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Creative Endeavors / Re: Spinning Sightlines: A Bizarre Adventure
« Last post by Wheel-Son on August 08, 2019, 07:42:59 am »
Mashad Clearwater

   ‘This ‘story’ is how I began to see, not in the literal sense however. But in a spiritual sense, a sense I haven’t tried in a long time. My name is Mashad Clearwater, and after meeting that man, ‘Puledro Clydesdale’. Who was full of mysteries, beginning to end.’

   ‘When I look back, why was I in Leprett? This religious little ranch town. Did I just happen upon here randomly?’

   ‘Or was I drawn here? Was I destined to meet this gunslinger? This Bounty Hunter?’

   ‘It was rumored that this little town had the most beautiful church in the American Frontier. Not that I could see it very well, of course.’

   ‘I grew up as a pastor’s son, and I thought I was destined to follow in his footsteps. When I was four, I already could read the bible front to back. My father was beyond proud, he called me his ‘Little Parrot’.’

   ‘In my late teens I was diagnosed with ‘Glaucoma’. And my eyesight was going. It hasn’t completely left me yet, but it’s like looking through a straw.’

   ‘A few years back I told my father I was leaving, becoming a Missionary. That was a lie, but… I boarded a train in the black of night. Couldn’t see anything strange about it.’

   ‘But it ultimately caused me to lose most of my eyesight. But it gave me a ‘strange ability’, And a mark that reads, “Luna malum ortu.”’

   ‘“Bad moon rising”’

   And then, just for a moment, the milky whiteness of Mashad’s eyes went away. “H-huh? I-... I can see?” He said, dumbfounded. Clydesdale looked him in the eye as he walked away, and the milky-whiteness returned.

‘What just happened? It couldn’t… It’s not possible…’

‘But the disease… Did that really happen?’

‘I touched it… that man’s revolver… My eyes…’

   Mashad’s thoughts ran wild, “W… Wait! You! How did that- How could I see again?!” He shoved past the crowd, “Excuse me, let me through! Dammit move!” He hollered, one of the citizens gave the blind man a look. “What? What’s so-?” Mashad shoved past, “Not now- sorry! Dammit-- Wait!”

   Clydesdale rubbed his eyes, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Christ, boy. What do you want?” he barked, as the blind man wheezed a bit. “What- How did that happen? You saw something. I could see again.” He sputtered, as the bounty hunter let out a silent curse. “Alright, listen. Lemme-” He checked through his wallet for a moment, “Dammit… I’ll treat you to a meal an’ explain it. C’mon.”

   The pair got settled with a stew that’s been cooked for far too long and a rough wood table in a corner of Leprett’s saloon. Clydesdale took out a leather bound journal, with a simple charcoal pencil. He drew a simple rectangle in the journal’s back pages.

   “So. There’s a shape called ‘The Golden Rectangle’. You prolly heard of it. It’s a rectangle that’s made to the ratio 9 to 18. It’s got several characteristics-- Let's say I make another rectangle…” 

   Clydesdale drew another rectangle, “This rectangle I just made is the same ratio, 9 by 18. Now, let’s add another line. See? Another rectangle. And then I make another, and another, and another. And so on and so forth.”

   Clydesdale continued to scribble on the journal, “When I connect the centers of all these shapes… I get a spiral that theoretically goes on infinitely.” Mashad gave him a look, as Puledro took the steel ball and set it on Mashad’s hand. He gave it a spin and the blind man’s eyes healed once again, if only for a moment. “It’s a disease, ain’t it? ‘The Spin’ can’t get rid of the disease, but…” Clydesdale looked Mashad in the eye, “Forget it.”

   Mashad gave a shocked look, “But--    Why did you explain this to me?!” He shouted, slamming his hands against the table as he stood back up. Clydesdale explained calmly, “Y’prolly could figure it out yerself, you seem smart enough.” He explained, standing up to leave the table. Mashad simply stood there, stunned as he watched him walk up the stairs to his room.

To Be Continued
Creative Endeavors / Re: Catnips Odd Trip
« Last post by saltmummy626 on August 08, 2019, 06:11:01 am »
YOU CAN'T FUCKING DO THIS!" Pinky shrieked, momentarily deafening the man slipping envelopes under doors and at least one other doing the same thing further down the hall. "I'LL HAVE YOUR... your... YOUR FUCKING BADGE!"

