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blurry!
Jun 14, 2006

Sorry for Party Flocking


Under the Canopy, the wind brings the Fog, and the Fog rises, nestling and clotting against the Canopy. It's up there, eight thousand feet, or so they estimate, straight above. The Fog rises and thickens, and when it thickens, it makes more light. That’s when you call it “Day”. When the wind takes the Fog out, the darkness and the "Night" is left in its place. Or at least, what approximates Day and Night. It’s never too bright or dark under the Canopy, and telling time by Day or Night is a fool’s game. The wind is fickle.

Right now, the Fog is thickening nicely above Keeler’s Grub Shack. A nice thick Orange Cast pouring down from a sizable cloudfront. Whiskey can see a ways out across the Scrap Sea. You can see the way the junk stacks up high around the carcasses of buildings, from your lookout point atop The Old Hand. The way the roads and broken highways snake like veins across a corrupted landscape of rusted, decaying flesh. The Old Hand is a landmark that most people this close to the Pillar knew about. It's a rusted facsimile of a skeletal hand reaching up to the Canopy like some restless ghoul breaking from the earth as he rises from his grave. Large enough to cup a full grown person in its palm, you fit nicely between its frozen, grasping digits. Strings of rubber and strips of ragged cloth hang from it like wasted bandages or rotting skin. They waft gently in the breeze, looking as orange as anything else right now.

Your watch had been mostly uneventful, but it wasn’t to last. The new light and wind are bringing new sights and sounds. Whiskey, you see a dust cloud being kicked up on the Southbound Road, a dirt and concrete path that wound its way through the Dunes all through the Scrap. You hear the distant sound of multiple engines, blending together and masking the what is it? and how many, exactly? questions any look-out would ask. They could be travelers headed straight on past Keeler’s, they could be visitors for some grub, or they could be fuckin' raiders come to stir up some poo poo. What are you gonna do about it?

Ajar is nearby, having just paid Whiskey a visit. The fingertips of The Old Hand are quickly disappearing behind a hill, as you attend your business. Bottles, one of Keeler’s gang, hadn’t paid up on his bill after you sewed up the remains of his left arm. His shack is visible under the Orange Light. A lovely little one-room affair not too distant from the outhouses. Grub Maker slop always gave people the stinkiest of shits, and the new breezes make sure you know it. How do you wanna handle Bottles?

To the south, the Fortress was shrouded by a blue Night. The market was speckled with little lamps as people bustled, selling and buying. The Duchess is inside her inner sanctum, putting together sums, along with El Camino, her majordomo. Papers rustle and the abacus clacks with counting. El Camino was a tall, skinny thing, but drat good at emulating Duchess when Duchess wasn’t around, able to handle the occasional low-level trouble handily. What’s your hold look like, Duchess? roll+hard for your wealth.

Out in the market place, Liandra and Fluffy are rolling into town. Slamjams, a guy who knows Randall from some place or other, is there to sell ya somethin’ ”real fuckin’ keen”, as it had been put. Randall can be seen a bit in the distance, illuminated by the light of the loving What pub, waiting for you. He waves a bit to let you know he sees ya. The loving What was probably the best shithole this side of the Pillar, depending on who you ask. They have dancers of all sexes and live music. A loud, stinky poo poo-hole, and one of the better public places to make big deals you didn’t want overheard. So, I wonder what Randall has to say?

Here's some posting conventions for yas:

Use your bolded name as a header for your posts.
The first time you create a proper name of something or someone, bold it for me please. That way I wont' miss new NPCs or important things by accident. I'm doing the same for yous guys.
Please use http://orokos.com/ for rolling. It provides links to each roll that have your username attached.

blurry! fucked around with this message at Jun 16, 2014 around 00:59

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Captain Foo
May 11, 2004

the cyberpunk dystopia is now
you are not the runner


Clever Betty

Whiskey

They're coming. Saying it that way sounds so dramatic, doesn't it. Most likely, they were planning to head on up to Duchess', there was a lot more poo poo there. And then, they're going to notice the distinctive smell of the Grubber running, and then they're going to want grub. That's fine. What's not fine is if they don't want to pay for it. Let's scratch that. They don't want to pay for it. Nobody wants to pay for it. The job, mine, Roger's, Yusuf's and Ba's, is to make it so that paying's a better option. Usually we do. Sometimes we can't. Then we make sure they don't get fed. You dig?

