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[Snowpocalypse] Skip and a Jump to 47th (M 1.2, R 1.2)
Ross,
All masked up, you're on 47th street waiting for Molotov. Where does he "find" you?
Molotov,
You see several of Carnation's Boys in and out of the rows of houses here. 47th Street is not a safe place. But in short order, you spot the masked Ross.
What do you do?
All masked up, you're on 47th street waiting for Molotov. Where does he "find" you?
Molotov,
You see several of Carnation's Boys in and out of the rows of houses here. 47th Street is not a safe place. But in short order, you spot the masked Ross.
What do you do?
Comments
(Shot of the area)
Ross and I, we are similar. I think this as I approach, seeing him concealed by concrete and a minor flurry of snow, seeing nothing but scarves and tinted goggles, concealed even in plain sight. You wouldn't see it coming, when we snap, but that is point - give nothing. And thinking all this, I decide to pull out the magnum.
"Ross," I say, but maybe it is pointless, as he knows I've seen him. Then, maybe it is polite. I'm still approaching, and I'm not hiding the gun, but my face is blank.
"Nyet," I grunt with a shake of the head. He's calm. He and I - see? Similar. He could be good-for-nothin'-snitch and still be calm. Not many people but this guy. I find a place against the beam easy, but no leaning back. I put weight on nothing but feet. But I do cross arms, and the magnum dangles.
"Word is out. Maybe," I say slowly, "J-Tear had to shut up. Wanted jingle, gave bullet. Said Under-the-lake would be told - could not have that. I have friends in Under-the-lake." I'm glancing around, casually, maybe this house over here interests me? It does not. I am looking for eavesdroppers. I am looking for exit routes.
"You have friends Under-the-lake," I add, looking back, in case he misses point. I do not know this truth, but probably. Is okay to tell this lie. Who doesn't have friends Under-the-lake?
I stay crouched down, stoically staring off down the road, and nod. "Well that's bad news," I finally answer quietly, "do we have to plug a hole?"
He is not looking at me, but what does one scarf matter to other? He is whole pile of them with hands, for killing, like broken machine who has taste for blood who strangles master, like is shown in moving pictures flashed on walls for kicks. I've been seeing them, sometimes, and this is who he is reminding me of - broken machine. But, maybe I am like moving pictures, flashing self on him.
I was broken machine, once. I was born broken machine, but then she was fixing me. The only woman worth her feet.
I'm not responding, and he shifts against beam - for warmth, or noticing? I fill silence with, "Who knew, Ross? Us. Your blyadischa, that girl back at the house? I met her. She was stubborn, but loose lips. She pointed me here. You slip something in ear, while slipping something in trousers? J-Tear knew, but did he whisper like singing birdie, to Carnation?"
This is casual talk, like nothing wrong, but magnum no longer dangles. And this is respect that keeps me from asking word unspoken in air, like snow, "Why are you here, Ross?"
Then a thought occurs to me... If J-Tear did learn about what Molotov and I did, then it's possible he's putting feelers out. What if Carnation let slip this little shipment in hopes to lure me out... Shit. I look up at Molotov again, quiet for a second as I consider the implications of that. I stand up. "If Carnation knows what we did, then I'd rather settle that score now than have it hang over my head..." I probably missed the shipment anyway... "Should we go pay him a visit?"
He laughs and tells me to leave that door suka alone. Hah. What is he thinking, I would plug her like with bullet, or be taking for myself? I'm thinking about this for little while, while he shifts, because why not - nice face, strong, maybe bit of bitch turns me on. It has been long enough, da?
But then Ross speaks truth and I cannot be thinking with pants. Is lure or no, Carnation needs dealt with. And I say this, "Da. Now you are thinking like I am thinking."
I unwrap my arms, embracing more chill, and silently curse that Silica suka for holding out on me. And I gesture with magnum out into street. I am being polite and he knows way better than me and it is not smart to go with potential gryaznyye krysy at your back.
