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[Snowpocalypse] Between (H 1.1, M 1.3)
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...
Hadden,
Why don't you choose gigs and roll? If you don't mind, choose "fucking" as one of them. See below:
You're lying in bed with Nini. She just fell asleep after a roll in the hay with you. How was it? Is she a regular?
This is Nini, by the way:
You're at Nini's pad, which is a mediocre flat by the freight tunnels, really a one-room apartment that used to be a storage area. The only electricity comes from an extension core run through the wall. That empty bassinet sits at the foot of the too-small bed. You're wedged in the middle of her naked body and the concrete block wall. Lights are dim, not mood lighting, they're always dim. Candles.
Who supplies power to that extension cord for Nini when she needs power? What do they charge?
You know Nini needs the sleep. She works nights, met up with you before you left for some gigs. It's time to get to work soon, or maybe you could stall for a bit longer, if you really wanted to.
What do you do?
The nights haven't changed, though; black ice and refreezing have been causing lots of problems...
Hadden,
Why don't you choose gigs and roll? If you don't mind, choose "fucking" as one of them. See below:
You're lying in bed with Nini. She just fell asleep after a roll in the hay with you. How was it? Is she a regular?
This is Nini, by the way:
You're at Nini's pad, which is a mediocre flat by the freight tunnels, really a one-room apartment that used to be a storage area. The only electricity comes from an extension core run through the wall. That empty bassinet sits at the foot of the too-small bed. You're wedged in the middle of her naked body and the concrete block wall. Lights are dim, not mood lighting, they're always dim. Candles.
Who supplies power to that extension cord for Nini when she needs power? What do they charge?
You know Nini needs the sleep. She works nights, met up with you before you left for some gigs. It's time to get to work soon, or maybe you could stall for a bit longer, if you really wanted to.
What do you do?
Comments
Fucking (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 5, 6. Total: 13)
Brokering Deals (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 4, 4. Total: 10)
(since the two often go hand in hand)
That power cord splits to every other flat down this hall and winds up to Backside Misty's. She charges in stories and tales and spoken word, or better yet that printed stuff. I think she gets her power from a sky-kite.
I don't want to make Nini late, but I could, and I have when we're both in a better mood. I look at the empty bassinet almost moving in the weird flicker of the candles, and that's what gets me on my feet and out the door. I need to hit the communal shower to rinse the smell of the night off.
The communal showers:
Like most things underground, they are, by default, cold. You have to pay to get into the hot waters, and even then, you only get a few minutes in there. You can easily afford some warm water from what Nini gave you for the nine day love-fest.
By the way, what did Nini pay you with? Barter? Or is there some kind of currency you use, Hadden?
How big are the communal showers? Like, how many stalls? Are they all concrete and water spigots or was it something retrofitted or what?
The cold/cool communal showers are like a trough- maybe five a side, concrete and cheap tile, bare pipes, not segregated. The hot showers, yeah, those puppies are for-pay retrofitted individual stalls, soap that smells good, with one that can fit three people for those special celebratory times.
I'm not in the mood for a hot shower, and I don't want to spend the jingle just yet. I have a feeling I'm going to need it.
As you're standing in the shower, you hear someone humming. It's coming closer. Closer still. Then, emerging into the dim light from a corridor is the old, wrinkled McEgg. He's got a big gut earned form years of hard work for good food. He's sagging pretty much everywhere, and he's only got the one towel. Over his shoulder.
He gives you a nod, a gentle shake of his balding pate, the gleam of the only smooth skin he has marred by liver spots, then waddles over to turn on a spigot near you, humming away. What's the song, Hadden?
Once you're done with the shower, where do you go?
Before I check on my stuff and my ride, I need to hit Backside Misty's and see if she has work for me, or if anyone has posted on the job board.
Backside Misty charges stories for power, and she hands out work? What kind of stuff do you normally do for her? Do lots of folks work for her, or just you?
Where does Backside Misty get her power from, anyways? Anybody know?
