[Snowpocalypse] Lost and Found (M 1.1, R 1.1)

Rich

For the last week, weather has been odd in Chi-town. The noonday sun has been uncomfortably warm, to the point of melting snow and ice in some places. Nobody can recall when that last happened. Even old-timers like Haakon Flip and Nomis never saw anything like this. Poor little Nosegrab was washed away in a flash flood, of all things. An Avalanche of melted water that rained down from the scrapers and then poof... no more Nosegrab.

The nights haven't changed, though; black ice and refreezing have been causing lots of problems...

Molotov,

Word in the freight tunnels is that J-Tear was found full of holes. Was that your doing? What the hell happened?

You're running out of ice cubes, Molotov. Silica hasn't been around since things started warming. How many times have you bothered Rossi about this already? Why are you knocking on her door again, in the middle of the day?

Rossi,

It's the middle of the day and you're in your flat, or house or whatever. What's it like? Someone is pounding on your door, probably Molotov. Do people bother you often at home? What should you be doing right now? Why aren't you there?

Silica hasn't been around since things started warming. What was the last thing you said to her?

What do you do?

Kaillan

Molotov:

It's been six days since the buildings started to cry and knock knock KNOCK third time I am at this chertovskiy minetu door. I am angry, I feel it in my gut and the twitching at each corner of my lips - the corners that would turn into sneer, if I was weak, but I am not. It is okay.

It was business. I feel hint of J-Tears breath on my shoulder as if I embrace him again. I remember rumble of distant transportation, soft thump of bullet hitting his gut. I know bullet travel at least thousand of foot each second, I know my gun flashed once like little sun, I know him dead so I save ammunition, but pinch neck to stop the screams. I stop the screams to stop from hearing all the things Ross and I did, down in the Underlake, those horrible things. It was business. It is pity he knew.

And here I am knock knock third time. We need to talk.

Adam

Knock knock knock.

My eyes jump open at the loud banging on my door, and I'm not entirely certain where I am for a moment... Wait... Home? Did I come home last night? Crap! I was supposed to sleep out on 47th tonight! Carnation and his boys are moving their shit today and I'm supposed to be there lifting it. Why does my head hurt?

Is that a bottle of Jack on my ... Oh wait, I remember what I was doing now. My eyes dart around the room for evidence of — what was his name? ... T-something ... Whatever. It's not important. His clothes are gone, so I guess he probably is too. I check the bathroom just to be sure before rushing to put some clothes on.

Knock knock.

Frig this guy's impatient. My home is Number 4591 on South Oakenwald Avenue. Actually, that's a lie — this is where I'm living now, but I wouldn't really call it a home just yet. I move around a lot, especially when people start wising up to who I am. It's a nice enough house with 3 levels, big windows to let the sun in, and an old-style wood-burning stove. The place is pretty bare bones... Stripped down to a mattress on a box-spring in the office that I use as my bedroom, some sofas in the front room with the bay windows, and a table and chairs in the kitchen. You wouldn't catch me dead going upstairs though... some of those floorboards look like parchment paper.

I make my way over to the door, unmasked, and peer through the peephole... Shit! Molotov? Again? I don't have time to get masked up... I guess I'll just have to play dumb. I put the door chain on, and carefully open the door, peering out at the big man through the slot, "What do you want?" My voice is impatient and guarded.

Kaillan

Molotov:

A chain rattles and the door is open. I see stranger's eyes. I wait for this girl to speak bullshit, and then put a hand against the door - the chain is pulled taut with a snap. "Okay," I say calmly but I am not calm, and my accent is thicker than I like, "It's okay, girl. Where is Ross? Get Ross. Tell him it's Molotov and we are needing to talk.

And maybe I don't need to be doing this. And maybe she is scared free of shit, already. But I am knowing this little girl has no spine and her knees are dirty and I've zipped up my hoodie to hide the blood and I need to speak with Ross.

So I tap the muzzle of my pistol against the door and point it through the gap.

Adam

Did he just threaten me with a pistol, in my own fucking home? My throat clamps shut just as I open my mouth to talk, and my face turns flush red as my lips tighten in to a thin line. "He's not here," I finally choke out, "he left this morning on a job, and isn't back yet."

