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

edited October 2010 in In-Game
Spector, you've been lying in bed, eyes awake, for several minutes now listening to the constant timbre of a light drizzle falling upon your roof. There's a leak in the corner where you've placed a bucket to catch the drip. The drip hitting the bucket is usually a rhythmic addition to the rain hitting the roof, but Pamming is blocking it right now. She's nestled up on a chair she positioned underneath the drip, one knee tucked beneath her ass - covered only in torn panties - the other at a right angle held closely by her arms locked at the wrists. Pamming is wearing this utility vest, like might have once been used by a fisherman, only. She has her head tilted back and her tongue sticking out, like she's stretching it as far as she can, to catch the drip. The dog is lying beside her on a small rug atop the hard floor. It has one paw lazily covering its muzzle.

When Pamming sees you eyeing her, she laughs trying to maintain her posture but breaks it when she speaks, the drip hitting her nose and lips. She speaks playfully.

"What...? Everyone says it's fine to drink without boiling it first. It's just rain."

She licks her lips. A few drips splash her in the face, her forehead and hair, as she leans forward and tumbles out of the chair casually and onto the floor. You can't see her now, but you hear her. Her playful tone seems to evaporate.

"I've been vomiting. I think I might be dying."

What do you do?


  • edited October 2010
    Spector sits up quickly when she drops her bomb. He wants to see her face; to know whether she's just fucking around. She's half woman and half girl and doesn't always know when to be serious. "What color is it? The spores out west that killed those folks a few years back made them puke dark red. That's how they knew who to burn. But we hain't seen any of that up this way. I think the lake protects us."

    Getting up and following his usual routine while waiting for her answer, he walks over to the bucket, scoops up a double-handful of cold water and scrubs his face, letting the water run down his chest and shoulders before starting to pull on his coveralls. "Maybe you're just knocked up. Both of the goats are."
  • Sitting up, you notice Pamming is lying on her back, arms and legs wide in a sort of non-moving snow-angel pose. Her eyes are wide and her mouth slightly open, lips still wet from the rain water. She doesn't look at Spector as he gets up and does his morning routine.

    "I don't know, Spector. I didn't exactly examine the puke in great detail after I spit it up."

    Slowly, she sits up, resting back on her elbows, legs still out-stretched. Her voice seems distant and monotone when she speaks again.

    "I can't be knocked up."

    Almost in response to her statement, the dog's head and ears perk up abruptly.
  • edited October 2010

    The dog's name is Sheriff and he has keen ears. Spector's long habit of relying on his animals, leads him to follow the dog's head and walk over to the door to look out. Usually a visitor is someone friendly, but you never know for sure.

    "What's wrong with being knocked up?"
  • edited October 2010
    Pamming climbs to a stand and moves over quickly to some pants slung over a nearby chair. She plants her feet into the legs and starts pulling them up, with a slight hop at the end.

    Avoiding the question, she pulls her hair back in a pony tail and moves over to Sheriff, who is standing now, patting him on the back of his neck.

    "What's wrong boy? Who's out there?"

    She turns to you.

    "You see anything?"

    Peering out one of the windows in the structure, you catch glimpse of two travelers, packs and al. They look like younger kids, maybe 14 or 15, a girl with red hair jutting out of a toboggan and a boy with short shaggy brown hair. It looks like they're struggling to move, maybe dragging something. Yeah, some kind of stretcher fashioned out of long sticks and canvas.

    The girl looks exhausted and the boy keeps looking over his shoulder, a fearful look on his face. There's something on the stretcher. Maybe a man.
  • "Looks like some folks followed by trouble."

    Spector pauses before heading out the door to hail the travelers. He looks concerned. "Pam, puke in a bowl next time and come find me. I don't want you to die."

    With that, he turns, sweeping a rifle from the stand by the door and walks out with the other arm raised to the two, or three visitors -- trying to figure if he knows them. "Hiya! Y'all look like you have some troubles. I'm Spector and this is my place." Spector gestures to himself and the farmstead around. "What's your situation?"
  • The two travelers come to a slow stop and ease the stretcher down. They look at each other briefly and pause, as if reading each other, and then the boy steps forward. Steam rises from his breath as he speaks.

    "We know who you are. We've been traveling up the mountain for the past two days to reach you. This is my sister, Matilda."

    He motions his hand toward her. When he does, his stained down winter coat opens revealing a revolver tucked into his pants.

    "I'm, uh, Frankie. We came up from Backwater, the little town further down the lake shore. We found this guy about a half-mile back. We figured, well, based on what people say, you might have an idea of what happened to him and what to do with him?"

