Howdy, Stranger!
It looks like you're new here. If you want to get involved, click one of these buttons!
Quick Links
Categories
- 965 All Categories
- 17 Games
- 1 aw2-mapbp
- 365 Richland
- SDHSR
- 4 two-detroits
- 96 aw2e-dvfp
- 53 ISS Tsiolkovsky
- 82 Fury
- Urban Shadows
- 24 LadyB
- 11 AnR
- 4 Junk World 2.0
- 68 PnR
- 23 DRYH
- Jeffland
- The Few
- 11 Other
- 11 General
- 576 Complete
- 12 burning-empires
- 8 aota-jam
- 17 Uncharted Worlds
- Uncharted
- 23 nullptr-veil
- 9 ajax-motw
- 2 tqy-am
- 52 NOVA
- 11 Serene Apocalypse
- jenn-soti
- 63 SWAW
- 13 Blades
- 2 Fall Of Magic
- 12 Generations
- 25 LA Monsters
- tqy
- 32 nupocalypse
- 120 Snowpocalypse
- 136 Junkworld XIII
- 27 Big Maul
- 6 ESC
- 1 Murderous Ghosts
- 17 ANN_pilot
[Big Maul] Order Up! (B 1.1, SnS 1.1)
Big Mac and Sweet N Sour:
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.
The Big Maul's muzak is playing this song:
Big Mac:
At one point during the Breezestorm, you were out at SEARS when a huge gust burst through the revolving door. You heard a woman's voice, calling to you. You wanted to go to her, didn't you? Who was it? What did she say to you, Big Mac, something you've wanted to hear for a while, right?
Who pulled you back?
So you share Food Court with Sweet N' Sour. Why's that? You two buddy-buddy or is it a "keep your enemies closer" kinda thing? What's your place like, where do you sleep? Do you sleep alone, have a guard, a main squeeze, anything like that?
Sweet N' Sour:
How many heads did you hafta bust when the shit was hitting the fan during that Breezestorm? Who took care of it, one of yours, or are you the kind of guy who takes care of things personally?
How did you gang score those sweet dirt bikes? I mean, the sporting goods store only had a couple, so did you take them from someone else or go raid a store out in the Breeze? How long have you had them?
What's your spot in the Food Court like, Sweet? How does your gang of Maul Rats hole up? Do they all crash in your space, or is Food Court more of a garage or what?
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.
The Big Maul's muzak is playing this song:
Big Mac:
At one point during the Breezestorm, you were out at SEARS when a huge gust burst through the revolving door. You heard a woman's voice, calling to you. You wanted to go to her, didn't you? Who was it? What did she say to you, Big Mac, something you've wanted to hear for a while, right?
Who pulled you back?
So you share Food Court with Sweet N' Sour. Why's that? You two buddy-buddy or is it a "keep your enemies closer" kinda thing? What's your place like, where do you sleep? Do you sleep alone, have a guard, a main squeeze, anything like that?
Sweet N' Sour:
How many heads did you hafta bust when the shit was hitting the fan during that Breezestorm? Who took care of it, one of yours, or are you the kind of guy who takes care of things personally?
How did you gang score those sweet dirt bikes? I mean, the sporting goods store only had a couple, so did you take them from someone else or go raid a store out in the Breeze? How long have you had them?
What's your spot in the Food Court like, Sweet? How does your gang of Maul Rats hole up? Do they all crash in your space, or is Food Court more of a garage or what?
Comments
When the sky was still safe, there were more gangs outside. They used the steel forest at the end of the tunnels and built ramps, an arena, and ran contests for fantastic prizes. They drove fast and wild, spraying the dirt around, doing tricks in the air. They got cans of drink, colored packets of chips, and partied hardcore, with huge lights and wicked sounds. Everyone had a bike, everyone was free.
I guess the first Breezestorm happened fast.
That's where we got the bikes. They're ours now.
I just need to close my eyes and sleep, but when I do I hear her voice, and I don’t want to hear her voice.
Velcro stands guard outside my offices, not an ideal place to kick back and relax, but I’ve not been doing any of that lately anyway, he’s one mean motherfucker and won’t let any of the gang through without my express permission, which is good, they can’t be allowed to see my vulnerability, too much rides on the stability of this hardhold.
