Mina tags you, alright. She's got Weapon-2, which cancels out your Armor-2, so you just took 2 Stress of physical damage. (Mark off the 2-Stress box on your sheet.)
The bullets slam into your shoulder, knocking you against the window. Given that you're on an upper floor, that impact isn't enough to send you through. The ball's in your court.
I pull out the hangglider with one hand while firing at the glass with my Ingram. "Hate to disappoint you, pretty lady!" I'll kick the cracked window and jump out.
As hot, dry air rushes into the window, you push out into the night. Mina launches into an aerial move that looks like a cartwheel with no hands, both guns firing in repeated sequence. Five, six, seven, eight shots, trying to track you as you begin to fall.
This might be crazy, but I'm going to spend 2 Fate Points here. I'm doing a very Street Samurai thing here, and also, I wouldn't be in half this mess if I wasn't fighting my simsense addiction. That gets me to a 5.
One of the bullets grazes your cheek, making a burning line that just barely misses your eye before it passes on to tumble to the ground. You maintain your composure and start going through the steps to deploy the hang glider in mid-air. You've got about seven seconds to get it open and catch an updraft.
Let's see an Athletics roll here. The 'glider is perfectly designed, but you are currently accelerating toward the ground at 32 feet per second squared, so I'm calling this a difficulty of Great (+4).
Too late to call for a do-over so I try to focus on Nizoni's instructions, push out everything else. I think I cut off my comm transmitter so they can't hear me scream a little.
You don't actually manage to turn off your transmitter, so the whole team hears your screams until you finally (as in four seconds later) get the wings out. You find an updraft and use your body to steer toward the target area. Mat is remotely piloting a hover-drone located just beyond the M-T compound's perimeter, and manages to scoop you up on the hook, ending with a soft landing on the roof of the warehouse your team has been using as HQ and comms center.
Nizoni
Nizoni is on the roof to meet you. She helps unstrap you from the gear. "You okay there, big guy? Sounded like you didn't have much fun."
"Heh, you heard that?" I say, knowing she did. I guess they all did. "It was all fun and games until I was shot twice and had to jump out of a seventieth story window without getting the hangglider ready. It was... intense." I meet her eyes, "And scary as all hell."
I shrug, which hurts a little. "I thought you'd say that, Niz. This is why I like having you on the team. To do this crazy drek while I shoot things."
I hug Malin back. That was a little unexpected, but she's excitable that way. To Lindo, "Of course." I carefully pull the device from my little pack, still wrapped in the silk, hand it to him.
Lindo pulls a pair of white silk gloves before accepting the package from you. He lays it on a table and pulls back the covering, revealing a wooden aulos, which looks like conjoined-twin flutes, each with a double-reed mouthpiece.
Lindo's eyes literally light up, and the room is briefly bathed in a buttery warm, Mediterranean light for a moment. Everyone gasps, as if understanding some key secret of the universe for the very first time.
A shadowy image of a woman dressed in a Hellenic dress and carrying the very instrument that lies on the table appears before you. "What tune shall I play for you, little one? Music carries many secrets..."
I immediately think of Circe. Is he dead? Who did I see on the street after my jog? It wasn't him, I know. Did he die happy? What did he leave unfinished?
The figure looks at you with sad eyes, then starts to play this. Flashes of memory and vision pass through your mind.
Circe, fists pumping triumphantly, after your first really big run, when the payday comes and he realizes he can finally upgrade his deck.
Andy in high school, getting beat up by a bunch of jocks. You stepped in, of course, and he wouldn't speak to you for weeks afterwards, of course.
A warehouse in flames. Circe takes a single bullet from an Aztechnology sniper and his chest explodes, showering you with gore. By the time you eliminate the threat, you cannot get back to his body through the fire.
Andy on Graduation Day, sipping from a flask of rotgut throughout the entire fragging ceremony and waiting for the moment afterwards when the principal would discover that your little clique of outcasts had found a way to get his car onto the roof of the gym, during the ceremony.
Circe, ordering a cup of coffee at Vaso's. There's one of those holo-tank event calendars (old skool) on the counter, displaying an ad for some thrash-dance concert. Date is two weeks ago, just before you left for Hong Kong.
A coffin hotel that could be anywhere. Circe lying in the tiny cell, eyes wide open. An icon appears, shuddering like an unremastered silent film from the early TwenCen. Just as he acknowledges it, a "Title Card" appears with one word on it. 'Flikker.'
The visions pass, and you can focus on reality again. Lindo is beaming, almost radiant. Mat seems stoic, and Malin has a look of confusion.
Nizoni weeps. Gasping, ugly, sobbing kind of weeping.
I put a hand on Nizoni's shoulder, a simple touch, comforting without being invasive. She won't accept it, I'm certain. But I have to offer.
Is Circe alive? Is Circe Flikker? Are these memories, or are some of them now? Maybe Circe taught Flikker? I don't... I'm even more confused than before.
The strangest thing happens when you touch Nizoni's shoulder, Jubilex. She reaches up with the opposite hand and grabs yours, holding it for a few seconds before releasing it with a squeeze. She scrubs both eyes with the backs of her hands and after a few more seconds she settles herself.
Mat and Lindo are both trying not to stare at what passes for a spectacle in Nizoni-world, while Malin is looking on with real concern. She seems about to say something.
If I can catch Malin's eye, I'll subtly shake my head no. I don't imagine Niz will be very receptive to her right now. I could be wrong. Don't expect I am, though.
You do manage to catch Malin's eye, almost too late.
Malin
"Is every..." She notices your look. "...one ready to leave?" Then she starts improvising. "Man, those tacos earlier were awesome, weren't they? Tacos at home were always ground-up soy and... whatever that sauce is. Yuck."
How did you get to LA, Jubilex? Rather a short hop for Motown to offer the SST.
So... 2200 miles between here and there, give or take, crossing several borders. How are you getting back to the good ol' PRD? And who's coming with you?
After the call from Diego, I realize I should get back sooner rather than later. I'll hop on a jet, apologize to Mat. "Team, while I was in there, Diego called. Samhain is roughing up some people in the barrio, taking their stuff. I need to get back. Mat and Malin, why don't you two drive, Lindo and Niz, you can fly back with me."
Lindo hops to immediately. You know that he cares about some people in the barrio as much as you do about the whole, but he's got a whole extended (widely extended) family to care about, as well, so he doesn't always take the risks that you do. Nizoni seems glad to have something to focus on. She's still recovering from whatever Euterpe showed her.
Lindo
As Lindo rewraps the aulos, he asks, "Who carries the macguffin? Mat or us?"
Malin
"I should be able to help, as long as I'm awake. Uncle Mat, I'm going to need some serious carbs, and soon." Niz gives a sharp look at that... Circe was usually all about the caffeine... but seems to let it go.
"I'll keep it." I answer. Then I look over at Mat, "You and Malin can have some calm bonding time." I offer a smirk. Then I'm pulling out my pocket secretary to book a flight. Of course, I think of Gwen, but we're flying commercial. UGh. Commercial.
Mat returns your smirk with an innocent smile. "We'll try not to get in too much trouble, Jube."
It's still the middle of the night, but there is a direct flight leaving LAX for Detroit at 6 AM, which gives you a few hours. Anything you want to do in the interim?
Some first aid would be awesome. I'm not sure if I've bled on the carpet.
I'm getting a hotel and getting some sleep, laying low. If I get a chance to chat with Nizoni alone, I will. I imagine she'll need to process whatever happened. I know I do.
