[Psi*Run] Little China [ALL 3]

edited July 2013 in In-Game
The lot of you arrive at a small Chinese Buffet after a quick walk. The roads here are obscured by manicured rows of trees, so the walk is quieter than you might have expected.

Little China is a run-of-the-mill place, red exterior (used to be some other restaurant and was converted), a golden dragon on the roof. Inside it is wide open design, cheap metal tables, pleasant, young staff, and two long buffet lines. It's later lunch, so some seats are available in the short row of booths, but with five of you, one of you sat at the end. Who was that?

Pen-Day, do you share your memory?

Who already has a plate full of food?

Do you really expect to get out of here for $25?


  • I take the seat at the end if no one else does.
    "Listen up I remembered something while we were walking over here. You were there Barco" I nod to the lady, "and so were you. "

    I take a bit of General Tso's chicken and continue, "El cabrones -- the dudes from the SUV, they were asking about Jeremy and they cut off my finger because you wouldn't tell them. "

    I look around to make sure no one is watching.
    "One thing I don't remember...is where I got this. "

    I set a neat roll of bills on the table.
  • edited July 2013
    "No sh*t," i say as I sit down with my plate and glide into the booth. It takes me off guard a little - the ease with which I slide across the industrial fabric of the booth seat. It's kinda fun for a moment, like the seat was waxed. It's then that I notice that I'm sweating through my scrubs. I look at my plate. I'm hungry and I've taken a little bit of everything - my plate's even a little over-full. I should really take care of this though. It's not even that hot and I don't want to stick out any more than I already feel like I do. Pen-day's said something else but now I've missed it. Gliding back out [wheeeee], I say, "I'll be right back," and head to the restroom to get myself cleaned up. Maybe I can even dry off my scrubs under a blower, if they have one...
  • I sit down with a plate of vegetarian entre's and sides but piled up pretty good and lots of hot tea with nothing in it. I glance around and speak in a low voice but so that the folks at the table can hear me. "Well one thing we can be sure of, our instincts were correct and these guys don't want to help us. They are dangerous and brutal, normal people don't go cutting peoples fingers off. So you mentioned her role in this" I nod and glance at the girl in the purple shirt. "but you didn't say what Barco was doing. And on the street he seemed to know what was going on with your injury. Did he take care of you? stitch it up or something?"
  • "I don't remember what he was doing there. I bashed a couple of those guys and grabbed you " I nod to the lady "and blink we were in a different room with the black counters and Barco."

    "What's you name anyway? Or what should we call you? " I look directly at the lady in the purple shirt.
  • [Casey]

    Realizing he doesn't have any money, Casey sits down across from the other two guys with plates. He points to a dumpling on Barco's plate, "Hey mate... You gonna eat that?" He darts a look toward the wait staff, making sure no one is looking when he picks off other people's plates.

    After listening to Pen-day talk about this memory, Casey holds up a pair of chopsticks he's been using to snipe mushrooms off The Runner With No Name's [marco42's] dish, "Wait, wait, wait- who the hell is Jeremy? Is you Jeremy?" He points at The Runner With No Name. Shaking his head, he nabs a piece of General Tso's chicken and stuffs it in his mouth, talking as he chews, "This shit is confusing. I feel like we need nametags and...maybe a chart or somethin'."
  • [Barco]
    In the restroom, I look at my scrubs in the mirror - sweat stains here and there. Pulling off my top, I look at myself in the mirror while I try and dry it under the hand blower. My skin is so shiny, like I just applied tanning oil or something. Running a hand down my arm, I find that I almost can't feel it. It's that slick. Sh*t. I prop my top under the blower and grab a handful of paper towels. I start anxiously wiping my chest and arms.
  • I wish I could help you, I don't remember my name. I sure hope I'm not Jeremy they want him pretty bad. I know for sure I'm not Vik Sing, that was like telling them my name is John Smith.
  • Since it's a buffet, the staff only comes around to refill drinks. There's a booth with three generations of women near you, an eight year old girl, her twenty-something mom busily tapping on her smartphone and oblivious to her daughter trying and failing to learn how to use chopsticks. Last is the late forties grandmother who is looking out the window at the parking lot like she's waiting for someone to drive up and park.

