Howdy, Stranger!
It looks like you're new here. If you want to get involved, click one of these buttons!
Quick Links
Categories
- 965 All Categories
- 17 Games
- 1 aw2-mapbp
- 365 Richland
- SDHSR
- 4 two-detroits
- 96 aw2e-dvfp
- 53 ISS Tsiolkovsky
- 82 Fury
- Urban Shadows
- 24 LadyB
- 11 AnR
- 4 Junk World 2.0
- 68 PnR
- 23 DRYH
- Jeffland
- The Few
- 11 Other
- 11 General
- 576 Complete
- 12 burning-empires
- 8 aota-jam
- 17 Uncharted Worlds
- Uncharted
- 23 nullptr-veil
- 9 ajax-motw
- 2 tqy-am
- 52 NOVA
- 11 Serene Apocalypse
- jenn-soti
- 63 SWAW
- 13 Blades
- 2 Fall Of Magic
- 12 Generations
- 25 LA Monsters
- tqy
- 32 nupocalypse
- 120 Snowpocalypse
- 136 Junkworld XIII
- 27 Big Maul
- 6 ESC
- 1 Murderous Ghosts
- 17 ANN_pilot
Comments
More.
Egh I know what I have to do. It's simple, right? All I have to do is walk up to Cache, say something casual, like "Hey Cache, why did Sweet want to kill you?" Short. Simple. Why can't I just do that?
Because I don't want to know why.
Because the answer will not come from Cache. It will come from... whatever Cache has become. It will have a logic that I won't comprehend, a logic that belongs to the Breeze, and it will tell me only one thing:
Ze's gone.
Might be better to go see Sweet myself.
Maybe if I...
"I'm sorry Fall, what? Oh. Yeah. Got it." I pick up my end of another plank, help him carry it to the far side of the room. We'll have this place ready in half an hour, Rache will handle the lines outside.
Everybody else will wander in and out of the auditions. It's kinda boring because there's a lot of uncreative bullshit between acts: names, questions, answers, and every theater baby thinks we need to hear their whole life story or something. But then while they're doing their thing of course everyone in the crew wants to catch a vee. You never know what you'll get. Hope we get something good. We sure as fuck need it.
I know what I have to do. Just walk up to Cache, ask casually...
Up on stage is a snip of a girl dressed in an ill-fitting feather boa. She's got a painted-on smile, and she looks a little flushed. she's got a round face belying her youth, and a light bit of muscle tone. You were lost on most of what she did, really. Lost in thought.
"I'm going to bring her on, dancer only for now," Fall says slowly, now that he sees you're with him. "Rache can fit her, and Nan can take her under her wing, teach her a few things.... do you want to take a break or something?"
There are people just inside the door, queued up, next in line. It's hot in here, the air conditioning doesn't work as well in this stage.
It's true, but the moment I say it, I wish I hadn't. "I'm sorry Fall, but you know it's true. Yes, let's take ten. I need some air. In fact, make it fifteen." I hand him my notes, tiny scribbles in my angular hand, and point at the dancer's name. "That one's a maybe." None of these have been truly special, to be honest. We haven't found IT yet.
Fuck. I can't work like this. Distracted. How many minutes before the VKs return to finish ... whatever the fuck that was about?
"I'll be back soon," I say, getting up and walking toward the side door. Make this quick, Jet. It's just a simple question.
I'm going to see Cache.
Out towards the lobby, Coming Soon is there at Concessions. When he sees you, he flags you down, "Yo, Jet!"
Boio and Jackbird, having to be manly, got themselves killed defending the rest of us. Even if we replace the dancers we lost, we're still without a tech crew.
But Hot...
I spin to face her. "Hot, my dear, I was just thinking about you!"
"As for your other question... It's a clear blue sky, Hot. Absolute void. In fact..." I lower my voice, leaning closer to take her into my confidence, "I was thinking of focusing less on the dance, and doing something more like..." (I'm quickly concatentating morphemes in my head, looking for a good phrase) "...something like a TechnoGonza".
I like the way it sounds, but I'm not sure anyone will get it. I'm totally scatting. I'm hedging my bets.
"You know, like, pushing the tech as far as you can push it in a theater space. Like... maybe... just brainstorming here... But what if the tech was actually like, a character in the show? Can you imagine?"
"So... you don't have anything broke that needs fixed?"
There's a definite pause before the following.