    The girl nods as if in agreement and her teeth chatter.
  • Spector looks at them for a bit -- rocking on his heels and sizing the kids up. "You've been travelling two days, to see me...for what? And you just found this fella right here in my neighborhood?" Spector kind of stretches up to look past the kids for wounds on the body. Seeing nothing alarming, he gestures with his head toward the larger bunk house. "Bring him in here."
  • edited October 2010
    Do you want to read them? If so, gimme a roll. If not, we'll move on. I'd say the stranger in the stretcher and gun the kid has might make this more charged than most kids who swing by your place.
  • Totally. If I have to read a specific person, it's Frankie.

    #DiceRoller( 2d6+1 )
  • edited October 2010
    As Spector leads them into the bunkhouse, he watches for tell-tales, trying to discern whether the boy has any ill-intentions here.
  • Sure, you get to hold 1 from your roll.
  • By glancing at the man on the stretcher, you can see that he's bundled up pretty nicely in tattered flannel clothes and scarves. He looks pale and unconscious, but that's about it without examining him closer. They drag him into your place and lay the stretcher down.

    "Yeah. It's been about two days. We figured we'd make it by yesterday evening, but when we found him, we stopped and crafted this thing to carry him. We decided to camp, and head out in the morning. Right, Matilda?"

    The girl looks nervous, but nods in approval of the boy's story.

    Pamming comes over with two cups in her hand and gestures them toward the kids.

    "Here yah go. This ain't much more than flavored warm water, but it should warm you up a bit."

    You think you hear Matilda say 'thank you' in a small voice and then she cups the warmth in her hand and sips carefully.

    Frankie takes the cup and nods gratefully.

    "We came up the mountain because they say you have answers."
  • "Well, I do know a few things and can figure more out... I wonder what's up with your friend here, though." Spector begins to peek at the unconscious man with an eye toward diagnosing him. Spector's no doc, but he knows the first things -- is the fella breathing? Bleeding?

    As if the topic were an off-hand idle curiosity -- just something to fill the time while investigating their hurt passenger, "Seems most folks are followed by trouble these days...what's behind you two?"
  • He's breathing. No blood that you can tell off the bat. But, his skin is clammy and his lips have this thin, white substance on his mouth. Might be dehydrated. Might be something else.

    Matilda and Frankie look at each other. And, when their eyes meet, Matilda's instantly drop to the floor. Frankie starts to talk, but he's gotta clear his throat first.

    "Don't know. It's a... kind of a blur, yah know. We lost it though. Whatever it was. Through the woods. It didn't follow us here."
  • Spector continues to look the man over, checking for signs of struggle or injury. And then he searches the visuals for any family-resemblance between any two members of this trio. "Lost it? Not likely."

    (I want to use my hold: How can I get Frankie to leave Matilda long enough for me to talk to her?)

    "He doesn't really look hurt. You don't have any idea what happened to him? Without knowing that, he might just die." Spector's threatening the man's demise to see how the kids react. Do they care?
  • You don't notice any immediate signs of struggle or injury. You might be able to tell more if you disrobe the fella. He's quite bundled outside of his head. Despite their similar clothing, the two kids don't really resemble each other much. Matilda has this sort of fire-orange, reddish hair with pale skin littered with freckles. She's the younger of the two. Your guess is, she's either late 13 or early 14. Frankie on the other hand has a natural tan to his skin. His hair is kind of curly, shaggy brown. They look more like each other than the man though. The man has a dark-brownish tone to his skin, black straight hair, and fairly distinct features housed in a thick, black beard.

    While you talk and examine the man, occasionally you'll look over your shoulder at Matilda and Frankie. You notice Frankie is close to Pamming now and when she moves away from him, he fixates on her in a lustful way. Your best shot at getting Frankie away from Matilda is using Pamming to lure him somewheres else.

    Pamming takes the cups back from the kids. And, Frankie looks at you after a split second.

    "Oh. Yeah. Well, we didn't notice any blood and didn't think he was injured or anything. Just kind of lying there."

    Frankie looks at Matilda, who has taken a seat with this news. Then, Frankie looks at you.

    "You think he'll die...? Yeah. I mean, I guess if you don't know how to save him, no one will."
  • "Pamming, dear, why don't you show Frankie around the farm -- I think you two are about the same age. It looks like Matilda needs to rest, she can stay here if she wants -- either sitting down or taking a nap on a spare cot." Spector begins to hum while he unwraps the blanket around the afflicted guy and starts unbuttoning his shirt. There's a subtle nod that Pamming should understand to mean that Spector's asking her to help out.

