[AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Light =&gt; Light: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: meikle on 11-04-2013, 11:19:42</h2>
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				Title: <strong>[AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>11-04-2013, 11:19:42</strong>
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				<div align="center">(http://i.imgur.com/OnqMmWe.png)</div><br><em>GOMORRAH</em>: A bustling holding, home to some two hundred and fifty souls and scrapped together around a well that gives up clean, pure water.&nbsp; The hardholder, a woman named Esther who ousted the previous ruler with the force of a bunch of guns and even more brutes with baseball bats and steel poles, has been sitting in the walled compound at the far end of the town for about three years, about a third of the place's life.&nbsp; She doesn't have a lot of rules, but she ones she does have are enforced brutally: don't fuck with Esther, don't fuck with the water, don't fuck with the hunters or the fishers. Beyond that, Gomorrah's pretty lawless -- and if Esther and her crew gotta step in to fix a problem, nobody goes home happy.<br><br>There's a little river that runs by the place, more like a creek, but people who drink out of it get sick, and they stay sick for weeks a time.&nbsp; It's bad news.&nbsp; They pull fish out this river that're like a meter long sometimes, though, and cooked right, they're good food.&nbsp; Hunters branch out, looking for the massive rodents that make their way out in the dusty reaches, and sometimes go further off, plucking gleaming white beetles the size of a fist from the trunks of trees in the sparse woods that shoot up here and there.<br><br>Most of the buildings here are scratched together from spare parts, disassembled cars, cinder blocks, trees -- whatever people had on hand to build some shelter from the fucking sun, filled with whatever they've managed to bring with 'em or build themselves.<br><br>And, at least for now, it's home.<br><br><strong>RUTH</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">It's late afternoon, coming on evening; the sun's been up all day, it's hot as hell, but at least it's a little bit cooler out front of the infirmary, where Anise put up a nice cloth overhang to provide some shade.&nbsp; She's not there now; off doing errands of some sort or another, but John's around, sitting on an old chair that's suffered some damage and the stuffing's sticking out every which way.&nbsp; It doesn't take away much from the ugly brown-and-yellow floral pattern, though.&nbsp; He's drinking from a glass of water and looking out down the street.&nbsp; For its size, Gomorrah's pretty bustling, and John, he's a people watcher.<br><br>The water in his glass, like in the pitcher on the upside-down bucket he's using as a table, is sparkling pure, Gomorrah's big claim to fame: water enough for everyone, all the time, and cleaner than you'll ever goddamn believe if you've never been.&nbsp; He holds it up to his face and looks through it every now again; the water is clearer than the glass that holds it.<br><br>Sometime's John's talkative, but sometimes he just rambles, like he doesn't really care if anybody's listening to him or not.&nbsp; Now's not one of those times, though, he's mostly sitting quiet, sipping his water, people watching.&nbsp; And then he says, "Hey, Ruth,"&nbsp; and he points out down the street toward someone stumbling along toward the infirmary.&nbsp; Other people out there stare, some of 'em move out of the way.&nbsp; "Hey, Ruth, is that Anise?"<br><br>Whoever it is, they're in bad shape, staggering, and pretty fucking bloody.<br><br><strong>Ruth,</strong> what do you do?</div></div><br><strong>JACK</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">It's late afternoon; the sun's been up all day, but Jack's been inside.&nbsp; In fact, he's just stepping out onto the dusty unpaved streets of Gomorrah in time to see the sun on its downward path in the sky.&nbsp; What's he been up to all day, anyway?&nbsp; Is this even his house?<br><br>The first thing he catches sight of out there is Jeanette, one of Cringe's crew.&nbsp; She's got an old ball cap on; it's black with an angular, grey face on the front with big black eyes.&nbsp; She carries a baseball bat wherever she goes, too, but it's scratched to all hell, and the popular theory is that it's got names etched into it, but who knows for sure, most people never get a real good look at it until she was hittin' 'em with it, and by then, they weren't often trying to read those scratches.&nbsp; Anyway, the bat she's got slung over her shoulder, and it's a little bloody, leaving little drops that plop into the dust below and turn into little red stains.&nbsp; She shoots Jack a glance as she passes, and smiles.&nbsp; She's missing a few teeth, and the rest aren't in great shape.<br><br>Fortunately, Jack doesn't have to linger on those teeth for too long; in short order, he's got a couple of big guys eyeballing him, coming right at him.&nbsp; Member's of Esther's crew, both of 'em: Barker and Mimi.&nbsp; At least they're not being aggressive; Barker and Mimi, when they want to, they can cause some damage, but right now they're pretty casual.&nbsp; Barker says, "Hey, you're Jack, right?"<br><br>"Of course he's Jack, you think it's someone else?"<br><br>"Hey Jack, you gotta come with us."<br><br><strong>Jack</strong>, what do you do?</div></div><br><strong>HAVEL</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">It's late afternoon.&nbsp; Havel's gang's dispersed, mostly, into Gomorrah; a few of 'em keep guard of the bikes, always, but a lot of 'em have started to establish at least some temporary interests here, so while they've got time, that's what they're off doing.&nbsp; It's always a bustle when they show up; Havel's gang just about matches Esther's in size, and she's always wary about keeping that many hardasses around the hold, especially hardasses who answer to <em>somebody else</em>.&nbsp; There's always that certain wariness whenever he passes by one of her people, like they're sizing him up.<br><br>Now, Havel's out at the little corral, where about a half dozen of his guys are hanging out keeping an eye on the bikes but mostly shooting the shit and playing dice, and one of 'em is here, trying to make right an ugly situation.<br><br>"I'm pretty sure he's dead," Kettle's saying.&nbsp; "I mean, I hope to hell he's not, but Gnarly put that guy through a fucking wringer back there.&nbsp; Captain, I wouldn't say it wasn't instigated, and probably it's understandable how worked up he got, but that guy was one of Esther's people, not like he got into a fight with some urchin back there, and I'm pretty sure that guy is done for.&nbsp; I don't even know where the fuck Gnarly is now, either, I wanted to get out of there before the boss lady showed up and man, I lost Gnarly on the way."<br><br><strong>Havel</strong>, what do you do?</div></div><br><strong>WHEELS</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">It's mid-late afternoon, and Wheels is idling in what might be called a saloon near the center of town, close enough to hear people dropping their buckets down and pulling 'em back up.&nbsp; Here they've got a pretty good cook, who hangs out in back and makes a pretty decent meal from ground prairie rat and beetle-flake sauce, and for people who are looking to lose a night or two, they even keep a pretty wicked cider on tap fermented from the massive, twisted fruits that grow on the trees that the beetles like so much.<br><br>While Wheels was enjoying herself, a fight broke out -- it started, it escalated, and it ended in just moments, from quiet bickering to sudden shouting and then there was a gunshot, and someone was laid out on the floor of the saloon, bleeding into the dusty floor.&nbsp; Hard to tell where it started, or even why, and by the time there was shouting, it was mostly just all curses and insults.<br><br>A few people had moved back when the fight had started, and a couple of them split when the gun went off.&nbsp; A lot of people stuck around for the spectacle.<br><br><strong>Wheels</strong>, what'd you do?&nbsp; What're you doing now?</div></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>11-04-2013, 20:06:19</strong>
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				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>The days without anyone around the infirmary to look after feel the hottest most times. No work to distract from the sun crushing down on everything, that asshole. There's still the little things to do of course. There's always something. Ruth's in there tidying up the place to her satisfaction when John's voice comes in through the doorway, just calling her real casual like. So she doesn't pay much attention. Just sticks to getting that patchwork sheet laid out on one of their...well, let's be generous and call them cots, even if they're little more than some scavenged padding on the ground in some cases. Maybe the infirmary's a bit better than the average structure in Gomorrah - folks can get pretty generous about pitching in materials when it could save their own lives some day - but that's not saying a whole lot. Anyway, point being John just likes the sound of his own voice too much for Ruth to bother listening to every word he says. Other things to do, better ways to spend her time.<br><br>"Hey, Ruth, is that Anise?"<br><br>That's different. Ruth grabs her cap on her way to the exit, brushes aside the weighted curtain they use for a door. Anise or not, it doesn't take much to see it's someone fucked up royally heading their way. She steps back inside for her shoes, then she's out and heading for the shambling figure. Just a quick, "Prep station one," over her shoulder as she goes, her coffee-brown skin brought to a glow when she steps from the shade out into that baking heat. She doesn't run, though. No sense rushing toward something she doesn't know for sure what it is yet. A good crisp walk toward whoever that is got themselves so bloodied up, see if she can't help them along to the infirmary a ways quicker since that seems to be where they're going anyway.
