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Messages - saltmummy626

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16
General Discussion / Re: Last Man Posting: -50% SHENANIGANS
« on: October 05, 2020, 01:55:06 am »
sssssssssssssstonks i say

17
Rec Room / Re: A History of Time to Come
« on: August 29, 2020, 11:11:37 pm »
Branches rose sharply and blinked at the early morning light creeping in through the tiny fogged glass window overlooking the small table opposite her sleeping mat. Sleep had never come easy and when she did sleep, it came in short spates of two or three hours from which she woke feeling not much different except for a strange heaviness in her eye and stiffness in her limbs. Both feelings were quickly and easily adjusted via liberal application of movement. She clambered to her feet as she always had and checked her appearance in the mirror, inspecting for cracks or fissures in the otherwise lifelike surface of her body. There was still shrapnel in there somewhere that no one had yet been able to find through the various methods attempted on her strange flesh, and the inclusions occasionally found their way to the surface and cracked through her skin to be released. There was a crack, a sizable one along the line of her neck the width of a pencil. Looking around with the help of a magnet turned up a fragment of metal the size of a bean mixed into her blankets. She judged it carefully before putting it in the dish next to the door and getting on with the process of mixing dried clay with water to seal up the damage.

"May I come in?" Said a voice from outside. Branches had seen them coming through her automatons standing watch over her territory by the lake. The man, more a boy really, waited patiently outside until Branches finished her maintenance and donned one of the two "uniforms" of her trades. This one was an old spruce and nettle cloak and simple wide brimmed hat of the same material. It suited Branches about as well as the other, her business suit. "Um, miss one-eyed witch?"

"No, stay outside a moment." Branches instructed. She frowned and dug around in her cabinet, knowing the voice and why it was here. Tommy Fletcher was one of Catnip's chosen along with Patricia Baines, Rosia Ortiz, Matthew Kramer, and Missy Renoit. Tommy would be here for his usual, a little something between himself and Patricia. Patricia was someone that Branches good friend Roxanne would have called "a catty bitch" while Tommy was what another friend in knights armor would have referred to as a "mirror gazer." The only thing the two liked more than themselves was each other, and they did well to hide it from just about everyone. Everyone except Branches. "The usual then?" Branches asked from within, already spooning out a dose of goat weed and placebo into a tiny jar.

"Er, no, actually..." He mumbled. That was interesting and new. Branches had gone to both Helen and Roxanne to get the special herb to put that extra bit of ram in Fletcher's rod and had gone to get it from Helen ever since because Roxanne had a habit of making disgusting jokes and lewd innuendo. Helen understood though that the goat weed wasn't for Branches.

"Oh?" Branches said curiously, emerging from her hut in the full foliage getup she reserved for witch seeking clients. Her amethyst eye, the only part of her body visible under all the spruce and nettle, did nothing to show her interest. "Settled your little problem downstairs then have you and come to settle up? Hm?" She went on. The last twenty years had been incredibly kind to Branches, besides the constant need to repair since the Battle of Puller's Reach. She'd started a pair of businesses, one of which would nettle her creator a little, and she'd picked up certain habits and behaviors, several of which would displease Illiana deeply. Roxanne's interest in the affairs of others, and the more malign prankishness of the ghost being chief among them. In short though Branches had grown up, in so far as a primordial homunculus can grow up.

"I-I need something to give me an edge on the other chosen..." Tommy asked reluctantly. Branches half grinned, half sneered, under her nettle cloak. Things weren't looking good for the fragile ego'd narcissist if he was looking for hoodoo remedies and foul tasting tisanes for a solution to whatever the problem was. Branches smirked at him under her cloak and gave the request a cursory thought before scoffing at his need. "What? What's wrong with that? I should have the edge on the others, I deserve it!"

"And you don't have it already? There's nothing I can do for you there, I don't have anything that would help you without cheating. Besides which, I wasn't even aware you could cheat at being whatever it is Catnip has chosen you lot for. I know though that if she knew you were trying to get all clever on it, she wouldn't like it. Why don't you just keep on doing things the way you are doing them and see how it turns out. Go on and live your life according to the teachings of the chapel and making all the good things it produces for New Paris?" Branches suggested.

"I am the best!" He affirmed, more to himself than to Branches, "I shouldn't have to prove it, but now that I must do just that, then I need to go all out!'

"You've already disproved it." Branches said not a little scornfully. If his workmanship was all he was being judged on, then Tommy would be little more than any other laboring under Catnip's strange god of creation. He wasn't though. Catnip had picked them out on Agmen's word, but Catnip would judge them all based on their own qualities. Their own character. It would displease Agmen, but Catnip had not often knelt to the whims of a god she both worshipped and held in such low regard. The chosen were selected, but Catnip would separate the wheat from the chaff herself. The man's shoulders sunk at Branches proclamation, then tensed again.

"How would you know? You aren't even an adherent!" He growled, becoming strident at the last.

"Because your work is good, but you are greedy and self important. You are overconfident and narcissistic. Agmen may have chosen you, but Catnip gets the final word. I have nothing for you unless you want something for that usual little problem of yours." Branches explained, speaking stridently herself. She had turned back to return to her morning rituals when the man's shadow fell over her. Hector had taught her to expect something like this if Lilith or her brood came after her, if bandits ever tried to get the drop on her, or when a desperate client couldn't take no for an answer to some idiotic question. Roxanne had taught her the answer to such. Tommy's hands reached for her neck, an absurd reaction to such a small slight, and Branches responded by grabbing ahold of the mans left hand with both of hers and hauled on it with the tiniest fraction of her strength. Branches had carried the burning wreckage of the siege tower away from the field of battle on her own, could and had carried greater weights even, and Tommy didn't even have a chance when she leveraged the strength of the earth against him. The man flew screaming into the trees beyond the stone fence that lined Branches clearing, crashing through like a launched stone to wind up a broken heap in the forest. He would likely make his way back to the chapel or New Paris and give a heavily edited report of the events to his betters. Branches would likely hear about it from Catnip, and Branches would set the record straight when she went to tea with the mechanic.

"Don't come back!" She shouted after the man missile before settling back to her morning chores.


"I mean, I can't say I know how it feels." Rosia said nervously, "I mean my parents are... um... Nevermind..." She ran a finger over another of the multitude of jars sitting on the table and read the labels for what felt like the thousandth time. D's strawberry, D's waffle flower, D's fish. Things that Mona and Mica either would not or could not touch. Neither the girl or her late mother would dare to so much as eek a single whisper of the sour smelling canned fishes scent from the jars, nor would Mona touch her father's strawberry jelly without permission. As for the waffle mix, Mona had no clue how to use it. Rosia had suggested she ask Kathrine, but the very idea of smelling or tasting them now that Dee was gone brought fresh dry sobs from the young lady opposite her. Now she was sitting there across from Rosia, her glasses set aside for the time being, with only a pile of jars and an awkward silence between them. Without warning, Rosia picked up a jar and twisted the ring off of it.

"What are you doing!?" Mona cried with a shrieky little voice filled with surprise and anguish. What Rosia was doing was obvious of course, she was trying to pry the fiddly metal cap off the top of a jar of strawberry jam with the back of a spoon.

"Why did we get them all out if we aren't going to eat them?" Rosia asked, keenly aware of the trespass she was commiting and feeling hot about the face for it. The jar opened with an audible pop, and the room filled with the smell of it almost immediately. The beautiful aroma of strawberries and sugar long lain dormant and finally free from it's glass prison. Not just the kitchen, the whole house. The fragrance of the preserves ran to riot throughout Mona's empty home, filling every corner with the sweet smell. Mona looked about to start crying again, but Rosia wouldn't let her. She foisted the jar and a spoon on her before beginning work on another. For Mona, the day had been awful, as awful as any in the days immediately after the funeral, but all the same she found herself looking into the jar at the stuff so jealously guarded with a growing hunger. When she thought about it, her father hadn't actually been all that stingy with the stuff, he'd just had a love of it and... And what? Dean had never actually said that Mona couldn't have any. It had been her mother. Her sometimes infantile ignorant mother. Mica had meant well, but at the same time...