Carnation sets up jobs for jingle. But does he do anything else? What's his day-to-day like? Where do you go see him?
That is sweet spot Carnation found on 47th, so he knew spoils rolling in soon. And this is truth, rolling in on four wheels, sometimes two, sometimes skis. So he found nearby parking lot - and rest is history, everybody know. Is called Grease Park.
The walls are three, maybe four cars high, doors welded shut. You can see rifle eye peering through upper windows. Is obvious if looking. He's got a storage container set up as a gate, lets the whole side drop to the ground - zdrastvooyte, hello, you have ramp. Is like, I don't know, okay, old castle? Hard to get in. Hard to get out.
There's a lookout, some teenage gal named Suitcase. She's got a fucked up leg... how'd that happen, Ross? Anyways, she's up in a harness, looking down. She's strung up on a crane, so it's pretty sweet, she can "fly" around to the tops of the different stacks of cars.
Why does she like you so much, Molotov?
She calls down, "Molly! Ross! You two want in, or stopping by?"
Not my bag.
Anyway, I look up at Suitcase and call back, "We need to talk to Carnation." Poor girl... I was here drinking out of my mask a few months back, and she told me about how she was lined up to marry one of Carnation's younger brothers — until a Jeep Grand Cherokee they piled on top of an old Buick toppled over and crushed her leg... It soured the deal pretty quick, and Carnation offered her the lookout position to make up for it...
I guess it's not a bad way to spend your life, I guess, if you don't mind seeing the same shit every fucking day. She said they keep her fed and all that... I'd get bored as hell up there.
Okay, that rifle through window, up there on third car, next to gate? So I mention it, then dismiss it, and Suitcase is being the why. You know, is hard, fucked up, world, with weak people and strong people and people who survive. Is easy to not be recognizing second thing and last thing are same thing.
I'm getting lost in the thought, but Suitcase, she is survivor, and I give her that weapon up there, with scope, because she is great shot and she had jingle - some might say not enough to pay for weapon, but she knows to keep mouth shut and smile. And that is why rifle is dismissed - if something were to be shot at this gate, Suitcase would be shooter.
I smile back and nod. Is strong girl, knees never touched the ground, never knelt to nobody, and too good for Carnation by half. If I had crane for her...
But, I lose smile soon. Ross is talking for us. And like Brothers in Mill said, "You smile too long and Winter will keep it there." I feel chill, and is not time for smiles.
There is, as always, the huge sound of pneumatic pistons working and the "gate" opens up. A couple of Carnation's guys come walking up. They don't pat you guys down, that would be "rude". They're armed with machine guns, armored much like you, Molotov, with stuff made from tires and hand-cut leather and thongs tying it together. When you come to meet Carnation, he has four other guys hanging around the lot, keeping an eye on things.
You end up at the section of the lot clear, just you guys and the broken asphalt, cracked and showing wear from recently melting. There's a bigass trailer here, stacked up on iron girders and mashed up cars. Carnation walks out onto a porch, he's about twenty feet above you. He looks down over a railing. "Molotov. Ross. You need work? Why are you here?"
What do you do?
I make note of six, and Suitcase, in some little part of brain that is ready for bullets hitting fan. Is constant sense of nothing wrong here from all the surprise and greetings and, I guess, is short-staffed here today, like we aren't expecting trouble, okay?
I take it slow. "Carnation. You're seeing J-Tear, recently?" This is what I am working on: if reaction, magnum, if not, we search bunk or car or what he sleeps in. We find evidence, and fuck off. Is looking like Carnation knows shit and this is good for us.
My hoodie is up. My angel cannot see this, is good for me. My Last Resort is on back, which is comforting weight. But my hands, they are in pockets of snow-jacket. Is cold as fuck so this is normal, I'm thinking - but I've also got magnum.
He looks down at both of you a little harder, moments stretch. "That it?"