Lindo helps patch you up, and the three of you that are flying head to a by-the-hour coffin hotel to catch a few Z's before your flight. Lying there in your little cell, you can't help but remember the vision you had, but exhaustion and Lindo's anti-pain concoction ensure that you do fall asleep. When your alarm wakes you, the pain has subsided to a dull ache, and you have just enough time to grab a cup of soycaf and a breakfast burrito on the way to the airport.
Just before you board, Diego contacts you again. "I know you're out of town, but I thought you'd want to know. They've hit two more buildings, and Lone Star is still doing nothing. I've got a bunch of people from the barrio itching for a fight, but we're not exactly armed or disciplined."
The three of you are in different spots on the plane. Nizoni upgraded to First Class (really?), and left the "big bag" with Mat, as well, but you feel confident that she's got resources that will make it through airport security. Lindo's actually mostly legal, usually, unless he's got a specific reason to carry contraband.
The woman next to you is a talker, and apparently a bit nervous, but you eventually manage to drift off in mid-sentence. "So, she said, the likelihood of dying in a plane crash is only..." You get another few hours of fitful sleep along the way, but are definitely not fully rested when you touch down in Detroit.
I let the nervous lady prattle on, doze off on her. I'll never see her again, thankfully.
When we hit the ground, I check in with Mat and Malin first, as we're waiting for luggage - Lindo's luggage. Niz and I only had carry-ons. Tazi to the barrio, straight to Diego's market.
Mat gives you the update. "We decided to get some actual sleep, and a decent breakfast. Might stop by Yosemite or the Grand Canyon on the way back, what do you think? Hey, do you think the 'World's Largest Rubber Band Ball' is still at that place outside Des Moines?"
You catch a taxi straight to the bodega. Diego greets you with a glum face. "It's bad, ese. Hope you'll have a strategy."
"Grand Canyon is a must see. I doubt the ball's there anymore." I answer Mat. I hope they have fun.
As I arrive at Diego's, I head in, over to the cooler with drinks, grab a Yoohoo. I pop the top, take a drink of it and walk back to lean on the counter. "I know where they live, or at least where their clubhouse is." I take another drink, "I'll scrounge up the Los Lobos, then I'll go have a chat with their leader with them backing me up.... at least, that's the plan." I pull out my credstick to pay for my drink.
Did Niz and Lindo head home? I sort of insisted they should.
Short answer? No. Neither Nizoni nor Lindo "head home." Lindo is invested, asking about some of 'his' people, and Nizoni is simply itching for a fight, to clear her mind. They're behind you.
Before you get a chance to fill yourself in on the situation, Grbek pushes through the door. "They're not stopp... oh, Jubilex, you're back! It's war, man."
Oh thank all the gods. Grbek's dander is up? That's bad in that it means drek has gone down, but good in that he's involved. I'm worried and excited. I offer him a hand, "Good to see you again. Just got back in town, came right here. Three buildings were shaken down? Where are the fraggers now? Around, or back in their hidey hole across the river?"
Grbek shakes his head. "Not three. Not anymore. They're moving block to block, hitting the places they know are weakest. Have to have someone in the barrio tipping them off. They're up at that old building on Dragoon, near Fort Street, now. About a dozen and a half of 'em, all armed to the teeth."
Don Gobbi answer himself, surprisingly. "Benicio, come va?" ["How's it going?"] Before you can respond, he continues. "Actually, I know how it's going. You were wise to call me. How can I help?"
I imagine our lines are secure, but just in case, I use a bit of a code, "There are about twenty visitors at a building on Dragoon, near Fort Street. Four of my friends are going with me to escort them out of the barrio. I was hoping you could send a few friends to help us with the meeting."
"Si. I can do this thing. I'll send The Twins and a few others." There's something almost wistful in his tone, like he's wishing he could get out and mix things up himself.
"The visitors are unruly at the moment, so we're headed over directly. I appreciate your assistance, Mister Gobbi." I end the conversation, then get everyone headed over to rumble with these fragging Samhain.
The plan is for me to walk up and chat with them, Marcus Wellby and Diego and the Twins. Grbek is fire support.
That's a great plan, Jubilex, but you know the thing about plans, right? As you start walking those dozen blocks or so, Variska joins you, falling in next to Lindo with a nod. Jingzhen from 4Play is next, dressed in next to nothing other than her tattoos but carrying a monofilament katana, with a bandolier of shuriken slung over her shoulder. Vince from Second Chance and Larina, the dwarf that runs the Pawn Shop, are next. About a dozen of Los Lobos fall in, too, including Trapper, riding their bikes slow behind you. I'd guess the biggest surprise, though, might be Kenzo. He's in his usual working clothes and carrying the big ladle that he dishes out ramen with. Oddly, that ladle looks dangerous.
The last to join are The Twins and a trio of humans in track suits, all looking ready to mix it up.
When you get to the corner Grbek mentioned, there are a bunch of people—residents of this fairly sorry building, you'd guess—standing around. Old, young, families. Also, far more than 20 metahumans wearing Samhain Crew gang insignia. Let's say three dozen, give or take. As you arrive, two orks come out of the building with laundry baskets full of electronics and jewelry, start dumping it into the back of a big van.
I walk up to the orks, but I'm looking for one of the gang who looks in charge. I'll say to the lot of them, "Hello, gentlemen," I talk loudly for them all, but I'm not shouting. "You're new to the barrio. I wanted to let you know we're the neighborhood watch. We'd like for all of you to leave, and never come back."
Lindo and Diego should be ushering the poor folks from the tenement out of harm's way. There's going to be some harm.
I'm looking for Trivelin, but I doubt he'll be here.
The two orks give you a grin. Both of them have a tusk snapped off partway down, one on the left and one on the right. They snap into form, ready to engage. "Frag the neighborhood watch. Amateurs."
As it happens, Trivelin is also here. A platinum-haired elf with a high mohawk. He's about ten yards away, aiming a crossbow at you, and looks as if he's cool as a cucumber despite the heat, mugginess, and situation. You're certain he's in full communication with his gang members, and he's clearly marked you as the one person that can direct your ad-hoc "Neighborhood Watch" effectively.
I lock eyes with Trivelin, "Trivelin, I figure you've got pressure up top to do this, that you're ready to lose a few of these guys to get a point across. But I want you to know I've got a sniper on you right now, and the moment this goes down.... your head goes splat."
There's plenty of noise and motion, so you can't be sure that Trivelin hears you, but he definitely gives you a predatory grin. The two orks move in to take a shot as he finishes taking aim. You know Grbek is on a roof nearby, and you've got all the varied backup you can imagine.
A crossbow bolt is headed for your face, two orks are about to unleash on you with their nail-studded baseball bat clubs, and there's about three dozen other ne'er do wells ready to frag drek up. You, on the other hand, have a mixed bunch of gangers, retired runners, persons of unknown experience, mobsters, your own team, and (of course) you. You've never coordinated this makeshift gang before, but it's clear that you're the only one that can issue orders and have them heard. Not necessarily followed, but heard.
What do you do?
To be clear... first step is an Athletics roll to dodge from the crossbow bolt. Next step is directing the troops.
Since the GM (foolish man) forgot to set a difficulty or roll any dice before that Dodge, he. okay, it's me... I am going to just declare that a success and move on.
You dodge the crossbow bolt, which strikes a nearby vehicle and falls to the ground. That first shot causes everyone to pause and take a breath. What's next, Jubilex?
