit...

Miles shook his head and snapped back to his dire reality. The Hoyle's were down in the basement and they were his only concern for he thought the Amazons were a bit on the 'radical' side regarding mutant/human relationships. He wasn't so sure they'd go unscathed if he left them to their own devices, so he held his ground, gripped his weapon tighter and hoped for help to arrive in time.

Speaking of which, where were they? The mutant closed his eyes and focused his senses on those of his smaller dog. His mind drifted and the visual feedback he got came in black and white from a close to the ground perspective. This wasn't the way to the town, this was the way back to the farms and there was an odd noise to his side. Miles mentally commanded the dog to look to his side and there he saw them.

Reinforcements!

The cavalry!

This deserved a quick trip to the bathroom.

One tent was mixed in with the lot from The Town. It was a tent that was nondescript, pretty unimpressive and easily looked over. It looked just like any other tent, surrounded by small, shanty buildings that made up part of the Town. As a matter of fact, the tent was so basic, so simple, that people often wondered who would want to live in it? After all, enough time had passed since the apocalypse that people were beginning to see the necessity in proper living arrangements.

After all, stone, metal, all that held up bunch better than finely woven canvas with patched up tears in it. But, whenever the townfolk attempted to speak to the owner of this tent, they never got through to the occupant. He wanted things simple, that was all.

Most would have called him crazy for that; maybe avoid him since in this day and age, no one could deal with the insane.

But this tent dweller, this…man, had put his life on the line to protect the Town more times than could be counted. He a savior to some, a reminder of justice to others, and to still more he was just a man that nobody wanted to cross. After all, should he walk out on the Town…where would they be left?

Jorge Cervantes lived in this simple tent; former police officer, former X-men, now upholder of justice and some sense of civilization in a mad world. He was not a leader, but many looked to him for guidance. It was a hard role to take on, but Jorge did it to keep the citizens of the Town pacified and protected. So long as there were some people in the town for everyone to look up to, then that should keep the masses from panicking. That was why Jorge had accepted the help of the seven red devils and a tactician. But the one he trusted the most of his deputy, Gina. The young gargoyle had proven herself time and time again and was his only source of trust. Together, they kept this town safe.

Jorge did his best; but he was not the protector made-of-iron that he presented himself to be. Especially not now…not when he was praying…

As most people do when fallen on hard times, Jorge returned to his religious roots. He prayed regularly and, while part of him doubted anyone was really listening, it was enough to keep him sane. After all, when the end of the world came, he lost so much.

Inside his tent, kneeling on the soft ground, Jorge hand his eyes closed as he knelt before a small altar. The former detective, now full-time sheriff for the Town, was dressed just as simply as his tent was. His clothes, patched up, dirty and torn, hung loose about his shoulders in shades of green and beige. In his hands, covered in fingerless gloves, was a tarnished, silver chain that had two very important things that survived the blast: his grandmother’s crucifix…and the silver wedding band of his deceased wife…Gemma Taylor. Softly he ran the chain and the charms through his fingers like a rosary as he prayed…

“Eternal Father, I offer You all the Wounds, pains, and the Precious Blood from the Sacred Feet of Your Son, Our Lord and Master, for all Your children who are wandering like sheep without a shepherd in this terrifying forest. Protect them against wild predators and give them peace that they might be one, and united in the same way as the nail held fast the Feet of my Master and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.” he whispered.

The prayer continued again as Jorge muttered to himself, praying to the cross and running the chain through his fingers. But even as his prayer ran again, he would pause for half a second every time his fingers brushed the wedding band. A tear welled up but he continued to pray. All he wanted was peace…but sometimes even that was too much to ask for.

