Funbox

[The Walox]

August 23 1936 – forty miles west of Luxor Egypt.

It took four burly native men to latch the back of Bailey’s tattered old biplane to the tow truck. He rolled a cigarette between his broad bronzed fingers and watched as the dusty rig grunted and groaned to life, straining with the task of hauling the light aircraft off of the makeshift runway. Clear, level ground was hard to come by in the rocky desert and its task finished, Bailey’s plane was evicted from the field.

Uninterested the American tried and failed several times to light his ciggy, but no luck. The cheap knockoff Zippo he bought in the suk was just as useless at lighting cigarettes as the expedition tow truck was at moving planes. Frustrated the young man tossed the crummy lighter over his shoulder and muttered darkly over his unlit cigarette.

“Need a light?” said the aristocratic English voice form somewhere behind Bailey’s head. He spun casually on the spot to greet the voice. “Contaminating an excavation site with litter? I must say, I would have thought better from an archeologist as experienced as yourself Doctor Bailey. But one mustn’t expect too much from an American.”

The Voices’ owner was a young man of unimpressive stature; Bailey had met him once before and yet that didn’t seem to keep him from starting at the man’s, well, peculiarities. Perhaps people who, whomever in Osiris’s name they may be, knew R.J. Cutter better could pinpoint what made him so very strange. His skin bore the marks of unmistakable sun damage with a dark tan and countless freckles, yet there were none of the telltale wrinkles.

His eyes where blue, yet rather feminine bailey thought, he had an unusually thick black beard and eyebrows so the immediate impression upon the young American was one of robust masculinity.It was probably the way Cutter moved that unnerved Bailey so greatly; with a sensuous, predatory, feline grace. And that purposeful hungry stare from those finely shaped eyes.

“Well don’t be shy! Go on have a light; there is a trick to working these chintzy lighters.” Cutter was still offering a light, right. Bailey gave himself a mental shake and held his cigarette in the lighter’s flame. “I must say Bailey, you are awfully distracted today.” Cutter fingered the lighter and took another pull on his own cigarette.

Cutters eyes searched Bailey up and down. He felt like he was being x-rayed and didn’t care for it one bit. “Jus’ the sun,” Bailey muttered as Cutter fired up another cigarette. The man smokes like a chimney, Bailey though as he addressed the Englishman, “You, know I’ve been stateside for awhile, kinda forget what it’s like over here. “

“Indeed.” Cutter answered in a faint enigmatic tone. Bailey ignored it and continued.

“So what was so urgent that I had to travel halfway across the world to see?”

“What? Hoffman never told you? That old man loves his secrets doesn’t he?” Cutter laughed, Bailey scowled. Professor Arty Hoffman was the greatest Para-archeologist of his generation; an infuriating old man who took perverse glee in wasting other people’s time.

People who had more important things to do than go chasing fairy tales, people who worked for Arty’s old colleagues, who sent them across the globe, on a moment’s notice; poor harassed, haggard, henpecked people like Bailey. Well, just Bailey. For some reasons Arty always specially requested him.

Cutter led Bailey through the cluttered dig sight. These large digs had all the energy and sound of a major city. Men in flowing striped robes striking at rocks with pickaxes, hauling debris from pits in enormous wicker baskets; laughing, singing, socializing and complaining as they toiled in the faded glory of peoples come and gone.

These scenes always made Bailey a bit broody. As Cutter led him to the largest of the tents in the little village that had sprung up alongside the dig site he wondered if Cutter was the kind of man who pondered these things. “Kinda ironic ain’t it?”

“What?” Cutter said as he navigated the raucous chaos of the dig with calculated ease. ”Didn’t catch that.”

Bailey raised his voice to a near shout,” I said it’s kinda ironic. I mean all this life in a city that’s been dead four thousand years; all these men makein’ a livin’ off the bones of dead men. Jus’ kinda strange if ya think about it.”

“Nothing strange about that,” Though he couldn’t see the man’s face Bailey swore he could hear the smile in Cutter’s voice, “under takers have been doing exactly that for eons. Mankind builds with death and the dead. As a civilization the dead are our bricks, death our mortar.” Before Bailey could offer a rebuttal to this rather grim view he was ushered into Hoffman’s tent; Cutter smiling broadly from behind his busy beard.

While Cutter’s beard was magnificent, Hoffman’s beard was majestic. An immense cloud of fizzled white hair framing a face that seemed to consist of only a bulbous potato nose and a pair of round lensed spectacles. To Bailey Hoffman always resembled some hybrid of gnome and confused dandelion dressed in red suspenders and a pith helmet.

The gnomey Hoffman stood behind a large broad table in the middle of the cluttered tent. “Bailey! There you are!” Hoffman shouted with his usual enthusiasm, crushing Bailey’s hand with a firm grasp.

“I’m fine Sir, it looks like y’all are doin’ well. Excuse me Sir, yer crushin’ my hand.”

Hoffman released Bailey’s hand and beamed. “Of course! Of course you’ll have to forgive my enthusiasm! But I knew the moment we found it that you would want to be here!”

Cutter leaned against one of the tent’s supports, rolling another cigarette, “You might as well cut to the chase Hoffman, after the ride he’s had in that old crate of a plane of his I don’t think Bailey’s in much of a mood for suspense. Trust me Bailey you will be happy you’ve come.”

“Alright! Let’s see it then Hoffman.”Bailey said with more annoyance that joy.

Hoffman jovially ducked under the table and after a few minutes of noisily rummaging about appeared with a small parcel in hand. “I didn’t bother with a safe. I figured any thief would have looked there first so I just buried it in this mess. Much more effective, though I must admit I was nearly in danger of never finding it again!”Gingerly he lowered a small package, wrapped in time yellowed parchment, onto the table’s surface. With deceptively nimble wrinkled fingers, Hoffman unwrapped the parcel. It was no bigger than a cigarette box; its shiny silvery cover was engraved with Hellenistic symbols Bailey recognized from his studies.

“Impossible.” Bailey breathed he lifted the object with quivering fingers, “Its, its. . .”

“Pandora’s Box,” Cutter supplied from his space in the tent, Bailey meant to say beautiful. It was splendid but Pandora’s Box, please. Defiantly odd that this artifact would wind up in Egypt; it would require more study. Study that neither Bailey, nor Hoffman, nor anyone else would ever get to do.

The workmen say that they heard noises from Hoffman’s tent the night that he and the American died. They claim that they heard the voice of the Englishmen and that of a woman and that in the morning two sets of prints led off into the sand.

Seattle, May 2072 12:00 P.M. The Snake Alley Noodle Shop

A lantern shone through the dark gloom of the warehouse. Its light the only comforting beacon in a dreary landscape otherwise lit by moonlight through filthy windows and by the soft illumination of the ancient Gothic tanks that filled the dank space. As the intrepid party approached details came into view.

The grim objects; pitted black iron as ancient as Paris herself, rough blown glass panels large enough to conceal three horses and dark murky shapes floating within. “Nicolette?” said a soft timid voice, a member of the party; a tiny wisher in the overpowering dismal atmosphere. Crushed not only a moment by a loud Shush!

There was stillness once more, silence interrupted by the breathing of a few good men and echo of their shod feet on the dirty strew bricks of the building’s ruined floor. Of all the men in the party only one knew the reality of the situation. The only one trained in the most noble of man’s endeavors –that being SCIENCE!! - realized what populated this place. Dr. Graham led the troop of men to the nearest glass and iron monolith, his face illuminated by the warm light of his electric lamp.

“Yes, the fairies were correct in their assumption,” He muttered under his breath, “Doctor Frankenstein indeed, make note, purchase sugar cubes for Her Grace.” Carefully, with the calculated precision of an automaton, the Good Doctor tapped on the glass with a finely gloved hand. “As I suspected.”

“What is it Monsieur?” Said the brave and brash Inspector Gavroche; his hand fastened firmly on the butt of the atomizer pistol in his belt holster.

“My dear Inspector, these are Bavarian vivisection tanks, much similar to those used by the monks of St. Percy of Perpetual Sorrow in the south of this coun . . . French.” As he turned to face his small group of companions, expecting an eager audience, Dr. Graham was instead treated to the sounds of terrified shouts and fleeing footsteps. Unfazed the good Doctor turned his attention on the tank the raising of an eyebrow his only response to the horror that. . .

Horatio loved the vids. Normally wire-fu movies were his specialties but given the chance it was hard to pass up the all day Doctor Graham marathons on the Fantasy Classic channel. Reaching his hand into an eighty pound bag of barbeque soy pork rinds Horatio was experiencing purest bliss. French Radio was the second movie in the Graham Series and as a rule the goriest, so that made it all the better.

Just as the Good Doctor was about to deliver the finishing blow to his adversary, via an alchemy bomb, the message alert sounded on Horatio’s comm-link. James, Horatio’s mechanic, was finished with the twenty-thousand mile maintenance on Horatio’s bike. James also insisted that Horatio pick it up whenever he found it convenient.

Along with his T.V and sofa Horatio’s bike was his prized possession and while James was a good mechanic he was also bit off his rocker. A man of few words who had married a former English pop star and opened an exotic auto repair shop downtown James was a man who meant business and treated Horatio well.

Horatio stared at his commlink pondering the message. There really wasn't much to ponder. In 'James Speak' the phrase 'whenever he found it convenient' meant 'If you don't get down here and get this thing out of my garage right now I might forget who it belongs to and sell it to a bum for a single nuyen.'