The following things should happen: Grbek makes Trivelin's head go splat. The Twins, Jingzhen and Diego charge in tight, hitting hard and vicious. The rest of our crowd follows behind the heavy hitters, getting tight to avoid gunfire if possible Lindo and Nizoni get the residents safely a street away, then return. I shoot some orks in their ugly, chipped-tusk faces.
Let's see a roll here, Jubilex. Your Will (with a +2 bonus for the motivation of your cadre) against Trivelin's. His crew is more mercenary, so he's rolling flat.
I didn't add in the +2 situation bonus, so that puts me at 6. Alright, looks like I'm in sniffing distance of him, so I'm burning a FP to get this to a +8. I think Hero of the Barrio makes perfect sense.
Grbek's shot misses because Trivelin takes off toward you at a run a split-second before the shot.
The twins, in perfect coordination, start plowing through the largest group of Samhain gangers like a lawnmower through a field of dandelions. Bodies literally fly through the air.
Jingzhen faces off with one of the Samhain lieutenants, katana above her and pointed directly toward her foe. They circle warily.
Diego takes on his own foe, but seems to be a little outmatched, at least at first. He's taking more hits than he gives out.
Lindo and Nizoni start moving as many of the residents as they can down the block to safety. Several are older, and moving slowly. One ancient human argues, shaking his head furiously, then hobbles over next to Variska and starts chanting under his breath.
And yes, you shoot two orks right in their ugly, chipped-tusk faces. They go down.
There are bullets flying with a bit of uncomfortable abandon, but most of the fire stops once things are well and truly mixed up. When you turn from dealing with the orks, Trivelin is standing right there with a sneer. He has a carbon-fiber bō staff, six feet long and gleaming darkly. He turns the staff in a lazy pattern as he moves into range.
I drop shotty and draw my knives, moving up to face off with Trivelin. "You had your chance to go, Trivelin. Now, you leave in a bodybag." This fragger is in my barrio, fragging with my people. There's no more reasonable conversations for him.
Everything narrows down to the two of you, this moment among all the moments happening around you. With the staff he has reach, so you can't quite get under his guard without exposing yourself to a hit. There is something itching at you about his stance or his style, though.
Why don't you give me a Notice roll to Create an Advantage here? Not a tragedy if you fail, but it could give you a nice bit of info. The difficulty will be Fair (+2).
Trivelin sneers. "That's what she said, you piece of drek." It snaps into focus, what you were seeing. He's Favoring His Right Ankle just a little. A slight vulnerability.
Trivelin's first move as a low sweep, trying to get you off balance or, better yet, on the ground.
Since you kicked the heck out of that roll, I'm saying that the Boost Favoring His Right Ankle is now a situational Aspect, with two free invokes.
You jump just far enough that his staff passes under you and brings him off balance. He stumbles a bit, more clearly off kilter, but recovers quickly, staff vertical and ready to defend. You're inside his range now, with your knives in hand.
Roll an Attack for me, unless you want to do something else.
If I had any intention of giving quarter here, I'd disarm him. Right now, I'm looking to finish him. The sooner I can break the spirit of Samhain, the quicker I can get some of these people out of danger. I'm moving shoulder forward, forcing him to commit to block my body, then coming up with my left hand, jabbing at his ribs in a vicious uppercut. And I'm focusing on his weak side (using an invoke on that aspect).
That knocks out his 3-stress box. A very good start.
He steps back, limping more obviously now. Using a well-trained strike that's almost using the bo as an extension of his arm, he directs the tip toward your sternum and thrusts.
You turn the strike successfully, and come up inside Trivelin's guard. His eyes are wide... he knows he's outmatched by now, but he's fighting on bravely. He snaps the bo back to a defensive stance.
I admire his pluck, but he had a chance to save himself and threw it away. Folly of youth and all that. I feint for his face with my right, then move to slice across his hand with my left knife when he moves to block the attack.
You slice deeply into the elf's right hand, cutting through the tendon and causing him to release the bo as he stifles a scream. He can still use that arm to block, but he is Fighting One-Handed. He circles, though, still looking for an opening, and finally lashes out with a booted foot.
The elf winces in pain as his bad ankle sends him off balance, causing the kick to go wide. He comes back to a ready stance, but his eyes are wide with pain.
That marks his 1-Stress box. FYI, this leaves him with just a 2-Stress box and no more Consequences.
Your thrust turns into a slice as you adjust angles to get under Trivelin's guard. Your knife slashes across his chest, drawing blood. Blinking, he lashes out once again, this time with his one functioning hand. Whether he connects or not, it's clear this fight won't last much longer.
The blade pierces his eye, enters his brain. I twist the tip to scoop and make sure. He's dead before he hits the ground. With bloodied blades, I look at the rest of the gang, "You've got to the count of ten to get the hell out of our barrio. And never come back."
When you have the moment to look around, it's a bit like a scene from one of those medieval paintings of the apocalypse. Two large humanoid spirits, one in the shape of a horse-sized black dog, and one looking like a muscular troll created out of fire, are tearing into the Samhain ranks. Individual melees are everywhere.
You see that Diego is down, but he's breathing, someone's taking care of him.
As your eye passes Kenzo, he takes a swing with his ladle and connects with one of the Samhain elves, launching him into the air to fly nearly a dozen yards before hitting a wall and crumpling to the ground.
Jingzhen's fight is over, her opponent's head on the ground a few feet away from his body, and the Twins have finished off four or so Samhain and are moving on.
The old man that is standing between Lindo and Variska says a single word with great intensity and a bolt of light shoots from his hands, setting four motorcycles aflame, and one of the gangers with it. The mage crumples to the ground, though, after that, and lies motionless.
You don't see Nizoni, but assume she's in the mix somewhere.
When you make your threat, Jubilex, the closer gang members start to take off, grabbing their rides if they can. The rest of the mobile ones follow soon after, and there's a period of relative quiet, broken only by the moans and sobs of the wounded.
Tell me, Jubilex, who is it from the Barrio that died, and who got hurt badly enough that it will take months to fully heal?
Diego passes in the night. I will miss that guy. It's a damn shame about his heart. I heard he has a cousin or someone who'll take over the store. Probably never be the same, though.
The old man, a retired wizard with the street name Presto, is out of it. His granddaughter said she'd take care of him. Old bastard gave us all he had. I check in on him from time to time, slip some money to Kaylee, his granddaughter.
Even with the wounded and your one casualty, this was an actual triumph, from the barrio's perspective. Someone pulls up a truck to load the Samhain wounded and dead on, then drives it to the river, where Uncle Gordo and his buddies ferry them across and leave them for their friends. Within an hour, you have the beginnings of a pretty amazing block-party going, people grilling chickens, fish, vegetables, even plantains, over barrel fires. One old lady collects offerings of wine, liquor and fruit and makes a trash can full of the best sangria you've ever tasted.
People wander into the area from all over the barrio and pretty soon there's dancing and carrying on, under the light of the setting sun. You're working on not much sleep and a few very strenuous days, though. Do you join the celebration, Jubilex?
Of course I do. I livestream it to Mat and Malin. I call Jessi and invite her down. I don't take any stims, so I know I won't last long, but I want to be part of this. I'll even try to dance a little, but I ache.
I am NOT getting old, though. It's been a rough week, that's all.