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				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>12-04-2013, 01:21:36</strong>
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				"You lost him?"<br><br>Despite the day's heat, Havel's roughened baritone holds a glacial edge. Never one for a sunny disposition, the Captain's mental pattern had gone from bored to fucking pissed about two seconds after Kettle started babbling, and now he's really ready to start cracking skulls. Clenching his hands so hard behind his back that the leather of his gloves wasn't the only thing creaking, Havel starts in on his rather unfortunate trooper. He never raises his voice for a moment, but with that much venom applied to his words, he doesn't need to to make Kettle wince.<br><br>"Let's get straight, here. Two Company Men are out and about. One've Esther's bully-boys gets into it with one, so he stomps him. The other one burns off back to the laager to report, but he leaves his buddy behind." A pause, while Havel focuses on sharpening his thunderhead glare into something truly knee-buckling. "So now I've got no idea where the man who's probably on the wrong end of a lynch mob has got to. I can't help but think that killin' one of Esther's boys is gonna make Gnarly a little unpopular around here."<br><br>Rocking back, Havel pulls in a deep breath and sighs it out, completely exasperated. Pacing up and down for a moment, he points at two of the men hanging out by the bikes, playing cards. "Take Geek and Manimal. Find Gnarly. Check the drinkin' holes, check the flop-houses, and if he's got a lady in town, check there too. Roust any Company Man you run into, tell 'em we're on alert. Because you and Gnarly are fuckin' idiots. I want everyone locked and loaded, ready for trouble, but for fuck's sake, do not start anything. I'll deal with the Bitch myself. Where did all of this go down? I wanna start there, see what I can find out from someone who stuck around to see what was what."
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				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>chaoslord29</strong> on <strong>12-04-2013, 21:08:05</strong>
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				Jack greets the afternoon sun having intermittently napped the day away, his more lucid moments having been spent carefully arranging and assembling his myriad collection of knives and shivs and every other imaginable edged weapon in intricate patterns and assortments on a fine sheet of cloth. During the process each blade undergoes an individual inspection, but it’s anyone's guess how Jack decides in what order to do so or how he manages to keep them all straight in his head. Various articles of Jack’s clothing undergo a similar inspection and regimen of folding and preening at some point during the day, leaving jack naked after a certain point but now, exiting the shade of the yurt in his full regalia, he is delighted to return Jeanette’s less than toothsome smile with one of his own and a jaunty wave before Barker and Mimi approach.<br><br>“If you know someone else who would be me, I’d be happy to help you look for them.” Jack says, nodding considerately in response to Barker’s question, before Mimi interrupts.<br><br>“Sure.” he says, shrugging as he pads forward to stand between them still wearing his unnerving smile. “Is someone going to end up dead?” He asks, managing to make the question completely devoid of any sort of threat while still conveying the same undercurrent of wrongness. All the while Jack takes in a careful appraisal of both individuals, getting a read on their general bearing and any weapons they might be carrying.