It wasn't that James didn't like Horatio, or the bike: he just kept an efficient shop. It was his nature, just as it was in Horatio's nature to mostly sit on the couch and eat... well, whatever was around. The thought made Horatio check the bag in his hand.

"BBQ Pork... things. The frak is-? Horatio ran the barcode scanner on his commlink over the ingredients list and immediately regretted it. He shook his head. "And I'm not even high... I mean, pork rinds. How did I even get these?"

It was bad enough finding strange food in your house. Stranger still to not remember buying it. And then eat it mindlessly. Just to be safe Horatio checked is purchases in this account- and there it was: 2 to packs of pork rinds, on sale at the local Stuffer Shack- purchased at -9:00 07/05/72.

"Two?! Ugh."

Confused and more than a little upset, Horatio dumped the remaining pork rinds into the tiny garbage disposal, and the machine almost choked on the excessive dehydrated sodium polydextrose sulfate and heaven-knows-what-else created in a lab deep underground. By trolls, in all likelihood. The more Horatio thought about it the more he decided not to think about it.

A quick check in the opti-cam mirror revealed what Horatio already knew: He looked like he'd been sitting around doing nothing in his basement apartment waiting for his bike to be fixed. That would not do. A quick turn in the sonic shower, a cold water shave and a clean set of clothes later Horatio was ready to go collect his bike. He almost made it to the door before he remembered that he would be riding his bike back, and would thus need his biking things. Muttering under his breath Horatio went and collected his helmet and jumpsuit.

With one eye on the clock Horatio changed out of his clothes and into his layered jumpsuit. It was a fairly ordinary garment, eschewing the fashionable neon colors for standard issue black- complete with a chemical resistant under-seal and added ballistic protection: the Barrens dwellers liked to take pot shots as he sped past delivering noodles. And that train of thought led Horatio to add his pistol and gun slide, boot knife and shock gloves. It was better to not take chances.

As Horatio stuffed his biking helmet in his shoulder bag along with the rest of his 'walking kit' he sent a text message to James: 'Don't sell the bike- I'm coming.' And with that Horatio headed out the door.

How Mr. Lin, the balding obese man who founded snake Alley Noodles, came to choose this particular crowded barrens alleyway for his business was anybody’s guess. Most people’s guesses involved a large bucket of opium and several burly men with bats. Why else would any sane person found a premium restaurant in a smelly litter strewn alley?

The stench of rotting trash and mildewed laundry mingled on the humid putrid Seattle air with the sweet tangy smells of Mr. Lin’s famous noodles. It was an overpowering aroma that dazzled and confused many of the alleyways first time visitors. But being immune Horatio pressed onward, nonplussed.

Passed rows and rows of old apartments, cracked and pot marked city streets populated by a few neglected cars and hordes of people. This part of the barrens was one of the most active in the metropolis. People from the entire spectrum of Meta humanity mingled in the open spaces. Horatio walked on, past countless rundown grey and white buildings that were bland even when new.

After a few miles of identical tight alleys and boulevards Horatio came to the edge of Little Morocco. An ethnic neighborhood fashioned after the great cities of the region this was a much more colorful than the development from which Horatio had just come. Crossing the street and passing beneath the entry arch felt like crossing a barrier back through time.

Here the buildings were colorful. Earthy brown adobe and mosaic covered walls filled Horatio’s field of vision with dazzling colors. Just a few more blocks. Men in striped robes called to each other and packed the street making passage difficult. Here and there the crowd parted as small cars and trucks forced their way through. Veiled ladies sold goods from underneath awninged stands and small children ran to and fro bringing the cacophony to a tumultuous head.

As Horatio stood in front of the open garage door of Milano Seattle, the small auto shop owned by James, the tepid aroma of spices and hashish was thick on the air. The few old men soliciting the café across the crowed street watched cautious eyes over their hummus as the young elf approached the open door of the shop.

The interior of Milano Seattle had the unmistakable sent of cool concrete and grease. A few old Alfa Romeo race cars took up much of the floor space and a customer’s vintage Lamborghini sat waiting for attention. From a stereo somewhere in the shop’s interior Ella Fitzgerald crooned. James was a tall slender man who could be likened to the exact twin to Spike Spiegle from the old Twentieth Century anime.

He wore a black t-shirt and had tucked an unlighted cigarette behind his ear; its lit twin hung from the corner of James’ mouth. “Bout’ time you showed up, almost sold that wreck of yours to the beggar in the alley.” He smirked and jerked a thumb to the highly polished black Suzuki sitting by the office door, awaiting it’s master.

"Yeah yeah. Heard it all before Jim."

Horatio walked over to his bike, taking a moment to inspect the paint and finish. Then he slotted a cord from the motorcycles' 'brain' into his commlink. Horatio was never monied enough to buy a new motorcycle, but the used one had its advantages, namely cost. Although the vehicle didn't have a wireless ability, the addition of holster for a commlink solved the worst of the problems without much fuss.

Horatio browsed through the vehicles' checklist, checking the oil, fuel, tire pressure and a few other odds and ends. James wasn't normally the cheating sort- he had enough money judging by the toys he kept- but double checking his work was as much a part of the ritual as the threat to sell the bike.

"She looks good Jim. Thanks! And you didn't syphion off the gas. Color me impressed."

Horatio took the long way around back to James' workbench so he could admire the new additions to the collection. Most of these beauties were antiques, obviously, and Horatio could make a decent guess as to makes and models. Eventually he ambled back to the workbench, and slotted his certified credstick into the receiver. Mr. Lin's mantra of 'Certified Credstick Only' was so ingrained in Horatio he started using them himself.

"Here." Horatio said, paying the agreed upon amount and a percentage tip (it never hurt to keep the mechanic happy)"That one's new isn't it?" Horatio nodded toward the Lamborghini. "One of yours?"

[The Walox]

“The Aventador? Nah, belongs to a customer.” He unceremoniously stuffed the butt of his dying cigarette into an ashtray on the battered wooden workbench. Firing up another cig he shot the root-beer brown sports car a dirty look. “I had to go all the way to D.C just to get the computer to reprogram the thing. And if that wasn’t enough I had to scour Manhattan to find a new VCR for the Otaku who had the computer for the Lambo.”

He smiled and shook his head, cigarette between his fingers, “Crazy hobby. Oh, before I forget you need to start locking your gas cap; somebody dumped half a gallon of soy café in the tank.” His suspicious gaze turned on Horatio as he spoke.

But before Horatio could offer a rebuttal, he found that he was too short of breath. An educated guess would have located the source of this discomfort at the small creature trying to squeeze him in two. “There’s me fave’ bika’!” said the thing in a cockney accent that would have made the god of flat-cap wearing Olde London thugs blush with inadequacy. James’ wife Jazz released Horatio from her grip.

It was astounding how someone so cute and tiny could be so lethal. Like the jokes about selling the bike and the stereotype rebuttals, getting squeezed in half by Jazz was one of the rituals of Horatio’s visit. Her adorable round face beamed at Horatio from curtains of lush strawberry blonde hair.

“So Or-ate-io ows the nootle biz? James that Lambo still ere is it?” James just gave her a dirty look as if to say “what do you think?”],”Oi Orateio ye shold ave’ seen er, flashest bird I eva did see down ow’ way she wars! Gucci from ead to tow she wars dress’d. Mos bird that posh won’t touch a mota that old they won’t!” James rolled his eyes and slumped off to tend to the red GTV-6 with its hood propped open.

“Sory, Orateio, I’ve gon’an ardly givin’ you a chace ta tawlk I ave’! Ows the ol’ nootle shop these days?”A kind soul, if a bit hard to understand she sat cross legged on the hood of an old FIAT convertible and waited with baited breath. It would have been easy to simply mistake her curiosity for busy-body gossip but that was far from the truth.

As a rule of thumb Little Morocco was a neighborhood with old fashioned values. Most of the men and women here were conservative and in this day and age holding on to their traditions was important. That being said when James and Jazz opened their business here the locals welcomed them with open arms.

But Jazz’s case was special. Her darkest secret was this, which was not so secret at all, as an adolescent she had been the most successful pop star in the U.K. But when the public lost interest her producers decided it was time to “overhaul” her image. Long story short the libel hit the press and her reputation was ruined. Which was a shame, she was quite nice.

[Galvain7]

"Ah. Yeah. Hello to you too Jazz."

Every time Horatio came in here it was always the same thing: insult, banter, check on the bike, more banter, get ribs cracked by crazy former pop star, and then stare stupidly between James and Jazz, and wonder, "What in heavens name does she see in him? What? Is it the vacant, slightly agitated stare? The perpetually messy hair? The brisk manner? The mechanical aptitude?"

Horatio shook his head. "Sorry Jazz. Lost myself there for a second. Yeah, I'm good. How are you? Well, the noodle business is... noodly, I guess. Not much excitement there. Not like here. Do you know the lady with the car? Was she a movie star?"

Horatio sends a text message to his boss, to see if there were any deliveries he has to make.

[The Walox]

“Nah, I neva seen er’ in me life! Jus stuk me a bit od she dit. All silent ‘n stuf she wars. Ad a rifl’ tall as you she dit Orateio!” Jazz shook her head, worried. “Fowlks like that give a goil the chills they do.”