The party's in full swing, and you and Jessi are getting your groove on, when a murmur, a wave of silence, passes through the crowd. A black van pulls through, just enough to get into the block, then stops. The back doors open, then The Twins get out, followed by Don Gobbi, in a suit so black it looks like space, a shirt so white it reminds you of angels, and a tie so red it can't help but recall all of the blood you've spilled.
The back doors open, and The Twins start unloading palette after palette of food and wine. Most are things that the people around you may have tasted once, if ever. Prosciutto, Parmeggiano-Reggiano, cured olives and capers, fresh loaves of bread, cases of vintage Barollo and Sangiovese wines, even a few cooled cases of Prosecco. After the food is unloaded, the trolls bring out big rubber storage containers of toys and party favors and sweets for the children and (some) adults.
Don Gobbi meets your eye and walks over to you, offering a flask. "Grappa," he says. You've had grappa before, but it might have been cheap. It certainly tasted like you imagine paint thinner would. "You did a good thing today, son. I hope you are proud."
Don Gobbi out and about? That's good. That's very good. I take the offered flask, open it up for a drink, perhaps to share with him. "Gracias for your help. Your people were tough. The Twins were incredible. It was a good day."
Don Gobbi waits for you to take a swig from the flask, then accepts it back and drinks behind you. It is not smooth, Jubilex, not at all. Tastes kind of like gasoline mixed with brandy. How do you handle it?
I cough a little. I'm not unaccustomed to hard grain alcohol, but this is pretty damn strong. I'll have a few sips with the don, then break off when he seems ready to chat with the people of the barrio. He contributed, too. I want him to bask in it, continue thinking of this place as home.
I'll check on Niz and Lindo. I'll probably head to bed before too long.
Lindo is sitting on a molded plastic chair someone brought out, with his cane planted between his legs. He's leaning forward intently, telling a story to a whole gaggle of kids from all around the barrio. They're listening, wide-eyed, as he says, "...an' den, ol' loup-garou, he jump out from behin' dat tree where he was hidin', wid' his big ol' teeth an spittle all a-flyin' every which way. An' loup-garou, he roar an' jump toward dat ol' lady, but she jus' look at him an' laugh, pullin' out Bossman's gun dat she loaded wid' dem bullets all melted down from Bossman's silver, and she laugh as she shoot loup-garou sure dead wid' dat gun. An' you never gonna guess who it was ol' loup-garou turn into, when he die an' turn back into his own self." He pauses to look around, teeth shining with reflected firelight and the gleam of the few street-lamps that are working. "Ol' Bossman his self! Dat's who!"
Your old shaman glances up at you, noticing you on the edge of his young audience, and gives you a big wink.
That story is fantastic. Lindo really has a way with kids. Probably good he has a gaggle of them. I stand there for a bit, grinning at the old man. That's when it becomes undeniable.
I've got to get him out of the game. Look at all the family he's missing. This guy is a fraggin' great grandpa. Maybe he even is a great grandpa. I think so. I'll wait around for him to finish up. If he's not eager to talk, I won't push. All things in good time. But soon.
Lindo levers himself up on his cane, grabs a plastic cup of sangria from the chair next to him, and walks through the crowd of children toward you. He's moving slowly, but manages to make it look dignified rather than sore. When he gets to you, he gives you a nod. "You've got a thoughtful look, Jube. Anything on your mind?"
I start walking, slow and easy, so he can keep up. "Your exit plan's on my mind, Lindo." I look over at him, "When are you going to retire and make all your grandkids happy with your wonderful self?"
Lindo chuckles low in his throat, which sounds a bit like a bullfrog. "You trying to get rid of me?" He waves his hand to forestall your reaction. "I've been thinking along those lines, son. Still haven't quite made the nest egg I'd like, but I'm moving kinda slow these days." He stops under a street lamp, leans his back against the metal. "But, family's not just family, understand? You and Cybele took a chance on a geezer, and I may be good, but I don't look good. I owe you, and my family owes you." He clears his throat, spits off to the side. "Don't want to leave until I'm sure you're... okay."
I give him a solid look, "I'm not cutting you loose, Lindo. Be sure of that. You're a damn good shaman, and a hell of a teammate." I break eye contact, look over towards where he was telling stories, "I want you to transition into a consultant role, still get a salary, but stop running the shadows. Not tomorrow, but soon. I'll need you to help pick out and train the next-in-line, and Marcus Wellby will pay you as back-up. You can keep building your nest egg, and spend more time with your family." I let that sink in for a moment, then add, "I need you to retire, so I can see what it's like." I give him a grin.
Lindo nods thoughtfully. "I have to say that I don't hate the sound of that, Jubilex, but I will tell you this." He lifts his cane and points the head at you. "If you start treating me like an old man I will curse you in such an exquisitely subtle way that you won't realize it until your zozo turns green and falls off."
"Lindo, your threat will not be taken lightly. I happen to be very partial to my zozo." I say seriously. I chuckle, then add, "And to several others." I clap him on the shoulder, then make whatever small talk suits him. That's the conclusion of my business for the night. I'm tired, sore and ready to sleep.
You chat briefly, but are interrupted when an attractive young woman about Jessi's age sashays up. She gives you a smile, but then looks to Lindo. "Hey, papi. Don't forget you promised me a bedtime story." She takes his hand starts to draw him away. Lindo gives you a shrug and a wink, and follows.
Comments
I'm wasting that boost to get the roll up to a +3.
Mina tags you, alright. She's got Weapon-2, which cancels out your Armor-2, so you just took 2 Stress of physical damage. (Mark off the 2-Stress box on your sheet.)
The bullets slam into your shoulder, knocking you against the window. Given that you're on an upper floor, that impact isn't enough to send you through. The ball's in your court.
I pull out the hangglider with one hand while firing at the glass with my Ingram. "Hate to disappoint you, pretty lady!" I'll kick the cracked window and jump out.
As hot, dry air rushes into the window, you push out into the night. Mina launches into an aerial move that looks like a cartwheel with no hands, both guns firing in repeated sequence. Five, six, seven, eight shots, trying to track you as you begin to fall.
Mina rolls Shoot
(Rolled: 4dF+5. Total: 5. Rolls: -, 0, 0, +)
I juke and move the best I can, but I know this one is going to hurt
Athletics to Dodge:
(Rolled: 4df+3. Total: 1. Rolls: -, 0, 0, -)
This might be crazy, but I'm going to spend 2 Fate Points here. I'm doing a very Street Samurai thing here, and also, I wouldn't be in half this mess if I wasn't fighting my simsense addiction. That gets me to a 5.
One of the bullets grazes your cheek, making a burning line that just barely misses your eye before it passes on to tumble to the ground. You maintain your composure and start going through the steps to deploy the hang glider in mid-air. You've got about seven seconds to get it open and catch an updraft.
Let's see an Athletics roll here. The 'glider is perfectly designed, but you are currently accelerating toward the ground at 32 feet per second squared, so I'm calling this a difficulty of Great (+4).
Too late to call for a do-over so I try to focus on Nizoni's instructions, push out everything else. I think I cut off my comm transmitter so they can't hear me scream a little.
Athletics:
(Rolled: 4df+3. Total: 4. Rolls: 0, +, 0, 0)
You don't actually manage to turn off your transmitter, so the whole team hears your screams until you finally (as in four seconds later) get the wings out. You find an updraft and use your body to steer toward the target area. Mat is remotely piloting a hover-drone located just beyond the M-T compound's perimeter, and manages to scoop you up on the hook, ending with a soft landing on the roof of the warehouse your team has been using as HQ and comms center.
