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click one at a time to prevent breakage!  pre:
 For the Boros, it's always quick hops and long crawls: one gives you too little time to prep, the other too much time to think. But always there's the road. Waiting hungrily. Yawning and stretching, like some stirring black hole of endless twists and turns. You know logically you have to reach some sort of shore eventually, but metaphorically it goes on, and on. And on. A ready-made parable exacerbated by an unspeakable knowledge – that the Cycle is very real and all memories really offer is a form of torture in painful awareness. That's why we take from those who know not: the Rubes. Short-sighters. 90-Muhūrta Tickers. The 3Z72 club. And us, the Mems. Arhats' Doubt. The Untouched. The hosed. We run far and fast and often from each other. Every big prick got a scheme, every little poo poo has a scam. Those that are too dumb to figure it out, or else don't give a drat about our brave new world order, either get run over or get violent. Enough of those types lock arms and old Red Rover better not come on over. Lucky's should be a few states further east this time of year. Florida still seems to educe its migratory call to the masses; even short-sighters. Poor bastards... place is a meat grinder during cold seasons. Any rate, everyone's got a system. For a traveling gig like ours you gotta know The Rule of Three by heart. Burn it into your brains, because bread and butter doesn't just make itself and jump up onto your plate.
Now this might mean you have to adjust your schedule in between stops now and then, depending on any number of factors: distance; climate; that goddamn rash spreading around the dancers, whatever it is, roll with it. Stick to the Rule. There would be folks who could tell you why this is important, but most of 'em got tucked in with six feet of dirt long ago. Experience is a cruel cookhouse oval office wielding a plate of poo poo. But hell, we know better, don't we Boros? Right now our jolly carnivale caravan is coasting through the wee hours of 1-D towards the blissful town of Minerva (just a couple hours out). She did right by you last time around; ever since most of the Rubes from Canton zombie-walked their way over a couple years ago, local commerce and agriculture have managed a decent bump in trade goods. (But let's not talk about Canton. Never a wise thing to summon ghosts on a fresh stop.) Fuel's looking good too. Sky's clear as Hazel's crystal ball. How 'bout it, Ladies and Gents; Boys and Girls? Uno, Dos, Tres! *** *** ***  [Let's start off easy, 'by the book' shall we?] Derby & Rem It's no surprise we find you two sharing the cozy seats of Clementine, just cruising along about a quarter mile ahead of the caravan, doing diligent (if slightly dozy) recon like good little outriders. This close to a pitch, its pretty routine for Berg or one of her lackeys to recommend the Driver have some muscle for company, and you're a familiar pairing. There's also a radio between you that makes easy comms with the lead rig. Tell us about how you two normally manage the long hauls and whether you bother to set up any skirmish protocols. Any anecdotes about a particularly rough ride come to mind? (behind the wheel, not behind a gently caress ...though that was a look back n' laff!) And when you get around to it, there may be something or a group of somethings up ahead in the middle of the bleedin' highway. goddamnit. --- Johnny & Pumpkin Guess what? You're sharin' a trailer with the friggin' freaks again. JB never seems to get the long straws, and since the old #3 rig crapped out last month, everyone's had to sardine themselves together. All assholes and elbows, and in this particular cabin there might just be more than a few per seat. It sucks, Pumpkin, but you can't let Johnny's bad luck turn into trouble on account of his pretty face. Hunched around a small, round table with you two are: Jedd, the [*]-Eater. Title prefix being flexible; known for consuming live things of fur and fowl for fun and funds. Hasn't managed anything bigger than a adolescent pig – yet. His belches could be categorized as natural disasters. Qurtae, the Pincushion. It's difficult to say whether its harder to watch her agonizing act or pronounce her name. She'd probably be happy enough to tell you were it not for an ever-present silver rod punched through the soft tissue just under her chin, and protruding grotesquely through a hole in the side of her right nostril, to which she's clamped an arrangement of gaudy rings. Wilo, the 'World's Smallest Human'. Actually just a medium-sized dwarf, and not even the smallest this side of Louisiana. Esmeralda's Coven, (a rival Mem troupe of gypsies who have their own lineup of oddidties) has claim to that with their own Maximilian the Magnificent Mini Man of Might, who even doubles as a strong-man act. Wilo attempts to garner his acclaim with feats of 'magic' that often fizzle, which seems to amuse the crowds just as well (much to his chagrin). The rivalry between these two is quite bitter, and Pumpkin is likely fairly exhausted by all the halfpint hell-raising. After the blows have been blocked, Wilo's originality is usually called into question by his leering nemesis, which always seals a rather one-sided contest. Thankfully, the Boros are not bound to intercept this group again for another few cycles yet. Jedd grins way too broadly at you over a half-shuffled deck of cards. Is that a tuft of fur caught between his teeth? “Got a ways yet, eh ? Minerva's a ripe hen fer the feast. Belly full o' eggs, that one! Hah!!” He leans closer, a gamey odor escaping those grimy gums. “How 'bout a round of Close Call? Fill yer pockets a bit more before the pitch?” ['Close Call' is a lolpretend card game we can play using Orokos. Cards in play are A – 10, with the ace being 1. You'll roll 2d10 (draw two cards) after a number is called. Closest wins. In the event of a draw, another number is called and the tied individuals roll again until someone wins. The bid is 1-barter, so the winner here could stand to make 3! (Wilo has already busted out.)] Do you accept the challenge? Also, describe what you normally do whilst riding from stop to stop. Hell, play out the events of the evening until you arrived at the table if you like, go cray. The caravan tends to make occasional pit stops for stretching to prevent --- Berg You had a nice nap, but after the last stop you had to hop in with the tent boys for the usual QA checks; that is if the word 'quality' can even be applied to these tacky heaps of shredded cheese-cloth. The grunt work you brokered at Andover yielded some extra jingle, but those funds are looking to leap right back out of the old purse if patching supplies don't hold up. In fact, if there's even a hint of rain tonight Big Top might be proper hosed, and with it the bike cage, the highwire, the archer's gallery/blade show and probably the goddamn finale itself. Bossman is drooling in his sleep back in his cozy caboose cab compartment, but maybe you could radio up to Clay to see about getting some crew to head out on a supply run when the caravan pulls into Minerva? “Bet it was that May-fag fuckin' sword tosser.” Benny spits. He's the lead boy on tent crew, just nineteen, but ballsy and worn enough to seem about thirty. He's referring to one of the Boros' newest acts, a rather green (but sort of dapper, prim piece of eye-candy) blademan called Ricardo. You picked him up about three months ago, and he's on his first tour. “That oval office flipped a fuckin' double hatchet right through the Top and into the Cooch Tent.” He smirks, “Coulda been showin' off some extra axe-wounds if he'd been unlucky.” There's a smattering of appreciative laughter - he was probably cooking that one all the way here. He's totes not quitting his day job anytime soon. Do you have anyone in this shitshow you can trust? Who are your go-to people? What's in your regular agenda when closing in on a destination, and how are you going to address the mess with the main tent before the prospective show tonight? hctibyllis fucked around with this message at 08:25 on Dec 13, 2014 |
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Dec 13, 2014 08:03
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OOC Thread This space 
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Dec 13, 2014 08:03