Silently he prayed as he took another shaky breath. Too many days had gone by without something befalling them…it was bound to happen in the next day or so, maybe even today…

Lounging on the roofs of buildings had become commonplace for the young gargoyle in the years transpiring after the Apocalypse. It was an old habit, difficult to be broken-- she'd ben airborne when the blast had struck New York, sent tumbling backwards from the shockwave and spiraled into the side of a building. Fortunately, she'd hit a patio to an apartment, caught herself of the beams, and did not smash up against concrete, through glass, or any more hazardous materials. The years had refined her-- she still stood at her slight, 5'1" stature, but her face lacked the youthful roundness that it had once possessed. Her face was thinner, more mature, and her expressions tended towards a more serious blend of expression, though it still bore an air of kindness. The apocalypse had caused her protective instincts to become dominant, and Gina had made more attempt to change that.

She preferred rooftops and skyways over the ground, kept just enough distance from the townspeople to bear slight mystery. Her mutant cohorts were her family, Jorge being somewhere between uncle and father, while the rest were like siblings to her. It was because she favored Jorge's company that Gina lingered upon one of the more stable rooftops near his tent. She didn't know what he was doing, and she didn't pry. Much like people didn't ask her if she had family, where they were, if they were alive-- they were questions Gina couldn't answer.

Gina stretched, her arm dangling over the building's edge. It was a lazy day, perfect for a nap. The gargoyle leaned her head into the crook of her arm, basking in the sun. Her attire was also very practical. Though the Amazons seemed to tend towards fashion over form, the gargoyle had taken a more practical (and less attractive) approach to adornment in more recent years. She had scrounged up hunting gear from old outdoors stores, cut and modified them for her form, before stashing them away outside of the town. Among the clothes that she always kept, however, was a trenchcoat that was far too big, shinguards and bracers, and a scarf that was large enough to serve as a head covering, on occasions, and a covering of her mouth and nose. Though Gina made certain to clean her clothes in the water near town, they'd been permanently stained brown from years of well use.

Gina looked up as a familiar pair of forms came charging down the avenue. There weren't many dogs in-town, and that bark was distinctively one of MIles' dogs.

"Tinaker?" Gina murmured, sitting up. It didn't sound good. Gina lifted her gaze, expecting to spy Miles.

Instead, she saw Zelek, who was gliding along upon one of his disks, and gliding along hastilty. Something was amiss.

"Jorge!" Gina shouted, "Something's up!"

She stood fully, extending her wings as the mineral manipulator made his fast approach. Her wings moved as if to take flight, without catching air. As Zelek drew closer, Gina would leap off the roof and follow him hastily. Something most certainly was awry.

The gloves had come off a long time ago.

Sveta was riding along with the Amazons on the back of a sky blue paper dog. While everyone else wandered in a loose group, she had a very well defined position: in the middle. Defended, and easily reached, from all sides, in case any of her sisters needed a little extra boost. She was wearing a leather vest over a loose T-shirt (or most of a loose T-shirt anyway), which left her arms and shoulders free for anyone to touch. The coffee buzz coursed through her veins; her bubble easily covered the whole block. Including the farm.

As they stopped to wait for Kaitlyn to open up the way, Sveta checked the two guns she had tucked into her belt. Three bullets in one, five in the other. Better make them count.

When Maxine gave the order to Aura and Kitra, Sveta nodded and extended her hands to both sides for the fighters to touch. Aura could deal with her boosted powers fairly well; plus a little show of power never hurt anyone.
Not directly, anyway.

It was open secret the Amazons had a power booster; many people whispered she was part responsible for the initial explosion. Those rumors, in the end, helped the Amazons: all Sveta needed to do was stand at arm's length next to Kaitlyn, and suddenly everyone lost their fighting spirit and thought about retreating from the immediate area.
They did not need to know the technical details.

"Don't make this messy." she called out. In Russian. She doubted any of the farmers spoke Russian. It was psychological warfare.
Worked great in America.

"Stay. Where. You are."

Aura looked around at the force that had been gathered to fight them. Pointless of course, the Amazon's had to much raw power to lose to much. Aura had chosen to walk, however, her Aura kept her feet from harm, which gave her an easier time then most others might have. SHe had learned to do much with her powers since the apocalypse, survival demanded it. Looking at Her her sisters she glanced at Maxine, their Leader.