    There's a TV on in the corner, you notice. It's a flatscreen nineteen incher, tough to make out in the glare, they really should have placed it better in that mount. News report on, local news, looks like. Volume is turned down, so you can't hear it. They're showing a helicopter view of a roadside accident. Yes, that looks like your van.
  • [Barco]
    I hop up on the counter and kick off my shoes, continuing to wipe at my skin with paper towels. I wipe rub down my feet and then hop down to retrieve my shoes. My feet almost go out from under me - this floor is slick! ...or is it just me? It's almost like walking on ice.
  • "Hey man," I say to Casey "Go grab a plate. I think We can afford to pay for food. " I hold up the roll of bills and wave it at him, but without showing it off to anyone looking from another table.
  • I wave at the bus boy as he's clearing a table and ask him to turn up the volume. "Oye amigo, ¿podrías subir el volumen? "
  • In an angry whisper through clenched teeth "Oh man did those bastards kill those kids?"
  • Casey shrugs and grabs a plate, loading it liberally with dumplings, fried rice, and breaded chicken. As he sits down, he hears "Vik Sing" whisper and looks at the news report on the television. He leans forward and whispers back, "Is that us on the telly? I can't tell if it's the van we woke up in or the one with those kids. Either way, this bunch seem like the proverbial bull in a china shop." Casey glances at his raised chopsticks and suddenly becomes aware of where he is, "No pun intended, mate. We should get the hell out of here as soon as possible. Eat faster." He takes his own advice and shovels another scoop into his mouth.
  • "I, I don't remember my name. Call me Violet," I say, pulling on the sleeve of my shirt. "It'll do until someone remembers what it really is." I had filled up my plate with rice and beef with broccoli, a few eggrolls and some potstickers. I had eaten a few bites, but social norms being what they were, I didn't feel comfortable wolfing down the food the way I wanted to. How long had it been since I'd eaten last? My stomach felt like an empty maw, waiting to swallow me whole. The food I was putting in didn't seem to be doing anything to fill it up. I glance at Pen-day. "Sorry about your finger," I say, as if that would really make it any better.
  • I get up and look at the TV closer to see which van it is. Then I sit down and tear into the food listening to the others speak. After "Violet" finishes speaking I wash down the last bit of my food with my tea then say "I suppose Vik is as good a name as any. It's not mine but it might as well be for now. What about clothes? Something tells me raiding clotheslines won't be as easy as it looks in the movies."
  • "I don't think a lot of people even use clotheslines anymore," I say, finishing up my food and washing it down with a glass of water. "We'd have to resort to raiding a laundromat or something. That would be a lot harder." It might even be easier to shoplift the clothes, but I don't really want to go there. "We could trade clothes with some homeless people. Yeah - it'd smell bad, but we would essentially become invisible."
  • "How big is that roll of cash? What about a thrift store? Raggedy jeans and t shirts shouldn't be too expensive we're all fairly average. Violet and Casey are already in street clothes." I start looking around to count how many outfits we need then say "Barco's been in the men's for a while, think he's ok?"
  • "I'll check on 'im. I need to use the khazi anyway." He nods toward his dish, "Thanks for the grub."

    Casey jumps up and heads into the men's room.
  • [Barco]
    This is maybe the worst day ever. I'm not sure about any of my other days, but this has got to be the worst. I carefully stand up and slide back to the sink. Any other day, this feeling of gliding might be kinda fun but today it's just part of the problem. I hop back on the counter and look down at my skin. I mean, I really look. I wipe at it and look again. Why can't I wipe this sh*t off?
  • [Barco]

    Roll to come.
  • I roll out the wad and count. It's 20s. Fifty of them.

