Wednesday, June 18, 2003
Tuesday, June 17, 2003
Monday, June 09, 2003
[Ed note: Painful scene. May want to skip it, or delete it outright... Oh, Compton gets attacked again.]
Announcement: Silvius shouts, The peace of the afternoon is shattered suddenly as an explosion rips through the downtown area. The source of the explosion seems to be in the area of Parliament and College E. The blast can be felt for blocks in each direction, and heard for miles. Power flickers and goes out in the neighboring buildings, and car alarms ring through the afternoon air.
Downtown Parliament and College E
You find yourself in the heart of Cabbagetown. This is one of the oldest remaining residential areas of Toronto. It has been virtually untouched by time. Buildings, their architecture dating them back to the turn of the century, rise all along the narrow one-way streets which criss-cross through this area. However, a new surge of 'yuppies' moving into the area has brought forth a flow of change to the old homes. Entire homes are renovated to a more, modern decor. The streets are now being filled with parked BMWs and Mercedes. Upscale boutiques and cafes are springing up on every corner. The more traditional residents have started to complain, creating a storm of controversy over the historic nature of Cabbagetown. In this case, however, tradition seems to be taking a back seat to wealth and power. Indeed it has, from the sight of the newly cleaned sidewalks and the freshly paved roads as well as the beautiful colouring of the fresh flowers and newly added trees.
Contents:
Silvius
Compton shambles up the street, bundeled in his heavy parka and winter boots. He looks spooked, beady eyes flashing about.
Erick arrives from the north.
Erick has arrived.
Isobel arrives from the south.
Isobel has arrived.
Isobel steps from a taxi and begins to run down the street, not an easy thing in heels.... her eyes wide with concern as she sees the damage....
A jittery looking Compton is skirting around what parked cars there are along the street, and peering over top of his erstwhile cover.
Isaac arrives from the south.
Isaac has arrived.
Isaac runs up shortly after Isobel as he gets lost in the city easily. He clamors to a stop and a huff as he sees Isobel.
Isobel hurries to take a look around and then moves towards the crowd that has gathered
Erick moves down the street, not running, not panicked. Like a king he seems to move, but then here he pretty much is. However anger is on his face as he surveys the area and prepares for the fall out.
Car alarms and shocked screams and yells fill the air, but overshadowing all this commotion is the roar of flames, green flames actually, which currently completely engulf the old McDulan family grocery. The glass of nearby buildings and car windows litter the streets.
Silvius slips into his Robes of Office and into Judge Mode!
Isobel looks over as she spots Isaac and just nods. calling to him "I caught a cab" then she begins to move through the crowd.. wanting to hear what the coppers had to say
Compton stands across the street. His face flush with excitement. Doing a fine job representing the do-nothing-voyeur-public in times of crisis.
Erick moves down the street, scanning for only a moment. He taps a few people as he moves by them, the most Irish from the look of it. Directing people to take the wounded to the other side of the street. That thin line of anger still there. The cops are going to show up for this one. He knows it and it pleases him not at all. A few others directed to find the owners of those cars and get the alarms shut off before he moves to where he directed the injured to be taken, god knows when the paramedics will arrive and he is assuming people need help now.
Isaac scans around and makes his way over to Isobel and asks, "All right, since you got here before me, what do you think happened?"
Isobel shakes her head and points towards the back of one of the estates where her little apartment is... "my god I was there only 30 minuets ago... " she shivers and then adds quickly "I need to help.. " with that she goes over to one of the ladies and helps her up from the ground, the poor dear is pretty banged up but she can walk.. carefully she leads the lady to a safe looking stoop, assuring her she needs to have some one look at those cuts...
The interesting thing is, no cops or firemen seem to be anywhere around here. But what's more is the strange green color that seems to permeate the flames. As erick directs the irish folk, they nod, some growing calmer as the seems to recognize the man a bit. They move off to help those they can.
Compton fishes one of those cheap disposeable cameras form his parka's pocket along with a small flask. FIrst he takes a belt of the hooch, to keep the home fires burning and then starts taking random snap shots of the chaos and carnage around him. zzip *CLICK* zzzip *CLICK*
Spotting Isobel Erick moves to the lady she has helped. "Take her two doors up lass. We need all of them together. See if ya can find anyone else with first aid trainin as well." He then moves back there.
Admiistering the little first aid he can. Actually tossing one man the keys to his house and telling him where the first aid kit is. He finally seems to notice the green flame and mutters something about old copper wiring.
Isobel nods her head and hurries to obey. guiding the lady to a safe place and shouting in relief as she spots one of the locals who works at the hospitial, he is hurrying towards Erick
Isaac shoves through the crowd himself and looks upon the scene. Since there are no police around, he takes a quick scan for damages... and then begins talking to people that seem to have had property damaged, especially cars....
Jim arrives from the south.
Jim has arrived.
Jim walks through the intersection of Parliament and College, to see several people he recognizes. He tosses a raised eyebrow to Isobel as he passes.
Isobel works to get small children reunited with their parents. She is moving through out the milling mass, her heels a real pain in the butt
Jim walks north along Parliament to Wellesley.
Jim has left.
Everyone on the streets has relatively minor injuries, glass, cuts, that sort of thing. the blast seems to have been engineered to engulf the building with little collateral damage.
Erick does not even look at the man. The first aid kit is his major concern. He probably knows him from years ago when his sister ran the place, if he's that old. He works on the wounds until the kit arrives and he can do it properly. One of the men leading people over is directed. "Go ta tha pub and get Seamus to get a cop here. An Irish one if possible, if there are still any onna force. But this shite we canna handle on our own. Not until later." The look in his face says someone is going to bleed for this, but that is later, this is now.
Jim arrives from the north.
Jim has arrived.
Isaac looks at Erick as he is done making his rounds. "What the hell are you talking about? You're making this sound like terrorist attack."
Isobel looks up and actually spots Jim, she waves to him "Jim Jim! Help me please, I can na find this little ones Mother.." she winces as she holds the crying child.. trying to keep up with the dirty faced red haired tyke.....
Jim yells articulately. "WHAT THE FUCK!?"
Swan arrives from the west.
Swan has arrived.
Jim goes about trying to pull the worst injured out of the rubble.
Erick looks up at the disheveled man who adresses him and just smiles grimly. "You a reporter or a cop lad? If ya are piss off I got me hands full here if ya didna notice. If ya aren't then it ain't terorists I'm worried aboot." He ducks at the second explosion, almost seeming to before it happens. "God damn it!" That dark look again on his face.
Isaac notes the pre-emptive reaction and says, "You know something about this, tell me what the hell is going on now, or I'll just have the cops take you in for questioning also."
Isobel is trying to help up one of the older men who usually sits outside and plays checkers.. she still has the crying dirty faced child on her hip,.. bouncing him gently as she steadies Old Mat... "its ok darln' we will find your mudder not to fret.... " as she speaks Old Mat looks up and blinks "why lass my mudder has been dead these last 22 years ... you sure you are not the one who took a brick to the head
Siomen arrives from the west.
Siomen has arrived.
The building explodes again, seems possibly a gas main or the like finally gave to the intense heat. sirens are heard in the distance, growing closer as the entire neighborhood, the irish portion at least, seems to come to life to help. Neighbors futilely attempt to cool the fire with garden hoses and fire extinguishers, others form a bucket brigade. Yet more seem to come from the clinic, taking in the wounded there.
Isobel blinks in confussion and then has to laugh, but it is short lived as the second explossion hits... "i.. I was talking to the child Mat..." she sighs and then shakes her head. "nar mind.. is going to be ok. come on hurry .. hurry we do nah need to take more damamge
Compton keeps working his tourist trinket camera, snapping shots of the human conflict that is unravelling itself out on the street. He stands safely behind the scene next to some battered parked cars.
Swan moves to the periphery of the gathered group, speaking into a cellphone, as he scans the area for imminent signs of danger.
Jim grabs what people he can, and begins to pull them towards the clinic, he hollers at the top of his lungs. "Is there a fuckin' doctor out here? Come on you fuckers!" He glances over to Compton and yells at the man. "You! Yeah you, motherfucker! Drop the goddamn camera and give these people a hand you sadistic fuck!"
Hept-Seshet arrives from the west.
Hept-Seshet has arrived.
Erick stands as the people atre taken to the clinic. They're better off there. He looks at Isaac. What I know is that two explosions just hit me fuckin' neighborhood and you're gettin in me face. Now get the hell outta me face, and if'n yer smart out of me neighborhood before I stick something hard and big and possibly flamable up yer arse. This is not the time to be accusin me of shite.
Siomen wanders down the street, drawn by the sirens and explosions, just another gawking fool
Swan finishes his conversation and pockets his phone.
Escalus has arrived.
Isaac looks at the truck pulling up and waves the person emerging over to him. He then turns back to erick and says, "Are you threatening me now? So now they have to question you /and/ hold you on account of verbal assualt?"
Isobel blinks as she hears Erick being yelled at by Isaac but she does not interfere, instead she sets the small child down and begins to move her way back towards the cars where the man with the camera is snapping away like some voyeur tourist...
Swan walks west along College to Jarvis.
Swan has left.
Erick smiles at the man. "I ain't threatenin ya welp. I'm givin ya friendly advice. Ya ain't a cop or ya'd be helpin out. Yer steppin on toes here, so either get ta helpin, or get tha fook out. Ain't noone here want ta deal with yer attitude, you're causin people ta suffer. An before ya threaten me ya might want ta keep in mind that ya accused me of some pretty nasty shit happenin ta a business I have interest in." He's losing his temper and his patience. But the man in front of him doesn't hold it for long, his head swivels and he begins to move in the same direction as Isobel, growling under his breath about vultures as the rude man is forgotten in favor of a much more satisfying target.
Giving the hecklers no mind, Compton continues to document the crisis. Sure it's thankless work. Nobody cares for the paparazzi during the mess, but afterwards when Mom's read the Time magazine in line at the supermarket, and comment how tragic the images are or when the CEO's on the shitter reading that months National Geographic he realizes how brave his country men are to have done what they did in times of need, all because of the pictures. North America the contradiction. No one wants to love the ones who get the picture, they just want to see the images. The photographer and the photograph have become alienated from each other. The images must be pure. They must come from no where in to the media. Compton is just one of the thankless scum who feed Canada its hypocritical sense of moralness.
Jim drags those he can out of the rubble, and begins administering what rudimentary first aid he can amidst the chaos. He tears up clothing to make tourniquets, elevates injured limbs, and talks softly to those on the brink. On occasion he pulls a silver flask from his jacket, and allows an injured soul a slug from its contents. All the while, he is alternately screaming at others to help out, get supplies, and occasionally, to 'fuck right off'. His presence is not one of leadership, but some stunned bystanders seem to acknowledge his cries, and join him in aiding the injured.
Hept-Seshet looks around and she grabs a few people and she points them at some people, "You, put pressure on that wound like this." and she shows the person how and then she points the other person at another wounded person, "You, hold pressure on her headwound." she then stalks over to Erick, her little form likely like a puff of edierfdown but the fury in her golden eyes packs a whallop, "Ypou don't worry about the stupid scut snapping pictures! Help with the wounded, let him be a jackass, the hurt people need help more!" she souts before turning to help more, organizng more bystanders.
Isobel has partially disconnected.
Ryan arrives in a blue-green chevy, pulling as close as he can to the scene without interfering with police or individuals trying to get out of the area. When he gets as close as he can with his car, Ryan then parks and gets out to wander into the area on foot. He retrieves a small disposable camera from the vehicle before making his way in Isaac's direction. "Tragedy makes everyone edgy," Ryan says as if to catch Isaac's attention, "Best to leave him be. As Ted's elsewhere, it'd be helpful if you got a few pictures as we do what we can to help." Ryan then offers Isaac the camera before gazing about the scene to decide how best help can be given.
Siomen stands and watches, he shifts his backpack slightly and blinks at the scene, he seems rather quiet and just takes it all in. He doesn't seem to recognize anyone, nor want to be bothered by anyone either.
Isaac grunts and takes the camera. "Your the damn reporter, you should be doing this." Still, he makes sure to get a snapshots of the strange flames coming from the store, the helpers, and any apparent damage caused while standing back.
The sirens finally arrive, not too bad of a response time. Though judging from the fierce flames,the damage is done, the fire fighters will have a time of containing the blaze, let alone saving any of the building. And if anyone was inside... it'd be a good bet they aren't alive any longer. But none the less, the fire trucks pull through the crowd and Toronto's Bravest scatter to their work. 3 ambulances pull into the scene as well, and the paramedics start to take over the first aid.
Skip arrives from the north.
Skip has arrived.
John arrives from the west.
John has arrived.
Silvius pages: okay, Isobel is kicking at you and making a grab for the camera, do me a favor and roll me a
Compton rolls dexterity+dodge privately to Silvius at diff 6.
For a total of 2 success(es).
Silvius pages Compton and Isobel: Okay, Isobel's action was successful, so if is could pose it, and Compton, when your pose comes up, pose your reaction, yet failure to resist please ;)
Isobel slips through the cars towards Compton, gritting her teeth as she suddenly goes into action. With a whirl of her feet she suddenly slams Compton with a flying drop kick... the camera sails into the air....... and falls smashing to the ground as she strikes with incredible agility... and jumps back...
Erick blinks as he is dissrespected in hsi neighborhood again. "Lass. If ya interfere with tha professionals doing tha medical work again I will see yer bitch ass taken in fer it. Don'tcha give me another god damn order, and what I said about getting the fook out goes just as well fer you." He looks back at issac, too many people with Cameras. So long as he don't take yer picture doin tha let him keep his guy gettin the pictures is actually helping. Then damn the tux he's moving to the front of one of the bucket brigades, until the hoses can get to work.
the hoses finally get hooked up and the water starts flying. The few fire personnel that are not on hose teams start to usher the civilians back, breaking up the bucket brigades with words of appreciation. Off i the distance more sirens can be heard approaching. The rescue personnel finally get the wounded under control, thanking those who have been helping but asking them to back off and allow them to do their jobs.
Compton, who is just doing his part to record the incredible vitality of the human spirit for prosperity spots the crazy woman heading at him at the last moment. He tries to move out of the way, but being older and heavier doesn't have much of a chance against an unprovoked attack like this. Isoble does her thing. $12.99 camera skitters away, and the big guy stands there just looking mighty insulted. "Crazy cunt." is all Compton deadpans.
Jim stands aside, allowing the crews to do their jobs. He looks around for a place that needs a hand. His jacket, hat and gloves are gone now, given to some more deserving soul. He stands caked in dust and slushy mud, coughing and shivering, his empty flask in hand and a glazed look in his eyes as he surveys the mayhem.
A bloodied and bruised redheaded boy pushes his way past the medics that try to tend to him. he looks beaten, not from the explosion, but more like he had just recently had his ass kicked good. He stumbles over to Erick and slumps against him, whispering to the man.
Hept-Seshet shakes her head a bit as she watches the mess going on and she sighs as she looks around.
Ryan simply nods to Isaac as he says, "Yeah, good afternoon to you as well." As Compton is 'attacked', Ryan frowns and mutters to Isaac, "Uh...keep taking pictures. I'll smooth things over..." He then steps aside to allow any firefighters and paramedics who might have arrived to pass without causing an obstruction. After all, there are plenty of stories of those who meant to help accidently causing more injury through their own incompetence. Instead, Ryan seems to quote as if his words were important, "After all, such photographs hold a great importance. Despite those who see the world through only the glassy world of television or the dry site of paper, there is still a need for them to be involved in such tragedies. How can one mourn the fallen if there is nothing to which their memory is held? How can one truly understand that which the police and firefighters must put up from day to day? How can one truly appreciate the safety which they take for granted? No, continue with your important role and you will be overlooked, but appreciated nonetheless."
Siomen watches in amazement at the scene. all this noise, burning, smoke... and now some fighting. He just shakes his head slightly in wonder.
Nothing helps people feel more calm and secure than to see a lawyer running towards the scene of an accident. Maybe not, but Skip Tanner thinks so. Attracted to the sounds of sirens and such like a deer to headlights, he slows his pace as he nears the scene. "All right, Skip, this is it. Gotta look good here" He takes a moment to check his hair, adjust his suit and make sure that there arent any sweat stains from the run. "Good, looking sharp. Important to look professional." Clearing his throat, he takes on a very serious expression and speaks to an imaginary person to practice his lines, "Im very sorry for your loss, maam and/or sir, but it is important at times like these to protect your interests and the interests of your family. You dont want to miss out on any reparation to damages" As he gets on to the more legal terms, he starts mumbling incoherently as if hes practiced the lines many times before until he finally just nods, "All right, sounds good. Lets get this show on the road." Adjusting his tie, he walks calmly towards the scene. This just might be a great opportunity for a little name and card dropping. Nearing the chaos, his carefully practiced lines start falling apart since Skip has never actually used them in a real life situation. Standing awkwardly in the middle of everything, he just dumbly asks, "Uh.does anybody need a lawyer?"
John blinks at the giant clusterfuck as he approaches down the street. He slips into an alley and moves through it as best he can toward the fire without being seen. The man blinks his eyes and they change colour briefly before taking on their normal blue. They are still somehow... different. He moves toward the crowd now quietly, keeping an eye out for something.
Isaac looks at John as he approaches and waves. He then tosses the camera to Ryan and says, "Right. Here, you sway off the vengeful drunkish soccer watchers while I do something else." He pads over to Skip and points to where the store owner or however looks like they might have been hurt is currently and says, "There you go, a real crisis. There's some people that might need your help."
Erick holds the boy to him, managing to get the blood smeared on his tux, seems to have forgotten he was wearing the damn thing. He picks the lad up, as he does he reaches into his pocket tossing a bill at Compton. "That should pay for camera." then he carries the boy to the nearest paramedic. Speaking to him softly. When he is done he makes sure the boy is in the poper hands and watches him, that look of rage on his face darker now.
Crisis always brings the nut jobs out it seems. Not out of the proverbial woodwork but out of what would normally be sane, moral people. Compton realizes he's been too close too long with such people. People who dream of greatness through out their mundane days, only to have something extreme happen and take licence to act out. He uses a good dose of rationality, zips up his parka, stuffs his hands in to his pockets and turns to go, only breifly pausing to pick up the battered camera.
~FIN~
Announcement: Silvius shouts, The peace of the afternoon is shattered suddenly as an explosion rips through the downtown area. The source of the explosion seems to be in the area of Parliament and College E. The blast can be felt for blocks in each direction, and heard for miles. Power flickers and goes out in the neighboring buildings, and car alarms ring through the afternoon air.
Downtown Parliament and College E
You find yourself in the heart of Cabbagetown. This is one of the oldest remaining residential areas of Toronto. It has been virtually untouched by time. Buildings, their architecture dating them back to the turn of the century, rise all along the narrow one-way streets which criss-cross through this area. However, a new surge of 'yuppies' moving into the area has brought forth a flow of change to the old homes. Entire homes are renovated to a more, modern decor. The streets are now being filled with parked BMWs and Mercedes. Upscale boutiques and cafes are springing up on every corner. The more traditional residents have started to complain, creating a storm of controversy over the historic nature of Cabbagetown. In this case, however, tradition seems to be taking a back seat to wealth and power. Indeed it has, from the sight of the newly cleaned sidewalks and the freshly paved roads as well as the beautiful colouring of the fresh flowers and newly added trees.
Contents:
Silvius
Compton shambles up the street, bundeled in his heavy parka and winter boots. He looks spooked, beady eyes flashing about.
Erick arrives from the north.
Erick has arrived.
Isobel arrives from the south.
Isobel has arrived.
Isobel steps from a taxi and begins to run down the street, not an easy thing in heels.... her eyes wide with concern as she sees the damage....
A jittery looking Compton is skirting around what parked cars there are along the street, and peering over top of his erstwhile cover.
Isaac arrives from the south.
Isaac has arrived.
