Frik's consciousness returns just as you step over him, and you can see a look of confusion on his eyes. He squints up at you, and growls, "who the hell are you?"
Sergeant Pester reports, "He's clean sir... Ready for extraction."
Kelb,
He does look like hell. In fact, he looks so bad that you know it's serious — Jazz never lets this much pain show — and furthermore, he doesn't even fight you. When you got in there to treat the wound, it became clear just how bad it was — the nerf-herding Weequay must have used a disperser, because the whole area surrounding the wound is just a pool of blood.
It takes you a full 10 minutes to clean, sterilize, Bacta, and seal the wound — but he's not out of the woods yet. The blood loss, combined with (what you can only guess) is internal hemorrhaging from that shoulder wound, has left him completely tapped. He's white as a sheet, and barely able to stand on his own two feet. If he moves around now, the sealant will just come undone, and all your work will be for naught. He'll have to stay put until he's stabilized.
As I'm working on Jazz, I comm to Squall, "We need an evac, Squally, come get Jazz. He's been hit with a disperser." I'm not shouting, I'm not crying. I'm in the zone.
A look over to Trek, "Lieutenant Ores, I'm bringing in the Hawk now, need to get my teammate out to some legit med facilities. I suggest we take the prisoner and you come along. The rest of the team can hop a ride on the Starburn, right?"
"Watch him," I order the Sergeant, before turning to Kelborn, and walking the few steps to cross that distance between us. "Suggestion taken under advisement, Kelborn. I think we might. Good work out there, nothing like a bit of hot action to cement a respectable working relationship, hm?" And I'm talking despite the near-dying man on the ground, because why should I particularly mind. And I'm smiling like a wolf.
"But, all due forewarning, the next part of the operation can be handled on my end. I'll keep in touch, with credits handy, once the appropriate information is extracted from... our extracted Abyssin."
This guy... I hate him, but I see a bit of me in him. Which makes me wonder, do I hate him because of that? Or despite that?
"Understood. We're going to evac ASAP. I'm not taking any salvage." I'm professional. I'm calm and collected. I'm not worried about losing Jazz. I would NOT disrespect him by freaking out. Especially not in front of Lt. Ores.
Please be okay, Jaster. You're the only friend I haven't managed to get rid of.
There's static on the radio for a short time before Squall replies, "Oh Poodoo! Uh... Well... See, can you both use your jetpacks? Because there's nowhere to really land near you... Can you get about 3 clicks north of your current position? That place is ... Well, it's kind of clear..."
Jazz really needs to stay perfectly still — a little bit of shifting won't hurt him, but being moved will undo all of your work. The sealant isn't that strong — it's basically a glue designed to maximize healing. Even being carried out of the shack may be too much for him, considering he's now laying flat on his back for the treatment. He would be stable by morning if he could rest here for the night.
Trek,
Pester comes up behind you and whispers, "sir, our flank reported that one of the people Kelborn brought with her is gone, and his peers are all watching them very closely. Orders?"
"No, that won't do, Squall. I need to keep Jazz stable. Send me Macks and Pem. We're going to have to hole up here for the night.... you know what? I need you, too. Leave the pilot, and that's it. It's going to be a rough night." This is not good.
"C'mon, big guy. I need you to lay down. We've got to get you out of that armor, too. It's... it's a sleepover." I try to laugh, then add, "I'll find Nill, she can cuddle with you, yeah?" I'll coax him down to the ground, they have to have a couple beds here, right? Mattresses, something.
I head over to Lt. Ores, wait for him to acknowledge me.
"Send reinforcements. Clean them up," I order Sergeant Pester confidently, before taking a few steps forward to meet Kelborn in the center of the room.
"Trouble?" It looks like trouble, from her face, and this doesn't amuse me.
"Yeah, my second-in-command took a disperser. We're going to hole up here, keep him stable for a standard day, then evac him." I'm talking all neutral, masking my worry for Jazz and my ire at having to ask for help. "I expect retaliation from the militia, but I'm not going to abandon my man. If you have any to spare, I'll shave some of my fee off for the service."
I'm giving up creds for this. Not to mention the med bills. Such a waste. I let Trek get in my head, make me overly aggressive, and now he walks away with a discount.