Mona didn't notice Rosia digging through her kitchen in search of bread. The Misling had momentarily given up on the new jar to search for missing ingredients. When she finally turned back victoriously holding aloft a loaf of Kathrine bread and a truly ancient jar of still edible peanut butter, Mona was already digging into the second jar, crying gently as she did so.

"So uh..." Rosia said, trailing into a mumble, "You uh... Wanna take these jars into the living room to watch 'The Princess Bride' or something?" Mona nodded furiously, spooning more sugared fruit into her mouth.

18
General Discussion / Re: Last Man Posting: -50% SHENANIGANS
« on: August 24, 2020, 12:54:47 am »
stonks

19
Rec Room / Re: A History of Time to Come
« on: June 15, 2020, 07:27:53 am »
The world was falling apart. Slowly collapsing in on itself and sinking into a deep dark void into which no light could escape. That was how it felt to Mona Koenig at least. She felt as though the ground was opening up under her feet at every step and in each of those moments, she could feel herself being pulled down. Down and down into an uncertain stygian ocean of black tears. Dean and Mica Koenig's only daughter had spent the last five days crying endlessly in the darkness of the house her parents had spent their final years in, and Dean had spent his remaining ten after Mica's passing. The shades of course had been drawn. No light allowed in this place. No light shed into this tomb of a house that had never felt so empty to the young woman before. Sometimes she walked from room to room disconsolately weeping to nothing and no one, speaking to ghosts who weren't there. She hardly ate. It didn't seem right to her. Looking at all the things in the cupboards that her father had enjoyed. It seemed wrong, even though he was gone, to want to eat any of it. She didn't sleep. Not until the specter of unconsciousness came over her like a wave and washed away everything in a sleep plagued by dreams in which she wandered an empty world in search of something she was afraid she'd never find without the help of her father.

Purpose. The lack of purpose crushed her. Crushed her like a great stone slowly working it's way down onto her to squeeze the life from her. On the sixth day, Mona had no more tears to cry. They'd left her suddenly and inexplicably with the only evidence of their existence being the angry red furrows they'd carved into her cheeks like rivers carving canyons, and the sore irritated scales of her face. She'd touched her face once and winced, but didn't feel the furrows she'd expected. Her upper eyes finally opened. They could not weep, and so when Mona was out of sorts she'd simply shut them to keep them from becoming irritated. With them open, she could see better. The house was dark and empty and cold, but by the seventh day she could start to see it again. She could begin to eat again, but she still felt guilty about eating her father's food. On the eighth, Mona realized she hadn't fed the chickens in a week.

"Oh shoot... She mumbled, feeling more guilt coming on. By now, the chickens would have begun to starve or escape. Where would that leave Mona then? As beshitted as she felt, she still had some small responsibilities. Responsibilities she could latch onto, a small island of purpose in a roiling sea of uncertainty. She tried to turn it into a more robust purpose, but couldn't. The chickens had been kept by and for her mother, but Mica had passed when she was only ten years old. What was the purpose of the chickens if Mica wasn't around to enjoy them? Mona had been headed for the back door when these thoughts occured to her and she had reeled, slamming her back to the wall and sliding hopelessly to the floor as the world once again opened up beneath her, and the tears came flooding back.


A little while later, the back door creaked open. The sound was an ungodly level of loud in the late afternoon air, and many attempts had been made to fix it. Even Catnip though had been unable to solve the age old problem of an overly creaky hinge, so it had stayed as was. The grass was getting long, but not so long that the morning see would soak Mona's legs and shoes when leaving the house in the morning and fortunately the chickens would have had plenty to eat. The light of evening was still bright enough to smart her eyes, and so Mona had squinted at the ground when slipping out. As a result, she didn't see the young rodent featured lady leaning on the high fence post with an empty grain bag until she'd called out to her.

"There you are ma'am. Ms. Arti- we, Ms. Walker was beginning to worry about you."

Mona looked up sharply, surprised and embarrassed at realizing how she must look. The lady winced to see the way Mona's face had been punished by her grief, and the small but noticable impact not eating for a week had done to Mona's figure.

"What... What are you doing here Rosia?" Mona asked after a long time wrestling with her vocal chords. Her voice was muffled and strained. Struggling to hold back the water works in front of others. Rosia was one of Catnips chosen, an acquaintance but not quite a friend. Still, they'd been on friendly terms.

"Ms. Walker asked me to come and help you. I uh, I would have done it without being asked of course but um... I've been we, I mean to say, I... I fed your chickens..." Rosia explained with the nerves if someone who didn't often interact with others. She made a small gesture towards the pen where the Koenig flock pecked at the ground and scratched, greedily snatching up grains to fill their craws with. She stared for a long time at the birds, her mind swirling with the thoughts of the fatherless life ahead of her, and didn't see Rosia come up and gently take her hand.

"Um... Do you want to talk about it?" She asked. Mona's chest hitched a little and her own bucket began to slip out of her grasp.

"No..." She husked, but then after another long silence in the cool evening air and in a much smaller voice she added, "yeah..."

20
Rec Room / Re: A History of Time to Come
« on: March 24, 2020, 07:49:03 am »
The Casino was empty today, out of respect for the recently deceased and the young lady he'd left behind. A lot of establishments were closed in fact, even those operated by people migrated to the area after the events that had made the man a hero to the New Paris refugee center, now called the New Paris administrative building. A town had sprung up around that center after the influx of people coming to New England and the establishment of the Big Smoke Caravan Company. In fact, life had become relatively pre-cataclysmic in New Paris. So what if the rare undead lurched its way into town and the world outside had become something not nearly but almost entirely fantastical? Life was stable, and people could still mourn the dead in peace.

"Charity!" L shouted across the lobby, "Get your butt over here! Family meeting! And put whatever it is you've fished out of those pockets back!"

There came a hushed "shoot" from the front of the casino, near the always in use coat room, and after a moment a young mouse featured women shuffled hurriedly from behind the Casino's broad crescent shaped front desk to present herself before L along with the other "employees." It was easy to tell, even among their oddly uniform kind, that the boss of the outfit also happened to be their mother. To look at the dour head of the casino's security though, you'd never know he was their father.

"You've all done really well this month, staying out of trouble. Cept' Macie, who isn't here right now because as we all know, she's gone and got herself arrested again. Kurt, Abby, Dwayne, you three can go." L said, giving the last with an approving grin.

"Aw, ma, why do they always get to skip the meetings?" Said Charity. Chyna stood close next to her, picking something out of her unusual black fur. Several of L and Mohammad's thirteen children had been marked out as unusual in such a way, making known to the father some small mutation he himself had no knowledge of until testing for the cause.

"Because Kurt, Abby, Dwayne, and Remington are good boys and girls, and the rest of you aren't. You've all been taking things from customers. You've done well this month, but that doesn't mean you haven't been doing it. None of you are quiet as bad as Macie..." L explained harshly, leaving the comment about her most ill behaved daughter hanging for a moment. Of all the children, Macie was the most overtly criminal. Most of them had small vices, mostly picking pockets or small slight of hand thefts from hotel rooms when the traders were in town, but only Macie had the gall to outright threaten and rob others. A bandit well and true was Macie Stuart. Her recent bit of "work" had landed her in the New Paris big house for two years. Two years, or until L paid her bail. L would pay the bail after all, but only once she'd thought Macie had been punished enough. L could swing the cash for it. After all, the casino had been her finest and most profitable gamble. "But I still don't appreciate it when clients come to me asking about 'lost' property, only to go and find one of you suddenly had more allowance than you should or suddenly come into a fancy new piece of clothing or toy or something."

