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[Snowpocalypse] Precariously Placed (S 1.1)
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...
Silica,
It's a warm day outside, actually... nice? Are you still taking the ice cubes? You haven't been "home" in a while, have you? What's "home" like? Why did you leave?
You're walking across the frozen tundra that was once the track for the El, which is a nice straightaway path from place to place about twenty feet above the street. Why is it wise to avoid the street? Why is it crazy to walk on the El track?
Where are you going, Silica? Is Wonky still with you, or did you lose him back at the Station?
The nights haven't changed, though; black ice and refreezing have been causing lots of problems...
Silica,
It's a warm day outside, actually... nice? Are you still taking the ice cubes? You haven't been "home" in a while, have you? What's "home" like? Why did you leave?
You're walking across the frozen tundra that was once the track for the El, which is a nice straightaway path from place to place about twenty feet above the street. Why is it wise to avoid the street? Why is it crazy to walk on the El track?
Where are you going, Silica? Is Wonky still with you, or did you lose him back at the Station?
Comments
Nice? Fucking hot. It's hard enough inside people's fucking homes where they have a fire lit or some damn stove going to keep ther junk from freezing while they fuck, but this? My leather jacket hangs limp from a hand at my side, brushing up against my leg as I walk along the El.
I'm careful where I put my feet, the ice is melted underneath and cracks with each step, on a good day it's treacherous up here but today it's slippery as hell. I don't give a shit, I'm up here cause I don't want to run into those fuckers down on the street, running around outside like this heat is a fucking miracle.
Just hope Frontside and his fucking snipers are taking the day off, too. They pick people off in the street and then go scavenge the bodies. They don't shoot at people who've paid protection, but I'm not one of them. Fuck them. You need to move carefully down on the street, but if they're out today then I'm a sitting duck up here and I'm keeping my eyes open. Just counting on them being out of business... too many people outside today. No way they'd be first on site of a kill.
I stop for a second to see if Wonky is still following me, and take the opportunity to pop another ice packet in my mouth, spitting out the spent paper from the last one. Ice cubes... I crush them up and keep them in paper, slow release so I can suck on it all day, keep the chill going.
He's still back there tailing me on his sled like a lost puppy. I wonder what he told the gang he's doing. I laugh to myself and shake my head. He's one of the biggest guys at the station... does he still want me? I've seen the man kill with his bare hands but he still hasn't grown balls enough to say a word to my face. At least the sound of the sled should keep the snipers away.
Where am I going? It's so fucking miserable out that I can hardly think. Somewhere shady, some underground dive where I can get a drink and a piece of meat and get out of the damn sun.
You head on further down the El. There's a dilapidated station ahead, stairs to the ground, awning up top, some shade. Not much.
By the way, this is Wonky:
You catch the glint of light from a rooftop a block to your right. Probably one of the snipes. Probably. What happened the last time you were shot at, Silica?
What do you do?
I don't get shot at very often, I'm usually aware enough to avoid the open on those days where the air feels dangerous. But damn, I'm so uncomfortable in this heat, and Wonky following me this far is starting make me worry. What's on his mind? And I really didn't expect the snipers to out today. I'd be a waste of a kill with the sled following me.
Last time I got shot at I was down in the street by myself in the dark of night. I wandered too close to one of the lights and cast a shadow half a block long. The bullet hit the concrete, sprayed me with painful flecks of stone and ice. I can still find the mark if I look for it.
The ice takes the bad feeling away. I'm myself on ice, I can't imagine being any other way. It slows down the world around me just a tiny bit, like... an edge, right? I use it different, just slowly trickle it through my body pretty much all the time. The few choppers and hard asses who use ice will pop a cube only on the coldest of days, and then only when they ride. A few get hooked but almost nobody can keep in supply.
I don't need the drug so mach as I am it. My skin is cool to the touch almost like a dead thing. Blue stains between my teeth and shows through my fingernails. My breath never shows in the cold like everyone else's.
I take a sharp breath as I see the light, expecting to hear the shot. These snipers don't fuck around and I'm in the open.
"I'm not alone!" I shout, quickly searching for the best way down from here and to cover, "you're wasting a bullet!"
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 3, 2. Total: 6)
Thwip and your leg goes numb, then burns with pain. It gives out, just gives up on you, quitting it's leg job and falling. Which, of course, takes the rest of you with it.
From underneath almost, definitely the street, Brrrip Brrrrip is the retort of an SMG, firing right under you, loud as hell, bouncing back and forth between the shells of the buildings here.