The man, despite the feral shrieking woman, seemed to be taking all this in stride said simply, "We don't have badges." This of course set the Albino Misling off on another tirade of deafening screaming and obscenities the likes of which would have Kathrine fainting dead away. Pinky was practically frothing with rage, but undeterred the man went on. "It's not in my hands anyway Ma'am. The Misling and city councils have handed down the order personally. You can take it up with them if you want. Personally though, I'm with you. My son-"

"YOUR SON?!" Pinky cut in sharply, "WHAT ABOUT MY STAFF? WHAT ABOUT MY BUSINESS!?" It went on and on, Pinky heaving all the abuse she could at the man, a soldier of some kind by his dress, and he simply standing there and taking it. It was clear to Catnip that he was a person who'd seen a great deal of this kind of treatment in his time, and in a way sort of enjoyed it.

"Your staff will be trained enough to go out and come back, we need every hand we can get. They'll mostly be digging trenches and-" he began.


"Mister Os- sorry, Captain Ostler?" Asked a young woman in loose fitting Pricetown fatigues who'd managed to sneak up while the man, Ostler, had been trying to be reasonable with the establishments proprietor, "I've run out of draft slips sir." Pinky waited as patiently as a boiling pot for Captain Ostler to give the lady, more girl than lady, Pinky noted angrily, a fresh stack of envelopes to feed under the doors of the brothels bedrooms. When that business was concluded Pinky had regained a bit of composure and went on more calmly.

"This is bullshit you know, absolute bullshit. Whatever happened to my influence here in town?" She asked.

"Gone with King I'm afraid." Ostler stated matter of factly.

"We both know I'm not going to get them all back." Pinky seguied. She looked up the hall to where Catnip was standing and watching them, a plain white envelope held with both hands. The sight seemed to nettle Pinky, so she shot her glare back on the Captain. "She's not even going to go onto your maintenance line, is she? Catnip, get your butt in your room goddamnit." Catnip, feeling the tension now, did as she was told. Slowly.

"That's the one Command has been dickering with you over?" The Captain asked before going on, "Not likely. She'll end up in the regs. If she's lucky and shows a bit of aptitude, maybe the Shattered Helm. Listen Ma'am, from what I've seen so far your staff are living pretty soft compared to the rest of Pricetown. Chances are, most of them aren't going to get past the basic physical and they'll be right back between the sheets in no time."

"So? Some of them will pass. She'll pass it, no problem." Pinky huffed, thinking of Minx. Minx was plenty soft, but Minx's unique augmentation would make her an asset, if the draft could find her. Chances were they wouldn't, but still. Pinky tapped her foot angrily, then huffed again. "What it boils down to is I missed out. I missed my chance to cash in my chips and I'm about to take a hit to my pocket book?"

"I don't know about that. When she comes back-" he began

"IF she comes back." Pinky corrected.

"Alright, if. If she comes back, she's going to have a great deal more experience than she had before, maybe come back a hero. Wouldn't that be good for business?" Ostler asked.

"No." Pinky said sneering a little, "It would be good for business if she worked from her bed, but she doesn't. No, if she comes back then it's either gonna be in a body bag or with even more trauma than she's got already."

Ostler didn't tell her that the Sanguine council rarely sent people back at all, and those that they did send back would be better off dead. Telling her that wouldn't make it any better, and the woman was clearly loathe to give the mechanic up. He didn't tell her that any fighting would likely be a hellish ordeal, Regs and Shattered Helm trying to beat back the swarm of screechers coming out of Algol in tanks disguised to look like water deliveries. The events of the road block still stuck out in his mind vividly, and it was that horrendous image that kept him thinking, "How did they get so much of it into a fuel truck, and why? Algol had a regular army, so why send such an unpredictable thing to Pricetown?" He shook his head to himself. Questions to be answered. They would find out soon enough.
Creative Endeavors / Spinning Sightlines: A Bizarre Adventure
« Last post by Wheel-Son on August 06, 2019, 05:25:47 am »

To Summarize a Historical Background

   The ‘Automobile’ that was invented by Henry Ford in 1903 and were quickly purchased by the wealthy and even the government. Over 5,000 automobiles were purchased and in use within the next few years.

   Soon after the ‘American Civil War’ and ‘The Steel Ball Run’ and the mysterious death of the 23rd president of the United States ‘Funny Valentine’. There was a crackdown on american outlaws within the ‘American Frontier’.

   The ‘Pinkerton National Detective Agency’ became a national name even in the ‘American Frontier’. This hinted at the end of the american frontier, as they hired and gave work to thousands of american and foreign bounty hunters.

   There was a large influx of Neapolitan immigrants after the ‘Kingdom of Naples’ had a revolution in and the monarchy was ousted, being absorbed into the Republic of Italy. Any former members of the royal family came to America for work.