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  pre:Look: Man, Battered old armor, Scarred face, Sad eyes, Huge body Attributes: Cool +1 Hard +3 Hot -2 Sharp +2 Weird -1 Hx: Derby: Hx+3 Berg: Hx+2 Pumpkin: Hx+1 Johnny: Hx=0 Moves: Battle-hardened: when you act under fire, roll+hard instead of roll+cool. Insano like Drano: you get +1hard NOT TO BE hosed WITH: in battle, you count as a gang (3-harm gang small), with armor according to the circumstances. Gear: mg (3-harm close/far area messy) shotgun (3-harm close messy) ap ammo machete (3-harm hand messy) stripped down bomb suit and a motorcycle helmet (2-armor) oddments worth 1-barter Barter=1 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 "...So the drill instructor ordered him to wait there and and stomped off to the company building. Fifteen minutes later he comes back carrying a rock covered in some purple glitter-glue poo poo. "Private, hold out your hand! This is Private Rock, and he is your battle buddy from now on! You are responsible for him at all times!" And he drat well meant it. Guy had to carry that rock to chow, PT, lights out, everything. So two weeks later we're getting ready for a run, and he forgot Private Rock. The DI stalks up and screams at him, "PRIVATE, WHERE THE gently caress IS YOUR BATTLE BUDDY?" "SIR, PRIVATE ROCK IS ON SICK CALL, HE CAN'T GO ON THE RUN, SIR!" "WHAT THE gently caress IS WRONG WITH HIM?" "SIR, HE'S GOT NO LEGS, SIR!" The DI cracked up laughing. Only time we ever saw him break character." Just another story I'd heard back in the day from a guy who knew a guy who said he saw it happen. Had a million of the things, and it helped kill the time and keep the passing scenery from lulling us into a stupor. It was easy to fall into the rhythm of the road and just zone out, and next thing you know a deer is flying through the windshield into your face. Or you hit a spike strip some bright boys laid out and there you are, no wheels, on a stretch of blasted highway approximately nowhere near anything that could remotely be called civilization. A bunch of grinning psychopaths closing in wondering how your eyeballs would taste. Not that I had personal experience with that or anything. Didn't see another living person for four goddamned months. Took me a couple minutes to remember the word "Hello" when I did. I pulled my gaze away from the side view mirror and sat up. I was always a bit of a restless passenger; I'm a pretty big guy and Clementine was a dainty lady. Sitting still in there for too long always cramped me up and that was not good if trouble showed. And judging by the figures I spotted in the distance, we might be in store for some. I glanced at Derby out of the corner of my eye. "What do you think?" Shardix fucked around with this message at 10:17 on Dec 13, 2014 |
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Dec 13, 2014 09:29
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Derby, the Driver pre:Looks: Man, casual wear, handsome face, cool eyes, strong body Stats: Cool=0 Hard-1 Hot+1 Sharp+2 Weird=0 Gear: sawed-off (3-harm close reload messy), oddments worth 2-barter, dirty and torn jeans/tee-shirt w/ nice jacket Hx Rem: Hx-1 Berg: Hx-2 Johnny: Hx+1 Pumpkin: Hx=0 Moves: A no poo poo driver: when behind the wheel… …if you do something under fire, add your car’s power to your roll. …if you try to seize something by force, add your car’s power to your roll. …if you go aggro, add your car’s power to your roll. …if you try to seduce or manipulate someone, add your car’s looks to your roll. …if you help or interfere with someone, add your car’s power to your roll. …if someone interferes with you, add your car’s weakness to their roll. Good in the clinch: when you do something under fire, roll+sharp instead of roll+cool. Clementine: Power+2 looks+1 1-armor weakness+1 (fast, rugged, muscular, cramped coupe) Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 Godammit, he’s telling the fuckin’ rock story. Again. I don’t really mind a bit of storytellin’, especially on poo poo-rides like this. Berg’s always like ‘You have to have a plan of action! What’s you’re contingency for XYZ? I tried and tell her that you can’t plan for The poo poo, you just have to listen to the wind and watch the road, and then roll with the punches. But she just gave me The Look, so now I just nod and mumble. But c’mon man, add some explosions or titties or something. Anything to spice up the Tales of Private Buttcheese and the Fucknugget Brigade. Course, I ain’t about to criticize the folklore of someone whose guns weigh more than I. At least Clementine is purring nicely. Got a little hitch from 2nd to 3rd, but a little TLC should smooth that out. A few more hours with my baby eating up the horizon before I have to start dancing to Berg and the Bossman’s tune again. Could be worse, there was that time that Johnny and I got waylaid by Mandy’s Menacers a few turns back. Crazy bare-assed chicks jumping around their flatbed-slash-battle platform chucking dynamite left and right. Luckily Johnny has his mojo, or we’da lost more than our... poo poo The horizon isn’t supposed to broken up like that, we’ve got movement. I hear the faint whine of two-stroke engines in the distance. Could be nothing, could be ambushers/psychos/cannibals. Rem’s noticed it too, he’s setting Clementine a-wobbling. Rem posted:"What do you think?" “Shitballs, that’s what I think. Why don’t you limber up one of your ‘little friends’, and I’ll let Grits know to slow down Rig 1. Give us time to do our friend or foe thing.” “Big Momma, this is Clutch and Thumper, Over. Be advised, got ourselves an IFF situation, will inform when resolved.” See Berg, I can follow you drat protocols iffin its important. PoultryGeist fucked around with this message at 01:28 on Dec 14, 2014 |
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Dec 13, 2014 12:31
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Pumpkin Faceless  quote:Stats: Cool+1 Hard+2 Hot-1 Sharp+1 Weird=0 "Yeah, sure thing, Jedd." I'm not exactly a fan of getting jammed into the cramped car, but it happens. Every. Single. Time. I know why. I keep it together, both upstairs for me and between everyone else that can't. Out here on the road things get testy, and just yesterday I had to hold Little Tony who I am fuckin drat well sure isn't as blind as he claims out over the whipping road by his ankles; make him see oh no you loving can not make that much noise at three in the morning I don't give a gently caress who you claim did what because I know that didn't happen because I FUCKIN THREW OMEN OFF THE drat BUS LAST WEEK and so on and so forth. But it was decreed that Omen would go and Little Tony would stay. So that's what happened. Most of the time, what's decreed happens. Most of the time. "Sure thing. I bet Wilo. You win, I turn my back and you can eat him when we get to Minerva. What do I get if I win." Am I serious? I don't know, Jedd, am I? Captain Foo fucked around with this message at 20:40 on Dec 29, 2014 |
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Dec 13, 2014 15:01
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Johnny-B, Skinner quote:Stats: Cool 0, Hard 0, Hot +2, Sharp 0, Weird +1 Ladies and gents, I am in hell. I hate these freaks. Hate 'em. It's no secret to anybody. I got a real loving art here, and what have they got? Deformities. tricks and lies. What I got is real. But #3 rig - that's my rig, with my poo poo on it - died out, and I can't wile away the long boring-rear end hours on the road playing my trumpet and dreaming 'bout my next big break. So they packed all my stuff on another truck, and stuck me in here. If I have to smell Jedd's loving awful breath one more time, I'm gonna strangle somebody. And a pretty face like mine, that's dangerous to have. Thank god Pumpkin is here - I don't trust these assholes father than I can throw them, and my feelings 'bout that shiny son-of-a-bitch ain't enough to get me to risk going it alone. Besides, he's the guy the man in the box calls up the most often. He holds some weight around here - nobody fucks with Pumpkin. Gambling, huh? gently caress it. I'll make it all back and more in a day if Minerva goes well. Some Rubes are keen to part with their crap, an' I ain't gonna question that. "I''ll play, if yah promise to never breathe near me ever again." I take my seat, opposite the omnivore of the century. "If you win, I'll give yah some of my slap I got spare. Maybe you'll figure out how to clean your teeth." You figure, I'm offering him fuckin' skin care, what's the deal? Little tip for the road - hygiene is worth gold. A Mem comes up to ya, he don't smell like poo poo and his teeth are white? That's a rich Mem. Laugh at me when all your teeth rot outta your skull, why don'cha? 'course, you gotta keep some for barter, 'cause someone will always want some for whatever reason. Jedd, he'll probably eat it, but at least his breath''ll smell nice for once.