This crap started during the Breezestorm. I was overseeing a merchandise transfer when a blast of wind burst through the revolving door and for a second the clatter and whirl of those large glass panes drowned out the muzak.
In that moment I was lost. Amongst the cries of the children of the breeze I could hear her, calling for me. She’d be a full-grown woman by now, had she lived and not been dragged into the unlife beyond the Maul. I could hear her telling me she loved me, words I’ve wanted to hear for so long and which I never wanted to hear at all.
I awoke with one of Sweet N Sour’s gang smashing my head against the floor, apparently I’d made towards the door, I don’t remember a thing. His gang had had to wrestle me to the ground. I’d fought against them and shouted at them to get the fuck off me, words that would have earned someone else a knife in the guts, but they respect Sweet N Sour, and Sweet could see the light of sanity had gone from my eyes. I fucking love that dude, I would have been a goner had it not been for one of his boys grabbing my ears and knocking some sense back into me.
This display of weakness could have disrupted the balance of the hardhold, but Sweet hasn’t shown any signs of wanting to take control and our gangs maintain a respectful cordiality within the Food Court, so for now, the status quo is undisturbed.
I stand in the centre of the sparsely furnished office I call my home and stare in the mirror at the stranger regarding me with red-rimmed eyes. He’s a fucking mess. He needs a shave.
There's a clear knock on the door. Must be Velcro. He'd make sure you knew someone was coming. And the way he saw you, this must be important. But you could always send him away. You don't have to take visitors.
What do you do?
The razor grates across my face, each vibration lancing into my brain, disrupting my mental preparations to deal with whoever has come to fuck up my day.
Velcro opens the door, and lets in, of all people, fucking Auntie Anne:
"Da music stopped las night, Big Mac!" Auntie Anne starts off right away in that scratchy, deep rumbling tone of hers. "I came 'ere to see what choo doin about it! Da Breeze is comin back, but soon, an we're all dead meat if you don' fix it!" She's throwing her hand around while talking about this, her black curtain-robe shifting as she moves.
Velcro is by the door, looking at you, over her, giving you the "sorry boss" look.
What do you do?
I am staring at the ceiling, 6 inches from my nose, focusing my eyes on the darkness, WILLING the colors to calm the fuck down and stop moving so much.
The sparking and buzzing in my head is still going, like it always has since that day, years ago. I can sleep in the silence of a cold, metal coffin because my brain will not be quiet, not ever. Well. Except when I make the world outside loud enough.
Yesterday was a loud day for me and mine, because it was quiet for everyone else. The Breeze whipped up against the walls, howling and screeching, and the muzak got... stronger. Not louder, but stronger, like it was really trying to fight back, be more clear, drown out the breeze.
My nose started bleeding, and at the height of the storm, the muzak shut off.
Oh, that was a a moment. Pure silence inside, chaos without. Then the chaos came in, and fuckin' everyone panicked.
I kicked Shred and Pickles up, they got the others, and we mounted up, neon crackling, full colors. I pulled out the blaster and started yelling. "Fucking everyone's gonna panic, muzak's off, shit gonna hit the fan. Get in there and fuck everything up, make noise, hit people if they're actin' crazy, do something, anything." I looked across my hungry pack of neon-lit savages. Fuck, they looked good. We looked like someone's nightmare. "Let's get violent, motherfuckers! VIOLENCE KINGS!"
My eyes crack open again. Did I dream? I hope so.
_________
Sweet's oven looks like this, except half as tall. He has to slide in and out on his back, and it's all cold iron.
What about your gang, do they have coffin hotel rooms, too? Or do they crash wherever they can? Do you keep your bikes in the same place that they sleep?
My gang crashes around the Sbarro, an area about 2 store-fronts wide that we've strung with camo netting from the hunting section of the sporting good store, glowsticks, some flourescent tubes taken from the ceiling. All the lights are colored, white and yellow hurt my bad eye. They crash in assortments of sleeping bags, broken sofas, chairs - 80s house party furniture. Every morning looks like the aftermath of a sleepover inside a Q-Zar laser tag arena.
Shedd's my right-hand woman, and she wakes me if I haven't already come out to perch on the counter and carve circuit diagrams in the formica countertop with my machete. It's like meditation, cutting bits away until I see what I want to.
