Pyretta Blaze (Roadrat)

1

When people think of the barren, arid wastelands surrounding the ginormous hunk of metal that they called "Junker-town", a second glance was never necessary to realize that the area was just as horrible as it sounded. However, if you can, look past the ruined, stained architecture, pauperized civilians that were struck with disasters far beyond their control, and the sheer amount of nothingness that had come from these atrocities, you could find a scraggly-clad man named Jamison Fawkes. Accompanying him, a large, brazen-ox of a man, Mako Ruthledge. It was easy to mistake the two of them as any other grimy, delinquent dweller that had to deal with the horrid conditions of the irritated wastelands that surrounded Junker-Town. And it seemed that local viewpoints stemming off bigotry and prejudice led the civilians of Junker-Town to believe that this is all Jamison and Mako were known as. Albeit true, their intentions were far from narrow-minded and selfish. No, they had taken matters into their own hands. It was all they could do when put in an impossible situation such as theirs.

"Oi! Roadie! Where'd you put the damn ointment?!", Jamison shrieks at Mako, despite him being only mere inches away from the giant beast of-a-man, furiously shoving open, and then closing, various drawers and cabinets in front of him. Mako breathed a heavy sigh and pointed a large finger towards Jamison's arm. With the lengthy amount of time that they had to strengthen their companionship, sometimes words didn't even seem necessary to them. It was in Jamison's hand the whole time, no doubt about it. The tall, skinny man let out a shrill chuckle as he ran a slender hand through his singed, blonde hair, "Oh! It's..in my hand!"
Thought he would never show it, Jamison was a man who could not withstand the immense pressures of the world. Oftentimes, he found himself contemplating whether or not his tried acts of diligence and sovereignty could be enough to mask his pessimism. Because truthfully, not much could be done about the blood on his hands.

Now Mako, he was quite the opposite. He did whatever Jamison asked of him, as that was what he was payed to do. Nevertheless, though he would never say it, he would grow fond of the exhilarating atmosphere that was present whenever Jamison was with him. Though irritating at times, the experience was, at the very least, a step up from what he was used to many years ago. For the time being however, he was attempting to get his partner to treat the one of many wounds that covered and threatened his body. The process was tedious, but necessary, in order to keep Jamison from succumbing to some disease that could have definitely been avoided if he just sat still and took the damn medication like he was ordered to.

"Sit still dammit.", Mako grunted bitterly, grasping onto the Jamison's slender arm in an attempt to restrain it, "You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be."
"This shit hurts, you know that! I always tell you that! How about you try putting it on if you're so chill about it!", Jamison rambles, as he does so well, in an effort to prolong the process.
Mako lets out a heavy sigh and sloppily applies a dollop of ointment over a deep, blistered area on Jamison's arm, presumably from some accident involving fire, but not even he knew where it came from. The man winces in pain, however quickly bounces back and exhales a large sigh of relief.

"Thanks Roadie!", Jamison extends his long, outstretched arm and places it on Mako's rugged shoulder. Though it was an initial attempt to showcase gratitude, Jamison still couldn't help but admire the man in front of him.
Jamison was not a short man by any means, but when standing next to Mako, he might as well be. He never had an issue with it though, a bodyguard as large and giant as Mako is nothing short of a blessing. However, recently, Jamison began noticing things about Mako that he never cared enough to realize earlier on. For instance, there's a face. Behind that intimidating gas mask that Mako is so fond of, there lies a face unbeknownst to Jamison. You would think that a feature as important as one's face is at least considered in being brought up when meeting someone for the first time, but not for Jamison I suppose. He often wonders about what Mako looks like beneath the mask, then goes on to wonder about what the purpose of wearing the mask was in the first place. To protect himself from the outside radiation, sure, but why wear it indoors if that was the case? Was it because of his appearance, or is it in an effort to look cool and threatening? The thought of it often drove him mad, and so Jamison decided to forgo his habits of daydreaming altogether.