Puledro Clydesdale

   A middle aged bounty hunter read through a ‘contract’, a fountain pen in hand. He was dressed in a purple hardee hat with brightly colored feathers, a dark red paisley vest with two rows of golden buttons like an old civil war coat, dark red jeans, black cowboy boots with Damascus steel toes, and his gunbelt with various pre-loaded cylinders, his ‘Pietta Model 1851’, and a strange ‘Steel Ball’ behind his shooting iron.

   He skimmed through the contract, before looking up at the ‘Pinkerton Agent’ in front of him. The bounty hunter spoke up with a raspy voice, “So, if I’m gettin’ this right… I get five guaranteed bounties. But they may change if, say, I get a bounty for an entire gang rather than an individual?”

   The agent nodded, “Yess’m, that’s right, sir. An, if you’ll look at the fine print, you y’gatta take the ones we give ya’. No bein’ fussy.”

   The bounty hunter rubbed his temples at that, “Alright, fine… So I sign…” He trailed off as he signed the bottom of the contract.
“Puledro Clydesdale”

   The agent grimaced at Puledro’s handwriting, “‘Puledro’? Are yeh Italian?” He asked, raising a brow. Clydesdale answered simply with a, “Naw, my pa’s from Naples. Was his daddy’s name, ah think.”
   The Pinkerton gave a nod as he looked over the document, “Alrigh’, alrigh’... Everything looks good. Yer good t’go. You’ll have yer first bounty t’morrow, git plenty of rest.” He explained before Clydesdale got up to leave. As he stepped out of the appropriated sheriff’s office, heading back to the town of ‘Leprett’s’ Saloon and Hotel. A youngster, can’t be much older than 19 bumped into him. “Ah- Sorry Mister, didn’t see ya’ there. Say-”

   He pointed at the Damascus steel ball in it’s own holster behind his pistol. “What’s that steel ball on your belt?” The young man continued, going to touch it. Clydesdale simply set his hand on the young man’s, and he fell to his knees. Puledro pried open the youngster’s other hand, “What d’ya think you were doin’ with this?” He asked, holding up a ten dollar coin.

   The young man stuttered, “U-uhh…” Clydesdale simply shook his head, “Law man! C’mere! This lil’ shit’s a pickpocket!” He shouted, as a deputy came by to drag him away. The young man sputtered and wheezed, “Hah… Hah… Hah…”    

   “Come on…” The deputy grumbled, but he felt his pistol clear leather. The young man let out a shout, “You’re dead!” He exclaimed as the deputy pointed the pistol to the sky,

   “Dammit! He got my gun!” The deputy hollered as the young man cackled.

   “You’d be dead if I felt like it! You didn’t catch me when I took the ten dollars! I’m faster than you!” He ranted, trying to get a rise out of him.

   Puledro gave a grumble, stepping out into the street. “If you’re really done talkin’. Give him the gun back, lawman.” The deputy let out a little, “Eh?” and there was a long silence afterwards. “I’m not gonna press any charges, I’ll forget about it. Lettim go. An’ give ‘em the gun.”

   The deputy shrugged and tossed the gun to the young punk’s feet, as Clydesdale glared at him. “Pick it up.” The youngster stared at him, sweating. “But… If you do, that’ll be th’sign.”

   He spat into the dirt, “That you’re not gonna be any more than a pissant.” He antagonized. The thug glared at him as a small crowd formed, a ‘Blind Vagabond’ stepping through the crown. “What's all that noise?” he said, tapping ahead with his cane. “A duel?” He wondered, milky white eyes looking ahead towards the two.

   There was a long pause, as Clydesdale unbuckled the pistol from it’s holster, staring him down. The pickpocket spoke it, “I-it was just a joke… Y-your face is scaring me. I’m just a pick pocket…! H-have a good’n…” He stuttered, holding his hands up. The sheriff stepped up, “What in th’hell are you two doin’?” He asked, before the pickpocket picked up the pistol.


   Puledro cleared leather, sending a steel slug to the man’s shoulder. The flesh around the wound began to twist and the bones in the shoulder began to crack. The pickpocket began to let out a scream, “A-AAAAHH…!” The cracking intensified as the smaller steel ball dug its way into his flesh. “AAAAAAAAAAA!!!” He screeched, before Clydesdale held up a hand to send the small, albeit deformed steel slug back to his hand. “Yer jus’ a kid, put down the gun and go to the clinic. The flesh continued to twist around the wound, as he continued to let out little shouts of agony before it flared up again. “NOOOOOO!”

   Clydesdale let out a hmmph before walking away, “B’fore noon.” The young man shot a look of fury at him, “YOU BASTAAAARD!” He screamed, pointing the gun at him. The limb let out a loud snap as it turn grotesquely back towards him, just as he pulled the trigger.