Nizoni is on the roof to meet you. She helps unstrap you from the gear. "You okay there, big guy? Sounded like you didn't have much fun."
Stupid IsoTech communicator.
"Heh, you heard that?" I say, knowing she did. I guess they all did. "It was all fun and games until I was shot twice and had to jump out of a seventieth story window without getting the hangglider ready. It was... intense." I meet her eyes, "And scary as all hell."
"I know! Wasn't it great?" You head down the stairs from the roof to join your team. Malin hops up to hug you. Mat and Lindo both give you a nod.
"Ah, Jubilex. Do you mind if I take a look? Not everyday you come across something like this..."
I shrug, which hurts a little. "I thought you'd say that, Niz. This is why I like having you on the team. To do this crazy drek while I shoot things."
I hug Malin back. That was a little unexpected, but she's excitable that way. To Lindo, "Of course." I carefully pull the device from my little pack, still wrapped in the silk, hand it to him.
Lindo pulls a pair of white silk gloves before accepting the package from you. He lays it on a table and pulls back the covering, revealing a wooden aulos, which looks like conjoined-twin flutes, each with a double-reed mouthpiece.
Lindo's eyes literally light up, and the room is briefly bathed in a buttery warm, Mediterranean light for a moment. Everyone gasps, as if understanding some key secret of the universe for the very first time.
A shadowy image of a woman dressed in a Hellenic dress and carrying the very instrument that lies on the table appears before you. "What tune shall I play for you, little one? Music carries many secrets..."
I immediately think of Circe. Is he dead? Who did I see on the street after my jog? It wasn't him, I know. Did he die happy? What did he leave unfinished?
The figure looks at you with sad eyes, then starts to play this. Flashes of memory and vision pass through your mind.
Circe, fists pumping triumphantly, after your first really big run, when the payday comes and he realizes he can finally upgrade his deck.
Andy in high school, getting beat up by a bunch of jocks. You stepped in, of course, and he wouldn't speak to you for weeks afterwards, of course.
A warehouse in flames. Circe takes a single bullet from an Aztechnology sniper and his chest explodes, showering you with gore. By the time you eliminate the threat, you cannot get back to his body through the fire.
Andy on Graduation Day, sipping from a flask of rotgut throughout the entire fragging ceremony and waiting for the moment afterwards when the principal would discover that your little clique of outcasts had found a way to get his car onto the roof of the gym, during the ceremony.
Circe, ordering a cup of coffee at Vaso's. There's one of those holo-tank event calendars (old skool) on the counter, displaying an ad for some thrash-dance concert. Date is two weeks ago, just before you left for Hong Kong.
A coffin hotel that could be anywhere. Circe lying in the tiny cell, eyes wide open. An icon appears, shuddering like an unremastered silent film from the early TwenCen. Just as he acknowledges it, a "Title Card" appears with one word on it. 'Flikker.'
The visions pass, and you can focus on reality again. Lindo is beaming, almost radiant. Mat seems stoic, and Malin has a look of confusion.
Nizoni weeps. Gasping, ugly, sobbing kind of weeping.
I put a hand on Nizoni's shoulder, a simple touch, comforting without being invasive. She won't accept it, I'm certain. But I have to offer.
Is Circe alive? Is Circe Flikker? Are these memories, or are some of them now? Maybe Circe taught Flikker? I don't... I'm even more confused than before.
I have to figure this out.
The strangest thing happens when you touch Nizoni's shoulder, Jubilex. She reaches up with the opposite hand and grabs yours, holding it for a few seconds before releasing it with a squeeze. She scrubs both eyes with the backs of her hands and after a few more seconds she settles herself.
Mat and Lindo are both trying not to stare at what passes for a spectacle in Nizoni-world, while Malin is looking on with real concern. She seems about to say something.
If I can catch Malin's eye, I'll subtly shake my head no. I don't imagine Niz will be very receptive to her right now. I could be wrong. Don't expect I am, though.
You do manage to catch Malin's eye, almost too late.
"Is every..." She notices your look. "...one ready to leave?" Then she starts improvising. "Man, those tacos earlier were awesome, weren't they? Tacos at home were always ground-up soy and... whatever that sauce is. Yuck."
How did you get to LA, Jubilex? Rather a short hop for Motown to offer the SST.
Speed wasn't "of the essence". Mat drove. I know, we live the glamorous life in the PRD. Niz got to go through NAN, which is always fun.
So... 2200 miles between here and there, give or take, crossing several borders. How are you getting back to the good ol' PRD? And who's coming with you?
After the call from Diego, I realize I should get back sooner rather than later. I'll hop on a jet, apologize to Mat. "Team, while I was in there, Diego called. Samhain is roughing up some people in the barrio, taking their stuff. I need to get back. Mat and Malin, why don't you two drive, Lindo and Niz, you can fly back with me."
Lindo hops to immediately. You know that he cares about some people in the barrio as much as you do about the whole, but he's got a whole extended (widely extended) family to care about, as well, so he doesn't always take the risks that you do. Nizoni seems glad to have something to focus on. She's still recovering from whatever Euterpe showed her.
As Lindo rewraps the aulos, he asks, "Who carries the macguffin? Mat or us?"
"I should be able to help, as long as I'm awake. Uncle Mat, I'm going to need some serious carbs, and soon." Niz gives a sharp look at that... Circe was usually all about the caffeine... but seems to let it go.
"I'll keep it." I answer. Then I look over at Mat, "You and Malin can have some calm bonding time." I offer a smirk. Then I'm pulling out my pocket secretary to book a flight. Of course, I think of Gwen, but we're flying commercial. UGh. Commercial.
Mat returns your smirk with an innocent smile. "We'll try not to get in too much trouble, Jube."
It's still the middle of the night, but there is a direct flight leaving LAX for Detroit at 6 AM, which gives you a few hours. Anything you want to do in the interim?
Some first aid would be awesome. I'm not sure if I've bled on the carpet.
I'm getting a hotel and getting some sleep, laying low. If I get a chance to chat with Nizoni alone, I will. I imagine she'll need to process whatever happened. I know I do.
Lindo helps patch you up, and the three of you that are flying head to a by-the-hour coffin hotel to catch a few Z's before your flight. Lying there in your little cell, you can't help but remember the vision you had, but exhaustion and Lindo's anti-pain concoction ensure that you do fall asleep. When your alarm wakes you, the pain has subsided to a dull ache, and you have just enough time to grab a cup of soycaf and a breakfast burrito on the way to the airport.
Just before you board, Diego contacts you again. "I know you're out of town, but I thought you'd want to know. They've hit two more buildings, and Lone Star is still doing nothing. I've got a bunch of people from the barrio itching for a fight, but we're not exactly armed or disciplined."
I message Diego back, "Booked the first flight home. Flying out now, there in a few hours. Let's assume the assholes sleep in. We'll fix it, ese."
Then I grab my seat. Coach. Got a window seat, at least. The package in with me, on me. Left my armament with Mat. I'm legit this flight. It's risky.
The three of you are in different spots on the plane. Nizoni upgraded to First Class (really?), and left the "big bag" with Mat, as well, but you feel confident that she's got resources that will make it through airport security. Lindo's actually mostly legal, usually, unless he's got a specific reason to carry contraband.