Isaac runs up shortly after Isobel as he gets lost in the city easily. He clamors to a stop and a huff as he sees Isobel.
Isobel hurries to take a look around and then moves towards the crowd that has gathered
Erick moves down the street, not running, not panicked. Like a king he seems to move, but then here he pretty much is. However anger is on his face as he surveys the area and prepares for the fall out.
Car alarms and shocked screams and yells fill the air, but overshadowing all this commotion is the roar of flames, green flames actually, which currently completely engulf the old McDulan family grocery. The glass of nearby buildings and car windows litter the streets.
Silvius slips into his Robes of Office and into Judge Mode!
Isobel looks over as she spots Isaac and just nods. calling to him "I caught a cab" then she begins to move through the crowd.. wanting to hear what the coppers had to say
Compton stands across the street. His face flush with excitement. Doing a fine job representing the do-nothing-voyeur-public in times of crisis.
Erick moves down the street, scanning for only a moment. He taps a few people as he moves by them, the most Irish from the look of it. Directing people to take the wounded to the other side of the street. That thin line of anger still there. The cops are going to show up for this one. He knows it and it pleases him not at all. A few others directed to find the owners of those cars and get the alarms shut off before he moves to where he directed the injured to be taken, god knows when the paramedics will arrive and he is assuming people need help now.
Isaac scans around and makes his way over to Isobel and asks, "All right, since you got here before me, what do you think happened?"
Isobel shakes her head and points towards the back of one of the estates where her little apartment is... "my god I was there only 30 minuets ago... " she shivers and then adds quickly "I need to help.. " with that she goes over to one of the ladies and helps her up from the ground, the poor dear is pretty banged up but she can walk.. carefully she leads the lady to a safe looking stoop, assuring her she needs to have some one look at those cuts...
The interesting thing is, no cops or firemen seem to be anywhere around here. But what's more is the strange green color that seems to permeate the flames. As erick directs the irish folk, they nod, some growing calmer as the seems to recognize the man a bit. They move off to help those they can.
Compton fishes one of those cheap disposeable cameras form his parka's pocket along with a small flask. FIrst he takes a belt of the hooch, to keep the home fires burning and then starts taking random snap shots of the chaos and carnage around him. zzip *CLICK* zzzip *CLICK*
Spotting Isobel Erick moves to the lady she has helped. "Take her two doors up lass. We need all of them together. See if ya can find anyone else with first aid trainin as well." He then moves back there.
Admiistering the little first aid he can. Actually tossing one man the keys to his house and telling him where the first aid kit is. He finally seems to notice the green flame and mutters something about old copper wiring.
Isobel nods her head and hurries to obey. guiding the lady to a safe place and shouting in relief as she spots one of the locals who works at the hospitial, he is hurrying towards Erick
Isaac shoves through the crowd himself and looks upon the scene. Since there are no police around, he takes a quick scan for damages... and then begins talking to people that seem to have had property damaged, especially cars....
Jim arrives from the south.
Jim has arrived.
Jim walks through the intersection of Parliament and College, to see several people he recognizes. He tosses a raised eyebrow to Isobel as he passes.
Isobel works to get small children reunited with their parents. She is moving through out the milling mass, her heels a real pain in the butt
Jim walks north along Parliament to Wellesley.
Jim has left.
Everyone on the streets has relatively minor injuries, glass, cuts, that sort of thing. the blast seems to have been engineered to engulf the building with little collateral damage.
Erick does not even look at the man. The first aid kit is his major concern. He probably knows him from years ago when his sister ran the place, if he's that old. He works on the wounds until the kit arrives and he can do it properly. One of the men leading people over is directed. "Go ta tha pub and get Seamus to get a cop here. An Irish one if possible, if there are still any onna force. But this shite we canna handle on our own. Not until later." The look in his face says someone is going to bleed for this, but that is later, this is now.
Jim arrives from the north.
Jim has arrived.
Isaac looks at Erick as he is done making his rounds. "What the hell are you talking about? You're making this sound like terrorist attack."
Isobel looks up and actually spots Jim, she waves to him "Jim Jim! Help me please, I can na find this little ones Mother.." she winces as she holds the crying child.. trying to keep up with the dirty faced red haired tyke.....
Jim yells articulately. "WHAT THE FUCK!?"
Swan arrives from the west.
Swan has arrived.
Jim goes about trying to pull the worst injured out of the rubble.
Erick looks up at the disheveled man who adresses him and just smiles grimly. "You a reporter or a cop lad? If ya are piss off I got me hands full here if ya didna notice. If ya aren't then it ain't terorists I'm worried aboot." He ducks at the second explosion, almost seeming to before it happens. "God damn it!" That dark look again on his face.
Isaac notes the pre-emptive reaction and says, "You know something about this, tell me what the hell is going on now, or I'll just have the cops take you in for questioning also."
Isobel is trying to help up one of the older men who usually sits outside and plays checkers.. she still has the crying dirty faced child on her hip,.. bouncing him gently as she steadies Old Mat... "its ok darln' we will find your mudder not to fret.... " as she speaks Old Mat looks up and blinks "why lass my mudder has been dead these last 22 years ... you sure you are not the one who took a brick to the head
Siomen arrives from the west.
Siomen has arrived.
The building explodes again, seems possibly a gas main or the like finally gave to the intense heat. sirens are heard in the distance, growing closer as the entire neighborhood, the irish portion at least, seems to come to life to help. Neighbors futilely attempt to cool the fire with garden hoses and fire extinguishers, others form a bucket brigade. Yet more seem to come from the clinic, taking in the wounded there.
Isobel blinks in confussion and then has to laugh, but it is short lived as the second explossion hits... "i.. I was talking to the child Mat..." she sighs and then shakes her head. "nar mind.. is going to be ok. come on hurry .. hurry we do nah need to take more damamge
Compton keeps working his tourist trinket camera, snapping shots of the human conflict that is unravelling itself out on the street. He stands safely behind the scene next to some battered parked cars.
Swan moves to the periphery of the gathered group, speaking into a cellphone, as he scans the area for imminent signs of danger.
Jim grabs what people he can, and begins to pull them towards the clinic, he hollers at the top of his lungs. "Is there a fuckin' doctor out here? Come on you fuckers!" He glances over to Compton and yells at the man. "You! Yeah you, motherfucker! Drop the goddamn camera and give these people a hand you sadistic fuck!"
Hept-Seshet arrives from the west.
Hept-Seshet has arrived.
Erick stands as the people atre taken to the clinic. They're better off there. He looks at Isaac. What I know is that two explosions just hit me fuckin' neighborhood and you're gettin in me face. Now get the hell outta me face, and if'n yer smart out of me neighborhood before I stick something hard and big and possibly flamable up yer arse. This is not the time to be accusin me of shite.
Siomen wanders down the street, drawn by the sirens and explosions, just another gawking fool
Swan finishes his conversation and pockets his phone.
Escalus has arrived.
Isaac looks at the truck pulling up and waves the person emerging over to him. He then turns back to erick and says, "Are you threatening me now? So now they have to question you /and/ hold you on account of verbal assualt?"
Isobel blinks as she hears Erick being yelled at by Isaac but she does not interfere, instead she sets the small child down and begins to move her way back towards the cars where the man with the camera is snapping away like some voyeur tourist...
Swan walks west along College to Jarvis.
Swan has left.
Erick smiles at the man. "I ain't threatenin ya welp. I'm givin ya friendly advice. Ya ain't a cop or ya'd be helpin out. Yer steppin on toes here, so either get ta helpin, or get tha fook out. Ain't noone here want ta deal with yer attitude, you're causin people ta suffer. An before ya threaten me ya might want ta keep in mind that ya accused me of some pretty nasty shit happenin ta a business I have interest in." He's losing his temper and his patience. But the man in front of him doesn't hold it for long, his head swivels and he begins to move in the same direction as Isobel, growling under his breath about vultures as the rude man is forgotten in favor of a much more satisfying target.
Giving the hecklers no mind, Compton continues to document the crisis. Sure it's thankless work. Nobody cares for the paparazzi during the mess, but afterwards when Mom's read the Time magazine in line at the supermarket, and comment how tragic the images are or when the CEO's on the shitter reading that months National Geographic he realizes how brave his country men are to have done what they did in times of need, all because of the pictures. North America the contradiction. No one wants to love the ones who get the picture, they just want to see the images. The photographer and the photograph have become alienated from each other. The images must be pure. They must come from no where in to the media. Compton is just one of the thankless scum who feed Canada its hypocritical sense of moralness.
Jim drags those he can out of the rubble, and begins administering what rudimentary first aid he can amidst the chaos. He tears up clothing to make tourniquets, elevates injured limbs, and talks softly to those on the brink. On occasion he pulls a silver flask from his jacket, and allows an injured soul a slug from its contents. All the while, he is alternately screaming at others to help out, get supplies, and occasionally, to 'fuck right off'. His presence is not one of leadership, but some stunned bystanders seem to acknowledge his cries, and join him in aiding the injured.
Hept-Seshet looks around and she grabs a few people and she points them at some people, "You, put pressure on that wound like this." and she shows the person how and then she points the other person at another wounded person, "You, hold pressure on her headwound." she then stalks over to Erick, her little form likely like a puff of edierfdown but the fury in her golden eyes packs a whallop, "Ypou don't worry about the stupid scut snapping pictures! Help with the wounded, let him be a jackass, the hurt people need help more!" she souts before turning to help more, organizng more bystanders.
Isobel has partially disconnected.
Ryan arrives in a blue-green chevy, pulling as close as he can to the scene without interfering with police or individuals trying to get out of the area. When he gets as close as he can with his car, Ryan then parks and gets out to wander into the area on foot. He retrieves a small disposable camera from the vehicle before making his way in Isaac's direction. "Tragedy makes everyone edgy," Ryan says as if to catch Isaac's attention, "Best to leave him be. As Ted's elsewhere, it'd be helpful if you got a few pictures as we do what we can to help." Ryan then offers Isaac the camera before gazing about the scene to decide how best help can be given.
Siomen stands and watches, he shifts his backpack slightly and blinks at the scene, he seems rather quiet and just takes it all in. He doesn't seem to recognize anyone, nor want to be bothered by anyone either.
Isaac grunts and takes the camera. "Your the damn reporter, you should be doing this." Still, he makes sure to get a snapshots of the strange flames coming from the store, the helpers, and any apparent damage caused while standing back.
The sirens finally arrive, not too bad of a response time. Though judging from the fierce flames,the damage is done, the fire fighters will have a time of containing the blaze, let alone saving any of the building. And if anyone was inside... it'd be a good bet they aren't alive any longer. But none the less, the fire trucks pull through the crowd and Toronto's Bravest scatter to their work. 3 ambulances pull into the scene as well, and the paramedics start to take over the first aid.
Skip arrives from the north.
Skip has arrived.
John arrives from the west.
John has arrived.
Silvius pages: okay, Isobel is kicking at you and making a grab for the camera, do me a favor and roll me a
Compton rolls dexterity+dodge privately to Silvius at diff 6.
For a total of 2 success(es).
Silvius pages Compton and Isobel: Okay, Isobel's action was successful, so if is could pose it, and Compton, when your pose comes up, pose your reaction, yet failure to resist please ;)
Isobel slips through the cars towards Compton, gritting her teeth as she suddenly goes into action. With a whirl of her feet she suddenly slams Compton with a flying drop kick... the camera sails into the air....... and falls smashing to the ground as she strikes with incredible agility... and jumps back...
Erick blinks as he is dissrespected in hsi neighborhood again. "Lass. If ya interfere with tha professionals doing tha medical work again I will see yer bitch ass taken in fer it. Don'tcha give me another god damn order, and what I said about getting the fook out goes just as well fer you." He looks back at issac, too many people with Cameras. So long as he don't take yer picture doin tha let him keep his guy gettin the pictures is actually helping. Then damn the tux he's moving to the front of one of the bucket brigades, until the hoses can get to work.
the hoses finally get hooked up and the water starts flying. The few fire personnel that are not on hose teams start to usher the civilians back, breaking up the bucket brigades with words of appreciation. Off i the distance more sirens can be heard approaching. The rescue personnel finally get the wounded under control, thanking those who have been helping but asking them to back off and allow them to do their jobs.
Compton, who is just doing his part to record the incredible vitality of the human spirit for prosperity spots the crazy woman heading at him at the last moment. He tries to move out of the way, but being older and heavier doesn't have much of a chance against an unprovoked attack like this. Isoble does her thing. $12.99 camera skitters away, and the big guy stands there just looking mighty insulted. "Crazy cunt." is all Compton deadpans.
Jim stands aside, allowing the crews to do their jobs. He looks around for a place that needs a hand. His jacket, hat and gloves are gone now, given to some more deserving soul. He stands caked in dust and slushy mud, coughing and shivering, his empty flask in hand and a glazed look in his eyes as he surveys the mayhem.
A bloodied and bruised redheaded boy pushes his way past the medics that try to tend to him. he looks beaten, not from the explosion, but more like he had just recently had his ass kicked good. He stumbles over to Erick and slumps against him, whispering to the man.
Hept-Seshet shakes her head a bit as she watches the mess going on and she sighs as she looks around.
Ryan simply nods to Isaac as he says, "Yeah, good afternoon to you as well." As Compton is 'attacked', Ryan frowns and mutters to Isaac, "Uh...keep taking pictures. I'll smooth things over..." He then steps aside to allow any firefighters and paramedics who might have arrived to pass without causing an obstruction. After all, there are plenty of stories of those who meant to help accidently causing more injury through their own incompetence. Instead, Ryan seems to quote as if his words were important, "After all, such photographs hold a great importance. Despite those who see the world through only the glassy world of television or the dry site of paper, there is still a need for them to be involved in such tragedies. How can one mourn the fallen if there is nothing to which their memory is held? How can one truly understand that which the police and firefighters must put up from day to day? How can one truly appreciate the safety which they take for granted? No, continue with your important role and you will be overlooked, but appreciated nonetheless."
Siomen watches in amazement at the scene. all this noise, burning, smoke... and now some fighting. He just shakes his head slightly in wonder.
Nothing helps people feel more calm and secure than to see a lawyer running towards the scene of an accident. Maybe not, but Skip Tanner thinks so. Attracted to the sounds of sirens and such like a deer to headlights, he slows his pace as he nears the scene. "All right, Skip, this is it. Gotta look good here" He takes a moment to check his hair, adjust his suit and make sure that there arent any sweat stains from the run. "Good, looking sharp. Important to look professional." Clearing his throat, he takes on a very serious expression and speaks to an imaginary person to practice his lines, "Im very sorry for your loss, maam and/or sir, but it is important at times like these to protect your interests and the interests of your family. You dont want to miss out on any reparation to damages" As he gets on to the more legal terms, he starts mumbling incoherently as if hes practiced the lines many times before until he finally just nods, "All right, sounds good. Lets get this show on the road." Adjusting his tie, he walks calmly towards the scene. This just might be a great opportunity for a little name and card dropping. Nearing the chaos, his carefully practiced lines start falling apart since Skip has never actually used them in a real life situation. Standing awkwardly in the middle of everything, he just dumbly asks, "Uh.does anybody need a lawyer?"
John blinks at the giant clusterfuck as he approaches down the street. He slips into an alley and moves through it as best he can toward the fire without being seen. The man blinks his eyes and they change colour briefly before taking on their normal blue. They are still somehow... different. He moves toward the crowd now quietly, keeping an eye out for something.
Isaac looks at John as he approaches and waves. He then tosses the camera to Ryan and says, "Right. Here, you sway off the vengeful drunkish soccer watchers while I do something else." He pads over to Skip and points to where the store owner or however looks like they might have been hurt is currently and says, "There you go, a real crisis. There's some people that might need your help."
Erick holds the boy to him, managing to get the blood smeared on his tux, seems to have forgotten he was wearing the damn thing. He picks the lad up, as he does he reaches into his pocket tossing a bill at Compton. "That should pay for camera." then he carries the boy to the nearest paramedic. Speaking to him softly. When he is done he makes sure the boy is in the poper hands and watches him, that look of rage on his face darker now.
Crisis always brings the nut jobs out it seems. Not out of the proverbial woodwork but out of what would normally be sane, moral people. Compton realizes he's been too close too long with such people. People who dream of greatness through out their mundane days, only to have something extreme happen and take licence to act out. He uses a good dose of rationality, zips up his parka, stuffs his hands in to his pockets and turns to go, only breifly pausing to pick up the battered camera.
~FIN~
Sunday, June 08, 2003
[Ed. note: Penny plays pool. Really well. Impresses locals and makes a new friend.]
Pandora's Box - Pool Hall
The ceiling is set high with churning metal fans. The blades churn a thick haze of smoke from cheap cigars and the pungent aroma of sweat mixed with stale spilt beer. The bar runs the length of the far wall much like a saloon in an old western. A polished brass foot-rail gleams in the fading light of the occasional dropped match and guttering cigarette butt.
Many of the patrons watch each other with looks of a cautious calculation. Not only are those opposite the pool table viewed with suspicion, but also the few one might mistake as a friend. A darkness of nefarious deed reigns within the shadows as the lighting illuminates from the mouth down. It is as though the dark conspires to hide the intent deep within the eyes from the light of revelation. Then again the windows to these souls only come up black.
NIGHTZONE
--> Places and view enabled. <--
Contents:
Pool Table
Chuck
Obvious exits:
Devros moves past the usual drunkards, taking a quick stop by the bar and casting a glance over Chuck. "The usual, Chuckie.." He doesn't bother taking a seat, merely leaning his back against the counter and settling his gaze on the 'crowd', checking for familiar faces.
There's a table toward the back that's been left in mid-play, cues crossed over the felt as clear indicators. One of the two players is off in the corner counting out singles and the other, Penny, is just lighting up returning from a bathroom break. Taking a 'fuck it, I'll stay' approach to the game, she unties the sash of the trench she wears and throws it at high stool where it lands, crumpled.
"Oi," beckoning with two fingers to the shark counting out, she takes a drag and fingers down a stick "s'finish, hey?"
The guy's amused. He thinks she's funny. "Yeah a'right sweetheart, double or nothin'?" It's obvious he's winning. Five stripes, one solid left. And the eitghtball.
Devros soon takes his eyes from the ranting beggar in the corner, his gaze drifting to the pool table, an exciting spot to peep at, as always. The bartender returns a few moments later, handing Dev a bottle of beer. "Thanks. Put that to my tab..", he calls, coming a few steps closer to the table, not making the fact he's overhearing the chat very subtle.
Winning but not confident or comfortable in the least, his bravado lacks sincerity. This guy - let's call him Greg, Greg has a look about him, like he's out of his element. He gives any casual spectator the impression, given the sweat beading on his upper lip and forehead, that he's about to lose a great deal of money.
The chalkboard behind them shows Penny as three up on him.
"C'mon, it's your shot" she leans back to a post, tall enough that the shadows linger from the nose down, her smoke curling ever upwards, the cut of her smile terrible.
You don't really have to be much of a skilled pool player to realize the guy will have a hard time topping his opponent and getting the jackpot. Devros takes another step forward, slipping a gloved hand down the side of his trench and pulling a pack of cigarettes. As if the bar weren't foggy enough. He watches the rest of the game intently, glancing between Greg and Penny.
Making a fist of his left hand, Greg knuckles down to the felt. Somewhere under the din of voices at the bar there's music. His brow wrinkles but it's clear he can't concentrate, not with Penny watching so smug. There she is, breathing easy. Isn't she? He looked away for a second and she vanished but the door to the back hallway's still swinging shut so he picks up and rests heavily on the cue, asiding to someone sympathetic "That's like the hun'eth time she done that, yeah?"
"Yeah. Fucken girls man."
"Whadaya think's up with that?"
"No idea man, don't ask tho' ..chicks hate it when you ask."
