Two miles north-east of Abbey, the note said. Claire had counted every step she took from home to this semi-tamed land on the northern edges of NCR territory. A week and a half of travel along the main roads had taken a toll on the woman, in the literal and figurative senses. Checkpoint after checkpoint, outpost after outpost, she'd passed NCR citizens and soldiers alike in her single-minded trek for Abbey. She'd never been this far away from home without her wife, not in the longest while, and there was a significant anxiety in her gut about being on her lonesome all the way out here. The army's presence had lessened the further she went, the stops getting shorter and the caravans she travelled with getting sparser, but none of that was going to stop the one desire on her mind.

Find them. Make them pay.

That had gotten her through the loneliest nights, and motivated her to wake up early in the mornings. That had pushed her forward as the caravans she travelled with warned her of raiders and gangers out this far, though none of them knew the true reason she was going that far. They'd asked questions of course, but Claire was never the friendliest person; even when she wasn't embroiled in hatred, and she knew damn well how to brush someone off. All she needed was that passage, and that was plenty fine by them with how much she was paying. Every cap that she and Henrietta had saved over the years, whisked away in a matter of days by caravan guards Claire couldn't be bothered haggling with. It would've been insulting, had other things not been on her mind.

Abbey itself wasn't much to look at from afar, but she wasn't intent on visiting the fledgling NCR 'town'- if one could even call it that. She'd heard stories of a crime-ridden shanty that the NCR had begun abandoning ever since they founded the Mojave front a few years back. On approach, the flags and the checkpoint may have expressed that the NCR was surely invested in them, but she knew better from the occasional northern visitor to Redding whenever she'd go into town for supplies. So, no, she had no interest in visiting such a ramshackle space, and took care to slip away under the cover of night as they approached from the south. Two miles north-east.

The snow wasn't any lighter around these parts; in fact, the closer she seemed to get to the Rockies, the harder it became to trudge through the mounds of fluff in her ill-prepared outfit. She was freezing . Her cardigan, her knit dress, neither were suited for somewhere this cold. It made her home back in Redding look like a tropical paradise. Her teeth chattered and her fingers numbed, only warmed by the lantern she'd 'borrowed' from the caravan as she slinked away before dawn. It provided some help, and the fact that the snow from above seemed to neglect its duties for this one fateful day certainly helped keep the worst of it away, but she was always far more used to the heat than all this freakish cold. Oh, how she would give her left leg to be back in Shady Sands, provided it didn't fall off in her hike towards her targets.

Trevor. Jamie. Elle. Gregory. Daniel.

She traced a mile from Abbey, still able to see the dim lighting of the town from amidst the leafless trees. From here, it actually looked fairly sizable, and her eyesight was keen enough to pick up on the hustle and bustle of the early morning. As ant-like as they looked, people were still going about their days. But how could they? She'd lost her entire world just a week and a half ago, and how dare the world continue to spin and people stay unbothered? Claire wondered if anyone would care even were she to tell them what happened. Would any of them attempt to stop her ill-minded desire for revenge, made at the behest of a woman no longer of the world?

A mile and a half, now, and she could make out something further up that languid incline she made her way up. An encampment? Tents looked to have been set up, and fires were waning from the night before. It looked torturously warm up there for a woman so unused to the cold, but it was warmth unearned by people Claire considered murderers and criminals. They were this close to town, and no-one in the NCR was doing anything about them? It was ridiculous that a woman that had never killed before had to do their job for them, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

Claire peeled the bottom of her cardigan up, double-checking that her weapon was still tucked neatly within the mid-section band of her dress; and indeed it sat there, her only companion. As she nears the encampment, she gently tugs that keep-sake from its makeshift holster, and sets her lantern down so she might examine it again with her fingers. Delicate digits run over the grip; a carving of a two-headed bear had been made in the supple wood. Ever the patriot, Henrietta was, and Claire's fingers continued up towards the dark iron of the barrel where an inscription accompanied such an animal.

'Blessed are the peacemakers.'

Henrietta had never been religious, but she sure did love pulling to quote from the old-world bible all the same. Claire had never cared for theology in her youth, but knowing her wife was dead seemed to open her up to the idea that there had to be something after. Something her wife had looked forward to. It gave her the smallest semblance of hope, at the very least, as her untrained hands held the revolver in tandem. The piece seemed to control her rather than the other way around with how big it was, and Claire knew the dangers of recoil and kickback from the few times her partner had trained her. As humorous as it might be, she didn't want to be knocked back on the first shot she took, and she only had six in total. Though that left one spare, so… perhaps there was a little room for error.

