Amos leans back and pats the motorbike's saddlebags, grinning. "Right here, sugar. Weapons an' food for all." Well not all but definitely Party and his crew. He flicks the clasp on one bag and pulls out a jar of fruit preserves to display. None of tge stuff is really fresh, it's all dried or otherwisepreserved but it's apparently better tgan what they can scavenge here.
It's fresher than anything else they've ever expected to get. It sure as hell beats dog food and probably doesn't kill them as fast as the exorbitant amounts of soda and bad booze they drink.
Party eyes the jar before reaching out to grab it.
"Sure, but you don't get any more 'till I get the goods," Amos warns, stepping away from the bike to hand over the jar. Despite wearing heavy boots his steps are whisper-quiet: he moves with a lazy grace and a fighter's poised balance.
Party might not have any of those, but he has a focused stare that would make most people uncomfortable. A very direct "I don't trust you until you give me good reason, and even then it's only temporary" statement summarized in a single look.
He takes the jar and opens it, giving it a sniff. As sweet as shittiest candy and soda they shove into their faces when they can, but a loss less non-chemicaly smelling. At least that's how he'd describe it if he was here to make conversation.
Just a dumb flunky, that's him. Amos shrugs and nods. Party's stare doesn't bother him one whit. He's faced down worse and tougher...or at least crazier. "The goods?"
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"As promised, sweetheart."
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Party eyes the jar before reaching out to grab it.
"Lemme see."
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He takes the jar and opens it, giving it a sniff. As sweet as shittiest candy and soda they shove into their faces when they can, but a loss less non-chemicaly smelling. At least that's how he'd describe it if he was here to make conversation.
"How'd you get it?"
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Just a dumb flunky, that's him. Amos shrugs and nods. Party's stare doesn't bother him one whit. He's faced down worse and tougher...or at least crazier. "The goods?"