[Big Maul] On The Roof (C 1.6, J 1.7, SnS 1.2)

edited April 2014 in Big Maul
Cache and Jet Black,

You head through the back way up to the roof. What's it like up here? It's out in the air, but lucky you, The Breeze isn't flowing right now.

What's the most beautiful thing around here, Cache? Where did you make the most jingle, Jet Black?

As you're moving... where are you going, anyway? You see Sweet N Sour coming up the ladder.

Sweet N Sour,

You get up on the roof above AMC. Ever thrown anyone off of here? Hey, I'm curious, which one of Jet's dancers do you find most attractive? I know, pretty random, but inquiring minds and all.

Oh, and you spot Cache and Jet. They're on the other side of the roof, but if you huff it, you could probably catch them.

What do you do?


  • edited April 2014
    When we reach the roof I sit Cache down beside some large metal box. I'm reminded of the jinglebox, which I still haven't had a chance to inventory. I'm not even looking around. First things first. Cache must remain hidden until I find Sweet and figure out what the fuck is going on.

    Crouch beside zir. Hold zir hand. Tight.

    "Cache... Do you remember that night in KayCee when we went up on the roof of the New Rose Hotel? First time we made love? And how in the early morning of the next day, we watched the bats come home over the city, and there was this feeling, like a veil had been lifted off of every thing... Every thing was still the same, but suddenly every thing was sharper, clearer... And we both felt it happen at the exact same moment... Remember that feeling? I want you go there for me, right now."
  • Fuck no, I've never thrown anyone off here. I do my dirty work myself, and the sky... scares me. I don't like being on the tallest thing around - reminds me of something we saw once, riding around out in the Wilds - Lightning Rod, Shedd called it, said it was there to catch the electricity from the sky and keep it safe. She said that they had to have them, otherwise the lightning would hit houses and fuck 'em up, burn it down and fry everyone inside, sear the meat off their bones, like.
    Sounds like a crock of shit. But I still don't like being on top of buildings.

    As I'm crawling through the accumulated crap and sliding through the debris-choked hallways to the roof, for some idiot fucking reason, I'm thinking about Her. About Jane.
    What else do you call cold steel hiding in the middle of burning heat? She was a sword-dancer with hidden eyes. I'd never heard her speak. You're so far gone, you aren't even in love with her. Pathetic. I shake my head, the momentary pain behind my eye blotting out the whispers.

    Just before the door to the roof, I take a short breather. Now, let's go get some answers. For once, the Neon and I are agreeing. That probably means I'm about to gut someone.
  • There's a point between my face and the A/C unit in front of me, eyes wide and staring. Inert blades swirling slow in the Breeze. Jet's speaking, but cool air and secrets slide into my ears. I see the bats of back then, when everything wasn't nothing. Days of promises and promise.

    I feel blind back here, with just my eyes. I'm opening my mind again. The wind is howling behind my eyes.
  • edited April 2014
    (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 1, 5. Total: 8)
  • A flicker happens in zir eyes. I take that for an answer, hoping.

    "Stay right here, Cache. I'll be back for you soon."

    One last hand squeeze. Stand, turn to face the roof access door, which we left slightly ajar.
  • ... And that's the moment I come through that door, kicking it open. Violence beats fear.
    The expanse takes me aback, briefly. The sky! Sweet fucking neon, the sky is HUGE, scowling down at my like an angry bruise.
    But, of course, this is no time to be gawking. There's Jet, standing, like he knew I was coming. I'm fucking coming, alright. I stride across the rooftop, perfectly in step, because I can hear an army walking with me. I resist the urge to draw my Magnum. Soon.
    "Cache! I'm here for you, freakbody. I see you've got yourself cuddled up nice and tight to Mister Jet fucking Black, but I'm not here to deal with him, no. Get you the fuck out here under the sky and let's have a jaw, yeah?" I'm roaring like I'm shouting over a gale, but I can't feel any wind on my face. As I get closer I point at Jet with my right hand. "And as for you, Jet fucking Black, I've nothing to say to you in this, other than that you're a hard man to see, hiding away in rabbit holes as you do."
    If Jet doesn't move out of my way, quick-like, I'm going to bump into him, but there's no malice on my part - I want Cache, and only Cache.
  • edited April 2014
    Sweet has his moods but he knows me well enough to understand my loyalty to my gang - and I do still consider Cache part of my gang. Cache came the maul with me, and no one is closer in my circle of trust. What's making Sweet tick right now?