"Tech as a character, Jet? I can see that. Fuck, I can feel that. Give me some more. What do you want? What can you pay? I like TechnoGonza."
I need another word, but I'm going places I have no words for. Finally I just say the most obvious word. "A true ARTIST. A creator of MEANING. But with tech instead of makeup and music?"
I have no idea where I'm going with this. But the more I hear these words coming out of my mouth, the less it feels like bullshit. Holy fuck, Jet...
This TechnoGonza might just be The Next Big Thing.
(Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 4, 5. Total: 12)
Hottopic, you can agree to Jet's terms, to become the lead tech designer for the AMC, to be one of his "artists" and help bring the next big show to life. If you do, then he's granted you an XP for doing it.
However, you can refuse the offer, and the XP. But doing so means you're Acting Under Fire (which in the fiction would be horrible guilt and maybe some bad blood with the AMC crew who find out)
Ok, I'll try honesty.
I push my hands deep into my pockets and pull them inside-out, exaggerating for comedic effect. I'm imitating this character I've seen many pictures of: a black and white guy they called "The Little Tramp". I doubt she gets the reference, but the message is clear enough.
"I got two bullets and a CD right now, darlin'. Someone stole all our jingle last night and I'm out this month's rent. I have no idea what the fuck I'm gonna do about that, and godzone truth - I've spent a few minutes today thinking about just walking out into the Breeze and letting the curtain fall."
Let that sink in. I really have considered it quite seriously. To the martyr part my mind, that still seems like an option. But of course, it's always an option.
Snap fingers. I've got it.
"Do you even know how much shit Jackbird and Boio had in their shop? There's tons of stuff in there. Even Rache could never count every cable, every console, every doodad in their inventory. In Props, we got a lathe, chisels, hammers, wrenches, blades, spanners, saws, glue, tape, plaster, paint, lumber and other things. In FX we got cables, wires, microphones, powersources, batteries, lightbulbs, transceivers, headsets, mixers and even more electric shit I don't know the names of."
I lower my voice once more. "Everything in the AMC's lights and sound departments?" Pause to make sure she's listening closely.
"It's yours."
It occurs to me that if we're doing a TechnoGonza, I may need to change my casting priorities. Fair enough. "Actually, I'll put out the word for that as well. You'll need more people with tech skillz. Coming up."
I turn to Coming Soon. Hope he remembers that jingle I dropped on him for no reason earlier today, before I realized I was broke. "My man, I have a couple things I'd like you to drop into your news scroller. I'm looking for some handies with tech skillz, maybe you can let people know...?"
Fingers in every pie. +1 XP
Turn back and beam a big smile at Hottopic. "Hotness, I had a short break and I spent it all on you. Care to come see some of the wannafreaks in theater 5?"
Rose chirps, "He's so sweet." She looks over at you, Hottopic, gives you a smile, "Are you joining us, pretty? I can... show you the ropes." She bats her eyelashes sweetly.
Grave elbows her with a grin, "She means ropes literally, Hotty." He chuckles, then looks back at you, Jet, "NoShoes is over at SEARS, you need him?"
((Does HT know who-all Jet lost last night?))
I offer Hot one arm and gesture toward the theater. I think it's been about 15 minutes.
Right now there's an unusual talent on stage. This guy can snap his fingers faster than anyone I've ever seen. It's amazing, in a stupid kind of way. We watch politely. But I can't imagine writing a number featuring a rapid fingersnapper. Luckily it doesn't go on too terribly long.
"Thank you..." checking the signup sheet... "GloStick, that was very interesting. Rache will get your info, right there in the front row." Rache raises her hand. "Your number is 41. Ok, can we please have number 42 on the stage?"
The next one looks promising. The list says she controls pyro gear using a headset and belt radio. I seek her out in line. She has a small pack in the middle of her back, with some wires sticking out of it. Her hair is spiky and multicolored. Good look. I settle back and nudge Hot, pointing her out as she walks onto the stage.
"Hello, room," she says confidently. "My name is Hazard..."
She flicks a toggle on her belt, and this hum starts up as the pack powers on. Then, she extends some wires from the pack out onto the stage, about three feet long. She starts up her act with some whip dancing, flicking the wires around as she sings a soft tune. It's playful and moderately entertaining. She adds in some humming, which sounds odd with the hum of the pack as the bass.
