[Big Maul] Pain Hangover (SnS 1.3)

edited April 2014 in Big Maul
Sweet N Sour,

You wake up in Shedd's arms. She's not kissing you, she's clothed. You're not in your normal comfy spot. Well, er, you're never comfy when you sleep, right? Shedd must've brought you back to the Food Court, then held you down while you slept. Right now, you're lying on her, like she's your pillow, her arms around you, your head against her breasts. You recognize her hands, with those scars on her knuckles from working on bikes, a few from fights, too. You smell her hair, smells like lavender, the one girlie thing about her.

What dreams did The Breeze bring you, Sweet N Sour?

When you move, she slips back, giving you your space. You notice real quick that the area around Shedd's left eye is a little swollen, like somebody punched her. Maybe it was you, in your sleep. Your whole body aches. Your gang is nearby, but they aren't close. Shedd's barely awake, she may have stayed up all night watching you.

What do you do?


  • edited April 2014
    The Breeze blew me dreams, yes.

    I'm floating on the centerline of a dark path, heading farther than I can see. Buildings rise on both side, jagged and framed with Neon. Figures walk jerkily by on all sides, coal-eyed and clothed in ripped meat, their claws scraping the stained concrete. I see gutters full of chrome mixed with blood, swirling with patterns I can't read.
    Lying near and in these gutters like broken dolls are people. I can't see their faces, everything keeps swimming and out of focus, but I know them. They're the Violence Kings, my boys and girls. And they're dead, all of them, still screaming, because of me.
    I'm ghosting forward, the bodies and the gutters blurring, and I'm leaving them behind. Why am I leaving them? I can't leave them, they need me. They need me to keep them together, they depend on me.
    But I'm leaving them anyway. I'm blurring forward, the Neon streaking in the sides of my vision, and I can see someone ahead of me. She's made of chrome, and she's dancing, Neon pumping through her instead of blood.
    I don't see the sword in her hands until she buries it in the side of my skull.

    I snap my right eye open. I don't want to see inside my head again after that. My left eye is crusted shut with blood, and I feel a small trail of it beneath my nose. The left side of my head feels like it did after the shock, pinpoint fires everywhere under the skin, nails and needles all over, burning hot. I cough, wetly. I've been swallowing blood all night.
    But in spite of all the pain, in spite of the catastrophe burning in my memory, I can still snatch a memory of Shedd's skin against mine, and the smell of lavender.
    I twitch, hard, and sit up, coughing again, and bite my tongue. "Agh. Fuck. Where... Shit. Did twisted fuckstick scramble my brains, or what, I fall off the roof?"

    ((Some musical accompaniment - ))
  • "Dunno what Cache did to ya before I came up there after you, but all three of you were under The Breeze. I drug you off and left them up there." Shedd replies with leaden words, tired. She didn't sleep much last night, if at all. "Pickles lipped off to Jules, then Bacon drew on one of the dancers, and Rockport took a couple slugs. It was a good fight. Those bitches are tougher than they look."
  • edited April 2014
    Good on ye, Shedd. I put my head between my knees head, trying to stop the leaking feeling behind my left eye. Her words gradually register. Pickles. It's his fucking fault we were there at all. Going to have to deal with that. I spit again. I'm feeling like I wrestled a Tunnel Thing, but I can't rest, not today. Bacon drew? I smile. She's a crunchy one, she is. I stand, slowly.
    Wait, Rockport?
    How's... Rockport? Did he make it? I already know the answer, but Shedd's near-drugged silence tells me she saw him die, and it was not fast or pretty.
    Rockport was a good kid, and he was a kid. Not even old enough for me to give him a gun, but old enough to be sneaking looks at Bacon when he thought she wasn't looking. He was cute, especially when he tried to be serious. When you gave him a taser-sword, man, he got some us fit to burst with how serious he was.
    I turn to the nearby metal wall - it's the side of an old walk-in freezer, we store jingle and serious weapons in there - and stare at my vague reflection. Heat is mounting in my chest. He's dead. Because of Pickles, and his twice-dammed, idiot, retard, worthless excuse for a dogfood-eating cock-brain. I'm not shouting. Not now. I punch the freezer wall, hard. Then again. And again. As I'm raising my fist for a fourth time, I freeze. Something's blowing in my brain. It's saying something I remember.
    It's all your fault. All of it.
    I freeze, and Shedd tentatively moves forward. Sweet...? You, uh... You just sort of drifted off there-- I snap around, raising my finger, and she steps back again, almost tripping, as she sees me, frozen smile on my face again, knuckles bloody.
    Shedd. Don't worry. I know what I need to do.
    I kick the door open and walk out of the kitchen area, moving fast, vaulting the counter and letting my feet knock some random crap onto the ground with a clatter. I stand there, the blood pumping in my head, and crack my neck. Shedd is coming up behind me, I can hear her stop at the counter.
    I stare out across the Violence Kings, carefully, studiously arrayed in a conspicuously casual pattern across the area in front of the old And Exess place. Hello, you royal bunch of Violent Bastards. I'm smiling broadly, like the sun. Who would like to point me in the direction of Mister Pickles? Nobody instantly raises a hand, but I didn't expect them to. Or, failing that... Encourage him to stand before me. We have an unfinished conversation.
    Pickles may not like the topic we will be discussing.