Hey, don't you have a crew, Hadden? Where are they?
I don't know where she gets her heat from.
Hadden's crew consists of:
- Handplant, she's good people. Helps me find those who need services. Likes to carve little people out of ice, quiet morning person. Cute, but not into dudes.
- Oakley, a fast motherfucker, can't stop moving, no fat at all on this guy. Built like an Olympic Marathoner Nubian King. Always has a few extra custom "lembas wafers" in his go-bag.
- Molotov is the go-to for a bullet in the head or backup on deliveries. Do not fuck with.
If it's late, Handplant's probably settling in with her family. I know she's got a kid and a squeeze. Oakley might be gambling away the last I paid him. Molotov? Not here now.Misty grins when you come into her place. It's a caboose, on broken tracks. Going nowhere. "Hey there Hadden, glad to see ya. Just get back?" Backside Misty lets you tell her a tale and makes you some tea. What's your favorite kind?
"Stalefish wants to skip another month on me. Won't come down to chat, won't say shit to me, except "fix the feed, bitch". I'm not a bitch. Right?" Backside Misty bats her lazy eye at you, dips her teabag in the water, looking glum. "Can you go up and make it right for me? Standard pay, just get it flowing again. Stalefish might get others to dry up, then we're all in a heap."
Hadden likes tea that's hot and sweet, he's not too particular on this front. Maybe dosed with a little recreational when the mood is right, savvy?
"What happened last time with the feed? You know I can make it right, but where is he?" [OOC: What do I know about this guy?]
Stalefish is a griper, always making trouble. He's stingy with stories and jingle. The guy is great with plants, though. Stalefish uses the feed, the power source from Misty, to keep some small heat lamps going in his place. He grows some herb, some edible stuff, too. Stalefish's important enough to keep alive and around, but he knows it.
"The winds lately are dying down, yeah?" Backside Misty says this as if it's never happened before, but trying to play it cool. "My trickle's been iffy. It's not like I have an abundance or whatnot, you know? I tell Stalefish that I'm giving him as much as I can, even shunting some stuff away from those who tell the same damn stories... you know?"
As you're chatting with Misty, you hear someone come jogging up to the caboose. It's Molotov.
Molotov,
You find Hadden at Backside Misty's. The two are chatting in her rickety home, drinking tea.
This is Backside Misty:
What do you do?
It has been hours since I was shot at the Grease Park, over on 47th - and I was spending that time running, not thinking. At some point I took off belt to wrap around shoulder, but left arm is numb and dangling. I'm thinking, and knowing, this is bad sign.
A fat man in hallway, his name I do not know, but he was smelling of rotten eggs for some reason, was pointing me towards Asshole Misty where Hadden is. I say thank you and lower gun and tell him forget me in case he is stupid.
"Hadden," I say with nod, sort of to both of them, as I enter train, but who is this woman to me? I do not live in these flats, only come here for him - my Operator, giving me good jobs. I am needing his help now, and maybe I'm scowling because that is fucking annoying.
"Molotov, zdrasti." I give him a once-over. What's up with this one, if I can even tell? "How's the wing?" I nod at his arm, keeping my eyes on his eyes.
I grunt and lumber through the door - it's not exact dialect, but Hadden does this little things, to be making you feel at home in his presence. I know he is working me, but feels good to hear old words. "Zdrasti. Is simply put, arm fucked up."
It's been, what, fourty hours since I have been sleeping? I must look like total shit, which is okay, but I feel it too - blood stopped leaking long ago while I ran, but now is old and crusty, and people notice crazy der'mo has gone down when they see me. Maybe, too, I am shaking little bit from cold - is from cold, or fact that I am feeling cold?
I push these thoughts down. Who the fuck knows where Silica is, and if I'm getting any of those cubes soon.
"I need, ah, room for sleeping and maybe we talk little bit. Da?" Is bit awkward, Asshole Misty wide-eyed there, but I stare that bitch down anyway.