I hit the button, the buzzing starts. Steez wired up this intercom thing. Works like poo poo, but even that's a huge advantage. While I wait for someone down below to answer - should be Roger, but you never really know - time to size up the situation. I'm seeing pickups, four of them. Driving in a line. It's hard to see details from up here. Gotta hit up someone for binocs, but they're tough to come by. What I don't see, and what does seem promising, is that they aren't technical'd up, so no heavy weapons. Doesn't mean they don't have plenty of firepower, though. Buzz.

Read a Sitch: 2d6+1 3

Can't see poo poo through this Fog and dust. Not good. Buzz.

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

The end! No moral.


Fluffy
Barter=5 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 | Cool/Hard

"...so C-Caramel said she would watch Scribble today and at first I wasn't so sure about that because Caramel is s-sleeping with Church-Head and I'm pretty sure he's a w-wizard because why else would he have a big stick like that but then I remembered I bought Scribble that shirt from Whackoff that she liked that I told you about and I remembered that wizards are afraid of holy symbols so it should be fine as long as she doesn't take her shirt off and I've been very clear that that is inappropriate to do in p-public until she's grown up."


A holy symbol

Fluffy is being her usual twitchy self, her head snapping back and forth as she follows behind Liandra, chattering away. She's not inclined towards unnecessary violence, but no sudden movements is a good rule of thumb when she's around.

"There's Randall. I remember him. He still hasn't shav-Ooh, someone's selling hair over there! If we have time later we should check that out."

A beat as she drilled holes in the stall with her eyes, before swinging her head to the front again.

"Um. We're being nice today, right? I feel like I should ask because jobs involving Randall do not involve being nice. G-generally."

Shardix fucked around with this message at Jun 16, 2014 around 05:14

thatbastardken
Apr 23, 2010

Toot Toot I'm A Boot


Duchess

The New Market has been doing good business, the hunters and farmers have been producing enough to keep bellies full, the numbers are stacking up nicely and the Dogs have been paid off enough to keep them out of trouble. Only problem is the last shipment of water filters that Scrump and Nori delivered turned out to be not quite so mint-in-box as they were supposed to be, and now more than few people have got the shakes and the shits. If Duchess doesn't get some replacement filters and/or some medical supplies to treat the sick real soon, before the precious reserve drinking water runs out, things are going to get real ugly.

Wealth roll for The Fortress: 2d6+2 7

(Surplus 3 Barter. Want: Disease)

Of course when she gets hold of Scrump and Nori things are going to be ugly anyway, but for a different reason.

Looking at El Camino's rough estimate of the few days of good water left, Duchess sighs internally.

"Alright, get Pin, Angus, R-T and a couple others together. Search the market and the shitholes for Scrump and Nori, if they've been dumb enough to come back here. If not, we'll put the word out tomorrow that they're worth some jingle to me. With any luck Half-Dick and his caravan will be in soon, they should have something we can bash together to make a filter from."

K Prime
Nov 4, 2009



Ajar

Ajar considers her options carefully. Then she strides up and bangs on the door of Bottles' home, shouting. "HEY! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! OPEN THE FUCKIN' DOOR BEFORE I REROUTE THE PISSSTREAMS INTO YOUR WATER!"

Perhaps not the most subtle approach. But subtle hasn't been a historical winner, round here. With Whiskey on duty and nobody else yet in debt enough to call in a favor from, the direct approach is worth a go. Most folk aren't dumb enough to harm the healer over one yelling match.

Most folk.

Platonicsolid
Nov 17, 2008



Liandra

Ah, the loving What. Good for loving, and what. It's a shithole, no doubt, a term with less meaning than before, as it could well apply to the whole world now.

"Don't think he's a wizard," Liandra reassures Fluffy, "Not like you." She nods. "Nice," she says. Liandra's fairly sure Fluffy's older than her, a fact which doesn't dampen her desire to mentor the confused woman. Maybe it's just because Scribble's such a little sweetheart. Rumor's had it that people've started getting sick again. Just sniffles and coughs, but these days that can be deadly. "Sounding out," Liandra continues, "Not sure what Slamjams wants. Met the guy maybe once? But Randall'n me are solid and to stay solid I gotta hear out his friends. Who knows, could be a good deal."