"I'll do you proud, baby," Claire murmured, though the gun was all that could hear her in the middle of all the snow and sparse shrubbery.

She tucked the gun back into her waistband, and continued her way through that thick snow towards the encampment. What was the plan, even? It wasn't a good sign that her legs were already moving without one towards a camp set out so neatly amongst a patch of flat land backed by a sheer cliff, just yards away from the tent line. It made little room for them to escape, but a brilliant vantage point for anyone coming up the hill– and that certainly included Claire. Her breath caught in her throat as she approached, mentally preparing herself for what had to be done. Perhaps they were asleep, and she could sneak in and do it quietly before dawn decided to tide over to morning proper? Though that was very much wishful thinking, it did help the woman with her nerves just a few dozen yards from the camp. So close. So desperately close.

Claire tucked herself down into a crouch, agile enough even in that dress, though the boots certainly helped her push through the remaining snow upwards. She could finally see her first figures amid the camp. Two, milling about and chatting with one another like they hadn't a care in the world, unbeknownst to the woman creeping up on the pair of them.

The camp itself consisted of five tents; the biggest, an oak colored circular mound of cloth, sat nearest to the cliff with a warm light emanating from within that told of some activity. That was a problem for later, after Claire's shot nerves decided to settle down finally. Two more sat closer to Claire as she entered from the right, far more modest and sized down in comparison, both of two separate shades of grey to denote their difference. A final two sat further to the left of the encampment, with a deep blue one being a little closer in size to the biggest than the others, while the last ashen colored one was the smallest of the lot. Quite the merry band they'd made up there, it seemed. Again, that question rang in Claire's mind; how could the group that killed her wife be so close to the town? She could still see some of the buildings from where she was. It wasn't like they were very well hidden.

The woman slinked behind one of the tents, and tentatively peeked out to examine the two figures that stood outside. The pair surrounded a smoldering fire as casual as could be; could these really be the group?

One, a man of average height, looked as if he'd just rolled out of bed with that scruffy air about him. Perhaps it was the way his curly brown hair fell, or the half-hearted job he'd done shaving his patchy beard on his pale face? He didn't look older than twenty-five, though the dark woolen coat that stretched down to his knees made him look about ten years older. And the way he hunched his back? It made him look ten more on top of that.

The other was a woman of a taller status, though only by a few inches. Certainly taller than Claire, at the very least, though that wasn't a particularly high bar to reach. She certainly looked like she was from a wintery locale– she seemed far more prepared for the cold than Claire, or even the man. A scarf hid the lower part of her face, and a green beret sat over her induction-cut head, while a patchwork of snow-camouflaged cloth and wool cozied the light-skinned woman up. It reminded Claire of a military uniform, but it was certainly unlike any she'd ever seen before.

"Nah-nah-nah, I swear, if we go further north?" The man complained in a raspy voice. "I'm callin' it quits. I didn't sign up to retire a few months later, y'know?"

"Then quit." The woman remarked simply. Her accent seemed to snap at Claire that this woman was from far, far further north. Canadian, maybe? She'd met a couple in her lifetime, however briefly.

The man pouted, sagging his shoulders even lower. "C'mon, don't do me like that, sister. I'm just sayin'-"

"I know what you're saying, Trev', and I'm going to be honest? You should shut up and take the chance on this. It's easy money, you're being paid a few hundred every single week just to sit on your ass and do nothing. I wish I got that job when I was working back in the Wolverines."

The man stayed silent for a moment, apparently desperate to guilt the woman. A ploy that worked, as a good few seconds passed before the woman sighed, and firmly tugged at her gun slung over her shoulder by its strap to reaffirm its position.

"Look, give it a month," she conceded, gesturing towards him with her free hand, "-and see how you like it."

"Why? 'Cause you'd miiiiiiiss meeeee?" The man, 'Trev', teased. A shit-eating grin sat on his cracked lips, and he shimmied a little closer.

"Like I'd miss a bullet to the leg. So, yes, I would miss you, this'd be a lot more boring if I didn't have your ugly mug to shock me awake every half an hour." It was hard to tell with the scarf, but there was a smirk in her voice.