She smirked at the shotgun Blast failed to do anything more then make noise to kaitlyn. "Right, the fools wont stand a chance" She said moving forward. Upon her orders, Aura smiled and touched Sevetlana, she had never learned to pronounce her name right. Closing her eye's Aura's body shivered as she felt Svetlana's power affect her own. The Boost was intoxicating and for a moment she felt as though she might drown under the power, but she was experienced with the effect's and kept her Aura at bay until she moved away a few feet.

Releasing her hold she felt the power manifest itself through her Aura. Mocing forward Aura let out an attention grabbing war cry and rushed forward. The Aura in front of her fist form a sphere then the spikes of the mace completed the weapon. As she ran forward she did not bother to try deflecting bullets, she simply let them strike, she swung at a man, but only well enough to knock the gun from his hand. She felt other impacts against her Aura, but aura paid them no mind, she wanted them to keep shooting, drain their ammo. Their was little elegance to it, none was needed, she simply swung to scare the growers and get them to fire.

And cute little Kaitlyn got shot. Kitra outright winced, not that it would be easy to see with her goggles on. Kitra couldn't really imagine being shot and being fine. Ugh, still at least she was alright.

"Kitra, Aura," she said, letting her hands fall back to her sides as she watched the farmers sort themselves out into defensive positions. "Would you care to make sure they're out of bullets before the rest of us join in?"

"And remember, ladies: don't kill the growers."

She grinned, no she wouldn't go for the kill, well unless it was Zelek that is. They still had an odd relationship of attempting to kill each other and then fixing each other up at the end. Even with them being on, well, different sides. Before she could really do anything then hover a few steps forward, Muse stepped up. Not literaly though, Svetlana yelled at the silly farmers in russian. As Svetlana did that, Aura stepped up and had touched her.

Of course the silly farmers freaked and started shooting. Aura deflected them with ease however. It was time for Kitra to step up. She moved forward a few paces while still hovering. Her bag at her side rustled and a multitude of paper rushed out of it. A few pieces wrapped around her wrist while the rest extended from those few pieces. Some served as a shield for a few bullets, however the rest became her trusty paper whip. Which she used to smack down those silly little farmers weapons, right out of their hands no less.

Kitra let out a small laugh. Ok, now the farmers had no guns and looked rather timid. "Any other takers?"

Maxine winced at the sudden mix of Russian and gunfire. All those bullets, wasted—when they would have made such good trades over at Celeste's. At least they'd be able to bring in the guns themselves. And vouch for their good firing condition. When it was an Amazon vouching, Celeste could believe it, no questions asked.

As to the Russian—she had no idea what the blonde booster shouted at times like these, but it sounded filthy. The redhead approved.

"That sounds like a wrap," she said, as that quaintly useless sound of dry firing mixed with the alarmed shouts of the growers. Well, more alarmed. Aura and Kitra were rapidly removing even empty guns from the hands of their owners. "Harvest time, ladies!"

Maxine slid off her own velvety black dog, grabbing the empty saddlebags off its back as she went. 'Saddlebags' was a bit of a high-flung term: they were really patched up backpacks, tied together in pairs by rope, but they got the job done. There was one for each of her dogs. She tossed a set to each Amazon who wasn't actively disarming the providers of this sumptuous banquet. Plant mutants really were a marvel: over there was corn and squash, here were tomatoes and cucumbers, all of them ripe out of their season. How many harvests did they get a summer? Three, four? Really, it was crime that they didn't share. She knew from experience that they grew wheat in the back—the Amazons would leave that alone. Why steal the ingredients for bread, when you can steal bread?

"Lady Syn, would you care to check the house with me?" It was about lunch time: they might get lucky, and not have to overturn everything looking for where these people hid their stored goods. Maybe there'd be a few choice morsels already set out for them.

In passing, she tossed the last set of saddlebags at Kaitlyn's head, as the girl continued her gleeful gluttony. "Make sure some of those get in the bags, all right?"