Kaillan

Molotov:

I see this sukkuba suka blink her eyes for too long, like she has answers written on back of eyelids and needs time to read. I feel weight of that gun I call Last Resort in English on my back. It is assault rifle and pokes over shoulder of hoodie. It is cold out here on doorstep, too cold without the ice I want, and maybe my breath is ice but normal, not drug. It is like white cloud as I speak calmly, "Is that right?"

I've leaned in closer, and am hugging door now and she must feel the white cloud of my breath and see my green eyes and know this is serious chertovskiy business. Is this suka lying to me? Is Ross here?

Adam

I nod wordlessly, and slowly – but firmly – move to close the door. "If you need to talk to him, you can try and catch him out on 47th street."

Kaillan

OOC: Read a Person. Roll+Sharp. +1XP.
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 2, 4. Total: 8)

Adam

OOC: Interfering with Molotov's read. Roll+Hx.
(Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 6, 2. Total: 11)

Rich

Molotov, this girl slams the door in your face, perfect timing right when you were about to say something more. The door closes with an audible crack, and there's a moment of silence out in the snow.

You hear something above you, like right above you. The roof. Another moment later and a sheet of fucking ice slides down the slanted roof and crashes into you (0-Harm), knocking you back, maybe knocking you down (we'll see when I roll Harm).

Rich

Harm Move
(Rolled: 2d6. Rolls: 5, 2. Total: 7)

Rich

The ice, which is in big heavy chunks, batters you and you end up slipping and falling onto your ass, Molotov. Then, quiet for a moment.

Across the street, you hear someone laughing. It's muffled, but yeah, it's Endeavor. He saw you get slammed by that ice drift.

This is Endeavor:


What do you do?

Rich

Rossi,

Molotov is gone, for now. But he'll be back, looking for Ross.

Your sister's been gone for a while, you know. Not that you care.

What does your normal day consist of?

Kaillan

Molotov:

"Fuck!" I spit up at the blue sky, and maybe now I am not so calm, with my ass on the ice and this suka daring to shut me up and somebody's laughing. I fumble in the snow and pick up my magnum, which I dropped, and feel its cool metal in my hand.

I'm standing now and facing this - he is like red marshmallow, puffy, but I know him. Endeavor, da? He is one of Carnation's boys. Just like J-Tear. My string of Russian curses stops when I realize this. It took me too long to realize this, and my magnum is still out. I don't know why he's here - Ross is on 47th, and his bimbo is inside.

The sound of my gun's safety being removed is loud. It sounds like CLICK and then street is quiet. "Okay. Okay," I'm trying to stay calm, or look calm, but laughter rings in my head and my ass is wet and my magnum is shaking. "You here for reason, or fucking off?" I look at him with my eyes and try to keep a straight face. It's just business.

Adam

Silica can do whatever the hell she wants, for all I care — he's approached me masked a few times already, looking for her, but it's not my fucking business to deal with her shit! I'm not her fucking handler! It's not like she gives a shit what I do.

Whatever.

Normally my day to day consists of a few things: going to market and getting some supplies, doing my gun cleaning, then finding a watering hole and listening for rumors about incoming caravans. Sometimes I'll have a drink or two and hook up, like last night, but most nights I just head home, grab my gear, and set up an ambush so I can keep making money.

Today I'm bolting upstairs, getting dressed, and hoofing it for 47th street. It's probably best I take the back door out though... I wouldn't want Molotov thinking his precious Ross is trying to screw him over or anything.

Rich

Molotov,

Endeavor pulls the string attached to his sled, then says, "I'm fucking off!"

He's alone. Is that normal, for Carnation's boys to just head off on their own like this? What's the most interesting thing you've seen this kid steal?

Rich

Rossi,

So you're a raider then? Do you work alone, I take it? Put on that mask and go out and take what you want? Interesting.

You head out the back, trying to avoid Molotov. Do you lock your place, or is that even possible? Hell, how'd you get in?

Are you planning on being Ross the Faceless at 47th street or something else?

Kaillan

Molotov:

CLICK is now the sound of safety. I'm squinting and thinking and my gun is back in my pocket. Why was Endeavor here? He is sights, lookout, delivery boy, quick-finger. If he was in Mill, he would have cat inked on body by now, so light are fingers. I hear he once got in Lemma's shop and out with expensive parts. I hear he brags about it. I hear he's a shit. But I do not know what he was looking out for, or delivering.