Liandra turns, stepping in front of Fluffy, right up close, in her grill. "You don't draw down unless I do first, dig?" she confirms. Then another turn and she strides off towards the loving What.

"Randall!" she calls, jumping up the step to the porch. "Life good?" she asks, exchanging a shake with the man.

"Good 'nuff," Randall replies. He's never been a man of eloquence, wearing his terseness like body armor. So he doesn't chat further, just turns and heads inside. Liandra follows, pushing into the smoky main room of the loving What.

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

The end! No moral.


Fluffy
Barter=5 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 | Cool/Hard

Liandra posted:

"You don't draw down unless I do first, dig?"

"Yes ma'am."

A brief peek out from behind Liandra to give Randall a shy wave, and they headed in.

Fluffy rocked back as the loving What's music blasted her in the face. It was generally accepted that if you weren't very good at least be very loud, and judging by the volume of the current act they must be terrible. At least the mask filtered out the smoke and the overpowering stench of closely packed humanity, leaving only the auditory assault to trouble her.

blurry!
Jun 14, 2006

Sorry for Party Flocking


Whiskey, the intercom buzzes loud. Roger's baritone voice comes through, made tinny by the speaker "---I'm getting a good look at 'em, Whiskers---" Roger's petname for Whiskey. "---It's ol' Jack Daniels, by the looks of it. Can't mistake that beard. Got big ol' tarps tied down over some cargo they're transporting. Aaaand...---" The voice pauses. "---They look pretty banged up. Bandages on quite a few. I'd say... 15 or 16 total? Look pissed off. And poo poo, their weapons are out. Shotties and pistols, by what I can see. They just came from something. Something rough. Ye-eeeah, they're pulling off towards us. What's your call, Whiskers?---"

Duchess, El Camino salutes, turns on her heel and struts out.
Roll+Hot to have your gang search fervently. On a 10+, they retrieve their quarry without much issue. On a 7-9, choose 1:
    *They come back unharmed without the quarry
    *They come back harmed, but with the quarry
    *They come back unharmed, with one of the quarry and SOMETHING ELSE (MC's discretion).

As your majordomo leaves to delegate, Yip, a young, ambitious guard, comes marching in. "Ma'am, a visitor to see you! Someone from the Mill Oasis, up North a ways."

Ajar, the door swings wide as you pound on it. The shack is dim, almost black. The smell of necrotic flesh fills your nostrils. There's no noise, besides the buzzing of carrion flies. The orange light stretches along the floor, cutting into the darkness. On the edge of the shadows, a human hand rests, limp, upon the dirt. Well that's probably not good. poo poo, how long has it been since you've seen Bottles?

Fluffy and Liandra follow Randall through the door of the loving What. The inside is a smokey, hazy, loud mess. It's a bustling Night. There's a few wait staff, of one sex or another, dressed in barely anything at all, strutting between the tables. They're plunking down mugs filled with Blue Spore Beer. No matter what happened 50 odd years ago, the human race never skipped a step in its quest to find new ways to get hosed up. Sitting on the bar is Giorgio, the reknowned musician of the Fortress. He's drawing out a boistrous melody from his stringed instrument... a violence or something it was called. It'd be great, if it weren't for the rest of his band. Apparently the only person in the entire joint that had an actual, functional instrument was Giorgio. His bandmates clanged tunelessly on makeshift drums, providing what was supposed to be a beat, you suppose. To either side of him, a dancing girl and boy dance to his song, but gracelessly. Hard to blame them with this cacophony.

"I'm keeping my back to the wall." Randall says. "There's Slamjams, over there." He points to a mohawked head, dyed red and standing tall in the lamp lights. Alone, in a corner booth. Or at least appears to be alone. These deals are never exactly what they first appeared to be.

Platonicsolid
Nov 17, 2008



Liandra

Liandra tips her hat to Randall. The sheer excess of the loving What doesn't bother her, not like some of those puritanical, hellfire and brimstone types. Fact is, she likes it just fine, might even be tempted by it if she weren't working. But she is, and so focus is to be rewarded. Liandra makes a glance at Fluffy, hiding a gesture behind her back to guide her to a table, while she herself takes off to the corner.

The operator slides in opposite Slamjams, smiling pretty as you like and flashing two fingers at the passing beefcake for a round of drinks. "Friend of Randall's," she says. "Is a friend of mine. Let's talk," she says.

Read Slamjams: 2d6+2 6
Nope, that fails.

