[AW] A day in the life of... Navarre.

edited October 2010 in In-Game
Navarre, you feel the blood rush to your head and this strange sense of what might be vertigo as you sit up. Fast. Your heart is racing, your breathing is quickened, and you feel beads of sweat sliding down your forehead and chest. It's pitch black. You're in your room. There's only one window in this room. A tiny, barred square far above your bed. Even then, light doesn't get in because it simply looks out into an arched passage that leads beneath a balcony and connects the smithy and the gardens.

Must be early, you can't hear the sounds of formations yet. You feel the firm, raw grip of your pistol, that chiseled, diamond shaped grip, in one of your hands, finger on the hair trigger. You must have snatched it up in your sleep before you sat up. In the other hand, you can't see, but feel that awful sensation of rough human hair bound to a hard, but molded wax head. You trace your thumbs over the sewn-on, button eyes. It's that fucking poppet you found. Must have had a dream.

Do you remember the dream? If so, what was it about? Was Ruby in it? Ruby? Do you have dreams like this, wake up like this often? Or, is this your first time?

Hey... the door to your room is creaking slightly. It's basically a wooden plank fixed on the stone wall haphazardly when you moved in. Typically, you latch it shut; right now it's not. You can sense a presence moving into the room. Smells like Ruby. Yeah. Somehow she always smells good. Not enough water to bath regularly, but somehow she manages it. But, why is she slipping in now? You can't hear her bare footsteps on the cold stone floor. But, you feel her lift the blanket to get into bed.

"Navarre?" She whispers softly. "What's wrong? Why are you up?"

She runs her hands along your chest.

"My baby, why are you sweating? It's freezing in here. Lie down."

And, she tugs at you to lie down.

"I had to tinkle."

You didn't ask where she was. But, she answered.

"It'll be light soon."

What do you do?


  • edited October 2010
    Navarre rubs the poppet's face absent-mindedly, wondering how it got from the shelf to his hand; sets the gun on the table beside the bed, and then the poppet beside it. "Not sure I'm going to get back to sleep." In another mood, that might be an invitation, but here, it's more like a warning. He lies back down, pulling Ruby close and pulling the blanket over them. "I had another dream," he says. "Not a good one. This time, Dog Head and his men were chasing me, and I fell off a cliff. Woke up just before I hit bottom."

    That's not all of it, of course. It started out as a fairly good dream, and Ruby was in it. And then Dog Head's crew -- so many of them, impossibly many -- overran the chateau with sheer numbers, taking Uncle Lars by surprise, and instead of fighting, Navarre turned and fled. And it didn't help, in the end.

    He lies there silently, thinking things over, wondering if the dream meant anything. It's the dark hour before dawn, and after a few minutes it's even more clear he's not getting any more sleep. He listens to Ruby's breathing as she falls asleep.

    "Might as well start the day," he says, as much to himself as to the sleeping Ruby. He gets out of bed, carefully tucking the blankets around Ruby so she'll be warm. He picks up his gun, then pauses, picks up the poppet and returns it to its place on the shelf, then heads outdoors to answer the call of nature.
  • Ruby listens to the description of the dream, her back to you. She doesn't say anything as you recount Dog Head and his men chasing you, but you feel her rigidness. She's obviously discomforted by the thought. Her breathing deepens and eventually she falls back asleep.

    By the time you get outside, daylight has started to trickle through the overcast sky, but it's still twilight, cold and drizzling. You're in the gardens at this point. You notice a few of Uncle's gang filtering out of the barracks and meandering about probably pissing or getting ready for the morning formation. The fog is thick throughout The Chateau, like it usually is in the morning.

    Taking a stance facing the wall, you begin relieving yourself. Steam rises off of your warm piss. As you finish up, you notice Princy come walking by. Princy is a stout motherfucker, but young and you believe him to be naive. He wasn't around during the war with Dog Head and he's been mostly pulling CQ as an officer. Right now, looks like he's on a mission. He walks right past you without paying you much mind. He normally nods at least. Looks like he's headed through the gardens, likely toward Uncle's cottage to give his morning report.