It was only five minutes, maybe six that Penny was gone and as she comes back, her hand's smoothing down the right side of her shirt, tugging at it. Picking out a stripe from the left corner pocket, she rolls it back out to the table - some weird house rule, maybe? But it does explain a lot.
Smoked down to the filter already, she goes "So?" laying down a coin on the edge "let's go."
Ready for it, Greg hunkers down to the tableside again, lines up behind the big white ball and scratches.
Devros pulls a cigarette, replacing the pack for his white lighter. His gaze only leaves the table to follow Penny on her way to the bathroom, and then back to Greg. He curls his lips into a thin smile, shaking his head at the poor guy, aware of his defeat. As soon as the girl returns and the game is resumed, Dev moves towards the closest wall, resting his back against it.
Six stripes on the table, one for each pocket. Penny rolls the blue square across her stick, stalking the felt. Elbowing down to the ledge, she calls out every shot and procedes clockwise to make them in quick succession like she'd set it up and arranged it this way. Except for the eightball.
Poor Greg, he never had a chance. "Oh t'hell with it," his hand rolling the eight into the side pocket, standing there slack-jawed, pissed off and much poorer than when he started off the night, the bowl full of coins and bills going toward's Penny's end of the table. She has no hangers-on, no one's asking her to buy the next round - this isn't that kind of place, these aren't that sort of people. As she counts out, the coins go one by one into the pocket of the trench and the bills get folded up into her back pocket.
Hana comes in, smoking. She pauses near the door to finish her cigarette, which she ditches in an abandoned glass on the nearest table. Time to start staking out the place. All the regulars know her by now, sometimes irritation in their eyes, sometimes pleasure, as they glance at her wandering form. She walks through the tables, looking slowly from one to the next.
Catherine opens the door and walks into the pool hall.
Catherine has arrived.
Aaron opens the door and walks into the pool hall.
Aaron has arrived.
Aaron smiles to Catherine and follows her gesture to the pool table, 'Sure...but what will the stakes be?"
Hana decides none of the current games are worth it, and starts for the door again.
Devros casts a glance over Hana as she enters, recognizing her face from a few nights ago. His attention soon returns to the pool game though, being held between a drunken local and Penny. It's another casual night at Pandora. More strangers follow, deserving another glance by the shaven-headed freak. Not much of a surprise there either, since there's always someone new to join the fun.
Catherine blushes and gives Aaron a look. She then heads towards the bar, pointing to something on the menu.
Aaron nods to Hana as he passes and moves to join Caterine, nodding to her as he settles down
Hana opens the door and walks out onto the stoop.
Hana has left.
Catherine orders a beer.
Chuck grunts towards Catherine, then brings the order she ordered.
Chuck sends the Catherine's order sliding to the end of the bar, where is sits an waits for Catherine to pick it up.
Aaron takes a seat at the barstools.
Aaron orders a Hard Cier.
Chuck nods and fixes the order for Aaron.
Aaron says "OK..I give up spelling tonight"
Catherine picks up the beers, seeing that Aaron made an order himself. Oh well, she heads towards the table.
Watching Penny's display with the cue, Dev has to face she's actually good. Good enough to beat him, perhaps? As the poor sob wanders out to drink his sorrows, the shaven-head wanders towards Penny. Hands are slipped on each side pocket of his trench, and a weak, somewhat half-assed smile is open. "That was a good game..for a newbie, I mean.."
"So buy me a drink, I'll letcha school me" nodding back toward the empty table. Clearly she was good - good enough that all the locals scattered; nobody wants to play her. Still busy rifling through the pockets of the coat, Penny refolds the headphones inside one of the pair of pockets, half looking over her shoulder at Devros "Go on, hey? Something girly," she stresses, at once laconic and louche "with an umbrella."
The business of setting up the table again is Penny's alone. There isn't even one empty mug or bottle for her to bug the waitress about.
Aaron blinks at Cathy and gets up from the tbar with his drink. He smiles, 'Sorry , love...can't stand beer..'
Aaron gets up from the barstools.
Catherine takes a seat at the barstools.
Catherine shrugs She says something in a language you don't understand. She sits so she can watch the game that seems to be starting She says something in a language you don't understand.
Aaron takes a seat at the barstools.
Devros blinks in surprise after her first statement, caught somewhat off guard. "..well, that was..straight forward.." He grins, flicking the cigarette butt aside and placing his bottle on the table in front of him. "Oh..right..something girly..with an umbrella..Ok.." He nods to himself a few times. "..I can offer some beer..Cuz, you know..We're out of umbrellas..and girly drinks..." He casts a glance over his shoulder, sizing the couple of strangers briefly, and then gesturing to Chuck, ordering the usual. "..Just don't mind the funny taste.."
Catherine looks after Aaron as he heads into the the bathroom, sitting alone on the chair, swaying her legs and sipping the beer. A blush and a smile as Devros looks her way, then just waits.
Penny racks up stacking in some obscure and arcane numbering order, rolls the triangle forward a few times then finger-tightens the group; no room to move. While she waits for Devros to get back with the drinks, chalking her cue again Penny reaches back into the depths of a corner pocket for the cue ball. She polishes it against her thigh, grime twisting off it in her hand.
Chuck actually makes his way to the pool table, fetching her a pitcher of good ol' Canadian beer and a glass mug before wandering back to his dirty bar. "So, let's just go to the standard questions..", Devros asks, taking a sip from his own bottle. "Do you come here often?"
Perfunctory and effective enough to keep Penny interested, she nods "..but not enough to make a living at it," and she smiles. It's true. Chuck knows her, gives her a hey-what's-up but not much more. Chuck also knows she's dead-serious most of the time. She picks up a mug, wipes it out with the edge of one of her shirts and pours "Next?"
Catherine stays on her stool, but starting to watch the exchange by the pool table more intently.
"Hey, that's good to know." he says, although his tone of voice doesn't make it obvious he meant it. "Hmhmk..Lesse.." Devros looks upwards, thinking to himself. "Okies then, how about your name? Or alias..I don't really care..Just want to keep track of your tabs..", he shrugs lightly.
Drinking while Devros ponders, Penny rounds the corner of the table sweeping out stray bottlecaps from underfoot. "It's Penny." She says that with a kind of telling finality - that it's entirely possible she doesn't care who he is and won't be offering more than that.
"Well then Penny, it's good to meet another face to our humble shithole..", he smiles, brightly at first, but that rapidly fades. "..and lacking any sort of originality, that's pretty much all I have.." Devros chuckles, slipping his hands back down the side pockets. "Next time you're around, bring some cash..I'm sure ripping off these idiots is a profitable side job, but I mean, where's the fun in that?"
Well, since Aaron seems to be gone like, forever Cathy slips off the chair. Sipping her drink..
"Now's the part where you offer me a cigarette," pouring herself another mug "and tell me your name. And then I tell you 'I'm really not in it for the money, it's how I get my kicks' and then we play." Threading the needle of her stance, she's remarkably still. Lower to the table, bending and leaning just so, Penny focuses down the stroking line and exhales, shoots the cue and the loud crack of a clean break splits out.
Still narrating to Devros, Penny watches the balls roll and knock into eachother "And then you tell me 'I don't know if I really feel like playing now' and then I kinda give you this look and wait for a light and I ask 'So why is it I should bring cash?' And you say.." leaving the opening there.
"...Because..of my good looks..? C'mon, that's a tricky question.." He quirks a brow, grabbing the pack from his pocket and tossing on the table. There are only two cigarettes left. "You can keep some greens in your back pocket. A couple of hundreds, maybe? Then whenever I'm around, we play..I'd be more then willing now, but it was a long day, and the kids must be missing me, so..Will have to bring the extra cash on a later occasion.." Devros sighs heavily, turning and making his way across the room, back to the entrance. "Oh..right..Name's Devros..", is said along the way.
Penny fishes out a cigarette, picking off a lighter from someone else nearby. Sure, that was normal. "Pussy," she murmurs around the smoke with a hard glare at the path Devros' parts, tossing the stick to the table.
That about sums it up for Penny. She pulls her things together, headphones go back around her neck, trench gets remantled and sashed gingerly .. for whatever reason.
Pandora's Box - Pool Hall
The ceiling is set high with churning metal fans. The blades churn a thick haze of smoke from cheap cigars and the pungent aroma of sweat mixed with stale spilt beer. The bar runs the length of the far wall much like a saloon in an old western. A polished brass foot-rail gleams in the fading light of the occasional dropped match and guttering cigarette butt.
Many of the patrons watch each other with looks of a cautious calculation. Not only are those opposite the pool table viewed with suspicion, but also the few one might mistake as a friend. A darkness of nefarious deed reigns within the shadows as the lighting illuminates from the mouth down. It is as though the dark conspires to hide the intent deep within the eyes from the light of revelation. Then again the windows to these souls only come up black.
NIGHTZONE
--> Places and view enabled. <--
Contents:
Pool Table
Chuck
Obvious exits:
Devros moves past the usual drunkards, taking a quick stop by the bar and casting a glance over Chuck. "The usual, Chuckie.." He doesn't bother taking a seat, merely leaning his back against the counter and settling his gaze on the 'crowd', checking for familiar faces.
There's a table toward the back that's been left in mid-play, cues crossed over the felt as clear indicators. One of the two players is off in the corner counting out singles and the other, Penny, is just lighting up returning from a bathroom break. Taking a 'fuck it, I'll stay' approach to the game, she unties the sash of the trench she wears and throws it at high stool where it lands, crumpled.
"Oi," beckoning with two fingers to the shark counting out, she takes a drag and fingers down a stick "s'finish, hey?"
The guy's amused. He thinks she's funny. "Yeah a'right sweetheart, double or nothin'?" It's obvious he's winning. Five stripes, one solid left. And the eitghtball.
Devros soon takes his eyes from the ranting beggar in the corner, his gaze drifting to the pool table, an exciting spot to peep at, as always. The bartender returns a few moments later, handing Dev a bottle of beer. "Thanks. Put that to my tab..", he calls, coming a few steps closer to the table, not making the fact he's overhearing the chat very subtle.
Winning but not confident or comfortable in the least, his bravado lacks sincerity. This guy - let's call him Greg, Greg has a look about him, like he's out of his element. He gives any casual spectator the impression, given the sweat beading on his upper lip and forehead, that he's about to lose a great deal of money.
The chalkboard behind them shows Penny as three up on him.
"C'mon, it's your shot" she leans back to a post, tall enough that the shadows linger from the nose down, her smoke curling ever upwards, the cut of her smile terrible.
You don't really have to be much of a skilled pool player to realize the guy will have a hard time topping his opponent and getting the jackpot. Devros takes another step forward, slipping a gloved hand down the side of his trench and pulling a pack of cigarettes. As if the bar weren't foggy enough. He watches the rest of the game intently, glancing between Greg and Penny.
Making a fist of his left hand, Greg knuckles down to the felt. Somewhere under the din of voices at the bar there's music. His brow wrinkles but it's clear he can't concentrate, not with Penny watching so smug. There she is, breathing easy. Isn't she? He looked away for a second and she vanished but the door to the back hallway's still swinging shut so he picks up and rests heavily on the cue, asiding to someone sympathetic "That's like the hun'eth time she done that, yeah?"
"Yeah. Fucken girls man."
"Whadaya think's up with that?"
"No idea man, don't ask tho' ..chicks hate it when you ask."
It was only five minutes, maybe six that Penny was gone and as she comes back, her hand's smoothing down the right side of her shirt, tugging at it. Picking out a stripe from the left corner pocket, she rolls it back out to the table - some weird house rule, maybe? But it does explain a lot.
Smoked down to the filter already, she goes "So?" laying down a coin on the edge "let's go."
Ready for it, Greg hunkers down to the tableside again, lines up behind the big white ball and scratches.
Devros pulls a cigarette, replacing the pack for his white lighter. His gaze only leaves the table to follow Penny on her way to the bathroom, and then back to Greg. He curls his lips into a thin smile, shaking his head at the poor guy, aware of his defeat. As soon as the girl returns and the game is resumed, Dev moves towards the closest wall, resting his back against it.
Six stripes on the table, one for each pocket. Penny rolls the blue square across her stick, stalking the felt. Elbowing down to the ledge, she calls out every shot and procedes clockwise to make them in quick succession like she'd set it up and arranged it this way. Except for the eightball.
Poor Greg, he never had a chance. "Oh t'hell with it," his hand rolling the eight into the side pocket, standing there slack-jawed, pissed off and much poorer than when he started off the night, the bowl full of coins and bills going toward's Penny's end of the table. She has no hangers-on, no one's asking her to buy the next round - this isn't that kind of place, these aren't that sort of people. As she counts out, the coins go one by one into the pocket of the trench and the bills get folded up into her back pocket.
Hana comes in, smoking. She pauses near the door to finish her cigarette, which she ditches in an abandoned glass on the nearest table. Time to start staking out the place. All the regulars know her by now, sometimes irritation in their eyes, sometimes pleasure, as they glance at her wandering form. She walks through the tables, looking slowly from one to the next.
Catherine opens the door and walks into the pool hall.
Catherine has arrived.
Aaron opens the door and walks into the pool hall.
Aaron has arrived.
Aaron smiles to Catherine and follows her gesture to the pool table, 'Sure...but what will the stakes be?"
Hana decides none of the current games are worth it, and starts for the door again.
Devros casts a glance over Hana as she enters, recognizing her face from a few nights ago. His attention soon returns to the pool game though, being held between a drunken local and Penny. It's another casual night at Pandora. More strangers follow, deserving another glance by the shaven-headed freak. Not much of a surprise there either, since there's always someone new to join the fun.
Catherine blushes and gives Aaron a look. She then heads towards the bar, pointing to something on the menu.
Aaron nods to Hana as he passes and moves to join Caterine, nodding to her as he settles down
Hana opens the door and walks out onto the stoop.
Hana has left.
Catherine orders a beer.
Chuck grunts towards Catherine, then brings the order she ordered.
Chuck sends the Catherine's order sliding to the end of the bar, where is sits an waits for Catherine to pick it up.
Aaron takes a seat at the barstools.
Aaron orders a Hard Cier.
Chuck nods and fixes the order for Aaron.
Catherine picks up the beers, seeing that Aaron made an order himself. Oh well, she heads towards the table.
Watching Penny's display with the cue, Dev has to face she's actually good. Good enough to beat him, perhaps? As the poor sob wanders out to drink his sorrows, the shaven-head wanders towards Penny. Hands are slipped on each side pocket of his trench, and a weak, somewhat half-assed smile is open. "That was a good game..for a newbie, I mean.."
"So buy me a drink, I'll letcha school me" nodding back toward the empty table. Clearly she was good - good enough that all the locals scattered; nobody wants to play her. Still busy rifling through the pockets of the coat, Penny refolds the headphones inside one of the pair of pockets, half looking over her shoulder at Devros "Go on, hey? Something girly," she stresses, at once laconic and louche "with an umbrella."
The business of setting up the table again is Penny's alone. There isn't even one empty mug or bottle for her to bug the waitress about.
Aaron blinks at Cathy and gets up from the tbar with his drink. He smiles, 'Sorry , love...can't stand beer..'
Aaron gets up from the barstools.
Catherine takes a seat at the barstools.
Catherine shrugs She says something in a language you don't understand. She sits so she can watch the game that seems to be starting She says something in a language you don't understand.
Aaron takes a seat at the barstools.
Devros blinks in surprise after her first statement, caught somewhat off guard. "..well, that was..straight forward.." He grins, flicking the cigarette butt aside and placing his bottle on the table in front of him. "Oh..right..something girly..with an umbrella..Ok.." He nods to himself a few times. "..I can offer some beer..Cuz, you know..We're out of umbrellas..and girly drinks..." He casts a glance over his shoulder, sizing the couple of strangers briefly, and then gesturing to Chuck, ordering the usual. "..Just don't mind the funny taste.."
Catherine looks after Aaron as he heads into the the bathroom, sitting alone on the chair, swaying her legs and sipping the beer. A blush and a smile as Devros looks her way, then just waits.
Penny racks up stacking in some obscure and arcane numbering order, rolls the triangle forward a few times then finger-tightens the group; no room to move. While she waits for Devros to get back with the drinks, chalking her cue again Penny reaches back into the depths of a corner pocket for the cue ball. She polishes it against her thigh, grime twisting off it in her hand.
Chuck actually makes his way to the pool table, fetching her a pitcher of good ol' Canadian beer and a glass mug before wandering back to his dirty bar. "So, let's just go to the standard questions..", Devros asks, taking a sip from his own bottle. "Do you come here often?"
Perfunctory and effective enough to keep Penny interested, she nods "..but not enough to make a living at it," and she smiles. It's true. Chuck knows her, gives her a hey-what's-up but not much more. Chuck also knows she's dead-serious most of the time. She picks up a mug, wipes it out with the edge of one of her shirts and pours "Next?"
Catherine stays on her stool, but starting to watch the exchange by the pool table more intently.
"Hey, that's good to know." he says, although his tone of voice doesn't make it obvious he meant it. "Hmhmk..Lesse.." Devros looks upwards, thinking to himself. "Okies then, how about your name? Or alias..I don't really care..Just want to keep track of your tabs..", he shrugs lightly.
Drinking while Devros ponders, Penny rounds the corner of the table sweeping out stray bottlecaps from underfoot. "It's Penny." She says that with a kind of telling finality - that it's entirely possible she doesn't care who he is and won't be offering more than that.
"Well then Penny, it's good to meet another face to our humble shithole..", he smiles, brightly at first, but that rapidly fades. "..and lacking any sort of originality, that's pretty much all I have.." Devros chuckles, slipping his hands back down the side pockets. "Next time you're around, bring some cash..I'm sure ripping off these idiots is a profitable side job, but I mean, where's the fun in that?"
Well, since Aaron seems to be gone like, forever Cathy slips off the chair. Sipping her drink..
"Now's the part where you offer me a cigarette," pouring herself another mug "and tell me your name. And then I tell you 'I'm really not in it for the money, it's how I get my kicks' and then we play." Threading the needle of her stance, she's remarkably still. Lower to the table, bending and leaning just so, Penny focuses down the stroking line and exhales, shoots the cue and the loud crack of a clean break splits out.
Still narrating to Devros, Penny watches the balls roll and knock into eachother "And then you tell me 'I don't know if I really feel like playing now' and then I kinda give you this look and wait for a light and I ask 'So why is it I should bring cash?' And you say.." leaving the opening there.
"...Because..of my good looks..? C'mon, that's a tricky question.." He quirks a brow, grabbing the pack from his pocket and tossing on the table. There are only two cigarettes left. "You can keep some greens in your back pocket. A couple of hundreds, maybe? Then whenever I'm around, we play..I'd be more then willing now, but it was a long day, and the kids must be missing me, so..Will have to bring the extra cash on a later occasion.." Devros sighs heavily, turning and making his way across the room, back to the entrance. "Oh..right..Name's Devros..", is said along the way.
Penny fishes out a cigarette, picking off a lighter from someone else nearby. Sure, that was normal. "Pussy," she murmurs around the smoke with a hard glare at the path Devros' parts, tossing the stick to the table.
That about sums it up for Penny. She pulls her things together, headphones go back around her neck, trench gets remantled and sashed gingerly .. for whatever reason.
Friday, June 06, 2003
Waterfront - York and Queens Quay(#1114RJ)
Here is the most famous area on the waterfront, the York Quay. You can see the large green and gray building known as Queen's Quay Terminal. Small unique shops and restaurants fill the Queen's Quay Terminal building, providing a nice, if somewhat expensive place to enjoy the waterfront. There are many other smaller office buildings and shops locate at this intersection, all taking advantage of the numerous tourist and city attractions located in the York Quay. Special bus tours begin and end at this location, travelling up and down Queens Quay. To the north lies the city core, CN Tower and Skydome. To the east is the Island Ferry Terminal and the west holds Ontario Place and The Exhibition. Adding to the loveliness of the area are the freshly cleaned sidewalks, newly repaved roads and the sweet greenery in their holders lining the sidewalks.
