Apocalypse World: The Colony - IC

edited August 2013 in Site Matters
It's another "beautiful" day on Aeneas, the air is almost thick enough to breathe when it's not being snatched out of you by the shivering cold. Where does this day find you? What are you doing and who are you with and why?


  • [Smith]

    I'm leading the Earth Walk. We walk around (we've found a nice loop of hallway) and I talk about an important place to walk on earth. Today I'm telling everyone about the Appalachian Trail.
  • Storm rarely wakes up before noon, since his business rarely begins before early evening. By midafternoon, he's probably made himself presentable (by his standards) and has raided the leftovers from the food stores at Lock 44, and is making himself visible and possibly useful somewhere near the bar.
  • [Proper]

    I'm up early - earlier than Storm, anyway - and moving through the Lock. A benefit to not serving drinks (at least as a primary substance of recreation) is that I don't ever have to clean up vomit, but I do find myself herding muzzy-headed, vacant-eyed Fade-rats out of Lock 44 so that I can ready the place for the beta-watch crowd. Trist and Harkin are "helping," as much as they can while being on the tail end of a drug-induced memory burn. I get frustrated: my face becomes ever more mask-like and inert. The last thing to clean up is Lits - he's in the far reaches of the Lock, where he likes to hole up with his drug of choice. We find him on the floor, with a small gang's worth of Fade capsules, empty and shattered like a bunch of discarded fingernails, in a pile on the table beside him. My face is like a mannequin's now, shiny and immobile. My eyes are glass chips. There is no fucking way that burnout could afford this much Fade.
  • I am in my shop early in the morning boiling the geno-enge' maize into a mash then starting the distillation process. Once it's boiling away I start going over projects for paying customers, repairing a shot-gun for Poptop. It got hit by a stray bullet on a raid and the pump action is all fucked up. She paid in services rendered so I want to get that debt cleared up. I also have to shape and sand 3 stocks 2 for new rifles and one a repair on a hunting rifle. Keeler spends most of the day in a chair by the garage entrance cleaning and servicing his own weapons. But that is plenty of security as people see a guy with his blasted face checking the action on a machine gun and a shot gun then sharpening a big ass knife. He doesn't seem to have much to say and I don't offer to start a conversation. My concentration is on my work.
  • Proper, when Lit comes up he's sharper and more alert than you'd expect from someone who just came off an all night Fade binge, he's wary too. He knows you'd know he can't afford this kind of score. He mumbles something about having somewhere else to be and tries to walk out past you. As he does, you notice something. These Fade caps look hinky, look a bit different. They ain't the usual ones you know and love.
  • [Proper, whose questions sound like statements.]

    I get very much in his way. "What the fuck is this, Lits. You know the Lock's not a bring-your-own affair. These aren't caps from my stock. Care to explain what's going on before this becomes my reason to banish your ass from this establishment." Fingers twitching, knuckles cracking, but face as cold and still as a block of dry ice. If Trist and Harkin are paying any fucking attention at all they're flanking me like proper security goons.

    [I'm going to operate on the assumption that's a Manipulate (tell me what's going on: leverage, you don't get put on the fuck-off list) and post the roll following. If it's not, coo'.]
  • #DiceRoller( 2d6+2 )
  • He gets all shifty, his eyes flicking back and forth between you and Trist and Harkin, who are standing by your sides trying to look properly intimidating. He's wringing his hands and looks like he wants to sit down.
    "Look man, look look look, you gotta... you gotta promise me you won't tell em you heard it from me ok?"
  • [Proper]

    "Trist, Harkin, take five." Proper waves them off with a fidgety little wave. Harkin blinks, huh? and Proper gives him a push to get him moving. "Go find Mr. Storm and see if he needs anything. Now." Trist and Harkin saunter off, Trist making a completely unnecessary throat-cutting gesture at Lits as he walks away. Proper points at Lits. "Sit." Then he crouches to get to eye-level with Lits, fingers a-tap where they're braced on the floor. "Just you and me now, Lits. Come clean and it stays that way. You have my word on it."
  • Storm's looking busy right now, except it's the most laid-back busy you've ever seen. There are mini-bars where the gang sells Fade, and it's a bad idea to keep too much on hand, and it's a worse idea to run out in the middle of the end-of-shift rush, and it's still worse to give a Fade-head the access codes to the storeroom where the supply is kept.