I'd rather have my hooks in deep. "Keep the creds, Kelborn. We'll say you owe me. After all, this has been relatively smooth, and look - " a glance over my shoulder, "- alive, breathing and in our custody. Your man's life would have been worth that, I'm sure. I'll have my squad secure the perimeter and keep you secure for the night." Still, that wolfish grin. Not so powerful after all Kelborn. Not so powerful after all.
Oh, that was sweet to behold. It tastes better the less they want it. She gets a small nod back, and then I'm going to find my Sergeant and see how the clean up went.
Your best way through this is to hunker down with some defenses, and pull an all-nighter. You heard Trek's sergeant mention one of Torren's boys bolted, right? Well, if he was friendly with Frik, that might mean you can expect company back here at some point in the near future. If you had to guess, he's probably about 2 clicks west of here, over by that other, larger group of people you saw on Trek's scanner.
Jazz is lying there on the ground, half conscious when he asks, "so how hoofed are we?"
Trek,
When you finally make your way outside it looks like most of the firefight has wrapped up, and your boys in white look no worse for the wear. Their armor held up nicely, and they've captured the entire group of 4 men (except the one who ran off, obviously). They're at your mercy.
Sergeant Pester stands at attention as you approach, "the leader is this Ithorian named Torren Pictou, lieutenant. He refuses to talk about who he works for, or where his missing friend went."
OOC: Your gang suffered no harm while they were out there. As a reminder: They've suffered 2-harm, and have no reinforcements to speak of until you put in a request to your superior officers for more men to replace the few who were wounded/killed in action.
The words 'refuse to talk' elicit a sharp intake of breath. I feel like Carnival Week has come early. As for requisitioning reinforcements, I'll handle it all later, when this operation is said and done. I'm sure the success of this mission will ease the order up some bureaucrat's pile of data-work.
Sergeant Pester earns a nod, tacitly suggesting he stand at ease, and I approach the chained and kneeling Ithorian, who is already flanked by a pair of my soldiers. "Well. This hammerhead must be our Ithorian friend, hm? Torren? Is that your name, Torren?" And I'm leaning down, hands on my knees, to catch his gaze. "It's OK, Torren. I'm just here for a little chat. Can you tell me who you work for? You were acting awfully suspicious earlier."
I get to work moving around some scrap and other junk to make defenses here. "Jazz, when we get out of this, you have to keep your armor in better shape. That blast shouldn't have gotten through. You need to fix that!" I move a bed up against an open area, then come back, "We're going to hole up here and give you some rest. In the morning, the sealant should be strong enough to hold your guts together so we can evac you."
I look over at Torren. I liked the guy, but I'm not doing anything for him. A shame, Ithorians are normally so nice.
Jazz shakes his head, "would you let any nerf-herder patch up your armor? No. The jobs have been steady, Kelb, but they're not lucrative — and they're kriffing dangerous. I can't afford to have my armor patched up by Elias every time we head out if I'm maintaining a stun-rifle, grenades, and a jetpack too, you know?"
He nods when you announce the plan, "so we're pow-wowing it tonight? Where's my blaster?"
Trek,
Pester chuckles and nods, "This is him, yeah."
The Ithorian looks up at you and scoffs, "I work for Processing Plant 96, and I was chatting with my men about how best to find a working Hyperdrive assembly — then your men started shooting at us, and we assumed you were separatists or something..." He shifts on his knees, which seem to be in pain. "In my experience, people who tie you down, and hold you at gun point rarely wanna talk, stranger."
Oh, so the Ithorian is one of those types. It's unmistakable, the way his grotesque head turns, how he shifts when one of them mumble in discomfort. My grin grows and I say to him, "Stranger? Please, call me Trek. It's what all my friends call me. And we're friends now, at least I hope so — see friends don't lie to one another, and that's what I need from this relationship, Torren."
I motion to one of my troopers to bring a prisoner forward, put them on their knees. "What's his name, Torren?" My voice is both saccharine and sharp.
Jazz is right. We've been bottom feeding, not getting the good cred. I'm trying to get us better work, keep us mobile, but I'm not rotating out the team. I'm overworking Jazz.
Well, he gets a vacay now.
"Alright, you should upkeep your own stuff." I admit, my voice softer than he'd probably like. "But if you didn't waste creds on deathsticks, maybe you'd have more for retooling." I chide him gently, not really on his case.