The children stood nervously in a line, knowing that they'd done wrong but seemingly helpless to stop. L was mad at them, but she still loved them all. After a long moment of silence, she sighed. "What am I going to do with you?" After an even longer silence, one of the children cleared his throat. Andre, one of L's better behaved kids, quietly piped up.

"Uh, ma? I uh, gotta get to work. The next scav crew is heading out this afternoon..."

L grinned again, Andre was a crook like her other kids, but he at least had a job outside the casino. One that won him some favor not just with her, but with the whole family. "Yes sweety, while you are out do you think you could look for new pinball machines?"

"I suppose ma." Andre said, perking up a little. He had his burglary game, but that was becoming less and less of a focus for him. His talents were better put to use in this other more noble trade. "Might have to go further afield for that though. Most of the machines we've seen close by have Auntie Catnip's mark on them."

"Auntie Catnip won't mind if you cover over her marks with the casino's, and if she does then she won't be after you about it. She'll come to me and I'll smooth things over. She owes me a favor anyway." L mused, then said, "Don't forget your sandwich sweety."

The man stood quietly behind L, put away the old phone he'd been playing with and reached into a paper bag on the card table next to him and fished out a long object wrapped in brown paper. "Andre, Salami and three cheese on white with mustard." Mohammad mumbled while rummaging, then offered it with a faint, and some might think fatherly, smile.

21
Rec Room / Re: A History of Time to Come
« on: February 11, 2020, 04:40:50 am »
The whistle over the chapel let loose it's mournful howl, signalling the coming of dinner and the start of the evening break. Not that there was anything keeping the people working in the chapel of Agmen from taking a break whenever they wanted. It was more about keeping the faithful from over working themselves. Long ago, when the workshops had been first completed and Catnip's train had been moved into the chapels berth, the mechanic found that Agmen's adherents would easily lose track of time and work themselves half to death in the pursuit of creation and invention, and so she had installed the whistle to remind them not to do so. Hammers and wrenches would be set aside, aprons and goggles hung up, and welders switched off as Agmen's followers prepared to cool off and unwind for an hour. All except one. In a quiet corner of the chapel, a lone Misling taps away at rivets in a piece of metal.

"Why can't I get this right..." She mumbled, adjusting her die preparatory to bringing down her tiny hammer onto the too cool metal. Tap tap tap, and a sigh. Rose didn't want to use the riveting machine, it could ruin the detailing on the piece, but lacked the talent of her mentors for manual work. Catnip would tell her the problem, but Catnip was busy. Catnip was at a funeral and would be away from the chapel workshop for several days. Visiting her would be out of the question, tactless even. Rose set down her hammer and die, and frowned at the work before her. Steel rivets littered the table with only a few actually in the metal she was working with. It was just a simple decorative plate, and she'd been working on it all day. An embarrassing amount of her time had been poured into it. The filigree she'd worked so hard to get just right was perfect, but the rivet work was less than ideal.

"Steel rivets have to be heated every few strikes Rosey." came a familiar voice from beside her, making her jump a little.

"Ms. Walker! You startled me, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to a funeral?" Rose asked. Catnip had come up on her so quietly that she'd not noticed the low tap of the cane on the hardwood floor of the chapel. The old mechanic rubbed the bridge of her nose where it had been broken and mended and broken again on several occasions and smiled warmly, and a little sadly.

"Dee's funeral ended hours ago. Kathrine and I stayed awhile longer to say our goodbyes, but... Well, we can't linger long. Your details are nice." Catnip explained. The compliment wasn't a surprise, the mechanic some of Agmen's faithful called "artifex" was very free with her compliments. Despite how common they were, such small accolades were still greatly appreciated. More appreciated was the advice that usually came after. "Heat your rivets to red before tapping them down and rounding them off. As soon as the metal starts to turn dark, heat it up again." She watched the young artist for a long time, giving advice here and there on how to strike each rivet, how to hold the torch, and how much heat to apply.

"It's done, I think." Rose said as she set aside the hammer and held up the plate of decorated metal. "Thank you Ms. Walker."

Catnip waved away the thanks and looked at what the girl had wrought. Simple spiraling patterns on a cylinder of super alloy, a purely decorative sleeve of metal for a truly important piece of Catnip's own revolutionary technology. The final part of a vortex engine. Rose was one of Catnip's special few, her chosen individuals, to work on the rare engines. It didn't matter to Catnip that Rose had very little mechanical aptitude, Agmen himself had shown Catnip who to select to replace her. Rose had been one of five. She watched the way Rose moved the sleeve in her hands with a dexterity that belied her lack of skill.

"Rosey?" Catnip said finally, "Can I ask you a favor?"

22
Rec Room / Re: CDDA: Adventures in Cataclysm
« on: February 08, 2020, 02:27:24 am »
[written by a dragon and a salty boi]

Hector crossed his arms impatiently and grunted in obvious annoyance. "If you have something to say, then say it. We aren't enemies come out of the wilderness to pillage and murder, and I'm not sure what she was like before but Medeina has been perfectly well behaved since we recovered her." At that Hector cocked his head, remembering the vault and the incident with the chicken walker, "mostly well behaved." Dr. Chelsea suddenly looked very tired, but not altogether unwilling to give up on the issue.

"I just..." He began, "I have a hard time believing she doesn't have some kind of ulterior motive. She didn't back then, but things change. She can change. Her program structure is designed to change. Its an evolving system and the only limit to it's growth is how much hard drive space it's got. Mr. Lowe, please, I just need to know... You at least aren't going to upload her back into her old systems?"

Hector shook his head at that. The way he seemed so concerned was worrisome, but from what he'd seen he was at least still willing to give Medeina the benefit of the doubt. "No. Given our current objective entails assembling a proxy she can move around in, putting her in an old network that likely isn't fully-functional anymore would be rather the opposite of that." he pointed out.

However, the tone in his voice did betray that his remarks had given him pause momentarily. "If she does try that however...I'll be the first to put a stop to it, by any means necessary."

Medeina waggled wildly at the implications and insinuations being passed around, but said nothing. Were she an organic being, she would huff and pout at all of it. She couldn't lie and say the promise of possible data wasn't a dire temptation, but if the systems were really as damaged as implied, then it would be dangerous for her to do anything about it.

Chelsea was staring at her, realized she hadn't stopped waggling her limbs, and made herself stop. "Set me down Ms. Minx, please? I'll be waiting in the siege tower Mr. Lowe." To the knight and naturalist, the robot sounded a mix of agitated and unhappy. Minx shot the doctor a withering look, and followed after.

"I'm sorry if I can't put whole faith in your words Mr. Lowe, but I suppose it will have to do. I, um, I guess with that said... You wanted something here?"

Hector gave a little nod at Medeina's remarks, gesturing to suggest that Minx go ahead and let the machine wait by the tank for now. "It was Medeina's idea that we check here for parts needed. Graphene primarily, possibly solar cells for vehicle and the settlement's use. We're from a community named Walkerville, built off an old farm a few miles from here." he explained.

"The storm just about ruined a lot of equipment our main engineer, name of Catnip, had set up there. Between that and a growing settlement in the nearby refugee center..."

Chelsea scratched the side of his face and frowned deeply, a man unsure of what to do about what he saw as a serious problem. Then, with a sigh, he turned away. "I'll get my manifest..."