    Storm closes the safe at the last mini-bar, pockets the last half-dozen doses of Fade, and drops some jingle - a couple high-capacity data crystals and a flawless synthetic diamond - into the cash box.

    His eyes linger on Trist and Harkin, unblinking, just a little bit too long for their comfort. "Trist, Harkin. Anything I can help you with?"
  • {Proper}

    He actually looks a little bit relaxed, now that you're taking his request seriously.
    "Look, Proper, I didn't want to say because he's well, y'know, one of your people. I know how you clones like to stick together and he's a regular here so I just kinda assumed you knew about it right?"


    Trist just sort of stands there with his hands in his pockets. Harkin looks at you and with that blank dumb expression on his face says
    "Well, we just thought you mighta needed some help? Is there anything we can do for you?"
  • [Storm]

    "You thought I needed help? More like someone wanted privacy." I look at Harkin, assessing him. "How much Fade did you guys do last night? Go sit down and have something to eat so you're not completely fucking useless this shift. I'll make sure the place is ready for beta-watch."

    I grab a broom, possibly for cleaning, possibly for self defense, and make a circuit of Lock 44. Proper's already rousted everyone and the place is in decent shape. When I see Proper I give him a wide berth -- close enough so he knows I'm there and around if he needs me, far enough so that he can't reasonably accuse me of spying.
  • edited August 2013

    Proper makes the most brief glancing eye contact with Storm, accompanied with a millimeter's head-nod of acknowledgement. The clone's face is as placid (and cold, and deadly) as a pool of liquid helium - but his fingers skitter on the floor. Muscles jump under the formfitting white shipsuit.

    'One of your people.' How long have I been hearing this fucktalk, Proper thinks. But what he says is "What I hear you saying, Lits, is that it's Lamprey. Is that right. Because if I go and fuck his shit up, and oh it turns out you were talking about someone else, I am going to be angrier than you have ever seen. Angrier than you can imagine. Are we clear on that."
  • edited August 2013

    Fuck, these situations always seem to happen when Keeler's off somewhere else. Storm palms a knife - just obvious enough for Proper to notice, if he's paying attention - and busily sets to sweeping a patch of clean floor between Lits and the way out.

    Time to read a situation: #DiceRoller(2d6+1)
  • What should I be on the lookout for? (Is Lits armed? Does he look like he might turn violent?)

    What's Lits's true position?

    It looks like Proper is solidly in control. Is that the case?
  • [Proper]

    He nods.
    "Lamprey, yes. Lamprey the clone"
    He's sweating and he's scared.


    - Lits isn't gonna try to pull anything violent, not here with these people backing you and Proper up and not while he's in this condition

    - He's ready to run if he has to though, body tensed and just a hair away from his flight reflex coming into play

    - At the moment though, his fear of Proper overrules everything else and he probably isn't going to go anywhere until Proper says he can. Proper is absolutely in control.
  • [Proper]

    "Thanks, Lits. I appreciate your help. Come on, get up. No one's going to hurt you." Proper stands, slides a hand into the thigh-pocket of his shipsuit, draws out a couple of Gams' caps, bobbles them thoughtfully in his palm for a few seconds. "On the house, Lits - my personal stock. Enjoy." He extends the caps - silvery green-banded packets of incremental oblivion - with one hand and with the other hand riffles up a fistful of the empties. "Go on, now. I need to finish policing this place up."

    Once Lits leaves, the clone turns to Storm. "Thanks, friend. Good to know I have backup. Care to render an opinion. I'm trying to decide if I go drown Lamprey in a bucket of coolant now, or if I should have someone take a look at these empties first. So that before I drown him I have all the facts, you know what I mean.”
  • Storm shrugs. "In the long run, we're all dead. Might be a mercy to kill him quickly."
  • [Proper]

    The clone cracks an unexpected grin. "I like the way you think. But it occurs to me before I start the drownings I should find Keeler and talk to Ozair. Do you and your blades want to come along. I'll throw in a little extra for you, a bonus if you like, just name it. I'll let the gang finish things here."
  • "Mostly done anyway, and a few hours to kill before trade shows up. Might as well."
  • edited August 2013
    discussion moved to here: Ozair's Garage
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