[Big Maul] Da Big Show (C 1.1, J 1.1) MATURE

edited April 2014 in Big Maul
Cache and Jet Black:

It's been three days now since the last Breezestorm happened. That was one of the worst in memory, right? Howling cacophonous winds and screams from the outside, battering at windows and seeping through cracks. The muzak held it back in the core, but folks around the outer sections of the Big Maul had to wear buds and phones to keep the Dance at bay. It was awful, so loud folks barely attended the Show at the AMC for days.

But that was three days ago, right? Just long enough for everyone to take a deep breath and return to their lives. Which means tonight should be a huge show. A huge show indeed!

It's morning. Or whatever time of day you declare to be morning aka cessation of sleep. When is that?

The Big Maul's muzak is playing this song:


Where do you spend your nights, somewhere in the AMC I assume? Do you sleep alone? When was the last time you watched Playboy sleep?

What were your dreams like last night?

Jet Black:

You woke up in someone else's bed this morning, one of your crew. Who was it? What are you doing there? Is this a thing, does it happen often?

Tonight's show is going to be something special. It needs to be, for jingle's sake since bidness was slow for the last week. Momma gotta eat, amirite? What splendrific thing do you have spinning in your brainpan for this spectacle?


  • I'm awake most nights, clearly. I mostly hover around the edges of the circus and lobby, moving through the back corridors, listening to the wash of clashing thoughts. It's the only way I can hear thoughts at this point. As an unintelligible extra waveform in my thoughts. One-on-one, it's too faint without literally getting inside them, but I'm working on focusing it.

    I keep a particular eye on Playboy and Hottopic. Show my face regularly to Jet. Hottopic is a cipher. I see her all the time, but can't figure her angle. As it creeps toward the end of the show, I cast around for an easy mark, pushing back at their thoughts, pushing myself in more than insinuating. I'm not very subtle at this point, but when we lock eyes, they know what I'm after. I always sleep alone, but I don't spend the night by myself. I'm gone long before I slip back to my closet above Theater 5 in the projection floor for a few hours of dreaming among the reels.

    It's on my way home that I stop by a particular vent just across from Playboy's sleep spot. I've had to find my own fun with the limited hunting in the circus, and outside chaos of the circus, I feel exposed, and people tend to avoid me. Last time I watched her was the last Breeze storm. Her snoring helps keep the Breeze a bit quiet.

    I haven't slept lately, hardly at all for the last 4 days. When I do, the Breeze is always there. Unavoidable. I'm certain some nights it's only sleep paralysis that keeps me from sleepwalking Away. I'm lost in an infinite desert in the middle of a sand storm. There're shadows through the dust, not always human. On the rare occasions I see the sky, it's red-orange. I never see the sun, but I always here the sun.
  • edited April 2014
    Like the rest of the AMC crew I'm a night person, so it's a while after noon when my eyes blearily open. Momentary confusion. My head is fuzzy. Where am I?

    Slowly my eyes focus on a colorful figure laying on the pillow beside me. A wake-up present. It's a little man with a big yellow head. He's dressed in blue and his plastic hands hold a wrench and a hammer. On the front of his overalls, in barely-legible cartoonish writing it says "Bob the B". I sit up groggily, staring at this strange, happy little plastic man.

    I smell paint and acetone. Oh, I'm in Rache's room, but she isn't here. Hmm... Been a while. I prefer to sleep alone these days, because of the nightmares. Sometimes I wake up crying, and I don't like anyone to see me like that. I will kick lovers out of my room before bedding down. But Rache has a motherly energy that makes me feel comfortable. I must have fallen asleep...

    Oh, I remember now... I've been racking my brains trying to come up with a new show idea all week, but the breeze has had me on edge and nothing has been forthcoming. And we need to generate some income quick. So last night I felt I needed a little... assistance. I drank some of that green liquor that Nan gave me; she calls it "Absence".

    Bad idea. The Absence turned my nightmare knob up to eleven, reached into my suppressed memories and tormented my tender artist's soul. I had awakened in a cold panic, sweating and hyperventilating, world spinning, no idea what was happening. I must have screamed or cried out, because the next thing I knew, Rache was there, scooping me up in her strong arms and carrying me to her room. She stroked my head and whispered soothing things until I fell asleep again, curled up in a fetal position against her warm body.