James grunted from somewhere under the hood of the red Alfa. Jazz looked worried and added in a somber voice,”I sure ate ta think we ‘er ‘elpin’ some nutta er’ summit. “She clenched her arms and gave a shudder that shook her tiny frame. “I mean posh as she soun’ed, proply a hit man er summit like that.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it Jazz. Hit men don’t drive around Seattle in sixty year old Lamborghinis.” James’ voice was tinged with amusement and (spirits!) he was smiling as he lit up another cigarette. Jazz’s round cheeks flushed prettily with color at her husband’s comment.

“Oi! Ta hit man in ta Darkcha-pl’ foundation drove a Lamba!” Jazz folded her arms tighter as James snorted.

“Jazz, you’ve been seeing assassins everywhere since you watched that movie!”It wasn’t just Jazz that was seeing professional guns for hire everywhere she went. Ever since the Duncan Darkchaple movie came out the reports of shady hit men had quintupled.

It really was a social farce; the movie was filled with stereotypically sexy assassins and a protagonist that spent half of his time drunk and the other half shooting something. None of it believable, but still it was enough to provoke the masses.

“Bissides,” Jazz said the flush ebbing out of her face as her anger faded, “she wars pretty interes-ed in Miser Lins notles.”she grabbed Horatio’s arm imploringly, ”Jus be carephul Orateio! I dunt want nufin’ bad to harpen to yeh.”

James rolled his eyes elaborately; there was no point in arguing with Jazz now. Horatio was more likely to be raped by a rabid walrus than he was to be assassinated by some hit women with expensive Italian shoes. Then again Jazz had an acute sense of danger and she had been right about absurd scenarios like this more than once; actually enough to make a wise man heed her advice.

Mr. Lin was prompt (as usual) in his response. A customer called in a special order that would take all day and most of his stock to make. A “brig crient” as his message put it. And that it would be Horatio’s first delivery of the day. So under the due authority of the rotund Mr. Lin, Horatio better be back at Snake Alley Noodles at Sven so as no to be late and make “brig tip” as Mr. Lin put. Good! Horatio has all afternoon to goof off.

[Galvain7]

"The shop? Really? I don't see why anyone would be interested in that old place." *cough* "Besides, I'm just the noodle punk, and Mr. Lin's as cautious as a body can be without being crazy. Mostly."

"And Duncan Darkchapel is just a character. You can't believe the news from Albania, you know. And that whole scene from Uzbekistan? Impossible! Gluing the doors shut and setting the building on fire is just silly."

"Anyway, I'll be safe. No worries! Take care Jazz, Jim."

Horatio climbs on the bike, puts his helmet on and eases out onto the street, taking care not to flatten any chickens on the way out of Little Morocco.


Well, I am not sure what Horatio will do between now and 7. Probably just drive around and take care of some errands, drive around some more because that's his favorite thing to do.

[The Walox]

The black Suzuki was always good for a thrill or two. For several hours Horatio experienced Seattle the best way he knew; at breakneck speed. But as enjoyable as it was to weave in and out of traffic, trough claustrophobic alleyways and passed groups of soggy hobos living beneath the many interchanges of the city’s thoroughfares twilight was soon upon the metropolis and Horatio’s shift about to begin.

The neon sign outside the doorway to snake Alley noodles cast the tiny alleyway in cheery red light. A few loitering customers stood out front speaking in hushed voices. The sounds of music and conversation wafted out the open door of the restaurant. The loud echo of the Suzuki’s engine reverberated off the walls of the building s that made up the alley; the goofy anime snake and it’s bowl of noodles was multiplied in the sensuous curves of the shiny black motorcycle’s finish.

Mr. Lin was waiting a large parcel of pungent smelling noodles on a dolly by his feet. Most people likened Mr. Lin to large turtle in black spectacles. His bald sweating face set n a stern frown, bloated sausage fingers clutched the green tweed of his cardigan. “You! You razy! You frifteen mrinutes eary! I exprect you to bre at reast trenty!”

Deep riges formed on the rotund entrepreneur’s forehead as he contemplated Horatio’s bike. Nobody knew better than Horatio that Mr. Lin’s bark was worse that his bite. Sure the fat man may threaten but he needed men like Horatio more than he would ever admit. “Wrerr then get readry! You no get thris rate!”

[Galvain7]

"Yes Boss. Right away. Where am I going?"

Horatio then takes a moment to contemplate the large order.

Hey.. Boss- this a really big order. Are you sure its not a prank? I mean, its past New Years already..."


I'll take this chance to pick up any other gear I have and stuff it in my bag, just to be safe.

[The Walox]

“No, No prank.” Mr. Lin said solemnly as Horatio hoisted the order in the box on the bike. His boss’s face set in a frown of concern. “Prayed crash upfront, sherioursh. You take order to sedge of Redmrund Brarrens, 33 Nort Trower, arpartmrent 105 R. I grive you directions on cromm rink.” Comeing from mr. Lin that was like a hug.

The smell from the box was like a warm summer breeze that left Horatio feeling happy and contented. Dangerous whatever this was. He would need all his wits about him to make it on time at that speed.

[Galvain7]

"Pancreas Frakkers! Did these guys order everything on the list?!"

* Yeah, the kind of hug you give a sick or dying relative."Cred before delivery? Well, at least I won't get robbed... by the patrons, at least. Let me get my ... ah, Redmond Special. I don't like this address one bit."

Horatio disappears only to re-emerge with a black bag with a few large straps on it. He buckles the straps to motorcycle, ensuring that the flap is within easy reach of his hand.

"Okay. Ready. I'll let you know where I am. Just... pray I don't get eaten by a chiphead or something."

With that, Horatio pulls his visor down, sets his commlink for dance music and blasts on down the street, the long red shadow cast by his taillights reflecting off the rainwater like after-trail of a second hand comet.


Huzzah! When I get to the building, would you describe it? I'm trying to keep poor Horatio alive.

[The Walox]

If it weren’t for the various street scum and hungry para-critters with a craving for Japanese steel, Redmond runs would have been a lot of fun. But life is such. As Horatio sped through the late evening Seattle traffic as a raven colored blur, the little machine humming beneath him seemed to come alive.

Running redline rpm’s, red lights and the limits of any sane person’s reason; this is what Horatio lived for. Sure, he could have made more money doing something else, but seriously, who else would pay him just to ride a motorcycle as fast as humanly possible?

Bobbing through cars, across oncoming lanes Horatio was more worried about what awaited him at the end of the route than by getting killed in an accident; at least a wreck at this speed would kill him on impact. A split decision brought him barreling down a tight alleyway. This one wasn’t a dead end but that other was.

See that car back there? Right, that one with all the pink graffiti all over it? In the Barrens now, got to avoid that street; that crazy cannibalistic cult of troll clowns lives on that street. Any wrong moves in the Redmond Barrens and a fella would be wishin’ he died in a motorcycle accident.

The bike’s engine calmed down from a deafening roar to a dull rumble as Horatio wheeled into the cracked and junk strewn parking lot. The ageing grey tower block was the tallest building as far as Horatio could see; it’s utilitarian exterior a mess of crumbling concrete balconies.

One hundred years ago, no doubt, this monolith was modern and swarming with activity. Now it looked like just the slightest vibration from a passing motorbike would send it crashing down. And the room the customer was in was on the eighteenth floor. Great.

Shattered glass doors and windows on the ground level gave Horatio an unimpeded glance into the dark abandoned lobby. The open floor plan was strewn with filth, scattered building materials, smashed office furniture and broken elevator parts. Around the property the “gardens” were just as bad, the low concrete walls and planters had been treated to a thick patina of graffiti and in the case of the latter stuffed with trash.

If it wasn’t for the thumping rave from the night club across the alley Horatio could’ve probably heard the titanic structure crumbling. Well the good news. There were a lot of junked cars, trash piles and a convenient service door at the building’s side for Horatio to hide his faithful bike. Now the bad news. No elevator meant carrying the sixty pound box of noodles up eighteen flights of stairs.

The same trash that might possibly conceal Horatio’s bike might also be concealing a squad of deadhead junky murder trolls. However, given the lively party next door it was more likely that the building’s only occupant was a hermetic shut in with seventy hairless cats and a desperate craving for the world’s most expensive magic noodles.

[Galvain7]

Horatio liked to think that he was to pragmatic at heart to be prone to wishful thinking. Of course, this did not stand up to much scrutiny, because his only thought while blasting down the streets of Seattle was a vague longing to ride forever. And that was impossible. Mathematically speaking, the more Horatio rode, the greater the odds that he would eventually pancake himself into a concrete wall. Then he could ride forever in the afterlife. Assuming Mr. Lin was wrong and he would not be reincarnated as a cockroach. But that was not the point really- purposely taking risks to court death assumed that he could be certain of his cosmic fate. And no one could be certain of that, which is why Horatio wore a helmet and several pounds of expensive, carefully concealed body armor.

Inane philosophy aside, the hardest part about any delivery to a rough neighborhood was where and how to stash the much beloved machine. After a few minutes of careful consideration, Horatio settled on a junked van close to the side entrance. A would be thief looking from the street would see only the van, and a would be thief looking from inside the building might be fooled by the shadow the van cast over the bike. Horatio took the extra step of arming the electrified anti-theft system and covering the bike with a spare rain tarp to break up the outline. He disabled the verbal warning part of the anti-theft system: no point in trying to hide the bike if it started screaming at any passer by.

Next came the building and all of its eighteen flights of stair-strewn glory. Horatio cursed under his breath. The exertion didn't bother him as much as the time it would take to go up and down the stairs. The longer the bike was outside the more likely some yahoo would find it, so the best solution was to get the delivery finished quickly. The lack of an elevator was probably a blessing too, as anything this old and unmaintained was likely to break down.