    "An even large. Let's go shopping. "

    I get up and fill another plate from the buffet. I raise my fork and add "After we finish eating of course. "
  • edited July 2013
  • edited July 2013

    The busboy smirks, evidently pleased that you pick him out as Latino when so many customers assume he's Chinese like the wait staff due to his bronze skin and dark hair. He nods, "s
  • [Barco]

    Rolling 5 dice because psychic powers can be slippery.

    #DiceRoller( 5d6 )
  • edited July 2013

    Goal: 1
    Reveal: 2
    Chase: 4
    Psi: 1

    I look at my skin. I'm no dermatologist or chemist. All I know is that my skin is hella slick and the paper towels aren't going to cut it. Did they put this stuff on me? Is my body making it? "What the...!"
  • (breakdown of the results)

    Goal: 1 (goal was to find out about his slickness power) Runner fails goal. Player has first say.
    Reveal: 2 Runner has no memory triggered. Player has first say.
    Chase: 4 Chasers move one locale closer to the runners on the trail.
    Psi: 1 Power goes wild: people are dead, things destroyed — it would make national news. GM has first say.
  • Barco,

    As you're in the bathroom, which has a couple stalls and a couple urinals, needs some cleaning, but isn't "bug-worthy", you're trying to dry yourself off. It isn't working, so you try washing it off, maybe the stuff is like vasoline, oily, but with soap and water, just maybe it will come off. As soon as the water hits your skin, you catch a particular odor, like almonds.

    Then you hear the THUMP of something fleshy hitting metal. In the bathroom mirror you see one of the stall doors swing wide open. The man who was inside, a dark-skinned fellow in his forties, a bit overweight, pitches forward, like he fell off the toilet suddenly. His head hits hard on the tile floor. The rest of his body falls slack and he is lying there on his belly, naked ass up in the air. Dead.

    As you're processing this, the bathroom door opens. A man in his late twenties, narrow eyes, wide smile, comes in, hand-in-hand with what looks like his five year old son. They pause at the door, seeing you shirtless with paper towels askew, the dead body of the man who fell off the toilet. The man sniffs once, then gets a queer look on his face. The boy says in a warbly voice, "Daddy... what is that smeh..." Then, as if they were marionettes and some giant unseen force snipped their strings, they both swoon and fall to the ground, the boy crumpling like a kitten falling from a tree, the man throwing a hand against the door jamb, then twisting awkwardly to fall onto his side, dead before his body stops moving.

    The water is still running in the sink. You're still slick as snot. But the smell, it is quickly dissipating.

    What do you do?
  • edited July 2013
    "...f*ck," I finally finish. After a second, I snap out of it. I clap my hands over my mouth and nose. Gas!. I drop the paper towels and grab a handful of new ones from up out of the dispenser. I shove them under the tap and grab my shirt and shoes. I peel off a couple wet paper towels and hold them over my mouth and dash out of the bathroom, over the kid, over the dad, and out past the buffet. I slide the last ten feet or so and, coming to a stop hard against the booth's table, slap the handful of wet paper towels down in the middle of the table. In a nasally voice - I'm trying not to inhale - I say, "We've gotta go." I stand there looking at them in my scrub pants.
  • As soon as the new report finishes, a shirtless, shoe-less Barco comes running up to the table.
  • [Casey]

    Having risen to check on Barco, Casey is surprised to see him running- well, more like sliding- over to the table. When Barco comes to a stop and finishes speaking, Casey enunciates slowly, "What. The. Bleedin'. Hell. You. Prat."

    He then scans the room for signs of trouble, sees the bathroom door has stuck on something and remains open a crack, and begins heading for it. When he gets right in front of the door, he stops, and looks down at the child's shoe wedged between door and frame. He looks back at Barco, "What the fuck did you do, mate?" He hovers between the group and the bathroom, frightened and unsure of which way he should turn.
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