Contents:
Ian
Obvious exits:
Old Bank Building York Quay West East
The snow falls heavily, and cars stay off the streets. The blanket of white and the swirling flurries keep most folk safely indoors. In the haze of flakes that is the lighted area of a streetlamp however, stands a solitary figure. Black full length coat drawn up with a large hood, gradually succumbing to the ice and snow and transmogrifying into snowmanform. Smoke whips about amidst the white, as the last of a cigarette is spat out from the shadows of the man's headcovering.
Ian emerges from the Eclipse Corp building, his polished shoes trudging through the freezing slush outside. Turning to check the door, he rattles the handle before glancing over his shoulder. Noticing the solitary figure highlighted by the lamp, he looks to either side. Perking a brow, the streets seem vacant other than the two, the weather and hour forcing most in. Slipping his hands in his pockets, he crosses the street to approach the stranger. "Good evening. Awfully cold out here, you need anything?" he inquires politely as he causally closes the distance.
The man turns sharply, as if only imagining a voice formed from the tide and whipping wind. The motion allows a vague notion of his features. Lines of the tattoos stark against the pale skin. A wry smile, "Indubidably. There are many things I need. That however, is not the issue." A pause, the white holes where his eyes should be staring vacant, giving up nothing to the moment. "What is it that you need?"
From broad shoulders to sturdy legs, Ian's powerful physique is obvious. Standing just below six feet, his bulky frame is composed entirely of thick, sinewy muscle. Despite his size, Ian doesn't exhibit the clumsiness most associate with larger individuals. Yet, his callused hands, coupled with a healthy tan and weathered cheeks, speak of a rigorous existence. Dark hair, kept short in a contemporary style, frames his rough features. A square chin completes the outline, lending his face a certain authority. Thin lips, usually drawn in a neutral line, rest below a slightly bent nose. Impassive, gray eyes complete his stoic image.
Clad in an urban-contemporary ensemble, Ian is wearing a black suit over a French blue dress shirt and dark tie. The black, all-wool suit features a four-button, non-vented jacket and double-pleated pant. Beneath his black jacket, the finely woven cotton fabric of his blue shirt provides a pleasing contrast, making the suit look slightly less formal. His silk tie, featuring an alternating pattern of navy blue, silver, and black, is tacked in place with a bone tiepin shaped into a small rapier. His wrists are likewise adorned with bone cuff links featuring a Celtic raven pattern. A pair of black leather, cap-toe shoes complete his cosmopolitan look.
His languid movements and impassive countenance create a suggestion of indifferent. Even his powerful frame is made less imposing by a relaxed stature. Despite his apparent blase, Ian's eyes manage to appear alert and attentive, though his gaze causally drifts about.
Halting a few feet away, Ian steps into the thick snow concealing the sidewalk. Tilting his head curiously, he adds with a smirk, "A warm meal and some dry shoes, but I'll settle for information." Glancing back at the building, he inquires, "Firstly, why in the Hell are you standing out here, in this frigid weather? Of course, it is a public sidewalk, in all, but I'm just curious." His posture remains non-threatening as he chats in a conversational tone.
Those eyes stare out blankly, given the redness around them from the cold and the sheen of sleet that clings to his face, they could in fact be cataracts for all anyone knows. Unsettling how he appears to be looking at you, but could not be at all. "Waiting." says the man, quietly enough for the word to be almost lost in the shriek of the wind. Said wind pushes in the side of his hood, smacking the wet fabric against his cheek. This only causes his smile to widen. "You're missing something."
Ian squints against the bitting wind, his short hair waving against the gust. Noticing the ice that clings to the man, he remarks in a dry tone, "It looks like you've been waiting for a while." Raising his voice against the howl, he stands firm as he air whips his jacket about, kicking up sheets of snow and ice. "I'm always missing something, sir. Do you know of anything in particular?" his tone is firm, the extra volume required to convey his message in the weather.
While terrifyingly cold, and shivering slightly the man seems mentally sharp. Wired. The smile fades, an overly blank look replacing it as he stares in your direction. The hood rustles, snow falling off it as he shakes his head somberly. Ice cracks as the man unplants his frozen shoes from the ground and begins to turn away.
"You are not ready. Time will come." and he turns away, tromping off into the snow.
Ian remains motionless as the man brushes by. Blinking at the cryptic missive, he turns to regard the strange man as he trudges against the snow. Glancing back to the ground, he regards the ice imprints on the ground with a dubious look.
The imprints of work duty soles slowly become obscured by the falling snow as the man tromps on with slow and deliberate steps. Not another word or backwards glance, as he slowly dissapears into the whirling haze.
Here is the most famous area on the waterfront, the York Quay. You can see the large green and gray building known as Queen's Quay Terminal. Small unique shops and restaurants fill the Queen's Quay Terminal building, providing a nice, if somewhat expensive place to enjoy the waterfront. There are many other smaller office buildings and shops locate at this intersection, all taking advantage of the numerous tourist and city attractions located in the York Quay. Special bus tours begin and end at this location, travelling up and down Queens Quay. To the north lies the city core, CN Tower and Skydome. To the east is the Island Ferry Terminal and the west holds Ontario Place and The Exhibition. Adding to the loveliness of the area are the freshly cleaned sidewalks, newly repaved roads and the sweet greenery in their holders lining the sidewalks.
Contents:
Ian
Obvious exits:
Old Bank Building
The snow falls heavily, and cars stay off the streets. The blanket of white and the swirling flurries keep most folk safely indoors. In the haze of flakes that is the lighted area of a streetlamp however, stands a solitary figure. Black full length coat drawn up with a large hood, gradually succumbing to the ice and snow and transmogrifying into snowmanform. Smoke whips about amidst the white, as the last of a cigarette is spat out from the shadows of the man's headcovering.
Ian emerges from the Eclipse Corp building, his polished shoes trudging through the freezing slush outside. Turning to check the door, he rattles the handle before glancing over his shoulder. Noticing the solitary figure highlighted by the lamp, he looks to either side. Perking a brow, the streets seem vacant other than the two, the weather and hour forcing most in. Slipping his hands in his pockets, he crosses the street to approach the stranger. "Good evening. Awfully cold out here, you need anything?" he inquires politely as he causally closes the distance.
The man turns sharply, as if only imagining a voice formed from the tide and whipping wind. The motion allows a vague notion of his features. Lines of the tattoos stark against the pale skin. A wry smile, "Indubidably. There are many things I need. That however, is not the issue." A pause, the white holes where his eyes should be staring vacant, giving up nothing to the moment. "What is it that you need?"
From broad shoulders to sturdy legs, Ian's powerful physique is obvious. Standing just below six feet, his bulky frame is composed entirely of thick, sinewy muscle. Despite his size, Ian doesn't exhibit the clumsiness most associate with larger individuals. Yet, his callused hands, coupled with a healthy tan and weathered cheeks, speak of a rigorous existence. Dark hair, kept short in a contemporary style, frames his rough features. A square chin completes the outline, lending his face a certain authority. Thin lips, usually drawn in a neutral line, rest below a slightly bent nose. Impassive, gray eyes complete his stoic image.
Clad in an urban-contemporary ensemble, Ian is wearing a black suit over a French blue dress shirt and dark tie. The black, all-wool suit features a four-button, non-vented jacket and double-pleated pant. Beneath his black jacket, the finely woven cotton fabric of his blue shirt provides a pleasing contrast, making the suit look slightly less formal. His silk tie, featuring an alternating pattern of navy blue, silver, and black, is tacked in place with a bone tiepin shaped into a small rapier. His wrists are likewise adorned with bone cuff links featuring a Celtic raven pattern. A pair of black leather, cap-toe shoes complete his cosmopolitan look.
His languid movements and impassive countenance create a suggestion of indifferent. Even his powerful frame is made less imposing by a relaxed stature. Despite his apparent blase, Ian's eyes manage to appear alert and attentive, though his gaze causally drifts about.
Halting a few feet away, Ian steps into the thick snow concealing the sidewalk. Tilting his head curiously, he adds with a smirk, "A warm meal and some dry shoes, but I'll settle for information." Glancing back at the building, he inquires, "Firstly, why in the Hell are you standing out here, in this frigid weather? Of course, it is a public sidewalk, in all, but I'm just curious." His posture remains non-threatening as he chats in a conversational tone.
Those eyes stare out blankly, given the redness around them from the cold and the sheen of sleet that clings to his face, they could in fact be cataracts for all anyone knows. Unsettling how he appears to be looking at you, but could not be at all. "Waiting." says the man, quietly enough for the word to be almost lost in the shriek of the wind. Said wind pushes in the side of his hood, smacking the wet fabric against his cheek. This only causes his smile to widen. "You're missing something."
Ian squints against the bitting wind, his short hair waving against the gust. Noticing the ice that clings to the man, he remarks in a dry tone, "It looks like you've been waiting for a while." Raising his voice against the howl, he stands firm as he air whips his jacket about, kicking up sheets of snow and ice. "I'm always missing something, sir. Do you know of anything in particular?" his tone is firm, the extra volume required to convey his message in the weather.
While terrifyingly cold, and shivering slightly the man seems mentally sharp. Wired. The smile fades, an overly blank look replacing it as he stares in your direction. The hood rustles, snow falling off it as he shakes his head somberly. Ice cracks as the man unplants his frozen shoes from the ground and begins to turn away.
"You are not ready. Time will come." and he turns away, tromping off into the snow.
Ian remains motionless as the man brushes by. Blinking at the cryptic missive, he turns to regard the strange man as he trudges against the snow. Glancing back to the ground, he regards the ice imprints on the ground with a dubious look.
The imprints of work duty soles slowly become obscured by the falling snow as the man tromps on with slow and deliberate steps. Not another word or backwards glance, as he slowly dissapears into the whirling haze.
Tuesday, June 03, 2003
Downtown - Spadina and Wellesley W(#269RJ)
The student ghetto dominates this entire area of town. Dilapidated condos and apartment complexes stretch up into the sky. Laundry can be seen hanging off balconies; the paint jobs here are faded and stained with acid rain marks, and the buildings themselves look as if they were built in the 70's. Scattered small commercial shops provide for the residents of this area, who are mainly students attending University of Toronto to the south. A steady stream of student traffic marches by here at all times. In the mornings and afternoons they head out to attend classes, while in the evenings they go out to hit the bars and enjoy the Toronto night life.
l wig
A ten foot wrought iron gate, with ornamental spikes formed on the tip of each pole. It is part of a fence line that surrounds the entire Firehouse Complex, keeping the world out with its stoic gaze.
The outer courtyard of this once noble building, is covered completely with cracked and worn pavement. It surrounds the entire building, which is then surrounded by the imposing ten-foot high wrought iron fence. Each pole is tipped with a fire-hardened spike that gleams gently in the halogen lights that shine brightly from the corners of the flat roof. The building itself was built in the late eighteen hundreds, and if you look closely the cornerstone has a bronze plaque reading eighteen ninety-two that is covered with dirt and forgotten grime. A squat two-story building, built of stone and mortar it has stood at this corner over a hundred years but has not withstood the ravages of time. Much of the once grandiose facade has begun to fall away, revealing in many places the actual stonework that supports the weight of the building. A huge rolling garage door, probably newer then the structure itself since its made of interlocking pieces of iron sits centered into the front wall, with a small human sized door built into it so it need not be opened and closed every time someone wants in or out. There are a series of windows around the building, two on each side on the second floor, while the first floor has one on each side excepting the front in which the large garage door is situated. All of the windows are dark, revealing not an ounce of light from within, possibly dark curtains, or maybe just painted black to keep unwelcome eyes out. Also they are all covered with thick security bars, screwed into the stones with heavy but well rusted bolts. Overall the building gives most viewers a sense of sadness and lost, for what was once a symbol of hope and protection, is now crumbling like so many other grand landmarks.
This Building is a Nightzone
James steps through the Wrought Iron Gate and out into the street.
James has arrived.
A bum stands outside one of the student buildings, holding a battered coffee mug shaking it and shivering from the cold in a grungy poncho and toque.
James comes out of the Wrought Iron Gate. It slides closed behind him. He looks around, smiling to himself as he spots Compton. Checking his pockets he begins moving towards the older man.
The drifters bloodshot eyes wake up a little as he spots a perspective mark heading his way, "S-spare c-c-change m-mister?" the big guy stammers. He twitches oddly, his eye lazy and wandering. Perhaps signs of Parkinson’s?
l James
A young gentleman who appears to be in his mid twenties. He stands a few inches over five feet tall. His long, straight silky hair is a blond so pale as to be almost white. It falls to the middle of his back, and is tied up with a dark green ribbon. His long narrow face and hands, denote a fine bone structure, although his nose is a little on the small side. By far and away his most striking feature is his vibrant emerald green eyes.
He wears a loose fitting green t-shirt, and a relatively new pair of stonewashed levi's. On his feet are a pair of well worn blue Nike's, and from time to time you can catch a glimpse of his socks, which are a dark green. On his right hand ring finger is a silver ring, engraved in a celtic knot pattern, and around his neck is a braided silver chain that disappears in to the collar of his shirt.
James grins at Compton, pulling his hand out of a pocket. Dropping about two dollars wotrth of loose change in to the cup. He speaks up after loosing the change, 'Ofcourse I've got spare change. How's tricks?"
The townie looks perplexed, "Y-you kn-kn-know me mister?" and glances in the cup and gives a half smile. The other side of his mouth seems to be numb, slack.
James nods, "We've met a couple of times before. You probably don't remember me. It's been over a month since the last time I believe.". He looks Compton over, "You probably aught to get something warm to drink. And I've got places to go. Take care of yourself." Woth that he looks around to see if he can spot a Taxi.
"W-wh-what's yer name b-buddy?" the old hobo stutters.
James replie, "James Anderson.", just before hailing a taxi.
Compton half grins again, waving a mitten’d hand in the air at Mr. Andersen as he leaves, "T-thanks..."
James replies, "Any time.", then steps in to the cab that has pulled up, closing the door behind him.
James has left.
Compton straightens himself out, and quits with the fake twitching. A wicked grin creeps up his face and he dumps the change from the mug in to a Zip Lock he’s pulled from his pants, “Gotcha motherfucker.” He says savagely to no one, well, maybe the derelict passed out in the stairwell behind him. He now pulls off the poncho and toque, depositing these on top of the sleeping bum with his tin cup, and recollecting his parka and bundling back up. “Thanks bud.” he says to the wastrel before moving on.
~FIN~
The student ghetto dominates this entire area of town. Dilapidated condos and apartment complexes stretch up into the sky. Laundry can be seen hanging off balconies; the paint jobs here are faded and stained with acid rain marks, and the buildings themselves look as if they were built in the 70's. Scattered small commercial shops provide for the residents of this area, who are mainly students attending University of Toronto to the south. A steady stream of student traffic marches by here at all times. In the mornings and afternoons they head out to attend classes, while in the evenings they go out to hit the bars and enjoy the Toronto night life.
l wig
A ten foot wrought iron gate, with ornamental spikes formed on the tip of each pole. It is part of a fence line that surrounds the entire Firehouse Complex, keeping the world out with its stoic gaze.
The outer courtyard of this once noble building, is covered completely with cracked and worn pavement. It surrounds the entire building, which is then surrounded by the imposing ten-foot high wrought iron fence. Each pole is tipped with a fire-hardened spike that gleams gently in the halogen lights that shine brightly from the corners of the flat roof. The building itself was built in the late eighteen hundreds, and if you look closely the cornerstone has a bronze plaque reading eighteen ninety-two that is covered with dirt and forgotten grime. A squat two-story building, built of stone and mortar it has stood at this corner over a hundred years but has not withstood the ravages of time. Much of the once grandiose facade has begun to fall away, revealing in many places the actual stonework that supports the weight of the building. A huge rolling garage door, probably newer then the structure itself since its made of interlocking pieces of iron sits centered into the front wall, with a small human sized door built into it so it need not be opened and closed every time someone wants in or out. There are a series of windows around the building, two on each side on the second floor, while the first floor has one on each side excepting the front in which the large garage door is situated. All of the windows are dark, revealing not an ounce of light from within, possibly dark curtains, or maybe just painted black to keep unwelcome eyes out. Also they are all covered with thick security bars, screwed into the stones with heavy but well rusted bolts. Overall the building gives most viewers a sense of sadness and lost, for what was once a symbol of hope and protection, is now crumbling like so many other grand landmarks.
This Building is a Nightzone
James steps through the Wrought Iron Gate and out into the street.
James has arrived.
A bum stands outside one of the student buildings, holding a battered coffee mug shaking it and shivering from the cold in a grungy poncho and toque.
James comes out of the Wrought Iron Gate. It slides closed behind him. He looks around, smiling to himself as he spots Compton. Checking his pockets he begins moving towards the older man.
The drifters bloodshot eyes wake up a little as he spots a perspective mark heading his way, "S-spare c-c-change m-mister?" the big guy stammers. He twitches oddly, his eye lazy and wandering. Perhaps signs of Parkinson’s?
l James
A young gentleman who appears to be in his mid twenties. He stands a few inches over five feet tall. His long, straight silky hair is a blond so pale as to be almost white. It falls to the middle of his back, and is tied up with a dark green ribbon. His long narrow face and hands, denote a fine bone structure, although his nose is a little on the small side. By far and away his most striking feature is his vibrant emerald green eyes.
He wears a loose fitting green t-shirt, and a relatively new pair of stonewashed levi's. On his feet are a pair of well worn blue Nike's, and from time to time you can catch a glimpse of his socks, which are a dark green. On his right hand ring finger is a silver ring, engraved in a celtic knot pattern, and around his neck is a braided silver chain that disappears in to the collar of his shirt.
James grins at Compton, pulling his hand out of a pocket. Dropping about two dollars wotrth of loose change in to the cup. He speaks up after loosing the change, 'Ofcourse I've got spare change. How's tricks?"
The townie looks perplexed, "Y-you kn-kn-know me mister?" and glances in the cup and gives a half smile. The other side of his mouth seems to be numb, slack.
James nods, "We've met a couple of times before. You probably don't remember me. It's been over a month since the last time I believe.". He looks Compton over, "You probably aught to get something warm to drink. And I've got places to go. Take care of yourself." Woth that he looks around to see if he can spot a Taxi.
"W-wh-what's yer name b-buddy?" the old hobo stutters.
James replie, "James Anderson.", just before hailing a taxi.
Compton half grins again, waving a mitten’d hand in the air at Mr. Andersen as he leaves, "T-thanks..."
James replies, "Any time.", then steps in to the cab that has pulled up, closing the door behind him.
James has left.
Compton straightens himself out, and quits with the fake twitching. A wicked grin creeps up his face and he dumps the change from the mug in to a Zip Lock he’s pulled from his pants, “Gotcha motherfucker.” He says savagely to no one, well, maybe the derelict passed out in the stairwell behind him. He now pulls off the poncho and toque, depositing these on top of the sleeping bum with his tin cup, and recollecting his parka and bundling back up. “Thanks bud.” he says to the wastrel before moving on.
~FIN~
Sunday, June 01, 2003
**Stupid little scene. But Hana has been causing shit and I wanted to cover the bases ICly. The sad part is that this scene had to happen because of her OOC mouth. Anyhoo, it’s over shortly.**
Downtown - Parliament and Front E
The downtown core can be seen in the horizon to the west. Here lie many of Toronto's old and abandoned warehouses. Fences set ten feet high with barbed wires interlacing the top portion guards this area closely. Despite the look of these dilapidated warehouses, this is a popular filming area for major motion pictures. The abandoned warehouses make a perfect location for many scenarios used in action movies and TV shows. Overhead, to the west lies the Gardiner Expressway where it joins with the major north-south highway, the Don Valley Parkway. To the west is the St. Lawrence Market and Union Station, while to the south is the docks to Lake Ontario.