The man burst out laughing, resting his free hand against his occupied holster– a small pistol sat within, ill-fitting for such a large strap of leather. Had Claire's heart not been full of anger, she may very-well have laughed at it, but life hadn't granted her the desire to. Instead, her eyes narrowed, and she ducked behind the tent again as the pair continued to yap with one another. She was hardly camouflaged, so there wasn't much use in sneaking; as much as she detested the thought of just walking in. A woman with a will to live may well have left and rounded up reinforcements, but from the sounds of it the lot were looking to leave, and soon. Claire assumed she didn't have a lot of time. And she certainly didn't have a lot of will to live, of course. Henrietta had left her with instructions, and she was going to be damned if she ran now. Stubborn as ever.

Claire inhaled deeply, getting a sense for her heartbeat while she stilled herself. It seemed to race at the moment, and there was nothing she could do to stop it; nervousness wracked her no matter what she did. But it was do or die. Or perhaps do and die. But either way, she went for it.

She stepped out from her cover and called out, "Hey!" towards the pair. Both of them jolted immediately; the man immediately tugged his gun from his holster in, perhaps, just as sloppy a manner as Claire might've, while the woman simply tightened her grip against her rifle's strap.

"The– hell?!" The man gasps, but the longer the two stared at Claire, the further they seemed to relax. Certainly not the reaction Claire had expected.

"Oh. It's…" The woman eyed Claire up and down, and only a perked eyebrow seems to tell of her curiosity. "...one of the townies?"

"Oh-ho-ho, sister, you come to pay Daddy Shelby a visit?" The man's attitude turns around with a snicker as he tucked his weapon away and raised his hand from his gun, offering out his arms towards Claire in an inviting fashion. "What's a gorgeous thing like you doin' all the way out this way?"

"Trev', cut it." The woman seemed to notice the tense nature Claire stood with, though for all the wrong reasons. "She's probably here to see Daniel about the sheriff business. Ma'am–" her attention shifted towards Claire while she stood with a rigid fear, finding herself unable to draw her gun after all that build-up. "-are you from Abbey? I don't think we've met, though you've got a hell of a town there. Might've missed you."

"I–" Claire began, but cut herself off almost immediately. Why was she getting that pang of fear? Was she actually scared of dying, had all her hype been building up to a whiff? She swallowed, and continued, "No, I'm from Redding. I… I-I… I'm here to kill you five."

That seemed to take the pair off-kilter. The woman's eyes widened a little, though more out of confusion than any actual fear, while the man suddenly snorted after a moment of prolonged silence. That snort eventually shifted into a full guffaw, one from the very bottom of his gut as he finally found out Claire's intentions; a shaky, unprepared revenge trip enacted by a housewife. He doubled over while he laughed, the situation unbelievably hilarious to him.

"I'm… sorry?" The woman remarks calmly, but there's a clear minutia of humor in her voice too. "Kill us? Is… this some joke? You really shouldn't be so blasé with pranks like that."

Claire shook her head adamantly, but the weight of the situation bore down on her. The man continued to cackle while the woman stared with some mixture of amusement and confusion, but Claire was still stuck somewhere between anger and hesitance. What was she to do?

"You killed my wife ," she choked out, her voice shaking, "I'm here to return the favor."

The man's laughter seemed to subside, and the woman offered him a side-eye, as if asking what to do. With a shrug, he replied, "Look, sis', you better get outta' here. Really, this's all real funny, but you don't want us gettin' Daniel on your ass."

The silence Claire offered told well-enough that she was going nowhere, her eyes darting between the pair. They stared right back, seemingly waiting for her to leave, but when no such luck came, the man simply sighed out with exasperation. It was almost… exhausted in every facet. And that very fact that Claire's vengeance was such a hindrance to the man's day seemed to irk her even further now. Trevor. She had a face to the first name, at the very least.

"Fiiiiine, Jesus sister, you're crazy. I kinda' respect it, but in a, like, 'stay fifty feet away from me' type deal." Trevor threw his hands up, and spun on his heels towards the biggest tent of the lot. "I'll go get Daniel, I guess , but big man's not gonna' be happy."

The gentle crunch of snow followed his footsteps. For such a thin man, he certainly knew how to stomp away, and in his wake only Claire and this woman were left. She could've drawn on her that second, but… the casual flair the taller figure seemed to take made her pause all the same. Why was she faltering so bad at the precipice of her revenge?

"You know," the woman remarked with a sniff, "You could've probably taken the both of us out, and I'm kind of confused why someone so hell-bent on killing us decides to announce her presence."