The woman next to you is a talker, and apparently a bit nervous, but you eventually manage to drift off in mid-sentence. "So, she said, the likelihood of dying in a plane crash is only..." You get another few hours of fitful sleep along the way, but are definitely not fully rested when you touch down in Detroit.
What do you do first?
I let the nervous lady prattle on, doze off on her. I'll never see her again, thankfully.
When we hit the ground, I check in with Mat and Malin first, as we're waiting for luggage - Lindo's luggage. Niz and I only had carry-ons. Tazi to the barrio, straight to Diego's market.
Mat gives you the update. "We decided to get some actual sleep, and a decent breakfast. Might stop by Yosemite or the Grand Canyon on the way back, what do you think? Hey, do you think the 'World's Largest Rubber Band Ball' is still at that place outside Des Moines?"
You catch a taxi straight to the bodega. Diego greets you with a glum face. "It's bad, ese. Hope you'll have a strategy."
"Grand Canyon is a must see. I doubt the ball's there anymore." I answer Mat. I hope they have fun.
As I arrive at Diego's, I head in, over to the cooler with drinks, grab a Yoohoo. I pop the top, take a drink of it and walk back to lean on the counter. "I know where they live, or at least where their clubhouse is." I take another drink, "I'll scrounge up the Los Lobos, then I'll go have a chat with their leader with them backing me up.... at least, that's the plan." I pull out my credstick to pay for my drink.
Did Niz and Lindo head home? I sort of insisted they should.
Short answer? No. Neither Nizoni nor Lindo "head home." Lindo is invested, asking about some of 'his' people, and Nizoni is simply itching for a fight, to clear her mind. They're behind you.
Before you get a chance to fill yourself in on the situation, Grbek pushes through the door. "They're not stopp... oh, Jubilex, you're back! It's war, man."
Oh thank all the gods. Grbek's dander is up? That's bad in that it means drek has gone down, but good in that he's involved. I'm worried and excited. I offer him a hand, "Good to see you again. Just got back in town, came right here. Three buildings were shaken down? Where are the fraggers now? Around, or back in their hidey hole across the river?"
Grbek shakes his head. "Not three. Not anymore. They're moving block to block, hitting the places they know are weakest. Have to have someone in the barrio tipping them off. They're up at that old building on Dragoon, near Fort Street, now. About a dozen and a half of 'em, all armed to the teeth."
I nod to Grbek, then give him a "just one minute" signal, head outside with my pocket secretary, calling Don Gobbi.
Don Gobbi answer himself, surprisingly. "Benicio, come va?" ["How's it going?"] Before you can respond, he continues. "Actually, I know how it's going. You were wise to call me. How can I help?"
I imagine our lines are secure, but just in case, I use a bit of a code, "There are about twenty visitors at a building on Dragoon, near Fort Street. Four of my friends are going with me to escort them out of the barrio. I was hoping you could send a few friends to help us with the meeting."
"The visitors are unruly at the moment, so we're headed over directly. I appreciate your assistance, Mister Gobbi." I end the conversation, then get everyone headed over to rumble with these fragging Samhain.
The plan is for me to walk up and chat with them, Marcus Wellby and Diego and the Twins. Grbek is fire support.
That's a great plan, Jubilex, but you know the thing about plans, right? As you start walking those dozen blocks or so, Variska joins you, falling in next to Lindo with a nod. Jingzhen from 4Play is next, dressed in next to nothing other than her tattoos but carrying a monofilament katana, with a bandolier of shuriken slung over her shoulder. Vince from Second Chance and Larina, the dwarf that runs the Pawn Shop, are next. About a dozen of Los Lobos fall in, too, including Trapper, riding their bikes slow behind you. I'd guess the biggest surprise, though, might be Kenzo. He's in his usual working clothes and carrying the big ladle that he dishes out ramen with. Oddly, that ladle looks dangerous.
The last to join are The Twins and a trio of humans in track suits, all looking ready to mix it up.
When you get to the corner Grbek mentioned, there are a bunch of people—residents of this fairly sorry building, you'd guess—standing around. Old, young, families. Also, far more than 20 metahumans wearing Samhain Crew gang insignia. Let's say three dozen, give or take. As you arrive, two orks come out of the building with laundry baskets full of electronics and jewelry, start dumping it into the back of a big van.
What do you do?
I walk up to the orks, but I'm looking for one of the gang who looks in charge. I'll say to the lot of them, "Hello, gentlemen," I talk loudly for them all, but I'm not shouting. "You're new to the barrio. I wanted to let you know we're the neighborhood watch. We'd like for all of you to leave, and never come back."
Lindo and Diego should be ushering the poor folks from the tenement out of harm's way. There's going to be some harm.
I'm looking for Trivelin, but I doubt he'll be here.
The two orks give you a grin. Both of them have a tusk snapped off partway down, one on the left and one on the right. They snap into form, ready to engage. "Frag the neighborhood watch. Amateurs."
As it happens, Trivelin is also here. A platinum-haired elf with a high mohawk. He's about ten yards away, aiming a crossbow at you, and looks as if he's cool as a cucumber despite the heat, mugginess, and situation. You're certain he's in full communication with his gang members, and he's clearly marked you as the one person that can direct your ad-hoc "Neighborhood Watch" effectively.
Needless to say, What do you do?
I lock eyes with Trivelin, "Trivelin, I figure you've got pressure up top to do this, that you're ready to lose a few of these guys to get a point across. But I want you to know I've got a sniper on you right now, and the moment this goes down.... your head goes splat."
I'm pretty sure Grbek is a good sniper.
There's plenty of noise and motion, so you can't be sure that Trivelin hears you, but he definitely gives you a predatory grin. The two orks move in to take a shot as he finishes taking aim. You know Grbek is on a roof nearby, and you've got all the varied backup you can imagine.
A crossbow bolt is headed for your face, two orks are about to unleash on you with their nail-studded baseball bat clubs, and there's about three dozen other ne'er do wells ready to frag drek up. You, on the other hand, have a mixed bunch of gangers, retired runners, persons of unknown experience, mobsters, your own team, and (of course) you. You've never coordinated this makeshift gang before, but it's clear that you're the only one that can issue orders and have them heard. Not necessarily followed, but heard.
What do you do?
To be clear... first step is an Athletics roll to dodge from the crossbow bolt. Next step is directing the troops.I'll drop to a crouch and spin closer to the orks to avoid another shot from that crossbow.
Athletic Dodge
(Rolled: 4df+3. Total: 3. Rolls: +, -, +, -)
Since the GM (foolish man) forgot to set a difficulty or roll any dice before that Dodge, he. okay, it's me... I am going to just declare that a success and move on.
You dodge the crossbow bolt, which strikes a nearby vehicle and falls to the ground. That first shot causes everyone to pause and take a breath. What's next, Jubilex?
The following things should happen:
Grbek makes Trivelin's head go splat.
The Twins, Jingzhen and Diego charge in tight, hitting hard and vicious.
The rest of our crowd follows behind the heavy hitters, getting tight to avoid gunfire if possible
Lindo and Nizoni get the residents safely a street away, then return.
I shoot some orks in their ugly, chipped-tusk faces.
Let's see a roll here, Jubilex. Your Will (with a +2 bonus for the motivation of your cadre) against Trivelin's. His crew is more mercenary, so he's rolling flat.
Rolling Will for leadership.
(Rolled: 4dF+3. Total: 7. Rolls: +, +, +, +)
Wow.... this guy is good.
Here goes nothing!
