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[Snowpocalypse] Grease Park Survey (M 1.7)
To Molotov:
The next morning, you round up the still-sort-of-drunk and tired but really pretty damn happy crew that you took over to head to Grease Park. Most of them look scruffy and red-eyed, except for Never Summer, who is perfectly coiffed and groomed, tzir clothes unruffled. Tze gives you a nod of greeting.
As the crew mounts up in their four wheelers, Never Summer asks, "Molotov, I have the keys to the bike that was once Carnation's and is now yours. May I drive you to Grease Park?"
The next morning, you round up the still-sort-of-drunk and tired but really pretty damn happy crew that you took over to head to Grease Park. Most of them look scruffy and red-eyed, except for Never Summer, who is perfectly coiffed and groomed, tzir clothes unruffled. Tze gives you a nod of greeting.
As the crew mounts up in their four wheelers, Never Summer asks, "Molotov, I have the keys to the bike that was once Carnation's and is now yours. May I drive you to Grease Park?"
Comments
"Of course, vtoroy," I am telling my second, pulling out one of the cigarettes Roxy gave me. She wrote a private radio channel on back of the tin, in case I am having free time. I plan on having free time later this week. The cigarettes are freshly rolled. The tin is old and battered, made of silver or something. It goes in the breast pocket of my poncho.
I sit on my bike, but face backwards, like, back to back with Never Summer, and I am not worried about falling off because is too good of day for that. I am smoking, and watching sky, in case bird is flying past. Is clear sky and who knows?
"So, what should I be expecting, at Grease Park?" I bark over my shoulder.
Never Summer replies, "I returned last night to inform Carnation's family of his death and offer your terms, Molotov." Tze looks back over tzir shoulder at you, but you're facing away, so you only feel the shoulder movement, missing tzir look. "I expect a dozen will remain to serve the new order."
The bike motors on, slushing through what was once solid ice. "I am curious, Molotov." Never Summer says after a bit, "Will we continue our raiding as before? Where is the line of who should be respected and who is merely prey?"
I'm nodding along, this is all good to be knowing, and proves further that Never Summer was right choice for vtoroy. I do not answer tzir straight away, but turn a little so tze can hear me better, and start off with something on my mind, "A man wakes up one day, opens building door, and sun comes on. He closes building door, to go to sleep, sun goes off. Again, open door, and sun is shining. He tells wife, 'The world must be refrigerator.'"
I smile little bit at my joke, tap ash into the wind, and reply to tzir questions, "Is sad truth that world is like ice-cube in a blender. So, yes, we will continue to raid--but always giving choice first, letting them be smart and seeing we are stronger. If they are weak, or stupid, then we are not to be blamed, da?"
Never Summer titters polite laughter at the joke. Tze doesn't add to it. A curt nod of acceptance is tzir reaction to the ice-cube declaration. Perhaps this is what tze hoped for? Seems so.
You arrive at Grease Park. There's a new kid up in the harness, they're calling her Satchel. She opens the gate and you roll inside.
There are thugs standing around. It isn't some militaristic display of loyalty and precision, but yeah, there's maybe fifteen gangers hanging around when you get here. Bonk and the others followed you, of course.
Any big speeches in you? What do you do?
No, I don't have it in me. I am not a fan of this talking, talking, talking for no sake of it. They are all knowing what I am about, what I am planning this to be about. And they wouldn't be here if they were not being on-the-board. But, I do say hello, introduce myself individually, try to mark out who looks to be good with gun. I have vtoroy, but maybe I am needing tretiy.
Plus, maybe seeing new sniper-girl is having me a little deflated. I still don't know if my shot put Suitcase out of her misery, or if Carnation got to her. Under my poncho I'm holding my magnum firmly, idly stroking my fore-finger down its length, and am feeling a little more calm.
What're my new quarters like? I remember Carnation had, like, some sort of place he spoke down to me from. I am wanting to check those out.
Carnation's place is elevated, yes. It sits about twenty feet up, on a mass of concrete and crushed cars. It's accessible from a door behind the place where he spoke with you before. There's a freight elevator built into the center that takes you up to bedroom 3.
The porch is where he talked down to you. The Master Bedroom is nice, the rest of the place is part entertainment place for the troops, part meeting hall and storage. The kitchen is mostly functional, but needs more propane for the cooking element. It has a trickle of power from the batteries they run in series for most things here.
What is the first thing about the bathroom you're going to change?
I have a house. So, this takes a moment to be sinking in, and while it does I'm standing in the elevator. Never Summer shows me the boss-man room, which I'm see is good, like, this is best place I've ever slept and now I'll be sleeping here every night. And then the kitchen, the gathering room, so on. Okay, is all good so far.
Ah, but then we are getting to the bathroom, and simple matter-of-fact-inspection ends. This room is totally fucked up, even by my standards. I clutch my magnum tighter as I stare at...