Then she starts moving more quickly, whipping the wires around her head in a circular arc as she starts screaming. The keening must be some kind of cue for the pack, because the wires spark to life, sending electric arcs up into the air, lighting up the stage brighter than your spotlights can manage.
Hottopic, what song is she starting to sing? It's some kind of powerful operatic tune, right? Where have you heard this before? What's it about?
At a certain high note, which she hits, she spews some spittle into the air, out in front of her face as her head is tilted backwards. Evidently she has swallowed some grain alcohol or some other accelerant, because her spittle erupts in a gout of flame. Dancers who slowly filed in to watch gasp and a couple shriek in surprise and delight.
The dance is soon over, after she has Rache bring her a bottle of Everclear and does a few more, much larger flame-breath moves.
She stops, flicks the toggle switch off, then stands there, waiting. Fall is about to jump up out of his seat, but he's gun shy after the last one he vouched for.
What do you do?
"Thank you very much, Hazard, that was inspirational. It says here you're from Las Vegas? I'm not surprised. We have a few questions about your technical requirements and parameters, would you mind coming back here to the last section?"
I cover the mic with one hand and lean toward Hot. "Ask her about safety, range, and crosstalk. If she knows her shit, I won't block you if you decide to hire her." Glance at Fall again to see if he agrees. His eyes are wide, mouth open. I think he agrees.
This is what she was singing. It's an aria from The Magic Flute, where the Queen of the Night is trying to convince her daughter to kill Sarastro, the High Priest of the (enlightened) Brotherhood. There's a lot of patriarchal shit going on, the Queen's evil because she's not on board with the dude power, but it's all about a knife and stabby-shit.
Hazard smiles when you ask her to come up to you for questioning, but she doesn't run, doesn't even briskly walk. She practically struts her way up to you, Fall and Hottopic.
Hottopic, the girl's rig is pretty good. You could probably improve it, but at a glance while she's wearing it, looks like it was a store-bought unit that has been customized.
Over at the door, number 43 is waiting in the wings.
Looking at it, I'm pretty damned impressed. Just guessing until I look inside her pack, but it looks like she's got a capacitor that spins up a flywheel (that was the hum) to generate static electricity out to the wires. The trigger to let the charge rip is probably just a certain volume threshold picked up by a clip mic on her lapel. It's all fairly standard stuff on its own, but putting it together this way is definitely more art than tech.
Her smirk cracks into a grin, "For serious, you should see the burn scars on my back sometime." She shrugs, like it was a small price to pay. "As for the flywheel, I don't stabilize it. I put it on gyros. It's tricky, but I get some extra flare out of it. Took a few tries to get it right. But, it's right... you know?"
Jet Black offers a beaming smile, "Yes, of course. As long as you don't foresee problems that could destroy the theater, then I have no objections whatsoever." He looks at Hazard, "Proper will set you up with the troupe. Rache will handle wardrobe, Nan will be your mentor to bring you in."
He looks towards the queue, "Rache! Come escort our newest Circus performer to Proper, if you please.... number forty three, you're next!"
A rail-thin guy with a rooster mohawk comes strolling in with a steel guitar slung over his back. Jet turns to you, "Darling, if you want to check out the tech shop now, feel free. I'm sure we can hit the highlights of this grueling process later."
To someone without my eyes, it might look like a mess in here, but I can see that there's an order to the chaos. Cables on that rack organized not by length, but by capacity. A wireless receiver and a walkie-talkie both apart on a table, clearly mid-cannabalization. Another rack with more c-clamps that you can shake a stick at, for hanging lighting instruments. A lot of the stuff I'm interested in never comes into the shop at all, though... it lives on- or backstage or in the flyspace above. I know there's four slaved long-throw projectors in the two projection booths - I look around in here until I see the cabinet that has all the bulbs, check stock. I figure the projectors run intermittently for about a week each month, including rehearsals and the big show. A charging rack with a bunch of battery packs on it... looks like at some point in the troupe's history they set up a person-powered dynamo to charge things up, but at the momet it's hooked to mains power from the theater.
A couple lockers in here, too, with Boiardi's and Jackbird's names on them. Locked, of course, although shouldn't be too big a problem once I decide it's time. There's the corpse of something that maybe used to be a couch and a chair that looks like someone with some serious skills with wood made it. A bag of mystery meat jerky and a bottle of hooch on a small table in front of the sofa.