From your vantage point, on the icy El, you glance over to see brick spray and ice explode near the roof of the sniper's spot. He, or she, or it, drops down.
"Back the fuck off! I'll murderlize you!" you hear it below. It's Wonky, he must have figured out how to talk!
There's a pause in the action now. That sniper might pop up any time, you don't hear anything more from Wonky, like he's not moving up the stairs or anything.
What do you do?
(FYI 3-Harm coming, you take 2. I'll roll harm next post)
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 3, 6. Total: 11)
"You fucking prick!" I shout as I fall, crying out as I hit the icy iron, sliding desperately to find cover. Wonky's after the bastard... I still need to get down from here. Yeah, there's got to be snow, especially on the shaded side of the street. I can drop down, back first, into the snow... I pull myself towards the edge, trying not to think of the pain in my leg... I don't think it's broken but he messed me up.
It's a long way down, and with the heat, even the thick snow drifts are slushy, and some fifteen feet down. Fuck this is going to hurt.
Of course, the sniper could be setting up for a second shot. Wonky keeps firing on the same place, you know. Good news is that if the sniper is greedy, he'll probably shoot Wonky first. So there's that.
You've got a few breaths. Drop down to the ground or crawl to the stairs?
(Rolled: 2d6. Rolls: 1, 1. Total: 2)
What do you do?
I lay in the snow for a couple seconds, my leg burns and the sound of Wonky's shouting and gunfire makes me wince. It's hard to get myself focused again as everything seems far away.
I try to bend my leg, to test whether I can move, can i even walk? How the hell am I going to get out of here? I take a sharp breath as the pain shoots through my leg, I decide.
"Wonky!" I shout. My voice cracks, "fuck that guy! You get me out of here and I won't forget it!" I sound more desperate than I hoped, I'm losing my cool here.
I shove a handful of snow over the wound, I don't know if it helps but it feels better.
Do you let him pick you up into his arms? That's what it looks like he's gonna do, carry you like some dying new wife over the threshold.
Who fixes up folks who are allergic to bullets around here?
The tears in my eyes are real as he looms over me and I reach up to him. Yes, hell yes he can pick me up.
Wonky is strong, taller than I expected. He smells of gunpowder and leather and something... is it gasoline? I cling to him as he lifts me, wrapping my arms around his chest. I dropped my leather jacket somewhere, is it up on the tracks? I'm just in my shirt and jeans, and probably feel like nothing for him to lift.
"It hurts like hell... did'ja get him?" I press against him, I just want him to get me out of here.
I've never been hurt this bad, I don't even know who can fix me up. There's Nedd, that old barber in town, he pulls teeth and sews up cuts and shit. Dice's gang probably knows somewhere better but that's where I'd go... if I'd even go.
Its a weird sensation, being carried. Your leg is still tingling and hurting, but the floating would be nice, if it didn't make you feel a little woozy. He stops by the bike, then throws a leg over, still holding you against his chest. He revs the engine, then takes off, riding down the street, choosing snow drifts and pushing the engine hot. He's headed to Nedd's, you can tell that much.
Over the noise of the engine, he shout-asks, "Did the bullet pass through? I don't wanna cut it out, but if you're gonna bleed out, I have to!"
Wonky isn't normally angry, he's just out there... loud and full of opinions. Talks too much, you'd say. Mouths off, you'd say. But I guess he knows his shit.
Wow... I nearly slept and his shouting startles me. "I don't fucking know!" I shout over the engine, reaching down to gingerly rub my leg, which is draped over his thigh with my calf hanging down. I can feel the wound, it's wet through the fabric of my jeans and it hurts like... I suck hard on the paper packet in my mouth, giving myself a dose of ice. Shit.
I pull my hand back and look at the blood on my hand which sparkles weirdly in the light. I reach up and wrap that hand around his collarbone to touch his neck...
...and tag him with the tiny injector I wear on one of the rings of my hand. He probably won't even feel it... the pinpricks set tiny little droplets of my own blood just under his skin.
Tagging someone gives you +1hold if you then use a brainer move on them.
Up ahead is Nedd's you know it. A barber doesn't have a place on his own, right? In some bullshit commercial district or something? Where's he set up shop?
What are you worried about going into there, Silica?
Each patch of ice makes it hurt, I hold on, pressing my head against his chest. Feigning sleep, or maybe really sleeping for a few seconds at a time.