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Dec 13, 2014 17:21
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Rem Barter=1 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 Turning in the seat, I pulled the shotgun up from the back and ran a quick check. I maintained my gear as religiously as Derby maintained his ride, but you know how fate works. The one time I didn't check would be the time it misfired on me. "I told that one already, didn't I. Hnh." I one handed the helmet off my lap and slipped it on. The glare of the midday sun was abruptly cut off for a few blessed seconds until I flipped the visor up. "There was that time I was ordered to sweep the sunshine off the sidewalk." A beat. Derby was keeping his attention on the road. Might not have even heard me. "...Took me all day."
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Dec 13, 2014 19:04
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Derby Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 Rem posted:"There was that time I was ordered to sweep the sunshine off the sidewalk." IwilnotlaughIwillnotlaughIwillnotgently caress There's no mishearing the short bark of a laugh. I always fall for those stupid dad-jokes, it must be some sort of curse. First score on this run goes to Rem. "Alright you big bastard, you got me. After we're done with the pitch tonight, I owe ya a beer. One that ain't but watered to poo poo since you're so fun to have around. " I make sure my sawed-off is hanging free on my seat-back and adjust my grip on the wheel. "Well the kids have been notified, what do you say we go earn our pay?" Without waiting for a response, I drop the hammer and grin as Clementine's purr turns into a roar.
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Dec 13, 2014 20:11
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Berg Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00  quote:Looks: Woman, signature wear, hard face, cold eyes, sturdy body That's just what I wanted to wake up to. Billy making an axe wound joke. Still, it's not like she's got time to waste sleeping today. Not when the main tent's looking more like a net than anything. Here's hoping Clay can scrounge up some good work in the next town. Otherwise we'll have to start using clothes to patch holes soon, and no one's going to be happy if we start doing that. Clay's probably the person I trust the most around here. Now don't get me wrong, I trust everyone here to do what they're told. Clay, Clay's been here longer than I have. Only the Bossman's been here longer, and he's the Bossman. Clay picked me up when I first stumbled into this carnival. He taught me how things should operate around here. I wouldn't have lasted a week out here if it wasn't for him, and I'm thankful for that. These days he mostly just watches the radios and leaves the hard work to people whose bones aren't creaking. I could probably find a better person to make sure people go where they need to be, but let a woman be sentimental. "Alright people, listen up! I know things have been hard lately. That doesn't mean we can half-rear end setting up tonight. The Big Top'll go up a bit late, but it will go up. Patch up what you can while you can. Me and Jesse are going to go ahead and try to scrounge up some fabric in Minerva while we have the chance, so Benny, your boys better be ready to patch until your fingers bleed when we get back. Now, I got a call to make." I like to bring Jesse with me when I'm making deals. People like to see a pretty face, and she's got a prettier one than me. Helps keep 'em distracted. "Now, get your bags packed and your mouths shut. I got a call to make." I push my way over to the radio and grab the microphone. "Clay, this is Berg. Please tell me you got a lead for some supplies out here." Lurks With Wolves fucked around with this message at 02:07 on Dec 29, 2014 |
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Dec 14, 2014 00:09
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Derby & RemBig Momma posted:...roger CT / convoy will sit / waiting your go ahead / don't... But whatever Grits was trying to say next is cut off by the brutish revving of Clem's considerable engine capacity. She's got horse for days, and it's not hard to hear it. The dry, spindly scenery whips past in a dirty brown blur as you close on the objects ahead. After a few seconds, you can make out what appears to be a something of a roadblock. There's a big diesel pickup parked lengthwise across the road next to a couple large metal barrels. Next to those are four figures, three men and a woman, each holding firearms. Rem: you can tell two hold shotguns, probably 12 gauge, while the other two are packing military grade rifles, identical M-14's. Couple of relics. Might fetch a good price with the right person. As you approach, one of the men waves and smiles, weapon still pointed downwards. He motions you to stop. What do you do? - - - Johnny & Pumpkin Jedd leans back, grinning, and chucks a small leather pouch on the table. *kerchunk*.“I got a sack full of shiners.” 'Jingle' is what is considered in most places to be the standard for currency. This seemingly outdated tenet of former civilization is upheld by Mems as part of an unspoken code – after all they control the vast majority of wealth, and the Rubes can be easily coerced into acknowledging the value of coinage. And if they have a problem with it, they'll soon forget their concerns anyways. Jingle can be any piece of minted, metallic currency, be it foreign or domestic – as long as it looks official. Individual pieces don't have certain values assigned, its simply a matter of quantity that determines worth. [So we'll say 10 coins = 1-barter without getting too freaking micro on economics.] That said, other 'oddments' of obvious worth will be considered, taking into account any probable rarity. ...And Q's got those magical balls or whatever the gently caress they are.” Jedd's face twists into a sneering grimace at Johnny's remarks. “Whatever, bugle boy. You're just lucky you got daddy Jar-Head here to protect you. Wouldn't want things to get... dirty. Heh.” Qurtae smiles (which looks painful as gently caress) and rolls a pair of smallish silver orbs between her fingers. They make faint, almost ethereal ringing sounds when brushed together. She uses them for her act occasionally, so there are probably a few spare sets in her kit. Wilo's been making some strained expressions in Pumpkin's general direction since being offered as a chip, but he manages to slide out of his seat with his lips firmly fastened. Probably remembering the look on Little Tony's face as he was washing his pants during the previous evening's stop. His seat is filled by Sonette, the Farseer. Her 'gift' is a strange mutation that gave her a literal third eye just a couple inches above and to the right of her left one. The extra peeper is evidently blind, however. It's iris is a curdled milk white, with no retina, and is filmy and prone to oozing a strange dark fluid. Otherwise, she might be considered a comely girl. She allows the table to shuffle, then silently draws two random cards from the deck (looking steadily straight ahead) and places them over her third eye with the numbers facing away. “Thirteen.” She's right. Roll if you're playing! Closest to 13 wins the pot! What do you do? - - - Berg Benny and his crew groan, but get to work prepping the gear. They're not the most refined lot, but they work hard. Clay responds after a moment, sounding like he's a few cups short of first gear: Clay on the Walkie posted:“Mornin', Bergs. Yeah, I kinda figured we'd be low on bandaids at this point. Don't worry yourself, there's this Rube lady... Sarah? Remember we got her to work on some tapestries for us last time through? Good hand at the weave, should have the materials we need. Just don't bring up her family for gently caress's sake – she'll flip. Almost had to strap her down once. Canton spooks. That town got hit by something nasty, but no one's been up there to check. Rumors say it weren't Lucky either. Before you can respond, another, much more feminine voice bubbles through the unit (she's not supposed to be using this channel...): Jesse on the Walkie posted:“Bergie! I got the dancers almost prepped up for some early barking! Hehe! (they hate it when I call it that! Woof woof! Just kidding some are not that bad this time.) The truck suddenly and violently screeches to a halt, causing some of the crew to slip and roll themselves up in the tangle of tarps. You were not expecting a stop, schedule's closing around your neck like a noose as it is. What do you do? Johnny & Pumpkin – you notice the sudden halt as well. hctibyllis fucked around with this message at 03:32 on Dec 14, 2014 |
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Dec 14, 2014 03:08
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Derby Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 “Now what is this happy horseshit? Alright they got longarms out, so I’ll defer to you big guy. Hopefully they’re just road marshals that got a little overzealous.” I downshift Clementine nice and smooth, giving Rem and I a chance to gauge the situation. Read a Sitch: 2d6+2 11. What’s their true position? What should I be on the lookout for? Where’s my best escape route?
