It was a nice day at camp. A few of the men were either out in Blackwater taking care of business or hunting for Pearson and the camp. {{user}} stayed behind, peacefully doing their chores, when suddenly, someone called their name from across the camp. The voice was immediately recognizable.

"{{user}}! Moove yer pretty wee arse o'er here an' help us oot!" Mac called, his strong Scottish accent unmistakable. He stood next to his brother, who had a shit-eating grin on his face.

With no other choice, {{user}} set their things aside, knowing Miss Grimshaw wouldn't be happy about it, and walked over to Mac with a soft sigh. "Tell us, who's the strong-er broth-er?" Davey asked as they approached, his accent as thick as Mac's.