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				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>12-04-2013, 21:54:58</strong>
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				"Career Sosa is +2."&nbsp; Wheels did the math "That ties us at 10 each."&nbsp; She picked up a jack of hearts laying to the side and threw it into the discard atop the eight of spades she'd just drawn.&nbsp; "And I'm calling in an error to make it a score."&nbsp; She uncovered a pip on the nine of diamonds partially obscured by a face-down fellow.&nbsp; She was winning six-to-four at the top of the seventh, and looked good to win the game.<br><br>The gap-toothed fellow across from her stared down at the table with a sullen pout.&nbsp; He was a grimy lad not quite old enough to shave, though some of that grime might be peach-fuzz decorating his pocked face.&nbsp; The boy obviously didn't like losing, and Wheels didn't blame him.&nbsp; Baseball was fairly popular in Gomorrah, though Wheels preferred the real thing to the card game.<br><br>You could find serious jingle collecting cards though, if you managed to put together a decent team.&nbsp; Silly game, but then there wasn't fuck else to do around here but sit and play and keep your brain open for opportunity.&nbsp; Almost a week now, and not a commission paying jack-shit to show for it.&nbsp; Maybe it was time to wheel out of this burg and find someplace with more action.&nbsp; She drew an ace as she thought, and winced.&nbsp; An ace was bad news when you were pitching.<br><br>She lost the bottom half of course, and the game was now six-five.&nbsp; To damn close to call. Shit.&nbsp; She wasn't much disturbed by the fight, but there was no telling what an over-confident winner or a sore loser might do.&nbsp; Drivers that lived kept their heads out of their asses, so while she brought up her next batter she let her peripheral vision and her ears tell her what was up and why.&nbsp; <br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">OoC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Read the sitch: 7 &nbsp;(http://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=45756)</div></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>14-04-2013, 18:20:53</strong>
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				<strong>RUTH</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">That seems like a good idea to John; he sets his cup down on that bucket and disappears into the infirmary.<br><br>Ruth doesn't rush, but it doesn't take very long for her to cover most of the ground between her infirmary and the staggering somebody.&nbsp; Whoever it is, their flimsy white shirt brilliant red with blood -- pretty recently drawn, given its brilliant hue -- and their dirty blond hair is matter down.&nbsp; She's got a hand held to her forehead, covering one eye.&nbsp; The steps she takes are awkward but hurried, like she's in a rush but she's not quite confident that her next step is going to fall quite where she's planning it.<br><br>A little closer and damn, yeah, it's definitely Anise.&nbsp; Even through the violence, it's clear to see, with her pointy chin and puffy lips, and of course, when she looks up to Ruth with those blue eyes of hers.&nbsp; She once told Ruth that her daddy said she would've been royalty in the golden age, as if it matters now.&nbsp; Sometimes you could see it in her face, like maybe she really could've been regal, sitting on some throne at the top of one of those towers so high the clouds had to part around it, but stumbling this way, no way, she's just the same flesh and blood and dirt as the rest of Gomorrah, except right now, she's maybe got a little bit less blood in her than the average.<br><br>Closer yet, and that one blue eye locked on Ruth, Anise says, rasping a bit, "Ruth, Ruth," until she's close enough to talk without trying to yell, to be heard even though her voice is mostly a coarse whisper just now: "Got jumped," she says, "One of Cringe's girls.&nbsp; Maybe a few broken ribs.&nbsp; Split my head open, probably not my skull.&nbsp; Bandages, bed rest," she prescribes herself, "Jeanette, I think," she mutters.&nbsp; Isn't that the girl with the baseball bat?<br><br>Why would Jeanette wanna smash up Anise, anyway?&nbsp; Any idea?&nbsp; And <strong>Ruth</strong>, what do you do?</div></div><br><strong>JACK</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">"Har har," Barker says, not a laugh at all.&nbsp; Neither of them seem incredibly excited to be dealing with Jack; he's got that reputation about him, right?&nbsp; A freakish body count and all kinds of rumors.&nbsp; Not good news.&nbsp; Besides, who could ever need that many god damn knives?&nbsp; The things he says come out muffled through the surgical mask he wears; thing's brown with age, and it sounds more like, "Hur hur."<br><br>Mimi's wearing brass knuckles, but Jack's seen him before, and he's always got those things -- either he's wearing 'em, or he's holding 'em, playing with 'em, like a totem or security blanket for a brute.&nbsp; He shifts a bit of his weight, eyeballs Jack warily as he comes to stand between the two.<br><br>"Man, I fuckin' hope not," Mimi says.&nbsp; <br><br>"Madison wants to see you," Barker says.&nbsp; "You know Madison?"<br><br><strong>Jack</strong>, you know Madison.&nbsp; <strong>Who is that</strong>?&nbsp; What do you do?</div></div><br><strong>HAVEL</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">"Shit, uh," Kettle manages.&nbsp; Kettle does not have eyebrows.&nbsp; Isn't that pretty weird?&nbsp; Like he's got this lush head of hair (or anyway, he did, before he shaved the whole damn thing off), he's got a full beard (that he keeps neat, but only grudgingly), but he hasn't got eyebrows.&nbsp; "Man, you know I didn't do shit.&nbsp; That's on Gnarly, Captain," Kettle says.&nbsp; "I mean, damn.&nbsp; It was at Balls' place, that place they sell the cider."&nbsp; Yeah, that cider -- won't just make you ornery, but half the time it really sends a person on a trip.<br><br>Balls, right?&nbsp; That's Cringe's girl, and even if Havel's kind of an outsider, he's at least got an inkling about Cringe, this woman who's got her fingertips all over the Gomorran markets, just taking a little bit of everything for herself.&nbsp; She doesn't fuck with Havel's gang, as a rule -- nothing to gain, but so much to lose.<br><br>"Right," Kettle says, and kind of backs off.&nbsp; "Right, I'll get Manimal and Geek, try to keep things calm.&nbsp; Shit," he says; as he goes off to rouse those guys from their card game, he mutters something about 'blowing a sweet gig'.<br><br>Hey <strong>Havel</strong>, is Company Man literal?&nbsp; You run a boys club, or is it metaphorical?&nbsp; Also, who does your fancy stitchwork?&nbsp; And, hey, what're you doing?</div></div><br><strong>WHEELS</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">It's hard not to pay attention once shots are fired; as far as Wheels' opponent is concerned, the game is <em>over</em> when shots start getting fired, fuck the rules and fuck the winnings.&nbsp; Six-five is pretty close anyway.<br><br>"Rematch later," Tug says, and just like that he's sweeping his cards off the table.&nbsp; A few of Wheels' playing cards get caught up in it as he goes, though he doesn't seem to be paying attention and he's kind of in enough of a rush to get out of there that probably he doesn't care.&nbsp; Pretty much as soon as he makes that sweep, he's kicking the chair out from under him.<br><br>The big guy in the leather coat, the guy with the gun, he seems noteworthy.&nbsp; He's pissed.&nbsp; He's shouting, like, "Learn some fucking respect, you fucking skag," and he's slamming a boot into the guy on the ground.&nbsp; That guy's not moving much, but the movement he is doing, he's trying to pull away.&nbsp; A few people are watching.<br><br>Balls, she runs the place technically, but really it just seems like they call it 'Balls' place' and she just shows up to collect profits, she steps up from the back room, where the cooks hang out and common mumble is that there's a private dining room back there, too, though who knows for sure.&nbsp; Balls, she's flat as a board, and she's got a flair for flashy clothes, like how today she's wearing this top that's really basically just fishnet.&nbsp; Whatever; she pulls it off.&nbsp; She looks over the room, too, eyeballing the violence and the people bailing and casting her glance toward Wheels, too, just at the same time that Tug's kicking off.<br><br>Shit, did he scoop up one of Wheels' baseball cards in his rush, too?&nbsp; <strong>Wheels</strong>, what do you do?</div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>14-04-2013, 22:28:19</strong>