As Horatio began the long ascent he was reminded of another ridiculous long flight of stairs from his childhood. On the border between Tir and Cal-Free there was a town from when the two nations were one. Horatio and the other refugee children would climb to the top of the stairs and pretend they were scouts looking for Dragons or soldiers. They never saw any dragons, but when the soldiers did come the situation was less than ideal, as neither side had much patience for refugee rats. One such nervous or drugged out soldier shot his sister in the gut, and Horatio carried her bleeding and a pleading for water and the mother she never met all the way to the top of the tower, where she died.

The bitter memory made Horatio grit his teeth. He had spent three quarters of his life running from hole to hole, dodging thugs and soldiers. When he finally made it to the UCAS he had sold 10 years of his life to the Metroplex Guard in exchange for a SIN, a passport and the knowledge of how to work a gun. The next time someone compelled him to run for his life he would do his utmost to ensure they got a face full of lead for their trouble.

In the meantime Horatio had eighteen flights of stairs to climb, but that wasn't very far. Once, Horatio had climbed the stairs of another tower forever.

[The Walox]

The dark unlighted staircase was keeping in theme with the rest of the rickety concrete tower. Old paint, garbage and rat carcasses crunched underfoot as Horatio made his first delivery of the night. “Orft ta bloomin’ good start,” as Jazz would have put it.

It was probably for the best that Horatio had filters in his helmet, by the looks of the dead dogs, er rats, and pigeon dung this place was a terminal virus waiting to happen. A cheeky little voice from Horatio’s comm-link just informed him that the filters had successfully blocked no less than seven deadly diseases from his respiratory tract; and proceeded to play a catchy jingle. Even here, in this dead, dark, deadly place, modern man found a way to advertise his wares. Amazing.

After what seemed far too long to a man carrying a heavy box and concerned for the well being of his motorcycle, Horatio reached apartment 105 R. The apartment doors on this floor were spaced wide apart. Most of the portals stood open, filling the grim hall with pale moonlight.

Fluorescent lamps dangled dead by frayed wires from the ceiling or lay crushed on the dust and rat scat strewn floor. Nobody had been here in a very long time. The only signs of life came from two sets of tracks in the lush carpet of debris. One set Horatio knew, they were his own, but the other. A woman’s small and poised. Flat heeled footprints that lead directly through the door of 105 R.

The door stood ajar and a smooth sophisticated voice of an English Woman bade him to enter. The annoying little voice cheerily announced that the helmet’s filters had just blocked cigarette smoke and were saving Horatio from lung cancer! Another irritating jingle commenced.

[TheMightyQuinn]

Tai Jun

*He hadn't been in Seattle more than a month, and already the hunt was going well. He could smell his prey. They had been moving through here - moving through crowds, hunting themselves. The irony of it was not lost on Tai. The hunter, being hunted by prey. It was all a great circle, to be sure.*

*The throngs of smelling, drug addled ravers jerked and danced all around him, the vast majority of them moving to their own rhythm entirely, the heavy bass drum beat that rattled the broken windows of the building serving more as atmosphere than entertainment - he could feel the pressure in his lungs with every beat, rippling the air even in his body with its ferocious volume.*

*Tai hadn't bothered picking up a comm of his own yet, and the loaner he had was off - Mr. Li payed him well for the work he did. Well, well enough, but there were bills to pay. He needed to get secure before buying luxuries. How many of these lost souls had any idea what life was like without their technology?*

*Still, he moved and bobbed with the throng, even if only to avoid standing out in the mass, listening to his senses, his ears catching snippets of conversation here and there - a thousand toungues, and his brain filed it all away meticulously. It was a gift - more than most he'd been given. The Tongue of Heavan. That's what the Masters had called it. But then, not everything they had said was truth.*

*As the faint trail of sensation led him to a door leading to the outside, Tai exhaled slowly. It was almost intoxicating - the hunt. He would not likely catch his prey tonight. But he would. He had time to enjoy himself. Time to toy with the predator.*

*Pushing the door open, he moves out into the open night and steps to the side of the alley, letting the dark shadows drape across him like a lovers tender embrace. He sat motionless - literally, for several minutes. He may as well have been a stature, crouched in the darkness, his every muscle still and calm, his breathing so passive and minimal that his chest remained stationary. Tiger in tall grass.*

*Finally content that no one was going to follow him out of the club, he stands and makes his way out to the street, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket when he sees motion across the street - a black-clad figure pushing a motorcycle into the shadows. Interesting. Taking a moment, he moves closer until he catches the unmistakeable scent of noodles and smiles.*

Oh, this is going to be fun.

OOC:

I'm going to roll a stealth check to move into position by the bike in the shadows and wait for its paranoid owner to return. let the fun begin.
Stealth -
[roll0]
Hits - 1. 1 Hit. Really? :smallannoyed:

[The Walox]

Tai Jun

The bright moon, poking its silvery head through the clouds bathed the barrens in waning pale light. From his vantage point by the van Tai could keep watch for the slothful elf or any other nocturnal lurkers. As the time passed by the rave raged on, the dilapidated old nightclub increasing it occupancy with the fleeting minutes.

This particular neighborhood of the barrens smelt, quite badly. The orders of raw sewage, rotting meat and stale beer saturated the cool night air. At least near the concealed motorcycle Tai could smell residual perfume of Mr. Lin’s noodles.

Just as things seemed to become dull a straggling group of ravers broke away from the party to investigate the old tower block. They stumbled about in the parking lot a little, spoke to each other a bit, one puked some, they all laughed a lot and then the party divided to do what whatever came naturally to a chiphead in great excesses. One lovely couple picked Tai’s alleyway to do just that, gratuitously.

Dead to all the world, except each other, the poor fools made a spectacle of themselves within a few feet of the ruined van. Lovely, the chips must have been copies of Marry Popins as the two lay sprawled on their backs singing “chim chim cheroo!” and giggling inanely. Poor sods, they weren’t liable to last must longer if they kept this up.

[Galvain7]

Horatio Greensleeves

"Thank the heavens for filters, advertising non-withstanding. Still, I should find a way to get that disabled. Could get reeaally annoying someday."

"Okay, see, there is something wrong with this picture, right here. Usually you'd need a crowd to eat Sixty pounds of noodles, unless you are a troll. Not one forgiener, and a woman no less. And a smoker to boot. Cigarettes are supposed to be an appetite suppressant, right? Well, they already paid, so what they do with the noodles after I deliver them is not supposed to be my concern."

Horatio shifts the heavy box of noodles off his back and into his hands, advancing carefully to the door threshold. He sets the noodles carefully in the doorway, with exaggerated slowness.

"There. Now the crazy cannibals have to hurdle over the box to get me. Heh."

"I'm sorry ma'am. The delivery staff is not allowed to enter peoples homes. I'm sure you can manage the box with a little help. Have a good evening, and enjoy your noodles! Remember Snake Alley for all your ethnic Chinese delivery and take out!"


So, if you hadn't already guessed Horatio is a tad suspicious of this whole set up. Because trusting delivery boys get eaten by cannibal clowns. But suspicious does not necessarily mean 'ready to pull a gun', so I'll just observe at this moment.
Horatio has a totally of 9 dice for perception: 3 for the skill, 3 for the intuition attribute and 3 from the enhanced perception adept power. The ambient moonlight would also reduce modifiers from the dark as Horatio has the very elfy low light vision. Here goes:
[roll0] [roll1] [roll2] [roll3] [roll4] [roll5] [roll6] [roll7] [roll8]

Edit: Frak! Look at that one pile. Well, according to the book, over half the dice have to be 1's for it to be a glitch, so I survived that. But! Traditionally The Walox and I played so that 1's reduce hits, but that's a house rule. Also, we had house ruled that 4s count as sucesses. Do both of those still apply?

[The Walox]

Horatio Greensleeves

Not a breath and several light footsteps later the door swung wide open and the voice’s owner showed herself. A young woman of average stature casually propped herself against the doorframe. Her face was pretty with bright blue eyes that appraised Horatio in a way that stirred his nerves unpleasantly.

Dressed in practical black clothes from head to toe she lit the cigarette between her bronzed fingers with an ancient battered lighter. Her skin bore the marks of years of heavy sun damage but with none of the telltale wrinkles, her black hair cut in a trendy messy style with long bangs. She gave her head a shake and smiled.

“Honestly you don’t think that anyone would ever LIVE in a dump like this.” Her smile was sly vaguely predatory, calculating, “look that order is too heavy for me to handle by myself,” she added in a businesslike manner, “besides after what’s about to go down you won’t want to be caught out for awhile.”

She blew a smoke ring and extended a delicately engraved cigarette case towards Horatio,”Care for a light? Go on I don’t bite.” She flashed a brilliant smile as she stomped out her cigarette, a little patch of dust rising as she ground it with her flat shod foot.

[Galvain7]

"Two things: First, I am absolutely certain I saw a slasher flick that started this way. She says, "...besides after what’s about to go down you won’t want to be caught out for awhile." And then the hapless soon to be eaten delivery boy goes "Durp! Whats about to go down, Durp? And she says, "You." And the delivery boy becomes a statistic about cult activity. Second: If you don't live here why did you order all these gads-dammed noodles?! And where, three things, where are your friends that are going to help you eat these noodles?"