Captain Foo
May 11, 2004

the cyberpunk dystopia is now
you are not the runner


Clever Betty

Whiskey

loving Jack Daniels. He and I, we don't get along. Liandra thought it had to do with our names, but I didn't get what she was going on about and then the shooting started and I haven't seen her in a while and you know what none of that poo poo matters anyway. "On my way down," I say back into the buzzing transceiver, and curse to the air. Motherfucker. They're patched-up, right. So are they looking for a fight, or are they loving paranoid and about to go guns blazing? Gonna go with my gut. Either I'm right or I'm about to be wandering again. "Stall them 'til I get there," I shout to the wire, and slam my visor closed and get down the ladder as fast as I loving can.

thatbastardken
Apr 23, 2010

Toot Toot I'm A Boot


Duchess

Retreiving Scrump and Nori: 2d6+1 7


*They come back unharmed, with one of the quarry and SOMETHING ELSE (MC's discretion).




Duchess marks XP for rolling hot. 1/5

"Mills Oasis? They say what they were here about?"

Checking her schedule it looks like she's got a gap. Might as well talk to whoever this is.

"Alright, keep 'em waiting about five minutes then send 'em in. Actually, come in with them, and have Dex take over for you out there. Sore tooth or not he can do more than sit on his arse all day."

With El Camino out chasing after the source of her current discomfort, Yip can watch over her shoulder and get some experience dealing with the "ship of state", a phrase she learned from a book she traded for a while back. Books, Duchess found out long ago, are a handy way of externalizing the discomfort of learning things. Of course, the Fortress is less a ship and more a lump of flotsam on the open sea, with a few luckless souls clinging to it.

thatbastardken fucked around with this message at Jun 17, 2014 around 10:14

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

The end! No moral.


Fluffy
Barter=5 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 | Cool/Hard

Taking Liandra's cue, Fluffy ambled over to a nearby table and took a chair. The present occupants shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging furtive glances.

"C-continue with your conversation. Quietly, if you please."

Ignoring their responses, she folded her arms on the table and laid her head down. Giorgio's violence, the band's noise, and the general fervor of the bar was tough to cut through but eventually Fluffy was able to isolate Liandra's voice, and that of what she presumed to be Slamjam. Focusing her mind on his voice, she opened it up to the Maelstrom.

Open Your Brain. (roll +weird) 2d6+3=12
Fluffy wants to know what the Maelstrom has to say about Slamjam. Plus anything else it might decide to vomit into her brain.

K Prime
Nov 4, 2009



Ajar

"Aw poo poo."

Ajar bursts in, looking for what is hopefully a breathing Bottles. Not out of any inherent compassion, mind. Just because dead men don't pay bills. "Hey, are you ok in there? This is a house call!"

She looks down at the hand, smells the scent of death in the air. "gently caress me." But there's still hope. Maybe he ain't dead-dead yet.

But honestly, he's probably beyond saving.

blurry!
Jun 14, 2006

Sorry for Party Flocking


Whiskey, you swing down the rubbery ropes, all athleticism despite your armor. You hit the ground wth a crunch and dash off before the rubbish settles. Traversing the uneven ground is easy for you, and has been one of the keys to your continued survival, your graceful and long strides covering terrain like some grasslands dwelling creature of the Golden Days past. Cresting the final hill before the scrap evened out into an open dirt clearing, you stop. Below you, you can see clearly the standoff occurring. Roger stands defiant, face to face with a surly Jack Daniels, having a testosterone fueled showdown. Typical. Groinplate and Dutch back him up, rifles in hand. You know that Ba and Yusef, along with Amelia and Garnish are just out of sight, encircling the newcomers. Speaking of them, that's the curious thing. Besides J.D., none of the rest seem concerned with your team. The able bodied members of Jack's gang are either pointing their weapons back the way they came, or attending to the cargo they're carrying. Seems like they're extra careful not to let those tarps expose anything.

I'd say the situation is charged.

Duchess, Yip salutes and leaves. A bit of waiting passes, and the envoy is seen in. It's BondJamesBond (or just Jim B. for short). He was a tall handsome man, besides the ear he was missing. He was also the normal envoy when the Mills Oasis wanted to communicate with The Fortress. In his hand was a wrapped box, the traditional peace-time offer of a gift between civilized hardholds. So it wasn't a declaration of aggresssions. Not that The Fortress had to worry about the Mills Oasis. Jim smiles a dashing smile and holds out the box. "Ma'am." His voice is all charm.