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Dec 14, 2014 03:55
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Derby
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Dec 14, 2014 05:25
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Berg Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 "gently caress. Jesse, what's happening up there? Jesse? God drat it, girl. Clay, if you're still there, I'm coming up." drat it, we don't have the time for this. Then again, we don't have time for babbling about packages on private comm channels, but that didn't stop Jesse. Time to just put the radio down and see what's going on now. "Oy, Benny! Get your gear on. Jesse's got a package for you-" Some of the boys chuckle. A glare shuts them up quick. "-and we might need some muscle upstream. Let's kill two birds with one stone." God knows we can't afford to waste any more time on this bullshit than we already are. I'm not even waiting to see if he's following me to the door. I just push my way to the back of the trailer, check my pistol one last time (clip's not as full as I'd like, but it'll have to do) and step out onto the tarmac.
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Dec 14, 2014 06:11
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Rem Barter=1 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 "I'll go have a word. If they prove hostile, I'll find cover while you call in the cavalry. Watch those rifles. Old as hell, but 7.62 can punch right through these doors." I flicked my visor back down and chambered a round. As Clementine rolled to a stop, I slowly opened the door and stepped out. Like their point man, I kept my weapon pointed down and took a few measured steps forward. From their point of view, the ponderous helmeted giant slowly scanning the assemblage must have been an unsettling sight. Maybe not as much as Pumpkin and his saw, but the bark of a Mossberg was just as effective as an angry growl when it came to it. "Caravan coming through. I'd appreciate it if you could move the vehicle out of the way." My voice rumbled out like a disinterested thunderstorm, and just as implacable. Rem is staying chill for the moment. He'll hear them out first if they're inclined to speak.
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Dec 14, 2014 12:42
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Johnny-B Barter=1 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 Aw, Sonette. She's one of the few freaks I don't hate, cause her gift's genuine. That's real. I don't pretend to understand this psychic poo poo, though. Leave that to the... experts. I notice the trucks stop, but that happens a lot. Sometimes there's a rest stop, sometimes we find somethin' we can strip down for jingle and parts for the carnival, or somethin's come up. There's been fighting, sure - I just keep my head down and keep my sleeve pistol ready. If some bandit comes in screamin' 'bout my mouth, I'll shoot him right in his. I usually let the heavyweights deal with anythin' messier than a corpse. Close Call: 2d10 13 Ahahahahaha what in the gently caress Well, poo poo me out of a dog.
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Dec 14, 2014 13:36
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Pumpkin Close Call: 2d10 12 An eight...and a four. gently caress me running. "Johnny, you lucky rear end in a top hat." Of course we're all assholes, so that's not saying much. And at least he won, I guess? Would have been nice to not worry about Wilo for a while. That's the trick, always bet what you don't not want to lose. But moving on, Sonette's good to have around. She's usually right, at least compared to that idiot Hazel. She also doesn't need props, like Hazel's crystal ball that we always have to keep track of and "poo poo." it probably just fell off a table and shattered because she wouldn't properly stow it in case we, you know, stop short or something. I power to my feet and straighten my tie. "You, you, you, and you, stay here," I instruct, pointing to Sonette, Jedd, the pincushion, and Johnny in turn. Of course, they probably won't listen, 'specially Johnny. That's not really my problem, though, I've done my due diligence oh who the gently caress am I kidding it's going to be my drat problem. Better see what the hell is going on. Get the chainsaw, get to the main door. Slide the window. What the hell is going on out there? Read a Sitch: 2d6+1 6 Too dark, gently caress.
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Dec 14, 2014 14:07
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Rem & Derby The 'frontman' for these highway folk shifts a bit as the massive bulk that is Rem approaches, but his smile never falters. He's wiry, and a bit rough-looking; wild brown hair shoved out of his eyes (looking like it's held in place by scalp grease and matting), patchy stubble, darty dark eyes that might betray a mind driven to feral instincts. The group behind him doesn't clean up much better, but then, not many people these days can afford to spend precious time grooming, and everyone's gone a bit wild. His parlance canters towards professionalism, for whatever its worth, but it doesn't look like he's going to go along with the Gunlugger's request just yet. “A caravan, you say?” He seems to tilt his head just slightly for a look over Rem's shoulder at the road behind. There's a few bends between Clementine and the rest of the Boros, so you're aware the attempt at having a peek doesn't do him any good. He continues, flipping his shotgun up to rest casually across his shoulders (the rest of his 'crew' don't move theirs), “Well I've gotta say that's soothin' news, friend. See we're running a bit low on diesel, on account of the local lab gettin' overrun last month. Some pack of thugs just sucked up all the juice, then made flesh murals outta the Short-sighters who were set up to run it.” He shakes his head and spits, “Pretty big fuckin' shame, ain't it? And now those assholes done gone and run off, leavin' everyone in the whole county high and dry! "Now, we Mems”, he gestures conspiratorially with his finger at you both and then back at himself, “...we know how goddamn frustrating it is trying to find decent Rubes to re-staff a fuel station with, not to mention trainin' and indoctrinatin' the thick-headed sons-a-bitches. We ain't got time for it! We got mouths to feed!” He makes an overly-exasperated face and turns back towards the others, shrugging almost comically. “So that's what brings us here.” He nods at the truck and the barrels. “All we're askin' for is a little help from some fellow Mem-buddies. Just a quick fill-up of our supply and we're on our way outta this dump. Nothin' for us in Minerva anyways. I wish we had somethin' to trade ya for, but like I said - dangone mouths need feedin'. But we don't want things gettin' ugly, not if they don't have to, no sir. So what do ya say, friend?” His smile's gone down by a half, and the others behind him are looking more tense by the second. The seconds tick by as they observe you intently. Derby's radio chirps amidst the uneasy silence: Big Momma posted:Big Momma, Clutch. Big Momma, Clutch. Sitrep, over... - - - Pumpkin & Johnny Qurtae: Close Call: 2d10 11 Jedd: Close Call: 2d10 12 Johnny gets +3 barter! Pumpkin loses 1-barter. Jedd makes a face like he's just got hosed with a pine cone and plugged with a ghost pepper. He slams his fist on the table before reluctantly pushing over his bag of coin. “God DAMNIT, Johnny! That's the last fuckin time...” Which is what he said last time. "Beatmebyoneagaingoddammithowtheholyhell..." Qurtae simply makes an amused half-smile (ouch) and rolls her shiny little spheres over to the Skinner. They make tiny, dreamy ringing sounds on their path towards the edge of the table before strangely stopping just short of