    The nightmare was about Cache, as usual. We were standing on a pedestal above a raging blue body of water, whipped by a freezing breeze, and we were putting on a show. Cache's beautiful body held a rigid pose, fighting the force of the wind which grew stronger and stronger as the show continued. I was singing the final aria from "Fucking Freedom" but secretly and simultaneously I was trying to keep Cache from being blown into the waves without the audience realizing my panic. And the audience... They surrounded us on all sides - dead faces that popped up out of the water, eyes bulging, skin blue, faces twisted into agonized grimaces - these were the ghosts of all the performers who had come before us. Now, hungry for fresh meat, they had come to watch us fail.

    The wind whipped into a gale and I clutched Cache as tight as I could, not sure which one of us needed saving more. Despite my fear, I knew that The Show Must Go On. I kept singing and singing while struggling to stay on my feet, even as the increasing volume of the elements drowned out the sound of my voice. When a giant wave of freezing cold water struck us and pulled zir from my fingers I screamed out loud. Everything suddenly went in slow-motion. It was horrible... Cache fell into the water backwards like a statue, eyes focused straight on mine, still holding rigid because the eight-count was only at five. I lunged and missed, falling to my knees, salt water stinging my eyes, and as Cache slipped into the waves the words that echoed in my head - a tremor shudders through my body and my eyes fill with tears again - the words were.... oh God... the words were...

    "Why did you let me go?"

    Tears roll freely down my face again as all my air escapes me. I can't see. Everything is a blur. My head is throbbing. I fall backward into Rache's bedding, inadvertently triggering the little button in the middle of the plastic figure's back.

    From the pillows beneath me comes a muffled digital voice, badly warbling and hardly audible. It takes a minute for the little figure's words to register, and now they hang in the air stupidly, anticlimactically, echoing in my mind.

    "Can we fix it? YES WE CAN!"

    - § -
  • Jet Black:

    Rache comes into the room moments after Bob gives his encouragements. She's wearing a threadbare terrycloth robe looted from one of "the nice stores" soon after The Fall. It hides her body pretty well, except her poorly painted toenails. She's got a tired, careworn face that she rarely lets others see. In her gnarled hands she has a cup of tea, brewed fresh for you, your favorite kind. What is it?

    "Jet..." she says softly as she takes a seat on the mattress near you. The bed shifts slightly with her weight. "Baby, you're crying again." She offers you the cup.


    Does the projector work in Theater 5? What's your favorite movie reel there?

    As you slip out of the confines of the theater room and into the circus, you spot Mari in the dark hallway. She hasn't seen you yet. This is Mari:

    Mari is sitting cross-legged on her butt, still dressed in last night's costume, which isn't much (as pictured). She's pretty well blitzed out of her mind, her left arm still cinched by the rubbed band around it, the needle hanging in a vein, like whatever she took hit her so suddenly she didn't have time to react. Her arm is not quite turning color, but it will soon.

    What's the drug of choice for Mari? What have to said to her about her... proclivities?

    What do you do?
  • The projector absolutely works. There's a few reels I watch with any kind of regularity, but the one I put on most is Black Swan. It resonates on a level the other movies simply don't.

    The really good shit was looted from the pharmacy in the Maul years ago, but oblivion is still obtainable if one knows what to look for, or has a copy of the PDR Rx drug guide. These days she's been using a cocktail of Xanax, Risperidol, Ambien, and a touch of Valium, with an Adderall chaser. I pull out the needle, untie the band, rub life back into her arm, pull the jacket the rest of the way off. While she's on the nod, I hold her against me, hands in fingerless gloves running through the tangles of her hair. Whisper light kisses along her neck.

    I've told her the needle makes her thoughts fuzzy, dim, and that it's a bad idea to leave oneself so open. If the Breeze picked up, and there's only a couple speakers at either end of the projection floor, she'd be unable to keep it out. Besides, anybody could do pretty much whatever they wanted to her in this state. Like, say, use a hypo gun to tag her with an implant.
  • edited April 2014
    Rache's sudden entrance snaps me to consciousness. I sit up quickly but smoothly, sniff heavily and swallow a gob of mucus. Accept the mug but keep my face turned away, hair hiding my eyes. "That's what I get for drinking Absence the night before a show, I know..." I'm breathing open-mouthed into the mug, using the steam to relax my skin as I pull my face together, working all the muscles of my face in a personal prep ritual. The chipped mug feels good in my hands. I exhale slowly and inhale the scent of rosehips. It's dusty and just slightly sexy, feels like a warm memory. Rache has a stash of everyone's favorites somewhere, I've never been able to find it. She's cool like that.