I'll give the search a little more time before the search party make it back again, don't worry

Ajar, your eyes adjust to the light, and sure enough, a quick medical assessment shows that Bottles is not really going to make it. Decapitation is a little bit beyond your skill set. Well, besides that one time. Anyway, Bottle's head is definitely gone. That's obvious.

If you want to know more about what happened, roll a Read a Sitch move, and ask me forensic or medical based questions.

Fluffly, the Maelstrom opens up and


WELL if it isn't our FlaffyPaffy oh my god it is her. Been a while since you called us up, I can't believe it. You really ought to talk more often. Remember how I keep saying that time for us passes faster than time for you? But you never listen, always traipsing about having fun in the metal desert and wasteland, not a care in the world. THE RAINS WILL DIE. OOps, excuse me. Had a big lunch, a little gassy. Oh look, you're meeting new people, I'm so happy you're being SOCIAL. Skittles can't be raised properly if she's never seeing you being social! It'll give her strange ideas. GETSARACH MITALDO BENEERA. Oh, my, your friend with the hair, how delightful. He's a stubborn one he is, but I swear he's going to drive a hard bargain, and I can't blame him. He's selling something very nice. Be nice to him. He's handsome isn't he? Oh, I know he's a murderer that you can't trust once you walk out of the bar and he's got three thugs ready to jump you once you leave, but he's got a nice smile, doesn't he? It'd be nice if you could settle down with a nice man for a change, visit more oft-

you willfully pull yourself away from the Maelstrom. Ugh, it's the worst when it's a British Nan. So Fussy.

That was a right, good success, so I gave you quite a bit of information

Liandra, Slamjams eyes you a little. You can normally read people, but the only thing you can get out of this guy is he knows you can't read him very well. He leans forward and says "Well, that's good to know. Let's talk, yeah. I'm in possession of a piece of information that, if sold to the right... entrepeneurial mind, could change the entire wasteland scene. That interest you? Ready to move up in the world, small fry?"

thatbastardken
Apr 23, 2010

Toot Toot I'm A Boot


blurry! posted:

Duchess, Yip salutes and leaves. A bit of waiting passes, and the envoy is seen in. It's BondJamesBond (or just Jim B. for short). He was a tall handsome man, besides the ear he was missing. He was also the normal envoy when the Mills Oasis wanted to communicate with The Fortress. In his hand was a wrapped box, the traditional peace-time offer of a gift between civilized hardholds. So it wasn't a declaration of aggresssions. Not that The Fortress had to worry about the Mills Oasis. Jim smiles a dashing smile and holds out the box. "Ma'am." His voice is all charm.

I'll give the search a little more time before the search party make it back again, don't worry

The tradition when accepting a gift of peace is to take it in both hands, emphasizing the weight while at the same time making it clear you aren't hiding a knife behind your back. Pragmatic, but full of a the kind of symbolism that grows up in subsistence cultures. Time was Duchess wouldn't have bothered with the formalities, but these days she has an image to maintain - being a paranoid thug is all very well, but if people don't think they can send you a message and get their messenger back you stop hearing from the rest of the world real fast.

Not that she's going to open it herself or anything crazy like that. There are limits to how far symbolic hospitality extends.

Duchess gives a welcoming smile, and takes the gift politely before handing it off to Yip.

"Jim B, you smooth son of a bitch. What brings you out from the glasshouse? That clever chick, Jenkins, she still running the place?"

She's met BondJamesBond often enough thinks she has a pretty good feel for him - a clever negotiator, tough scrapper, and fairly successful ladies man. The kind it pays to keep your eyes on.

Is this a charged situation? I'd like to roll to read Jim B.

Read a Person: Jim B.: 2d6+1 10

Holding 3, spending the first one on 'what does Jim B. intend to do?"


Duchess's soft, pretty brown eyes give away no hint that she's mentally dissecting Jim B. like a kid pulling the wings off a fly.

Shardix
Sep 14, 2011

The end! No moral.


Fluffy
Barter=5 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 | Cool/Hard

Fluffy raised her head and blinked, the voice of British Nan burning its way across her cortex. At least there weren't any visions this time. Visions were always the worst. You could never quite trust things to stay themselves afterwards. Nobody should ever have to worry that the floor is going to evaporate and throw you into the clutches of a colossal sewer kraken.