Will:
(Rolled: 4df+3. Total: 4. Rolls: +, 0, +, -)
I didn't add in the +2 situation bonus, so that puts me at 6. Alright, looks like I'm in sniffing distance of him, so I'm burning a FP to get this to a +8. I think Hero of the Barrio makes perfect sense.
Whew.
A lot of things happen all at once, here.
Grbek's shot misses because Trivelin takes off toward you at a run a split-second before the shot.
The twins, in perfect coordination, start plowing through the largest group of Samhain gangers like a lawnmower through a field of dandelions. Bodies literally fly through the air.
Jingzhen faces off with one of the Samhain lieutenants, katana above her and pointed directly toward her foe. They circle warily.
Diego takes on his own foe, but seems to be a little outmatched, at least at first. He's taking more hits than he gives out.
Lindo and Nizoni start moving as many of the residents as they can down the block to safety. Several are older, and moving slowly. One ancient human argues, shaking his head furiously, then hobbles over next to Variska and starts chanting under his breath.
And yes, you shoot two orks right in their ugly, chipped-tusk faces. They go down.
There are bullets flying with a bit of uncomfortable abandon, but most of the fire stops once things are well and truly mixed up. When you turn from dealing with the orks, Trivelin is standing right there with a sneer. He has a carbon-fiber bō staff, six feet long and gleaming darkly. He turns the staff in a lazy pattern as he moves into range.
I drop shotty and draw my knives, moving up to face off with Trivelin. "You had your chance to go, Trivelin. Now, you leave in a bodybag." This fragger is in my barrio, fragging with my people. There's no more reasonable conversations for him.
It's time for him to die.
Everything narrows down to the two of you, this moment among all the moments happening around you. With the staff he has reach, so you can't quite get under his guard without exposing yourself to a hit. There is something itching at you about his stance or his style, though.
Why don't you give me a Notice roll to Create an Advantage here? Not a tragedy if you fail, but it could give you a nice bit of info. The difficulty will be Fair (+2).
I'll circle around, making some room for us, watching how he moves. "You better keep your distance," I warn. "If I get on you, you won't get away."
Notice:
(Rolled: 4df+3. Total: 2. Rolls: 0, -, -, +)
Trivelin sneers. "That's what she said, you piece of drek." It snaps into focus, what you were seeing. He's Favoring His Right Ankle just a little. A slight vulnerability.
Trivelin's first move as a low sweep, trying to get you off balance or, better yet, on the ground.
Rolling Fight at +4
(Rolled: 4dF+4. Total: 3. Rolls: 0, +, -, -)
I move to hop over his sweep and close on him, capitalizing on his weak spot. He's bent a bit, covering for his ankle (using the Boost).
Fight:
(Rolled: 4df+7. Total: 8. Rolls: +, +, -, 0)
Since you kicked the heck out of that roll, I'm saying that the Boost Favoring His Right Ankle is now a situational Aspect, with two free invokes.
You jump just far enough that his staff passes under you and brings him off balance. He stumbles a bit, more clearly off kilter, but recovers quickly, staff vertical and ready to defend. You're inside his range now, with your knives in hand.
Roll an Attack for me, unless you want to do something else.
If I had any intention of giving quarter here, I'd disarm him. Right now, I'm looking to finish him. The sooner I can break the spirit of Samhain, the quicker I can get some of these people out of danger. I'm moving shoulder forward, forcing him to commit to block my body, then coming up with my left hand, jabbing at his ribs in a vicious uppercut. And I'm focusing on his weak side (using an invoke on that aspect).
(Rolled: 4df+7. Total: 5. Rolls: -, 0, -, 0)
(Rolled: 4dF+3. Total: 2. Rolls: -, +, 0, -)
That knocks out his 3-stress box. A very good start.
He steps back, limping more obviously now. Using a well-trained strike that's almost using the bo as an extension of his arm, he directs the tip toward your sternum and thrusts.
(Rolled: 4dF+4. Total: 5. Rolls: +, 0, +, -)
I reach up with my right-handed blade to turn that strike while side-stepping to prepare for a strike of my own.
Fight (as Dodge):
(Rolled: 4df+5. Total: 6. Rolls: -, 0, +, +)
You turn the strike successfully, and come up inside Trivelin's guard. His eyes are wide... he knows he's outmatched by now, but he's fighting on bravely. He snaps the bo back to a defensive stance.
What do you do?
Let's see that attack, Jubilex.
I admire his pluck, but he had a chance to save himself and threw it away. Folly of youth and all that. I feint for his face with my right, then move to slice across his hand with my left knife when he moves to block the attack.
Fight:
(Rolled: 4df+5. Total: 7. Rolls: 0, +, 0, +)
(Rolled: 4dF+3. Total: 4. Rolls: +, 0, 0, 0)
You slice deeply into the elf's right hand, cutting through the tendon and causing him to release the bo as he stifles a scream. He can still use that arm to block, but he is Fighting One-Handed. He circles, though, still looking for an opening, and finally lashes out with a booted foot.
Attack
(Rolled: 4dF+4. Total: 4. Rolls: +, 0, -, 0)
With his bad ankle and hand, he's slowing down. I see his kick coming before he lunges into it.
Defend with Fight:
(Rolled: 4df+5. Total: 3. Rolls: -, 0, 0, -)
I'll spent that second Boost from Favoring His Right Ankle and push my roll to a 5.
The elf winces in pain as his bad ankle sends him off balance, causing the kick to go wide. He comes back to a ready stance, but his eyes are wide with pain.
Your Attack, Jubilex.
I won't show him pity, he deserves respect. Stupid kid. I stomp on his fragging ankle, then jam him high with my knife.
Fight:
(Rolled: 4df+5. Total: 3. Rolls: 0, 0, -, -)
(Rolled: 4dF+3. Total: 4. Rolls: +, -, 0, +)
He tries to defend, but he's Fighting One Handed, so I slip past his block faster than he can react. (spending that boost to put me at +5)
That marks his 1-Stress box. FYI, this leaves him with just a 2-Stress box and no more Consequences.
Your thrust turns into a slice as you adjust angles to get under Trivelin's guard. Your knife slashes across his chest, drawing blood. Blinking, he lashes out once again, this time with his one functioning hand. Whether he connects or not, it's clear this fight won't last much longer.
Attack
(Rolled: 4dF+4. Total: 6. Rolls: 0, +, 0, +)
I turn with the blow, but he puts a serious amount of effort behind it. Not sure if I can get out of the way of this one.
Dodge with Fight:
(Rolled: 4df+5. Total: 4. Rolls: 0, -, +, -)
I don't want to come out of this looking too hurt, so I'm tapping Hero of the Barrio and give myself a 6 on the dodge.
Had his blow connected with your face as he intended, you would be looking hurt indeed, but you turn just enough to avoid it.
Your go.
His turn opens him up. He put everything into that blow and now he's off balance and hurting. With my left-hand dagger, I stab for his eye.
Fight:
(Rolled: 4df+5. Total: 4. Rolls: -, +, -, 0)
(Rolled: 4dF+3. Total: 3. Rolls: 0, 0, -, +)
That finishes it, Jubilex. Why don't you tell me what that looks like?
The blade pierces his eye, enters his brain. I twist the tip to scoop and make sure. He's dead before he hits the ground. With bloodied blades, I look at the rest of the gang, "You've got to the count of ten to get the hell out of our barrio. And never come back."