    Everybody eats, even that guy. +1 XP +1 Forward
  • (Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 1, 1. Total: 5)
  • edited April 2014
    Damn, I haven't heard anything lately. Been too busy fretting about the show, I have no idea what's driving Sweet these days. But I'm not moving out of his way.
  • As Jet Black is addressing you, Sweet N Sour, with Cache by his side, a bit of wind picks up, like a whisper. Jet, your hair moves with the air, lightly. It's refreshing for the briefest moment.

    Cache, you feel The Breeze, and in it, you see Hotopic and her assistant GNC, they're carrying Godiva's dead body outside, saying words over him, listening to their own dirges, then leaving the body. The Breeze has taken that body, Cache. You know it wants more bodies, Cache.

    But Jet and Sweet, your hands begin to quiver a little as the wind carries the sounds of the dread Breeze. Jet, you see Cache's face utterly calm, zir eyes open and smoke swirling inside the whites of them as ze looks upon the skyline. You've only got a few seconds to figure out what you're doing, or The Breeze will start to make moving difficult, could cause you to stumble, maybe fall. Nobody wants to fall off the roof, right?

    What's more, all three of you hear the sudden, sharp sounds of gunfire underneath you, somewhere in the Maul. Not the rarest of occurrences, but the reports are so close, overlapping, it's not at all good.

    What do you do?
  • edited April 2014
    I raise one index finger in the international symbol for hold on a second.

    "Sweet, you know the fuck stops here. If you've got a problem with me or mine, we discuss it like rational bizniz people. Tell me what's got you so worked up."

    Manipulate +1XP
  • (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 1, 5. Total: 8)
  • To clarify the space a bit, let's say this section of the roof looks like so:
  • edited May 2014
    Answering for Sweet N Sour until the player can resume.

    Sweet N Sour says quick, "Freakbody messed with one of my VKs! Fucked with his bike! That's a biiiig no no!" He takes another step forward, towards you both. But then The Breeze wafts in, and he falls to the ground, spasming and twitching, the neon side of his face pulsing in rhythm to the sound.

    Cache and Jet Black:

    You hear Sweet N Sour lay down his threats, then succumb to The Breeze. As if summoned, it comes in fast, faster than you've seen it in a long time. So fast you weren't prepared, Jet. Cache, because you did call to it, take a +1 Forward on the next roll.

    When you're caught out in The Breeze unprepared, roll +Cool.
    On a hit, you choose options. On a 7-9, choose two. On a 10+, choose three
    * You find shelter from the sound
    * You don't lose anything during the violent tremors and shakes
    * You don't take Harm from it
    * You aren't shaken from the experience (take -1 Ongoing)

    On a miss, none are true.
  • Too late, I think of the earplugs in my office, sitting on a shelf near my dressing mirror.

    (Rolled: 2d6. Rolls: 1, 2. Total: 3)
  • I smile, or the approximation I can manage these days. I feel the Breeze across my mind, and try to ride it out.

    (Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 5, 4. Total: 12)
  • ((I'm not harmed, I don't lose anything, I'm not shaken))
  • Let's roll Harm for Jet Black first.

    (Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 3, 3. Total: 7)
  • Cache, you know the tidal wave you've called, and brace for it with your mind. You're familiar with this torrent of emotion and chaos. You should be, right? But Jet Black beside you, he's a plastic bag being whipped around in a windstorm.

    Jet Black, this is the worst of it. You've been nipped by the Breeze, maybe even bitten once or twice, but being right at ground zero, there is nothing like it. You feel the sound tear at your mind, your body betrays you and you fall into a heap on the roof, fits taking away your control. You lose yourself for a while, Jet, drifting away, shaken loose from your core, floating into memory, or into pieces and fractions of memory.