I think Shedd... likes me? She'd have to. Somehow. She's too focused on being good at her job.
The bikes, of course, are always at hand - the most valuable thing we have never leaves our sight.
"Sweet!" Shedd says as she stands up, a socket wrench in hand. "Some of the VKs went out hunting for shit for Rache. She's offering a bit o credit at the AMC for work. I let em go. That cool?" She steps closer, dropping her voice, "I heard Hottopic's workin on the Muzak, she should get it fixed up. You didn't sleep so good, yeah?"
This is Shedd:
I deliberately turn to put Shedd on my left, fixing her with my bad eye. "That isn't your bike, Shedd. You putting in turns for someone else?" She shifts, uncomfortably. I keep going before she can say anything. "Yeah. Yesterday, that was hell of a thing, huh? Good thing we did something. Good we made the noise. Brought the violence. Good thing we had someone to give a fuck about what happened to us and ours, and someone to stick to in the shit, and something we could fucking depend on."
I stop, breaking my carefully calculated stare, glancing around, startled by the echoes of my voice... How long had I been shouting? The whole time? I think back over what I just said. Sour. Definitely Sour.
My head twitches around to fix Shedd with the glare again, but I stop and give her both eyes and try to kill the glare. "You done good before, and will again, but only if you stop covering for people. Yesterday was close. Tomorrow might be closer. If we got people fucking off to go get jingle for someone else, they better have their shit in order first." I turn away, but listen hard. Hopefully she isn't fixing to draw down on me.
Read Person: Did I just blow it? Is she still on my side here?
Post-Roll: Fuck. I blew it something fierce.
She swallows a bit, as surprised at her ire as you probably are, then steps back, asking brightly, "That cool?"
"We cool, Shedd. We cool as long as you never put that chrome tongue of yours in my mouth. You know you don't talk what I do. You sound like rust and oil in my mouth."
I move the Magnum up, crossing my arms on my chest, pointing it up and right.
"You know your thing and how you run it. That's you, and you're good. But anything involving this-" I shake the Magnum slightly- "That's me." I holster it fast and hard, and exhale. Peace offering time. I wipe the scowl off my face, but I'm not smiling. "Now, you wanna come with me to go see Big Mac? I'm gonna need that silver tongue of yours, mine ain't so hot this morn." Not leaving her alone after that little episode.
OOC - If she declines or fights this "request," I'm going to use Pack Alpha and come down on her hard.
Shedd's mouth twitches in annoyance, maybe disappointment, when you tell her never to put her chrome tongue in your mouth. But she's not going to back down and apologize now. That would seem weak.
"Big Mac? Hell to the yeah." Shedd answers brightly, accepting the olive branch. "You really saved his ass last night. Why the hell was he trying to walk out into the Breeze like that? You think he's got some death wish or something?"
She's making conversation as she puts away her tools and wraps up. You two can talk on your way over to see Big Mac.
I'm kicking debris out of my way as I walk - it's a fucking mess around here after a Breezestorm, things always break, and the dirt and detritus always wafts down from the ceiling into little ugly piles, sometimes with a desiccated rat or bird to the bargain.
"Shedd, Big Mac is gonna be... he's gonna be raw when we get there. Like somebody sandpapered his brain. Be careful. Watch the left."
I'm a little nervous. People with power aren't too kind about seeming weak, even for a moment. Is Mac going to make this a problem?
Shedd falls in line, "Sure, boss... sorry about being touchy earlier. Just, you know. I take enough shit from them. Didn't want you to, ah, give up on me."
You get to the offices for Big Mac, and Velcro's outside. Big fucker towers over you, shakes his head, "No way, Sweet. He's indi-fucking-sposed. Leave a message. He'll send for you when he's free."
I assume you don't push that, right?
Let's skip ahead a bit.
In the later afternoon, most of the gang has come back with whatever shit Rache had them searching for, and Pickles comes walking up to you, looking pissed, his left eye bleeding. Like blood tears, looks painful. "YO! Sweet, man. Fucking ladyboy Cache took my bike's keys!"
I crack my good eye open from where I've been dozing. The newest batch of lines is on my left, scratched into the top of a table I'm leaning against.