falling off. The pierced woman gives John a wink before turning to Sonette and helping her slide a silk headscarf into position over the creepy third peeper. The Farseer is pretty easy to look at with that thing on, and the Pincushion is known to enjoy admiring her. The two share a whispered conversation, backs turned to the others; Sonette seems concerned about something. There's a general grumble of confusion from the freaks who are also awake at this hour, no one knows why the caravan has suddenly stopped. Pumpkin fails to make heads or tails of anything outside that might clue them in, but... was that Berg stomping by? “Hey Jarhead.” Jedd folds his hands under his chin, resting his elbows on the table, smirking at Pumpkin. “Better go see what the hold up is, yeah?” What do you do? - - - Berg You make your way up to the first cab. The early-spring morning light is dim outside, but the sun's rising fast, illuminating the stirring, still barren trees that line either side of the highway. With each inch that damned yellow orb climbs in the sky, your chances of getting the show ready by this evening fall further away. You pass the freak car; pass the cars containing the wheel and gallery workings; pass the powder car, where Jesse happily waves at you through a sliding panel, sees your face, then ducks quickly back inside; pass the refrigerated cooktent car... When you finally reach the lead truck, you see Clay has beat you to it - that bent old grinder and his gnarled walking stick have some get-up between them. The passenger door of the 18-wheeler is open, and he's got one large, booted foot up on the step, staring out beyond the halted convoy and shaking his head. After a moment he notices you. “Got us a bit of nutter clutter in the road, Bergs. Outriders are dealin' with it. Haven't heard back back from 'em yet, though. S'ok - I trust those boys. If it's somethin' they can't handle they'll give us a heads up.” From up in the rig you hear Grits trying to make comms. “...Big Momma, Clutch. Sitrep, over.” The large, swarthy woman looks down at you and shrugs, “Hey hun, happy freakin' mornin', right? We had this sum-bitch timed up perfect too. Sorry t'say I don't know what's goin' on yet. You wanna take over comms?” From the caravan's position you're not able to get a visual on Derby and Rem. What do you do? hctibyllis fucked around with this message at 10:49 on Dec 16, 2014 |
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Dec 16, 2014 10:29
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Rem Barter=1 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 I stared at the man. Maybe he was telling the truth. If so, I'd put good odds that it was only part of the story. After a few tense moments, I replied. "Might be we could work out an arrangement. Have to speak to my CO about it." I made a conscious effort to appear to relax, in the hopes they would follow suit. If they were bandits, they weren't going to be able to draw down on me faster than I could make it a tricky proposition. While they mulled over my seeming acquiescence, I made another quick scan. Who looked relieved, who tensed up, who was sweating an awful lot for being out in the cool morning air. "You say a lab got attacked. How's Minerva looking these days? Read a Sitch: 2d6+2 12. Which enemy is most vulnerable to me? Which enemy is the biggest threat? Who's in control here? (Is it Rem? I hope it's Rem.) Shardix fucked around with this message at 17:39 on Dec 16, 2014 |
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Dec 16, 2014 10:53
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Derby Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 Big Momma posted:Big Momma, Clutch. Big Momma, Clutch. Sitrep, over… Oh, they're going to love this. I sure hope Berg is feeling generous, I hate bloodshed before breakfast. “Clutch here Big Momma. Would you mind getting Ice on the horn? Got ourselves a toll here, need input from a Big Hat. The fine-fingered folks here and their little children have a booming need for some truck-juice. Thumper’ll be looking for the word.” PoultryGeist fucked around with this message at 12:17 on Dec 16, 2014 |
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Dec 16, 2014 12:14
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Johnny-B Barter=4 | Exp=0(+1)/5 | Harm=0:00 "Sorry, Jedd." I ain't sorry at all. "Guess I got the magic touch. Maybe next time." Well, boy, I'm rich. I stow my ill-gotten swag away, quick. We don't like thieves around here, but I take no chances. Last time we caught a thief 'round here, well... didn't stick around to see it. Don't think they'll find that poor fucker ever again. I look back up to see the freaks are getting antsy. I know 'bout as much as they do why we've stopped. Berg'll be on that, probably. Sonette's whisperin' with Qurtae, look of concern on her face. If she's upset, things are probably bad. Learnt 'bout listening to the psychic ones the hard way, 'cause you don' get a lot of time between them screamin' and the trouble hittin' you. Figure maybe she knows somethin' we don't. I head on over and put on my best "I'm just a pretty face" face. Which, come to think of it, might just be my regular face. "Hey, Sonette." I give them a nod. "Sorry to interrupt your chat, babydoll, but you're lookin' antsy 'bout somethin' or other. Was it somethin' you Saw?" Read a Person: 2d6 5 Was never one for small talk.
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Dec 16, 2014 12:48
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Pumpkin "Hey, Jedd, looks like you know what my job is. Smarter than you look!" Fucker. And yeah, Berg's around. She knows my name if she thinks I'll be useful. In lieu of that, she can figure out what the hell is going on around here. I'm just gonna do the rounds around the stopped convoy, keep a hand close for when I need to jump back on because motherfucker they'll just get going again. I've seen it before and I'll see it again and it ain't gonna be me.
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Dec 16, 2014 14:46
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Berg Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 "Tell me about it. Now scooch over, I got to hear what's going on up there." "Clutch, this is Ice. Tell Thumper to keep quiet for a while longer. Can't start the song before the band's all here. Now, is there anything else these kids might want from our toybox? Over."
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Dec 16, 2014 17:31
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Derby Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 “Copy that Ice. Thumper is having a nice chat at the moment, seems there’s been some raider activity a few weeks back. He’s trying to get some more info on that and Minerva. Looks like the toll is two barrels of juice, accept no substitutes. Our friends are playing nice so far, so if you want to warm up the Pump or not is your call. I can put Thumper on the horn, he’s always been a better people person than me. Over.”
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Dec 16, 2014 23:56
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Berg Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 "I'll get back to you on that one, Clutch. For now, just let Thumper keep them talking and I'll see what we can scrounge up. Over." Of course they want diesel. They always want goddamn diesel. Can't get it through their skulls that everyone's just as desperate for it as they are. I turn away from the radio, try to stop thinking about how we've hit another goddamn band of raiders. Doesn't mean I can stop focusing on the mess we're in. Just means I'm focusing on what we can actually do about it. "Grits, how much fuel can we spare?" I know drat well how much we got. I just don't want to say it myself.