And glad no blood was spilled. I've too much on vest beneath jacket; is dry now, smelling like metal; is J-Tear's. He is real reason I stand here, freezing ass off, mocked by Ross' cheap suka lays. Not Silica. She is suka too, getting on knees for jingle, I know it, so pretty, and weak and brittle but not like me. I can last without ice-cubes. I can wait.

I need to get to 47th, to Ross, to Carnation. I remember what J-Tear said before he died, with piece of knife in his hands. He was covered in sweat and smelt like sex. He said I was fucked and there was evidence. Hah. Okay. We will be seeing who fucks with Molotov. And I start walking.

Adam

Raider is such a dirty word... Those guys in the old White Sox stadium? Those guys are raiders. They take prisoners, liberties, and leave nothing behind. Me? I take one of two things: your stuff, or your life. I don't always steal for a living, but nothing builds up rep like being held up by some masked figure on the expressway. Let's just say I try and only take what I need to live, 'cause I sure as hell am not going to deal with those fuckers underground for it.

Now which floorboard did I hide my gear under? ... Oh yeah!

Anyway, yeah — I'm locking up when I leave. I got in by "seducing" the previous owner of this little hut — and by seducing, I mean he got the drop on me out on the road, and I was given the choice of either showing him my "redeeming qualities", or getting shot for "trespassing". Turns out he was very interested in my redeeming qualities — especially since he admitted he didn't get many visitors. I was more interested in his keys. He's buried in the back yard.

So yeah — time to mask up and move out for 47th street. If Molotov intents to go there looking for Rossi, I intend to beat him to it.

Rich

I need dice to decide this wonderful thing!

Rossi, please roll an Act Under Fire to beat Molotov to 47th.

Both of you,

What the heck is at 47th street anyways?

Adam

OOC: Act Under Fire to beat Molotov to 47th street. Roll+Cool. +1XP.
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 1, 6. Total: 8)

Adam

47th Street is just a long frakking street that's been mostly cleared of debris. A lot of people use it as a pathway to the coast from the expressway...

It's also awesome for ambushing unsuspecting caravans.

Kaillan

Molotov:

Is easy pickings, but Carnation and boys are sort to be grabbing at low-hanging fruit. And there're rumors in Underground about a big score last night, on 47th.

Rich

Ross,

As you're heading out, you realize you left something behind. Was it your shotgun, or your keys to the house?

You can beat Molotov to 47th, though, so there's that.

Rich

hey Ross,

Why don't you roll Scent of Blood, too?

Rich

hey Molotov, what's on the way between here and 47th?

Kaillan

Molotov:

As I walk, the cold starts to seep through my jacket and quell that gut-flame of anger and frustration. I'm hugging the street-side, keeping my hood down; occasionally I notice the tracks of Endeavor's sled.

Okay, I think to myself, what is plan? If angels kind: Carnation not heard, none of boys know, and silly fucking loud-mouth came to me first before dying. This evidence he had is lost. I find Ross, smack him in gut for opening lips, tell him to keep shut.

I would laugh but I don't laugh, so I have a little smile. When are angels kind? Carnation might know about the Underlake. He might have evidence. His boys might know. And Ross is tough. A tough psikhopatiya. So, what is plan? Ross deserves what Carnation gives him, if is sovet, dirty snitch. I will tattoo goat on his forehead and spit on mask.

But, if he isn't? And Carnation spreads rumours? I must sort this out. I - what? Huh.

I smell gasoline and lift my eyes. It is Endeavour. His sled, crashed, slid on black ice.

Adam

OOC: Scent of Blood first. Roll+Weird.
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 1, 2. Total: 4)

Adam

So I'm half-way to 47th street, making fantastic time, when I realize I don't hear that alien jingling of my keys...

FUUUUUUCK.

Are you fucking kidding me? I killed a man for that fucking place! Urgh! Fine. What-the-fuck-ever. I've got a shotgun shell waiting for any fucker who thinks he can take it from me — and if it's too much trouble, I'll just find another one!

I pick up the pace. I don't wanna give anyone a chance to run away with those keys if I can help it. I might as well beat Molotov there while I can.

Rich

Molotov and Ross, please go here.