   The pick pocket laid dead in the street, as the crowd began to let out a shout of horror. “Sheriff! We should-” The deputy said, pointing towards Puledro. “Naw, Jus’ a duel. No laws were technically broken. Jus’- Lettim’ go.”

   Two witnesses were discussing the duel, “What’d he do?”
“He shot ‘im in the arm, then it- Richocheted back to ‘im?” He answered, equally confused.
   The blind vagabond let out a ‘huh?’, as he walked towards Puledro, “Uh, sir! Can I- See your gun for a moment?” He asked, touching Clydesdale’s pistol. “Wait! Don’t touch them! They’re still spinning!”

   And then, just for a moment, the milky whiteness of the man’s eyes went away. “H-huh? I-... I can see?” He said, dumbfounded.

To Be Continued

Creative Endeavors / Re: Catnips Odd Trip
« Last post by saltmummy626 on July 31, 2019, 05:58:48 pm »
Catnip reached out her window and fished around until she found what she'd hung outside to finish. Meanwhile, Minx was telling her about current events. It seemed these days that Catnip went out less, and so wasn't getting the news. In reality, she wasn't going out when other people were so thick in the streets. The episode in the Howling Tower had a profound effect on her. Where large groups of people had been Catnip's jam back in new england, making her feel somewhat safe, here in Arizona there was a kind of unease. Mix that with the threat of infection that seemed so common among Pricetowns Misling residents, Catnip couldn't bring herself to go out. When the sun had retreated in the sky a bit and the mazey heat haze of day had receded to something that baked off of everything, unseen. She could move around easily then and get away with much more than she normally could.

She tested the enamel on what she'd made, tapping it with a small dental hook to make sure it didn't take a mark. "Yeah, it was a disaster alright." Minx went on as though Catnip had given her any input on what she was saying. "Draft is on now I guess. Lucky you and I are safe from that stuff."

"What's a draft?" Catnip asked. Her only experience with "draft" was in making rough plans or beer.

"Uh, It's a thing where you have to be in the military against your will. You and I are safe because we work here." Minx explained incredulously. Catnip nodded slowly at that, unsure of what to make of it. Personally, she moved a lot and said little, but heard much. She was unsure because she had heard the negotiations that went on behind Pinky's closed door. There was nothing to worry about, but it still gave her pause. Since escaping the Howling Tower, Pinky had been made many offers for Catnip. Nothing for L though. Technically, L didn't belong to anyone except Catnip and Catnip wasn't willing to say that she "owned" her. Catnip on the other hand was an accomplished and proven master mechanic and craftsman. The Shattered Helm wanted her for their maintenance crew, the owners of the aeroponics plant wanted her for the line, and many many water merchants and bullet farmers wanted her for their own profit making schemes. Since the attack on the Shattered Helm barricade a few days before, and the sudden overt aggressive moves from Pricetowns northern neighbor, Algol, The Shattered Helm and Aeroponics facility had doubled down in a desperate attempt to give themselves the upper hand in their branches of Pricetowns hierarchy.

Catnip wouldn't bother with it. She wouldn't be here much longer anyway, or so she thought. There were plans above her table, rough schematics using her newly recovered holy relic. She'd once seen a helicopter and it had been the basis for her plan. Build herself a flying machine and fly all the way home. The real problems were finding somewhere to build it safely, and finding her way home once it was built. Minx passed her a boiled egg which she took with thanks before the talk went on for awhile. When the day grew dim, Minx would leave and Catnip would put the final touches on her gift for a certain knight out of time. Then she would go out. After, sleep Then...

Catnip woke early the next day to Pinky screaming at someone up the hall, and an envelope sliding it's way under her door.

Rec Room / Re: CDDA: Adventures in Cataclysm
« Last post by saltmummy626 on July 22, 2019, 02:49:26 pm »
Jennifer had been rather impressed with the organization on display at the orchard turned ranch, until she and Cherise got a closer look at the place. The first thing they found was a man, not a mutant or cyborg, nailed to a cross in the God's Army fashion. Cherise hadn't been able to look at it long, but Jenny did. The man was wasted away. Not as a man who had been hanging for a week, but like a man who's body was blown out by hard drug use. His eyes sat sunken and empty in his head, cheeks sallow and thin, body a sagging half starved sack. From the condition of the body, they could tell he'd had been alive recently as well, though the women would have had a hard time calling what this man had done before being nailed up "living." A fly buzzed around the feeling body and landed on one glazed over eye and Jenny grimaced before averting her gaze downward. There was a note, a simple scrap of card stock, stapled to the man's chest with industrial staples that read "thief" in long spidery letters. When it came to those desperate for a fix it seemed, this Hoyt didn't fuck around. In the distance, maybe a half mile, they could still barely see the steady line of smoke from a chimney, the orderly trees with people milling here and there among them, cattle in a more distant field, and a run downish looking two story house next to what was either a barn or a processing shed. The wind shifted and they caught the smell of the place. The spiced tang of apples, the stink of manure, and the unpleasant sickly sweet stench burnt plastic and ammonia.