This building is a moderate sized light industrial shop. The walls of this two-story building are well-made with cinder blocks and steel beams. There are no windows on the ground level, but a ring of soaped windows circle the building on the second level.
The building sits on an asphalt lot and is surrounded by a tall chainlink fence. Light poles on two, opposite, corners of the lot keep the area illuminated when it is dark outside.
You paged Alex with 'No doubt from your discussions with Hana, you are aware of someone matching Compton's description loitering outside your establishment from the electronic recordings. Well, he's back. Waving his arms over his head, obviously trying to get the camera's attention this time.'.
Compton knocks on the door marked .
Alex comes out of the light industrial shop by way of the service door.
Alex has arrived.
Compton stands outside the fence in his heavy parka. The hood up against the gusting snow. Despite this the guys shivers, his lips blue. What kind of fool does this on an afternoon like this?
The service door to the shop opens and out step Alex. He crosses the lot surrounding the shop, stopping at the fence. "Need something,"he asks raising an eyebrow. Two other figures are standing in the open service door watching.
Compton nods shivering , "N-need to ex-explain... Little girl, yesterday." Compton says incoherently. Judging by the rose on his cheeks and the blearyness of his eyes, this outing is being fueled by some strong liquor. "I-I had the wrong place, h-honest. Lil slut tr-trying to ex-extort me."
"Wrong place?..."Alex queries with a single nod, accepting what Compton says but maybe not actually believing it just yet,"So,... which place /were/ you looking for?..."
Drawing a large hand from the parka's pocket he points westwards, "Over t-ther by tha u-university." he shivers throught the words. "G-got directions wrong." Compton continues to explain, obviously relived that you at least understand him.
Compton unzips his parka a little and draws a 26'r from inside and takes a belt of the brown fluid before continuing. The liquor seeming to warm him a little, he points at several other building in the area, "I check all of those actually. Was just dumb luck I ran in to that whore here. I wouldn't even had known who or what was here if she hadn't tried to threaten me with... well, you guys." He really seems to be talking from the heart. Why else would someone walk out here in a bizzard and try to convince a stranger, tha there was nothing wrong, when nothing was wrong to begin with.
"Really?..."Alex says not really seeming to pay much attention to which direction Compton points in, though that is so hard to tell with those shades. He starts to turn to head back inside but then stops,"Oh... I understand that Hana has expressed interest in your group?..." he asks tilting his head slightly.
"Hana?" Compton asks. "That's the hookers name is it? Well, I guess so. Hana seems to think I owe her money. She's fucked up." and tucks the bottle back inside his coat and zips back up. "Sorry for any misunderstanding, man." he adds in a neighborly fashion. It doesn't come off very well, and he looks uncomfortable doing it, like he's not used to 'patching things up' as it were.
The quarter finally drops in to the slot, and Compton blinks, saying the words over again to himself, "Wait, what kind of interest?"
"Yeah. Hana,"Alex says with a single nod,"The young lady that was looking to talk to your friend Dr. Adler."
Compton nods, squinting as a particularly hard gale of wind blows snow in to his face, "Alright. Thanks."
Alex turns and head across the lot and back into the shop, through the service door.
Alex opens the heavy steel service door and step into the light industrial shop.
Downtown - Parliament and Front E
The downtown core can be seen in the horizon to the west. Here lie many of Toronto's old and abandoned warehouses. Fences set ten feet high with barbed wires interlacing the top portion guards this area closely. Despite the look of these dilapidated warehouses, this is a popular filming area for major motion pictures. The abandoned warehouses make a perfect location for many scenarios used in action movies and TV shows. Overhead, to the west lies the Gardiner Expressway where it joins with the major north-south highway, the Don Valley Parkway. To the west is the St. Lawrence Market and Union Station, while to the south is the docks to Lake Ontario.
This building is a moderate sized light industrial shop. The walls of this two-story building are well-made with cinder blocks and steel beams. There are no windows on the ground level, but a ring of soaped windows circle the building on the second level.
The building sits on an asphalt lot and is surrounded by a tall chainlink fence. Light poles on two, opposite, corners of the lot keep the area illuminated when it is dark outside.
You paged Alex with 'No doubt from your discussions with Hana, you are aware of someone matching Compton's description loitering outside your establishment from the electronic recordings. Well, he's back. Waving his arms over his head, obviously trying to get the camera's attention this time.'.
Compton knocks on the door marked .
Alex comes out of the light industrial shop by way of the service door.
Alex has arrived.
Compton stands outside the fence in his heavy parka. The hood up against the gusting snow. Despite this the guys shivers, his lips blue. What kind of fool does this on an afternoon like this?
The service door to the shop opens and out step Alex. He crosses the lot surrounding the shop, stopping at the fence. "Need something,"he asks raising an eyebrow. Two other figures are standing in the open service door watching.
Compton nods shivering , "N-need to ex-explain... Little girl, yesterday." Compton says incoherently. Judging by the rose on his cheeks and the blearyness of his eyes, this outing is being fueled by some strong liquor. "I-I had the wrong place, h-honest. Lil slut tr-trying to ex-extort me."
"Wrong place?..."Alex queries with a single nod, accepting what Compton says but maybe not actually believing it just yet,"So,... which place /were/ you looking for?..."
Drawing a large hand from the parka's pocket he points westwards, "Over t-ther by tha u-university." he shivers throught the words. "G-got directions wrong." Compton continues to explain, obviously relived that you at least understand him.
Compton unzips his parka a little and draws a 26'r from inside and takes a belt of the brown fluid before continuing. The liquor seeming to warm him a little, he points at several other building in the area, "I check all of those actually. Was just dumb luck I ran in to that whore here. I wouldn't even had known who or what was here if she hadn't tried to threaten me with... well, you guys." He really seems to be talking from the heart. Why else would someone walk out here in a bizzard and try to convince a stranger, tha there was nothing wrong, when nothing was wrong to begin with.
"Really?..."Alex says not really seeming to pay much attention to which direction Compton points in, though that is so hard to tell with those shades. He starts to turn to head back inside but then stops,"Oh... I understand that Hana has expressed interest in your group?..." he asks tilting his head slightly.
"Hana?" Compton asks. "That's the hookers name is it? Well, I guess so. Hana seems to think I owe her money. She's fucked up." and tucks the bottle back inside his coat and zips back up. "Sorry for any misunderstanding, man." he adds in a neighborly fashion. It doesn't come off very well, and he looks uncomfortable doing it, like he's not used to 'patching things up' as it were.
The quarter finally drops in to the slot, and Compton blinks, saying the words over again to himself, "Wait, what kind of interest?"
"Yeah. Hana,"Alex says with a single nod,"The young lady that was looking to talk to your friend Dr. Adler."
Compton nods, squinting as a particularly hard gale of wind blows snow in to his face, "Alright. Thanks."
Alex turns and head across the lot and back into the shop, through the service door.
Alex opens the heavy steel service door and step into the light industrial shop.
Derelict Home - Main Room
The inside of this empty home is still relatively intact compared to large patches of missing paint and exposed concrete of the exterior. It’s the interior of a two story, unfurnished house, in fair condition. A modestly composed structure, there's a kitchen, a den, two bathrooms, and two bedrooms upstairs. The small imperfections are covered with fresh paint, the smell still strong in the air. Apparently just waiting for new occupants. Hard wood floors and an off white do this residence nicely. Though judging by the outside, this house might've been waiting for a long time. There's no lights, though it's not hard to spot the lack of furniture. It's lone piece, a mattress perhaps left by squatters in the living room.
Compton stomps in from the cold, holding a six pack of Coors up in the air as offering to the A/V gods that are currently scrutinizing him. "Come bearing gifts." he grumbles to the darkness.
It's an intercom voice. You know from previous visits that the whole house is wired, all patched into the underground sanctum. "Tits. 'S open..."
Nearby, a male voice shouts, "As in, come on down..."
Compton nods and grins up at the corner where assumes that there is a camera and goes on his way, leaving wet foot prints behind.
You go down the stairs.
From Derelict Home - Main Room, Compton has left.
Derelict House - Kitchen
Beneath two stories, lies a basement with all the common amenities. However, it's been converted into a semi living space.
In one corner, a boiler and heater stand, though only function down here. The fuse box is also configured to power the subterranean portion of this structure. A washer drier are next, and a small makeshift sink. All four walls have been padded with heavy insulating material and wires run down from key holes in the ceiling. A few bundles are strapped together, feeding into a video network system. Four screens sit at a small square table, flashing camera feeds from strategic points outside and inside the house above. A reclining chair, made of brown leather, encircled with ashes and empty beer bottles on the hard cement floor. A TV sits atop another broken TV, its wires arranged to split off the block's main cable system.
To the far wall, a long table has been set up, stacked with a variety of chemical compounds and mixing material. Everything from begin base liquids, to corrosive acids stored in chem-hazard tanks. A myriad mix of beakers, vials, and test-tubes line the shelves above. Gloves, goggles, tongs, all things a junior mad scientist would need to conquer the world. Some larger steel drums of chemicals are stored under the table, and some electronic chem-analysis equipment blinks an occasional red flash.
And finally, set along the length of the large basement, seems to be a make-shift firing range. Shell casings litter the floor at one end, opposite from a large reinforced steel door dimpled with a thousand bullet dents. The remains of a tattered paper target hang on the door. Over it, a picture of Ronald McDonald.
Contents:
Chase
Compton enters. Wearing his old parka still, but gone is that lame Santa's cap. In it's place is a wide cut on his forehead and he moves stiffly like his back is bothering him. He doesn't look happy - well, not that he ever did but something seems to be bothering him above and beyond the surface crustiness he usually projects. "Thanks." he says simply.
Chase, Chase and more Chase. "Oi." In unison everyone. There's one in the leather chair watching Bewitched on the tube. And two at the lab table with protective eye wear working in tandem with soldering irons. The two at the table wear lab coat, and despite chiming in with the greetings, their work ethic is diligent. Some sort of electronic device seems to be the object of their attention, fashioned into a collar of sorts.
Lazy Chase is the one who continues speaking though. "Sup neegro?" Joint burning nearby.
Compton gawks. No really, his mouth fucking drops to the floor and his beady eyes bug out of their sockets. So, he tries what anyone would do and grinds his free hand in to his eyes trying to clear them of the multiple vision he's suddenly experience.
That fails.
But Compton is a part of the College with talking monkeys and whatnot. He quickly just accepts this amount of weirdness as okay, but shoots it a dirty look as if saying, 'Okay. I'll accept this. For now. Just don't push it.' and gingerly steps through, pulling Coors cans from the plastic rings, depositing them by the Chase's on his way through until he gets to Lazy Chase and hands over the last one.
"I, er... Sorry. Shoulda brought more." he dead pans.
"Oh! Silver Fuckin Bullet." Lazy Chase lurches from his slumped position to accept the offering. "Fuckin' A man. Gracias." The others smile, but continue working. Registering the slight shock to Comps, an affirmation. "Don' worry, I guzzle 'n they get twisted."
At that, one of the working Chases shows the room his middle finger, before connecting some wires to an injection system.
"Where the hell you keep findin' Coors up here, cabrone? Can't get this shite anywhere, really. All the liquor stores 'r full up with micro-brews 'n whatnot..."
Compton says in a matter of fact kinda way, "Ya know - that hand thing the College kids do? Well, everytime they do that shit ya gotta hand over a smoke. I don't smoke see? And at $9 a pack they can get stuffed if they think I'm buying the good stuff. I know some Wahoo's who smuggle stuff across the lake, like cheap ass cigarettes. They bring beer too. Yankie beer. No one else I know likes it though - so it ain't no big thing."
*SNAP* There goes the first foamy beer. Hola Hiro, you salty dog. Here's the situation. (Parents are gone on a three week vacation)
There's the chair. In the chair is one Chase, wearing a 7-11 shirt and opening a Coors from the heard that Comps just brought in. At the lab table, there are in fact, two more Chases. They seem to be working on some electronic device without pause.
Lazy Chase, the one in the chair watching Tabitha Stevens in Bewitched, is smiling a kid's grin to Comps. Tickled as fuck to have some Coors up in his shit. "Nice." he says between gulps. "Like my coyotes. But different product."
Compton shuffles his feet a little looking down, suddenly becoming more uncomfortable, "I can get you as much as ya like, but I... Um..." okay, now he just looks like an idiot. Breaking ice like this obviously is pain for the big guy. "I gotta ask you a fave." he says bluntly.
"Anyone who brings me Coors, gots one coming." Healthy swig. "'S on yer mind, cabrone?" Lazy Chase leans forwards a bit for the answer.
Compton idly touches the gash on his head and stalks away agitated, before turning back a few more steps. He sighs, and dumps his parka on top of a crate. "Okay. Is like this see?" he starts all high strung, "Ya hangout with this street kids, tough kids like Penny, right? And they kinda look up to ya..." ya okay, in Comptons mind anyways "And ya feel pretty tough yerself. Being able to blow shit up by tweaking the formulae of the machine and shit."
"But then some shit happens, and ya find yerself on yer ass in the street ready to load your drawers and there's nothing you can do about it until Penny shows up to save yer ass, again." he looks down at his beer gut ashamed. What a fucking pathetic sight. Someone shoot him already.
Perhaps lacking the sympathy gene, Chase doesn't get it yet. But he's just downing beer watching Comp's monologue instead of Bewitched. One of the worker bees behind the lazy one, prompts for more info.
"Whatcha talkin' 'bout?"
Compton sucks it up, that big fucking baby, "Got my ass kicked by at 16 yr old slant hooker." Yup. That's gotta sting anyones ego. "I want ya to train me." There, he said it finally.
"Can't go to one of the kids." Compton syas, "It'd destroy my image." Uh huh. There it is again, but whatever. We're all delusional in our own ways.
"Oh." Lazy Chase sets the beer down and takes one final drag of his dwindling joint. "Ok." See? That wasn't overly hard. "Ummmm, lemme see whatcha got first, eh?" At that, the thick man stands. One of the worker bees grabs something from the shelf and hands it to lazy. A pill of course, and they work together with one mind judging by the precision of movements. "Wanna kick my ass? Make ya feel better, mebbe. Good way ta judge yer skills to."
Chase pops the pill, and feels no pain.
Compton arches a brow at this one, and visibly swallows (GULP), "Well, okay..." he says with no assurance, and starts to unbutton his freaky shirt and strips down to a wife beater. The slabs of fleshy meat on his arms and chest fully exposed there. He's got the mass, just no tone. He balls up his fist and puts his guard up, spreading his feet, classic boxers pose. "You ready?" he asks with a little more conviction.
Steps into the dungeon proper, Chase makes sure he's not near anything dangerous for this. No stance, no hint of readiness. Just some beer wiped from his lips and a sniffle.
"Ya, ok. Let's have it then..." He doesn't have the posture of someone who's about to dodge a punch or get hit squarely.
Compton shuffles forward and throws a right aiming to beak Chase on the nose. Pretty good form.
Robotically, Chase head snaps back with the right cross. No blood. No flinching. No hint of discomfort. But a sniffle. He takes a step to his left, nose twitching. "Eh, ya the form's alright. Let's have another." Slack fucker.
Compton grins, loosening up. He shuffles his feet again, flinches to one side (okay, now he's getting silly) and throws another right at Chases midriff.
Fist meets flesh, Comps can feel a wall up muscle under the punk's shirt. This time Chase doesn't react as much, as the force is absorbed in his mass. "More." He's not even moving. 'S like a human punching bag with an out-dated haircut.
Compton is breathing a little heavier now, a light sheen of sweat showing up on his bald head, he nods simply and let’s fly with a left right combo.
"Ow! Fuck!" Compton hops back shaking and nursing his left wrist.
Well the first strike was completely off. Despite landing, it just glances off the side of Chase's face. Chalk it up to the sweat. The second at least, manages to draw a few drops of blood from his nose. The punk's head is thrown this way, then that way, in the succession of blows. A sniffle, no pain.
"You alright there?" Concern for Comp's wrist.
The slight cut Comps opened up on the bridge of Chase's nose, closes like a fleshy ziplock bag about a few seconds after impact. It leave the faintest of lines, though a few drops of blood still splatter his cheek and upper lip.
Compton grumbles, working the pain out of his hand, "Yeah... bad wrist. You alright?"
A shrug. No gash. No pain. "'Course." Chase says, as if that's a commonly known fact. "I'm uh... I got somethin' in me." Is all the explanation he offers for the self sealing skin he wears.
"Solid blows. Gotta work on yer conditioning 'n mebbe aim. But the form's there."
Compton nods, still huffing a little, he shambles over to a nearby Coors can and helps himself. Good for what ails ya. "Thanks." he says with some surprise, " Lil cunt was fast though. I never even got a chance to do anything."
"Yeah well, slants usually are. We'll get into some proper sparring next time if ya want." Lazy Chase walks over to reclaim his thrown of slack.
"That'd be cool." The old guy says, turning and retriving his shirt he starts to redress himself. "I'll give ya call."
~FIN~
The inside of this empty home is still relatively intact compared to large patches of missing paint and exposed concrete of the exterior. It’s the interior of a two story, unfurnished house, in fair condition. A modestly composed structure, there's a kitchen, a den, two bathrooms, and two bedrooms upstairs. The small imperfections are covered with fresh paint, the smell still strong in the air. Apparently just waiting for new occupants. Hard wood floors and an off white do this residence nicely. Though judging by the outside, this house might've been waiting for a long time. There's no lights, though it's not hard to spot the lack of furniture. It's lone piece, a mattress perhaps left by squatters in the living room.
Compton stomps in from the cold, holding a six pack of Coors up in the air as offering to the A/V gods that are currently scrutinizing him. "Come bearing gifts." he grumbles to the darkness.
It's an intercom voice. You know from previous visits that the whole house is wired, all patched into the underground sanctum. "Tits. 'S open..."
Nearby, a male voice shouts, "As in, come on down..."
Compton nods and grins up at the corner where assumes that there is a camera and goes on his way, leaving wet foot prints behind.
You go down the stairs.
From Derelict Home - Main Room, Compton has left.
Derelict House - Kitchen
Beneath two stories, lies a basement with all the common amenities. However, it's been converted into a semi living space.
In one corner, a boiler and heater stand, though only function down here. The fuse box is also configured to power the subterranean portion of this structure. A washer drier are next, and a small makeshift sink. All four walls have been padded with heavy insulating material and wires run down from key holes in the ceiling. A few bundles are strapped together, feeding into a video network system. Four screens sit at a small square table, flashing camera feeds from strategic points outside and inside the house above. A reclining chair, made of brown leather, encircled with ashes and empty beer bottles on the hard cement floor. A TV sits atop another broken TV, its wires arranged to split off the block's main cable system.
To the far wall, a long table has been set up, stacked with a variety of chemical compounds and mixing material. Everything from begin base liquids, to corrosive acids stored in chem-hazard tanks. A myriad mix of beakers, vials, and test-tubes line the shelves above. Gloves, goggles, tongs, all things a junior mad scientist would need to conquer the world. Some larger steel drums of chemicals are stored under the table, and some electronic chem-analysis equipment blinks an occasional red flash.
And finally, set along the length of the large basement, seems to be a make-shift firing range. Shell casings litter the floor at one end, opposite from a large reinforced steel door dimpled with a thousand bullet dents. The remains of a tattered paper target hang on the door. Over it, a picture of Ronald McDonald.
Contents:
Chase
Compton enters. Wearing his old parka still, but gone is that lame Santa's cap. In it's place is a wide cut on his forehead and he moves stiffly like his back is bothering him. He doesn't look happy - well, not that he ever did but something seems to be bothering him above and beyond the surface crustiness he usually projects. "Thanks." he says simply.
Chase, Chase and more Chase. "Oi." In unison everyone. There's one in the leather chair watching Bewitched on the tube. And two at the lab table with protective eye wear working in tandem with soldering irons. The two at the table wear lab coat, and despite chiming in with the greetings, their work ethic is diligent. Some sort of electronic device seems to be the object of their attention, fashioned into a collar of sorts.