Of course, a good delivery boy doesn't voice these concerns, instead Horatio settled on:
"No thanks, miss, I don't smoke. You should call a friend to help you with the box. I'm sure you aren't going to eat these noodles all by yourself. There's enough for a really big party. If you'd like file a complaint about service, please call Snake Alley. Anyways, I got other deliveries to do, so... Goodnight."

[The Walox]

Horatio Greensleeves

“Sixty thousand nuyen box of anti-vampiric noodles and no help to load it into the cannon,” the woman helped herself to another cigarette,”what’s a girl to do?”

She blew an impressive cloud of smoke adding nonchalantly, “Look kid I know I can’t make you see reason if you don’t want to but trust me. I’m about to make a bunch drugged up leeches very, very angry and there is no way on Earth you want to be out anywhere near that night club when this,” she gave an alluring chuckle as though in disbelief over what she was about to say, “noodle bomb goes off.”

The intense bass of the club’s techno wafted in through the window, “Yeah, yeah, I know this looks suspicious, especially after Darkchaple movie came out, but from where I stand you have two options.” She proceeded to tick them off on her fine, calloused fingers.

“You can stay here with me and watch the fireworks OR you can go outside and get your @#% chewed off by some mindless leech.” Her eyes flitted downward, she added, softly, “and that would be a waste.” Outside the broken balcony windows the distant bass thumped on.

This mysterious woman seemed sincere, but even to Horatio –who had seen some strange things in his time- this was over the top. Besides if this was some cannibal ruse it was an elaborate one. Reason would argue that if Horatio was going to be jumped, he would have been jumped already. Even as he stood in the hallway making his excuses there would have been countless opportunities for an attack; and most thugs weren’t that patient.

On the other hand some thugs were that sadistic, though most weren’t this attractive. Maybe it was the well deserved paranoia. Perhaps it was just a case of the most roundabout method of exterminating vampires and nothing more. Or perhaps there were twelve of the world’s most patient/sadistic/hungry/well-heeled/attractive cannibals on the other side of the wall all waiting to help themselves to a big plate of Horatio. Then again if the woman really was telling the truth, as ridiculous as it sounded, then things were about to get dangerous/interesting/messy/noodley.

[Galvain7]

Horatio Greensleeves


"A leech... is a blood sucking slug right? I mean, I've got nothing against... blood sucking slugs? Wait, did you say sixty-thousand nuyen anti vampire noodles? What the sideways frak is--?

Horatio lifts the visor of his helmet to get a better look at the seemingly insane woman, his sharp green eyes clouded with confusion.

"Is this one of those shows? The ones where the host plays a sick joke on some sot while the audience watches through a hidden camera? Because if that's the case its a violation of something, I'm sure. I did not sign a disclosure agreement!"

The Englishwoman's face is impassive.

No? Frak. At least that would have made a thimble full of sense. Okay, I'll lug your noodle box, Ma'am. But no more crazy okay? Just- do whatever with the noodles, and leave me out of it."

"And no more eye-rape. I am not in the least bit flattered and frankly I expect a big tip for this... delivery, Gell? Move out of the doorway please."

Horatio bends down (with his legs- proper lifting technique is essential) and carefully lifts the box, carrying it into the room. If worse comes to worse, he could always hurl the box at the attacker. That though doesn't stop his mutterings though.

"I swear, if this turns out to be a massive prank and my bi- er, things get stolen I'll do something horribly drastic. I'm a citizen you know, not some SINless punk. And then you'll be in court moaning "Oh why oh why did we pick this noble citizen to piss off?!" As the judge rams a ream of fines straight up your-"

"Sigh! With my luck you are some chiphead, and you'll pass out and have a seizure all at the same time and I'll be left here standing with a big ol' box of vampire noodles, whatever the Hades that is, screaming and going, 'What am I supposed to do?!'

"Hey! Where do you want this box?!"

[The Walox]

Orateo Grinslives

The woman stepped calmly out of the mumbling Horatio’s way, listening to his outraged mutterings; amused. She took a long drag on her cigarette and pointed Horatio to the strange device on the balcony.”Well I guess chivalry isn’t dead after all; over there should be fine.”

The apartment was predictably filthy and abandoned. Dark fuax wood paneling covered most of the walls and what ceiling did remain was heavily popcorned. The green shag carpet was thread-bare as were the corduroy sofa and recliners. On the wall nearest the avocado green kitchenette a lone macramé owl kept a silent vigil over the sweet demure of it’s abode.

Once Horatio placed the noodle box on the balcony’s peeling linoleum floor he caught sight of the mish mash of lethal and illegal fire arms displayed on the kitchen counter –tops. “Make yourself at home, do mind whatever mice you happen to run across; I’m certain they have the mange.” Horatio’s peculiar host lowered herself, cross legged, on the floor next to the noodle crate and pulling a small crowbar from the pocket of her baggy canvas pants proceeded to pry off the top.

The club in the street below began to blast some old dubstep tune as the raven haired woman hummed over the hills and far away. Top off the box the crumbling apartment seemed brighter, cheerier somehow. All the century old décor became cozier somehow; yes it was actually cozy in here!

How Mr. Lin did it, magic of course, was astounding, by simply opening the box even a place like this was brimming with hope and fresh possibilities. What it was, this sixty grand crate of noodley goodness, was sunshine condensed to cuisine form! The woman smiled, bathed in the ethereal light of the noodles as she pulled on a pair of yellow kitchen gloves.

With purpose she began to stuff the contents of the box into large drab sphere. Having once worked in security Horatio knew exactly what it was. The hollow ball could be launched through a mortar and detonated, dispersing its contents everywhere. It was a favorite of riot police as a means of pacifying a large crowd.

Her chore completed and the last of the noodles tucked safely inside the sphere, the gloom of the building and the barrens seemed more pressing than ever. The woman dexterously rolled it down the stubby barrel of the mortar. Peeling her gloves off she stood and readjusted her shoe, inadvertently giving a quick glimpse at the tattoo on the top of her bare foot; much too faded to distinguish in the low light.

“Right then,” said the woman tossing the gloves on the floor, “since you were such a good, albeit reluctant, sport I suppose I owe you an explanation for all of this madness.” She gave a deep breath,” you see, that night club down there is the routine hunting grounds of a rather unpleasant gaggle of cannibal vampire trolls. They like to come early, stay all night so as to get the best pickings and wait to strike when their prey, usually young naïve chipheads, pass out from exhaustion in the wee hours of the night. My, well our, you and I, goal is to destroy the vamps without hurting any innocent bystanders.”

She strode into the small kitchenette, grabbed a large shell from the counter and tossed it to Horatio, “Now, there are many traditional ways to kill a vampire. The most modern and convenient involve incendiary shells like that one there. However, given the special circumstances we can’t just burn down a whole barrens neighborhood; no matter how big of an improvement it would make. So! I’ve come up with a solution! Instead of burning down the building we are going to use this shell and some sunshine noodles.”

She hoisted herself up on the counter as she spoke, “The noodles should turn the roof to ash, they require special containers to keep them from burning through things, that’s why the box was so heavy, and ignite any vamps that get close. That being said any vampire caught in the “concussion” of the noodles will be driven insane, probably a tip off to his watchdog buddies that we are in the neighbor hood. We should be completely safe up here though I’ve got the whole building trapped and ready to arm so, no worries.”

She gave a stretch and ran her fingers through her short, ebony hair; her long bangs obscuring half her face, “By the way never caught your name “noble citizen”. Mine’s Rose if you care. Rose Judith Cutter. So got a moniker or do I just keep calling you reluctant?”

[TheMightyQuinn]

Tai Jun

*Remaining motionless in the shadows, Tai turned his head away from the couple out of a sense of decency. It was something the people here in the sprawl seemed to have forgotten. Perhaps a healthy dose of fear would help keep the couple alive a bit longer - fear was an excellent motivator, after all.*

*Focusing his mind as he exhaled slowly, Tai Jun found himself standing on a spiral staircase of ten steps, leading down to a single Iron door, barred and fastened tight, with no handle or hinges, and a small barred window the only opening.*

*Stepping slowly, he felt himself descending with each step, and the pressure growing as he neared the beast he kept locked away. It was like walking underwater - slow and claustrophobic.*

*When he finally reached the bottom platform, he stood clear of the door, watching as twisted, gnarled fingers wrapped around the bars of the window, the shadows growing deeper around the being held within. Its nails were cracked and yellowed, and as long as small knives, but were useless against the door.*
You come for more? Feed me, and I will show you power. You feel my hunger - I know you do, child.

"You will taste releif soon. I will take only a small bit from you. Soon, we will hunt - then I will let you feed. No sooner."

*The beast behind the door was silent for a moment, but withdrew its hand with a low, rasping sigh.*
Careful the game you play - the weaker I am, the weaker this cell. I will escape. Hunger makes all creatures desperate.

*With a nod, Tai Jun reached out and grasped a thread of the creatures power, and left with it, ascending the stairs purposefully. It is right, but as long as there were other demons to hunt, I will keep this devil imprisoned.*

*Opening his eys, Tai Jun looked over to the foolish youths laying on the ground, and grinned. His face was different - angular and gaunt, harsh edges and sharp points as he held the power. His short jaunt into his mind had taken no more than half a minute - he had taken his time to be safe.*

*Letting the thread of power stretch out, he could see it in the darkness - a sick, pulsing tendril of black oil that writhed around the necks and chests of the two lovers before clencing down upon them - it was terror. The stuff of nightmares and fears, concentrated upon them, causing their hearts to race and breath to come hard. Death was coming for them - this they knew with utter certainty, and their only hope was to run - find safety. Somewhere familiar and bright - home.*

OOC:

Alright - a bit descriptive, but to put it simply, he's using the fear special power, so the two of them should be about ready to wet themselves before they run. They get an opposed Willpower check, but since they're chipped out, they're not likely to beat him. We'll see.