"What do you think?" Jenny asked, trying to look like she was appraising Cherise reaction.

"I think I'd like to shell it and crucify it's occupants." Cherise growled in response. She pulled something from a pocket and Jenny wasn't sure what to think of it until the woman extended it.

"Is that a telescope?" Jenny asked incredulously at Cherise's old fashioned looking glass. Cherise started to raise it, then stopped.

"What? It's lighter and easier to carry than a pair of binoculars." She stated. Jenny pulled out her own pair of looking glasses at that, a small pair of basic folding binoculars that fit comfortably in the palm of her hand. Instead of commenting on it, Cherise simply grunted and peered through her antique while Jenny smirked and raised her own. The people in the orchard were much like the man on the cross. Wasted, sallow, unhealthy. Junkies, most of them, by the look. Their haunted, hunted, eyes told Jenny everything she needed to know. The people in the orchard were working all right, but they were hooked through the bag as well. The two women moved down the dirt road a ways to get a better look at the lay of the land and spotted a man and woman leaving the barn structure, headed for the house. The woman looked tough and wary, and carried some kind of large glaive bouncing on one shoulder. The other, the man, wore a lab coat that flapped gently in the breeze just as his hair was whipped a bit by said wind. His sun glasses glinted with the menacing humor behind them.

"Beware beware," Cherise said, "I think that's our guy." The words sent a shiver up Jenny's spine. Unlike Cherise, Jenny knew for a fact that it was their guy. Hoyt, the candy man. She knew it because Cheena knew it. The animal inside her could feel it, feel the poison in the man's veins. Smell the poison in his being. This man was at home with death and dealt in all the things that "his" kind took for pleasant but would quickly turn them into raving idiots and slaves to him. Cheena didn't like him, but Jenny didn't need Cheena for that. She looked somewhere else just so she wouldn't have to look at the unpleasant scene, and spotted the antenna. Judging from it's position she guessed it to be somewhere around the edge of the distant pasture. "They're looking our way fox girl." Cherise suddenly said matter of factly. Jenny swerved her gaze back down to see the man headed for the house, and the woman walking briskly in their direction.
Rec Room / Re: CDDA: Adventures in Cataclysm
« Last post by RedVulnus on July 11, 2019, 11:30:31 pm »
Bolt tapped his foot rapidly as he waited for the foreman to go down the line. He already knew what he was going to be  doing but the last time he’d gone straight to work the foreman had been less than pleased. So he waited, tapping his feet and ignoring the other mislings that were to either side of him.

Finally he got his instructions: dismantle and salvage. Turning and walking away Bolt made his way to where the mislings used to disassemble various things for salvage and parts. He’d not been here long but already knew that the walk was simply a hundred steps, give or take twenty to avoid people or jams of foot traffic.

Once he reached the area he opened the locker that had been designated as his and retrieved his tools. Unlike the others his tool belt included an air tank that connected to his special tools. As he filled the tank nearby he couldn’t help but smile as he recalled how much easier his tools made his work.

He’d made them himself for the express purpose of his salvage job. Of course none of the others believed that he’d made them. Not that he cared if they believed he could build things, he was fine with everyone believing he was only capable of dismantling them. Life was easier when people didn’t expect much from you after all.

Humming to himself Bolt set to work now that his equipment was fully operational. His first task was to cut some pipe down for the construction crews.Nodding to the foreman of the ‘pit’ Bolt retrieved his cutter. Turning on the tool and inserting the pipe, sliding it along so that it was the proper length, Bolt squeezed the handle. The saw blade attached to it was designed for cutting metal so the pipe was taken care of quickly as he slid the next section into place.

Once the pipe was done, which lasted maybe a half hour of work, Bolt was told to just work on the pile. This was what they called the heap of items that had been left in the pit to be disassembled for any sort of use they could make of them. This usually involved stripping items for useful materials or parts such as circuit boards or valves or what have you.

This was work Bolt was particularly good at. That was mostly due to the fact he’d done it so much he could do it without really thinking about it. And so he sat there gutting computers and appliances until he came to a few gas tanks that had made their way into the pit. Inspecting them yielded the reason that they were down here, they’d been punctured here and there. If he were to hazard a guess the holes were small enough to have been caused by something akin to a screwdriver.

