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[DVFP] Movin On Out (J 1.2)
Pulled the previous thread:
How do you normally get passage out of The Irons? I'm curious how that works for you.
Soonest is best when you wanna make a clean break.
I don't have my own ride, so I hitch or hire out with anyone makin' trade that day if I get the chance. I'm sure as blazes not walking to the Depot. Sometimes I'm lucky and my ride's with someone real capable like Cinch. Sometimes less so.
I'll get my belongin's in order and head for the entrance to loiter and see if Say-Say is here with their squawkin' radio to help 'reduce my service friction'.
Say-Say puts out the call for a ferry, and sure enough, Beckett calls back, her voice as chipper as ever.
"Junebug?" she replies. "I'm a half hour from The Irons, on my way. Hey, you got some pickly goodness to trade? Where ya goin?"
"Girly, I've got sweet peach peels and that's it for pickles. We can talk other trade, too. I'm off to the Depot if you're willin'." I can't quite dial my voice up to happy, but Beckett is a lil' doll.
Comments
We jump about twenty minutes forward and Beckett pulls up in her car, which she calls "Dosey Do".
Beckett's living sitch makes a goofy kind of sense. It's all hers and she can park it where it's cool.
"I'm fine. Ziggy's people are gonna be extra antsy, just so you know. 'Bout twelve of them just bought it."
I help Beckett get my junk all tied down and baby my plants one last time before taking the passenger's seat. "The atmosphere in Diamonds' has turned..sorta damp."
I push away the sight of blood in my peripheral vision and the muddy feel of a body losing its hum of life, a panicked cacophony of small text counting and doubting their eyes.
"I'm powerful tired." I rub at my forehead.
"I don't fully know what happened. JD and Sasha are both alive. Otherwise I don't know how they're doin'."
Hackmobile's a non-smokin' car, so I take a breath of the dusty air from out the windows instead. It's probably weird, but I don't hate the climate out here, at least away from the basin.
"You're gonna hear a lot of different stories about it, but the truth is those people died like fatted calves and there was not a whit I could do about it." Not that I would have saved them from all harm, or wouldn't have pitched in on a fight against them. Not that I've never suckered someone before and won't do it again.
I take the touch with quiet gratitude and turn my eyes to the scenery for a few moments.
"I agree."
The real kicker is the temptation to stay and insinuate myself. To participate and solve little problems and be oh so useful. Control the situation. Turn people into instruments the way I used to turn out beads. Yeah, that's where the haste is comin' from. Retaliations will take a few days to come to come together, if at all.
Me fallin' into the sea with no surface? That takes no time at all.
"I'll have to consider it, thank you. Fippers, though..I'm not a fan." They do need things, though. My guess is they come in on monthly shifts. Not a lot of rotations in and out.
What do you end up listening to on the trip?
"Lemme see what you've got for spinners." I smirk back to her. "Then we can be bad and listen to some dangerous, censored tunes."
I sort through the discs she's got - some of them are copies marked in pen, some originals covered in art. Most of 'em scratched. Holy spit, is that Post?
For fifty klicks we're listening to Bjork.
All the modern things/
Like cars and such/
Have always existed/
They've just been waiting/
In a mountain/
For the right moment..
I teach Beckett the lyrics; Bjork is all little lady and big accent.
Then the banned station comes on. Huh, a classic.
When the banned station kicks in some Lady Gaga, Beckett squeals excitedly and starts car dancing. "This music is tops! I try to trade for it at Depot, but they never have this stuff! Fippers watch this place, or I'd never leave. Scream 101 used to rat out folks he caught listening, can you believe it?"
Ahead you see a long trail of smoke coming from up ahead, looks like it lines up on the road.
What do you do?
I sneer at the Scream 101 story, sounds like he's a tool. "Sounds pretty weak. Not what I'd do with the ability to broadcast."
I squint out at the smoke and nod in response to Beckett's instructions. I pop the glovebox and aim the binoculars at the action. "I got it."
With the binocs you spot a flipped car about a hundred feet off the road, turned over onto its side. Still burning, but the fire's nearly out.
She sounds interested, but still working on the "not dying" thing.
"Flipped car off the road, still burnin', don't see any people yet.." I say blankly as I consider Beckett's question. It's a good question but I've gotta keep priorities straight. "..It depends on the strength of the antenna, my power supply, and the equipment I might have to encode the frequency. Best case scenario I would start pushin' data into the Feed and degrade the integrity of the local security environment. Worst case, music all the time, no snitchin'."
Sand Snakes. They're fascinatin', really, worthy of study, but that's not my field. Long way is the prudent answer, and I don't mind road trippin', but my gut answers. "Let's gun it."