When he returned, which Hector hadn't been sure that he would, he had in hand a few pages of the kind of thin cheap paper used by government bureaucrats. "The storm stirred up and displaced a lot of creatures... Especially raptor shrimp, so I'd stay in your tank until you get to the core facility. Most of what you want will be in the core facility since that's where the holding cells were. Except solar cells, you could probably find those under a cover outside the Tenjin facility, since he was undergoing expansion." The sheets of paper contained a familiar manifest.

"How did you get this if the facilities are shut down?" Hector asked while looking over each item and noting other things that might be useful to collect.

"Medeina made sure I had a print out copy." Chelsea said with an unconscious sneer, "She made sure I had a lot of information..."

"This checks out, looks to match Medeina's suggestions. Pleasant surprise then." Hector remarked, giving a polite nod. "Thank you, hopefully this doesn't disturb the wildlife too much. You be careful as well, alright?"

23
Rec Room / A History of Time to Come
« on: February 07, 2020, 09:06:28 am »
It had been a somber affair despite how damn cheery the day around it had been. Catnip and Kathrine had stayed long after everyone else had gone home, but not as long as two others. Medeina stood still by the other, letting the light of day play off the matte white finish of her body and reflecting the bluish hue of the others scaled skin off the few more reflective details. Medeina offered a tissue to the other and she took it gratefully, but quietly. She had scales, like her father but bore the eyes and hair of her mother though these last could said to be far more organized than the woman's unlikely matron. Two pair, rather than the mothers multitude of ocular orbs vying for space in one socket while the other filled out with only a single large and relatively normal eye. She was short and plain, comparatively to other mutants her age, and wore a pair of spectacles over her lower eyes.

"Take all the time you need Miss Mona." Medeina said again, feeling a bit foolish but none less saddened by the sudden passing of the girls father. An issue with his cybernetic heart. In the pre-cataclysm, his CBM would have been replaced with something better long before the unit wore down, but this wasn't the pre-cataclysm. The robot glanced around, scanning first the twin graves of the girls mother and father, then the others. Nearby, she saw the grave of the old cowboy. Floyd. Someone, possibly the ranger, the cyclops, or possibly Catnip, had left an offering of flowers in the bronze vase atop the stone marker. A man had come to them seven years prior by the name of Duke. Floyd's brother. He'd come and taken Kathrine prisoner on behalf of some vile benefactor, and Floyd had stepped in. The duel that followed had ended both men's lives, but not before Floyd had given his goodbyes to his children both biological and adopted.

A cloud moved across the sun and momentarily blotted out the light. When it cleared again, Medeina caught the glint of light on brass. A brass star. A Misling police officer was moving up the gravel path towards them. The uniform was different, less blues and browns and more grays and blacks, but even in these degenerate times an officer of the law was an officer of the law.

"Good afternoon Officer Remington. How is your training progressing?" Medeina asked, momentarily forgetting herself.

"Finished up last month ma'am. How are you, besides the obvious?" He asked back, internally kicking himself for the blunt awkwardness of the question.

"Poorly." Medeina said simply and perhaps a bit sharply. Mona said nothing, having not even registered the man's approach or the short exchange that had followed. Remington had missed the ceremony due to extenuating circumstances, but better late than never he had supposed. He put a hand on Mona's shoulder and squeezed gently. A long silence followed, then the officer leaned over and put something on the grave along with all the rest of the flowers and things people had left. A small electric car. At that moment, as though the sight of it had pulled some deep sad memory from her, Mona began to weep.



Jennifer strode into the New Paris Rangers meeting room and slapped her files onto the table before taking a seat and sorting through them, preparing for the coming meeting. The funeral had been hard, especially since even with a crowd of cyborgs and mutants in attendance, it had been just too similar to her own father's funeral. Further, she felt bad for the young lady Dee was leaving behind. So much promise and potential in the girl, but at a time on her life where she was unsure of what she really wanted to do with it. Jennifer had had the benifit of being a marine at the time, Mona had no such anchor in her life. She had friends, of course, but no sense of what she should be doing. Jennifer shook her head to clear it and leaned over to where the fries were before stopping herself. Cheena, the spirit within her, loved fries and demanded them daily. The spirit kept Jennifer healthy and slim, but it was bad for her image to go around gorging herself on fried and salted potatoes. Not that her image wasn't already... Questionable.

The first of her rangers entered quietly and gave her a quick nod. Sylvester "Jannisary" Chetwood, her second 'chosen' ranger. A man ten years her junior with long brown hair tied behind his angular face, smooth tan skin like cappaccino, and slightly angular eyes that made him look determined and a little pissed. Atomos had wanted him for his skill with a rifle, but he'd since shown other noteworthy qualities as well.

"Is Roots here yet?" He asked. Jennifer shook her head and leaned over to the fries again. Rather than take any, she pushed the tray in his direction and he took a handful. Khaki "Roots" Jones was mostly the rangers radio operator and well known to New Paris. Jennifer was quite happy to poach Khaki away from New Paris and it's growing beurocracy.

"I'm here, I'm here," Khaki huffed, "Cher- I mean, Hussar just checked in. She won't be back for another three days. Asked her to send along the news of Mr. Koenig's passing to her client. Ms. Running-Wolf didn't seem to take the news very well."

"Okay." Jennifer said, "Then I guess it's just us today then since Poncho and Cisco are still out on cabbage patrol. Well, us and Guidebook."

"Guidebook never comes to the meetings..." Sylvester grumbled.

"He's not technically a ranger." Jennifer mused, "He doesn't have to come to them..."

"He's a weaselly little piss ant." Khaki spat uncharacteristically.

"He's leaving anyway." Jennifer dismissed, then sighed, "I miss Carrie." Carrie Willinsdotter had been the first "Guidebook," and as Guidebook she had been an exemplary keeper or records and a fantastic partner in the New Paris annual pub trivia event during the spring fair. They'd lost Carrie in the battle of Puller's Reach. The sight of her standing over Sylvester, scared shitless but still shooting, had stuck with Jennifer for a long time after the fight. That and seeing the man the people of New Paris called the Iron Marshall laying in a heap inside his totalled tank after a DU shell had struck the ammo rack. Hector had survived the battle in the end, Carrie had not.

"We all miss Carrie." Khaki husked, "I... Maybe we should just stop trying to find a new Guidebook? Its always felt kind of... Wrong." She slumped into a chair and disconsolately nibbled at a fry. Jennifer felt like she was back at the funeral again for a moment, then shrugged the feeling off.

"Yeah, I think you are probably right. I know Cherise's feelings on the matter, and can guess pretty well on what the others will think. Put it to a quick vote?" The others nodded, the vote was called, and the rangers agreed. After, they began to go over other business.



Catnip hobbled along slowly at Kathrine's side, brooding over the last thirty years of her life since emerging from a lab with a handler named Nathan. The train was not complete, and it had given her a sense of hopeless helplessness, especially after Mica had passed away. Catnip had sunk into a perpetual depression that had only lifted long after when she realized that "finished" was not the goal. Technically, she'd "finished" the train ages ago when she had finally put the finishing touches on the engine. Everything after that had just been... Adding on. She had been so relieved by this revelation that she'd made one of her rare visits to the Chapel of Agmen and gave a sermon.

Then, shortly after, Agmen had punished her (or so she thought) by breaking her back and forcing her to walk on a cane. Fortunately Catnip had already possessed a very nice cane, a gift from her late sister and brother in law and for some reason, using it had pleased and eased her.

"What do you think Kathrine?" Catnip asked the maid. Kathrine's sad expression didn't change and Catnip marveled again in the moment before the words came at just how little Kathrine had aged since they met. Catnip was only thirty now, but she was beginning to gray around the edges. Kathrine had not in the least.

"I think... I think we should help Mona..." Kathrine said. There was more there, Catnip knew, but Catnip wouldn't push it. The passing of their friend had hurt them all profoundly, but there was no question of helping her niece.