    You lose Cache, in the storm. You lose your thoughts about the AMC, about the crew, all of them. Even the joy of your wondrous show, it's gone, evaporated. The people, they will return to you once the storm is over. But the satisfaction of the show, tonight's show, it's lost to The Breeze. Only an emptiness remains when you think of your efforts.

    The pair of you together in The Breeze, lost to it. Cache exalting, Jet being stripped bare. Left alone but together out on the roof until it finally passes.

    Hours have gone by, you think. It is nearly dawn. Sweet N Sour is gone. Only the two of you are here now.

    What do you do?
  • edited April 2014
    Fuck! is the only word I can think, and it echoes in my head for a long time until it eventually dawns on me that I'm staring at the sky. My body aches all over, but at least the spasms have stopped. My crotch is wet, cold. With an effort of will I look downward, my eyes slowly moving to take in Cache. I stare at zir face. That's all the movement I can muster.

    thinking coming back to me now

    something about the sky

    no the breeze

    Cache said what if the breeze is the hero

    but the breeze

    where am I?

    breeze not the hero

    no no NO

    the breeze is the

    front of the back?

    what was I thinking about?

    the breeze

    what effort to even remember



    but I know now

    Cache is the hero
  • Jet Black, you took 1 Harm AP.
  • Jet. Now he has a taste. There's a part of him gone, too. I can see it behind his eyes. I drop to him, gather him up in my arms, and push my way into his mind, pressing there, pushing past the aftershocks swirling in his mind, and plant a thought,

    In-Brain Puppet Strings vs Jet Black: Double check Mari's work on the books
  • edited April 2014
    "What?" I thought I heard Cache speak but no lips moved.

    I blink, refocus my eyes. "I gotta double check Mari's work on the books."

    With a little help I'm able to stand again. Hang onto Cache's arm as the ground beneath me levels out. Look around as we move toward the roof access door, and then down the stairs to the ladder. Memories are falling back into place randomly, like solitaire cards finding their positions one by one.

    "Hey, wasn't Sweet right here a minute ago? He was..."

    "I had the weirdest dream, Cache - he was trying to kill you."

    "What were we doing on the roof?"
  • Alright, Cache, let's see how you plant those strings.
  • (Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 1, 5. Total: 9)
  • Hold 1 vs Jet
  • Cache, how do your strings work? What does Jet Black feel? What does he know?
  • ((When it happens, there's a definite sensation of something squirming in your head. I'd say it's like a tick, but there's a definite feeling of an electrical charge coursing through your head. Afterward, there's disorientation, and a definite, abiding desire to do the thing I've inserted.))
  • "Let's get you downstairs."

    Slip my arm under Jet's shoulders, walk him toward the exit, "You good to use the ladder, or what?"
  • edited April 2014
    "Yeah, just..." gesturing back at my unanswered questions.

    I gotta check the books. We go down the ladder.
  • Both of you make your way off the roof, down to the AMC proper. Fall is sitting at the base of the ladder, in a chair. The sound of the hatch opening wakes him, and he waits below for you to come down, fussing over each of you to make it safely down the ladder. "We were so worried! The Breeze was crazy out there. I was going out for you, but then the Violence Kings were still stirring up shit. Then, we were taking folks to Walgreens and we had an OD, too. I fell asleep waiting. Are you two alright?"
  • edited April 2014
    Processing this information. I do recall hearing gunshots somewhere beneath me. I gotta check on my crew. And drag in the jinglebox. I have no idea what suddenly made me decide to do this audit, but I have a weird hunch and an obsessive nagging desire to check it. It's driving me to get to the office. Now.

    "Come with us, Fall."

    Back to the office. "Come on in. Sit anywhere." Pull out the big ANSFORMERS notebook Mari kept our tallies in. I find that focusing on the math helps me get my head together. I'm speaking numbers out loud as I total up the columns. Mari had a weird system of ranking jingle into categories with a letter and a numeric score from 1 to 3. It takes a little time to read.