Becket grins, and a delighted giggle escapes her as she pours on the gas. She drops her goggles over her bright blue eyes and Hackmobile roars a response and picks up speed.
Why don't you Act Under Fire to see if you make it past the Sand Snakes without trouble? Take a +1 Forward because Hackmobile and Beckett have been through here many, many times.
Acting Under Fire; (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 1, 5. Total: 8)
Still giggling with excitement, her knuckles white on the wheel, Beckett pushes Hackmobile past 90. You don't spot any traps or signs of an ambush. You're going to get through. The feeling of the wind, the elation of speed, the danger, it's like a drug. Especially to Beckett, as far as you can tell.
As you get closer to the vehicle, June, you feel something. Like a ping, but through the Feed. Something reaching out. Not for you, but for anyone. You also get the feeling your passage is being watched.
What do you do?
I let out a low, sustained chuckle at the situation we're in - there's nothing intellectual about this pleasure of speed, but I like it.
As we cross the vehicle's path, I go quiet. The ping could be anything, contain nothing. Could just be a camera that's drifted out of mesh range. I reach out to it anyway. Perhaps I'll learn something to smooth the hairs on my neck back down with.
"Beckett, I'm not sure we're alone.."
Pong?
"Hhh..neither do I. It's not a..not a person." Probably.
What do you do?
"I'm too tired from packing to walk back today..tomorrow it might be gone. Stop by the wreck. We'll leave at the first sign of trouble."
I bring the binoculars back up over my eyes and scan the wreck again from this shorter distance.
As you pull your crutches up and turn sideways in the seat to shift your weight and climb out of the Hackmobile, Beckett quickly moves over to offer a hand, to try and help you up. Even though the car isn't air conditioned, the outside is stiflingly hot, the kind of heat that steals your breath. Sweat beads quickly on your forehead and neck.
The sedan you saw before lies on its side. It was a piecemeal thing, a half dozen cars welded and bondoed together into a thing that is charitably considered operational. The tires have sharp cuts along them. The roof was mashed pretty hard when it rolled over. It's been drained of Megahol, you see the gas tank uncovered. Also, there are sigils of painted snakes along the vehicle, marked territory.
"June..... June Weaver..." You hear the whispered voice. A glance at Beckett and its obvious she didn't hear it.
"June Weaver..." the voice continues. It's a male voice, and you feel it in the Feed as well as in your bones.
What do you do?
I don't say anything to reassure or punish Beckett when she gets that down look on her face. She doesn't really have to apologize.
I do accept the hand though, to get out quickly into this devilish heat. Despite the situation, I mutter "I've got it." I try not to dwell on the weapon she's got..never found something I thought suited me that I didn't come in with.
My eyes pore over the car and the symbols. Best I don't touch it. Beckett isn't hearing the voice, so I don't respond with words.
As though I had a clear connection, an open channel, I signal back. "I'm listening." It's been some time since I've had a two-way interface with someone. Usually I do all the work, dry-tapping someone's language center in the middle of..let's be honest, an attack. Been a long time since I've been able to just enmesh softly with someone else's network of being.
To Beckett, I reply, "Might be. We're not here for the car, though, I don't think."
"Who are you?"
"Juice. My name is Juice. Rufe and Winkle call me Juju. I am a courier. I am not going to complete delivery this time around. You want to help me out and make The Fat Man happy?" Juice's tone is settling into something more substantial, talking more quickly, drawing energy from the contact.
"You are my curiosity of the moment. What will you do for me if I fix this for you?" I'm a little offended at the transactional nature of the contact, but it could be gorrem useful. I could use the Fat Man's favor as I settle in to Depot. Hard to make him happy and stay independent for it, though.
A few moments pass. You can't read emotion off Juice, so it's hard to tell what's going on. Then, "Rufe and Winkle are supposed to get five jingle for the work. I was getting five myself. Since I will not be needing it, do this, and deliver the five to Rufe... and her kid, and we are square. Do you need five jingle, June Weaver?"
In no rush, I confirm, "I'll do it." I don't really need five jingle, but I can think of some things to do with it. "Tell me what else I need, and hurry, I'm not exactly in comfort or safety here."
"Find my body. They shot me down near the wreck, but they probably stripped me bare, and might have moved me. You will need to cut it out of me. You will find a lump in the right side of my gut." He says this with complete sincerity.
What do you do?
That gives me some pause..but I start looking anyway. "Beckett, we're lookin' for a body. Do you know a Juju?"
"What do you look like, Juice?" My gaze traces along near the wreck, lookin' for drag marks.