"Yeah. Give her time Kathrine. She came to us after Mica... Went. She'll come to us again when she's ready. Do you remember how to make that spiced apple stuff Dee had you make for her last time?"

Kathrine nodded somberly, she did. The maid knew that it would be needed. Nothing had made Mica and Dee's squishy smile like spice apple pie. There would be baking aplenty as soon as Mona was ready to talk.

24
Rec Room / Re: CDDA: Adventures in Cataclysm
« on: November 29, 2019, 06:13:07 am »
Cole McKinsey and his brother Wade were having a bad day. It had all started the day before when the contract holder had finally reached out to them with instructions for delivery. It was the realization of who they were delivering too that had brought around the first tingles of trouble at the back of Cole's head. Their company had continued in seclusion after the Cataclysm, running as though they had been prepared for the lawless world that would come. From the people at the top to the men like Cole and Wade at the bottom, it was good business. Sort of. Making deliveries to people like Hoyt wasn't exactly what they'd originally been in for, but the men up top needed guys like the candy man to operate here and there. Make money in the foreign markets and all that. God knew they had their fingers in every pie up north already.

The second thing had been the nearly sleepless night of trying to contact Hoyt while fending off the undead, then later trying to contact Hoyt and his army of junkies while fending of Hell's Raiders. They'd managed to fight from street to street with the South's brand of unusually unkempt hordes while keeping their langourous cargo within their armored trailer safe with relative ease and success to find themselves only a few miles later being harried by the men and woman on motorcycles and in startlingly nimble trucks and cars. Stops and starts all night it had been until Cole had made the fatal mistake of trying to plow his big rig between two trucks making up a barricade across the road. On the other side, the rig had met the real trap. The bump. A log, split down the center and laid flat side down onto the road. The rig hit it at only slightly reduced speed, sending Cole's ass bone up into the back of his skull, Wade's teeth scissoring into his own tongue, and the rigs suspension up into the engine compartment. It had been less destructive than the raiders had thought it would be, Cole surmised from the dimly heard conversation outside the locked and armored cab, but it had disabled the semi.

When he came to his senses, Cole saw the man straddling a motorcycle pointing some kind of small automatic at him and slammed his fist into the emergency shutter switch on the dash. A split second later, the first two bullets punched into the seat between the brothers and then the shutter was between the shooter and them catching the rest of the slugs.

"Holy shit Cole!" Wade shouted, throwing an arm over his face. It sound more like "hoewee shid koh" coming from Wade's damaged mouth. Cole slapped the door locks in the same movement, and sealed themselves in. The brothers had been robbed on the road before, you couldn't well not in this day and age as a transporter of goods and services. He tried the radio again and got nothing, then he tried the short range and got the fizzle of static that said someone was transmitting. Every now and then, the ghost of a voice or other sounds would drift through the short waves tiny spraker. The two men sat in the cab and listened to that and sounds of the people outside trying half heartedly to get in. Wade took the time to stuff his mouth with gauze while Cole tried again and again to raise somebody, anybody, on the radio but nothing happened for a long few hours. Then, someone outside was addressing them.

"Excuse me, I need you to come out. We're taking your trailer." Said the voice. It sounded like a woman, good natured enough but authoritative. Next to Cole, Wade was shaking his head back and forth wildly and Cole could understand why. The men they worked for were not to be fucked with and neither was the man they were delivering to. "Hello in there?"

"Fuck off, ya hoser." Cole shouted, then nearly slapped himself.

"Hoser? What?" The woman asked, seemingly to someone else.

"They're Canadian..." Came a mans voice, "Quebec plates."

"Oooh. Okay." The woman quietly exclaimed, then to Cole, "Now come on, if you come out now I can at least make sure these guys don't decide to blow up your truck or cut their way in and string you both up. Your truck may still be running, but I gerauntee you it's not moving. We've already unhooked your trailer and are gonna have to tow your truck out of the way anyway. Make it easier on everybody and just come on out."

Cole could see them through the small slot he and his brother had cut into the armor playing over the windows. A woman with a luxurious fox tail, a taller more well built woman, and a man in a leather jacket. Beyond them was a collection of nasty looking folk smoking cigarettes, passing around a bottle of who knew what, and spitting the shit waiting for the action to start again. The two women were talking quietly to each other now, waiting for his response. "Wade, hand me the rifle." Wade did as he was asked and passed over the hunting rifle he kept behind his seat, but with a look on his face that said "Sure, I'll hold your beer, but you better be sure about this." Which wasn't far off the mark really. Cole did feel as though he was about to do something that warranted a request to 'hold his beer.' "I said fuck off!" Cole cried as he jammed the barrel of the rifle into the driver side porthole and squeezed off one quick shot. The man in the leather jacket dropped while the woman with the fox tail went into a dive/crouch that was too fluid to be anything but trained. The taller woman though flicked her wrist and drew some kind of rod and charged. There was blue fire, shouting, and before the brothers knew what was happening, they'd both been pulled from the trucks cab.

"Y'all right Hussar?" The fox woman asked the taller woman.

"I'll be fine. Burned myself worse when I was a little girl reaching onto the stove. How about them?" 'Hussar' said back. Wade was smoking lightly from his lightly charred jeans, but Cole had come through the still cherry hot cavity carved into the trucks armor with plenty of holes burned into his clothes and blisters forming on seared skin. The bandits checked over the man Cole had shot and determined that he'd be fine, and while they were at it others came and moved the McKinsey brother's semi, thoroughly looting the clients other orders from the back cab.

"Okay, that's good then. Fine work guys, get that other semi over here and hook it up so my me and my fellow ranger can take it back to our people. Send a rep from your clans to the location we talked about earlier and we'll have a cut ready to hand over, like we discussed." She looked around while the bandits went about the work, then let a broad warm smile cross her face. "I'm so proud of you lot working together."

"Atomos, what do with do with these two now? Should we take them back with us or..." Hussar asked, punctuating the 'or' with a little fingering of the rod in her hand. 'Atomos' gave the question some real consideration before asking back; "I mean, technically we are the bad guys here? I think?" Hussar shrugged a little. "Eh, we could just leave them here. It's your call."

"Yeah... Okay, we'll leave them tied up here and as soon as we've gotten a fair distance away, the Sun Dogs can decide what to do with them. That sound alright with you guys?"

The cheers that brought up was enough to tell Cole that the day was only going to get worse.

25
Rec Room / Re: Winds of memories (Cata RP Character background stories)
« on: November 22, 2019, 03:49:29 am »
The snap of a large book being closed with some force startled Victor from his own reading and had him checking to make sure Thomas had not been stirred from his tenuous slumber. Fortunately he had not and with that settled, Victor made his quiet way to the study where he knew Helen would be hard at work trying to solve a problem that she herself had not thought a real problem until the night before.

"Is everything alright?" He asked while gently knocking on the door frame. Helens head swiveled as though on a well oiled bearing and looked at him hard for a long moment. She looked exhausted.

"Yes Victor…" she finally sighed, "Just… I don't think any of the books in our possession have any answers for me." She stood and began the laborious task of picking up her study material to file back onto their shelves. Some of them, Victor noted, rather obscure or downright obsolete texts. Alchemy books, times on blood magic, an arcanists treatise on golemancy and craft magic. Even some of Victor's own notes on certain subjects he had been more interested in during that vague hazy time before he met Helen. From the theme of the materials, Victor could easily deduce what had been bothering her. Or rather, who.

"Is it really that important Helen? I mean, if you can't find anything on it then-" He began to question. Helen spun on him, momentarily giving him the look of the mage hunter and not the look of the woman who'd given birth to his child. Then it softened back to the kindly stern face he knew so we'll.