    ((I could Pack Alpha, but I think they'd be in the mood to please me after last night... Besides, I will definitely need to roll that soon enough.))
  • Before you jumped in on the gang, they were sitting around, reliving the fight from the night before. Most of them stand up, some wary of you, others excited in hopes of more action.

    You demand Pickles, and he steps out from behind Slice. Pickles says, "Yo man, you missed it, but I chopped the everlivin' fuck out of that blondie bitch who talked shit to you, man! Yer fucken welcome!" He grins for the group, leering at Bacon for a moment, then back to you. The rest of the VKs mutter and laugh at that. You can feel their mood, they are proud of mixing it up and coming out on top. They gave more than they got, even if Rocky is dead for it.
  • Yeah, that's right. I missed it. You definitely chopped the shit outta someone, Pickles. I look him up and down, keep my arms loose. And got away clean, too. I see not everyone else did. I cast my eyes around the gang, count how many are limping, how many are drunk, how many are high. So you got one, Pickles. Excuse me. Two. I hold up two fingers, drawing his eyes high.
    Pickles is momentarily confused. Two? I only shanked that dumb bitch, did I clip someone else? He's almost smiling, looking around, playing the big man.
    I keep my fingers up. Yeah, Pickles. You killed Rockport. And you got... One, two, three, four, five, shit... At least five others hurt. Not counting whoever else you stabbed or shot.
    His expression curdles. Hey, man, what? I didn't do nothing, he just... he was just slow, is all. He stood right out there like a flick hero, man, and they just fuckin' plugged him. He looks around, getting some quiet agreement. We god-damm gave it to them for that, though, huh?
    And Pickles, why was he there? Why was Rockport at the AMC? Why were you at the AMC? Why were any of us there at all? Pickles is shifting uncomfortably. Because of you. You were the reason we were there. You were the reason that 'dumb bitch' got shanked, the reason Bacon shot someone, the reason who knows how many other AMC groupies got hurt, and the reason half of us are limping or bleeding right now. You're also the reason Rockport is never going to make eyes at Bacon ever again, the reason none of us will ever get to laugh at how dumb he looked trying to be intimidating, and the reason we'll never see him grow up into the King we all wanted him to be.
    I see his face begin to crumple, his eyes leaving mine, sliding sideways.
    And you're also the reason Shedd had to haul my ass off the roof after Jet FUCKING Black and the pet twist tried to sleepwalk me up there.
    Everyone is quiet, now. Sleepwalking someone is serious, it's worse than murder. You really hope your target doesn't survive his encounter with the Breeze, because it's open season if he does.
    I let the silence stretch.
    So, Pickles. What's that make you worth to me? To any of us?
    A single tear escapes the corner of his eye.
    I've had enough. I cross the distance between us in two strides and bury my machete in his stomach, aiming upward.
    It makes you my enemy.
  • ((Seize by Force or just roll Harm?))
  • ((neither. You don't roll Harm on NPCs, they just have armor and eat the rest. He's dead.))

    Pickles didn't see it coming, did he? He reaches a hand up, too late, and you jam the machete home. His eyes wide, he holds onto your forearm for a moment, trying to push it out of his body. I assume you comply, pulling it free. He falls to the ground, that look of shock still on his face. He groans in pain, bloody hand slapping the floor.

    Shedd's near you. She barks, "For Rockport!" Then she raises a boot and stomps on Pickles head. Other VKs come over, kicking him, too. He writhes feebly, then dies.

    The gang looks to you, wondering what's next.

    What do you do?
  • I'm still reveling in the kill.
    A hot wave goes through my body, making me weak at the knees, vibrating like a string. I'm staring up through the skylight, squinting into the red sun, and I can feel my skull pulsing, little electric fires on the left, a dull thumping on the right.
    It's over too soon.
    I come back down, and kneel by the body, sawing the head off, brandishing it by the hair. The before-timers would have called this an object lesson. I shake the head, flinging blood around. This is the fucking object. Would anyone care to take a...stab... at the lesson? Before anyone can answer, I keep going. The lesson is don't drag anyone else into your own fucking idiot problems. If you do, and they suffer for it, expect to eat the same. I lower the head. Violence Kings don't stick our necks out for free. Too many crazies with knives out there to do you, gratis.
    I toe the body. Seems we need to make the rounds afar, again.
    I turn to Shedd. I'm going to see Hottopic, see what might be needed or wanted when we make the rounds. I stop, examining her face. Unless there's else you might want?
  • edited May 2014
    Shedd looks at you for a moment, not sure what the question means. She shakes her head, making a decision on it finally, "Go ahead boss. I'll get these idiots in line, take care of the body, all that."
  • --END SCENE--
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