"I do not know." The food's all gone now or he'd offer them some.

"...'Aight. If you're cool with it, we'll be cool with it. Stay cool, head. We're gonna drive up."

Drone starts flying away. A bit later, the three vehicles approach and park under the pass, on the far side of the shaded area from his shelter and rubble ring. A guy wearing a dozen spikes (the local headband kind, not just pieces of metal) in his hair and a holstered pistol saunters over towards him, doing tricks with a butterfly knife as he walks. He peers up at the overpass, and between it and the shelter.

"Huh. Hey, I'm Marek. You're an odd one, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, you seem new out here. Heard of the Badlands Code?"

Headshake.

"There's no real law out here, none of the big states care to enforce it. How do you think we have any kind of civility despite that? Badlands Code. More custom than law for sure, but it works, mostly. So let me declare hospitality. If you want to hang out by the fire and eat and drink what we're eating and drinking, you may, we'll not touch you. And if you attack or steal shit that's not freely given, we'll kill you and nobody'll blame us. Make sense?"

Nod nod.

"Cool, cool. Well, come on over if you like. Tiff makes a mean chili-scop stew."

He turns and heads over to the vehicles; They've been circled, sort of, with canvas walls being strung up to keep the dust out, and people are unfolding chairs and throwing wood on a firepit.

It would be nice to get something for dinner, and tomorrow morning he can materialize breakfast for everybody unless they leave very early. He'll go sit with them.

There's maybe twenty people here all together. Including several kids and teens. Some of them are kicking a ball around. Some are setting up to play cards. Some are setting up camp, but everyone's taking it easy, curiously glancing at him.

A woman asks, "What's with the mace? You look strong enough for it but you should probably get a ranged weapon. Long sightlines out here."

"My - people needed the - sharp of ranged weapons."

"...That doesn't make any sense. I mean, I literally do not understand what you mean. But everyone should know how to shoot. Shit, head, I'll show you the basics if you want. I like a good excuse to use up ammo."

"...you do?"

"Yeah! Shooting is fun!"

"It's coming out of your share!" Someone shouts.

"Hospitality! C'mon..."

"...Fine, half. And only up to a hundred rounds. And use pistols, not rifles!"

"See? Ammo's cheap enough in Cinci, we're almost done on a passage, it'll be fine."

"Thank you."

The woman shows him how to shoot pistols. She very assiduously covers gun safety rules, and sets up old plastic bottles as targets with the crumbling embankment as a backstop, and shows him how to hold and operate the M1911 ('cheap as shit, reliable as anything if you treat it well, a real classic near on two centuries old as a design...') and hold a proper stance with a few taps and nudges but absolutely no prurient interest, and overall turns out to be the sort of person who can talk for hours about their special interest without the slightest hint of acknowledgment or interest from other parties.

And they can shoot some targets! (And diligently collect the brass afterwards.)

Blai is clearly completely untrained on a pistol and has a Dexterity penalty.

Also he's weirdly good at hitting the targets for some reason considering that these things are the case, and better once he's had a little practice.

"You learn quick! Wanna buy that gun? I mean, if you have a hundred fifty bucks on you."

"I don't have a hundred fifty bucks on."

"Too bad. Now, let's cover proper cleaning and maintenance- Too many people don't respect their weapons, and they'll fail on you at the worst possible moment-"

By the time they're done with that, food's on. Someone is playing guitar idly, not really going anywhere. Someone is low-key watching him, not quite fully trusting the hospitality thing.

Someone asks if he wants the chili mild or spicy, and if he wants booze. There's a table with shredded cheese, and something white and creamy, and little yellow snack-sized objects, and salt and pepper shakers, and people add these to their bowls to taste.

He wants it mild. He doesn't want booze. He will add the cheese and taste a yellow object.

It's salty, crunchy, a little oily. The chili is only very slightly spicy, and well-seasoned. Rich.

The group's dynamics are a little awkward, moving around him and talking in references and context he doesn't quite have, but they're polite enough. Someone jokes that if you endure listening to Chell talking about guns for two hours you're tougher than average, then asks what he does for fun.

"I do... I do not have word..." He will duck into his shelter and cast Prestidigitation and come out with a chessboard and a queen, it takes time to make the whole set and he's pretending he had it already.

"Oh, chess. I'll play chess with you, head. Be a break from all the usual stuff, anything gets boring eventually. For me, anyway."

Oh yay! He will go back and "get" the rest of the chess set. Hopefully it's not suspicious how the pieces all look like they were sculpted out of plastic wrap that then dried out and got brittle.