[roll0]
Edit: 2 hits. Really? The dice roller despises me on this thing.
Unless you're going to stick with your house rule that 4s are hits like 2nd edition, I'm thinking they might have a chance of resisting after all.

Regardless, each hit that I beat them by, they run for their lives for 1 full turn, and even after that, they don't have to flee at breakneck speeds, but they're going to hightail it out of there - p. 295 SR4 20th edition.

[The Walox]

Tai Jun

Tai’s fear was potent, almost too potent for the young junkies. For what seemed an age the two struggled against the fear, petrified scared, motionless on the ground. Slowly their courage mounted enough and the chipheads burst into a fury of scrambling limbs and horrified shrieks.

Satisfied Tai watched from his vantage point as the piercing shrieks echoed off the walls of the alleyway, mingling with the cacophony of the nightclub. Scared nearly to death and running for their lives worth the pair only stopped when they collided with several oversized figures in the street. They mingled only a moment struggling to resume their flight as the distant persons waylaid them.

Gradually the enormous figures released their affected captors and proceeded down the deserted alleyway; the caterwaulering of the chipheads vanishing in the distance. The ground trembled as the three poorly dressed trolls strode near the van. Maybe it was the dark, or a side effect of his gift that made Tai see what stood mere feet before him. Could something in the nightclub cause this or perhaps it was prolonged exposure to second hand dubstep?

A male troll dressed in a flowing pink moo-moo sniffed the air agitatedly. He adjusted the tiny pink hat on his flowing rainbow locks and waddled about in a pair of shoes that could have comfortably housed a family of four. Dead eyes and harlequin make-up did little to hide what Tai already knew.

Plainly put, this sight meant that CCCVTT was more than simply an urban myth. As ridiculous as it sounded the cannibal clown cult of vampire transvestite trolls was one of the biggest boogey men under the barrens metaphorical bed. Worse yet, three of them were standing but a yard away from Tai, and he could smell the meta-human blood thick on their rancid breath.

“Slut, I smell you Cutter,” said the troll in the pink to himself, his mates, one in green and the other in blue polka dots waddled dully about.

“Hey boss,” said green moo-moo, “these water balloons are convincing right? Eric, sorry buddy, Erica says sandbags are the way to go but I disagree. . .”

“Shut up you idiot!” pink moo-moo planted a hand directly in the middle of green moo-moo’s chest. There was a loud pop as water soaked the front of Green’s garment, “She probably knows we’re here!”

Blue moo-moo “Erica” waddled closer to the other two, “What’s got you so upset boss? It was Alex’s water balloons wasn’t it? I told the stupid bum what you always said but . . .”

Pink moo-moo swung his handbag straight into Erica’s face. The troll fell with a thud that sent violent reverberations through the decayed asphalt. “Look what you did you moron! You broke all the bricks in my purse! Now shut up you two!” Pink moo-moo sniffed the air some more. Spotted the tarp covered object in the shadows and broke into a clumsy little jig.

After a few moments of horrific clog dancing the three trolls gathered around the tarp. Taking charge Pink moo-moo pulled the awning free revealing a highly polished black superbike. Erica nursing a bleeding head wound leaned closer to the steel saddle bags, “Sn-ake All-ey Nu-ooodles. Snake Alley Noodles?”

“Congats you dope you can still read.”Pink moo-moo’s demeanor reverted to its agitated state, “I see what you’re up to, not going to work.” He muttered darkly.

“Hey boss you think we should smash this thing up?” Pink shot Alex the deadliest of violent stares.

“And miss out on this opportunity? No, never, what if I told you that we could get revenge for every injustice we’ve ever been dealt?” Erica and Alex stared; fascinated.

Alex was the first to break the silence, “What are you talking about boss? You’ve been acting weird ever since we let those two chipheads go. I mean, is the gang in trouble? Should we warn the others?”

Pink shook his head, a vein throbbing in his tremble. His words came quickly, excited.”No, no. I may never get another chance. Ladies, inside this very tower lies a huntress stalking her prey; us. And you know what else? She is the mother to us all. All of this!” He flapped his arms wildly by way of a gesture, “Is her indirect creation! Come! Through the front! Our hour is at hand!”

Pink moo-moo stormed off in a fit of theatrics his two cronies huffing after him; very confused, but very intrigued.

[Galvain7]

Horatio Greensleeves

*"Chivalry? What like King Arther? Ma'am, I- have no idea what you are talking about. None at all. Listen, I know Mr. Lin makes some seriously good noodles, and I probably eat way too many, but I've never seen them weaponized, in a.... Is that a mortar? Oh Gads."

"I mean, normally I'd have a problem watching a foreign, heavily armed terrorist set up artillery across from a crowded nightclub, but I've never seen anyone die from rocket propelled noodles. And, you, Miss, You have put me in a delicate spot in a very chivalrous manner, which I'm sure I don't need to elucidate. However, seeing as how one can never assume that two people viewing the same situation will arrive at the same conclusion I will elucidate, if only to hear myself talk."

"On one hand, if you prove to be right and do in fact have the great masses' best interest at heart," Horatio casts a long glance at the weapon stack. "the joke is on me."

"On the other hand, if you are wrong and indeed very crazy, then I'm an accessory to something the that involves the words 'massacre', 'tragedy' and possibly 'crimes against meta-humanity.' So I hope you can see the Catch-22 you've created here for me, and take that into account when I get my tip, or bullet in the face, whichever."

"In the meantime, it occurs to me that if you are going to commit... something, you'll want a lookout. I'll be at the top of the stairs, watching. As to the name... you can call me Gwain. He's the knight from the kitchens right?"

[TheMightyQuinn]

Tai Jun

*It was odd. He'd been in Seattle for such a very short time, but there had been so many moments like this - moments that he just wished he could forget.*

*Watching the three hulking figures watze (or waddle, as it were) right by him, Tai could feel a pain forming directly behind his eyes from the sheer level of bizarre that the situation presented.*

*Giving the three men... err. Women... Trolls a few seconds head start, Tai quickly grabs the tarp that had covered the bike and tears in into thick strips, wrapping one tightly around his hands and tucking the other strips into his belt as he moves up the stairs with as much stealth as he can manage.*

*When he has the last of the three in sight, he reaches out with the thread of power he still holds from the devil within and sends a simple suggestion to the Troll - an intense and nearly unbearable urge to urinate - and with so many open doors, it'd be simple to step aside and releive the pressure.*

*Waiting for the Troll to seperate from the other two, he prepares to jump the massive foe, the tarp wrapped around his hands, twisted into a thick gag, and a plan of attack at mind.*


Stealth - for good measure.
[roll0]
Total Hits - 6 I think

Compulsion - My Magic + Cha vs. Her/His Will+Cha
[roll1]
Total Hits - 4

So - the plan is this -
Step in behind the urinating troll, jump him - gagging him from behind with the thickly wrapped tarp, while hitting him with an Orgasm spell - if I get more hits than his willpower, he'd be incapacitated - at the very least, he gets a -1 penalty on all dice pools per hit as long as I sustain the spell.

Spellcasting Test -
[roll2]
Total Hits - 6

And I have never felt dirtier.... lol

[The Walox]

Tai Jun

The gaggle of trolls only got as far as the front door before Tai sprung his attack. The troll in blue crossed his legs and began to hop on the spot, “Boss I gotta take a wicked wiz!”

The lead troll and the other crony proceed to the stairs; not stopping the troll in pink called back, “Than wiz you dope! I’m not waiting up so take your dah#!ed time!” Relieved the troll in blue lifted his moo-moo right where he stood and did what came naturally.

Over the sound of his, erm, relief, Tai crept closer unnoticed, gag in hand, ready to spring in an instant. The troll hummed tonelessly, oblivious to the death that pounced a second later. Stage two of Tai’s plan went without a hitch. Incapacitated by his attackers magic the troll sunk to the urine soaked floor without much of a fight.

After the last of troll’s meager flailings had ceased, Tai was satisfied the thing was dead. It was always thrilling to down an enemy this large, even though this one had been relatively easy. But the other two trolls could possibly present more of a challenge.

[The Walox]

The Good Knight Gwain

“Its a pleasure to meet you Gwain.” Rose gave a mock curtsey,” I would be honored if you where to be my lookout.” She returned to her mortar, humming over the hills and far away again, but in a softer tone than before.
Gwain, happy to leave this bizarre scene for awhile, kept his chivalrous word and for sooth, stood his solitary vigil for yonder fair lady.

A few minutes passed, the only ambience the soft pounding of the nightclub and the subtle crumbling of the tower block. A disinvite “thump” came from the apartment as the mortar preformed its civic duty followed closely by a loud “pop” as the shell exploded in midair.

Rose, if that was her real name it was more likely Ursula, all sexy terrorists are named Ursula it’s like some international law or something, must have been telling the truth on this one. The club’s rave music grew louder as though some barrier to the building’s interior was removed. Hmm weaponised noodles, whoda’ thunk it?

Sir Horatio Gwain the Knight heard Rose’s footsteps followed by the appearance of Rose a moment later. She lit another cigarette and smiled happily, “Well, that’s most of that lot dead, the vampires I mean. No need to worry Gwain no innocent bystanders got hurt tonigh . . . ut oh, I think I missed a few.”