"...I didn't think that far ahead. I thought… I'd start shooting, I guess." Claire admitted softly, embarrassedly. Her fingers grew restless with her arms firmly planted down at her sides.

"And Jesus, couldn't even change out of the dress? Not how I've done revenge." So easy-going, it put Claire on edge, like she was the one in the wrong. "And I see the pistol under your cardigan there. If you're trying to hide a weapon, it's probably better to place it behind you. Just some advice."

There was an insulting air to that, one that tickled Claire the wrong way. She'd been about to bite back, to say anything to defend herself, when the gentle flapping of a tent entrance slid open to oust a small group from within. The air sat still enough as Claire's attention jumped to them; four people, including Trevor before, emerged out and before Claire, none of them all too worried about the woman's presence there. Trevor himself slunk back over to the military woman's side with a smug grin on his face, one so tight that anyone might have been eager to wipe it off the fool's face. The other three, however, stop just shy of that smoldering fire in the middle of camp, while Claire takes a hesitant step forward to get a clear view of the group.

Two men, one woman.

One of the men was old; old enough to be Claire's grandfather. The wrinkles on his face seemed older than Claire was herself, telling of a man with a life thoroughly lived. There was clear Asian descent in the man's features, and he stood a few inches shorter than Trevor, even if he held himself with a prouder stance than anyone else there. A hand eased on each of the revolvers set on his hips, just under a thick brown coat that seemed to cover up just how fit he was for a man of his age. He looked far less than impressed at Claire's presence in particular, like a bug had crawled into his boot over a woman entering his camp with a gun.

The woman was young from the looks of it; not any older than Claire for certain, but she'd wager a couple of years younger even. She lacked any stance that seemed to suggest a danger had rolled into camp, with her hands clasped together and in front of her waist while her icy-blue eyes watched Claire curiously. A cautious smile sat on her face, kind in a lot of ways that Claire wouldn't have expected, complemented by the way her dirty-blonde hair messily framed her face. She was an inch or two taller than Claire, but were she to be judged by the red tinges on her cheeks and extra layers of scarves around her neck, she was even less used for the winter than Claire had been.

Finally, was the last man, one who took center-stage amongst the crew. He was a tall fellow, with a cold demeanor that could've matched the raging winter around him to a tee as he crossed his arms. He held himself officially as well, like a diplomat in a newspaper might, though his general look screamed 'bandit' with how burly and black-clad he was. His raw-hide hat seemed out-of-place amidst his wintery get-up, though a caramel skin tone might've told Claire that this man was even further from home than she was.

The crew had gathered, and Claire was left at an even greater loss than moments before.

"So." The biggest man remarked, his accent tinged with a deep Chilango wisp. "I hear you're here to kill us, ma'am. This true?"

Several of the group let out a chuckle; Trevor primarily, though the two women seemed a tinge amused as well. Claire eyed each of them down, their weapons; an assault carbine on the woman she'd spoken with, a small M&A pistol on Trevor, two revolvers on the oldest man, a pump-action shotgun on the remaining woman, and a final revolver sat on the tallest man's side. She was by and far outgunned, outmanned, and outnumbered. What was she thinking?

"It is," Claire croaked out, her voice brimming with fear. It was hard to hide her nerves at that very moment, staring down seasoned fighters.

"And why, pray-tell, are you doing that?" The man asked further, already sick of the conversation.

"You– you killed my wife."

"I did, did I?" He glanced at his compatriots, one by one, none all that interested in fighting. "Well, be that as it may, I fail to see what coming here to kill us will do. If I killed your wife, girly, it was a long while ago, and I've killed every other person seeking me out before you. But it's been months since I've seen one of you, so tell me, why come after me after all this time?"

All this time? Claire's anger flared at that moment. How could this bastard possibly act like he hadn't killed Henrietta just weeks ago? How could he be so casual over the fact that he was a murderer and a criminal, like Claire was stupid for caring so much about the subject?

"All this time? You killed her three weeks ago, you bastard!" She snapped right back, feeling moisture well up in her eyes as she stepped forward with her hand resting against her pistol, just under her cardigan.

That put the man at pause; as well as the rest of them, it seemed. They all shared a look , one of some slow, building realization and unease. The oldest man and the biggest man both stare at each other for a time while Claire seethed, before the biggest one shifted his attention back to Claire.

"And who'd you say your wife was…?" He hesitantly asked.