Lazy Chase is the one who continues speaking though. "Sup neegro?" Joint burning nearby.
Compton gawks. No really, his mouth fucking drops to the floor and his beady eyes bug out of their sockets. So, he tries what anyone would do and grinds his free hand in to his eyes trying to clear them of the multiple vision he's suddenly experience.
That fails.
But Compton is a part of the College with talking monkeys and whatnot. He quickly just accepts this amount of weirdness as okay, but shoots it a dirty look as if saying, 'Okay. I'll accept this. For now. Just don't push it.' and gingerly steps through, pulling Coors cans from the plastic rings, depositing them by the Chase's on his way through until he gets to Lazy Chase and hands over the last one.
"I, er... Sorry. Shoulda brought more." he dead pans.
"Oh! Silver Fuckin Bullet." Lazy Chase lurches from his slumped position to accept the offering. "Fuckin' A man. Gracias." The others smile, but continue working. Registering the slight shock to Comps, an affirmation. "Don' worry, I guzzle 'n they get twisted."
At that, one of the working Chases shows the room his middle finger, before connecting some wires to an injection system.
"Where the hell you keep findin' Coors up here, cabrone? Can't get this shite anywhere, really. All the liquor stores 'r full up with micro-brews 'n whatnot..."
Compton says in a matter of fact kinda way, "Ya know - that hand thing the College kids do? Well, everytime they do that shit ya gotta hand over a smoke. I don't smoke see? And at $9 a pack they can get stuffed if they think I'm buying the good stuff. I know some Wahoo's who smuggle stuff across the lake, like cheap ass cigarettes. They bring beer too. Yankie beer. No one else I know likes it though - so it ain't no big thing."
*SNAP* There goes the first foamy beer. Hola Hiro, you salty dog. Here's the situation. (Parents are gone on a three week vacation)
There's the chair. In the chair is one Chase, wearing a 7-11 shirt and opening a Coors from the heard that Comps just brought in. At the lab table, there are in fact, two more Chases. They seem to be working on some electronic device without pause.
Lazy Chase, the one in the chair watching Tabitha Stevens in Bewitched, is smiling a kid's grin to Comps. Tickled as fuck to have some Coors up in his shit. "Nice." he says between gulps. "Like my coyotes. But different product."
Compton shuffles his feet a little looking down, suddenly becoming more uncomfortable, "I can get you as much as ya like, but I... Um..." okay, now he just looks like an idiot. Breaking ice like this obviously is pain for the big guy. "I gotta ask you a fave." he says bluntly.
"Anyone who brings me Coors, gots one coming." Healthy swig. "'S on yer mind, cabrone?" Lazy Chase leans forwards a bit for the answer.
Compton idly touches the gash on his head and stalks away agitated, before turning back a few more steps. He sighs, and dumps his parka on top of a crate. "Okay. Is like this see?" he starts all high strung, "Ya hangout with this street kids, tough kids like Penny, right? And they kinda look up to ya..." ya okay, in Comptons mind anyways "And ya feel pretty tough yerself. Being able to blow shit up by tweaking the formulae of the machine and shit."
"But then some shit happens, and ya find yerself on yer ass in the street ready to load your drawers and there's nothing you can do about it until Penny shows up to save yer ass, again." he looks down at his beer gut ashamed. What a fucking pathetic sight. Someone shoot him already.
Perhaps lacking the sympathy gene, Chase doesn't get it yet. But he's just downing beer watching Comp's monologue instead of Bewitched. One of the worker bees behind the lazy one, prompts for more info.
"Whatcha talkin' 'bout?"
Compton sucks it up, that big fucking baby, "Got my ass kicked by at 16 yr old slant hooker." Yup. That's gotta sting anyones ego. "I want ya to train me." There, he said it finally.
"Can't go to one of the kids." Compton syas, "It'd destroy my image." Uh huh. There it is again, but whatever. We're all delusional in our own ways.
"Oh." Lazy Chase sets the beer down and takes one final drag of his dwindling joint. "Ok." See? That wasn't overly hard. "Ummmm, lemme see whatcha got first, eh?" At that, the thick man stands. One of the worker bees grabs something from the shelf and hands it to lazy. A pill of course, and they work together with one mind judging by the precision of movements. "Wanna kick my ass? Make ya feel better, mebbe. Good way ta judge yer skills to."
Chase pops the pill, and feels no pain.
Compton arches a brow at this one, and visibly swallows (GULP), "Well, okay..." he says with no assurance, and starts to unbutton his freaky shirt and strips down to a wife beater. The slabs of fleshy meat on his arms and chest fully exposed there. He's got the mass, just no tone. He balls up his fist and puts his guard up, spreading his feet, classic boxers pose. "You ready?" he asks with a little more conviction.
Steps into the dungeon proper, Chase makes sure he's not near anything dangerous for this. No stance, no hint of readiness. Just some beer wiped from his lips and a sniffle.
"Ya, ok. Let's have it then..." He doesn't have the posture of someone who's about to dodge a punch or get hit squarely.
Compton shuffles forward and throws a right aiming to beak Chase on the nose. Pretty good form.
Robotically, Chase head snaps back with the right cross. No blood. No flinching. No hint of discomfort. But a sniffle. He takes a step to his left, nose twitching. "Eh, ya the form's alright. Let's have another." Slack fucker.
Compton grins, loosening up. He shuffles his feet again, flinches to one side (okay, now he's getting silly) and throws another right at Chases midriff.
Fist meets flesh, Comps can feel a wall up muscle under the punk's shirt. This time Chase doesn't react as much, as the force is absorbed in his mass. "More." He's not even moving. 'S like a human punching bag with an out-dated haircut.
Compton is breathing a little heavier now, a light sheen of sweat showing up on his bald head, he nods simply and let’s fly with a left right combo.
"Ow! Fuck!" Compton hops back shaking and nursing his left wrist.
Well the first strike was completely off. Despite landing, it just glances off the side of Chase's face. Chalk it up to the sweat. The second at least, manages to draw a few drops of blood from his nose. The punk's head is thrown this way, then that way, in the succession of blows. A sniffle, no pain.
"You alright there?" Concern for Comp's wrist.
The slight cut Comps opened up on the bridge of Chase's nose, closes like a fleshy ziplock bag about a few seconds after impact. It leave the faintest of lines, though a few drops of blood still splatter his cheek and upper lip.
Compton grumbles, working the pain out of his hand, "Yeah... bad wrist. You alright?"
A shrug. No gash. No pain. "'Course." Chase says, as if that's a commonly known fact. "I'm uh... I got somethin' in me." Is all the explanation he offers for the self sealing skin he wears.
"Solid blows. Gotta work on yer conditioning 'n mebbe aim. But the form's there."
Compton nods, still huffing a little, he shambles over to a nearby Coors can and helps himself. Good for what ails ya. "Thanks." he says with some surprise, " Lil cunt was fast though. I never even got a chance to do anything."
"Yeah well, slants usually are. We'll get into some proper sparring next time if ya want." Lazy Chase walks over to reclaim his thrown of slack.
"That'd be cool." The old guy says, turning and retriving his shirt he starts to redress himself. "I'll give ya call."
~FIN~
Saturday, May 31, 2003
You enter the apartment.
Room174(#4497ed)
To the right of the entrance is a modest bathroom that is sparkling clean. This room has two queen-sized beds separated by a few feet, with plenty of blankets and large fluffy pillows. Inside the second drawer of the nightstand that sits between the beds is a copy of Gideon's Bible. Across from the nightstand on the far wall is a TV that offers hours of cable entertainment. A note near the TV remote reminds you that pay-per-view adult movies will be added to your bill.
There is a window that overlooks the parking lot on the far side, next to a table with two chairs. Behind the table is the room environmental unit built into the wall, giving you control of the heat and air conditioning.
Obvious Exits: Out
Contents:
Keene
//.etro: It is 02:37 am, the dead of night, on Friday the 16. day of January, 2009.
Door to the room bangs open and Penny stands there stomping slush and muck off her feet. "Weather's shit," dropping the coat from her shoulders into elbows further dirtying the hallway. The door closes behind her, kicks off her boots "I hate it here," grumpy and ticked off for any number of reasons, Penny starts emptying pockets to the nightstand.
A notepad, a cellphone, an unfamiliar wallet, a strange set of keys all clatter down to the delaminated surface.
Keene is sitting on the floor, shoes off, jacket hung up neatly, smoking one of his usual cigarettes. He is watching `The Shining' on free cable, which acts as an idle distraction.
As it goes to commercial, Keene looks over at Penny. "Join the club. I can't wait for the Realm to blow up. I think I'll have a little party afterward."
"Well it's ah very homey."
"Yes."
Penny stands idle for a minute watching Jack on the screen. Still stripping out of soaked clothes, Penny undresses her way into the bathroom. Walking out of jeans, bloody t-shirts hefted into the sink, you can hear the shower start. She's only in there about five minutes when the shower stops. Returning to the room in another of Jesse's shirts, Penny mutters something indetrminate about Eva loving him more and something darker about Pobble, god and unhelpful asian whores.
"I'm having a psychotic episode, Keene. I need something."
"Up or down?" asks Keene, watching the ice cream scene.
A month later Penny responds, chin resting on folded hands
"Down. Way the fuck down."
"Man. I miss my bigwheels."
Keene ashes his cigarette into an empty beer can at his side, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out one of his customary orange vials. He offers it to Penny. "Valium. Take 'em with a shot of Jack. Good for you."
He looks back towards the screen, puffing on his cancer stick some more. "I wonder what happened to Olive Oyl's career after the 70s."
Penny keeps explaining, turning over a keycard looking for the number. "Found the traitor fuck. Then I found the old man getting his ass kicked.. " intimating that some serious retribution needs doling. Penny pushes down on the stupid child-safety cap but it doesn't open. Tries it again, gets it to pop and fingers out two pills, takes them dry.
"She did this fucked up children's show .. fairy tale movies.. I think she had a total break after this movie."
"Pretty wack," mutters Keene, resting his cigarette on the beer can before pausing to stretch his arms. The hedge maze beckons. "Scary looking bitch regardless. Very 70s."
He picks back up his cigarette. "So where's the Benedict?"
"Those teeth, right?" propping herself on an elbow, shuddering theatrically. "Wheres'a jack .." feeling down around on the floor for the bottle "..him? he's up the block," struggling to find the bottleneck somewhere under the bed "hangs out with some nasty sort. Kinda hardcore but maybe a littel to trendy. Anyways. This spirit says he's always there, never leaves. So I figure we stake it out long enough, won't be.. y'know.. too tough."
Keene grunts. "Fucking shut-ins," he says, as it goes to commercial again. "If these people got laid more, they'd probably be a lot more understanding of Truth. Of course, I imagine fucking cabbages has its own particular charm." He puffs on the cigarette.
"I'll have Hiro go trashing around the place. We'll track his financial movements and behaviors for a while. Then we start systematically leaving tracks for the Black Hats to find. Let them take out the trash."
Success. Her hand ferrets out the elusive and mostly empty bottle, upcaps and swigs. "Ah ah ah, Wendy" she says to the television, chastizing "castles don't have phones."
Fishing around in your top pocket for a cigarette, tiny flecks of blood stain the white double-fold on the inside.
"Is that what we want to do? Why should they have all the fun," slowing down now but not sluggish "Keen-o, that's complete crap... oo I love this part," lighting-up with a stray bic, exhaling over your head "kid's a little fucker 'inne."
"Damn right he is," says Keene, finishing his cigarette and dropping it into the beer can. "Well, it's up to you guys. I just want his ass dropped -- I don't really care how it gets done."
Room174(#4497ed)
To the right of the entrance is a modest bathroom that is sparkling clean. This room has two queen-sized beds separated by a few feet, with plenty of blankets and large fluffy pillows. Inside the second drawer of the nightstand that sits between the beds is a copy of Gideon's Bible. Across from the nightstand on the far wall is a TV that offers hours of cable entertainment. A note near the TV remote reminds you that pay-per-view adult movies will be added to your bill.
There is a window that overlooks the parking lot on the far side, next to a table with two chairs. Behind the table is the room environmental unit built into the wall, giving you control of the heat and air conditioning.
Obvious Exits: Out
Contents:
Keene
//.etro: It is 02:37 am, the dead of night, on Friday the 16. day of January, 2009.
Door to the room bangs open and Penny stands there stomping slush and muck off her feet. "Weather's shit," dropping the coat from her shoulders into elbows further dirtying the hallway. The door closes behind her, kicks off her boots "I hate it here," grumpy and ticked off for any number of reasons, Penny starts emptying pockets to the nightstand.
A notepad, a cellphone, an unfamiliar wallet, a strange set of keys all clatter down to the delaminated surface.
Keene is sitting on the floor, shoes off, jacket hung up neatly, smoking one of his usual cigarettes. He is watching `The Shining' on free cable, which acts as an idle distraction.
As it goes to commercial, Keene looks over at Penny. "Join the club. I can't wait for the Realm to blow up. I think I'll have a little party afterward."
"Well it's ah very homey."
"Yes."
Penny stands idle for a minute watching Jack on the screen. Still stripping out of soaked clothes, Penny undresses her way into the bathroom. Walking out of jeans, bloody t-shirts hefted into the sink, you can hear the shower start. She's only in there about five minutes when the shower stops. Returning to the room in another of Jesse's shirts, Penny mutters something indetrminate about Eva loving him more and something darker about Pobble, god and unhelpful asian whores.
"I'm having a psychotic episode, Keene. I need something."
"Up or down?" asks Keene, watching the ice cream scene.
A month later Penny responds, chin resting on folded hands
"Down. Way the fuck down."
"Man. I miss my bigwheels."
Keene ashes his cigarette into an empty beer can at his side, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out one of his customary orange vials. He offers it to Penny. "Valium. Take 'em with a shot of Jack. Good for you."
He looks back towards the screen, puffing on his cancer stick some more. "I wonder what happened to Olive Oyl's career after the 70s."
Penny keeps explaining, turning over a keycard looking for the number. "Found the traitor fuck. Then I found the old man getting his ass kicked.. " intimating that some serious retribution needs doling. Penny pushes down on the stupid child-safety cap but it doesn't open. Tries it again, gets it to pop and fingers out two pills, takes them dry.
"She did this fucked up children's show .. fairy tale movies.. I think she had a total break after this movie."
"Pretty wack," mutters Keene, resting his cigarette on the beer can before pausing to stretch his arms. The hedge maze beckons. "Scary looking bitch regardless. Very 70s."
He picks back up his cigarette. "So where's the Benedict?"
"Those teeth, right?" propping herself on an elbow, shuddering theatrically. "Wheres'a jack .." feeling down around on the floor for the bottle "..him? he's up the block," struggling to find the bottleneck somewhere under the bed "hangs out with some nasty sort. Kinda hardcore but maybe a littel to trendy. Anyways. This spirit says he's always there, never leaves. So I figure we stake it out long enough, won't be.. y'know.. too tough."
Keene grunts. "Fucking shut-ins," he says, as it goes to commercial again. "If these people got laid more, they'd probably be a lot more understanding of Truth. Of course, I imagine fucking cabbages has its own particular charm." He puffs on the cigarette.
"I'll have Hiro go trashing around the place. We'll track his financial movements and behaviors for a while. Then we start systematically leaving tracks for the Black Hats to find. Let them take out the trash."
Success. Her hand ferrets out the elusive and mostly empty bottle, upcaps and swigs. "Ah ah ah, Wendy" she says to the television, chastizing "castles don't have phones."
Fishing around in your top pocket for a cigarette, tiny flecks of blood stain the white double-fold on the inside.
"Is that what we want to do? Why should they have all the fun," slowing down now but not sluggish "Keen-o, that's complete crap... oo I love this part," lighting-up with a stray bic, exhaling over your head "kid's a little fucker 'inne."
"Damn right he is," says Keene, finishing his cigarette and dropping it into the beer can. "Well, it's up to you guys. I just want his ass dropped -- I don't really care how it gets done."
Downtown - Parliament and Front E(#164RJM)
The downtown core can be seen in the horizon to the west. Here lie many of Toronto's old and abandoned warehouses. Fences set ten feet high with barbed wires interlacing the top portion guards this area closely. Despite the look of these dilapidated warehouses, this is a popular filming area for major motion pictures. The abandoned warehouses make a perfect location for many scenarios used in action movies and TV shows. Overhead, to the west lies the Gardiner Expressway where it joins with the major north-south highway, the Don Valley Parkway. To the west is the St. Lawrence Market and Union Station, while to the south is the docks to Lake Ontario.
Obvious exits:
Hana arrives from the north.
Hana has arrived.
//.etro: Auto-aliasing to +today. (see +help +time for more)
_________________________ //.etro: Toronto by Night _________________________
//.etro-logical Data
______________________________________________________________________________
It is 09:39 on Thursday the 15. day of January 2009.
Sunrise: 7:29 Sunset: 16:30
Moonrise: 09:41 Moonset: 22:42
It is week 3 of the month and the first quarter moon is not up.
The tide is low and ebbing.
Sleet and freezing rain fall from heavy clouds, coating everything with ice and making the ground slippery. The world looks silver in the icy grey light. A raw wind blows from the northeast.
______________________________________________________________________________
Hana walks down the street, not minding the rain much, or the fact that her hair is turning to ice.
Compton, oddly enough is just standing there in the freezing rain. The Fur lined hood of his parka drawn up over his head. He stands staring at an old industrial complex, his fingers intertwined with the rusted chain-linked fence. With the anfgle of the hood and the loud pattering of the thick rain off of it it is doubtful he realizes anyone is around.
Maybe Hana recognizes the figure, if not the face. She slows, a dismal dripping half-frozen drowned cat. Stopping behind him, she looks past him at the industrial complex assuming you mean the light industrial shop?.
Okay, yes the Light Industrial Shop then. He just keeps standing there as if frozen stiff gazing at the structure, or perhaps sleeping on his feet with the deep rythmic breathing Compton seems to be performing.
//.etro: Compton rolls "perception+awareness" at diff 6
For a total of 0 success(es).
And just keeps on staring, oblivious.
Hana dips her head and rubs her neck, running rivers of water from her hair into her eyes. Then, quietly, she steps up to the fence, beside Compton.
From the side profile, you can pick up on two things: 1. It is in fact the old perv from the bar and 2. he's wearing some weird-assed three lensed pair of goggles over his face that emit an eerie green light. Which is why he most likely isn't picking up on too much right now...
//.etro: Compton rolls "perception+awareness" at diff 6
For a botch!
Hana finds his seeming obliviousness slightly amusing-- but that's only amusing enough to make her lips twist into what is, at best, a sort of sad, ironical smile. She's barely managing her normally pacific expression today. But enough about what Compton doesn't even see. The rain probably muffles the faint swish of her sopping coat. She waits a few moments more.
A large city works truck comes rumbling up the street. The pinwheels under it spinning fast and throwing a copious amount of road salt on the road and up over the sidewalk. A loud chiming is created by the hard pellets bouncing off the chainlinks. It isn't moving fast though and most people can move out of the way and avoid it. Not ole Compton though. Stuck transfixed as he is on the spot.
(SPLAT!) (CRUNCH!)
Compton is thrown up against the fence violently when he gets his in the back of the head with a particularly large chunk of road salt. The Springboard action of the chainlinks then propell him backwards and down to the now gritty pavement. (It also just happens that due to the angle and position of Compton, Hana is completely protected by the passing truck.)
"Ow. Fuck!" is the frank observation from the big guy. His goggles askew and a fresh cut on his forhead starts to seep blood.
From his position on the ground, he can observe Hana at a bizarre angle. She looks down at him from a seemingly great height, one of her hands still on the fence as she looks over her shoulder. The same little wan smile touches her lips. Watching the rain wash the blood down his face, Hana sayds, after a moment, "Are you hurt?" Ya think?