Of course I hand his rifle to him. I even take it off stun, right in front of him, so he knows.
Torren looks at his friend, a little confused. He's a younger Twi'lek man with a bit of a temper... You can tell he doesn't like being handled by your men. Torren looks up at you and whispers, "Why? What's his name worth to you... Trek?"
Kelb,
It looks like Trek is toying with some of the prisoners out there. Jazz checks his blaster rifle, then looks up at you. "Deathsticks calm the shakes, Kelb... You like me shooting straight?" You know he's joking... He was a decent shot before he was smoking. He sighs, and tries to get comfortable, but quickly stops when a jolt of pain shoots through him. "Ok... Won't be doing that..."
What's the conversation like as Trek does his dance with Torren?
In the blink of an eye, my blaster is unholstered and then fired at the Tailhead prisoner's legs. And over the sound of the screaming, I add my own shrill voice, "WHAT IS HIS NAME, TORREN?"
You know how people say 'I saw red' as if it's a thing? Well, it's not strictly accurate. It's only the edges that go red, the peripherals; Torren remains perfectly multi-chromatic, and so does the spittle flying from my mouth, into his face.
Torren's eyes widen in shock when the blaster goes off, and you see him shake visibly, "Tal'di! His name is Tal'di! ... What is wrong with you? We've surrendered!"
I take a deep breath and smile and wipe my brow and smooth down my hair. A little bit of blood is smeared there. I'll have to get that cleaned up later. "Tal'di? Well, that's a nice name. Hello, Tal'di. You can call me Trek, since I'm a friend of Torren, and a friend of his is a friend of mine." And I'm kneeling beside him, my blaster now pressed against his ribs.
"Now, Tal'di, Torren is going to tell you one of two things, so I want you to listen to him very carefully. The first thing he might tell you is who he really works for, and where your missing friend really went, before all of this nonsense began. The second thing he might tell you is the last thing you ever hear. Like I said Tal'di, I want you to listen very carefully."
I'm looking back to Torren, soaking in his expression, and then motioning for him to start speaking.
It sounds cruel, but I keep chatting with Jazz like the torture isn't happening. It's a thing, you get it after so long. You just think about the job, think about other things, push the emotions down. SecOps folks do it all the time. MilSpec does, too. Especially Deathers from Mandalore. I let things seep in now and again, but it's easier to keep focused when there's a threat.
It's possible that Tal'di is just naive, or that you've actually peeved him to the point of anger, but he's shaking in a mixture of pain and defiance as you press the blaster against his ribs. He looks Torren in the eyes, and shakes his head. Torren is completely torn.
Trek, give me a Go Aggro to have Tal'di truly suffer enough to spark Torren's fear of you.
There's a loud *CRACK* as Trek's pistol goes flying out of his hands, and ten men flying separatist colors come pouring over the junkheap to the west. They caught your boys in white completely by surprise, and managed to take down two of them. right off the bat.
In the chaos, Torren has made it over to Frik and his retinue, and has toppled your boys. Frik is now on the run over to those separatists...
OOC: Trek, your gang suffers 2-harm before armor, putting them at 3-harm. Since you're in the gang, you suffer 1-harm.
Kelb,
You're not really the subject of their ire, so you and Jazz don't suffer any harm... You definitely hear the fight raging though.
Unless Lieutenant Ores orders me to help, or if he looks to be in trouble, I'm taking a kneeling stance in front of Jazz and keeping my rifle ready. If they aren't shooting at me, I'm not drawing their fire by shooting them.
The battle rages on outside, and you can hear Trek shouting orders at his troops, and the separatists pulling back. It sounds like Trek lost Frik to them, and he's going after them... It doesn't sound like he's asking you to join him. Before long the sounds of blaster fire are nothing but a muted echo off the trash-piles surrounding Frik's little shack.
Comments
Frik's consciousness returns just as you step over him, and you can see a look of confusion on his eyes. He squints up at you, and growls, "who the hell are you?"
Sergeant Pester reports, "He's clean sir... Ready for extraction."
Kelb,
He does look like hell. In fact, he looks so bad that you know it's serious — Jazz never lets this much pain show — and furthermore, he doesn't even fight you. When you got in there to treat the wound, it became clear just how bad it was — the nerf-herding Weequay must have used a disperser, because the whole area surrounding the wound is just a pool of blood.