The stairs shook with a ferocity that sent more of the ceiling crashin downward, “CUTTER! I’M COMEING FOR YOU B!$CH!” the owner of the voice well, there is no way of saying it so it doesn’t sound ridiculous. A clown, a troll clown, a clown on the town with an almighty frown, stood on the landing and stared them both down.

“Oh, God,” breathed Rose, “Time to make a break for it old boy, what do you say?”

[TheMightyQuinn]

Tai Jun

*Thinking for a moment, Tai closes his eyes and focuses his energy, shifting it through his body the way he'd learned. It was no easy task - one few of his peers had ever mastered, but the skill with which he'd been given made the task almost trivial. Even the Masters would have been impressed.*

*As he felt himself surge with chi, he knew that he could crush the unconcious vampire - but no sense in letting a meal go to waste. Looking around for a patch of dirt that would have been exposed by the wear of the cement over time, he eventually finds one and pulls the earth up with his mind, using it to bury the motionless troll. It would take a while for the creatures body to regenerate the damage he'd done to it - even longer while the earth continued to crush it.*

*After a moment, satisfied that he'd dealt with his opponent as best he could, he launches himself up the stairs behind the other two clowns - tonight would be a productive night indeed.*


Alright, here's where it starts getting fun -
Recasting the shapechange spell - force 12 is physical damage, but I can resist the drain, so I'll do that.
spellcasting -
[roll0]
Total Hits - 12
Drain - 4 phys
[roll1]
Total hits - Enough (7)

Then using Shape Earth to bury the Troll -
spellcasting - Force 3 spell
[roll2]
- 10 hits

Drain - 4 stun
[roll3]
total hits - 11

[The Walox]

Tai Jun

It the brief time it had taken Tai to bury his adversary the other two trolls had covered an impressive distance. He reached the ruinous staircase, and with the proper caution, ascended. From outside the dark confines of the stairwell there came the characteristic thump and pop of a mortar.

A few floors further and it seemed as the music form the club had grown louder. Senses on alert Tai became aware of the second of the two goons standing on the landing, arms cross and on guard for its leader. It tapped a massive clown shoe off time to the beat of the rave, the little flower pot hat, complete with perky yellow daisy, set at jaunty angle on its massive ugly head.

The leader must have been a few floors up judging by the echo of its scream. It took a lot of moxy to tick off a troll enough that it would climb eighteen disintegrating stories, in the dark for the pleasure of pulling your intestines out. Hats off to this Cutter person, whoever they were.

[TheMightyQuinn]

Tai Jun

*When the second of the three trolls comes into sight, Tai Jun slows his breakneck ascent up the stairs and scoops up a few peices of debris - shards of plasticrete and broken glass - before moving a few steps closer to the troll.*

*There was a part of him that wanted to give the troll a fighting chance, but he knew that it was better to catch the monster by surprise. There was nothing sporting about how they hunted the denziens of the sprawls.*

*With the expertise born of years and years of training and practice, he launches one of the stones in his hand with the kind of force that would make major-league pitchers gawk with awe.*

OOC:

Pretty simple - Missile mastery lets me use a rock as a deadly thrown weapon, and with the boost from shapechange and Power throw, he does a base of 11P damage with the rock.

Thrown Weapons + agility -
[roll0]
total Hits - 9 - so he's going to be a hurting unit. She. whatever. lol

[The Walox]

Tai Jun

Tai’s attack strikes the troll with the force of a cannonball. The large troll reels backward in a miasma of confusion and blinding pain; sinking to its knees bleeding heavily. Apparently incapacitated the, vampire mutters incoherently, something about muffins, pawing the ground for its crushed flower pot hat.

Good use of evrivoment! That arm of yours is leathal!

[Galvain7]

"Holy ***** **** **** refrigerator **** bucket **** on a *****stick!"


Sorry this is so short! I have a few questions before I can take any action yet.
1. Is there more than one stair case off the floor, preferably away from the troll?

2. Is he/she carrying any weapons? I mean, not that she/he would need too, I mean, troll, but I would like to know anyway.

3. What is the approximate distance between troll and Horatio?

[Galvain7]

Troll or no Troll, Horatio isn't in the mood to run- besides, with the troll blocking the only visible way out, there isn't much for options.

He pulls his only weapon with any reasonable hope of troll stopping, a Remington Roomsweeper- and levels the fearsome shotgun-pistol right at the troll, screaming:

"Freeze Troll! Not another step!"


I think its fair to say Horatio isn't totally convinced of the vampire threat/ the full gravity of the situation, else-wise he might take a different course of action.

Anyways, I'll make an intimidate check, because Horatio would still be thinking that a gun is sufficient deterrent.

Charisma 5+ Adept Power (Kinestics- 3 levels) + 2 extra dice for wielding a gun, -1 dice for defaulting= 9 dice!

[roll0] [roll1] [roll2] [roll3] [roll4] [roll5] [roll6] [roll7] [roll8]

I'll withhold the remainder of my action for now, unless the troll charges, then I fire.

[The Walox]

Rose Judith Cutter

December 24, 2011, Los Angeles California

“Gosh Lady! You are sure pretty!” The little paper boy’s innocent smile seem almost accusatory to me. It would be impossible to say why; but I remember now. A psychiatrist had once told me that all those memories from the intertwining decades would crush my sanity. That through my eyes time would blur past with unequalled speed; he was wrong.

By repressing my experiences and concentrating on the present, I could forget everything and live like a normal human being; if only for awhile. “You sure got a neat tattoo Mrs. Avery! Are you Mr. Avery’s trophy wife?” I shifted uneasily, like so many other things I had tried to forget about the tattoo and I did, until now.

The light purple ink stared back up at me; I was wearing sandals, something I hadn’t done in years because of the tattoo. 5199847. That was me, that number was all I was once; a long dark time ago. I shifted my weight, this kid had a way of searching your soul with his eyes and God it was unnerving.

“No Chet, I’m not anybodies trophy wife. Now go finish your route like a good lad.”Trophy wife? When I was that twerp’s age, kids wouldn’t’ve heard that kind of language from their parents. But when I was a kid the men marched off to war singing “Over the Hills and Far Away”, something else I tried to forget.

Chet peddled away, the clicking from the baseball card in the spokes of his bike ripping through the air. I turned towards the large Beverly Hills home that Timothy and I had shared for twenty years. The deep blue California sky shone through the tall windows of our lovely home, the soft smacking of my sandals on the floor filled the quite space with noise.

My husband sat at the dining room table surrounded by papers. “Avery? What’s all this?” I liked to call him by his surname; he hated his given name.

His square spectacles framed the time worn face of a man in his sixties. He gave a smile that showed all of his smile lines in their glory. “Sarah sweety! I’m always amazed at how fortunate I am every time I see you! Come sit I’ve been going through some of the paper trail that’s escaped my notice over the years. Look! Here’s the window sticker for the Lancia! God bless that car!”

He squeezed my hand his eyes glazing over in a moment of nostalgia. I did remember that day. It was 1967 and I was taking delivery of my new Lancia Flaminia Super Sport. It was a silver Zagato bodied car and, well Avery had good taste.

Nervously I ran a hand through my long black curls, “Yes, I remember. That was a fantastic day. Hey, Avery, instead of going through this boring stuff why don’t we go upstairs? I’ve got som . . .”

“Hmm, a military pension for an R.J. Cutter? He was your father wasn’t he? Shame I never got to meet him.”

I recognized this pile of papers now. It was from the small footlocker I kept in the attic and there were some things that Avery was better off not finding. “Avery, you’ll never guess what the little paper boy said to me today.” I was getting nervous; Avery meant the world to me.

He was never suspicious about my enduring youth, only grateful. Avery never complained about meeting my parents, about my absence of a family history or about my request that we leave Britain to live stateside. He never ever complained, and that’s why I would keep my secret.

Avery was too good to know the real truth about me. He pulled a small silvery box from the center of the stack of papers. “Huh, I’ve never seen this before. Hey Sarah, this must have been yours before you quite smoking. Seems heavy.” He flashed me one of the dazzling smiles that never failed to steal my heart.

I swallowed hard, the pit of stomach churning with nerves, “Ye, yeah. Hehe imagine that.” I started to shake, the nerves where taking over. Without warning Avery’s curiosity got the best of him. It killed him, and nearly killed me too.

Avery opened Pandora’s Box.

He died when he did.

The magic was too great for everyone in the neighborhood.

They all died too.

Except me.

For awhile I had normal life.

Why am I always the outsider, the observer?

The troll was right, to be angry, about me, about the awakening, about me being pretty, poor Chet.

[The Walox]

Horatio Greensleeves

The troll stopped dead, leering, “Move aside boy, I’m here for that b!$ch. If you don’t I’ll kill you too.”

Cutter’s gaze seemed vacant. She mumbled something that sounded like “Poor Chet, what have I done to you.”Rose snapped back to life with a sigh, “It’s you isn’t Chet? Why?”

“I know what you did! I watched from the window, YOU DID THIS TO ME!” screeched the troll, furious. Its ugly white painted face contorted with rage. “You’ve ruined everything! It’s YOUR entire fault. Now I’m going to kill you worthless slut.”

A solitary tear slid down Rose’s beautiful cheek,”Sorry.” The troll placed a massive shoe on the first step, its eyes crazed, foam at the corners of the gigantic misshaped mouth. Its foot reached the second step. Rose ground out her cigarette with her foot, and slowly turned away from the stairwell.