Compton struggles a little bit to even make it to his elbows, "Wha?" is his second response and he pulls his goggles down around his neck and dazzedly squints at Hana, "Who...?" is his third comment and finally reaching to his forehead with two fingers and touches the wound, "Ow. Fuck." again. Guess that's an affirmative.
"You're going to need a bandaid," Hana says, with possibly irritating frank observation. "I don't have any." She turns fully from the fence and steps forward, offering the man a hand. To look at the two, it's amusing to think she could pull him up. More likely she'll end up flat on her face.
"Ss'sallright." Compton manages sounding stupifed. Rolling to one side on the slippery sidewalk and gets to his knees, which complain loudly at the abuse. Standing now, he's soaked through, the parka not much good when lying on yer back in 1/4" of slush. He pulls off the stupid looking Santa's cap he was wearing under the hood and uses it as a make shift bandage.
Now that he's more together he gives a side long glance at Hana again. Reapprasing her from his 6ft stance. "Ow. Fuck." to the wound, and then, "Wh-why'd ya hit me for?" he asks testily.
"If I had hit you, you wouldn't be in a position to ask me why," she says, rather sombrely. She turns and walks back to the fence, placing her hands on the top again. "What's so fascinating about the shop?" she asks, obviously meaning the building at which you were formerly staring.
Compton looks unconvinced at the first statement but pulls the cap away and prods at his forehead again. The bleedings stopped, which ain't too bad for a guy his age. Tossing the hat away in to the street he pulls his hood back up and covers his quickly freezing head, "Lookin for someone. Got a hunch 'bout this place. It shit though." Of cource, said guy could have been standing next to him and Compton would have missed it this morning. He looks tired. His face is drawn, moreso than the last time you saw him. Dark rings under his bloodshot eyes speak to a long night of staring at random buildings.
"Really? I've lived there," she says, leaning against the fence. "By the way, you owe me money." She rubs the back of her neck again. She's soaked pretty much to the bone, as if she's been soaking in cold water for a long time. The way someone looks when drenched in hours of rain is somehow more pathetic than if they've been dunked in a lake.
Compton grimaces at the fact he's been staring at your home for the last hour in vain, "Yeah well... ain't the right place." he says defensivley. The cold and the wet and now the gouge in his forehead make Compton look even more haggard than before, taking it beyond pathetic to tragically sad. At least without the hat now he looks less homeless. "What?" he asks incrediously, "Fuck you I do." his his not so friendly reply to the joke.
only it's not a joke. Funny thing, a little girl asking an older, much larger man for the money he owes her. "Well, no, there was no fucking, but I did what I could. I can't help it if he vomitted." She glances towards the house again. "Maybe that is the right place, hm?"
"No, it's not and no I don't." Compton says incresingly agitated, "I remember that night pretty good, and you stated some fucked up dollar amount then attacked the kid. Never said I'd pay... If anything I owe you a favour. That's it." and undoes the strap holding his goggles in place around his neck and stuffs them in one of the pockets of his coat.
Hana lifts a hand and smooths back her wet hair, flinging drops of water behind her, invisible in the rain. "Come on, you're not going to make me -insist-, are you? I mean, after I put you on your back again, I'll have to go get Alex and explain to him he's got his house staked out. I really don't like him right now, not on good terms since he thinks I tried to kill him. It'll just be a big bother."
Maybe it's the fact that he's a sexist, ageist pig and doesn't feel threatened standing before a soggy china doll, or maybe it is just the fact that hanging out with outcasts has just inured him to threats period. "Yeah, okay. Whatever little girl. Ya ain't getting a dollar from me, so go fuck off." is his increasingly less eloquent reply. The guys had a bad start to a day he is most likely willing to go forget in a bottle of rye.
Compton also looks like he about to go on his way.
Hana stands still and silent.
Hana seems to be letting you go on your way, watching as, or until, you turn your back on her.
Compton promptly turns his back on Hana and goes to walk across the street.
//.etro: Hana rolls "dexterity+brawl" at diff 6
For a total of 5 success(es).
Perhaps you don't even realize what's happened until you hit the ground; perhaps the shock of hitting the ground keeps you from realizing it, even then. Something certainly happened, though, and there, above you, you can see Hana looking down. "Very sorry, but I need the money. I am tired of sleeping in trees."
Penny arrives from the west.
Penny has arrived.
Compton rolls over furious. There's murder in his eyes, "What the fuck cunt?!" he exclaims, perhaps not as affective a statement lying in the frozen street as it could have been. "Yer fucked now." Again, intimidating, not so much.
Compton is lying in the street now, yelling at the tiny girl. Calling her very nasty things and he too is soaked through with a fresh gouge in his forehead.
Some sort of papers in hand, Penny gets out of a cab at the corner of Parliament and Front streets bidding the cabbie a cheerful thanks-and-goodbye as she opens up a huge umbrella. There's an incredibly strange air about the woman - happy as a pig in shit.
Singin'in the rain.
Penny splashes about down the street for half a block with some destination in mind before she catches on to the commotion over yonder.
"Oi! Old man?"
//.etro: Hana rolls "dexterity + athletics" at diff 6
For a total of 1 success(es).
Hana stretches, putting her hand behind her neck, and her other hand behind her back, betwen her coat and t-shirt. "No, trust me, fucking would be a lot more expensive. Look, you said you were weqalthy enough. i think "loaded" was the word? So why being so stingy? Come on gaijin, get off your ass and pay up. And maybe while we're at it, you wannt tell me why you're spying on that place over there, hm?" Hana leans over, and pulls off the odd pair of goggles Compton's wearing. Not too easy, getting them from around his neck.
"Ain't got no million bucks to spend on a do nuthin whore, especially one that I didn't agree to pay." Compton says pushing himself off the ground, sheets of slush falling form his back.
Closer now, Penny yells "OI," through the sleet and rain "OLD MAN?" like she's confused. That couldn't be what or who she thinks it is. It's too early - there isn't even a lunch crowd loitering. She half-circles to get a better look and ..stops.
"Two things wrong with that," Hana says. "One, I'm not a whore, which I told you, and two, you did say you would pay me anyway. Now, usually I'm damned easy-going, but I've been having a pissy lifetime, and almost getting vomitted on by a highflying chingaku doesn't help." Hana steps back a few feet, putting the goggles around her neck with her own pair. "I suppose we can do this later, though. I guess I owe it to Alex to tell him he's being watched."
//.etro: Penny rolls "arete" at diff 5
For a total of 3 success(es) including 1 ten(s).
Everybody feels abnormally calm. Everything's coming up motherfucking roses.
That bad day you were having? Gone.
It's like you just won the goddamn lottery.
Compton flinches at Penny hollaring and looks like he's about to fly in to another torrent of explatives at the lil nipper. But instead smiles real big and dopey like and says "Hi Penny." all chipper like.
No noticable change in Hana. In fact, she seemed pretty calm already. Weird enough. Oh, but wait, she does seem less sombre...
Compton sloshes up the street all sodden from lying in it. Grinning like a fucking idiot.
Hana watches Compton's dramatic change. Not feeling dramatically different herself,, she does, however, decide to let the matter drop. besides, she's got his goggles. Maybe that will do for payment. She starts heading north, herself.
And Penny, taking Compton by the elbow, moves between the mounds of snow and crap back to the sidewalk. Penny is not smiling. Penny doesn't seem to be affected by this calming sensation, says loud enough to be overheard by any passer-by "Y'like it when little girls pound on you, hey old man?" and she turns an unflinching eye over her shoulder to Hana "Those're booby-trapped, chiquita" and keeps walking with Compton under her umbrella. She hails a cab and ushers him in.
~FIN~
The downtown core can be seen in the horizon to the west. Here lie many of Toronto's old and abandoned warehouses. Fences set ten feet high with barbed wires interlacing the top portion guards this area closely. Despite the look of these dilapidated warehouses, this is a popular filming area for major motion pictures. The abandoned warehouses make a perfect location for many scenarios used in action movies and TV shows. Overhead, to the west lies the Gardiner Expressway where it joins with the major north-south highway, the Don Valley Parkway. To the west is the St. Lawrence Market and Union Station, while to the south is the docks to Lake Ontario.
Obvious exits:
Hana arrives from the north.
Hana has arrived.
//.etro: Auto-aliasing to +today. (see +help +time for more)
_________________________ //.etro: Toronto by Night _________________________
//.etro-logical Data
______________________________________________________________________________
It is 09:39 on Thursday the 15. day of January 2009.
Sunrise: 7:29 Sunset: 16:30
Moonrise: 09:41 Moonset: 22:42
It is week 3 of the month and the first quarter moon is not up.
The tide is low and ebbing.
Sleet and freezing rain fall from heavy clouds, coating everything with ice and making the ground slippery. The world looks silver in the icy grey light. A raw wind blows from the northeast.
______________________________________________________________________________
Hana walks down the street, not minding the rain much, or the fact that her hair is turning to ice.
Compton, oddly enough is just standing there in the freezing rain. The Fur lined hood of his parka drawn up over his head. He stands staring at an old industrial complex, his fingers intertwined with the rusted chain-linked fence. With the anfgle of the hood and the loud pattering of the thick rain off of it it is doubtful he realizes anyone is around.
Maybe Hana recognizes the figure, if not the face. She slows, a dismal dripping half-frozen drowned cat. Stopping behind him, she looks past him at the industrial complex assuming you mean the light industrial shop?.
Okay, yes the Light Industrial Shop then. He just keeps standing there as if frozen stiff gazing at the structure, or perhaps sleeping on his feet with the deep rythmic breathing Compton seems to be performing.
//.etro: Compton rolls "perception+awareness" at diff 6
For a total of 0 success(es).
And just keeps on staring, oblivious.
Hana dips her head and rubs her neck, running rivers of water from her hair into her eyes. Then, quietly, she steps up to the fence, beside Compton.
From the side profile, you can pick up on two things: 1. It is in fact the old perv from the bar and 2. he's wearing some weird-assed three lensed pair of goggles over his face that emit an eerie green light. Which is why he most likely isn't picking up on too much right now...
//.etro: Compton rolls "perception+awareness" at diff 6
For a botch!
Hana finds his seeming obliviousness slightly amusing-- but that's only amusing enough to make her lips twist into what is, at best, a sort of sad, ironical smile. She's barely managing her normally pacific expression today. But enough about what Compton doesn't even see. The rain probably muffles the faint swish of her sopping coat. She waits a few moments more.
A large city works truck comes rumbling up the street. The pinwheels under it spinning fast and throwing a copious amount of road salt on the road and up over the sidewalk. A loud chiming is created by the hard pellets bouncing off the chainlinks. It isn't moving fast though and most people can move out of the way and avoid it. Not ole Compton though. Stuck transfixed as he is on the spot.
(SPLAT!) (CRUNCH!)
Compton is thrown up against the fence violently when he gets his in the back of the head with a particularly large chunk of road salt. The Springboard action of the chainlinks then propell him backwards and down to the now gritty pavement. (It also just happens that due to the angle and position of Compton, Hana is completely protected by the passing truck.)
"Ow. Fuck!" is the frank observation from the big guy. His goggles askew and a fresh cut on his forhead starts to seep blood.
From his position on the ground, he can observe Hana at a bizarre angle. She looks down at him from a seemingly great height, one of her hands still on the fence as she looks over her shoulder. The same little wan smile touches her lips. Watching the rain wash the blood down his face, Hana sayds, after a moment, "Are you hurt?" Ya think?
Compton struggles a little bit to even make it to his elbows, "Wha?" is his second response and he pulls his goggles down around his neck and dazzedly squints at Hana, "Who...?" is his third comment and finally reaching to his forehead with two fingers and touches the wound, "Ow. Fuck." again. Guess that's an affirmative.
"You're going to need a bandaid," Hana says, with possibly irritating frank observation. "I don't have any." She turns fully from the fence and steps forward, offering the man a hand. To look at the two, it's amusing to think she could pull him up. More likely she'll end up flat on her face.
"Ss'sallright." Compton manages sounding stupifed. Rolling to one side on the slippery sidewalk and gets to his knees, which complain loudly at the abuse. Standing now, he's soaked through, the parka not much good when lying on yer back in 1/4" of slush. He pulls off the stupid looking Santa's cap he was wearing under the hood and uses it as a make shift bandage.
Now that he's more together he gives a side long glance at Hana again. Reapprasing her from his 6ft stance. "Ow. Fuck." to the wound, and then, "Wh-why'd ya hit me for?" he asks testily.
"If I had hit you, you wouldn't be in a position to ask me why," she says, rather sombrely. She turns and walks back to the fence, placing her hands on the top again. "What's so fascinating about the shop?" she asks, obviously meaning the building at which you were formerly staring.
Compton looks unconvinced at the first statement but pulls the cap away and prods at his forehead again. The bleedings stopped, which ain't too bad for a guy his age. Tossing the hat away in to the street he pulls his hood back up and covers his quickly freezing head, "Lookin for someone. Got a hunch 'bout this place. It shit though." Of cource, said guy could have been standing next to him and Compton would have missed it this morning. He looks tired. His face is drawn, moreso than the last time you saw him. Dark rings under his bloodshot eyes speak to a long night of staring at random buildings.
"Really? I've lived there," she says, leaning against the fence. "By the way, you owe me money." She rubs the back of her neck again. She's soaked pretty much to the bone, as if she's been soaking in cold water for a long time. The way someone looks when drenched in hours of rain is somehow more pathetic than if they've been dunked in a lake.
Compton grimaces at the fact he's been staring at your home for the last hour in vain, "Yeah well... ain't the right place." he says defensivley. The cold and the wet and now the gouge in his forehead make Compton look even more haggard than before, taking it beyond pathetic to tragically sad. At least without the hat now he looks less homeless. "What?" he asks incrediously, "Fuck you I do." his his not so friendly reply to the joke.
only it's not a joke. Funny thing, a little girl asking an older, much larger man for the money he owes her. "Well, no, there was no fucking, but I did what I could. I can't help it if he vomitted." She glances towards the house again. "Maybe that is the right place, hm?"
"No, it's not and no I don't." Compton says incresingly agitated, "I remember that night pretty good, and you stated some fucked up dollar amount then attacked the kid. Never said I'd pay... If anything I owe you a favour. That's it." and undoes the strap holding his goggles in place around his neck and stuffs them in one of the pockets of his coat.
Hana lifts a hand and smooths back her wet hair, flinging drops of water behind her, invisible in the rain. "Come on, you're not going to make me -insist-, are you? I mean, after I put you on your back again, I'll have to go get Alex and explain to him he's got his house staked out. I really don't like him right now, not on good terms since he thinks I tried to kill him. It'll just be a big bother."
Maybe it's the fact that he's a sexist, ageist pig and doesn't feel threatened standing before a soggy china doll, or maybe it is just the fact that hanging out with outcasts has just inured him to threats period. "Yeah, okay. Whatever little girl. Ya ain't getting a dollar from me, so go fuck off." is his increasingly less eloquent reply. The guys had a bad start to a day he is most likely willing to go forget in a bottle of rye.
Compton also looks like he about to go on his way.
Hana stands still and silent.
Hana seems to be letting you go on your way, watching as, or until, you turn your back on her.
Compton promptly turns his back on Hana and goes to walk across the street.
//.etro: Hana rolls "dexterity+brawl" at diff 6
For a total of 5 success(es).
Perhaps you don't even realize what's happened until you hit the ground; perhaps the shock of hitting the ground keeps you from realizing it, even then. Something certainly happened, though, and there, above you, you can see Hana looking down. "Very sorry, but I need the money. I am tired of sleeping in trees."
Penny arrives from the west.
Penny has arrived.
Compton rolls over furious. There's murder in his eyes, "What the fuck cunt?!" he exclaims, perhaps not as affective a statement lying in the frozen street as it could have been. "Yer fucked now." Again, intimidating, not so much.
Compton is lying in the street now, yelling at the tiny girl. Calling her very nasty things and he too is soaked through with a fresh gouge in his forehead.
Some sort of papers in hand, Penny gets out of a cab at the corner of Parliament and Front streets bidding the cabbie a cheerful thanks-and-goodbye as she opens up a huge umbrella. There's an incredibly strange air about the woman - happy as a pig in shit.
Singin'in the rain.
Penny splashes about down the street for half a block with some destination in mind before she catches on to the commotion over yonder.
"Oi! Old man?"
//.etro: Hana rolls "dexterity + athletics" at diff 6
For a total of 1 success(es).
Hana stretches, putting her hand behind her neck, and her other hand behind her back, betwen her coat and t-shirt. "No, trust me, fucking would be a lot more expensive. Look, you said you were weqalthy enough. i think "loaded" was the word? So why being so stingy? Come on gaijin, get off your ass and pay up. And maybe while we're at it, you wannt tell me why you're spying on that place over there, hm?" Hana leans over, and pulls off the odd pair of goggles Compton's wearing. Not too easy, getting them from around his neck.
"Ain't got no million bucks to spend on a do nuthin whore, especially one that I didn't agree to pay." Compton says pushing himself off the ground, sheets of slush falling form his back.
Closer now, Penny yells "OI," through the sleet and rain "OLD MAN?" like she's confused. That couldn't be what or who she thinks it is. It's too early - there isn't even a lunch crowd loitering. She half-circles to get a better look and ..stops.
"Two things wrong with that," Hana says. "One, I'm not a whore, which I told you, and two, you did say you would pay me anyway. Now, usually I'm damned easy-going, but I've been having a pissy lifetime, and almost getting vomitted on by a highflying chingaku doesn't help." Hana steps back a few feet, putting the goggles around her neck with her own pair. "I suppose we can do this later, though. I guess I owe it to Alex to tell him he's being watched."
//.etro: Penny rolls "arete" at diff 5
For a total of 3 success(es) including 1 ten(s).
Everybody feels abnormally calm. Everything's coming up motherfucking roses.
That bad day you were having? Gone.
It's like you just won the goddamn lottery.
Compton flinches at Penny hollaring and looks like he's about to fly in to another torrent of explatives at the lil nipper. But instead smiles real big and dopey like and says "Hi Penny." all chipper like.
No noticable change in Hana. In fact, she seemed pretty calm already. Weird enough. Oh, but wait, she does seem less sombre...
Compton sloshes up the street all sodden from lying in it. Grinning like a fucking idiot.
Hana watches Compton's dramatic change. Not feeling dramatically different herself,, she does, however, decide to let the matter drop. besides, she's got his goggles. Maybe that will do for payment. She starts heading north, herself.
And Penny, taking Compton by the elbow, moves between the mounds of snow and crap back to the sidewalk. Penny is not smiling. Penny doesn't seem to be affected by this calming sensation, says loud enough to be overheard by any passer-by "Y'like it when little girls pound on you, hey old man?" and she turns an unflinching eye over her shoulder to Hana "Those're booby-trapped, chiquita" and keeps walking with Compton under her umbrella. She hails a cab and ushers him in.
~FIN~
Downtown - Bathurst and St. Clair W
You paged Mercutio with 'Phenomenon - Penny's taking out her cellphone as she leaves the subway (foci) and dials.
Action - Penny is actually text-messaging out a broadcast to Flwrpwr: Anderson not at Entropy Central. Please advise.
Theory - As a mentored hermetic, of House Thig, Penny has learned to disguise and hide her messages using conventional, modern technologies. The phone is just the tool.'.
You paged Mercutio with 'Diff?'.
Mercutio pages: Diff 5.
//.etro: Penny rolls "arete" privately to Mercutio at diff 5.
For a total of 1 success(es).
Mercutio pages: One success. You want to continue?
You paged Mercutio with 'Yes please.'.
Mercutio pages: Okay, roll again. Diff 6.
//.etro: Penny rolls "arete" privately to Mercutio at diff 6.
For a total of 2 success(es).
Mercutio pages: Message from FlwrPwr: Who you?
Long distance to Mercutio: Penny texts: Yesterday's girl. P3NNY Ante.
Mercutio pages: O, u. what u want?