It takes you a full 10 minutes to clean, sterilize, Bacta, and seal the wound — but he's not out of the woods yet. The blood loss, combined with (what you can only guess) is internal hemorrhaging from that shoulder wound, has left him completely tapped. He's white as a sheet, and barely able to stand on his own two feet. If he moves around now, the sealant will just come undone, and all your work will be for naught. He'll have to stay put until he's stabilized.
Thankfully, he's really suggestible right now.
As I'm working on Jazz, I comm to Squall, "We need an evac, Squally, come get Jazz. He's been hit with a disperser." I'm not shouting, I'm not crying. I'm in the zone.
A look over to Trek, "Lieutenant Ores, I'm bringing in the Hawk now, need to get my teammate out to some legit med facilities. I suggest we take the prisoner and you come along. The rest of the team can hop a ride on the Starburn, right?"
"Watch him," I order the Sergeant, before turning to Kelborn, and walking the few steps to cross that distance between us. "Suggestion taken under advisement, Kelborn. I think we might. Good work out there, nothing like a bit of hot action to cement a respectable working relationship, hm?" And I'm talking despite the near-dying man on the ground, because why should I particularly mind. And I'm smiling like a wolf.
"But, all due forewarning, the next part of the operation can be handled on my end. I'll keep in touch, with credits handy, once the appropriate information is extracted from... our extracted Abyssin."
This guy... I hate him, but I see a bit of me in him. Which makes me wonder, do I hate him because of that? Or despite that?
"Understood. We're going to evac ASAP. I'm not taking any salvage." I'm professional. I'm calm and collected. I'm not worried about losing Jazz. I would NOT disrespect him by freaking out. Especially not in front of Lt. Ores.
Please be okay, Jaster. You're the only friend I haven't managed to get rid of.
There's static on the radio for a short time before Squall replies, "Oh Poodoo! Uh... Well... See, can you both use your jetpacks? Because there's nowhere to really land near you... Can you get about 3 clicks north of your current position? That place is ... Well, it's kind of clear..."
Jazz really needs to stay perfectly still — a little bit of shifting won't hurt him, but being moved will undo all of your work. The sealant isn't that strong — it's basically a glue designed to maximize healing. Even being carried out of the shack may be too much for him, considering he's now laying flat on his back for the treatment. He would be stable by morning if he could rest here for the night.
Trek,
Pester comes up behind you and whispers, "sir, our flank reported that one of the people Kelborn brought with her is gone, and his peers are all watching them very closely. Orders?"
"No, that won't do, Squall. I need to keep Jazz stable. Send me Macks and Pem. We're going to have to hole up here for the night.... you know what? I need you, too. Leave the pilot, and that's it. It's going to be a rough night." This is not good.
"C'mon, big guy. I need you to lay down. We've got to get you out of that armor, too. It's... it's a sleepover." I try to laugh, then add, "I'll find Nill, she can cuddle with you, yeah?" I'll coax him down to the ground, they have to have a couple beds here, right? Mattresses, something.
I head over to Lt. Ores, wait for him to acknowledge me.
"Send reinforcements. Clean them up," I order Sergeant Pester confidently, before taking a few steps forward to meet Kelborn in the center of the room.
"Trouble?" It looks like trouble, from her face, and this doesn't amuse me.
"Yeah, my second-in-command took a disperser. We're going to hole up here, keep him stable for a standard day, then evac him." I'm talking all neutral, masking my worry for Jazz and my ire at having to ask for help. "I expect retaliation from the militia, but I'm not going to abandon my man. If you have any to spare, I'll shave some of my fee off for the service."
I'm giving up creds for this. Not to mention the med bills. Such a waste. I let Trek get in my head, make me overly aggressive, and now he walks away with a discount.
I'd rather have my hooks in deep. "Keep the creds, Kelborn. We'll say you owe me. After all, this has been relatively smooth, and look - " a glance over my shoulder, "- alive, breathing and in our custody. Your man's life would have been worth that, I'm sure. I'll have my squad secure the perimeter and keep you secure for the night." Still, that wolfish grin. Not so powerful after all Kelborn. Not so powerful after all.