    "Plus two G1's, so that's 12 and 5 and 6... Plus one S1 so that's 12 and 5 and 7..."

    When I've gone through all the columns and subtracted the troupe cuts and overhead, I'm left with a positive number. A pretty big one. 3 and 4 and 2. I do it all again. Same total. So I open the floor safe. Every time I do this, I remember how Cache and I had spent six whole days trying sequential combinations until we got that fucker open. There's nothing in it except a bunch of earplugs and Franc's prize possession, a CD of something called "Throbbing Gristle" with a signature scrawled on it: "Genesis P-Orridge".

    "According to the books, we're supposed to have over three barters worth of shit in the safe right now. But I haven't even counted the jinglebox from last night, so that's still upstairs, and as you can see..." gesturing toward the hole in the floor, "we got nothin' in here."

    I look at Cache, then at Fall. "Mari's bloodstream, doubtless. Well, that's over." Stand up and begin to change. Glad I hadn't changed out of the Osama pants before the breeze hit me, they're pretty pissy now. Take em off. I pour some water on an old T-shirt and use it to wash myself. Choose a few items of clothing, throw them on, put my face together. "We'll see how tight she is with the crew now, once they find out we've all been living on stale bread for a month while she's been partying with the profits."

    Speaking of which, next up: Check the crew. Find out what happened last night. And grab the jinglebox, of course.
  • As Jet starts cleaning, I take the opportunity to slip out quietly. When Jet checked the books, there was a definite shift between us. A release of tension. I whisper, but there's no connection. I'd need to shove my way in, and I don't have any need to hurt him like that.

    Time to see how far I can stretch this. Time to head to the projection floor, and Mari's collection.
  • You lost three members of the AMC crew to the VKs last night. You know Fall , Nan and Mari are still around. Who died at the end of a sword? Who took a crossbow bolt to the eye? Who bled out on Walgreen's floor?

    The rest are all huddled together, licking their wounds and sleeping together like puppies. Rose is up, practicing her act on one of the prep stages. Smoothie King and Durex are in the audience watching.

    Coming Soon tells you that Hottopic came by looking for GNC, and Playboy is upstairs in the cutting room looking for Burrito King.
  • edited April 2014
    Jules, Jackbird, and Boardi, in that order.

    I go mingle with the cast, get info from everyone who's awake, rub shoulders, wipe away tears, assure everyone we'll be alright.

    "Thanks, Coming. You're in a good location here, you get to hear everything that goes on." Slap a piece of jingle on the counter. Piecing together everything I've heard and suspected.

    Everybody eats, even that guy. +1XP
  • (Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 2, 1. Total: 6)
  • edited April 2014
    Nope. Still clueless. And without a choreographer. And no stage tech at all.

    Go get the jinglebox. Time for more math.
  • Alright Jet Black, you go get the jinglebox. You notice there are new tags on the walls of the AMC, VK signs. The jinglebox wasn't stolen, and you made two jingle last night. That isn't enough for the crew to live on for long, even with the recent reduction in staff. You lost five members in one day, Jet. Five! Ever lost that many before?

    Cache, you know Mari is up there waiting. And if Playboy is there with her, that could be bad.

    What do you do?
  • edited April 2014
    A full house for our monthly extravaganza, standing room only, and two jingle in the box. This makes about as much sense as Mari's books.

    Five lost in one day. Same number we lost in Tucson when we were firebombed by the Sadisticats, absolutely unstable motherfuckers with baseball caps and clown makeup.

    I remember waking up to the explosion, the screaming, and Dawnna's pretty face melting from the heat of the flames.

    There has got to be a way. Find some kind of Art in this. Salvage something.

    But then, why? For whom?

    I stand there for a very, very long time.
  • Jet Black, Fall asks, "Jet... you okay?" His voice shows more worry than genuine personal concern. The losses of the last day have him a little freaked out.
  • Cache, please go here.

    --END SCENE--
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