"I need to know Vic, if the knowledge of her creation were to fall into the wrong hands it could be catastrophic. Can you imagine some blood mage creating even one homunculus like branches? A homunculus that can think and act for itself, can heal by packing it's wounds with dirt, is as strong as a truck, and can replicate itself with just a little bit of clay?" She exclaimed, lecturing just a tiny bit. The issue had pressed on Helen more than she cared to admit before, but now...

"If it existed," Victor suggested, "You would have found it by now. You… we have one of the largest intact collections of arcane knowledge, that we know of, in the world." He said this with an accompanying sweep of his arm over the shelves upon shelves of books in the study. The room was small, but even compared to the most well established arcanist convent or blood mage hideout who's entire collections usually only consisted of a few well thumbed volumes on one small shelf in a secure room somewhere…

Helen pulled another book down, one she'd already read, and Victor stopped her with a hand on her elbow. There was a factor that Helen wasn't taking into account. Whether because of a lack of understanding or a refusal to believe, she wasn't taking into account the creator. Illiana D'eva D'oris. Helen had dismissed the bizarre woman as merely a powerful trickster spirit, but Victor had not. Victor had a flexible imagination. A flexible imagination and at the time a wiped memory. He had not interacted with the woman, but he'd seen her do things and heard her claims, and Victor had been in the presence of powerful otherworldly beings before.

"Why don't you ask her?" Victor said, but Helen shook her head.

"Branches doesn't know the full details of how she was made, she has a great deal of arcane potential but her big concern is law and life. I-"

"No." Victor hushed, putting on finger on Helens lips, "Not Branches. You know who I mean."

"The spirit? But how could I possibly-"

Again Victor interrupted Helen, knowing the nature of the being he was suggesting Helen go to. "You won't have to. She'll show up herself. When every option I exhausted and it seems like there's no logical path, she'll show up."

"But if that were so, why isn't she here now?" Helen asked. Victor shrugged, maybe there were still options out there. Instead, he took the book from her and set it aside before wrapping an arm around her waist.

"A very good question, but one for tomorrow. You're exhausted and need rest now. Come on to bed." He said kindly, leading Helen off to her bed where she fell into a dreamless sleep the second her head hit the pillow.


The next morning, Helen put off her research in favor of unwinding a bit.Victor was probably right, now that the morning had come and sleep had washed away a few of her doubts. It gave her time to think, but in her thoughts she found that she had unconsciously ended up crossing the road into Branches part of the woods. Why had she done that? The original plan, from her perspective, had been to take a walk over the hall’s ruined fields to see if there might be something they could do to restore them. The devastation from Branches flight through the woods had settled somewhat but the smell of fresh pine tar was still strong in the air. Helen gave the inactive golem another once over, noting once again the crudity of the design and the flaws in it’s construction. Branches was, it seemed, just as confused as to the makeup of her own creations as Illiana was.

Helen found her way to a pair of stone posts that hadn’t been here before at the edge of Branches clearing, marking the entrance to the center of her “domain.” It was pleasant, the clearing, but Branches seemed to be absent. The ruins of the bandit camp had been neatly picked up and haphazardly tossed into two piles. One a messy wreck of obvious trash, and the other, a pile of usable scraps. She also had to admit, what the homunculus had done with the bandit leaders yurt was fairly impressive. The frame had been sunk into a pit and covered over with clay. The roof had remained as it was, heavy canvas that Branches had covered in cedar boughs and tarp.

Helen was getting ready to go back, when she caught movement from the two scrap piles. A length of town canvas was slithering out and weaving itself around a mix of splintered fiberglass rods and broken camp gear. A sheath of mud engulfed the moving mess and formed into the rough shape of a woman, the canvas continuing to move into strategic places on the “doll” and shifting in color. Before long, the familiar form of the Deus Ex stood before the Mage Hunter.

“Good morning Ms. McKinnon.” She said, sounding a bit put off, “It seems I’m not quite allowed to abscond from this reality at my desired time as of yet.”

“I guess Victor was right, and I’ve come to such an impasse that there really is no other option left to me.” Helen mused, watching Illiana with the unease she reserved for strange obscure entities.

“Indeed. Come, come, let’s have a seat inside. Branches is currently away, disappointing me with her life decisions. I wish she’d gone to you instead, but I digress.” Illiana grumbled. The small door to Branches home swung silently open, invitingly even. “She won’t be back for quite some time, too busy getting more advice from Roxanne and making eyes at… bah…”

For all of her, Helen was drawn to do as she was asked. She had no interest in looking through Branches home while she was away, but all the same it seemed she was going to be doing so. As for what Illiana had said about Roxanne or “making eyes,” she had no idea and a compulsion not to ask. A question for another day, and perhaps to be directed towards the homunculus.

“You have a question, and I have an answer, though you will probably assume I’m playing some trick on you. Go ahead and ask.” Illiana said impatiently. Helen wasn't sure what to say at all that, or where to start, and so she just cut straight to the meat of the matter.

"Is it possible for other people to make constructs like Branches?"

"No." Illiana said with a dismissive flick of her hand, then sighed, "No it is not Ms. McKinnon. Branches is a homunculus, no doubt, but not the sort you are familiar with. How do I put this in a way that sounds believable?" There came a long silence between them in which Helen had time to appreciate the rustic trappings of Branches home. No carpenter was the homunculus, but creation clearly ran in her blood. With the thought formed, Helen found Illiana was grinning knowingly at her. "I suppose that's as good a place to start as any. Creation does indeed run in her, if only I'd been aware of what would happen when I made her. It only makes sense to start at the beginning, or at least very close to it. Go on and have a seat on one of Branches mats, she won't mind."

Helen considered, then did as she was told. She had a feeling that this would all be new to her and indeed, it was.



"In the beginning," Illiana intoned, "the earth was flat. But not flat as I know you are thinking, I mean that it was utterly devoid of detail. A sphere floating in space adorned in an endless plain of grasses and trees. Dirt and flat red rock. No mountains, no hills, no rivers or canyons or lakes or oceans. All very interesting. It was not however devoid of movement. Every cycle, a spark would ignore the plain, and the rains would come and put it out. The earth would churn and mix the fertile ash with the hardy soil, and the wind would bring upon it the seeds of another generation. So it went for ages upon ages until one day, the Earth did not churn. Fires passion came and it's kiss burned away the grasses and trees, then the rains came and poured their love upon the ash, soaking it into a hard cast upon which the winds seeds could not take root. The wind saw what had happened, and asked of the fire and water why they had done what they'd done. To this, they responded that twas not their doing, twas the earth. The earth had not churned, had not mixed and shackled the fires passions with its staunch practicality. The rains had come then and blindly poured their love onto what had been left in the fires wake. Passion unchained, love without sense.

So the wind took up a waterlogged branch of charcoal, and descended into the earth to show it what had been wrought by it's inactivity. For many days and many nights, the fire and rains waited. Then upon the dawning of the fifth day, the wind emerged from the earth bearing with it something new. It was small and moved about on four limbs. Before long, it was tilling the ash into the earth with its front limbs, and moving about on its back limbs. The wind brought seeds, and it planted them in fertilized soil. The rains brought their showers and the creature watched. When the rain had passed, it gathered up the puddled water and followed the flame as it went, sousing it whenever the fire grew overeager. When night fell, it built more like itself and in the morning the wind would come and blow the breath of potential into them. In time, they grew more defined, bodies taking on more shapes and sizes and colors. They developed hands and feet. Eyes with which to see and mouths to speak. They tilled the soil, but did so without the finesse of the earth. Instead, they gave the labor their own touches of creativity. They filled the soil and moved it aside to make the rolling hills. Loose stones were gathered up or pulled from the depths of the earth and used to build the mountains. They dug trenches and filled them with water, creating the first rivers and canyons. They sorted the trees and plants and created biomes. Life sprang forth, and the world filled with it. The creatures born from the earth sorted them as well, inhabiting the regions of the world with their own special uniqueness and spreading the soul of fire and water, the heart of the earth, and the soul and unlimited potential of the blowing wind.