When you have the moment to look around, it's a bit like a scene from one of those medieval paintings of the apocalypse. Two large humanoid spirits, one in the shape of a horse-sized black dog, and one looking like a muscular troll created out of fire, are tearing into the Samhain ranks. Individual melees are everywhere.
You see that Diego is down, but he's breathing, someone's taking care of him.
As your eye passes Kenzo, he takes a swing with his ladle and connects with one of the Samhain elves, launching him into the air to fly nearly a dozen yards before hitting a wall and crumpling to the ground.
Jingzhen's fight is over, her opponent's head on the ground a few feet away from his body, and the Twins have finished off four or so Samhain and are moving on.
The old man that is standing between Lindo and Variska says a single word with great intensity and a bolt of light shoots from his hands, setting four motorcycles aflame, and one of the gangers with it. The mage crumples to the ground, though, after that, and lies motionless.
You don't see Nizoni, but assume she's in the mix somewhere.
When you make your threat, Jubilex, the closer gang members start to take off, grabbing their rides if they can. The rest of the mobile ones follow soon after, and there's a period of relative quiet, broken only by the moans and sobs of the wounded.
Tell me, Jubilex, who is it from the Barrio that died, and who got hurt badly enough that it will take months to fully heal?
Diego passes in the night. I will miss that guy. It's a damn shame about his heart. I heard he has a cousin or someone who'll take over the store. Probably never be the same, though.
The old man, a retired wizard with the street name Presto, is out of it. His granddaughter said she'd take care of him. Old bastard gave us all he had. I check in on him from time to time, slip some money to Kaylee, his granddaughter.
Even with the wounded and your one casualty, this was an actual triumph, from the barrio's perspective. Someone pulls up a truck to load the Samhain wounded and dead on, then drives it to the river, where Uncle Gordo and his buddies ferry them across and leave them for their friends. Within an hour, you have the beginnings of a pretty amazing block-party going, people grilling chickens, fish, vegetables, even plantains, over barrel fires. One old lady collects offerings of wine, liquor and fruit and makes a trash can full of the best sangria you've ever tasted.
People wander into the area from all over the barrio and pretty soon there's dancing and carrying on, under the light of the setting sun. You're working on not much sleep and a few very strenuous days, though. Do you join the celebration, Jubilex?
Of course I do. I livestream it to Mat and Malin. I call Jessi and invite her down. I don't take any stims, so I know I won't last long, but I want to be part of this. I'll even try to dance a little, but I ache.
I am NOT getting old, though. It's been a rough week, that's all.
The back doors open, and The Twins start unloading palette after palette of food and wine. Most are things that the people around you may have tasted once, if ever. Prosciutto, Parmeggiano-Reggiano, cured olives and capers, fresh loaves of bread, cases of vintage Barollo and Sangiovese wines, even a few cooled cases of Prosecco. After the food is unloaded, the trolls bring out big rubber storage containers of toys and party favors and sweets for the children and (some) adults.
Don Gobbi meets your eye and walks over to you, offering a flask. "Grappa," he says. You've had grappa before, but it might have been cheap. It certainly tasted like you imagine paint thinner would. "You did a good thing today, son. I hope you are proud."
Don Gobbi out and about? That's good. That's very good. I take the offered flask, open it up for a drink, perhaps to share with him. "Gracias for your help. Your people were tough. The Twins were incredible. It was a good day."
I cough a little. I'm not unaccustomed to hard grain alcohol, but this is pretty damn strong. I'll have a few sips with the don, then break off when he seems ready to chat with the people of the barrio. He contributed, too. I want him to bask in it, continue thinking of this place as home.
I'll check on Niz and Lindo. I'll probably head to bed before too long.
Lindo is sitting on a molded plastic chair someone brought out, with his cane planted between his legs. He's leaning forward intently, telling a story to a whole gaggle of kids from all around the barrio. They're listening, wide-eyed, as he says, "...an' den, ol' loup-garou, he jump out from behin' dat tree where he was hidin', wid' his big ol' teeth an spittle all a-flyin' every which way. An' loup-garou, he roar an' jump toward dat ol' lady, but she jus' look at him an' laugh, pullin' out Bossman's gun dat she loaded wid' dem bullets all melted down from Bossman's silver, and she laugh as she shoot loup-garou sure dead wid' dat gun. An' you never gonna guess who it was ol' loup-garou turn into, when he die an' turn back into his own self." He pauses to look around, teeth shining with reflected firelight and the gleam of the few street-lamps that are working. "Ol' Bossman his self! Dat's who!"
Your old shaman glances up at you, noticing you on the edge of his young audience, and gives you a big wink.
That story is fantastic. Lindo really has a way with kids. Probably good he has a gaggle of them. I stand there for a bit, grinning at the old man. That's when it becomes undeniable.
I've got to get him out of the game. Look at all the family he's missing. This guy is a fraggin' great grandpa. Maybe he even is a great grandpa. I think so. I'll wait around for him to finish up. If he's not eager to talk, I won't push. All things in good time. But soon.
Lindo levers himself up on his cane, grabs a plastic cup of sangria from the chair next to him, and walks through the crowd of children toward you. He's moving slowly, but manages to make it look dignified rather than sore. When he gets to you, he gives you a nod. "You've got a thoughtful look, Jube. Anything on your mind?"
I start walking, slow and easy, so he can keep up. "Your exit plan's on my mind, Lindo." I look over at him, "When are you going to retire and make all your grandkids happy with your wonderful self?"
Lindo chuckles low in his throat, which sounds a bit like a bullfrog. "You trying to get rid of me?" He waves his hand to forestall your reaction. "I've been thinking along those lines, son. Still haven't quite made the nest egg I'd like, but I'm moving kinda slow these days." He stops under a street lamp, leans his back against the metal. "But, family's not just family, understand? You and Cybele took a chance on a geezer, and I may be good, but I don't look good. I owe you, and my family owes you." He clears his throat, spits off to the side. "Don't want to leave until I'm sure you're... okay."
I give him a solid look, "I'm not cutting you loose, Lindo. Be sure of that. You're a damn good shaman, and a hell of a teammate." I break eye contact, look over towards where he was telling stories, "I want you to transition into a consultant role, still get a salary, but stop running the shadows. Not tomorrow, but soon. I'll need you to help pick out and train the next-in-line, and Marcus Wellby will pay you as back-up. You can keep building your nest egg, and spend more time with your family." I let that sink in for a moment, then add, "I need you to retire, so I can see what it's like." I give him a grin.
Lindo nods thoughtfully. "I have to say that I don't hate the sound of that, Jubilex, but I will tell you this." He lifts his cane and points the head at you. "If you start treating me like an old man I will curse you in such an exquisitely subtle way that you won't realize it until your zozo turns green and falls off."
"Lindo, your threat will not be taken lightly. I happen to be very partial to my zozo." I say seriously. I chuckle, then add, "And to several others." I clap him on the shoulder, then make whatever small talk suits him. That's the conclusion of my business for the night. I'm tired, sore and ready to sleep.
You chat briefly, but are interrupted when an attractive young woman about Jessi's age sashays up. She gives you a smile, but then looks to Lindo. "Hey, papi. Don't forget you promised me a bedtime story." She takes his hand starts to draw him away. Lindo gives you a shrug and a wink, and follows.
Dayum. I give Lindo an approving look, then watch her sashay away with him for a moment. Where's Jessi?
It's not long before you and Jessi find each other. She suggests going back to her place and promises to soothe your weary bones with some TLC.
End Session