Raising a hand, she waved over one of the staff. Fluffy could feel a headahce coming on, and beer helped. A little. A young lady in boots, ragged pants, and not much else sashayed over and plopped a mug of Blue Spore down on the table.

"Hullo, name's Venus. Can I get you anything else?" She leaned forward a bit to accentuate her assets.

Fluffy glanced up, and the waitress took a step back as the mask came into view. Fluffy held the woman's gaze for a beat. "You're d-dressed kind of inappropriately. Aren't you? "

"Uh. Yeah. First night. Boss told me to be sure and come in tomorrow in something less respectable."

Time to change the subject. Pointing at her arms, Fluffy continued. "I l-like your tattoos."

"Hey, thanks. You're the first person to notice them all night." She flexed an arm, showing off an rather impressive sleeve. Wasn't easy - or cheap - to get that kind of work done.

"You should f-find another job. People here like to grab things that don't belong to them."

"Um..."

As Venus searched for a response to that, Fluffy pulled the pack off her shoulders and set it on the floor. Rummaging through it, she produced a battered looking straw and stuck it in the drink. Out of politeness, she tried to avoid removing the helmet in public. Scars did not tend to improve the atmosphere much. A straw made it so much easier to get by.

"Thank you for the drink."

"Uh. Right. Any...anything else?"

A flash of insight suddenly hit Fluffy as the brew hit her stomach.

GETSARACH MITALDO BENEERA
=
ARCHMAGES DIE NEAR A BOTTLE

Ugh, Archmages. They were like a wizard but worse.

"Yes please. A bottle of something strong. F-for the road."

Shardix fucked around with this message at Jun 20, 2014 around 23:37

K Prime
Nov 4, 2009



Ajar

"Aw mother fucker!"

Ajar kneels by the now rotting corpse. The smell is unnoticed. With practiced mind, she clears away her own bodily reactions, and her assumptions, and looks at the body. Poor ol' Bottles. Rest in peace.

First step, check for cause of death, as stupid as that sounds. If he was killed and then decapitated, that's either someone sending a message, or some scavenger type stealing after the fact. Hell, the rot in his arm could have killed him and someone could have stolen his head for shits and gigs. If he was decapitated to kill him... that's almost certainly a grudge. Someone with a plan.

Either way, Ajar owes somebody a visit for this. You don't want any head stealin' murder types around. They're bad business. Now, if he was just a regular-stealin' wounding type, Ajar wouldn't care so much. Keeps her busy. But dead men don't pay up, and crazy head stealy types often don't get why killin' the medic is a bad idea.

Read the Sitch: 2d6+2 9
Was the decapitation pre or post mortem, based on the blood from the wound?

Platonicsolid
Nov 17, 2008



Liandra

Unusually, obnoxiously inscrutable. Liandra watches Slamjams, the way he leans forward and teases with just enough information, with the promise of RICHES.

"Riiiight," Liandra says slowly. "Information. Secret bunker warehouse with all the tech of the old world? Cache of antibiotics? Maybe it's just a map with a big X," she says. "You want jingle up front, yah?" she asks. "Smells way too fishy, chum," she says, twisting her voice on that word. "Now, if you can prove some kind of good faith....maybe we can talk deal."

Captain Foo
May 11, 2004

the cyberpunk dystopia is now
you are not the runner


Clever Betty

Whiskey

poo poo, this seems weird. "Jack," I call out. "look. My weapons are down, man. No need to fight us. What's got you so damned spooked?" Seriously, there's no time for pleasantries. "Roger, chill." He's not gonna like that, but he's gonna listen. Or else this is gonna get a lot messier than it needs to be. I think Roger knows that, but will he accept it? I wonder what's in the truck beds, but I get the feeling J.D. isn't going to tell me, either.

Then again, I'm pretty sure the last time I saw Jack we hit it off worse than he and Roger are right now. If he's running scared, though, I think Jack knows I can help him...if he makes it worth our while. Lots of options, but ball's in his court right now.

blurry!
Jun 14, 2006

Sorry for Party Flocking


Sorry about the slacking, regular updating schedule will resume. The forums going down threw me for a loop. Back now

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Platonicsolid
Nov 17, 2008



Gentle, quiet bump?

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