    You can't make out Uncle's cottage through the fog, only the faint glow of the light emanating from it.

    You hear a deep, cracking voice come from behind you. It's Barker.

  • If Princy's so focused on his morning report that he doesn't even nod, and Barker's running around interrupting the second-best moments of the day, something must be up.

    Navarre turns around. He's still dressed in soft baggy pants, sleepwear, with his gun tucked into the waistband just in case -- not a figure likely to strike fear into anyone's heart. "Morning, Barker. What's up?"

    I expect I'll be reading a situation before too much longer, but right now I'm focused on Barker, and I want to read him: #DiceRoller(2d6+1)

    The question I most want to ask is, what does Barker intend to do? -- I'll come up with others, if I roll a hard success, as we're interacting.
  • Barker's got that wide, toothy grin on his face. You know, the kind when he's expecting some kind of bribe or he's going to put you on some kind of shit duty; sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally. He's got his thumbs smugly planted in this wide military style pistol belt that's housing a 9mm also.

    "Fido. I need you down in the troughs today. Shit is getting backed up. Heh."

    He chuckles amusingly at you.

    "Go ahead and skip morning formation. I've got some men all ready to go."

    He smiles, anticipating some kind of offer to get out of the work from you.
  • edited October 2010
    (For the record: the failed read of Barker was a highlighted stat.)

    Navarre eyes Barker, weighing the options. It's going to be unpleasant, tedious work, but that gives him time to think about the dream. And his default mode, pretty much, is to be loyal and respectful and follow orders. And there's some slight joy to be found in vexing Barker *and* doing the right thing - because someone's gotta deal with the problem.

    "Sure thing, boss, just gotta get my boots on. Where are the men meeting up?"
  • edited October 2010
    Barker looks a little stunted by your response. His grin becomes a scowl and he points out to the undercroft entryway.

    You can't see it through the thick fog, but you know the place. There's a narrow set of ancient stairs that leads down into the understructure below The Chateau. Most of the sewage waste produced inside The Chateau gets dumped down into some troughs that have to be regularly shoveled out in order to keep the shit from getting into the water system. It's a pretty disgusting gig. Rice, the quartermaster lives down there, near the armory, but his spot is quite a ways away from the troughs.

    "The men are waiting by the stairs. Get it done and report back to me. I have more work that needs done."

    Barker pulls an about-face and storms off.
  • Back to the room: Navarre is as quiet as he can be, opening the door slowly so it doesn't wake Ruby. He gets dressed in some old clothes suitable for mucking out open sewers, and puts on his galoshes, then heads to the stairs to the undercroft, whistling all the while. Might as well put on a happy face - it makes the work go quicker.
  • Ruby is sound asleep. She's been sleeping in late these past couple weeks. Life in The Chateau must be taking a toll on her.

    When you arrive at the staircase, there's only one guy standing there. An old man, barely more than pruned skin and bones. Most folks call him Rothschild. You've only seem him around, never really talked to him. He's just standing there, looking aloof, hands kind of shaking and eyes blotted, like he can barely see or something. There's a few wide shovels leaning up against the battered stone wall, but nothing else.

    Rothschild's voice quivers when he speaks.

    "That you, sir?"
  • "Hey, Rothschild. It's Navarre, and you don't need to call me 'sir.' We've got some mucking out to do? Just you and me, or are we waiting for someone else?"
  • Rothschild aims his hand in a seemingly random direction.

    "Oh yeah... Sorry boss. I uh... There was some other guys... Bowdy and Pete I think. Some other guy too. They said they ain't doin' no shit work though. Said I had to do it myself and don't be tellin' no one about them not showin' up. But, uh, since it's two of us now, I figure it'll take us all day instead of all day and night."

    Rothschild weakly picks up one of the shovels, waiting for your approval to go in.
  • "Really, now? You wait here, don't worry about getting started yet unless you want to. I'm going to go make sure they really meant what they said about not doing any shit work."