Backside Misty nods, "Thanks, Hadden, always such a good man, you are." She looks to you, Molotov, then looks down, breaking under your stare, asking, "I have a room or two, Molotov. IF you need it. One has a bed."
Molotov is a loaded pistol with a filed-down pin. Respect that bad boy and keep it pointed away. Not fear, respect. He looks more on edge than usual- that arm must hurt a bitch. "Sure thing, hombre. Misty, give him the one with the bed? I'll cover it. You're a peach."
Funny how the universe colludes with itself, I do this thing with Stalefish for her, Backside Misty gives Molotov a bed he needs maybe someone can look at his arm, he comes along for the next ride maybe a little happier. Hadden has a distant, small smile... almost avuncular.
I nod at Hadden to let him know I am being thankful and then this Misty woman, to let her know get the fuck on with it. My Opperator is smiling, like he is content with self, and I'm knowing this will mean favor for him in future. But this is okay. I've done business for Hadden many times in last year, and is always clean, good jobs where I am effective at what needs doing, none of this valjat' duraka, messing around.
I do not know how business is handled here in flats, needing key maybe? "One with bed. Also, needle and thread if having them, otherwise it's no problem," I inform Misty, stepping aside from door in case she is leading me out soon. There is unspoken rule in most places, especially Chi-town, but maybe I am little bit on edge or uncomfortable because I say, "I am not here, da?" And I'm looking at Misty because Hadden is not idiot.
Backside Misty'll move over to a small cabinet, oak and mismatched and nice but cracked, and fish out some red thread and a couple needles, hand them to you, Molotov. "Anything else?" It's a dismissal, but a meek one.
I would be saying, "Da, it is weakness the way she is talking, like, what is reason for not getting to point, and talking this way? Be full of self, or little shits will be taking advantage." But, I am standing here, bullet in shoulder. Maybe, is not always truth in what I have learnt. Maybe, is sometimes not time for shooting brains out when implied I am like rooster with knees on ground. Maybe, is sometimes good to be polite? Hngh. Da nyet, navernoe.
I'm licking lips, uncertain, and I'm so fucking tired that I take needle and thread and speak to this Asshole Misty, who is so close to me I can smell sweet perfume and see my shitty reflection in goggles on her head. "If only stories...is easy to pay, no need to bother friend Hadden." He gets nod, like, goodbye and thank you, again, but I got this, and forget that favor.
With my functioning arm, I motion door for her, and add because I am not sure she is type to understand, "I will tell story on way to flat, pay for this needle and thread and room with bed, da?"
Backside Misty smirks, and stands up to walk with you, waiting for Hadden to exit before locking up her caboose. She's tall, for a woman. What does she smell like, Molotov? It's something you don't actually hate, right?
"Tell me your story, big guy. Where did you come from?" She tilts her head to look up at you while walking.
Is everything all one level here in the tunnels, or do her flats take up a few sub-basement levels?
Hadden,
Where do you go? Up to see Stalefish?
Nyet, is not something I hate - the smell is fresh pine, coming from little plastic tree around her neck. She wears it as necklace. Maybe when door is closing, I'm seeing this, and it says all faded Car Fresh, and I'm seeing her tattoos and tits before turning attention forward, ignoring her. The pine trees around Mill kept me safe, when I was old enough to hide.
So I'm doing this, ignoring her, but that smell and her question and everything else crack me open like ribs of deer. "Eh. Is not special story. Just small place, full of psikhopatiya, ah ... psychopaths, like all places - far far way, to east. It was prison, back when sun was hot." This tone I'm using is showing boredom, to let her know I do not care, and I shrug too. I'm holding my shoulder as we walk, and fuck this pain, so maybe I'm slow.
This section of tunnel outside Misty's caboose is clean, few people, already claimed, not public for most. We're heading up some stairs, out of the tunnels, into the flats. This is only entrance, as above-ground doors are sealed shut - keep out cold, keep out fuckers.
