|
|
Post by fryingpan on May 21, 2013 10:53:52 GMT -5
Smith looks down at the sand. Unconsciously, he's drawn a crude picture of Clint's boys that he saw in the Maelstrom; Brace and Frito. He stares at it for a moment before running his fingers through the freshly-thumbed portrait. He recalls being harassed by Clint's gang and remembers Brace being there as well, laughing and whooping when the others did but otherwise silent, nervous. Smith wonders whats going on inside that thick skull of his, and even more so wonders how he can control it. He grabs a handful of the sand drawing of Brace, stuffs it in his pocket, and makes his way towards the hole in the fence.
Before he leaves he stops to talk to Jeremy. "Hi. I'm leaving now, and it would appear that those two are as well." Smith looks to the fence, which Francis and Jimmy are currently squeezing through. Jimmy has caught the back of his pants on an exposed link and is having a hell of a time getting himself unstuck. Smith plants his face in his palms and pulls at his eyelids as he lifts his head up to look at Jeremy. "Ughh... I'll buy you as much time from your impending doom as I can. No guarantees though. Hey, if you see that beetle let him know that lunch at Fort Cheeto on Tuesday sounds great."
And with that Smith heads for the hole. Upon arriving he plucks a few of the links and lets the sharp hum resonate through his body before ducking through. He's relieved to be out of the scrap. He heads south towards the wastes, noting to himself that Francis and Jimmy are nowhere in sight. He walks for a few minutes, feeling the heat start to pick at his forehead and the sweat start to soak through his under-shirt and onto his jacket. He removes his jacket and puts it over his face to absorb some of the mounting sweat. When he lowers it he is greeted by the unflinching eyes of a group of Clint's boys. "Right on schedule." Smith thinks to himself.
"Hey, where ya headed!?" Smith asks jubilantly, a big smile plastered across his face. "I hope you aren't in the market for scrap, all that toxic gas and all."
|
|
|
|
Post by Sully the Raptor on May 21, 2013 17:32:32 GMT -5
Smith, the boys look you up and down suspiciously. There's got to be 10 of them, a small gang. Brace Win, Frito, and Last are there as you'd figured, along with Bowdy and some other thugs whose names you never deemed worth learning. Seems like Clint himself is either too busy or too chickenshit for a junkyard raid. Most of them have sheet metal strapped to their torsos or wear thick leather jackets, and they're armed with pipes, knives, or 2x4s.
Frito steps forward, his narrow eyes narrowing further and his spits in the dirt. "Just what're you talkin' about toxic gas, creep?" he asks with a mouth full of tobacco, slicking back his greasy back hair. Brace Win looks ridiculous trying to hide behind Frito, half his size, his eyes betraying his fear.
"You just step on aside, creep," Frito continues. "We ain't got no call to go stompin yous but we'll do what we gotta to finish the job we're on. Yer ain't the only one that can see into the other plane so good, we got a boy for that too"
Last smiles, and his brown eyes fade to gray to almost white and you recognize a labored trance state. He mumbles incoherently and Bowdy puts a protective arm around him.
What do you do?
|
|
|
|
Post by fryingpan on May 22, 2013 8:49:36 GMT -5
"OK, OK, understandable, just trying to save your skin. I do mean that literally, damn Jeremy tried to freebase some 30-year old powdered egg whites and ended up taking off a few layers himself." Smith winces and rubs his arms as he says it.
"And hey, i'm not trying to stop you, all i'm saying is give the fumes some time to dissipate. You know what, I've got some cards here, how about we have a game of six-card snake? Maybe a hand or two of rottweiler?" Smith pulls out his deck of cards, the faces of which are all nude or semi-nude women. He flashes a few of the cards at the 'boys. "What do you say?"
|
|
|
|
Post by fryingpan on May 22, 2013 8:51:56 GMT -5
Roll - Seduce
2d6+3
Highlighted stat: Weird; marking 4th exp
Rolling weird due to my brainer move: Unnatural lust transfixion: when you try to seduce someone, roll+weird instead of roll+hot.
EDIT: +1 for acting off a read-a-sitch answer— <3 Your MC
|
|
|
|
Post by Sully the Raptor on May 22, 2013 9:23:37 GMT -5
At first the boys look annoyed, and Frito motions to Brace Win to advance, but as you hold up the cards the Maelstrom swarms in on the lot of them. The pin-up girls on the cards start to talk, making elicit promises and slapping their tits. A scene paints itself from your mind, blocking out the barren landscape of the desert and the scrapyard in the distance behind you. A casiono, lights flashing, beautiful, straight out of the golden age. Clint's boys are walking up to imaginary tables and laying themselves bare to the beautiful and naked dealers, some of them stripping in the desert sun.
You smile, quite pleased with your mind-fuckery, as you watch the fools indulge the fantasy. One of them isn't though. Last, his eyes focused and clear again, can see through the mirage. Slender, frail, and old, his cock probably doesn't work worth a damn anyway. He goes over and starts tugging at the torn brown leather draping Bowdy's arms, trying to pull him back to reality.
What do you do?
|
|
|
|
Post by fryingpan on May 23, 2013 11:01:02 GMT -5
Smith's satisfaction with his boner-inducing illusion lasts only as long as it takes for him to notice its lack of effect on Last. He slowly walks towards him as his smile fades from jubilant to sinister. He leans in close, his eyes staring off into the wastes. "Tell them to come. I want to bathe in their blood."
