TRISTAN "KAT" CAMPBELL - NOMAD
Head Armor: 7 | Body Armor: 11 | Shield: 0 | HP: 45
INT: 5 | REF: 8 | DEX: 8 | TECH: 5 | COOL: 7 | WILL: 7 | LUCK: 3/3 | MOVE: 7 | BODY: 7 | EMP: 3/5
Humanity: 26 | Wounds: | Critical Injuries: | Addictions:
Mustang Arms Mk III | Big Knucks | Brawling | Arasaka Kuma LRV
Theres a dry chuckle from the drivers seat as Cat pulls the Kuma into a lazy lefthand turn, cutting north as he squares off yet another leg of their search. Flicking his gaze up to the rear-view, the nomads eyes seem to smirk at the fixer, sparkling despite their flat-matte VA-surplus irises.
"As an old friend of mine would say, 'when the shit - the heavy shit - hits the fan, what do I gotta shout to get your lanky ass to duck?'" the chuckle returns, a rueful shake of his head. " - lankiness might not apply in your case but if'n things go south and I end up shouting 'Lady!' I'd rather you take it for the warning it is than a dumbass generic catcall, y'know?"
Slotting the LRV into the near lane like a slot car snapping to a track, he reached one hand over and punched the dash: there was a white-noise static hiss as the radio snapped on and then a high pitched dopplering whistle as it scanned the local bands before landing on Pacific Dreams 88.9 at the top of the dial, filling the car with a low, synthy electronica. Glancing at the rear-view and then to the passenger seat he shrugs. Wasn't quite what you could dance to but was probably more techgrrls vibe.
"Vexelstrom is typically more my speed, but might as well tranquilize given were supposed to play this one chill."
"And to answer the question - " his gaze narrowed, seeming to search out a path through the traffic to the horizon before answering. " - been awhile since fun's been in the equation: between the pack and 'running there ain't much spare. Bars are always good; and there's and old court near where I throw it in neutral each night - easy enough to scare up a ball and shoot a bit, maybe get a game goin' with some of the less 'psycho boosters." he smirked a bit at that. Been a few months but he'd wrecked Tabitha on the court last time he'd thrown down: the drinks he'd bought all around after had smoothed it out well enough though. Then, feeling the wheel in his hands, the familiar rumble of the engine, he shrugged.
"An' there's always maintenance." Another glance in the rear-view, eye contact in the reflection.
"Any moto that says getting inside an engine and making their girl purr ain't a perk of the job's a liar. Can't do what we do without being a bit of a gearhead. Might be less 'fun' than -" he frowned, trying to conjure a feeling into a word, failing. " - meditation, though."