[DVFP] Whole But Not Wholesome (G 2.3)

edited December 2016 in aw2e-dvfp
image
Gigg,
You wake suddenly. You're lying on a cool metal table in a room with an omnipresent hum and the heady smell of chemicals. You're naked under a scratchy, thin sheet, and your body's clean. Your mask is lying on a small metal table on wheels nearby, the eyes looking at you accusingly.

You are at six o'clock and that will heal with rest.

You brought Chaz to the Depot clinic before, this is where you are. You know it. There's a curtain for a door out of here, and a half dozen other curtained-off rooms near you. You're alone. Even in your head. No Pops. No Lala. Nobody.

What do you do?

Comments

  • edited December 2016
    I sit up slowly and let out a huge sigh through pursed lips, and rotate until my legs are hanging off the side of the table. Looks like a couple hundred pockmarks up and down the front part of my arms and legs where someone must have spent hours picking pieces of metal and glass out with tweezers. Despite the inevitable scarring that will result and the curiously pink-colored skin splashed with black and purple bruises, my body feels gobs better than when I last jumped out of the back of the box truck.

    I'm eyeing my mask a few feet away, itching to get it back on my face, but there's no way I can both stand up and fit the mask on my head, and remain also covered with the sheet.

    Lala... Clearly wasn't real, even if it seemed like it was. I almost dread putting that mask back on. Almost. I allow myself to ponder for a moment what could have been with Lala had I not listened to Pops. Pops! I always had a twitchy feel that The Fat Man was my Pops. There was always a reason why I wondered what kind of pops he might be, and now I understand why Pops wanted me to put Will Isaac down instead of trying to get him back here to the clinic in the Depot. He had me kill my own bother... my own mother. I feel myself fuming and getting worked up. Not now. Not yet. I close my eyes and will my body to stop trembling. Breathing deep. Eyes closed.

    Calm returning, I crane my neck and try to take a peek under the curtain to make sure there's no approaching feet, and make a quick scramble to the nearby table and don the mask. Time for some rhyming and stealing...

    Now, where would my clothes and gear be?
  • image
    Gigg,
    When you sit up, you catch sight of something under the table, a plastic bag. Looks like all your gear, minus weapons, is there. Cleaned, more or less (stained still, but what ya gonna do?). You have enough privacy to get dressed without anyone seeing, but well, someone could walk in.

    You hear light conversation nearby. Someone coughs on the other side of this large but separated room.

    What do you do?
  • As soon as the mask is on and I spot the bag of my clothes, I rip it open and get dressed quickly. Esco's fancy fork was wrapped up inside my clothes and in my haste it fell out and clattered to the floor, it's clinking noise echoing throughout the large mostly silent ward. I mutter a curse inside the mask, and snatch it up and tuck it away.

    Poking my head through the curtain, I look in all directions possible and take assessment of my surroundings.*


    OOC: is this situation charged enough to Read a Sitch?
  • image
    Gigg,
    You glance through the curtain to see a couple people in while and pastel blue talking. There are other curtains and walls, and you think there's a door on the other end of the clinic, with a guy there. Looks like a Fipper.

    It's charged if you feel like it's charged, Gigg. Roll 'em.
  • OCC: Gigg pretty much stays charged. Read a Sitch, roll+sharp (highlighted)
    (Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 4, 3. Total: 8)

    +1 XP
  • What's my best escape route?
  • image
    Gigg,
    If you leave your weapons here, you could just slip out the back, away from that Fipper. If you want that hockey stick and wrench, then you'll need to go get them out of the locker by the fipper, and talk your way past him. He doesn't know you, right? Surely not.

    Gigg-Header-02
    "Where in the hell have you been?" Pops growls angrily in your ear as soon as you don the mask.
  • "Hey, Pops. I got fugged up pretty bad taking on Ziggy and her cowboys, and had to get patched up by some sawbones. Not exactly sure how I got here.... Need your help, though, Pops. There's a fipper there near where my wrench and stick are... do you think it'll be OK to go get 'em, or should I just slip out the back, jack?*



    Norman, roll+weird (highlighted)
    (Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 2, 1. Total: 4)

    +1 XP
  • image

    Gigg-Header-02
    "Go up and take 'em, son. That fipper give you trouble, you tell 'em you're doin' business for Terrence. They'll back the fug off ya. They don't, then kill 'em."

    What do you do?
  • "Terrence, huh? Aight, hope ya know whatcha doing, Pops." Who the fug is Terrence? But if Pops really is who Lala says he is, then these fippers must be his back pocket...

    I look around one more time and gird up my best act like you've been here before attitude, and walk straight to the lockers, ignoring the fipper and not looking at him.
  • image
    You grab your stick and wrench, and the Fipper looks right at you. When you head for the door, he eyes you.

    "Prisoner, what are you doing with those things?" He unsnaps the button over his holster, reaches for his stun pistol.
    What do you do?
  • I look at the Fipper quizzically, "Prisoner? I'm ain't no prisoner. I live here. And I ain't rhymin and stealing either, this gear's mine." I present the fresh scabbed pockmarks and burns on my arms, " I'm checking outta here and I'll be on my way. My eye takes note of him reaching for his holster, and figure this is the time to drop Pop's advice, "Besides, I'm werkin' a gig for Terrence."

    I pause for a moment to see if he gives me the nod to leave; otherwise, I have the wrench ready to break his wrist before he can even pull that pistol.
  • image
    He relaxes his hand, snaps the button again, nods you to move on. No hesitation. When you get outside, into the heat and blinding sun, Tesla, one of the crue, comes up to you at a jog.
    "Hey Gigg, man." he's a little out of breath. He walks beside you, "Motley sent me along. Wants to know if you wanna hit Ziggy. She's holed up in here, we're meeting at the garage to plan how to get her, for all she did. You want to help, right? It's her fault that Guns, and Sis, and even little Lala are dead!"
  • edited December 2016
    Lala! No doubt they'll all be comin' for me when they find out it was me that killed Lala. I'm walking a torrid pace with Tesla in tow to nowhere in particular, just trying to walk off the pain of hearing her name again. "Fug Ziggy." I growl. "But I do wanna chat up Motley. Is he waitin' in the garage?" I stop suddenly under the heat and wait for Tesla's answer.
  • image

    "Yeah, we all are. We brought you to that clinic, did you know that?" Tesla asks when you stop, when you say "fug Ziggy". He doesn't get it. "Motley paid for you to get right. I told him you'd be hungry to take Ziggy down. Her fault you got torn up so bad."
  • I don't have the time or the desire to explain I don't care about Ziggy anymore. "Where is she?" I growl again, and when I see a confused look on his face, "Lala? Her body was in swagman. Where did the Crue park swagman? What did you do with her while I was with them sawbones in there?"
  • image

    "Last and Krin and the others took her out to your junkyard and planted her." Tesla answers, using your words for burying, but he isn't completely sure if that's right. "Swagman's in the garage, too. Last should be back by now, c'mon, we need to get to Motley."
    He is eager to bring you, Gigg. What do you do?
  • Hell's Bells. Last planted her without me. "Alright, I'll follow you to the garage, then."

    I start to walk, but then stop and ask Tesla one more thing, "Hey, you know a smith in the Depot that can fix a .50-cal no questions no snitching?"
  • image

    "I do. Shady Shops, but they don't advertise. I'll take you after Ziggy."
    Please go here.
Sign In or Register to comment.