Taking off the valves and seals Bolt pocketed a few while the Foreman wasn’t really paying attention. It hadn’t been the first time he’d done such a thing even when the foreman was paying attention. The two had simply come to an understanding. ‘Dont pocket everything and I wont have a problem’ was the gist of it.

After that he just let himself slip into work. Which left his mind to wander. He was curious about the new person, TJ. He’d never seen anyone wearing that many bandages before. And there was an odd mixture of curiosity and sadness about him that clashed with how he tried to act happy. Or maybe Bolt was just misreading him.

Still the pair were outsiders among what appeared to be their own people, they had that much in common. The other mislings had decided that Bolt was unlucky, some due to the marks on his fur and others simply because he’d received more than a handful of opportunities after the misfortune of others. As such he often found himself on his own. So he’d made himself content with his lot in life.

Before long, well at least before it felt like it had been a long time, the bell rang. Bolt finished his cut and walked over to the lockers. Stowing his gear Bolt slid the lock into place and decided to go find something to eat. A bit early for dinner but he’d not eaten lunch.

So he made his way to the community center that Isaac had built. He’d never met the man but had heard from the other mislings they gave food for free. And they were nice people. He’d check and see then go and find TJ.

Entering the place he could smell food cooking and spotted Alice setting some out onto the serving trays. Isaac spotted Bolt and waved as he said “Hey right on time! Let me go get some plates and we’ll let you grab some grub.”

After a moment Bolt had his meal and was sitting down to eat. As he was used to no one really sat next to him. This gave him time to muse over his various projects at the very least.

At the same time as all of this TJ had been wandering around. He’d stopped to talk to some of the mislings here and there but none could really point him towards work that could earn him anything. As Bolt had put it “there isn’t any scrip here yet.” was the general consensus.

As such TJ had found himself sitting with an older misling in what appeared to be some sort of rug stall. The misling wore an old vest, dress shirt, pants and a pair of leather shoes along with a rather long and well kept and trimmed beard of grey hair. The pair had talked over a home mixed and brewed tea that the elder misling had made. “So you say you don’t know your past? Perhaps it matters not where you came from, perhaps you have yet to fulfill your purpose in life? Perhaps you have yet to even determine what that purpose is.”

The way the elder was watching him made TJ somewhat uncomfortable as he sat cross legged across from the man. Taking a moment to sip his tea and collect his thoughts TJ finally admitted “I don’t know, I guess I haven’t really had time to figure out what my purpose is.”

The elder simply nodded as he drank from his own cup. A younger misling had entered the stall and spoke a few words. “Oh for that design you should use that pattern there. It will look lovely, take the roll and bring back what you don’t use.”

From what TJ had gathered this man organized quite a few of the odds and ends for the construction crews. Some of the young mislings under his employ kept things organized in this stall and the others in the area where things like rugs, cloth, and other such items were kept. It also was built like it was going to be turned into a market at some point. Regardless the elder looked at him and said “That is okay child. Many do not find their purpose for most of their lives. What matters is that you carry yourself in a manner that is respectable, one that anyone could admire and look up to. Of course..” he paused for a moment to show that the vest concealed a blade “..sometimes one must act in unsavory manners to protect himself and others. That too is understandable.”

TJ shrugged. He’d killed once and found the act..distasteful himself. Before he could say anything the elder smiled and said “Ah, a pacifist? Admirable I must say but you need to be willing to defend yourself should the need arise.”

TJ nodded and said “I know, I really do. I just hope it doesn’t come to that. That’s why I’ve been trying to find a place like this where I don’t have to fight people.”

For a few minutes the pair sat in silence as the elder inspected TJ.  Finally he stood and retrieved a long dark blue piece of cloth from a table. “I have known many men. Some wear these for the purpose of worship. Others because it means something to them as a symbol of things such as pride and courage. To me it is worn as a symbol of dedication and self worth not for some religious reason.”

Wrapping it around TJ’s head the elder hummed softly to himself. After a moment he finished wrapping the turban and tied it off, leaving a trail of the blue cloth hanging behind TJ’s head. “May it take on whatever meaning you assign to it however. You can always change the style as well, perhaps add layers or shorten the tail of it. That is ultimately up to you, just as all paths ultimately lead to the same place in the end.”

Reaching a hand up TJ touched the turban as the elder misling provided him a mirror to inspect himself. It was a deep blue and unlike the mislings it was only wrapped around his head a couple times to keep it on without really protruding from his head. “Thanks. I don’t really have anything to pay you with though.”

The elder waved the thought of payment away. “All I ask is that you remember our conversation today. I hope that it helps you find your way in life.”