What don't I fear at Nedd's? He sets up his van here or there around town, only moving occasionally. Always parked among the miners and scavengers who make up most of his cilents, all men who probably fucking hate iceheads like me. Nedd may even refuse to see me for all I know... I just know it's the place I've seen the losers of a fight dragged to get stitched up. And my life is going to be in his hands?
I feel Wonky's body heat through his clothes, especially where I hold him and I look up at his face. Can I trust this man? This is the last place I expected to be today... riding in Wonky's arms right into town.
Not knowing if I can trust him, I talk to him, "you ever been shot?" I ask, calling out over the drone of the engine.
There's a line for Nedd. "Get the fuck outta my way, you toothless old bastards, this girl's hurt bad!"
They don't budge. Some woman in her forties named Arbor says, "That's some frozen little bitch, she don't get cuts." Wonky's eyes narrow and he's probably going to make a fuss.
What do you do?
"I don't trust anyone to mark me," I answer as we roll to a stop. Maybe I'll see more of his tats some day. Probably will.
As we approach, I squirm out of his grasp to stand on my own. l slide down to the cold pavement, landing on my good foot. The other hurts like a bitch and I hiss through my teeth at the pain, I hold onto his jacket, unable to really put my weight on that leg.
I pull at him to keep him back, "no, they don't give a shit... Wonky, just fuck 'em... I can wait," but I already feel light-headed and I'm putting more of my weight on his arm. I'm avoiding looking at the injury too closely but I can feel the blood even around my ankle.
I stare at that woman Arbor though and I can't keep myself from saying something, "I don't need cuts, Bitch, gettin' your ass shaved is fucking urgent."
Parting like the Red Sea or whatever later, and he's lifting you into the van. Nedd's an old grisly cuss, and he wears dingy whites to make him look all official, but yeah, dentist. His implements need cleaning almost as badly as his ears.
"One jingle and I'll bandage it. Includes removal of foreign object, if needed," he says in a lispy tone.
Wonky doesn't have any jingle, or at least he's making that WTF face.
What do you do?
He clears the way like some fucking hero, I need one.
Finally I climb up into the van, the tip of my shoe slipping off the edge a couple of times until Wonky has to help me up.
He demands jingle... of course he does. I reach into a pocket and pull out a handful of little paper squares, "all I got is this..." Ice, most of it prepared for my personal use, though I have a few good sized cubes, too.
It's not all I have, not quite... and I don't want to part with it.
I open my hand slowly, to show what I have.
"Please man... I'm really messed up."
If not, roll a Manipulate, Silica.
His expression doesn't really change, he's not impressed. What a day.
"Come on man, I aint got much left," I consider giving him a cube. The good stuff, right from the source, too. But I'm going to need it. I don't think I'll be too light on my feet for a while.
Instead I slide the ice packs back into my pocket and reach into the back of my jeans and withdraw my small 9mm pistol, "will you take this? It works... got nine or ten rounds. It's worth enough right?"
I don't offer him the silencer, which is in a hip pocket. The gun should be enough.
Wonky looks at him with hard eyes, and the guy breaks, raising his hands defensively, "Fine. I'll knock you out then."
Do you let him knock you out, Silica?
Knock me out? Knock me out here?
I look at the table of sharp tools sitting in the steaming hot water, the blood on the floor and walls... and ceiling? I didn't want this to happen...
"Ok... " I reach out to Wonky, holding him by the collar and lookin at his face, "you won't let anything happen to me... right?"
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 3, 2. Total: 7)
xp(1)
He looks over at Nedd, who is impatiently waiting. Outside, you hear someone call up, "Yo, my toof is fucken broke here! Hurry da fukup!"
Then, looking almost annoyed. Or wait, embarrassed maybe? "Yeah, I got you. Just, you know... fuck it. Yeah, I won't let nothing happen." He looks up at Nedd, gives him a stare, like being angry at Nedd is preferable.
I look at Wonky. I don't know how my life ended up in his hands... I was fucking stupid outside today, that's how. But I have to trust him just this one time.
As Need gives me the drug, I finally let Wonky lower me to the table or whatever, and say, "I don't care where I wake up..." I give him a serious look, he should understand what I mean, if he needs to take me out of here it's ok. His place, the back of a sled, whatever.
You float off the table and drift into unconsciousness. You think for a moment, in that haze, that Wonky sweaty palm is held against yours, like an anchor. Then, you go where he can't. To a brief bit of oblivion.
--END SCENE--