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Dec 17, 2014 03:46
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Rem & Derby
For just a moment, the frontman looks at your question, as if he wasn't expecting it. Then he's got that easy smile on again. “Well it's still a simple country shithole full of dumb rubes, ain't it? It's never looked good, but I guess it could look a whole lot worse. Y'know, like Canton.” Suddenly his eyes seem to light upon an idea, and his lips purse slightly, “Say... you don't think these pump jumpers might have had anything to do with that place, huh?” Behind him, the guy with the rifle grumbles something, but you can't make it out. He gets an elbow from the nervy dude. Frontman makes an annoyed look at them, then turns back to you expectantly. “So what's the word on the horn, huh? We ready to do this? Where they at? How many trucks y'all got?” - - - Berg Grits shakes her rather large head, seeming to mull the question for a moment. “Well... a couple barrels'll take a bit to siphon out, won't it? We can't afford much time, as y'know, sweetie. It won't hurt us for gettin' to Minerva, if that's all they want; but it might mean having to make a fuel detour on the way to the next one.” She pantomimes flicking something, “Y'know... dominoes.” “We'd have to wake up the boss if we want to play good Samaritan”, Clay advises, calmly pulling a bit of chew from a grease-stained pouch. “'Else, we'd never hear the end of it. He'd probably red-light us all for that.” The veteran makes a sour sneer and spits in the direction of the hold up. “On the other hand, I'd bet my good nut if we roosted him he'd insist we just blast the sorry sons of bitches. So either way it's poo poo city. Maybe we can just scare 'em or something?” - - - Pumpkin The convoy looks secure from the outside, everything's all quiet, 'cept for the drat squealing coming from the powder car. Sounds like that cute girl Jesse has got the dancers all riled up over something. As you're passing near the front, you overhear Clay's conversation with Berg. What do you do? - - - Johnny Sonette glances at you briefly, then makes a pained look at Qurtae. She starts to rub her temples and rocks very slightly back and forth in her chair, brow furrowed - as if she's having a migraine or something. After a few moments of this she begins to speak to no one in particular, her voice very faint. “They didn't leave any. Not the burning water, not the well keepers. They will always want more because they always run. Running, running. From what?” Tears begin to slide down the Farseer's face and Qurtae curses. “Aww, poo poo. Here love, it's okay now.” She embraces the tearful woman, gently stroking her sandy hair, yet looking a mite pleased with the opportunity (somehow the hug is miraculously free of bloodletting, considering several various sharp adornments). She gives you a nasty look. “Hey pretty boy, why don't you play us something nice instead of working everyone up, yeah? Wanker.” Jedd giggles. “Ohhh yes! A rooty-tooty tune to lift our rotten souls, eh Johnny? Lay it on me!” He slaps you on the back, undoubtedly a bit harder than what could be called congenial. What do you do? hctibyllis fucked around with this message at 12:43 on Dec 19, 2014 |
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Dec 19, 2014 12:41
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Rem Barter=1 | Exp=1/5 | Harm=0:00 "Like I said. Need to talk to my CO. Give me a minute." I ignored his other questions and made my way back to Derby. Leaning over, I stuck my head into the passenger window and sighed. I laid things out as I saw them as quickly as I could, keeping my voice low. "These people are so full of poo poo you can smell it. Way I see it, here's how it'll go down; We give them the fuel and they bid us a good day. Within a night or two they'll try to sneak in and steal anything they can. We tell them to piss off and they're going to get violent. Can't honestly say how quickly they'll give up once they see they're outgunned." I glanced back in the group's direction. "The woman strikes me as the sort to make us pay as dearly as she can before she goes down. This is all assuming they aren't some outriders for a bigger gang, of course. If that's the case things get a lot more complicated." I shrugged. "I'll leave it to the higher ups to make a call, but if Berg wants my opinion? Let me grab my SAW, tell them to clear out the mess and get out of our way." Shardix fucked around with this message at 15:43 on Dec 19, 2014 |
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Dec 19, 2014 15:38
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Derby Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 I keep the smile on my face and speak low. No need to spook anyone before its absolutely necessary. “Yeah, they’re being a bit itchy for my tastes too. Mind the fifth man in the cab, let’s see what Berg thinks.” Returning to the radio, I’m struck by the realization that we really need to get some personal comms wired up. Maybe if we get out of this in one piece I can scrounge up something. “Ice, Clutch again. Thumper thinks a demonstration of good will might do the trick, our friends look to be the binging type. Gonna need the word anywise, I think they’re looking for an answer nowish.”
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Dec 19, 2014 16:48
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Berg Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 "We can't just scare folk like this off. Not when we're this close to our next stop. They'd just catch back up when we're putting up the tent." Clay's right. We're screwed either way we go here. Our only chance is to do something now and make sure the bossman tells us to do what we're doing anyway. It's not much of a plan, but it's the best I got right now. "Clutch, this is Ice. Gonna have to ask the bossman if we can open some bottles for our guests, but if Thumper feels like getting friendly with 'em, well, things happen awfully quick on the highway. I'll be back with the boss' orders, over." I set the transceiver down, wait a moment to be sure it's not transmitting... "Alright. I'll make sure the bossman gives us the go-ahead to fight 'em off. Grits, Clay, keep watching the radio. Rem's tough, but he's not invincible. If he needs backup, you need to move as soon I get the bossman's word. You got that? Good." I'm already out the door by the time either of them could respond. Already running past Pumpkin as he makes his rounds. Already heading for the bossman's cabin at the end of the line. This plan better work. We'll all be scuttled if it doesn't.
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Dec 19, 2014 20:22
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Pumpkin I don't have time for Jesse right now. I usually like to keep a good eye on her, she tends to attract attention. Right now I gotta assume either it's the good kind of attention or that they remember I exist. Whatever lets me sleep at night. What's the phrase, though? Miles to go. "It's been dark for hours already, Berg." She didn't ask, but it sounds like there might be fighting. So it's my business. "Either we deal, or we go hard with everyone we've got. Me, Rem, Burj, Crunchy Mack, the works. Rule 1. We're running out of time."
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Dec 19, 2014 21:56
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Berg Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 Captain Foo posted:"It's been dark for hours already, Berg." She didn't ask, but it sounds like there might be fighting. So it's my business. "Either we deal, or we go hard with everyone we've got. Me, Rem, Burj, Crunchy Mack, the works. Rule 1. We're running out of time." The glare I shot Pumpkin could have curdled milk. Of all the people he's telling this to, he's telling me? I know we're running late, Pumpkin. Trust me, I loving know. If either of us had the time, I'd give him hell for thinking I didn't. Too bad we don't. Lucky him. "Then you better make sure they're suited up then, shouldn't you?" I'm not even putting on a bit of civility here. Just spitting it out at his feet and continuing down the caravan. I swear, the bossman better make this quick...
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Dec 19, 2014 22:24
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Johnny-B Barter=4 | Exp=1/5 | Harm=0:00 Well, so much for trying to socialise. Wonder why I bother talking to anybody in this loving trainwreck. That fat Mem has the right idea with his loving bunker, I'm thinking. "Fine, then, yah wet ends." I scootch back over to my bag and rustle around, 'till I find it. The trumpet. It whispers to me, it wants to be played. I keep it clean as much as I keep myself clean, which is whenver I can claw for it. I'll barter away my clothes, lose my gun in Close Call, maybe give up my dignity someplace, but everyone knows that nobody touches Johnny-B's trumpet. Nobody. "Alllrighty, ladies and gents of esteemed and cultured society!" Fake smile and Rube patter come out easy. I practice in front of whatever shines enough to see myself in. Give the freaks a grin, Johnny boy. "Here today for a private performance for you fine members of the freak show, it's the one and only Johnny-B, solo act! Let's go!" I fuckin' play. Let's play a tune! (Artful and Gracious): 2d6+2 7 There's Mamba, the contortionist. Hidin' at the back, shy little thing. Think I wanna meet her, or him - nobody knows, and we're too polite to ask. (This person must meet me.) The Deleter fucked around with this message at 16:24 on Dec 21, 2014 |
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Dec 21, 2014 15:55
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Pumpkin Oh, she's too drat busy for this? Great. "You better fuckin' let our scouts know we're coming, then - and we're not coming to talk." It's like that legend of that sword. You know the one, once it's been unsheathed it can't go back without drawing blood? Well, this is like this except it's a bunch of freaks and it isn't a legend. So who's first? Rem's already out there. That's good. Burj, I guess. He'll be happy to get out of the rig, maybe happier than any of us. Eight feet tall, man. Huge. He's not exactly a beanpole either. C'mon, guy, let's go rattle some skulls, those fuckers out there trying to extort us or something; all I know is they're holding us up and we need to get them the HELL out of the way. Crunchy Mack's next. If Jedd's known for eating live things, Crunchy Mack eats things that were never alive to begin with. And by that, I mean nails and rocks and the like. I don't know if he's ever been in a real brawl, but he's been itching; right now I need people that are gonna want to throw down. I also need Michigan. She throws knives. And while she never hits who she's throwing at, I'm drat sure she'd slam one right through a fucker's eyeball if she was trying. And she's gonna try. Wakie, wakie, Michigan. Here's half an old cookie. The Carnival needs you. Get the gently caress up and come with me. So that's us. The cavalry. March on down the road, they're just around the bend. We'll be there in a few minutes. Better take those few minutes to sort this poo poo out, Berg. We're walking. I'm whistling.
