[AW] War Room Activities

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  • edited November 2010
  • I'm shaking me head while I think. "I got nothin...but -- I can't remember, did I tell you; the burglars at my place were on motorcycles. They left tracks. Someone's got a garage running and a good line on fuel, it's probably the same source. I'd guess Seville's people."

    Yo! Psychic Maelstrom, have you got an opinion on this? #DiceRoller( 2d6+2 )
    (marking xp)
  • edited November 2010
    Spector, where's the city? Where's the city? It's where you were born. No? Tell me about your childhood home. What memories do you have of it?

    Uncle, you see Spector's eyes rolling into the bad of his head. Oh boy.

    Spector.

    You've got that churning sensation in your stomach, like you're on a boat, and the waves are too fucking choppy. Fog's everywhere. Of course it is. You can hear the splashing of the water hitting up against the boat. It's a decent size boat. A patrol boat. There's a faded word on the side: S. Nav...

    Snav?

    And, this bell. It's ringing.

    Ting-ting. Ting-ting. Like a huge fucking dinner bell.

    And, the tip of the boat cuts through the fog.

    There's a man. He's standing on this platform. It's got metal grating and a rough top, like the tail fender of a pickup truck. He's old. His black beard has streaks of grey in it. He's wearing these capri pants and a sailor's jacket. And, his mouth is full of rotting teeth. But, he's happy. Shouting. There's thick tubes coming out of the platform, like snakes out of Medusa's head. The man is standing next to this large bell. And, he's pulling on this rope. Causing the bell to ring. He's waving. At you.

    "Come to fill up?! HAHAHAHAHAHA."

    And, the fog falls down on you and the boat. And, you're floating upward. Upward. This satellite view of the ground below. Through the fog. Above the fog. The fog and clouds. They're shaped like a face.

    Who's face is it? Someone you've wronged and never had a chance to apologize? Someone who loves you, but you've lost? Who?

    And, beyond the face. A sea. With jagged buildings rising out of the waters. A city? A fucking city? Like from Before? Like it's sunken into the water. A Sunken City.

    Uncle's looking at you. You know he saw you see.
  • edited November 2010
    I gasp. "Look...The City. It's really The City! In the...water?" As my focus returns to the physical world, I look disappointed.

    "I...I'm not sure what I just saw. But if I were looking for trouble, I'd start down-stream. Is that the direction of Minehead?"


    When I was a child, we lived on a farm. It was right at the place where this area called The Suburbs -- a real shit-hole back Before, left off and you had small towns and farms and woods an' stuff. People lived in The City still -- consuming the waste left by the people from Before. So every month or two, there was a reason to go into The City -- trade mostly, sometimes fun. I've seen old maps now and I know it must have had a name, but hell if I know what it was. The people there were strange. Much stranger than the people in The Country. And one time, there were fifteen of them hanging from ropes thrown over a sign that straddled the road. I thought they were doing something strange but then Mother hid my face from them. They were hanged by the neck. Maybe horse-thieves according to this one book -- but there weren't horses in The City. The strangest thing about The City were the enormous buildings -- not like anything you've ever seen. They were built up to the sky. And when I was five, I discovered that if I climbed out the window of my bedroom and into the tree, and all the way to the top -- where I'd wobble to'n'fro 'cause the bough was as thin as my arm, I could see those buildings. Going there an' seeing them up close was scary. Seein' them from my tree was like magic.


    Holy Hell! What's he got to do with all this -- I ain't thought of him in twenty years, I bet? It's Doctor Seuss. When I was a young man, I took up with this other fella had no parents -- it was even more common back then than it is now. We lived together, scavenging and farming. We were lovers. It's good to have someone to work beside; to share with; to care about. Someone to care back atcha! One autumn, he took a load of squash that we'd grown into the nearby hold to trade for whatever; honey, ammunition, new clothes -- you know! There was a ruckus -- shooting and an explosion. Lots of folks at market died. Doctor Seuss was one got blown up. Why would I be seeing him mixed up in all this trouble? Makes no sense!
  • edited November 2010
  • Mo looks confused.