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				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>With only so many blondes the right build odds are good their imminent patient is Anise, but Ruth holds out hope for an alternative up until she gets a good look at that baby blue.<br><br>So shit.<br><br>A random walk-in she'd have shut up by now. Not so much with Anise, least not while what she's saying might be helpful. Let her talk a while, get a feel for how hard her head took that beating. Sounds like she's not slurring bad, keeping her thoughts together. Good signs. Trauma might be pretty light despite all the mess. Scalp wounds fuckin' love to bleed. Might not be so bad. The balance issue's a worry. Ruth tucks up under Anise's arm, the one that's not holding in an eye, wraps around her waist and takes that stagger weight to speed things along.<br><br>"Doesn't much matter to me who did it right now," she says. "I'll think about that noise when you stop gushing on me." Truth is, maybe it was a surprise for a second, but it'd be more surprising if Anise never came back bloody the way she goes around the place most days. Not to say she's earned it, just sometimes seems like she thinks she'd give the Skinner a run for her fans. Rarely a good idea flaunting what you've got if you're gonna have that attitude behind it, not around the fucking psychopaths. Anise is a nice girl; she just doesn't think ahead, think what's like to happen when she talks herself up around schizos not half so pretty then tells them she's not into girls. Was really just a matter of time before one of them lost it.<br><br>Wraps, stitches, water, ice if they have any ready, alcohol. Shouldn't need anything heavy-duty from the look of things. Here's hoping it's not worse than it looks.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>15-04-2013, 05:30:02</strong>
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				Havel's not a man used to getting back-chat in a situation that looks to be this serious, but he decides that Kettle is a problem for another day. Getting too big for his breeches, the little bastard. Either that or he's just too stupid to figure out that a Company Man offing one of Esther's crew could start a frakking <em>war</em>. Maybe it was time for Scribe to do a reading from the old books, the ones with the lessons about responsibility and duty to a family...<br><br>Heading over to his bike, Havel checks the rounds in his big double-barreled shotgun, then draws his machete and runs a thumb along the blade. Satisfied that his weapons are ready, he checks over the rest of his gear, finding only some loose threads in his patch; wind damage, have to get Pokey to look at it. Sighing in repressed frustration, he hauls on his heavy armored jacket and walks over to talk with the remaining sentries. Scribe's scribbling something in one of his notebooks, while Morgan and Loper argue over what to play now that they've lost two partners.<br><br>"Morgan," he says, starting with the woman. "You're with me. We're headin' to Balls's place, see what we can dig up on the fight, maybe catch this thing before it blows up in our faces." She nods and throws in her hand, face up so everyone can see it looks more like a foot, then stands and starts checking her gear over just as Havel had done. She's of a height with her Captain, all long limbs and lean muscle, but still attractive in a fierce, aggressive way.<br><br>Turning to Scribe and Loper, he continues, "You two are on watch, just the two of you. Anyone comes back, tell 'em to sit tight and wait for my word. No townies come around the camp 'til I'm back, warn 'em off or just fuckin' shoot 'em if you have to. We're on lockdown, time bein'." Adding an inflection of concern, just the slightest bit, he adds, "Be careful. Could be bad." Both men, Loper a gangly, lanky youth, Scribe older and more compact, nod and pat weapons set within easy reach.<br><br>That said, he gestures for Morgan to follow and heads back to his bike, mounting up and bringing the big beast to life with a sputter, then a roar. Slapping on his half-helmet, he buckles it under his chin and looks towards Morgan's ride, waiting for her to be ready before pulling out and heading towards town and a whole bunch of problems he did not need.<br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>chaoslord29</strong> on <strong>18-04-2013, 18:34:01</strong>
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				“Not-Dead Madison . . . “ Jack reflects briefly as if running through a list in his mind, “The woman with the parasol, yes, hard luck being born with skin that pale, inclement weather as it is.” Jack’s comments are pleasant enough, despite the fact that they obviate his only surprisingly pale flesh, and as if the scorching heat they endure isn’t the norm.<br><br>“She’s one of Esther’s favorites isn’t she? Good with her hands for compressors and engines and the like.” Jack’s tone doesn’t convey any sort of deeper implications for ‘maintenance’, but the fact that madison is more or less what passes for a pretty-young-thing in Gomorrah begs the question for him: What exactly would Jack know about all that, since he’s hardly the sociable sort. Seems like every time Jack knows something about anything people jump to the idea that he must be skulking about or stalking said person/place/phenomenon. He’d been here for long enough now not to have to resort to anything than his usual surreptitious observation for a general knowledge of things. He was a good listener, even if people rarely liked to talk to him, and had sharp eyes even if people didn’t like him watching them.<br><br>Jack’s quick pace urged on the two thugs all the faster to reach their location, the spring in his step spurring them onward despite the fact that he showed no signs himself of exertion; he might as well be out for a Sunday stroll.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>19-04-2013, 09:00:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>RUTH</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Anise doesn't have much more to ramble; she's conservative with what she's got to say, at least usually, at least when it comes to work.&nbsp; So she staggers on, and soon, with Ruth's help, she's in the infirmary, crashed down on station one, one of these little cots that serve well enough for Ruth's purposes.&nbsp; By then, the damage is more apparent; the eye she'd had covered has swollen shut, but it looks like most of the blood is coming from a little bit further up, past her hairline.&nbsp; Getting her out of the top, she's got some pretty awful bruises, black and blue and green and nasty all over her side, like whoever did this to her never bothered to move her, just took laid out all that damage on the one side.<br><br>Yeah, she's got broken ribs, a couple of them, without a doubt.&nbsp; Clavicle, too, definitely seen better days.&nbsp; At least the bleeding has slowed; all those bruises are accompanied by a few scrapes and cuts here and there, but the worst of the damage is definitely blunt.<br><br>That's hopeful, though.&nbsp; She's not showing any real signs of internal damage, besides the few smashed bones, but isn't that how internal damage goes?<br><br>"Shit," John says, and he says it a lot since Anise and Ruth return.&nbsp; He's a good aide, though, and if nothing else, he knows where to find those things that Ruth needs to do treat her patient.&nbsp; His skill is mostly just in that, though -- being a good aide.<br><br>Once things have calmed down a bit, Anise is talkative again, though sticking with her rather matter-of-fact approach.&nbsp; "I'm going to kill her," she says, crossing an arm over her wounded torso.&nbsp; "I'm going to pull that bat out of her hands and smash her head in."