You're so wrong, Lt. Ores. My "man's" life is worth more than that. More than ten of you. But I keep it in. I give him a curt nod, "Thanks."
Then I'll start checking the perimeter. I'll need to mark my team's approach, keep them safe. Where is this shack insecure? Where can I stow Jazz?
Oh, that was sweet to behold. It tastes better the less they want it. She gets a small nod back, and then I'm going to find my Sergeant and see how the clean up went.
Give me a quick Read the Sitch to find all that out?
Trek,
Give me a Seize by Force to take out the remaining men.
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 3, 5. Total: 9)
• suffer little harm
• take definite hold of it
Reading Sitch:
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 3, 6. Total: 11)
• where’s my best escape route / way in / way past?
• what should I be on the lookout for?
• what’s my enemy’s true position?
Your best way through this is to hunker down with some defenses, and pull an all-nighter. You heard Trek's sergeant mention one of Torren's boys bolted, right? Well, if he was friendly with Frik, that might mean you can expect company back here at some point in the near future. If you had to guess, he's probably about 2 clicks west of here, over by that other, larger group of people you saw on Trek's scanner.
Jazz is lying there on the ground, half conscious when he asks, "so how hoofed are we?"
Trek,
When you finally make your way outside it looks like most of the firefight has wrapped up, and your boys in white look no worse for the wear. Their armor held up nicely, and they've captured the entire group of 4 men (except the one who ran off, obviously). They're at your mercy.
Sergeant Pester stands at attention as you approach, "the leader is this Ithorian named Torren Pictou, lieutenant. He refuses to talk about who he works for, or where his missing friend went."
OOC: Your gang suffered no harm while they were out there. As a reminder: They've suffered 2-harm, and have no reinforcements to speak of until you put in a request to your superior officers for more men to replace the few who were wounded/killed in action.
The words 'refuse to talk' elicit a sharp intake of breath. I feel like Carnival Week has come early. As for requisitioning reinforcements, I'll handle it all later, when this operation is said and done. I'm sure the success of this mission will ease the order up some bureaucrat's pile of data-work.
Sergeant Pester earns a nod, tacitly suggesting he stand at ease, and I approach the chained and kneeling Ithorian, who is already flanked by a pair of my soldiers. "Well. This hammerhead must be our Ithorian friend, hm? Torren? Is that your name, Torren?" And I'm leaning down, hands on my knees, to catch his gaze. "It's OK, Torren. I'm just here for a little chat. Can you tell me who you work for? You were acting awfully suspicious earlier."
I get to work moving around some scrap and other junk to make defenses here. "Jazz, when we get out of this, you have to keep your armor in better shape. That blast shouldn't have gotten through. You need to fix that!" I move a bed up against an open area, then come back, "We're going to hole up here and give you some rest. In the morning, the sealant should be strong enough to hold your guts together so we can evac you."
I look over at Torren. I liked the guy, but I'm not doing anything for him. A shame, Ithorians are normally so nice.
Jazz shakes his head, "would you let any nerf-herder patch up your armor? No. The jobs have been steady, Kelb, but they're not lucrative — and they're kriffing dangerous. I can't afford to have my armor patched up by Elias every time we head out if I'm maintaining a stun-rifle, grenades, and a jetpack too, you know?"
He nods when you announce the plan, "so we're pow-wowing it tonight? Where's my blaster?"
Trek,
Pester chuckles and nods, "This is him, yeah."
The Ithorian looks up at you and scoffs, "I work for Processing Plant 96, and I was chatting with my men about how best to find a working Hyperdrive assembly — then your men started shooting at us, and we assumed you were separatists or something..." He shifts on his knees, which seem to be in pain. "In my experience, people who tie you down, and hold you at gun point rarely wanna talk, stranger."
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 3, 3. Total: 7)
• how could I get Torren to break under torture?
Oh, so the Ithorian is one of those types. It's unmistakable, the way his grotesque head turns, how he shifts when one of them mumble in discomfort. My grin grows and I say to him, "Stranger? Please, call me Trek. It's what all my friends call me. And we're friends now, at least I hope so — see friends don't lie to one another, and that's what I need from this relationship, Torren."
I motion to one of my troopers to bring a prisoner forward, put them on their knees. "What's his name, Torren?" My voice is both saccharine and sharp.