Helen was enthralled and for a a few moments, didn't realize that the Deus ex had stopped talking.

"Well? What happened next in this creation myth of yours?" She asked. Illiana seemed introspective, lost in thought until finally.

"They faded away. They seeded the world as we know it and then simply returned to the soil from which they came. That's not to say they didn't develop a culture or even a uniform shape, had their own superstitions about things like eyes and types of stone or soil, but mostly they shaped the world as we know it. Besides, I've told you a much simplified version of events and didn't go into the love affair between the wind queen and the stone king that began the whole chain of events."

"I thought you said there was nothing alive before?" Helen asked. She settled quickly, understanding that creation stories were often like this. Leaving out small details, as any "history" would often do.

"Of course silly, but can the wind be said to truly be 'alive?' Or the earth? Or fire?" Illiana shot back casually. Helen thought about it. Taking the question from the average standpoint, no, but if you thought about it spiritually… "It is a hard question isn't it? However you want to look at it, you wanted to know if it was possible that someone else could make a being like Branches. The story I told should illustrate that beings like her did once exist, but they were created by powerful beings. Sure, they multiplied themselves, but the wind had to give them a breath of potential before they actually moved around at all. Branches is a creation of my will, the will of an omnipotent godlike being possessing just the tiniest touch of my own Deus Ex Potentia." Illiana scanned the room looking around at everything Branches had accomplished in her short shot at life, basking in the experience of pride. Then stood, reached out, and flipped one of the polaroids on Branches windowsill onto its face. "I just wish she wouldn't squander it so… It's been fun Helen, but I really must be going. I've told you enough to get those brain gears moving. More than enough to fulfill my purpose. Remember to remind Branches to get Roxanne to her arbitration next month would you? Thanks. Ta!"

There was no flash, no flourish. Before Helen could rise, the strange purple haired woman in the business suit simply opened the front door, strode out, and vanished. With that, Helen was left alone in the small house by the lake.

Helen ruminated for a long time on the story before deciding that most of it was probably well thought out bunk. Branches was no more some kind of "Proto Homunculus" than Helen was a red mage. She was still thinking on it, when the subject of her pondering pushed her way into the shack, and stopped.

"Um… What are you doing in my house?" She asked nervously. Still afraid of Helen. Probably always would be on some level. Helen made some excuse and stayed a bit longer for tea, which Branches seemed to have picked up a like of. While they sipped, Helen saw her take notice of the turned down photo and flip it back up. It featured mainly Hector, but standing uncomfortably close to his side was the Homunculus looking like she was about to catch fire from nervousness. Helen considered for a long time after she left and wondered why she hadn't just told Branches that the woman she'd gone to for advice was playing her, then let it go. She needed to learn about life, and whether it turned out for better or worst, Branches would need to learn this lesson on her own.

26
Rec Room / Re: CDDA: Adventures in Cataclysm
« on: October 16, 2019, 09:42:54 pm »
[written by salt and wilson over the course of several months, oof]

A man walked away from the group, giving a wave of his arms. He was finely dressed compared most of the others, a velvet paisley vest with a dark red dress shirt along with a golden puff tie and two pistols at his hip, butts pointing forward. As he walked close enough for the duo to hear, "Can't stand that fucker..." He growled, deep enough in thought to not notice them right away. Jennifer watched him go, noting his bearing and the way he stuck out among the common raiders.

"Who is that?" She asked, giving Dave a nudge. Dave watched the man warily but with a hint of distaste mixed with fear. His walk slowed to something more matching their own almost imperceptibly to all but Jennifer, and she realized the mans ears were sharp. He'd caught her question and was waiting to hear what the answer would be, and she wondered.

"Duke..." Dave said low and full of acid, "With the Sun Dogs for only a week now. Nobody knows why he's with them but they figure he'll move along eventually. Has a habit of jumping from clan to clan for a few years now. Never stays with clans like the Sun Dogs long though... Maybe he fancies himself the next Raider Khan..."

Duke rocked back and forth on his boots, pondering to himself. Only listening to the last part of Dave's explaination. 'Raider Kahn...' he thought to himself, 'It's a temptin' position, but... too many potential knives in m'back. It's too tempting, bouncing between these 'clans' or somesuch...' He glanced over at Jennifer, giving a little tip of his pork pie hat to awknowledge her as he paced around. ''m bettin' there are folks willin' to pay better t'see that Hoyt sumbitch fall right on his ass t'put it lightly... Maybe...' His thoughts trailed off as he took off his hat, to scratch at his scalp in thought. Duke took out a little composition notebook, not much larger than the palm of his hand, out of the inside of his vest. He scribbled down his thoughts and plans, grunting a bit as he squinted at the writing.

While the girls and the Raider were talking, they felt eyes peering at them. A short, thin man stood a ways behind them, simply staring at them. He donned a navy blue jumpsuit, with big black workboots and an olive green dufflebag along with an odd device on his wrist and an albino rooster mask.

And he was simply standing there, staring at them.

Cherise noticed and stared back for a bit while Jennifer talked, then shook her head. 'Weird.' she thought, 'People are weird out here...' Then said aloud, "Are we getting a move on? We should probably step lively."

Duke finished adding to his journal, before looking up and seeing the figure behind the girls. "Ah god dammit" He grumbled, walking past the girls and smacking the man upside the head. "Dammit Richie what the fuck did I tell ya 'bout starin' at folks?!" He berated, as the man went from dead still to flinching and typing on the device on his wrist. "Sorry.- It's a force of habit.-" The device said in a feminine monotonous voice.

27
General Discussion / Re: Last Man Posting: -50% SHENANIGANS
« on: October 16, 2019, 09:41:50 pm »
Aya, shits slow now though.

28
Rec Room / Re: CDDA: Adventures in Cataclysm
« on: September 11, 2019, 07:36:59 am »
Branches and Roxanne talked long into the night before Branches finally left satisfied and more at ease with herself. Roxanne was prankish but kind, and very professional when the subject of their talk came to her upcoming court date. She had someone in mind to defend her in court, so Branches would be called upon only if that option fell through. The fact that it was just a simple hearing for an unpaid traffic ticket didn't seem to matter much to Roxanne. It was the principle of the thing that mattered. Now Branches found herself, the next day, sitting by the lake thinking of her prospects with a clearer head. She just needed the right clothes and that was it. There wasn't enough room on her face, or so Roxanne had said, to gussy up much. Her eye swiveled around to look at the lines she'd run across the clearing with the clothes hanging on it. Plenty of choices there, she just needed to pick something that suited her. Standing covered and waiting to be moved into her hut was the standing mirror she would try different combinations in front of, miraculously unharmed by the cloud of metal that had turned her home into a bloody mess a few nights before.

"First," She said to herself decisively, "Finish your house and get those herbs. You forgot remember? Maybe I'll visit the farm later and... No, it's too soon... Roxanne said to wait a few days..." Branches huffed and kicked her feet a little. Her yard was still a mess and she felt exhausted just looking at it. She still felt light and airy, but if not for Roxanne she would probably still feel like she'd get blown away at any minute. Like Roxanne had instructed, she closed her eye and cleared her mind to meditate. The lap of water on the new shore, the rustle of leaves and pine needles, the gentle warmth of the sun, and the wind carrying with it the smell of coming autumn. It worked, to her surprise. She felt heavy again, anchored in place and ready to start the day.