(Rolled: 2d6. Rolls: 1, 2. Total: 3)
"Nyet. Is not like that," I say and I'm half sure, but I do not know what FTD means. "This J, he is promising me jingle and is time for pay up. I've done business here before, you know, I'm okay, da?" I do this thing, head shrug, like, da nyet, navernoe. Is meaning: yes, no, maybe.
I'm looking up at him, sort of smiling now, with teeth like - here are my teeth, mudak, asshole. "We're thinking, ah, good friend Carnation, he is knowing his boys pay when they promise, so maybe he's letting us go take a look in J's car, da? Where he sleeps?"
But, what am I expecting? What does J-Tear have, to prove it was us that were blowing up those fishing tunnels and killing those men, and Carnation is being smug little shit but not knowing anything, I do not think. And I do not think I care, I do not think I've cared all day, with my gun in my hand.
You peer at Carnation, and you know what? You just can't get anything off the guy. Good thing this aint poker, am I right? However, he gets a look at you...
Answer me some questions:
- How can Carnation get you to join his extended family?
- What are your intentions here, with Carnation?
- What are you really feeling?
I don't feel good right now... I feel boxed in, and anxious about Carnation's dismissive reply. All I want to do is find out what J-Tear told this fucker — if anything — about what Mol and I did. If he tries to box me in, I intend to get violent.
As for how to get me into Carnation's extended family? Ha! ... Blackmail? Not that it'd work for very long. You'd have to hang something huge over my head to keep me nailed down here for very long — especially as one of Carnation's brothers' little dolls.
... I don't want to settle down. I want to move the fuck around, and stick guns in the faces of idiots who think they own me, and leave fucking nothing behind when I leave. Shit just dries up and dies out here in the cold of winter anyway... If he wants me to join his stupid fucking family, he should show me a member of his family that likes leaving this little castle of his and causing some mayhem.
"What did J-Tear do for you, Molotov? What does he owe you for? You suck him off, big guy?" Some of the guys near you chuckle at that. "Nah... he's more into little guys, like you, Ross. Izzat what you're after? Jingle for sex?" He sneers.
"You aren't going to pick through his stuff. Fuck off and get out." Carnation says, then looks to Mindy, his big brute of a grunt-thug, "Escort these guys out of the lot."
What do you do?
I tut, which is nice to do - is like, this guy is baby, and oops what has he done, and I look away from that asshole as he spits words in my face. So I see asphalt, and this place is a dump, grease everywhere, and my hand slips out and the magnum's pointing at a crack in the ground beside my foot.
"Six, plus the asshole," that part of my brain whispers, and I'm like okay. It's business. Maybe Ross has my back. Maybe it's eight.
And I lift my gun to blow Carnation's brains out.
Tell you what, Molotov. Why don't you Act Under Fire here? If you get a full hit, deal your damage to Carnation. You were just that quick.
If you don't, then either all hell broke loose or something.
(Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 1, 4. Total: 8)
The place erupts. These guys had you in a crossfire, and they just open up, bullets spraying like wild in your general area. It is chaotic and hellish, the retort of all these guns. It bounces all around the cars and the brick buildings.
Ross, you're doing crowd control, with a shotgun. Two guys are close enough to each eat buckshot and fall.
Since it's six, this isn't a gang. They're a 3-Harm (well armed), 1-Armor group of thugs.
Each of you take 3-Harm, reduced to 1-Harm by your armor. I'll roll Harm in next post.
The four remaining gangers are taking cover, you've got a second to breathe after that explosion of violence. You hear boots as more are running your way.
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 6, 4. Total: 11)
Harm to Molotov:
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 6, 5. Total: 12)
So, you're in a wide open spot of lot, more guys coming.
What do you do?