"Six foot. Dark brown skin. Lots of ink. Circles and slashes." Juice responds, it almost sounds sad.
"Not really, he's carrying an implant, though, and that's what I'm after." I walk around, still careful not to touch the wreck or besmirch any snake marks.
"Sounds like a good ride." Fascinating. I knew impulses persisted in the body after death for a few minutes, but never read them before.
Beckett cocks her head, silently wondering how the hell you'd know that, but she doesn't ask. Instead, she looks around with you, her little baton out, wary.
Why don't you give me an Act Under Fire here? On a 10+, you're golden. On a 7-9, you can choose either to miss trouble from the snakes or have no trouble getting the implant.
On a miss, something has gone terribly wrong here.
Acting Under Fire: (Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 4, 2. Total: 7)
Implants are my business, I even keep scalpels on my person at all times. So clearly the snakes give us trouble.
It only takes a few moments to find the body. It was stripped bare, drug to a small ditch and left to rot in the sun. The implant, ah, extraction takes some scalpel work. You find the lump on the right side of his gut. There's a kind of bioport there, and you cut around it to pull out what looks like a fabricated organ, a dark brown thing that seems to have remained functional despite the death of its host. The tiny tendrils that held it inside wriggle and seem to seek out your flesh. How are you dealing with that?
When you look up, you see this person:
"What are you doing, cripple?" the feminine voice asks sharply. You see that she has a hand sickle. Feels like more are watching.
What do you do?
Well, well, if this doesn't look like some of the stuff that was coming out of U of M Biomed just before I got snatched..
First of all, I'm wearin' gloves. Second, I grab a long skewer and some twine when I spot tendrils, plank the implant on the skewer (without piercing it of course) and wind the tendrils to the skewer with twine as they reach out. This little guy is probably an electrolyte vampire, stealin' salts from Juju's blood and lymph. It would have to be anaerobic to survive in this environment. Designed for this possibility? Hm.
I finish tyin' up the implant for travel and turn my side to face our new sand snake friend. Now that she's found my back, do I play it honest? "Recoverin' a part of this man that was not him, as he asked me to do. If you have some way to make use of this yourself, I'll pay for it. Otherwise, I'm done here."
Aw, Beckett, backin' me up. I'm impressed, and she gets a quick look of appreciation from me. Huh, Junebug..reminds me of my grandpa.
"I'm not a cannibal. Not only is the thought abhorrent to me, I do grow plants and make food. This fella.." I tilt the skewer to and fro, "Would tear into my insides as revenge, too."
Beckett stiffens, suddenly wary of that request.
What do you do?
I didn't say I had them with me. That's a suspicious thing to say indeed. And Beckett's not bein' skittish for not wantin' a sand snake near her car.
They've already looted once today. Stealin' my plants would be..petty. Short-sighted. Par for the course, really. Unless they had a place to grow them.
I lever myself up to stand fully and face her. Maybe it's an innocent question. Wouldn't that be nice.
Sounds like you're trying to Read her here. Let's see some dice.
Reading a Person: (Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 5, 3. Total: 10)
Marking XP for highlighted Sharp and starting out with asking;
What is she really feeling right now? And
What does she wish I would do?
Holding onto one question.
She's excited, June. She doesn't get to see plants out here, and the idea of seeing some right now would be pretty much the best thing of her day. She wants you to give her some plants. Pretty ones. Edible ones. Whatever. Something that might survive out here would be best, but even one that won't last the day would be a sight.
"Hm. I'll get you one if you wait here." I tuck the implant away in a biggie and then a jacket pocket. "Beckett, if you wanna stay with Hackmobile, you can. We shouldn't be much longer." I understand that she doesn't want a 'Snake near her car, which is her livelihood and perhaps her life.
I roll my shoulders a little and prepare to haul over. "Oh. Do you have cookin' oil?"
Beckett heads back for Hackmobile, but doesn't take eyes off you.
"That means you have a use for chard and a little vinegar." I reply.
She's tall and rangy, the sort of body that can put miles under her feet. Good of her not to get to the car first.
My memory of where things went in the back serves me and I pull out most of my chard and a smaller bottle of deep, refined vinegar. If Sight is peekin', she'll see rose blossoms as I damp down a cloth again and lay it over to keep them cool.
"Here, if you mix a good cooking oil with this, it's tasty on bitter, nutty greens like these." I offer the plant, bundled roots and all, the dark leaves wiltin' some in the heat.
I'm wiltin' a little, too..I fan myself again with my hat.
Beckett is wary, but she stays near the driver's side. To move over near you and Sight might be taken as encroachment.