    She also isn't buying it. I can tell from her silence.

    "I had a bad dream. We've been over it before, Rache. This is where you tell me that Cache isn't dead, at least it's not like what they did to Vapor, it's just a new phase, like evoluting, and that I need to be a big boy and move on because we all have our own evoluting to do. And you're right, as always."

    More silence. Sips of tea. Time.

    It tastes lovely. I finish composing myself and pick up the little plastic man with my right hand, spinning him over and over with deft movements of my fingers, a thing I do when I'm thinking, a parlor trick, Geezer said it was, although I'm not sure what makes it "parlor". I finish the tea and set the mug carefully on a stack of wood scraps and plastic sheets near the bed.

    "Look, I don't know if it's possible to get Cache back. The real Cache. Probably it isn't. But I still want to try. I know you don't agree, or even understand, but ultimately..." - I look up at her - "it was my fault. So it's my responsibility."

    She starts to say something but I cut her off with a wave, standing up. "I have an idea," I say. I take her hand and carefully place Bob in her palm, standing upright. She looks at Bob, then back at me. "Tell me everything you know about this little guy. And then put the word out: I'm looking for twelve sets of overalls just like his. Adult sized, of course."

    - § -

    Fingers in every pie. +1 XP
  • (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 5, 2. Total: 9)
  • Cache:

    Mari moans languidly as you kiss her neck, gooseflesh sprouting with each touch of your lips. "Love..." she says quietly, murmurs to you, to the world. She reaches her hand, the one that isn't tingling with blood returning to it, up to your hair. It's like she's moving though molasses, but eventually, she's touching you. And yes, you tag her. She's at your mercy.

    And you're right, most anyone could come along. It is morning, after all. What do you do?
  • Jet Black:

    Rache regales you with her stories of Bob the Builder, which are a fairytale off the back of an old box at the toy store where this was scavenged:

    "Bob the B and his machine people tackle projectors. They beat them with fucking hammers and cook them until they're well done. Bab and his Kendo crew show off their positive thinking and follow through. They cook their food hard core and love it Well Done!"

    Now that you're up and inspired, she'll leave you to the tea and get some folks working on these overalls.
  • edited April 2014
    I'm pacing back and forth now, snapping my fingers. "Bob the B... Big... Basik... Bich... Beutiful... Bilt... Beeter... Braker..." Egh. I look over the figure closely. Press the button on the back, and listen to it again. Does he really say "Can we fix it?" It's hard to tell. "Can we kick it"? "Can we kill it"? Bob was a killer alright, but he was one with a good attitude. He loved good food and he loved a good fight.

    The muzak suddenly shifts gears, from its typical casual waves of pablum to a blaring, raucous soundtrack, reminiscent of Franc's early work. I like it. Nice change of pace. I'm straining to hear the lyrics for inspiration. "Life shifts up and down... Everybody knows it's wrong" and then "Why don't you care..." It gets me thinking. Who really cares? Who cares about stuff so bad they'll fight for it? A HERO, that's who. Bob has to be a fucking HERO.

    Okay. I got my hero. But why did he hate projexers so much? Did they refuse to fight fair? Maybe... Were they doing evul projex? I do know they did a lot of evul projex back in The Day. Look around. They did so many evul projex they eventually broke the hole world. That has to be it. He's Bob the Braker ... but what he brakes is the Evul Projex.

    Already, multiple ideas for set pieces are flashing through my mind. Franc has been working on some new shit with metal plates, he's exploring that oldskool sound of bangcore. This will be fucking perfect. I'm casting the show already. Fall will play Bob becuz he's so bilt, we can paint his head yellow like Bob's helmet.