It's been a long fucking time since I've been shot, and I was not looking forward to that! We've got to get the fuck out of dodge, yesterday! I slap Mol on the shoulder twice to signal we're bolting, crack my shotgun, pop in two more shells, and make a push for the door — shooting, punching, kicking, screaming... Hell if I didn't have this fucking mask on, I'd be biting and spitting too.
As I charge, I scream, "OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY!"
There is moment where silence shatters like glass, and Carnation is running, with brains inside his skull. And then my gut drops, hitting like - bullets, flashes, everywhere.
A part of me is speaking simple maths in Russian, like, six is more than two you fucking durak oyobuk, how did we get here? But other part is shouting with mouth, "I will kill you for speaking those words! I will making you kneel, fucking BITCH!"
Ross is smart, gives tap on shoulder that speaks over deafening sounds of guns. I slip Last Resort off back, in other hand and pull trigger at the enemy while moving. I still say more things, but they are same things as before, more-or-less, and I have done this backwards dance too many times to stay still as I curse.
(Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 4, 4. Total: 11)
(Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 1, 2. Total: 6)
When you come around the last corner, there's a fucker just waiting for you. Molotov, you duck under the bigass pipe he swings at your head, and Ross, you're just far enough back that he has to try and get you on a backswing.
Ross, you're trying to bring up your shotty, but you just unloaded it on Santa Cruz when he bit your arm a second ago. Poor fuckers brains are still dripping off your nice sleeve, too.
So yeah, big pipe fucker, name's Smith, his pipe clangs into the side panel of a rusted van, and he switches grip...
But before he gets you, he jerks back, like someone goosed him. You see, like in slow mo, he looks down, sees the bright red hole in his chest, then looks at you with this look of "how the fuck did you shoot me?!?!" and falls. The bullet, by the way, the one that killed him, it's stuck in your coat or armor or whatever, because it came from behind him.
Up top.
Suitcase shot him. She swings around and slams the console button right as you guys are heading towards it. Molotov, you're in front, Ross coming up from behind. Molotov, you end up mowing down a couple luckless sons-of-bitches on your way out. But you saw what Suitcase did. You know she just threw her life away if anyone else did.
Someone probably did.
But there's the open space, the street, the way out, back to 47th and whatever the hell else aint the Lot.
How? Why? She is up there like angel with my old gun and that smile I don't deserve and a look like, "Get yourself the fuck out of here."
And my mouth is raw, wet a little with blood. If she were my girl and she did this to me, I would cut her useless ankles and tattoo goat on forehead to tell world - this girl is lying bitch. But, she is not, that is not my crane, and Carnation will be doing this to her instead. Not with tattoo, the way Brothers taught me at Mill, the Russian way, but what is difference?
So, I know what I must do. I lower Last Resort, I lift magnum at Suitcase and pull trigger, then turn to 47th and run. Wherever. I feel like numb tongue, with nothing left to say.
...
Fuck it. I've got holes to patch. I'm going to run as far and fast as my legs will fucking take me, and I'm sure as shit not heading back to my old house.
Where do you two end up? Same place? Different places?
Where does a body hide around here?
Once we've put some distance between us and Carnation's crew, I'm gone... Like, not a word, no stopping gone.
I'm heading straight for the scrapers. I have a nice hidey-hole in one of the old apartment buildings not too far away that'll suit me for a few days...
Fuck... I'm going to miss that wood burning stove...
We are two, both running for this moment, and engines roaring in distance, cracked lights illuminating the ugly that is Chi-town. But, it is covered in snow and ice, as if saying, "Sorry for that."
Ross has this plan, even if plan is only not that way, which is where I am going - maybe through alleyways, or freight tunnels, but eventually to Hadden's flat, near Asshole Misty or whatever she is being called.
I see tinted glass for eyes, and then Ross is turning. I am feeling nothing - though, maybe bit of gratitude, maybe bit of guilt. So I call out, "It is fucked up world, Ross. We are just living in it."
I let the drifting snow consume him.
Please go here.
Please go here.