    If the older teens leave, Spector will make small talk with Matilda, trying to make her comfortable. Trying to get her to tell the truth. About this guy, about Frankie, about their origin and purpose for coming.
  • Pamming doesn't look pleased, but she gets the idea. You can tell she's a bit freaked out by this whole scenario as well.

    "Come on, Frankie."

    She smiles.

    "Lemme show you our goats while Spector takes a look at this guy and your sister rests."

    Frankie smiles and nods.

    "Oh, alright. Matilda, you be good now."

    Pamming grabs a coat and heads out the door, Frankie following along behind her.

    Your small talk with Matilda isn't going so well. Mostly, she just nods or shakes her head. She keeps trying to look out the window, maybe to see what's up with Frankie or something. When you look out, you notice that Pamming has taken him over to feed the goats. You're likely going to need to press her further to get some answers, maybe try manipulating?
  • "Look, Matilda. I can give you what you need. I can tell you what you need to hear. What do you want most? What are you afraid of? But I need you to open up. My help is limited by how honest you are with me. Now, the kind of help you need -- I'd normally charge a pretty penny for it, but I'll give it to you free -- I think you could maybe be alright, but you have to tell me your story. And Frankie doesn't need to know, if that's the problem..."

    I'm manipulating her into opening up then and offering her my services for free in exchange.
  • Sounds great. Let's see the roll.
  • edited October 2010
    #DiceRoller( 2d6+1 )
    highlighted stat (like the last roll was, but never got mentioned)...
  • edited October 2010
    "Frankie's not my real brother."

    Matilda stands up and walks closer to the window, standing to one side so as to be hidden from outside view. She leans slightly and peers outside. Then, she turns and looks at you. She takes off her toboggan, wringing it in her hands nervously.

    "He's got a gun. He'd probably shoot me right now if he knew I told you."

    She seems to think on this for a second. Little tears seem to bubble up from the corners of her eyes. The tears just kind of sit there, never streaming down her face or anything.

    "No... I can't tell you. You can't stop him from killing me."
  • "Now, think this over, child... Some folks carry a gun but they don't really want to use it...and some people are just bad, and you really do have to watch out for them. Even if you think Frankie is one of the bad ones, even if he really would kill you for spillin', he has to know that you spilled, right? Why would I tell him that? What could I do to reassure you that I'll protect you from him?"
  • "Take his gun away."
  • Right about the time she says this, you look down to the man who's shirt you've unbuttoned and you're taken aback. His stomach appears to have dozens of red spots, like flea bites, across it. Several places on his body appear to be swelling in a rather gross fashion, at the base of his neck, his armpits, and near the red spots.
  • "Oh! Check this out. For sure it's bad."

    Spector leans out the door and yells for Pamming.

    When she gets back over to the bunkhouse, "Hon, I need you to take Mendel* and trot down to The Chateau and see if they have someone passing for a doctor these days. Talk to Lars. Tell him what we've got and see if he's got anyone can help."

    Turning to Frankie, "Son, I don't really like sending her down the hill with just a knife -- those boys are sometimes rowdy, but I need to stay here and inspect you and your sister to make sure you haven't caught the pox from that sleepy fella. I'd be much obliged if you'd either sell me your pistol..." Spector gestures at the boy's waist "...or loan it to Pamming for her trip. Hopefully she won't need it, but..." Spector shrugs. "I can pay in food, clothes, advice, room or oddments if you want to sell."

    "You two, I need you to come in the main house for this -- we have better light so's I can check you for the signs."
  • Before Frankie has a chance to answer, Pamming grips your arm, just above your right elbow.

    "Spector, can we talk for a minute...?"

    She looks at the kids and smiles. Then, leans in closer and whispers.

  • Spector blinks in surprise. He'd been kind of wrapped up in his own plans and maybe missed something important. "Sure thing." He escorts her out of the bunkhouse an a few feet into the yard so that the can talk quietly. "What's up, hon?"
  • Pamming talks quietly, clearly trying to avoid the kids hearing her.

    "Something's not right with that Frankie kid. He said some fucked up things to me out by the goats. Like... shit he wanted to do to me. I don't even wanna tell you."

    She looks back over to the bunkhouse, and takes a deep breath. Exhaling slowly.

    "Explain to me what the hell is going on, Spec. I'm scared."
  • "I'm not really sure -- I'm sorry about that. That Matilde girl is afraid of him too. I'm not going to let him hurt you. But this man they brought has some kind of pox and we really do need to figure out what to do with him. This'll get you out of Frankie's grasp, but don't get sloppy going down the hill. I feel a chill under my skin today and I don't want you getting hurt. You up to this?"
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