I raise up an eyebrow at her cheek. Of course, she has all the backup she would like and I don't. I take a deep breath to settle my heart. "I'll give you all of the blossoms, but let me keep the plant."
With a scalpel, I carefully cut a stem with a full bloom on the end and pass it to her.
Last question; What can I do to get her to accept this deal?
Promise to bring her new ones in the future, and she'll accept this deal.
"You have a couple of days with them as long as you keep the cut ends in water, out of the scorch. These are roses, Rosa Damascena. When my Gallica blooms next, you can have a couple of those, too."
"A month, I think, so long as its new home agrees with it." I cover the plants again gingerly. "I'll be here. You'll have to tell me what you thought of the chard."
Reminds me how much I used to love cookin' for.. someone. Hell. Guests in my house. I remember every brick of that place. Not the people.
I settle back into the passengers side, leisurely-ike. "Goodbye, miss."
The Sand Snake holds up a hand, gesturing to "stop", then reaches up to fiddle with her headdress. In a few moments, she eases the helmet and mask up, and off of her head. This is her:
What do you do?
I stop and face her, take her in. She has my full attention as she speaks her promise. "Sight-of-Day. Thank you. I'll remember it, and see you in a month's time."
I tip my hat to her. "Enjoy the damascena. They're descended from flowers that grow near another desert. A foreign guest." Then I sit down proper.
Sight-of-Day watches as Beckett revs up Hackmobile and drives off. In moments, she becomes a horned silhouette, then you see her turn and stride back into the desert, disappearing among the scrub.
She peers over at you, "And she was pretty, too." She grins, then starts tapping something out on the steering wheel. "Pick us a shiny to hear, we'll be in Depot before long."
"Phew! Sheetfire, she thought I was a cannibal! Hahah! Nah, I wouldn't have made it without you speakin' up. Livin' is expensive and roses are tough. Thanks, Beckett." I comb a hand through my sweat-damp hair and try to relax.
I catch Beckett's eye as she grins at me. "Yeah, she was." I grin back and look ahead to the road again. "I can find some time for a pretty, intense woman who likes plants."
Music would be great. I pick through Beckett's collection again and find something that's..yeah, this is good. "Here we go."
Beckett car dances along to the song, complimenting your good taste (in her music). Before long you see the walls of Depot, the huge, chipped concrete columns connected by a mishmash of concrete, corrugated steel, and in pieces wrecked cars and piecemeal latticeworks of junk. Anything to keep the people of Depot safer.
Or to keep them in.
Beckett checks in at the gate, they know her there, a guard gives her a gap-toothed grin. Beckett grins right back, even waving and giving them a hullo. They let her drive into Depot, only giving you a cursory glance.
What do you do?
My eyes scan over the brute, improvisational architecture of the place. You can see the shadow of the original construction beneath the heaps of trash and scavenged reinforcement.
I try to catch Beckett's eye to gauge how much she wants to know, but she avoids it. Seems like she's lookin' for reassurance of some kind.
"Beckett, girl, what you saw is alive. It's made to live inside a person and help them do things, usually to..store memories and the like. Hmm, how do I explain it best? The brain in your head talks to all your other parts, and this is a new part for it to talk to, in a new way. Your brain doesn't care that it isn't original. Make sense?" I'm tryin' to keep this accessible.
She glances back at your stuff. "I can help you, ah, carry your stuff to... where do you wanna stay? Heading to High Rent? Or grabbing a room at Fall On?"
"Hard to have one without the other, I agree." I nod to her and step out.
I look at my stuff real quick, then glance out around where we're parked. Of course I'd like High Rent, when you compare it to the wall-to-wall cramped and stinkin' noise of Fall On. "Well, as I understand it, if I want to live in High Rent I have to join an established business. Yes? So I might have to crash at Fall On while I seek a partnership."
"If you've got the handshakes, I've got the scratch. You already situated there?" Not sure what sort of business we'll form together but we get along and we both have skills.
I light up now that we're outside of Hackmobile, tuck paraphernalia away and offer Beckett a hand to shake. "To pickles and high livin'."
"Junebug, I need your help. See, I'm awful at haggling. I know folks lowball me, but I can't quite push them on prices. You think maybe you can help me out with that?" She tilts her head to the side, walking beside you towards the High Rents.
Makes more sense, I should have remembered how attached she is to her car. "Ah, right."
I walk with Beckett, pushing my cart and listening to her problem. "Well, my dirty secret is I'm terrible at patter and convincin' people with my natural charm. But I'm good at readin' 'em, guessin' how bad they want it. Some of it's all about bein' willin' to let a job go, too."
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