Him. Well, it. I cannot tell, with face like train-wreck, and clothes that are more gore than cloth. It hangs by wrists attached to chains, above the bathtub, ankle deep in blood.
"Who is this?" I ask Never Summer, behind me, and try to keep voice calm.
"The spirit of victory himself," Never Summer answers, looking at the man hanging there. Unexpectedly, you see his ribs move, just slightly. Breathing. He's still alive.
Never Summer explains dispassionately, "This was Nike. He raped one of Carnation's cousins. A dear friend of mine." There are long, thin slices along his hamstrings and elbows. The cuts are clean, not jagged. Knowing violence as you do, you can probably guess that NS made those cuts.
What do you do?
I spend the little moments between seeing that breath taken, and hearing the man's crimes, in calm thought. Is this victory spirit strong enough to survive, or nyet? But, the word 'rape' has a funny effect on me. Is like squeezing and twisting of the heart, and I am thinking of Santa Cruz, and Roxy, and little fucked-up-on-ice Silicia, and thinking what if this man were to take them instead?
I suddenly do not care about strong or weak. So, I pull out magnum, and execute this poor bitch's son. Is about four feet distance, so blood is splashing back and I'm having to wipe it off. First, I clean the gun, then move onto my face with the hem of my poncho. And I am turning to tell NS, "You missed his throat, vtoroy. Is good to keep it clean."
And I shrug, like no big deal, like maybe I am meaning one of two things: this bathroom is a bloody mess, or do not torture for the sake of it. Is part of me that wants to make it clear what I want, make it an order, but other parts are knowing NS too well, and knowing tze would not be taking this order well. Tze is like rabid dog with frayed leash, or the Brothers back at the Mill.
You tell Never Summer to keep it clean and see that tze has a small, white silk cloth that tze is using to wipe tzir face, little droplets of blood from the spray. Never Summer doesn't look freaked out, just a teeny tiny bit annoyed to have been denied tzir slow revenge and also a bit more miffed to have ruined a cloth. But tze says not a word.
"I shall have this cleaned up," Never Summer says as tze prepares to leave. "Do you need anything, Molotov?"
I shake my head at tzir. "Nyet, Never Summer, I am going to examine my room, and then tomorrow, well, losing eight barter is problem that needs fixing." I don't want to say it, first day of being the boss, but my shoulder is burning like fire and Nike - yes, that dead animal behind me with no brains - is proof that I need load-of-fucking-sleep. I mean, that shot was what, an inch off mark, at four feet?
I guess last night with Roxy, though amazing, was bad for health. No shit, ey? So I'm off to redress my shoulder, polish guns with spit, and sleep. I trust my vtoroy with Grease Park business.
You've spent some time dressing wounds, polishing your stuff, even found a bite to eat in the cabinet before you head to the bed. That's when you hear the freight elevator coming up. It's a woman, in her late twenties, you've seen her in Grease Park before, she fashions their armor from tires and mends and makes clothes. Her name's Artec.
Here she is:
She waits on the elevator, not coming off it, looks real nervous, watching the floor. "Mister Molotoff. I needs to speak with ya. If ya got some time."
What do you do?
Ugh, what time is it? I get up, not putting on shirt, but pull magnum from under pillow of course. Artec is standing in the elevator, looking unsure of herself and weak. NS pointed her out earlier, so I suppose she's important around here.
"Da. What is it?" I ask her, leaning a little against the doorframe because my legs wake up last, not inviting her in at all.
Artec fidgets, but when she looks up at you, you see desperation in her eyes, "I'm here about my boy. He tole me he pissed ya off. He's just a little 'un, didn't mean harm. He's called Endeavor. Please don't hurts him. I'll do whatever ya wants. Just please forgives him, kay?"
I pinch my nose as Artec is still talking. Then I gesticulate with magnum, like extension of my body, which it is, and reply in even tone, "He is little shit, da. And you are doing whatever I want anyway, because you are Sparekey, so do not bother me. He is forgiven for being little shit. Okay?" I look up at her, and I do not sigh, but there is like, ghost-of-sigh and lack-of-caring all over my face, like could not give a fuck about this right now.
She nods, lets out a breath she was holding, "Thank you, Mister Molotoff! I'll be a great Sparekey for you. You needs anything, I'll takes care of ya!" She reaches over to hit the button to send the elevator back down, looking up at you the whole time, nervous and thankful.
Hrm. It feels little bit like getting good shot off, between the eyes. Is victory, da? Maybe, she is being liar and is not all okay, but I will deal with her if I have to. And though is strong possibility, I do not let that thought ruin little bit of pride in solving problem.
I do, however, make note of Endeavor as I collapse on my mattress, and slide the magnum under my pillow. Is time for him to stop being little shit, so I'll bring him on our scavenge run tomorrow. He is too young to not be grown up.