"Henrietta Toussaint!" She shot back, barely containing her anger. All this casualness got to Claire. "My name is Claire fucking Toussaint, and you murdered the love of my life! Ten years of marriage you have to answer for, all of you!"

The moment Claire had uttered that name, a chord was struck with the lot of them. The biggest man took a step back as he realized who was being avenged, a small pang of fear entering his gaze. Not at Claire, shivering and shaking from the cold and anger, but at the mere utterance of that name. The rest weren't much better; the younger girl of the team gasped in worry and eyed the biggest man for an answer. The oldest man sunk a little into himself, though remained otherwise undeterred, while Trevor and the remaining woman readily clutch their weapons. Compared to before, it was clear the group was now worried for Claire's presence; though not quite for the reasons Claire may have expected.

"Mrs. Toussaint," the big figure spoke up again, "-if I might call you that? With respect, your wife wasn't coming after us with all the good intentions in the world, and I'll assume your being here is because you don't quite know the circumstances regarding it. While I would de-light in explaining the intricacies, I don't particularly care to kill anyone else on her behalf. I'm out of that business, and take it from people who knows how you feel; an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. This revenge you're looking for, it isn't worth it, not for the…" A growl escapes him, "...good Captain. You'll dig yourself a hole you can't escape from, so here's what I suggest."

He cleared his throat, and eyed the younger woman at his side. She seemed to light up at something unsaid between the pair, and a proud little smile tints her lips for reasons unknown to Claire. Though, she does soon scurry back inside that tent, returning less than half a minute later while the man in charge spoke.

"Go home." He remarked, simply. "Live your life, mourn your wife and remember her for how she was to you, because you don't want to get involved with her business life. I'll have Elle and Trevor there– you met them before –escort you into town. Know your wife is buried, which is a far cry better than she deserved."

The younger woman approached Claire with a small roll of bills. NCR cash, though Claire couldn't tell the denominations from first glances alone. With a kind smile, she handed them over to Claire, though her hand remained for a moment in some solemn pity for the widow's state. A soft 'I'm sorry' mouthed towards her, before she stepped back towards her gang.

"You're determined to come out here, I'll give you that much. It's a shame the person your wife was, but I'll save you the shock of NCR political drama." The burly fellow rolls his finger a couple of times towards the two Claire had met before. Elle. Trevor. Two out of five. "Elle, Trevor, take Mrs. Toussaint down to town and set her loose. I'll be down later to give Juliana that meeting she wanted."

There was nothing but ire in Claire's gaze, one she lingered on each member like it'd disintegrate all of them in the blink of an eye. How dare they? Disregarding her, making up lies and slandering her wife, who did this gang think they were? The money in her hands meant nothing to her, and her grip tightens around the wad with each passing second. She stared daggers into the back of the big one's head, hoping he'd feel that guilt and hatred welling up in her and simply beg to be shot. But instead, only one last thing came from him, the final snapping point for Claire.

"...I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Toussaint. I hope you'll forgive us one day."

That was it. In a moment, Claire's mind was made up, her anger had flared to a point of no return. The money immediately falls from her hands and hits the snow with a hefty plop, and her hands reach down to her waist. One fumbled to raise her cardigan enough, though it was obvious Elle and Trevor had seen what she was up to. Neither could get to their gun in time, though, and Claire's determination won out as her hand plucks at the grip and harshly tugs the gun from her band. Her thumb glides and cocks the handle back, and that satisfying click fills her ears–

–followed by a ringing gunshot.

A burning sensation filled Claire's hand, the one gripping the pistol for dear life, and she felt it immediately fumble and fly into the snow behind her. She glanced at the hand in question in that ever-slow split-second; no hole, no blood. Instead, whatever had shot her had hit the weapon itself, and the whiplash had sent the gun flying from Claire's hand in such a way that a significant pain tainted her palm. Her eyes darted to the cause; without even realizing it, the man had drawn his gun and shot at her in the blink of an eye. How had he turned around so fast? How had he shot so accurately? Why didn't he kill her? Her mind raced with questions as she locked her gaze with his own, and something unsaid is shared between them. An unsung song of grief and hatred on a man tired of the world. For a moment, Claire felt… pity. Pity for a man she hated, but still pity.

"You fuckin'–!" She heard Trevor's voice call out, but she's too stuck in that gaze to react. The man's fist collided with her head, and with her last thoughts before being knocked out so succinctly, a phrase rings through her mind. The same one that had brought her out here.

Trevor. Jamie. Elle. Gregory. Daniel.

Make them pay.