<br><br>While Ruth is tending to Anise, John says, "Should we do something?"<br><br><strong>Ruth</strong>, should you do something?&nbsp; What do you do?</div></div><br><strong>HAVEL</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Morgan and Havel take off; he's on a mission, and she's not the most talkative person as it is, and over the roar of their bikes, what's even the point of trying?&nbsp; She's got a pretty slick bike, not the same kind of beastly, high-handled monsters most of the guys ride but a hunched over thing, more like she's riding a rocket than a chopper.&nbsp; She's gotten some shit for it in the past, but whatever; when the gang needs an outrider, who do they send?&nbsp; Yeah.<br><br>The ride to Gomorrah from the laager isn't incredibly long; a few minutes, maybe, ambling along at a comfortable pace; the roads aren't in good shape anymore, and going too terrible fast isn't incredibly safe, even for someone who is very at home with their bike.&nbsp; Wouldn't do very well to have things break down five minutes out.&nbsp; Beyond that, the road follows a few twists and turns along the way; Gomorrah's not settled in perfectly flat land, after all, and some hills sprout up as they go.<br><br>Those hills usually don't provide an issue, but they cause some problems for Havel and Morgan as they head toward town now: they round a corner and are greeted, very abruptly, with something nobody really ever wants to see: a funeral procession marches down the road.&nbsp; Now, for most of Gomorrah, dying just means getting tossed into a shallow grave, unless someone cares about you.&nbsp; Even if they do, it usually doesn't account for much more than a decent grave and a wooden marker.<br><br>But these aren't average Gomorrans; marching straight down the road, head-on with Havel and Morgan, these are a bunch of solar cultists.&nbsp; It's a group of about eight people, each of them wearing nothing more than skirts in yellow, orange, red, that have long since gone so pale as to border white.&nbsp; Some of them have dark skin; a few others are tanned so dark that they match.&nbsp; A pair of them are just badly sunburnt.&nbsp; The high priest leads the procession; it's an older guy, maybe his late forties, all wrinkled by age, with skin black as the midnight sky and a skirt as white as bone.&nbsp; He's a scarce sight; he doesn't often leave his cult's little compound out in the desert waste.<br><br>One of 'em looks familiar to Havel -- shit, is that Yankee?&nbsp; Fucker's been scarce around camp the past few days, but here he is, wearing a not-very-faded orange skirt, walking alongside this corpse-bearing litter.&nbsp; He's sweating pretty bad, but it's to be expected, more than these others are for sure.&nbsp; He's got the first inkling of the tattoos all of the other cultists are wearing -- a bright yellow mark on his forehead.<br><br>There's room to bypass these people if you take off the side of the road, but it'll be acting under fire, and the fire is, does your bike hold up to this sudden off-roading?&nbsp; If you take it slow, that's easier, but the high priest is with 'em, and rumors abound that all it takes is the high priest setting eyes on you to pull you under his sway.&nbsp; You don't believe that superstitious bullshit though, do you?&nbsp; <strong>Havel</strong>, what do you do?</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>19-04-2013, 19:49:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>All things considered, it could be worse. Head wounds always look horrendous but after you've seen a few you get used to the excessive bleeding and you either stop getting so worried about it or you find a different line of work. Ruth lets John take care of the disrobing while she carefully sifts through Anise's hair to look for the source, or sources, of the bleeding. That her assistant's eye appears intact is a godsend; no way in hell they could replace that. A little blood donation's not nearly as big a deal.<br><br>"Shit," says John.<br><br>Ruth blots the blood off her fingers on a clean rag. "Keep breathing, both of you. Anise, give me a deep breath - slow and careful. It's gonna hurt, but I need you to try. Just one deep breath in and out." While Anise deals with that she sends John on an errand to get his mind off the bio wreckage: "Stitches, ice, gloves, painkiller. Go."<br><br>There's not a whole lot can be done about the ribs. Injuries like this it's good to have John - or Anise, when she's not the patient - around to do the monitoring duty so Ruth doesn't have to babysit all the time herself. Just need to close up the lacerations on the scalp, get a feel for how many ribs are broken, roll Anise over to rest on the injured side - on some ice at first, take the cold away when the swelling goes down a bit - and set that clavicle. After that it's pretty much a watch and wait type situation, make sure things don't get worse while they heal on their own. She's gonna be bedridden for at least a week, probably longer.<br><br>The collarbone's the hard part. Before they can find a semi-permanent resting position for Anise she needs to figure out how bad that bone's gone. Which means making some hurt happen. If she waits for the painkillers to kick in it will be a little harder to gauge the extent of the injury. Better to be sure and unpleasant than maybe miss something being merciful.<br><br>So she's gotta check the range of motion on Anise's injured arm, feel her way around the bone to check for complications, all that fun stuff. Expect some squealing.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>20-04-2013, 23:51:43</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Upon sighting the crowd, the cold and calculating part of his mind that controlled him when he was riding took full control, and time slowed. Normally, Havel would have hugged the shoulder and taken his chances, maybe feathering the clutch to give the dicks hogging the road a blast from his engine when he went by. This is different though, what with one of his boys being in amongst the freaky cultists. Company Men had gone native in the past, but it's rare and Yankee ain't old enough to be feeling the long road behind and the bloody death ahead. Hell, he was still trying to eat up the road on his way, last time Havel checked, burning gas like any of the youngbloods.<br><br>Signaling to Morgan with a gesture and his brake-light, Havel slows down and rumbles directly into the path of the procession, his ride barking and growling like something large, dangerous and hungry. Swinging off his bike, Havel unslings his shotgun and starts walking the last few yards towards Yankee, automatically checking the load as he goes. He doesn't have to look back to see if Morgan is backing him up; he can hear the action of her SMG working as she slides a round into the chamber. It's gonna be one of those days, one fuckin' thing after another... It's too fucking hot for this horseshit, and he's got places to be and people to do.<br><br>"Yankee, I ain't in the mood. You got ten seconds t'explain why I shouldn't kill you now." Even now, his voice is simply firm and confident, not showing the mixture of frustration, anger and confusion that lies beneath the surface. He's not looking at Yankee directly, instead scanning the group with his gun aimed into the air, ready to drop if they get antsy. So, that's the honcho everybody seems so leery about? Havel's not one to fear the hand of God or anything, but nine out of ten times a kooky old man is a kooky old man. Time ten, he's something you don't want to be within a week's hard riding of. Too late to back down now, but Havel makes sure to keep one eye on the prick.<br><br>He's not paying to much attention to any one, just enough to make sure nobody pulls a gun on him. As far as he's concerned, Yankee is probably the most dangerous guy in this pack, a real veteran of the Company. That doesn't excuse desertion, which is what this looks like for damn sure; if he wanted out, he called a vote. If the Company thought they could lose him, they'd let him out, or they'd figure some other angle, something. Nobody just walks away from the Company, though, not no how.