    Does this sound like Bowdy and Pete? Do I have any idea where they are likely to be, if they're goofing off? Because I'm going to head that way, shovel in hand, and make it pretty clear to them that I'm planning to clean up some of the shit in the Chateau, and they get to decide whether that label applies to them.
  • Yeah, you know Bowdy and Pete. Falling asleep on patrols, dicking people over, fucking with peeps in the marketplace, bullying kids, stealing from other people in the gang... the list goes on. Your typical douchebags. They're not the most liked, but they somehow find their way along. Probably because they're in good with Fleece, one of the more higher ranking officers in Uncle's gang, and he lets them get away with shit.

    Speaking of Fleece, he hates your fucking guts. Why is that?

    They're probably in the barracks, sleeping in if they can. They know they don't have to be in morning formation, since they're supposed to be on shit duty.
  • Rothschild sits down, idly.

    "I'll wait. I'm scared of those tunnels by myself. Be careful though, boss. I know Bowdy carries around a sawed-off he snatched up from the armory last time we were down here. I know he has a shell or two."
  • edited October 2010
    Fleece hates my guts because Ruby was sweet on him before I came along, and it doesn't help that Navarre stands up to him and does shit like what he's about to do.

    "I'm not really afraid of Bowdy. Not like he's going to be afraid of me."

    Navarre heads over to the barracks, Bowdy is sprawled out on his back, snoring, and Pete is wrapped in a blanket, in a comfortable fetal position. He stomps in, not taking any real care to be quiet, and delivers three solid kicks to the leg of Bowdy's bed, then crosses the room and does the same to Pete's.

    "Rise and shine, boys. You got a choice here. You can come with me and muck out the sewers, or head to formation. Which is it going to be?" He watches them wake up, leaning on the shovel he brought with him. "Don't make me make an example out of you."

    (Bowdy is going to get to decide whether Navarre's next move is go aggro or seize by force. Navarre could definitely use a sawed-off shotgun.)
  • Yeah, Fleece definitely had a thing for her. And, he likes having sniveling bitches to do his dirty work, which is probably why he takes care of Bowdy and Pete.

    The barracks are empty, 'cept for Bowdy and Pete at the moment. Everyone else you can hear on the other side getting into formation for the morning briefs and whatnot. There's this mechanic's work lamp hanging from the center roof pole in the tent, but it's not on making it a little dark in there.

    Bowdy doesn't know who the fuck you are and in the confusion of the moment, he's not going for his sawed-off or anything. You could be Fleece for all he knows. Although, you don't sound like Fleece. So, give me a go aggro roll and Pete's gonna go with what ole Bowdy is doin'.
  • edited October 2010
    Here's the roll: #DiceRoller( 2d6+3 )
  • Bowdy leaps up out of bed and gets a clear glimpse of you, keeping his hands up and slowly backing away from where you're standing. You can see the sawed-off poking out from some trash under his bunk. As of right now, you're a lot closer to the bunk than he is.

    "Heeey now partner... I don't know you, an' you don'ta know me. Got it? Now... let's talk this over before me an ole Petey here thump your skull a bit yeah?"

    Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Pete has backed off too, but he's picked something up in one of his hands. A tire iron? The end bar of a cot? Just a stick? I don't know. Something. It's too dark to tell.
  • "You haven't been paying attention, if you don't know who I am. I'm Navarre. Your buddies probably call me Fido, like Dog Head did. But he's dead now, and, more to the point, I'm the man who's going to see that you do the fucking job you've been fucking assigned to do."

    Navarre takes a step over towards Bowdy's bunk, putting himself that much closer to the shotgun, incidentally picking up the shovel and keeping it free to swing. Ideally, he'll be close enough to the shotgun that if Bowdy dives for it, the business end of the shovel will get there first.

    "I'd put that down, Pete. It's shorter and lighter than the shovel I've got right here, and I'd bet I'm faster than you are besides. You can't win. And I'd hate to feel so threatened I had to pull out my gun.