"Is just another piece of shit clinging to life, and saying 'fuck you' to things standing in way, you know? Like I said, not special." And I stop talking, for now, because she's been listening so maybe, that is enough?
Whenever I head to these flats, I bring a little magazine or digest for Misty, just in case I need extra favor or special treatment. Clean sheets or a hot shower, first pick off the food basket... to ensure she'll forget someone. Not sure if I'll need the bribe, but always a good backup. I give a little reassuring head bobble to Molotov, I got this if you got hangups, but do whatcha wanna. "Misty peach, Imma talk with Molotov for a mo before Stalefish."
I can help with the stitch, maybe figure out how bad he is. I mean, he's walking, but looks a little pale. Motherfucker's got some pain tolerance, so maybe he also has two broken legs. I dunno.
Backside Misty is walking, looking up at you with those big eyes of hers, but maybe that's the mascara. It seems like that isn't enough story for her. "Prison?" she asks with genuine interest. "I've heard of gangs moving into prisons, for all the protection, and the canned food and shit. Why did you leave?"
Backside Misty gives you a nod, she waits for a moment so you can talk to Molotov.
"Molotov, you can use two more hands, I think. Plus I think you've got a story for to tell me?" Not trying to be a dick, I figure he's got something needs settling. I need to save the dickishness for Stalefish if things turn that way.
Plates, plates, spinning plates. I wonder what I can score off Stalefish? Maybe some righteous "tea" or one of those spicy peppers he breeds.
We're in stairwell now, alone, so I take few steps up to be more alone and I'm guessing Hadden is following. I shrug again, this time at him, for same reason, to seem not interested as I tell, "Is bit of problem." And secretly grateful to not be answering Asshole Misty's questions. But, they ring in ear like insect sucking blood.
"Got into bit of dispute, shot Carnation - you know him, is dick over on 47th, in Grease Park. He shot back, I was doing smart thing and ran." I make grimace, more shrugging, and bit of smile. "Okay, so not whole thing was smart, but I am living and not so bad."
"Any fight you can walk away from is a good one. Ain't no bad thing to want to live." I share the smile, thinking of the last time we had to run. I look at his arm, "How bad is it really?" in a low voice, not a whisper, pitched so's it's just us.
I think back to what I know about Carnation, his holdings, people, vices. He's a big nut to try and crack open. My eyes on Molotov's eyes, "Do we need to go after him before he comes after you?" What's Molotov holding back?
'Cheddar,' as people are calling him, shoots me two hard questions, and I'm leaning back as if falling little bit, but hit wall with shoulders. I know this will leave blood spot on wall, like scene of murder. "Nyet, not too bad, just bullet or two. A bottle of something hard to be drinking, some pliers, it'll be coming out..."
I cough, cannot be helping it, and wipe blood on hand's back. I'm re-gaining breath, and he's just looking at me, and Misty behind shoulder is looking like none of my business, but this is good story, and hurry up so I sigh.
"He will come, but where? You're knowing I carry everything and am not minding sleeping on ground, in tunnels most of time. So if this suka - " I lower my breath, and upnod the landlady, over Hadden's shoulder, " - is keeping shut, it will be okay."
"Pliers and some medium-cheap vodka I can do, menya droog. Also, a bed." I rummage in my go-bag, grab that copy of CatFancy Magazine, deliberately hand it to Backside Misty, not quite letting go just yet. I look at her, not blinking just yet. "Privacy, too."
Backside Misty nods, "You bet. I'd never rat, Hadden. You know that, right?" She pauses, looking at you hopefully. Then, "Unit 304 is open." She hands you a key to the old, rusty padlock, leaving you two to do your business.
What do you do?
Hngh. I look at backside of Misty as she leaves - not bad, maybe. Still question why you leave is ringing in my ears and maybe I am just thinking glad to avoid that, so glad I would fuck her till shutting up. Or, maybe just fuck her.
I'm looking back to Hadden, pushing off wall and nodding, as if saying, lead the way. I stumble little bit, but if he puts hand on me, he loses hand - this is what my face says.