<br><br>"Nine, eight, seven..." he starts counting, even as he pulls back both hammers on his shotgun with an ominous ratcheting click-click. A Company Man deserves his say in a sitch like this, but Havel couldn't see any good reason for Yankee to be out here, sans buddy, sans bike. Most likely, he's about to end up bloating in the ditch for the buzzards. But even though Havel's pissed off and ready to kill, the Captain half of him has to hear Yankee out.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>21-04-2013, 16:32:30</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>JACK</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">"The fuck's a parasol?"<br><br>"Like that umbrella she's got."<br><br>"It don't hardly ever rain," Mimi says.<br><br>"Gets like a sauna when it does, maybe it's better this way."<br><br>"A what?"<br><br>They chatter like that for a while, leading through the hold.&nbsp; Now and then, when Jack gets to far ahead, Barker scolds him, like, "Hold up," or "Hey, I ain't fucking around."&nbsp; What's important is, after a bit, they have to reign Jack in 'cause he's getting ahead, but where he thinks they're going and where they're going aren't one in the same.&nbsp; Where did Jack expect to find Madison, anyway?<br><br>Instead, they divert toward a little ramshackle mess of hovels, this little dwellings people put together out of whatever the fuck they can find, places where when it <em>does</em> rain, having an umbrella's pretty nice because most of these places aren't gonna keep the water out.&nbsp; One of these hovels is humming.&nbsp; That's where Barker and Mimi lead Jack, to this humming hovel, just this little one-room space, maybe fifteen feet by fifteen feet.&nbsp; The door's a heavy sheet of metal, and Barker pulls it open with a grunt while Mimi leads in, lettin' Jack take the middle and followed by Barker.<br><br>Inside, the place is certainly unique.&nbsp; The hum is louder in here, and it's coming from a little generator that grinds along.&nbsp; And there's Madison, dressed for all the world like she stepped out of an old picture book, practically sepia-toned herself save for the pale, pale skin of hers, the kind that blisters in the sun, and the mop of red hair atop her head.&nbsp; She's settled in on a chair, talking to somebody Jack's never seen before, a wiry guy of maybe sixteen or seventeen, though they stop when Mimi and Jack and Barker all show up.<br><br>She's even got that parasol in hand, poking down into the dirt floor below, and she's holding a glass of water with <em>ice cubes</em> floating in it.<br><br>"Just like that?" Madison asks, and Mimi says, "Just like that."<br><br>So the girl with the parasol, she looks right at Jack, and she says, "Boy, what do you know about God?"<br><br><strong>Jack</strong>, that's pretty weird, huh?&nbsp; What do you do?</div></div><br><strong>RUTH</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">John's running around, doing all these little errands Ruth's got for him, but he's still muttering these little curses, rambling to himself about who and why and what to do.&nbsp; The rambling's pretty normal, but he usually isn't this disturbed by a little battle damage.&nbsp; Apparently when it hits closer to home, it really hits home for him.&nbsp; Coming back with a metal tray with all these tools on it, bandages, shining clean well water, narcostabs, he trips on a fucking bucket full of soiled bandages soaking in so much water, step one in the recycling process (good bandages are hard to come by!)&nbsp; He falls forward, drops the tray, shatters the glass full of water.&nbsp; Curses: "Fuck!"&nbsp; Then he picks himself up, gets all of his stuff piled back together, takes it over to Ruth, goes to get more water.<br><br>Anise doesn't love all this stuff Ruth's got to do, she likes it even less that it's gotta happen before the narcostabs really kick in, but she knows the drill; there's the occasional pained grunt while Ruth is yanking her arm around looking to see just how far the damage goes, but nothing so bad.&nbsp; Worst, she just bites down and growls; regardless, she lets Ruth work.&nbsp; She knows what she's gotten herself into, and she knows Ruth is her best bet for not healing into something broken.<br><br>Between those efforts, though, and the numbing effects of the narcostabs, she repeats herself: "I'm going to kill her, going to smash those black teeth out of her skull."&nbsp; The way she casts those blue eyes onto Ruth, there's no way she's kidding, but then they kind of go glassy as the narcos sink in.<br><br>Where the heck are you getting ice, <strong>Ruth</strong>?&nbsp; Keeping a freezer active ain't cheap, and in case you haven't noticed, it's pretty damn hot out there!&nbsp; Anise will be settling in soon; what do you do?</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>23-04-2013, 18:30:22</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>Sometimes wishes just kinda come out, even when they don't make much sense. Ice might be a pipe dream, but hey, it was worth asking, right? Never know when something useful and rare might have been dropped off by someone particularly grateful, even if they wouldn't have been able to store it intact for long. She doesn't notice the lack of it when John drops off her other requests regardless; she never really expected it to show up even while she was asking for it.<br><br>"If I have to strap you to this cot I will, 'Nise. Worry about mending up. Let me handle the messy part." She briefly touches lips to the younger woman's hair, her examination finished, everything ready to quiet down. Let the pain seep away and leave her to rest.<br><br>After all, that was the easy part. The hard part's waiting outside somewhere. Once Anise starts getting that long-range stare that says the drugs are kicking in Ruth steps away. "John." She nods toward the occupied space. "Keep an eye on her. Don't let her try to do anything stupid, like move at all." She's already grabbing her cap as she speaks, throwing her camo jacket over her shoulder in case the wind picks up too harsh on her way. Take a deep breath and let it out. "I've gotta have words with Esther about this before it gets any worse. You two just sit tight for now. If I'm not back by morning, <em>then</em> you can worry. I don't want to find you fucked up 'cause you went off on some half-ass rescue attempt when I didn't even need rescuing."<br><br>What if someone in worse shape than Anise shows up while you're gone?<br><br>"Someone needs me, send 'em to Esther's. Chances are I'll be longer there than elsewhere figuring this shit out. If they can't make it that far, do what you can to keep 'em breathing until I get back. I trust you."<br><br>What else is there to say? Quick pat on the shoulder then she's out in the sun, off to Esther's at a quick walk. The sawed-off hanging from her belt takes some of the grace out of her stride. Time to talk to the lady in charge about what the fuck's going on in her hold today.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>26-04-2013, 13:57:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HAVEL</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">So Havel's got his gun out, and it's pointed straight level at Yankee.&nbsp; These cultists, they shake up some of the people Gomorrah, but none of 'em are armed, and while maybe it's a feat how they go barefoot on the hot black asphalt here, those yellow and orange and white skirts of theirs aren't majorly intimidating.&nbsp; If there's anything, it's the way they stare, like the way a soldier who's been in too deep for too long loses himself in the distance.&nbsp; That's the look on Yankee's face as they all come to a stop before the bikes blocking their way.&nbsp; Like he's looking right through everything, not looking at anything at all.<br><br>The guy they call the high priest, with skin so dark it matches the asphalt below his feet, he looks to Yankee and he says, real passive but with some real intense <em>intent</em>, "Brother, God is watching."<br><br>Yankee's empty eyes, they turn up to the sky, and then they're back on Havel, looking right through him.<br><br>He's apprehensive, and Havel's counting down.&nbsp; "Five, four."<br><br>Then Yankee's eyes focus, like they haven't since Havel's set sight of him.&nbsp; Then he manages, desperate, "Fuck, Captain, get me out of here."