The elder misling bowed and TJ returned the gesture after standing up. “I will. Thank you for the tea.”
The elder smiled as he said “Of course, and as I said whenever we figure out money here I’ll be more than happy to have you working with me.”

TJ departed with that. Some of the younger mislings that worked for the elder waved and nodded to him as he went. The snug feeling of the turban wasn’t dissimilar to his bandages and was oddly comforting. Checking the time he realized it was almost six pm and decided to see if Alice and Isaac needed any help.

The walk there didn’t take very long and he spotted only a handful of mislings making their way in. Walking in he took a look around and spotted Bolt sitting by himself and decided to walk over. Sitting down he couldn’t help but smile at Bolt jumping slightly at his presence. “Hi Bolt, how was work?”

Swallowing a mouthful of mac and cheese Bolt shrugged “Was work. Same thing I did yesterday, same thing tomorrow.” Fishing in his bag Bolt pulled out the valves and seals “But got parts for air gun. Can take time to work on it tomorrow before shift if you’d like.”

TJ nodded as he leaned back and said “That works for me. I’m not gonna have much of anything to do anyway, at least that I know of. Maybe going out to look for parts or books.”

Bolt scratched his nose as he said “You read books? Could teach?”

TJ again nodded and leaned back in his chair “I could.  We could start tonight if you want too.”

Bolt nodded eagerly as he took another bite of his food. As they sat there it dawned on TJ that Bolt was pretty small for his age, standing at thee foot four inches. The pair were both sixteen(well Bolt was Sixteen in misling years) and here they were living the farthest things from what they’d heard described as the life of someone their age. Instead of studying and dating they were disassembling salvage and working on a weapon that could kill both zombies and people while one of them taught the other to read.

Once Bolt had finished his meal he returned the plate to a receptacle and walked back over to TJ. Reaching over TJ pulled a seat out next to him and waited for Bolt to sit down as he retrieved a book from his bag. “This one should be pretty easy to start with.”

As they sat there TJ was surprised at Bolt’s eagerness to learn. The constant stream of questions made him imagine a child if he were honest. But he did his best to stay patient with Bolt as they sat there.
General Discussion / Re: Last Man Posting: -50% SHENANIGANS
« Last post by saltmummy626 on July 10, 2019, 05:28:52 am »
Woah there son, slow down.
Rec Room / Re: CDDA: Adventures in Cataclysm
« Last post by RedVulnus on July 10, 2019, 12:22:55 am »
2 months ago

The sound of the air tight seals popping open filled the room as the first sounds to greet the silence in nearly fifteen years. The heavy footsteps that followed echoed as the five men stepped out of the stasis pods and shook the drowsiness from their heads.

Once they were able to fully avail themselves of their faculties they moved to the lockers in the room to retrieve their uniforms. Each man donned a grey uniform that was accompanied by a pair of black boots, a metal Sallet helmet and a black chest rig. Walking over to a console one of them switched it back on and inserted his thumb into a slot.

‘ID confirmed: Alexander Sokolov. Rank: Crusader. Status changed: Active’

Moving to another console Sokolov connected a wire to a small port in his neck. ‘Adjusting bionic liver. Tuning bionic eye. Calibrating…’

All of them went through the same process of having their bionics calibrated and getting their gear in order. When all was said and done they approached the door and waited as one of their number stepped forward and read the instructions on the door console. Tapping a button the man started to speak “Howard R. M., Captain of the order speaking. Stasis pods were deactivated, alert from Secure Compound Zeta under the..local bank. Present with me is Alexander Sokolov, survival specialist.” He rattled off the rest of the names and jobs of the men with him before signing off and walking out of the facility with his men in tow.

1 week ago

Sokolov watched his captain stare through a pair of binoculars at the men in the building in front of them. Tilting his head back Sokolov finished the mickey of vodka as he waited. Finally his captain spoke “There’s gotta be thirty of them, maybe more. Heavily armed and looking twitchy from here. You still ready for this Sokolov?”

Setting the bottle down and grabbing his rifle Sokolov shrugged. In the past month he’d watched one of his friends shoot himself in the head because of this apocalypse and two more get gunned down by scum. The way he figured it the pair of them would either complete their objective or die trying. “We go quiet and stay quiet.”

2 days ago

Sokolov sat in Haps bar sipping his drink. And waiting. He’d  been waiting for the past two days. His armor was stowed in a large carryall bag sitting next to him. Pulling his hand from his pocket he sorted through the coins he had, palming one and dumping the rest back into his pocket.

The man he’d been waiting for had entered the building and sat down. Standing up Sokolov walked towards the door. As he passed the table he flipped the coin onto it. Before the man could question it Sokolov was out the door.