Smith turns and starts walking back towards the 'yard. He draws his dagger from his inner breast pocket. Frito stands in front of him, pants around his ankles, hips grinding the arid desert air, ass sweat glistening. He walks up behind him, close, and brings his hand to his hip. His fingers unfurl and lightly graze Frito's ass. Frito moans, punctuated by a flood of goosebumps, as Smith slides his fingers onto his cock. With one swift motion his hand wraps around Frito's balls and grips them, tight. He brings his other hand forward. The dagger glints in the midday sun before it rips into Frito's flesh.
Smith spins around, holding Frito so that he is in full view of Last. He releases him, places his boot on his lower back, and kicks him forward towards the rest of the 'boys, blood staining the sand as Frito tumbles forth. Smith turns again and bolts, headed west towards the Ash Flats, Frito's bleeding scrotum gripped tightly in his hand.
|
|
|
|
Post by fryingpan on May 23, 2013 11:10:32 GMT -5
Roll - Seize by Force (the whole ball-cutting thing..)
2d6+1
I inflict terrible harm
I frighten my enemy
Roll - Do something under fire (getting the hell out of dodge)
2d6+1
Someone's fucked.
edit: Sully and I determined that it is Seize by Force, so i've updated that.
|
|
|
|
Post by Sully the Raptor on May 24, 2013 9:28:03 GMT -5
Smith, as you put the steel to Frito's bunched sack in your hand he snaps back to reality and starts to thrash madly. You take 1 harm, his fists flailing at your face and neck. You suck it up, though, and let the steel part the flesh tying his manhood to his body, and you kick him forth into the dirt.
harm move for Smith
2d6+1
You lose track of someone you're attending to.
The gang is flabbergasted by your show of force. "Damn, Smith!" utters Brace Win softly. "Don't you think that was kind of harsh?" He looks at his feet, paralyzed by fear. Frito bleeds and screams and cries on the ground, ash getting caught in his horrid, cleanly cut wound. You stare the gang down, making sure they won't dare approach you. "Shit," you think. "Where the fuck are Bowdy and Last??"
You're not going to stick around and find out. While everyone is still slack-jawed with horror, too frightened even to kneel and aid their friend, you take off to the west.
You drag your feet through the desert, the sun baking the black sand to unbearable temperatures. You're really wishing you had water instead of ink and smokes. The sun moves directly overhead, the heat of the day setting in on you. "Fuck.... which way was fucking west??" You think to yourself. You could swear you'd seen that dead cactus before. "Fuck, where am I?" panic starts to creep into the corners of your mind. You keep thinking you can see the sillohettes of Bowdy and Last on the horizon through the distorted heat, but in different directions. Are they after you or are they a mirage? You've got no fucking idea.
"Shit, shit" tears threaten your eyes, and you hold them back only for fear of losing the precious moisture. You're fucking lost, Smith. What do you do?
|
|
|
|
Post by fryingpan on May 30, 2013 20:50:21 GMT -5
Smith stumbles forward, sun burning into his forehead like a brand. His body isn't used to physical exertion, and as such he fades, fast.
Bloody balls gripped tightly in hand, he looks for some kind of cover, anything to give him a moment of relief. His eyes are like two thick plastic sheets, clawed and broken, they reveal nothing but confusion and heat. Smith's eyes close and he stops dead, letting his eyes roll inward towards his brain, entranced in a reflex.
|
|
|
|
Post by fryingpan on May 30, 2013 22:14:07 GMT -5
Roll - Open your brain
2d6+2
Rolling +Weird
I'm trying to get an idea of what is around me. Is there cover? Is there anything that I recognize that will give me some sense of navigation? Am I just imagining that i'm being chased? That's just what i'm wondering, and doesn't necessarily have to correlate to the roll.
|
|
|
|
Post by Sully the Raptor on Jun 1, 2013 9:47:52 GMT -5
Your mind loosens to the beckoning rhythm of the maelstrom. You can see vultures and crows dancing overhead. "Home to the north! Death to the north!" they chant as they circle and flap. They're making their way north, which is where they fly and nest. You rise up among them and zip to the north. You can see some landmarks below you as you fly, the Stork's overturned dumpster, a makeshift bunker half burried in the sand. "Death to the north! Rot to the north!" They fly further, over Fort Cheeto and the merchant's tents and campers sprawling to the west. Further still you see Gray Trunks, the ashen wood and its quiet and dangerous meadows. The birds continue north, and approach Old Joe's Warning. You can just almost see what's on the other side... you can see it! just for a moment though, and then it's gone, a memory half formed, tugging at you and haunting you. "Fly to the north! Home to the north!" What did you see? The harder you think about it the further it slips away until you realize your mind has slipped out of the maelstrom completely. You look ahead and can see the distant floating Vs, the scavenging birds heading home to the north. You look behind you and can see the distorted figures of Bowdy and Last, approaching you still from the south/south east. You figure it would take you about an hour to get to the Stork. You could push past toward Fort Cheeto, but it would be nightfall when you get there and you'd be acting under fire to travel in the heat so long without water. What do you do? fryingpan |
|