<br><br><strong>Havel</strong>, what do you do?</div></div><br><strong>RUTH</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">It's pretty god damn hot out to be wearing a jacket.&nbsp; It's a good thing Gomorrans got no issue staying hydrated.&nbsp; Sweat comes easily out here.<br><br>Esther's place is like a proper compound, probably the most well-made building here and maybe the only one that stood here in the Golden Age.&nbsp; It's big, compared to most other structures here, two stories tall and all.&nbsp; The wall that surrounds it, that's new, built by Esther's clan in the weeks following her arrival.&nbsp; A couple of her gang hang out up there most of the time, sitting in fraying lawn chairs and shooting the shit, shouting across the gate -- a big mess of metal plates and sheets and car doors and whatever that slides back and forth on wheels.&nbsp; It's open most of the time; Esther's never had a real reason to really hunker down since she drove out her forebears.<br><br>When Ruth shows up, it's just like that, two guards hanging out atop the wall, maybe eight feet up, sitting on this mess of iron and steel scratch in ratty lawn chairs on either side of the gate.&nbsp; One's Ratchet, this guy who slicks his hair up into a ridiculous mohawk like a foot tall with beetle guts.&nbsp; Smells like shit, too, if you ever get too close.&nbsp; When he sees Ruth comin' onto the compound, he hauls up his rifle and points it down, peeking down iron sights from his seat.<br><br>The other, she's a tiny thing, stands a good head and a half shorter than most of Esther's gang and laughs too much.&nbsp; She's got a voice like a kid, but the things she says, you'd never for a minute make the mistake that she <em>was</em> one.&nbsp; While Ratchet's peeking down his sights, this girl, her name's Dutchess, she's like, "Hey, doc!&nbsp; The fuck you want?"<br><br>Ratchet says something like, "Ask her about the toll," but he's not yelling so much.<br><br>Dutchess, she's like, "What'd you bring to pay the toll, doc!"<br><br>Man, there's never been a fucking toll for Esther's gate.&nbsp; <strong>Ruth</strong>, what do you do?</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>26-04-2013, 20:54:01</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>Even having the jacket slung over her shoulder Ruth can feel it soaking up the heat within the first minute after stepping outside. It's a cloth stove across her back, even tempting her fingers to sweat where they're curled under the collar to keep it hanging down her left side. Still, better to be uncomfortable carrying it around now than not to have it if a dust storm kicks up while walking around this heap of trashy huts, barely shelter from those wicked winds themselves. She's been stuck in that position too many times to risk getting her skin torn up again by high-velocity sand caresses. A little discomforting perspiration is small price to pay for being prepared.<br><br>But seriously, fuck the sun.<br><br>On the upside - well, depending who's on guard today it could be good or bad, really, but let's be optimistic - the added heat means Ruth's sporting a pretty shiny glaze by the time she gets to Esther's hideaway. That's a bit of sarcasm there; no way the biggest pile of shit in a collection of smaller shits is going to avoid attracting attention. The gleam adds some flavor to her deep brown skin, has her tank top sticking to it, the darker circular shadows on her chest probably visible even way up there at the guards' post where they loom through the dampened white cotton.<br><br>From the sound of that rough greeting, though, it's not going to be one of the easy days. Oh well, can't win 'em all. Ruth tips her cap back a little as her chin lifts. There's no smile to be found for the pair. "My generous sense of humor," she calls back. "I need a few minutes with your boss to talk about some bullshit going on around here." No nonsense, no cajoling, no humoring their crap. The usual when she comes calling on their benevolent "ruler."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>27-04-2013, 02:40:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Havel</strong><br><br>"Fall in, Company Man." Doing his damndest not to show his relief at Yankee's sudden return to the roster, Havel points his smoke-pole up and away, settling the butt on his hip. Jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward Morgan, he adds, "We'll talk about this later."<br><br>Turning his attention towards the muckety-muck, Havel gives the little black fuck a wide grin, his eyes as cold as ice. It's time for a well-earned lesson. "I'm not scared'a you, spook-pusher. God may be watchin', but I'm the one doin'. You ain't got the balls to go blade-to-blade with me, gotta go sneakin' around puttin' a spook in my Man. Now I've got to educate."<br><br>There was a shuffle and a quiet word from Morgan behind him, then the sharp click-clack of a pistol's slide. Apparently, she'd decided Yankee was trustworthy enough to hand off her backup to him. That's good and bad; good because Havel needs all the help he can get covering this bunch, bad because Yankee might still have a ghost on him. Just have to wait and see. Turning his hesitation into a dramatic pause, Havel continues, never taking his frigid stare away from Spooky.<br><br>"My name is Captain Havel, free man of the One Blood. I've led the Company since we left the Annum Campus, when it burned to the ground. I've seen more road, more blood, and more pure shit than you could ever dream of, you addled-up windtalker. I would dearly love to kill you here and now, but as I see it, accounts are settled. You didn't know me when you put a ghost on one of my Men, but you know me now." Raising his empty hand, he taps it just under his left eye, still fixated on the priest.<br><br>"I see you again, I'll kill you and every man, woman, and child that ever gave you a kind word. I hear you been hanging around my Company's stompin' grounds, I'll find you, break your legs, and leave you out for the wild hogs. You feel the need to challenge me on this, you scrawny little shit-stain, do it here. Do it right now. You and me, one on one." Stepping back, Havel holds his hands out wide, shotgun switched into his left to be held by the barrel, never turning his back on the cult or their leader. <br><br>A man has two choices in life, when you get right down to it: submit and walk away, or challenge and fight to the death. Havel hopes the little bastard will pick the latter. There's always a chance that the cultists will be completely lacking in honor and attack anyway, but after their prophet bites the dust, they might be too shaken up to try anything... Worth a shot.<br><br>"I ought'a mention," Havel goes on after a moment, with a careless, near-feral grin, "This is all a sideshow. I got business in town, so make it quick."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>28-04-2013, 14:05:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HAVEL</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">These cultists, it's almost like they're the walking dead, the way they just stare straight ahead, or sometimes they look up at the sun.&nbsp; Even Yankee's still got a little of it, even after he drops his part of the litter and it sags down where he ought to be.&nbsp; He rubs his eyes, shakes his head, even as Morgan's giving him a gun.&nbsp; Not broken, but shaken?&nbsp; Yeah, definitely that.&nbsp; Even with a gun, Yankee's not the most intimidating sight in that skirt, but Morgan and Havel make up for it in spades.<br><br>But once the Captain's eyes settle on that guy with skin so black it's like a roast left out just too, too long on a spit, cooking over fire, that's the end of it.&nbsp; Maybe Havel doesn't notice how, with each word he speaks, things are getting a little dim around the edges of his vision.<br><br>Like, maybe that's adrenaline.&nbsp; Maybe he's just too worked up to notice it.<br><br>This guy, leading the funeral procession, he doesn't really seem swayed.&nbsp; He listens, he stares with eyes empty, burnt out from days and days and days spent staring at the sun.&nbsp; So when Havel makes his challenge, blind as a fucking bat as this guy is, he smiles wide.<br><br>"So make it quick," Havel says.