    Then the muzak goes back to its usual happy lahlah. Fuck. Well, it was nice while it lasted.
  • edited April 2014
    I'm going to spend the next few hours...
    - Writing six songs with Francois, including the rousing finale of YES WE CAN, and we'll throw in some filler stuff we've been using in rehearsals
    - Cutting that order to 6 pairs of overalls, and I'll use half the cast as the evul baddies
    - Getting Rache and Jackbird onboard with some sets and prop ideas, including some big hammers and wrenches
    - A-and... I'm gonna need something to represent the evul project. It has to look like a real lux evul machine, with blinking lights and moving stuff and colors. For this I'm gonna need to talk to Hottopic, becuz she's got the prettiest hands... I mean... What was I thinking about? Lux gear. She's got a lot of lux gear, and I know she can rig up something perfect. If I can convince her to do it. She has to do it.

    - § -
  • edited April 2014
    I slip the implant syringe into my pocket, fingers of one hand tangling in her hair, pulling back, kissing along her jawline. Free hand slips under her shirt, fingertips trailing along her belly. Without realizing it, I'm humming low in my throat-- Floyd, of course, Mother.

    I nip her earlobe, "Wake up, Mari." Fingers sliding up her ribs, grazing breasts...

    Unnatural Lust Fixation xp+1
  • (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 3, 3. Total: 8)
  • edited April 2014

    Mari's head moves with your touch, and quiet breaths of pleasure escape her lips as you kiss her. Her eyes flutter as you touch her tummy and move slightly upwards. "Ohhh... yes." Awareness slips into her brain, but she's still drifting along, "Cache. Please..." Then more awareness, maybe alarm, "Not. Not here? Take me, yes." She's slipped a hand over yours, the one under her shirt, feeling you move over her body. She wants this, whatever this is. But like you said, "hallway" and "really public".

    What do you do?
  • Jet Black:

    You head off looking for Hottopic, who isn't in her normal whereabouts. Asking around a little, and Burrito King tells you she's at the admin office working on shit for Big Mac.

    A skip and a jump and as you come up to the admin office, you see Hottopic. She looks not so hot, like in a cold sweat and slack-jawed. Playboy, of all the people in the Maul, she's holding her as they both sort of sit in the fountain outside the office. And Playboy's sort of holding Hottopic, and talking to her all nicey nice. Not beating her at all or anything.

    To rap with them, please go here.
  • This way I help her up, lead her to the splicing room above theater 7. I don't bring people to the closet. There's a slim mattress in the room, on the other side of the desk with the film cutter, foot long strips of celluloid, single frames, overflowing the worktop. I lay her down on the mattress, and shed my coat.
  • Cache:

    Mari nods, like she's in a dream, letting you lead her. She dances on your string, movements slow, unsteady, but moving forward. In a few moments, the door to the splicing room is closed and she's alone with you, laying down on the mattress for you.

    As you're taking off your coat, she says softly, "Cache... do you love?" She might've been asking it you love her, but the question trailed off. Or maybe, that was the question. She's numbly working at the buttons on her skirt now.
  • Shhhh I make certain the question is done with my mouth, tongue sliding over hers, hands unbuckling my shirt before sliding back over her belly, nails leave red welts on the skin there before fingertips kneed into breasts. When she gets the skirt off, I slip between her legs, mouth following the trail my fingers blazed, and fingers grip hips, digging in. Just relax, Mari. Big show tonight. You need to relax.

    Through the dim susurrus of the Maul's psychosphere, her thoughts start to shine like a lighthouse in the Maelstrom. Gaining a clarity as endorphins flood into her, not yet focused, I need to take her further, connect more fully. My fingers slide between her thighs.
  • Cache:

    Mari responds with ragged breaths as you taste her, touch her. She arches her back to push her skin to you, aching for the touch. She doesn't talk anymore, but her body answers your caress. She's too far gone to respond, to incite anything from you. But that's the way you want it, isn't it?

    As your fingers reach for her sex, she groans deep in her throat and slowly spreads her thighs for you. "Yesssss." she hisses as you stoke her desire.

    Outside her mind's eye, you feel the maelstrom pushing at the boundaries, at the sound of the ever-failing Muzak, reaching for you, as surely as she lightly grabs your forearm to guide you into her body, the maelstrom yearns for you, Cache. Neither of them are done with you yet.