    "Now -- is this enough talking, Bowdy, or are you going to be stupid enough to take a swing at me?"
  • Bowdy seems to release his defensive posture a bit and you see him motion two fingers toward Pete, like "move in" or some shit.

    "Oh! Fido!"

    Bowdy lets out a howl.

    "Ha! Hey Petey, this is the guy Fleece has been looking to rough up for some time now... You know Fido, right? Uncle's little lap dog. We were fighting this fucker before he came groveling to join us."

    Pete starts moving closer while Bowdy runs his mouth. You got a feeling they're about to make a move.

    "Yeah... Fido. You done stepped into the wrong barracks motherfucker."

    Bowdy hardly finishes his sentence before he comes flailing toward you. Pete leaps over a bunk and tries to swing the pipe, or whatever it is he has, overhead down hard.

    Defending from two angles of attack, you're going to need to act under fire here. The fire of course being that one of 'em will be on your ass.
  • Here's act under fire: #DiceRoller( 2d6-1 )
  • (The act Navarre intends to try is, as threatened, to seize Pete's weapon by force. I'll roll for that once we've decided on the worse outcome, hard bargain, or ugly choice.)
  • As Bowdy comes leaping after you, you also hear the swipe of Pete's swing coming toward your fucking head. You're going to be able to dodge the blow and take no harm, but you'll lose your footing and have to drop the shovel in order to catch yourself. Otherwise, you'll take the full harm and possibly lose your footing, although hang onto the shovel.

    So, what's it gonna be? Shovel? Or, no?
  • Navarre's dodging, dropping, rolling towards the bunk and the shotgun. That probably gives them a chance to respond before he can shoot them.
  • edited October 2010
    Nah, you hit the roll. Your move is the next one.

    But, as you dodge, drop and roll, your shovel goes clattering on the floor and Bowdy snatches it up. They're moving in on you fast and they've got bloodlust in their eyes.

    You reach for the trash and yank the shotgun out from under the pile.

    Ball's in your court. What do you wanna do?
  • Okay then. Navarre is seizing the shovel by force, with the shotgun. Here's hoping it's loaded, and here's the roll: #DiceRoller( 2d6+3 )
  • Right on. You get to choose 2:

    * you take definite hold of it
    * you suffer little harm
    * you inflict terrible harm
    * you impress, dismay or frighten your enemy
  • If the shotgun is loaded, that's 3-harm close messy. Bowdy's probably no longer a going concern, but if Pete's behind me he's probably okay. I suffer little harm, and Pete's impressed, dismayed, or frightened. So's Bowdy, but that won't be worth anything in 5 minutes.

    If the shotgun is not loaded, it's probably closer to a 1-harm club. I suffer little harm and I have definite hold of the shovel.
  • edited October 2010
    It's loaded.

    As you pull the trigger, a loud bang rattles off. Blood spatters your face and Bowdy stumbles back. He lets out a muffled cry, then a gurgle, then his body hits the floor. Ole Pete, witnessing this, stumbles back in awe and shock. He drops the pipe he was holding and falls on his ass, crawling backward away from you.

    Through the ringing in your ears, you hear shouting coming from outside the tent. Before you have a chance to react, the tent flap is ripped open and there's a man standing in the entrance. The light cascades down onto Bowdy's body, a mess of intestine and blood, half his side ripped open.

    It's Barker. There's a crowd of Rough Riders standing behind him, all trying to peer into the tent.

    "Fido! Put the fucking gun down!"
  • Navarre sets the gun down on the bed and picks up the shovel.

    "Sure thing, Barker. Pete's going to come help me muck out the sewers. I had to come get him, and I found him sleeping in. Apparently Bowdy was too, but he got a little bit stroppy, and now I think he's justified in taking a sick day. Good thing Bowdy stole that shotgun and kept it loaded, or I'd have been really fucked."

    He takes a few steps towards the door, then looks expectantly towards Pete.
  • Gimme a suffer harm roll (it'll be 0-harm since you suffered little harm). So, roll+0.
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