As she walked back to the apartment she began to sing the first few bars of Danny Boy. The stairs exploded in a cloud of white concrete powder; Chet the vampire troll tumbling out of sight. With a noise to wake the very dead the stairwell collapsed. After what seemed an eternity of deafening white noise silence returned to the tower block, the soft settling of tons of debris added to the ambient crumbling of the structure.

[Galvain7]

Horatio's nerves were already on edge from the tense and strange situation, and the frightening appearance of the troll only added to the tension. As the bomb went off, so did Horatio's shotgun pistol, twice.

"Frak!"


Okay!

2 rounds fired- the pistol is semi-automatic.
Agility 5, Pistols (semi-auto) 5, smartlink 2, adept powers 2- 14 dice.

First attack:
[roll0] [roll1] [roll2] [roll3] [roll4] [roll5] [roll6] [roll7] [roll8] [roll9] [roll10] [roll11] [roll12] [roll13]

Second attack- no recoil thanks to the personalized grips and folding stock:
[roll14] [roll15] [roll16] [roll17] [roll18] [roll19] [roll20] [roll21] [roll22] [roll23] [roll24] [roll25] [roll26] [roll27]

Edit: :smalleek: Oh my. That's 10 successes on the first roll, and 8 successes on the second, and with a 7P for each shot- should work out to... 32 Anti-troll dice.

[The Walox]

Horatio Greensleeves

The troll was dead. If the eighteen story fall didn’t kill him the two shotgun blasts to the face defiantly had. Troll hunter Horatio had triumphed; at least he’d like to think so. Adrenaline surged through his viens.

Victory! Now, how to get out of this joint. Wait, was that even possible?

[Galvain7]

Horato's fine motorcycle suit is coated in a fine mist of plaster dust and blood, as he stands stunned on the landing. He says nothing, but his mouth is working silently. With a shake of his head to study himself, he wipes the debris from his face and peers over the edge of the landing-now-chasm.

"Oh no! Is... he dead? I... you... Oh, no."

Horatio bends down and collects the two spent shotgun shells, stuffing them into a zipper hip pocket. Then he reloads another 2 rounds into the chamber, and moves away from the chasm.



Horatio is going to be looking for a fire escape in one of the open rooms on the floor. If that doesn't work, then he'll start gathering up furniture cushions and wire from the exposed lights.

[The Walox]

Horatio Greensleeves

A fire escape. Of course that would be the logical way out. But logic seemed to have little bearing on the night’s proceedings thus far.

Horatio searched the empty wreckage strewn apartments and found little evidence of a fire escape having ever been there. Turning away from yet another window Horatio remembered the huge rusty piles of scrap iron at either side of the tower. Of course, the fire escapes had fallen down ages ago; typical.

Onto plan B then, yanking dead wire from the ceiling and amassing an impressive pile of cushions and mattresses, the abandoned building graciously yielded all the materials Horatio could need. Rose had collected most of her equipment in a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. She was pulling on a thick pair of armored gloves to match the knee pads she had strapped on. “Ah Gwain?” she sounded confused, “What’s all this then?”

Waiting for an answer she began to pry the doors to the elevator shaft open. “Collecting souvenirs or going for some late night home improvement shopping?” She beat the dust from her gloves as she peered down the shaft, “I took the macramé owl m’self; felt kind of sorry for it.”

[TheMightyQuinn]

OOC:

Soo..... I'm not really sure what I should be posting - if Tai was on the way up the stairs when the collapsed, he's going to be fairly unhappy, though he'll likely survive... maybe?

Anyways - want to let me know mebee?

[The Walox]

Tai Jun

Contemplating the troll Tai heard an explosion from above. A loud, deep throated scream followed and a few more explosions; all barely audible over the noise of tumbling concrete. As dust rained down from the ceiling Tai’s suspicions were confirmed.

He was already a few flights up so escaping the way he came was unlikely. The best option was to seek refuge in the hallway by the landing on the lower floor OR Tai could find shelter in the hallway on this landing. The troll on the landing tilted his head towards the commotion from above; uncomprehending the several tons of death that were rushing towards his oblivious person.

Yes, the troll would be a problem if Tai wanted to use this hallway as his shelter, but then again, that’s what the hunt was all about.

[Galvain7]

OOC:


I was going to go down the elevator shaft too! There's a scene in Metro 2033 were the plucky Russians escape a building by shooting the bolts on the top of an elevator- its also in the Matrix.


"Ah. This is padding- I didn't bring any rope." He nods at the elevator door. "So... are you aware that we just murdered a mentally ill troll? I mean, does that just- ugh. Okay. We're going down together and then we bid Sayonara.

[The Walox]

Horatio Greensleeves

Rose smirked, “I would prefer to think of it as an act of mercy, hardly manslaughter.” With a steadying hand gripping the doorframe of the elevator shaft, Cutter caught hold of a nearby elevator cable. With surprising strength and expected grace she pulled herself onto the rusty fraying cable.

Clutching the cable with arms and legs she paused momentary before beginning her descent, “Oh, look at me; I’ve been a dreadful customer. Good Sir Gwain, this is the best tip I can give you; that troll was in his right mind and there are more where he came from. They’ve no way to trace use to tonight’s activities if you’re careful; so just keep a wary eye on the shadows for awhile.” She gave a cheeky wink and climbed down the cable; confidently.

[Galvain7]

Horatio stares at the retreating figure, then sets about making an impromptu rig to climb down the elevator shaft, cursing all the while.

"Tip? Tip? Oh, no you did not just! Agh! You call me out here, make me lug this big box up the fraking stairs, and over to the window, then fire a years' worth of noodles out of a trench motor, blow up a troll while I shoot him in the face and then- And then- you depart with some cryptic advice and stiff me for the tip! The gall of it!"

"You know what? No. I'm not going angry. This is just my lot, you know? My fate as it were. Not at all mad about this..."

Horatio starts climbing down the elevator shaft.
"15% of lord-knows-how-many-noodles... I swear..."

Once at the bottom he takes a quick look around for any more trolls in the shadows, before heading out to his- disturbingly uncovered-motorcycle.

"Did anybody hurt you, poor machine? ROooo... There's a good bike...."

[The Walox]

Horatio Greensleeves

James was going to kill Horatio. The dust from the collapsed stair case had settled over everything in the area. The nightclub, the ground, the street, the air, Horatio and the now grey Suzuki were blanketed with the stuff.

It had probably scratched the paint. James would NOT have fun detailing the bike after this; the dust would probably turn to slurry when it was wet. Not looking forward to the @*$$# chewing he would receive from the mechanic Horatio mounted the dusty bike.

Before he could kick the engine to life he was vaguely aware of a woman clearing her throat somewhere in his peripherals. Horatio had never seen her before in his life and was sure of it; he’d of remembered a face like that. Her black brown eyes shone with an unnatural light between luxurious locks of jet hair. Her olive skin shone in the pale moon.

Dressed from head to foot in expensive designer clothes the Mediterranean beauty waved for the vexed Horatio’s attention. Her voice was not unlike the sound of a baby angle playing the cello in a vat of chocolate honey with the hint of an accent. Admittedly it was the enormous sniper rifle slung across her back in plain sight that caught most of Horatio’s attention.

A few trolls in ugly dresses of assorted cut and print stood in the background wringing their hands worriedly; funny, they weren’t there a minute ago. “Excuse me Sir, may we trouble you for a moment of you time. It’s quite urgent; it’s about our friend.” It seemed as if the strangest night of Horatio’s night –including that rather eventful Cinco de Mayo- simply refused to end.

[Galvain7]

"Oh no. No no no. Look guys, I'm just the noodle- I mean, I just do delivery. I deliver stuff. On this bike over here. The... dusty bike. I've met enough heavily armed forgien women and trolls for one night and frankly, I am not ashamed to admit I know nothing about anything, ever. Just the bike and the noo- er, stuff. Heh."

The crowd of nervous trolls doesn't move.

"Oh for... Okay, what can I help you folks with?"

[The Walox]

Horatio Greensleeves

The woman with the rifle smiled; something Horatio didn’t like one bit. It sent a sort of sickening sensation through Horatio’s system; the kind of sensation that made his palms sweat and his insides turn to ice.”Are you certain? Yes you are, hmm. Let us see, Snake Alley Noodles yes? Its’s on your bike.”

Her eyes glittered with a predatory glee. A psychotic predatory glee much different from the cold calculating stare of the foreign woman he had just met. “So,” said the new woman with the pretty face and the stone cold crazy eyes,"why don’t you tell me about your friend hmm? The how you said heavily armed foreign woman? Which way did she go?”

[Galvain7]

Not again. Horatio's mastery of Kinestics is the only thing keeping him from screaming right now. Instead he just frowns.

" A. She's not my friend. B. I honestly have no idea. Cross my heart."


Oh! I should probably mention that TMQ's computer is out of commission for the time being. It crashed!

Is there enough distance between myself and the crazy troll mob and femme fatal to enable me to mount up ride away before being grabbed?

[The Walox]

Horatio Greensleeves

The woman frowned; a pretty frown but the effect wasn’t any easier on Horatio’s system than her smile. “Is that so? Well, that’s too bad.” A sly smile etched itself into her lovely features, “Say sweetie, why don’t you stay with us for awhile. Hmm, you should come de-stress with us. After all, stress can be so, so deadly. Hmhm.” In the shadows by the nightclub the gaggle of trolls guffawed stupidly.