Jazz is right. We've been bottom feeding, not getting the good cred. I'm trying to get us better work, keep us mobile, but I'm not rotating out the team. I'm overworking Jazz.
Well, he gets a vacay now.
"Alright, you should upkeep your own stuff." I admit, my voice softer than he'd probably like. "But if you didn't waste creds on deathsticks, maybe you'd have more for retooling." I chide him gently, not really on his case.
Of course I hand his rifle to him. I even take it off stun, right in front of him, so he knows.
Torren looks at his friend, a little confused. He's a younger Twi'lek man with a bit of a temper... You can tell he doesn't like being handled by your men. Torren looks up at you and whispers, "Why? What's his name worth to you... Trek?"
Kelb,
It looks like Trek is toying with some of the prisoners out there. Jazz checks his blaster rifle, then looks up at you. "Deathsticks calm the shakes, Kelb... You like me shooting straight?" You know he's joking... He was a decent shot before he was smoking. He sighs, and tries to get comfortable, but quickly stops when a jolt of pain shoots through him. "Ok... Won't be doing that..."
What's the conversation like as Trek does his dance with Torren?
In the blink of an eye, my blaster is unholstered and then fired at the Tailhead prisoner's legs. And over the sound of the screaming, I add my own shrill voice, "WHAT IS HIS NAME, TORREN?"
You know how people say 'I saw red' as if it's a thing? Well, it's not strictly accurate. It's only the edges that go red, the peripherals; Torren remains perfectly multi-chromatic, and so does the spittle flying from my mouth, into his face.
Torren's eyes widen in shock when the blaster goes off, and you see him shake visibly, "Tal'di! His name is Tal'di! ... What is wrong with you? We've surrendered!"
I take a deep breath and smile and wipe my brow and smooth down my hair. A little bit of blood is smeared there. I'll have to get that cleaned up later. "Tal'di? Well, that's a nice name. Hello, Tal'di. You can call me Trek, since I'm a friend of Torren, and a friend of his is a friend of mine." And I'm kneeling beside him, my blaster now pressed against his ribs.
"Now, Tal'di, Torren is going to tell you one of two things, so I want you to listen to him very carefully. The first thing he might tell you is who he really works for, and where your missing friend really went, before all of this nonsense began. The second thing he might tell you is the last thing you ever hear. Like I said Tal'di, I want you to listen very carefully."
I'm looking back to Torren, soaking in his expression, and then motioning for him to start speaking.
It sounds cruel, but I keep chatting with Jazz like the torture isn't happening. It's a thing, you get it after so long. You just think about the job, think about other things, push the emotions down. SecOps folks do it all the time. MilSpec does, too. Especially Deathers from Mandalore. I let things seep in now and again, but it's easier to keep focused when there's a threat.
There is definitely a threat here.
It's possible that Tal'di is just naive, or that you've actually peeved him to the point of anger, but he's shaking in a mixture of pain and defiance as you press the blaster against his ribs. He looks Torren in the eyes, and shakes his head. Torren is completely torn.
Trek, give me a Go Aggro to have Tal'di truly suffer enough to spark Torren's fear of you.
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 1, 3. Total: 5)
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 5, 4. Total: 10)
There's a loud *CRACK* as Trek's pistol goes flying out of his hands, and ten men flying separatist colors come pouring over the junkheap to the west. They caught your boys in white completely by surprise, and managed to take down two of them. right off the bat.
In the chaos, Torren has made it over to Frik and his retinue, and has toppled your boys. Frik is now on the run over to those separatists...
OOC: Trek, your gang suffers 2-harm before armor, putting them at 3-harm. Since you're in the gang, you suffer 1-harm.
Kelb,
You're not really the subject of their ire, so you and Jazz don't suffer any harm... You definitely hear the fight raging though.
Unless Lieutenant Ores orders me to help, or if he looks to be in trouble, I'm taking a kneeling stance in front of Jazz and keeping my rifle ready. If they aren't shooting at me, I'm not drawing their fire by shooting them.
The battle rages on outside, and you can hear Trek shouting orders at his troops, and the separatists pulling back. It sounds like Trek lost Frik to them, and he's going after them... It doesn't sound like he's asking you to join him. Before long the sounds of blaster fire are nothing but a muted echo off the trash-piles surrounding Frik's little shack.
== END SCENE ==