[Snowpocalypse] Regroup and Reassess (M 2.4)

Rich

Molotov,

Your smaller group meets up with Never Summer, the rest of the gang and your few non-combatants in the frozen sewer tunnels by Hall Library.

Never Summer comes out to meet you, tzir standing in between you the unknown and the remainder of the Sparekeys. Tzir looks slightly disheveled, patters of blood on one lens of the glasses, more blood dripping from the sword, which sits naked in tzir hands. Still calm, but tzir was in a scrap. Right leg is bleeding, looks like a bullet wound.

"Ah, master," Never Summer says, straightening. "At best count, we believe ten Cs are dead in the smoldering remains of what they wished to take from us." The voice is defiant, a bit proud.

Behind NS are Artec, Endeavor, Bonk and the rest. They're all carrying stuff, probably all they could pack up and carry.

What do you do?

Kaillan

From Molotov:

What reason is there for Never Summer to feel defiant? There're only Sparekeys here, and the first one to accuse tzir of making a mistake gets shot. Tze did a good job. And if a mistake was made, it was mine.

I pull Never Summer aside, after small greetings and commiserations with survivors of Grease Park, and begin with solemn reply, "Good. We've fucked them up. But, that is first punch. We have choice now. We. And I want to know how you feel." Maybe, my jaw is itchy, or I need the slight pause to think of the right words. Then, "You advised a strike against them. I said nyet, thinking we would have time — we did not, but now we might. How would it go down?"

The cold has a presence here. It isn't just the ice. It's the damp darkness of the situation, here underground, hiding, bleeding. Never Summer can probably sense the urgency in my voice. It isn't quite desperation; we're not broken. But, there's a hint of fervor underlying my monotone and crisply punctuated words.

Rich

To Molotov:

Your question, asking Never Summer about tzir feelings, that strikes tzir. Never Summer's calm mask slips and tze swallows once. "I... I." Tze pauses, looking at you closer, moving a half step closer.

"We should destroy their armory. It would break their hold on Chi-Town. They would be left with nothing more than numbers." Never Summer offers this in an almost seductive tone. "They are making powerful enemies by the day over this generator of theirs."

Then, Never Summer's eyes flash. Inspiration crosses tzir face. "If we returned the generator, like a trojan horse. We could destroy their Field, master!"

Kaillan

From Molotov

I don't want to crush that hopeful look, but, "If we returned something we do not have. Nyet vtoroy. I want to fuck these guys up as much as you, for Grease Park, for blaming us for their own inability to keep their shit together. But, two things we do not have are beds and a generator, and if we're looking for only one of those things, I know which one to pick."

So, beds. I'm preferring soft ones, with warmth, and nearby food. I've been in Chi-town long enough to know there're two options, and after the Pier...

I pat Never Summer on the shoulder and then call out to the Sparekeys, "Okay. We're heading to Asshole Misty's. We've got a hell of a story to be telling. Let's hope it's enough, da."

Rich

To Molotov:

Never Summer's flash of excitement fades with reality and tze nods agreement. The lot of you pack up what you have left. With Bonk leading the way, you head to Backside Misty's.

------------------

Let's skip ahead to your arrival at Misty's.

She's in her little caboose, sipping some tea from a hot pot, and thumbing through some old magazines she recently got hold of from a tenant. As usual, she's alone. Who goes up to see her? Just you, a select few members of the crew, everyone, what?

Kaillan

From Molotov:

It's Never Summer, Artec and I entering Misty's caboose. The other Sparekeys linger outside, and you know, around. On the way, through the tunnels, Never Summer told me the story of 'the Grease Park's Suicide.' I bring tzir because vtoroy, and for parts of the story I might not have been told. Artec is here to make sure we get what our families are needing.

"Misty, we need to have a talk," I begin curtly, no knock. It's cramped in here.

Rich

To Molotov:

Misty looks up at you over her cup of tea, finishes her sip. "Sure, Molotov darling. Have a seat." She rises to pull out a few more cups, starts pouring tea for everyone.

"Artec, darling, do you want a sugar? Never, do you?" She offers sugar, then brings cups to each of you and heads back to her high-backed chair and sits.

Never Summer stays by the door, Artec is near you.

Kaillan

From Molotov:

Artec sits, of course. The two women sit near one another. I stay standing, and stare into the black mirror of coffee. I wonder if she guessed how I took it?

"Sparekeys are looking for rooms, is quite a few, for... the next couple of months, maybe more," I'm shrugging my shoulders and making that gesture like, I don't quite know right now.

I take a sip. It's strong. Then I look up to Misty and finish, "What is offer for this?"

Rich

To Molotov:

Misty chews on the inside of her cheek and looks at you, Molotov, worry on her face. "So Molotov, my feed's breaking down something fierce. I've got places you can sleep... but right now, I'm not s'pose to string out any more juice. So, if you and yours can make do with just space, and I can get a port-o-let up there. And if you'll give me a few Sparekeys to work some odd jobs, I can front you eight rooms for a jingle a month. Fair?"

Kaillan

From Molotov:

Well, at least Misty didn't take this gennie Cs have lost. It's a pity that fuel-generator we were using back in Grease Park is currently shrapnel, lodged inside who-knows-how-many dead bodies.

I give Artec a look that is like, will this be enough for us? I feel out of my depth, looking after people. Personally, I'm okay with a jingle for a month. That squash outside Roxy's gave us enough for a few months of breathing room. And I want my Sparekeys working, doing it tough. Life is tough. If you are asking, I might be saying Grease Park made them a little bit soft. It was nice, but still.

"Da," I am saying, assuming Artec doesn't object, "And what about food?"

Rich

To Molotov:

Misty licks her lips, "I'm sure we can make an arrangement on top of housing for a bit more jingle."

Artec nods a little, Molotov, like she thinks she can work with this. But Never Summer says, "Master, we need to resume our activities aboveground to continue bringing in jingle for the Sparekeys. We aren't laborers, or artisans. We are a gang. We raid. We pillage."

Kaillan

From Molotov:

"Da," I say and it's enough to stop the onslaught of words. I know what the Sparekeys are. To Misty, with a slightly raised eyebrow, which is a lot considering who raises it, "Is there anything like that, maybe, you are needing done? It's hard times; people are not getting by on being useful. Maybe, perhaps you are not so safe? Cs? Soldjas?"

Rich

To Molotov:

Misty gives you a bit of a look, like she's not sure what's up. "Aren't you running protection for Roxy? That sounds like a pretty big job." She's not saying no, mind you.

Artec offers, "We've got runners we wouldn't need if we stop raiding. They could work here, for you, Misty." She makes a no thanks face, like has might have plenty of that.

Rich

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