    "Never heard of a city around here. I'll see what I can dig up. And, scout the missing patrol. Got it."

    She starts to head out, continuing on unless you stop her for any reason.

    Then, you hear Rice's voice calling out from across the way.

    "Uncle!"

    He's trotting over toward you.
  • He does. He's winded.

    "Hey boss," he's huffing and puffing. "Got some bad news. Provisions from Milltown and Brockway haven't come in. We're very low on food supply and I don't know if we're going to make it through the month. I've already cut back what I'm issuing, but it's not enough."

    He looks around.

    "What happened here?"

    Cedar's coming back with his buddy. They're starting to take up the bodies. Rice is watching.

    "That Panzer they're taking?"

    He doesn't give you a chance to respond.

    "Oh. And, Fido says he's got something important to tell you. Something about Rough Riders maybe working against you. He says he only wants to talk to you about it. He's down in the dungeon with that woman. Screen and Flush are watching them and the armory so's I could report to you."

    He's out of breath for the last couple words, but he gets them out before sucking in. He's counting on his fingers.

    "Yeah. That's it I think. Unless I'm forgettin' something."
  • Rice is nodding along.

    "Nah. That's generally it. We got some bullets in from North Haverbrook. I've got 'em stashed in the armory. We can move 'em up to your cottage, I guess, whenever you want."

    He starts walking off, back toward the dungeon.
  • "Fresh as the morning!" I fall in with Lars again and head toward the dungeon, tucking the magnum into a larger pocket.
  • edited November 2010
    At the dungeon now.

    Rice leads both of you two through the narrow, brick-lined corridors of the undercroft to where his stores, the armory and the dungeon are located.

    "Oh... FUCK!"

    Rice doesn't like to cuss a lot. But, this might be warranted.

    The room is a mess. There's not much here, a table with a chair and some buckets and crates. But, it looks like someone tore through the place like a whirling dervish. There's the cell, the door of which is now wide open. And, then the heavy, reinforced door to the armory and food stores. The door to that closed.

    Screen? He's sitting up against the wall. His cock is half-bitten off. Blood has pooled beneath him, drained from his crotch and throat, which has been slashed.

    Flush? He's got a key ring protruding from his eye. It's like someone took the cell door key and stabbed it into his eyeball. Ring just dangling there. He's also got the handle-end of a machete standing up straight from his lifeless body, which is situated near the armory.

    Both of 'em have their pants around their ankles.

    Navarre? Violetta?

    Nowhere to be found.
  • I check the corners and the ceiling. They're probably gone, but it's a caution kinda day. "Hiding in the armory or ran off? Two of them?"
  • So, you're reading the sitch I take it?
  • Oh, yeah. Duh! That's a fine idea. This color-first design thing of Vincent's might really work.

    #DiceRoller( 2d6+1 )
  • OH MY GOD...SO MUCH BLOOD!
  • Hahaha. I love it.
  • What are you doing, Uncle?
  • edited November 2010
    Ask away. You get two more.

    Rice is stumbling back a bit.

    "Uh, yeah, boss."

    He's patting his shirt.

    "I just gave them the key to the cell."
  • edited November 2010
  • She's right behind Spector. She's got an smg to his back.

    Spector, you feel that sharp pinch of a machine-gun muzzle in your lower back. You hear a woman's voice.

    "You make one move and I'll use this gun to splatter your guts all over this nice room."
  • edited November 2010
  • edited November 2010
    I'll cease movement. "I'm hoping that I'll make an adequate hostage to get you out of here rather than us both dying, but please note, I'm not part of Lars' gang. That may color his estimation of what he owes me and how he'll respond to this."
  • edited November 2010
  • I'm *really* trying to get a read on her. I'm going to go ahead and call this interaction charged. #DiceRoller( 2d6+1 )
  • (Oh, I mark xp when Uncle comes to interrogate her, right?)
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