“I do not enjoy work. I do not relish a piece of paper being handed to me. I do not savor the moment before action. I do my work as is my duty. When I pass may the Lord forgive my soul. If he does not then may I take my place at Lucifers right hand. Please oh lord hear this sinners prayerr.” Sokolov said to himself as the man picked the coin up to inspect it.

Sokolov didn’t need to hear the gunshot that came quickly after, nor did he need to see the blood stain on the window of the bar.  Sliding the Salet helmet onto his head Sokolov stared down at the coin that had returned to his hand as he walked. The only thing Howard would know of what had happened is that the man whom had been giving the orders to the men that had held the bank was dead. He would never really know how it happened.

For a brief moment the hooded figure walked beside him. He’d been told the man was an old gun who’d wagered his soul for one of the devil’s coins. The Templars wanted to destroy it, the Order had smuggled it away from the Catholics. Then they’d hidden it from the Cleansing Flame.

The Archival Order of Holstadt, a long destroyed town, had hidden many things of historical and religious importance in their eyes. Most of their catalogue were mundane items, glasses of some historical figure, a pair of pants that a crusader had worn, things of such mundane nature. But every once in a while they got their hands on something special.  Along with their modern public facing cover they’d changed the name simply to The Archival Order.

Sokolov had broken a long standing agreement among the high ranking members of the Order when he’d taken this coin. Anything abnormal was supposed to be left in a secure room in the Order’s headquarters. But it had served him well in his work as an assassin of the Order.

When he returned to Howard he informed him that their target was dead. Then he received the news. Some cultists  had taken over. Ones that liked to eat the flesh of the undead and other humans.

Present day

Sokolov had seen the group at the bank and knew no matter what they brought two men wouldn’t be able to take them on. So he’d started his journey to where the friends of an old enemy of the cult lived. Walking down the abandoned road he spotted a handful of the undead here and there but not enough to cause him any problems.

Of course he needed to sell something to these people. After all why did he care that these were the men that killed their friend? So he took a moment to settle back into his old accent. It had been years since he’d spoken like this, since he was a teenager if he recalled correctly. After his mother took him to her homeland of Ireland she’d taught him how to hide the accent of his homeland. “My name Alexander Sokolov, pleasure to meet you. I have news concerning mutual friend Alexei’s killers. I know where man that gave order is located, but I need help to kill.”

Even with practice speaking in broken english was painful at this point. And that was assuming they would be interested in getting revenge on the men. Assuming his intel was accurate. But that was all he had to go on while Howard kept sketch on the old bank.

Shooting a zombie that had been running at him Alexander also wondered about just who this Alexei had been. Why had these men been so angry that they were still partying and celebrating this man’s death? But that and all of Alexander’s other questions about the man would have to wait. He was getting near his destination, Walkerville.

Meanwhile TJ had finished helping Alice and Isaac with the lunch rush and was currently sitting outside leaning against the wall. He’d gotten enough parts to start working on the air gun he wanted to make so he set to work. Sliding the pieces into place and fastening them as best he could onto the frame he’d made TJ soon had the rough outline and basics of it down. Actually getting it to work would take quite a bit more work.

Looking up from his work he spotted a young misling watching him. Scurrying over upon realizing he’d been seen the young misling grabbed the makeshift air rifle and inspected what was built. “Needs seals. Barrell will only work with large bearings or darts. A padded stock would also make it more comfortable.” Handing it back the misling scratched at it’s damaged right ear and said “Could probably scrounge the parts you need, but it’ll take a while.”

TJ blinked, stunned for a moment, before saying “Wait you..want to help me? How much?”

Shaking his head the misling said “No charge. No real scrip around here so it doesn’t matter anyway. Scratch your back now you scratch mine later?”

TJ nodded after a moment’s thought and said “Sure. I’m TJ by the way, what’s your name?”

“Friends call me Bolt, or Wrench, or Driver. I don’t really care, I do my work and get my food, names don’t affect work. Which I probably need to get back to.” Bolt said before scurrying off into Walkerville.

TJ wasn’t sure what had inspired the young misling to talk to him but he had a feeling Bolt would probably be a good friend to have. Standing up and stowing his project TJ decided to explore the place a bit. Maybe even find some work of his own now that he was thinking about it.
General Discussion / Re: Last Man Posting: -50% SHENANIGANS
« Last post by RedVulnus on July 09, 2019, 01:39:56 am »
flips the tables, screams in jiberish, and lights something on fire
General Discussion / Re: Last Man Posting: -50% SHENANIGANS
« Last post by saltmummy626 on July 04, 2019, 03:55:30 am »
Moves the mop around and whistles
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