    What do you do?
  • edited April 2014
    My free hand pushes her skirt out of the way, and two fingers of my right part her lips and slide in to her heat, my mouth drops to aid, tongue working on clit, fingers steady, slip in a third, and a fourth, knuckle deep, angled up to grind against her g-spot. No subtlety here, only driving her to climax, to blast away her defenses and leave her bare. I lose myself in the rhythm of her, the taste of her, bracing myself for the inevitable crash of the Maelstrom I know is coming, riding her like a sailless ship into the storm. Tempest-tossed.
  • Cache:

    Mari's nails push little half-moon marks into your shoulder as she flexes and writhes under your insistent touch. She pants and whines her pleasure, helpless under your ministrations. Then, as you expected, the orgasm hits her, hard and strong, her body clenching as she sucks in a breath. The world stops for her in a dazed, wondrous moment and she reaches that pinnacle of bliss as high as the drug took her, a few steps higher even.

    The Maelstrom is right behind her, isn't it, Cache? What do you do?
  • My breath is heavy in my chest from frustration, almost too heavy to exhale, but there's nothing to do with sex. My right hand keeps it's rhythm, carrying her through the orgasm, pushing her past it on the way to another, as I sit up, pushing the straps of my shirt open with my left hand, dropping it to the floor, small, firm breasts sweat-sheen, before struggling with the belts of my own skirt. I get the top row undone just enough to kick out and push them down, my rock-hard, small, skilled cock finally free of the leather and vinyl. A suggestion of what may be the hint of labia where a scrotum would be. I retrieve my right hand, lick it clean, and draw her hand to my length, insinuating myself between her thighs.
  • Cache:

    The second wave of climax hits Mari, and she makes little "Ah Ah Ah!" sounds and her head lolls slowly side to side as she does. Then, you pull off clothes and guide her hand to you.

    Her eyes open as her fingers wrap around it. She's looking at the ceiling, seeing stars in the patterns. With practiced movements, she guides you to her wetness, and without hesitation, with pure lust and sensation, she pulls you inside of her. As you enter, her hand snakes around to touch your thigh, and her knees rise up, giving you more entrance.

    "Cache..." she whispers, and you see it. You see the Maelstrom in her eyes as you fuck her, Cache. It's bubbling though her essence, you're entering it even now.

    Why don't you open your brain to the psychic maelstrom?
  • edited April 2014
    I catch my breath as I enter, more ballast in my chest, like a medicine ball parked inside the alveoli. My thrusts are automatic, mechanical. I spread against her, guide her hand down to my own wet heat, then both hands gripping her hair, tangling, pulling hard, thrusting, grinding, hold her head up, directly staring into her eyes, and open myself to the storm.

    Open myself to the world's psychic maelstrom xp+1
  • (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 4, 3. Total: 9)
  • She's there, she's with you. But her eyes. The eyes of the storm, literally. You fall into them.

    The music, Cache. The music that protects them, all around you. It's been crying out like a newborn, flailing and lashing out.

    Someone spoke to it.

    It craves words. It understands a few now. It will consume them, all that it can.

    Later, you're spent, Mari lies beside you, finally a bit more lucid. She is lying on her side, you're near. Did you want to be near? She reaches for your hand, to pull it over her nude body like a warm blanket.

    "That was... splendid, Cache." She says it sleepily, like the night was long and not at all restful. You know what that is like, of course.

    Don't forget to fire your Sex Move, Cache!
  • edited April 2014
    I scream back into my body, sitting bolt upright, snatching my hand back, covering my face. I'm shaking. Vibrating, more like. Sweat pouring out of me. Goose flesh everywhere. Just as the wave of nausea passes, Mari's thoughts rise up from the storm like a bolt searing in through my ears, and I scream again.

    Special Move: Automatic Deep-Brain Scan XP+1
  • (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 6, 1. Total: 9)
  • You sit up, startling Mari, her eyes pop open, snapping her out of her reverie. You scream, and she screams with you, in fright, alarm.

    Suddenly, Mari sits up, too, and reaches arms around you, pulling you to her, like she might protect you, or cling to you until you calm. She lies her head against your chest in supplication. Words tumble out of her mouth, like your mind pushed them out and they vomit forth, "Cache. Fuck, Cache, I'm in so much deep shit. I was trying to die, out there, when you came along. I just... I can't stop taking that shit. I stole jingle. From the circus, all to buy more smack from Clearance. I'm so sorry. I just thought the shows would keep rolling, and the jingle would keep rolling, and nobody noticed! And fuck... Cache, fuck that Breezestorm." She sucks in a ragged breath.