"Pickles." I stand, cracking my neck. "I'm not 'yo'. And I'm feeling decided Sour today." I pause and look him over. "You got your ass kicked, and I think I heard you say you lost something." I'm scowling now. "Something important."
I'm waiting for him to try and explain this. If he can. He's going to regret it even if his story is good.
Pickles hitches up, like he knows that look. Holds up hands, "Whoah man. She-he snuck me, Sour! Like some fucking inviso punch mind shit! He-she did somethin to my head! We need to hunt it the fuck down. Get my bike keys back!"
Shedd's around, listening. Who else is here to hear this, Sour?
I keep my cleaver out and tap it gently against the left side of my head, letting the glow shine on my face.
"So. You go out to get something for Rache, Shedd says. You come back bleeding from the eye like you took a pipe to the face, saying this ladyboy hooker stole your bike out from under you?"
I shake my head and spit. "Come here and let me see."
Pickles walks up, slowly, tense. He's seen enough to know that I'm in the mood to make someone bleed, almost definitely him. I put down the cleaver, reach out and hold his head with both hands, probing for bruises. I find one, but on the back of his head, and see that he is, indeed, bleeding from the inner corners of his eyes. Not a pipe, then.
I curl my hand around the back of his neck. "You speak true."
His relief is palpable, and I let his face just begin to collapse into a half-smile before I knee him, hard, in the pit of the stomach.
He makes a squeaky, betrayed sound, and I keep hold of his neck as I slowly lower him down. I'm whispering in his ear: "Today you're a fuckup and an idiot, Pickles, but I believe you. The Kings ride to find the truth of this matter. If I find your hand on this idiocy, though, I will visit violence upon you."
I let go of him and stand. "His truth does not erase his failure, but he still rides with us." I pick up the cleaver again. "Pickles might have fucked up, but the bike is ours. Nobody steals from the Violence Kings. We're going to go fucking tax this Cache for whatever she can pay." I look about. "Time for some VIOLENCE."
We're riding out to find Cache, and Pickles is riding pillion with someone. If he fucking whines, anyone's free to smack him.
((Should I make a Pack Alpha roll for making an example out of Pickles?))
The Violence Kings ride off into the Big Maul, hunting for Cache...
Your gang is riding around, trying to find zir when Slice comes back from the AMC, saying, "Bossman, no Cache nowhere, man. But in the AMC, it's a fuck-a-thon, man! Can some of us dip our wicks while Pickle-asswipe looks for his lil bike keys?"
I grin, wide, like a shark. "You will be the cover. Pickles and I will be the finders, looking for the other kind of action that gets hot, wet, and squishy.
We enter the AMC.
* you lock the target (take +1 Forward against the target)
* you fade the line (they don't know you're coming)
* spread the net (your gang is still with you)
* catch the man (you enter a scene with them)
On a miss, the MC will detail what happens during the hunt, but it aint good.
I wave my right hand down low, motioning for the VKs to spread out. Let's see what we've got.
Where... where do you hide, little broken one? Where do you crawl away to? I jump. The Neon is whispering to me again, and I unfocus my eyes, tracking movement, not people... and there! The trapdoor on the stage is just closing, a slither of black fabric sliding through. My blood is pumping, beating in the back of my bad eye, and my hands are cold.
With an evil smile, I set off through the crowd, letting my nasty demeanor clear the path. I'm going to gather the VKs to go after that thief... or maybe, to lay a little surprise party.
As you near the trapdoor down to some old ladder, a little blonde Asian girl with overalls that are open to show off her pert little breasts comes up. It's Jules, a dancer here. "Sweet! What's up? You and yours need something?" She's smiling wide and full of herself, more than a little sweaty and probably tired. But she steps in front of the trapdoor.
What do you do?
I'm not going to wait more than a second or two for her to move, either she gets the message or she doesn't.
Yeah, looks like you'll have to move her. And she's not some island, there are other dancers around, starting to pay attention. They're not VKs, but they're not push-overs, either.
Are you Going Aggro here? Intent to do violence?
Going Aggro.
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 1, 3. Total: 6)
A few of the dancers have disentangled themselves from their partners, moved up around your guys. You've got guns, but they've got your guys surrounded. You'll hurt them, Sweet N Sour, but they will not roll over on you.
What do you do?