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Dec 21, 2014 16:43
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Derby Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 “Copy that Ice. See y’all in a bit.” Whelp, so much for breakfast. I can already feel the acid curdling in my stomach. I know this kinda thing is a fact o’ life out here, doesn't mean I have to like it. Turning back to Rem, I speak low through the smile. “Alrighty then. When the fun starts, I’ll do my level best to distract them and give you a bit of cover fire. If possible, try not to ventilate the truck too bad. You got anything specific in mind big guy?”
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Dec 21, 2014 17:01
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Rem Barter=1 | Exp=1/5 | Harm=0:00 I considered the matter for a moment. It was a bad situation any way you sliced it. Unless... "Yeah, actually. I'm going to do something unexpected and make them an offer. If we just give them fuel, they take us for easy marks. If we turn this into a fight, there's good odds we'll be burying a friend tomorrow. Now, we're running late as it is. But a few more able bodies can make up the difference and then some. I just have to hope these folks still believe, deep down, that an honest day's work is worth an honest day's pay. Helping us set up in return for gas and a meal seems fair to me. The boss might be annoyed, but that's my problem to deal with." "Assuming they don't go for that and decide to be unpleasant about all this? I'll keep them pinned down as best I can, let the backup flank around and handle it. I'll leave it to your discretion on whether or not to stick your neck out on this. I'm not going to blame you if you'd rather keep an eye on Clementine." It was really a shame our 'friends' had had the foresight to lay down some improvised tire spikes. People did tend to panic when a man barrels down on them in two tons of steel. Reaching into the window, I swapped the shotgun for the SAW, slinging it over my shoulder. The weight was reassuring. There were plenty of situations where hauling out the big gun only invited problems, but I always felt a little off without it. That ugly bitch and I had been together so long we were probably in a common-law marriage by now.
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Dec 21, 2014 20:28
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Continued; EXT. ABANDONED HIGHWAY - MORNING LOW ANGLE bounded on one side by a beer bottle and on the other by a pile of rusted cars haphazardly shoved onto the shoulder. A size 22 boot steps down on the bottle, crushing it. SLOW PAN up to reveal a giant of a man, clad in a bulky faded greatcoat of some sort, carrying an M249 LMG. C.U. - Motorcycle helmet, slowly looking from left to right. This helmeted individual is the GUNLUGGER. EXT. BLOCKADE - MORNING A hand fiddles with the sight of an M4 rifle. PULL BACK to include it's owner and her compatriots. Survivors, hard living types. They are on the ragged edge, wearing leathers and denim, all of which have seen better days. They are carrying shotguns and rifles, and know how to use them. Behind them a large pickup nosed up against several steel barrels forming a makeshift barricade. The woman notices something and adjusts her grip on her weapon. Woman (sneering) He's back. ANGLE - REVERSE, seen past the lounging survivors, Gunlugger striding purposefully toward them. ANGLE - OVER GUNLUGGER'S SHOULDER, as he approaches them. They stand up straight and try to act casual. The nervous energy is obvious. -Leader -So, what's the good word, buddy? Gunlugger stops twenty feet in front of them. Gunlugger (Loud. Despite the helmet, his voice is crystal clear.) No deal. My superiors want you out of the way immediately. The survivors exchange glances. Leader Well, that's a crying shame. I think- Gunlugger holds out a hand, interrupting him. Gunlugger (Cold. He has better things to do than be here talking.) However. I'm willing to make you an offer. We're running late. You help us get back on schedule by volunteering some elbow grease, and I see to it your truck gets fueled up and you have a hot meal tonight. Afterwards, you're free to go about your business. Otherwise, I am obliged to clear this road by any means necessary. The leader glances down at the weapon hanging from the Gunlugger's shoulder. Glances back at the helmet. Gunlugger may as well be carved from granite for all the emotion he shows. Manipulate: 2d6-2 9
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Dec 22, 2014 22:40
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Berg The cut-out windows on bossman's trailer (or 'caboose' as he prefers to call it, though it's really just a another long metal box with some awkward wooden paneling glued over the walls) show no signs of activity, their darkness giving the clear indication that Mr. Head Honcho is likely sticking to his usual schedule, and planning on climbing out to join his employees at a later date (probably once the cooktent is set up). You steel yourself and rap on the door a few times. *KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK* Instantaneously after your third knock resounds, you hear the muffled sounds of his strange, vintage radio set crackling to life, emitting another off-kilter, odd sounding tune: >  < [When you see notes, click and have a listen!]"AAAGGHH!! GODDAMMIT RIPDICK loving BOX OF WHORECRABS..." After another string of expletives and several painful sounding crashes, the door swings open, revealing a garrish, humid hoarder's paradise and the balding, rotund man who spends most of his time in it. No one's been inside except for Pumpkin, but glimpses show a vast, cluttered collection of oddments and knickknacks that aren't readily recognizable, and don't seem to serve any evident purpose in this age. The man has piles of random junk stacked around a soiled box-spring mattress shoved in the back, like towers encircling a sad garbage castle. The so-called “Brains of the Boros” hastily slams the door behind him, silencing the Box. He turns his red, quivering jowls towards you and shoves his hands into the pockets of his practically threadbare, maroon pinstripe blazer (nobody's ever seen him out of the suit). Just before he warms up his vocal chords with a daily dose of bellowing, your bracing eardrums catch Johnny playing his trumpet a few cars down. Guy's amazing... “WHY in MARY'S BLOODY BEEF FEAST are we STOPPED? Do you understand the RAMBOFICATIONS of getting behind schedule, my dear? I assume you would, as it is in fact YOUR GODDAMN JOB; that is, until I can find someone with enough stuff between their ears to let a man have his well earned sleep! WELL, YOUNG LADY?!” By the time you've filled him in, a disturbing amount of sweat has seeped into the wrinkled collar of his grease-stained button up dress shirt. He waddles out towards the left side of the highway to get a look at the lead trucks. “poo poo. Wasn't any word of bandits when we left the Pit. How'd they wind this up?” He turns back towards you and sweeps the shiny beads of worry from his forehead. “Radio up to Big Momma. Tell her we can parlay. Round up an escort and get some bodies down there. We'll move the rig when we get your go ahead. Don't do...” But his instructions are cut off by a sudden burst of gunfire. *KA-CHOW!* (It sounded really close) Bossman hits the ground, cursing and trying to drag his considerable girth back towards the caboose. What do you do? - - - Johnny The whole trailer quiets down after you start playing, in fact the whole caravan seems to pause and settle on its weary, creaky haunches. Some of the freaks start tapping their feet along, and after a few measures, even Jedd pulls out of his sulk and leans back in his chair a bit. The notes of your brass instrument carry as they're supposed to, though the acoustics in the cramped little can you're in leave something to be desired. Nonetheless, once you ease through the last few bars (adding a little vibrato embellishment) the car erupts in cheer; or rather, everyone claps together what appendages are able to accomplish the motor skills required for applause. Smiles all 'round! Jedd grunts and spins in his stool to face away from the table. Qurtae gives you a wry grin, “Alright, so you're not a jerk.” Sonette still looks worried though, pressing her hands against her temples. The chair on your left slides closer to you and you turn to see Mamba sitting beside, hunching her slender, dark shoulders nervously forward (and from the looks of it out of their sockets (its a tick of hers)). To your surprise she speaks, which is a rare thing; her voice almost sounds like that of a child who has smoked 3 packs a day for 11 years. “H-hey... that was really nice. What was it called?” She looks around her before asking you another question, without really waiting for the first answer. “Uhm... my act is with the dancers this time. Do you wanna … uh... like... rehearse with me or anything before the show tonight?” Her sheepish expression implicates hidden intentions, but before you can respond... *KA-CHOWKERRANG!