    "Because now we're broke. And it's my fault."
  • I'm still fetal, rocking in her arms. I've a screaming headache, like a railroad spike through my temples and it's really screaming. It screeches out of my head, my vocal cords still.

    She feels it like a tickle in the back of her brain, down with the brainstem. Quivering in the insect brain, and creeps its way up the jelly. Somewhere around "smack from Clearance," it builds to a hi-pitched whine. Like a shortwave test pattern. Her head is splitting.

    I sit up, turn to her, drag her eyes up to mine, and the whispers of the Maul come crashing into her head.

    Direct-Brain Whisper Projection xp+1
  • (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 2, 4. Total: 8)
  • Cache, that projection is Going Aggro, which is using violence or the threat of violence to control someone else's behavior. What are you trying to get Mari to do?
  • edited April 2014
    I have no idea. I'm just winging this shit. I have no idea what I just did, but the breaking look in her eyes gives me a hint of what's happening, "Tell. Jet. What. You. Did," it rolls out low and growled. Eyes dumping the Maelstrom into her brain. Thrumming against her brainstem like a szechuan pepper.
  • Mari whimpers in fear, but that threat you give? It breaks her. She nods, tears welling up. "Will you... come with me?" she asks breathlessly.
  • "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck," I scream entirely in my head. I stand, start pouring myself back into my clothes. Skirt on, buckling, I turn to her, and nod. Blood tickles the inside of my nose, but I ignore it, and it never quite makes it past the nostril. There's a resonance coming from Mari. I can feel her thoughts, but not quite make them out. The Maelstrom seems closer between us.
  • Mari dresses numbly, fumbling at buttons with unsteady hands, sniveling a couple times as she stands and pulls on her clothes. She's a mess, Cache.

    You both head out of the splicing room and look around for Jet Black. You end up running into Rache at Concessions One. She tells you both, "Jet's on a tear. Got me lookin for overalls. Know of any? Big show tonight, Mari. I'm gonna need you for a breaker, I think. Jet was huntin for Hottopic."

    Mari swallows when she's told she's a "breaker". Nobody seems to notice or comment on her disheveled state or the ruin of her mascara. Why is that, Cache?
  • Mari may play the dominatrix, but she's a switch that leans heavily to the sub end. She tends to need heavy impact play. Likely, that's because she's high. She comes into work most afternoons tattered and put back together. Though, she's not been put together very well today. Jigsaw missing several big pieces. I'm chewing on those in the back of my brain.
  • "Where..." Mari asks in stumbling phrase, "Where's Hottopic?"

    Rache stops, peers at her for a moment, then at you, Cache. "Fuck if I know? Out there? Shit, Mari, get it together, man. Hussle up, we've got six numbers to get through. I need you back in an hour."

    Mari slumps, blinks a bit, looks at you, Cache, then starts walking out of the AMC. Any place you want to try first?
  • Well, Jet was at Mamma's last night, so we'd likely need to start there.
  • Cache, tell me about Mamma's. What's that place like?
  • She's in the party room. It looks like the Oracle's apartment in Matrix Reloaded was constructed out of children's furniture and scarves. Windows are covered in silk print tapestries. Album covers and unicorns and wizards and dragons. Pillows everywhere. It's a giant bed with a hot plate and a coffee pot.
  • edited April 2014
    You walk through the draperies that serve as a door to find Esco there with Mamma. Esco, your rival, your "replacement" in AMC. She's stepped in with her fire and her dances, she thinks she's surpassed you. What is your opinion of that?

    She looks up from the red and yellow sheets draped over her body to regard you. Mari says, "Where's Jet?"