Minx checked the bolt like Catnip had shown her. For the job ahead, the faceless woman had gone to the mechanic and had been loaned her side arm. The cut down hunting rifle had been infuriating to the Shattered helm and especially the Shattered Helms quartermaster, Billy-Jean, at first. Then Catnip had been taken out of The Regs and placed in the Bleeding Eye, and the weapon had been an example of exactly what the scouting arm of the Shattered Helm needed it's people to use.

"Do you think I'll have to use it?" Minx asked. She'd only ever fired a gun a few times in her life. The last time had been well before the cataclysm, and it hadn't been a gun like this. Medeina scanned the gun for the third time, recording all the small pains that had been taken to make sure it was functional and reliable.

"Honestly, I don't recall. It is safe to assume that my lab is home to one or more of the creatures which I once possibly observed, but it is also possible that they have fled or died off." Medeina wondered, then had another thought, "Or the staff. Perhaps the staff is still present? Maybe... Maybe they can answer my questions."

"Hey, that's a thought. Keep your chin up robot." Minx said, then raise the rifle heroically, "We will find the answers that you seek!" She sat like that for a long awkward moment before lowering it again.

"Maybe." Medeina said simply.

29
Rec Room / Re: CDDA: Adventures in Cataclysm
« on: August 30, 2019, 08:28:23 am »
Minx grinned at Medeina and jerked a thumb at the knight conspiratorially. She'd met some strange people after the cataclysm but she wasn't sure if Hector was in the crazy camp or the eccentric. Either way, he seemed more fun than most of those she'd met. She climbed into the tank after the knight with the robot tucked under one arm.

"For the purpose of this task," Medeina announced suddenly, "Mr. Koenig has modified this proxy with a WiFi repeater and a few other-"

"We're not worried about it Medi, you'll be fine." Minx sighed, then turned to Hector who was in the middle of settling in. "She was hoping you'd ask about bringing her laptop along so she could give you the same exhaustive explaination she gave me."

Medeina pinched her on the upper thigh with one powerful manipulator and Hector was startled from his prep by the yowl of pain Minx gave at that. He stared back at them, Minx giving the proxy a death glare while the tiny robot gazed back up at her glassily but bearing a kind of mock combative posture.

"Alright girls, calm down and have a seat." He instructed. They did as told, or as best they could, and Hector turned back to his checks confident that his helm was hiding the wide grin on his face. He picked up the radio when his checks were done and said simply, "Going out to get Nips materials. Tell Roxanne I won't be in till later." Before racking the radio and setting his machine in motion.


"Well morning ladies." Dave said jovially upon the pairs emergence from the back rooms of the apartment. "I've got good news and gooder news." Atomos blinked at the sun blazing in through the apartment windows, but not quite as blearily as Cherise. In the light of day, the place took on a new appearance. Less of a sparsely dumpy place to an apartment with perhaps an excess of orderliness. Atomos cleared the sun from her eyes quickly, then scoffed at Cherise.

"Where did you get a house coat?" She asked.

"It was in the closet... Maybe you should consider putting on more than nothing at all yourself?" The large woman growled. Atomos looked at herself puzzled. "What? Is it unacceptable to walk around like this, grandma?"

"It's not polite to wander around in your underpants in front of a man you aren't in a relationship with." Cherise shot back.

"Ladies?" Dave said, slipping himself into the conversation, "I sure would like to sit here all day and listen to you harp on each other about proper house wear, but we need to get a move on. And you will want to dress while I talk, we ain't got much time. No breakfast either."

Cherise sniffed derisively while Jennifer grabbed what gear she'd brought along and followed suit. Within a minute, they were dressed and professional again and ready to face what lay ahead. At least they thought so. Dave stood and slid open the glass door leading out onto the shaded balcony and the bridge beyond it, letting the cool air of morning shock the two women awake as they followed.

"Got in touch with the Sun Dogs, like I said. Didn't take em long to get back to me and we spent the whole night seeing what was up. I'm fuckin' exhausted trying to wrangle my tards." He gave a wave to someone sitting by a window across the way and when the man didn't give any indication that he'd seen it, Dave took a quarter from his pocket and belted it at him. "Hey fuck ass, extend the fucking walkway!" He shouted. The man, kid really, disappeared for a moment and reappeared on the opposite balcony with a broad board about ten or so feet long. Dave crossed casually while Jennifer tried to go over as light as possible. Cherise though went over tentatively and slow despite the previous nights reassurance that the "bridge" was in some unexplained way, reinforced. Once they were all on the other side, he went on, "The Sun Dogs say that somebody finally took issue with the candy man's radio show and put two rockets into his shit. One on the tower, one on the booth. The nearby orchard caught fire and seven junkies were killed, not including the asshole operator who was probably off taking a piss or something when the attack happened. Scared the shit out of and stampeded the candy man's herd too, the Screaming Eagles have been running the countryside rustling the loose stock and skirmishing with the junkies trying to round them up. Sun Dogs took the opportunity to take what they could from the wreckage of Hoyt's radio station during the chaos, but they want to offer it to you themselves. Heard you were interested I guess..."

When they emerged from the complex, the grounds outside it were alive with men and women going about, checking motorcycles and weapons like they were about to go to war. Some of them were Sun Dogs and others were Eagles, but not one she could see was one of Dave's men. Jennifer wondered why, and just had to ask. The response she got wasn't entirely unexpected.

"Divers got absorbed... Sent my guys out to get in contact and they joined up with these two after." He said with not a small hint of anger, then sighed, "The gooder news is that the eagles disabled a cattle truck headed for the orchard this morning. If you want it, the Eagles are holding it down. You'll need to take it from the driver." He kicked a stone, an uncharacteristically petulant seeming action in the midst of the raiders around them and Jennifer thought that there was more to his clan leaving him than she'd thought. She'd have to ask later, for now there was a vital bit of intel on her table and she was barely awake enough to register it. Cherise though had recovered quickly and gave her shoulder a painful squeeze.

"We'll take their offer."

30
Rec Room / Re: CDDA: Adventures in Cataclysm
« on: August 28, 2019, 02:48:57 pm »
"Oh, it should be fine, Miss Minx is oddly capable though she is by no means a fighter." Medeina claimed, verbally waving off Hectors concerns, "According to my own directives, my task was to observe and record. There may be holding cells on site, but I can't imagine anything too dangerous. Then again..." She gave the map a serious look and calculated. "The facility should have defenses of their own, and perhaps there is a copy of myself there? Maybe..."

"Medeina?" Hector asked upon hearing the unsure tone the robot spoke with.

"I don't remember anything. I know the name of my creator, the goal of my project, and even a few things about my unique programming structure but everything else is non-existent. I have discussed this at great length with Miss Minx and a conclusion has continued to remain elusive. I want to find answers, and Miss Minx wishes to assist. What is this lab here?" Medeina lamented before directing her question to an area of the map. It looked like a long stretch of deforested land reaching vertically down the map with large scale power lines running through it. The point at which she'd prodded sat at the terminus of a dirt road, seemingly ending at nothing. Hector stared at it for a moment, seeing it had been circled as important, then circled again by himself at some point. Then it came to him.

"That's where we found you." He explained, "But that wasn't your lab."

"No. My lab and the others in my registry are not marked on this map. Why do you think that is Mr. Lowe?" She asked, then adjusted her lens and prodded another space further south of C.I.D.s lab, in a heavily forested area. Then jabbed the map in four other places in what Hector recognized as a square around the point in the forest. "A series of five labs." She explained, "The partial inventory I have suggests that super alloy may be found in any of them, but only one of them contains an adequate sample of graphine, though this could be a result of the fragmented nature of my records." They went over the map a bit more before Hector noticed the shadow that had fallen over it and turned to see the woman that the robot had spent so much time with, running around in the swamp and writing about animals.

"Yo," She said, "So is this happening today or what?"

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NOCTIFER IS A FAGGOT