You paged Mercutio with 'He isn't where you said. Need a loc.'.
Mercutio pages: he iz 2. there now.
Downtown - Winona Dr and St. Clair W(#6980RXJ)
You paged Mercutio with 'Looked in the fh, m i close?'.
Mercutio pages: uh 1 sec, i look
Mercutio pages: no! u in wrong place. look 4 the students, grrl! TUTUTUTUTUTU!!!!111 hahaha i so funny. ghetto trash, flyin' shirts!
You paged Mercutio with 'Yer v. funny. Thx again. Need anything, let me know.'.
Mercutio pages: i txt u ltr, bye!
You paged Mercutio with 'bye!'.
[Ed note: And then Penny walks to...]
Downtown - Spadina and Wellesley W(#269RJ)
[and waits, and waits outside the Wrought Iron Gate.]
You paged Mercutio with 'Phenomenon - Penny's taking out her cellphone as she leaves the subway (foci) and dials.
Action - Penny is actually text-messaging out a broadcast to Flwrpwr: Anderson not at Entropy Central. Please advise.
Theory - As a mentored hermetic, of House Thig, Penny has learned to disguise and hide her messages using conventional, modern technologies. The phone is just the tool.'.
You paged Mercutio with 'Diff?'.
Mercutio pages: Diff 5.
//.etro: Penny rolls "arete" privately to Mercutio at diff 5.
For a total of 1 success(es).
Mercutio pages: One success. You want to continue?
You paged Mercutio with 'Yes please.'.
Mercutio pages: Okay, roll again. Diff 6.
//.etro: Penny rolls "arete" privately to Mercutio at diff 6.
For a total of 2 success(es).
Mercutio pages: Message from FlwrPwr: Who you?
Long distance to Mercutio: Penny texts: Yesterday's girl. P3NNY Ante.
Mercutio pages: O, u. what u want?
You paged Mercutio with 'He isn't where you said. Need a loc.'.
Mercutio pages: he iz 2. there now.
Downtown - Winona Dr and St. Clair W(#6980RXJ)
You paged Mercutio with 'Looked in the fh, m i close?'.
Mercutio pages: uh 1 sec, i look
Mercutio pages: no! u in wrong place. look 4 the students, grrl! TUTUTUTUTUTU!!!!111 hahaha i so funny. ghetto trash, flyin' shirts!
You paged Mercutio with 'Yer v. funny. Thx again. Need anything, let me know.'.
Mercutio pages: i txt u ltr, bye!
You paged Mercutio with 'bye!'.
[Ed note: And then Penny walks to...]
Downtown - Spadina and Wellesley W(#269RJ)
[and waits, and waits outside the Wrought Iron Gate.]
Thursday, May 29, 2003
You journey up one of the trails to the quiet park area.
Centre Island - Island Park(#1262RnJ)
The beaches on the island's south side are supervised in July and August. A wide range of facilities are available, including washrooms, drinking fountains, water taps, lots of picnic areas with fire pits, first-aid stations and police. Small beaches, wooded areas, open grass picnic places and a couple of stone garden sites also dot this southern end of the island, creating a nice, relaxing atmosphere to enjoy the company of friends and family. The multitude of bike, rollerblade and jogging trails makes the park land home to many sport enthusiests in the summer months. The park is cleaned and well maintained, groundskeepers can be seen busily cutting grass, picking up carelessly thrown litter or otherwise ensuring the beauty of the island.
Contents:
Pobble
Obvious exits:
Centre Island
//.etro: It is 02:10 am, the dead of night, on Tuesday the 13. day of January, 2009.
Pobble stands on a smaller section of beach, a notoriously easy to spot furry sillouette captured in the moonlight for a second before a cloud dims the glow. Braids shift slightly in the grasp of the wind but remain mostly held down with their implanted implements. A cherry moves slowly as the figure sucks on a cigarette, the smoke whipping around his head with the ocean breeze. He stands right on the waterfront, small waves lapping at his boots.
This place is deserted. Nobody hangs out on a beach in the dead of winter; the winds keep normal, sane people in their place. Penny comes walking up from a beach on the south side of the island, boots tied together by their laces and slung over her shoulder. Jeans rolled up past the knee; they look dark. Wet or stained. Walking slowly toward you along an erroded dune, her footprints are washed away in the ebbing high tide.
//.etro: Pobble rolls "arete" at diff 5
For a botch!
//.etro: Penny rolls "arete" at diff 5
For a total of 3 success(es).
You paged Pobble with 'Tell me what's in your head.'.
Pobble pages: Jealousy, lonliness.. Angst monkies.
Something falls from the man's left non-smoking hand. A small capsule, bouncing in the lull of the tide before it gets swept out, a needle's point flashing in the starlight before being pulled into a wave.
The man gasps, and starts to sway as if about to fall. He takes a step back, almost involuntarily but something goes wrong. His right leg bends the wrong way, as if it had snapped at the knee, such a surreal sight it is. The furry fellow falls backwards, landing flat out on the sand arms out to either side in cruciform.
The tide has seemed to take pity on the man, as it retreats further. A weary hand shakes sand from the cigarette before taking another puff, with a sigh.
Mashing down cliffside, Penny picks up the pace a little and books down the shoreline kicking up sand and crunching down seashells. Her hand skims the surface a few times trying to make a grab at the floating needle, gives up on the third attempt.
Dragging weeds and sludge from the lake, Penny trudges back toward the place where you fell and kicks at your foot. "Stop it. He isn't gone, he isn't GONE." She kneels on your right and picks up your wrist, feeling for a pulse "It's a timeshare thing. Jumps around," and feels around in the pocket of the coat for cigarettes. "Where's your lighter, c'mon.."
Indeed there is a lighter, and a crumpled softpack of imported Dunhill 100s. Dr Steve's leg twitches the wrong way, and close up its apparent that his boots are covered in a thick layer of algae, almost gluing them to the sand.
"I know.." "Its just.. You wondered why Jesus thought it were so bad. He was going to get back up fighting in 3 days, back in heaven. Was no loss right?"
"That was the hard part. Having God turn away. Turn. Away." The line is punctuated with a long drag on the cigarette, illuminating damp sand speckled cheeks, and scratches along the 'crown of thorns'.
He flashes a smile, alas a somewhat lame attempt at one. His empty hand reaches up to his hat, laying off to one side of his head and extracts a small parcel from the band near Cally - The Fool.
The thin, wrinkled plastic sleeve comes loose, a sudden gust shivering it down to the driftwood. For it size, it makes a lot of noise, catching in between fallen branches and the remains of a picked-at gull picnic. Penny makes with the flick-flicking, cornering the cigarette between her lips and twists her body carefully but the trenchcoat slips its knots and blood seeps through her shirts.
Hands cupped just right, she pauses, silhouetted in the crescent moon "Cut that shit out, Jesus was just a man."
The wind dies long enough for her to light up and she tosses the plastic thing square on your chest. "This thing is playing you, playing us. It's a sickness, a virus. It's got up in the blood and it wants something. After new years? I was at this thing and I swear someone was washing my feet" then an afterthought "can feel it when I dream."
She palms the lit end and looks down at you "Is divine euphoria supposed to peak like this? Look at you, you're bottoming out."
A vague smile twists Pobble's lips as if remembering something pleasant. A fingertip rubs at the retrieved paper parcel as his arm returns to rest on his chest. The last draw on the cigarette encompasses the cork coloured filter in its burn, but the noxious fumes don't seem to affect the chemist. A deft fingerflip sends the butt flying and its lifted away on a brief gust of wind.
"Jesus was just a metaphor." Ice eyes swivel to view you, and a now free hand moves vaguely towards your feet at talk of washing, as if drawn of its own accord. The lapping water decides to make an untimely run, almost passing the level of Pobble's boots. One foot avoids the deluge by an uncanny motion of a reversed knee. There's a spasm, with its accompanying facial twist, and his thigh straightens out. Leg returns down hard, thumping the heel into the sand.
"Weird ain't it." He puts the paper parcel in his mouth, gripping it against the wind in his teeth as he retrives a small device from a pocket. A block with a pair of deep grooves, one of which is mostly filled with a silver tube.
Sitting indian-style she agrees "Yes," watching your hand fall short of her feet, maybe "It's fucking weird." Wrists balanced after a fashion across knees, the one with the cigarette hardly moves - the wind does all her ashing for her.
A fog has started to coallesce and rise off the lake; reducing visibility rapidly, the dry haze is almost blue. In the distance a foghorn is blowing and a whistle replies with one long then two short blasts.
She drags long and watches the butt roll down the little incline, watches the white wrapper grey-out in the water "What's that?" indicating with a brief nod to the block.
Dr Steve sits up, and in the hollow of his legs, he places the block atop his coat, extracting the tube. The parcel is retrieved from his teeth and he unfolds it with the extreme patience and dilligence as one would use while constructing an origami statue of liberty. Some deft tapping and arranging results in the pink contents of the package being released into the grooves. He does however, continue to wrangle the paper until it forms the shape of a strange little plane which he releases to the wind.
His hair seems somewhat unruly in the wind, and emits a tinkling as the glass components hit each other. The hat flips over and rolls off to the side, repositioning itself face down and causing the card to fall out and dance along the sand.
"Best Christmas present ever?" he asks, smiling despite his mood - a little of the old Dr Steve showing through. The old, but tired Dr Steve. The silver tube is placed into one of the grooves and shielded from the wind, the block is proffered to you. His gaze shifts from you out to what's left visible of the lake amidst the fog. "Should we die, the world may end." he says, somewhat out of the blue.
The foghorn blasts another short round and ripples move across the lake. Out there is the sputtering hum of a motor boat. A dying engine, choked with brine and other things best left at the bottom of a lake.
"But we're seven days outside the Epiphany," the drug talking again, using Penny's voice to protest something about the timing, the timing is all wrong. Wrestling with this idea, she doesn't realize she's smoked down to the filter and is surprised when her fingertips are singed. She tosses off the cigarette and eyes the tube. Pink's familiar. Looks at the block
"You first."
Pobble shifts on the sand and negociates with his head until it aligns itself with the left hand groove. Taking the silver tube he plants one end in block, one end in nose. A fingertip on empty nostril and shhhhhhht. Eyes close for a second, blinking involuntarily and a catalogue issue smile plants itself square upon his lips. A wobbly hand once more proffers the implement in your direction, and after a second it moves back as Steve slumps back to rest on one elbow. The block still proffered, just further out of reach. Lazy fucker.
"Is he still angry at being trapped?" he asks in a faint warbling tone.
"I told you."
Penny's hand makes a grab for the block and straw, "it wants something. Doesn't stay angry very long, tries to come at me when I sleep but there's Jesse's place and he can't get in" and seeing as Pobble hasn't expired she doses just as fast. Doesn't smile though. It doesn't hit her the same way. Knuckling into her nose both sides, Penny shakes her head, elbows down on the silty pebble sand. Sun's starting to come up so she keeps her eyes on the horizon.
"He moves in mysterious ways." they said. Pobble shrugs, bringing up his apparently unbroken knees and hugging them against the cold, with fists clenched as not to bloody the material. His coat shifts in the wind, patterns forming and unforming in the shag of the fur.
"I'm still working on DivComp3. It'll be.. interesting. Need to do some study.." he pauses to shudder with some euphoric glint in his eye. "And reprocessing. We'll see.." He turns from you again, following your gaze to the sunrise.
Centre Island - Island Park(#1262RnJ)
The beaches on the island's south side are supervised in July and August. A wide range of facilities are available, including washrooms, drinking fountains, water taps, lots of picnic areas with fire pits, first-aid stations and police. Small beaches, wooded areas, open grass picnic places and a couple of stone garden sites also dot this southern end of the island, creating a nice, relaxing atmosphere to enjoy the company of friends and family. The multitude of bike, rollerblade and jogging trails makes the park land home to many sport enthusiests in the summer months. The park is cleaned and well maintained, groundskeepers can be seen busily cutting grass, picking up carelessly thrown litter or otherwise ensuring the beauty of the island.
Contents:
Pobble
Obvious exits:
Centre Island
//.etro: It is 02:10 am, the dead of night, on Tuesday the 13. day of January, 2009.
Pobble stands on a smaller section of beach, a notoriously easy to spot furry sillouette captured in the moonlight for a second before a cloud dims the glow. Braids shift slightly in the grasp of the wind but remain mostly held down with their implanted implements. A cherry moves slowly as the figure sucks on a cigarette, the smoke whipping around his head with the ocean breeze. He stands right on the waterfront, small waves lapping at his boots.
This place is deserted. Nobody hangs out on a beach in the dead of winter; the winds keep normal, sane people in their place. Penny comes walking up from a beach on the south side of the island, boots tied together by their laces and slung over her shoulder. Jeans rolled up past the knee; they look dark. Wet or stained. Walking slowly toward you along an erroded dune, her footprints are washed away in the ebbing high tide.
//.etro: Pobble rolls "arete" at diff 5
For a botch!
//.etro: Penny rolls "arete" at diff 5
For a total of 3 success(es).
You paged Pobble with 'Tell me what's in your head.'.
Pobble pages: Jealousy, lonliness.. Angst monkies.
Something falls from the man's left non-smoking hand. A small capsule, bouncing in the lull of the tide before it gets swept out, a needle's point flashing in the starlight before being pulled into a wave.
The man gasps, and starts to sway as if about to fall. He takes a step back, almost involuntarily but something goes wrong. His right leg bends the wrong way, as if it had snapped at the knee, such a surreal sight it is. The furry fellow falls backwards, landing flat out on the sand arms out to either side in cruciform.
The tide has seemed to take pity on the man, as it retreats further. A weary hand shakes sand from the cigarette before taking another puff, with a sigh.
Mashing down cliffside, Penny picks up the pace a little and books down the shoreline kicking up sand and crunching down seashells. Her hand skims the surface a few times trying to make a grab at the floating needle, gives up on the third attempt.
Dragging weeds and sludge from the lake, Penny trudges back toward the place where you fell and kicks at your foot. "Stop it. He isn't gone, he isn't GONE." She kneels on your right and picks up your wrist, feeling for a pulse "It's a timeshare thing. Jumps around," and feels around in the pocket of the coat for cigarettes. "Where's your lighter, c'mon.."
Indeed there is a lighter, and a crumpled softpack of imported Dunhill 100s. Dr Steve's leg twitches the wrong way, and close up its apparent that his boots are covered in a thick layer of algae, almost gluing them to the sand.
"I know.." "Its just.. You wondered why Jesus thought it were so bad. He was going to get back up fighting in 3 days, back in heaven. Was no loss right?"
"That was the hard part. Having God turn away. Turn. Away." The line is punctuated with a long drag on the cigarette, illuminating damp sand speckled cheeks, and scratches along the 'crown of thorns'.
He flashes a smile, alas a somewhat lame attempt at one. His empty hand reaches up to his hat, laying off to one side of his head and extracts a small parcel from the band near Cally - The Fool.
The thin, wrinkled plastic sleeve comes loose, a sudden gust shivering it down to the driftwood. For it size, it makes a lot of noise, catching in between fallen branches and the remains of a picked-at gull picnic. Penny makes with the flick-flicking, cornering the cigarette between her lips and twists her body carefully but the trenchcoat slips its knots and blood seeps through her shirts.
Hands cupped just right, she pauses, silhouetted in the crescent moon "Cut that shit out, Jesus was just a man."
The wind dies long enough for her to light up and she tosses the plastic thing square on your chest. "This thing is playing you, playing us. It's a sickness, a virus. It's got up in the blood and it wants something. After new years? I was at this thing and I swear someone was washing my feet" then an afterthought "can feel it when I dream."
She palms the lit end and looks down at you "Is divine euphoria supposed to peak like this? Look at you, you're bottoming out."
A vague smile twists Pobble's lips as if remembering something pleasant. A fingertip rubs at the retrieved paper parcel as his arm returns to rest on his chest. The last draw on the cigarette encompasses the cork coloured filter in its burn, but the noxious fumes don't seem to affect the chemist. A deft fingerflip sends the butt flying and its lifted away on a brief gust of wind.
"Jesus was just a metaphor." Ice eyes swivel to view you, and a now free hand moves vaguely towards your feet at talk of washing, as if drawn of its own accord. The lapping water decides to make an untimely run, almost passing the level of Pobble's boots. One foot avoids the deluge by an uncanny motion of a reversed knee. There's a spasm, with its accompanying facial twist, and his thigh straightens out. Leg returns down hard, thumping the heel into the sand.
"Weird ain't it." He puts the paper parcel in his mouth, gripping it against the wind in his teeth as he retrives a small device from a pocket. A block with a pair of deep grooves, one of which is mostly filled with a silver tube.
Sitting indian-style she agrees "Yes," watching your hand fall short of her feet, maybe "It's fucking weird." Wrists balanced after a fashion across knees, the one with the cigarette hardly moves - the wind does all her ashing for her.
A fog has started to coallesce and rise off the lake; reducing visibility rapidly, the dry haze is almost blue. In the distance a foghorn is blowing and a whistle replies with one long then two short blasts.
She drags long and watches the butt roll down the little incline, watches the white wrapper grey-out in the water "What's that?" indicating with a brief nod to the block.
Dr Steve sits up, and in the hollow of his legs, he places the block atop his coat, extracting the tube. The parcel is retrieved from his teeth and he unfolds it with the extreme patience and dilligence as one would use while constructing an origami statue of liberty. Some deft tapping and arranging results in the pink contents of the package being released into the grooves. He does however, continue to wrangle the paper until it forms the shape of a strange little plane which he releases to the wind.
His hair seems somewhat unruly in the wind, and emits a tinkling as the glass components hit each other. The hat flips over and rolls off to the side, repositioning itself face down and causing the card to fall out and dance along the sand.
"Best Christmas present ever?" he asks, smiling despite his mood - a little of the old Dr Steve showing through. The old, but tired Dr Steve. The silver tube is placed into one of the grooves and shielded from the wind, the block is proffered to you. His gaze shifts from you out to what's left visible of the lake amidst the fog. "Should we die, the world may end." he says, somewhat out of the blue.
The foghorn blasts another short round and ripples move across the lake. Out there is the sputtering hum of a motor boat. A dying engine, choked with brine and other things best left at the bottom of a lake.
"But we're seven days outside the Epiphany," the drug talking again, using Penny's voice to protest something about the timing, the timing is all wrong. Wrestling with this idea, she doesn't realize she's smoked down to the filter and is surprised when her fingertips are singed. She tosses off the cigarette and eyes the tube. Pink's familiar. Looks at the block
"You first."
Pobble shifts on the sand and negociates with his head until it aligns itself with the left hand groove. Taking the silver tube he plants one end in block, one end in nose. A fingertip on empty nostril and shhhhhhht. Eyes close for a second, blinking involuntarily and a catalogue issue smile plants itself square upon his lips. A wobbly hand once more proffers the implement in your direction, and after a second it moves back as Steve slumps back to rest on one elbow. The block still proffered, just further out of reach. Lazy fucker.
"Is he still angry at being trapped?" he asks in a faint warbling tone.
"I told you."
Penny's hand makes a grab for the block and straw, "it wants something. Doesn't stay angry very long, tries to come at me when I sleep but there's Jesse's place and he can't get in" and seeing as Pobble hasn't expired she doses just as fast. Doesn't smile though. It doesn't hit her the same way. Knuckling into her nose both sides, Penny shakes her head, elbows down on the silty pebble sand. Sun's starting to come up so she keeps her eyes on the horizon.
"He moves in mysterious ways." they said. Pobble shrugs, bringing up his apparently unbroken knees and hugging them against the cold, with fists clenched as not to bloody the material. His coat shifts in the wind, patterns forming and unforming in the shag of the fur.
"I'm still working on DivComp3. It'll be.. interesting. Need to do some study.." he pauses to shudder with some euphoric glint in his eye. "And reprocessing. We'll see.." He turns from you again, following your gaze to the sunrise.
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