I track Misty as she goes, I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave, then back to Molotov, we catch each other scoping out her caboose. We share a fleetingly honest grin of two guys, then up to the flat.
I can tell he don't want me to touch him, and maybe my arm raises a few inches, the offer there but ungiven. I help him in different way. His accent in my mind.
At the door, I keep the padlock so we can lock from the inside. The flat's okay, doesn't stink, there's a bed and an outlet and a small window- but it's night, so I pull the cord on the bare bulb. There's a chair and a battered card table, so we can do this thing.
"Let's see to this arm." I scratch a bit at my chin line, working up a list in my head. "Plus whatever else."
I sink onto mattress and springs make screeching like army of locusts. This bed was made before Winter; it is ancient, rusting, and smells like sweat of thousand men. It smells like cells of Mill.
For me, there is no home. I move, and take possessions everywhere; so is many bags carried on my shoulders, around waist - and Last Resort, most important weapon, on back. But I leave these, unzipping jacket little bit, and pulling down to reveal shoulder.
I do not look at bullet wound, but have seen many and it hurts, fuck does it hurt; violent red, bruised black, cracked with ice. "Just this," I'm letting Hadden know, without hint of pain, though maybe little bit because I am tired and he is okay guy. I would do this if not.
"Vodka, da?"
I take swig of vodka, and it burns down throat - for moment I am warm inside, forgetting many things. Keep it? I'm going to say nyet, and even start to shake head, but good thought comes to mind and I'm knowing where to put that bullet. "Heh. I am thinking somebody will be missing it, da?" I shrug. "I will return it."
A truck drives down beneath window behind me, and light is white because snow. I'm knowing this because, on shoulders, I have two eyes tattood, though maybe one is blind now. Maybe, also, I hear truck and light fills room.
"Any icedick can kill a man with a pistol, but it takes artistic skill to end a life with a slug." A quick tug and I have it, black and grey and red. It glints in the light of the truck's halogens, and I wonder who's coming. Could be anybody, could be nobody. My day is young, and I need to see to that loon Stalefish.
"Thread time, now." I find myself humming McEgg's song about a coal mine, it's catchy. The old moves come back after a stitch or two. Soon, maybe not fast enough, but not slow, the thread's holding Molotov together. I cock my head and look at it, guessing how tightly he's really holding himself. Fucking obvious metaphor is obvious. The cliche exists for a reason.
"Anything else I can do for you, Molotov?"
To me, feels like metal worm being evicted, biting and wriggling on way out. Not quick tug, but I'm zoning out to song about coal mine. I pour vodka over wound and little river of red run down chest, soaking jacket. What is coal? Is bad translation, meaning fish?
"Da," I'm saying to Hadden, standing there in front of bed - and I'm knowing this young man is busy man, but it's taking concentration to stay awake now as I take off bag and put magnum under new 'pillow' and store my prized bullet away. "Just, ah, keeping quiet for day, but then I'll slip off - you know? I'll use tunnels, stay low. Then...if someone is asking, come looking, is okay to, ah, say Molotov is here."
I'm looking up at Hadden, this man called 'Cheddar' who is sometimes good to me, and I shrug. "You lie, they find out, we are frozen together in shit creek with no paddle for digging out, da?" Maybe, I'm looking like sleep and death are equal options, with eyes holding big black bags.
"I can keep busy, never you mind. You, malchik, you need sleep and dreams of large women." I tap the side of my nose with a finger, and grin a little. I hold the padlock key up, brass and grubby, so it catches his fading mind, and pop it onto the card table with a sharp snap so's he can find it later. I take a little water from the 2-liter to get most the blood off my hands.
I fiddle the latch so I can padlock myself out but he can unlock from the inside, and get my act together.
"Do svidaniya", I am saying loud enough for Hadden as he leaves, though maybe I am mumbling little bit. I am on side, on bed, looking at door close when soon, like snap, sleep swallows me. What a fucked up day.