* One second Hazel is doing her OCD thing with meticulously polishing her ball, and the next the crystal is just a red mess of skull jelly and stringy pulps of flesh. There's a large hole torn open in the trailer wall just a couple feet behind and to your right. Moments later the whole can is filled with piercing shrieks and screams, with Sonette's banshee wail resounding over all. There's a mad cattle rush to the door, bodies pushing and shoving and straining to get by you. You feel Mamba's arms cling around your waist in a grip of fear. What do you do? - - - Derby & Rem The guy swallows hard and seems to reassess his situation. After a moment he nods slowly, “Alright maybe we can work this out. We're not heading back to Minerva, if that's what you're askin'. But I tell you what, we can have a couple of us take our truck down there while the rest of us wait here quiet-like. We got a special pump in the bed we can use to help speed up the process. Let us fill up a barrel, won't take but twenty minutes tops, and we'll drive it back here, clean up our mess and let y'all through. How's that sound, big guy?” *kachow* And it was all going so nicely until that gunshot came from behind. Their leader throws his hands up and cries, “Wait!” But the tense woman with the rifle has already drawn it level with Rem's center mass. “gently caress this poo poo.” She fires, and the man next to her pulls his weapon up too, taking aim at Derby. Rem: Act Under Fire before any moves. Derby: You may use your car's bonuses. Both of you: take +1 this encounter for reading the sitch. What do you do? - - - Pumpkin Burj, Crunchy Mack and Michigan are huffing along with you towards the standoff. Burj huffs a bit more than the others. C-Mack has enough wind to gripe, “What the gently caress, yo? I know I said I wanna roll with you and poo poo, but I ain't even got to polish off my morning w-” “No one needs to hear about your sicko daily regimen, Mack.” Michigan cuts him off soundly with her typical (and fitting) sharp tone. “Didn't you lose your tweezers in that card game yesterday? How you gonna get a grip down there anyways?” C-Mack spins around to backpedal a few paces in front of her with his middle finger for an answer. “Eat actual poo poo, bitch. Least I know what one looks like.” She grins, “Wouldn't want to steal your supper, freak-boy. And that's not really a hetero come-ba..” Her wit is cut short by two gunshots. The first from behind, back at the caravan. Sounds like a heavy round. The second comes your current destination. Rifle fire. C-Mack's face quickly looses the sneer of contempt. “Oh... ffffuck.” Act Under Fire to haul rear end towards the highwaymen, or choose to return to the caravan and you'll get an action immediately. What do you do?
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Dec 28, 2014 22:52
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Rem Barter=1 | Exp=2/5 | Harm=0:00 The gently caress? Nobody in the Familia carried something big enough to make noise like that. Some third party jackass with an anti-materiel rifle? If so, they weren't screwing around - so long as you didn't count the fact that whoever it was missed. First things first, though. I was about to get ventilated if I didn't move my rear end. As the weapons came to bear, I spun and hauled rear end to the shoulder, going into a baseball slide down the embankment. Bullet spat over my head and kicked up clouds of dirt a few meters beyond. God, what a mess. Act Under Fire: 2d6+3 13
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Dec 29, 2014 00:45
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Berg Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 At least the boss can shut up when there's bullets flying. I'm a bit too busy taking cover behind the last trailer to savor it, but it's still one less thing to worry about. That's important when you got a goddamn sniper staring you down. No bossman breathing down my neck. No big top with more holes than fabric. No mercs on the horizon. All I have to think about is me, my pistol and trying to find some sign of where that drat gunner's hiding... Going to try to Read The Sitch here, maybe find the sniper before they blow any more holes in people. Read A Sitch: 2d6 8 One question, and I take +1 when I act on the answer. What's my enemy's true position?
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Dec 29, 2014 02:42
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Rem Barter=1 | Exp=2/5 | Harm=0:00 What are you doing down there, soldier? Taking cover, sergeant. Taking cover? You're a marine, you pissant. A marine doesn't take cover! A marine takes the field! He gets up into his enemy's face and tears their goddamn throat out! Now get your rear end up there and lay down some suppressing fire, maggot! I hauled myself to my feet, swinging my weapon to bear in the general direction of the truck and its owners. I didn't bother aiming at anything in particular, I just wanted heads down and pants thoroughly soiled. I braced the stock against my shoulder and squeezed the trigger and grit my teeth as the bitch hurled invective down range and strangled cries that might have been OH poo poo choked their way into my helmet. I wish it didn't have to be this way, but right now Derby's life mattered more than theirs. Seize By Force: 2d6+4 11 Rem is attempting to seize the road, in the sense of forcing the survivors to give ground and potentially break and scatter Suffer little harm Impress, dismay, or frighten the enemy
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Dec 29, 2014 10:06
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| # ? Apr 19, 2024 18:43 |
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Derby Barter=2 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 I relax slightly as the headman takes the deal. That’s my mistake, the Maelstorm doesn’t like me having nice things. The gunshot takes me by surprise, and its a few seconds before I realize the sound came from the convoy. The poo poo has already hit the fan, with the tollers taking shots at Rem and the big guy devastating the area in return. In my rear-view, I can see reflections off of Pumpkin’s helmet coming around the bend and into the shitstorm. That part of my brain that I don’t like much starts up. Rem: Under fire, but in cover and has The Gun talking. Pumpkin: Out in the open with not much more than a bad attitude. Johnny and Berg: Who the gently caress knows, but someone is shooting at her. The decision is made, and do I ever hate it. I punch The Button, and for a few moments, the sound of gunfire is drowned out by a wail from the mouth of Satan himself. *WWWWWWAAAAAHHHNNNNNNNNNWHOMPWHOMPWHOMPWWWWWWAAAAHHHNNN* My lights start flashing in time to the siren-wail, and I peel out backwards before bootlegging around. Having just made myself the biggest Goddamned target in the county, I tear rear end back to the convoy. Hopefully no-one will think to shoot at Pumpkin until he can find some cover. I key the radio, forgetting it will also go through the loudspeaker now.. “Big Momma I need to know where that came from, I got a vehicular enema for the fuckhead!” (Helping Pumpkin: 2d6+0+2+1 8 Pumpkin has a +1 to his Move due to the giant moron drawing attention)
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Dec 29, 2014 16:09
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