    Esco answers with a raised eyebrow, curious about the two of you, maybe noticing your body language more than anything. "He went crying off with Rache last night. Lost his shit... again."
  • "Right. Got that."
    Frustration starts clicking in already. Goddamn, I'm edgy. Still vibrating. Humming at resonance. I line my segments back up, snap my attention to Esco,

    Read Person
  • (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 5, 2. Total: 9)
  • --SPEND HOLD--
    How can I get Esco to open up about where Jet is
  • Well, Cache, Esco will fold to nearly any fawning you do over her. She "believes" she's much better than you, but seeing as how you've never acknowledged this, she's always defensive, sort of hostile towards you. But here, in front of Mamma and Mari, a big thing like that, passing the torch, so to speak, she'd literally be "your best friend" for that. For a while. As long as it suits her. She's diva like that.

    And Cache, right now, sensitive as you are to things, you feel it. Esco, she thinks you're gross. She is repulsed by you.

    What do you do?
  • I swallow the bile boiling in my throat. I take Esco's hand, gaze up to her, Esco, darling, I couldn't have passed the torch to a
    more... deserving..."

    Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you

    Kiss her hand, lips lingering, toady-ish

    We *desperately * need to find Jet. Where is he?"

  • Esco smiles, beauty pageant style. You realize she's forcing herself not to flinch at your touch. How does that feel?

    "I know he's running around like mad getting the show together." She says after recovering her voice to her normal alto, "Why don't you come watch rehearsal? I mean... you should be choreographing. Right, Mari?"

    Mari stammers, "I'm not... really up for it."

    "You want Jules to take over for you then?" Esco asks with a devilish grin, sliding her hand from your grasp. Esco has her talons in Julia but good. How did she get such control over Julie, Cache?

    "Well..." Mari answers, uncertain. "I guess so..."
  • That restrained flinch is more delicious than Mari's labia, "Mari needs to
    talk to Jet. Very important AMC business. Very hush hush. You'll find him
    for us, won't you?"

    Convince Person xp+1 level up

    Julie was trying to get her hands on some poison to take out some AMC members, Esco found out about it. She's convinced Julie that Jet would kick her to the wastes.
  • edited April 2014
    Convince roll
    (Rolled: 2d6-1. Rolls: 1, 3. Total: 3)
  • ((Ouch))
  • Cache, what were you trying to do with that roll to Convince Person on Esco? I'm not clear on what's happened.
  • Sorry. Trying to get her to help us track down Jet.
  • Oh, well, you followed through on that Read, gave her exactly what she wanted to do it. So she'll agree. No roll needed (don't mark XP, but yay, no Hard Move for you!)


    Esco sighs through her nose, "Yeah, sure. Was getting up anyways. I'll find him. You staying here for when I find him?"
  • "Absolutely, darling!"

    I'm starting daggers into the mealy fuck's back. Willing the spot I kissed to rot off.

    As soon as I handle Mari and talk to the Muzak, you're mine!
  • Esco's gone, in the breeze, doing your bidding.

    Mari's still there, though. Like, maybe she should have gone off to find Jet Black, but you didn't expressly say that, and well, she'll totally tell him when she sees him, and well...

    Anyways, you're here in the oracle chamber. Mamma's in another room, humming and cooking some fried somesuch.

    What do you do?
  • Get Mari comfortable, pull out a splif I've had in my coat, light up, and let myself go. Focusing on the Muzac, seeing if I can find it in the storm. Guide it back. Keep it here...

    open my mind... +1xp Advance
  • (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 1, 2. Total: 5)
  • Cache, maybe it's the weed, but you get comfy, and Mari starts kissing you, like all over, working off pieces of clothing, nibbling on each part of you that's revealed. And in the back of your mind, you know she's trying to distract you. But holy shit it feels good.

    At one point, Mamma walks in, right past you, like you're there, but you're not lying on her pillows getting a BJ/hand job from Mari. She waddles over to a chair and eats her morning breakfast, flapjacks and syrup like usual.

    Meanwhile, Mari is busy at work, feeling you up while sucking you off. She's fucking coordinated! And you just can't quite reach that point where you feel the Maelstrom. It's there, almost there, tantalizingly almost there. But just... can't... reach it.

    Maybe if you had an orgasm? Maybe that's the blocker?

    What do you do?
  • I tangle my fingers in Mari's incredible mane, squeezing hard, keeping with her rhythm, thrusting up, determined to push through this and get where I need to go.

    ((Special Move happens with oral, I'm assuming?))
  • (Yes, but it hasn't fired yet. Please hold, about to link you up with Jet Black)
  • Cache, please go here.
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