<br><br>And just like that, it's like a blinding light, like a flash-bang right in the face or something, just this little charred soul going off like a nuke, like it's the only thing Havel can see, and then he can't see anything at all, just white light everywhere.<br><br>Then there's popping.&nbsp; <em>Poppopopopop.</em>&nbsp; Morgan's SMG?&nbsp; Yelling, shouting.<br><br><strong>Havel</strong>, this sucks, but fuck if the weird shit in the world can be predicted, right?&nbsp; What's the plan, man?</div></div><br><strong>RUTH</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Dutchess is like, "Hey, fuck you!"<br><br>Ratchet puts a bullet into the dust a few inches away from Ruth's feet, and Dutchess laughs like it's the funniest thing ever, like there's not a dozen tiny craters out here and not a spot of blood to go with 'em, real intimidating.<br><br>"I want stabs!" Dutchess yells.&nbsp; "And fuckin' stims!&nbsp; Get me some fuckin' stabs, Doc!"<br><br>No bullshit, right?&nbsp; So they just hang out, for at least a little while, like they're expecting Ruth to present something, but of course not.&nbsp; She doesn't even have that shit on her, does she?<br><br>"You're no fucking fun, doc," Dutchess says at last.&nbsp; "I mean COME ON.&nbsp; Play along, fuck's sake!&nbsp; Put a fucking bullet in her, Ratchet!&nbsp; TWO!"<br><br>Yeah, that doesn't come to anything, either.&nbsp; Esther likes having an angel on hand more than probably she likes either Dutchess or Ratchet, no matter how adorably profane the former might be.&nbsp; The gate's open, they're just blowing hot air.<br><br><strong>Ruth</strong>, what do you do?&nbsp; Gonna play along, gonna blow 'em off?&nbsp; Anyway, if you're heading in, tell me a little about Esther's compound while you go, maybe let us know what you were up to last time you were there.</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>29-04-2013, 03:55:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>"I'll get you some stabs when you've been stabbed, Thigh-High," Ruth calls back. "'Til then you just work on adding more calcium in your diet, get big and strong when you finally grow up." The shot had made her hesitate, but only long enough to make sure they weren't planning to make it count. The usual crap, that's all.<br><br>Still, dangerous to leave them hanging with nothing in return. So just before she's passing out of sight below their perch, the cocoa angel tugs her top up for a flash of brown and darker brown. "My bullets are bigger anyway," comes her final remark on the subject, teasing the pair on watch with just the briefest glimpse of something more fun to do than bake and go blind in the sun before she's out of view completely.<br><br>Not that she keeps on walking through the compound that way. That'd be drawing the very wrong kind of attention in a pretty bad place to have it. Sure, Esther's place is secure enough against outside force - not that there's been a whole lot of that to challenge it lately. That don't mean it's any kind of safe haven for those inside, at least not those separate from the boss lady's roster. Fuck, even some of those can't catch a break when their higher-ups have a mind to have some fun at their expense. Nobody's bothered to clean up the stains around the rubbish pile alongside the gate from the last time she passed through; they've dried up, faded, but they're still there. Even faded red stands out on all that metal and pale clay.<br><br>The compound's sturdier stuff than the crapholes outside for the most part. Proper mortar's not always on hand, though, so mud and clay holds some patches together here and there. A lot of it's welded; Ruth's not really sure which option seems less likely to shatter one of these stormy days. She puts people together, not buildings. Doesn't seem real reliable either way, but maybe that's just how it looks. That's mostly the aesthetic stuff anyway, the bits just inside the perimeter wall. Past that is where things get hardcore.<br><br>Yeah, there's the heavy-duty, the wrought iron and rebar hashed together for an inner gate on layers of metal, fibreglass, cinderblocks, anything they could get their hands on for a give-no-fucks foundation for their "keep." Some of that shit used to be in the infirmary. Used to be. Not that there was any bad blood about it; they'd worked it out between the two of them, the give and take. Usually Ruth was the one giving, but Esther had a way of making it worthwhile.<br><br>Or, at the very least, making it up to her later.<br><br>Goosebumps are popping up already as her thoughts turn toward that last visit. Bad day that was. Put a wicked storm in a blender with some vehicular malfunctions, you end up with a lot of mangled bodies on Ruth's doorstep. Damn near cleared out her whole inventory and lost a couple along the way regardless; there just weren't enough hands to work on everyone needed attention. Not one of Esther's crew, though. All four of them cleared the night, if only barely. Their boss seemed to take it personal in the way that gets you in her good graces. Truth was, those four had been the worst off of anyone, so she'd had to work them first anyway, not that she said as much. Better to let the bad people in charge think they owe you one. Which is why she'd had the leverage to tell Esther she'd need a resupply, quick-like, to make up for the resource drain that catastrophe'd cost her.<br><br>The agreement was quick...but had a catch. Had to make the pickup herself at the compound. Real nice invitation to come pay a visit, get the goods and go home. Too easy, right? Right. Catch #2 was the 'stabs: Esther was willing to part with a fair number, enough to refill the lost inventory dealing with all those bleeders the day before, but only if Ruth was willing to test the package then and there. Seemed like a small enough price to pay, if a strange one. You could maybe get a kind of high off of that but those KO stabs weren't exactly popular for recreational use. Whatever, if that was what it took to get the supplies she needed more or less for free, Ruth could live with wasting one needle.<br><br>Things got...fuzzy after that, as you might imagine. The next day John told her some of Esther's people had dropped Ruth off at the infirmary that morning barely conscious, barely clothed and with a satchel full of the medical goods right next to her. She didn't talk to him about why they were being so blessed by their hardholder, what little she could remember of what happened.<br><br>That was a couple months ago. Esther had sent a casual offer to make a return visit now and then since, all politely declined so far. Now here she is, come calling without anyone asking her to drop by at all. Maybe this is a worse idea than she'd considered. Not too late to turn around yet...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AC:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>chaoslord29</strong> on <strong>29-04-2013, 16:47:17</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				When directed by Barker and Mimi’s humming little shack, Jack tries briefly to whistle in harmony with the humming emanating from the shed, catches a glance from Mimi which he can only assume is in regard to the high-pitched keening now emanating from his lips, before deciding it’s not much of a melody, and cutting it off. Even the briefest of moments spent whistling is quick to leave Jack’s lips chapped against the dry air. His smile might not falter or change, but Jack is all the more appreciative of even the sight of water when he enters Madison’s darkened hovel. He cocks his head to one side, arching an eyebrow at the ice cubes, which seems a tad much even for someone as cool as Jack.<br><br>Stepping forward away from his escort towards Madison, he inclines his head and his shoulders slightly in what might be a bow in more civilized society, and when questioned has to think for a minute.<br><br>“Lots.” he replies, “And nothing at all. It depends on what you mean by God. There’s the god we’d all like to believe in, the one who when you wish or pray or beg for something in this world to happen for you, or to you, something good, something better than what you are, and then it doesn’t. That’s the God people would like to know, because then they’d be able to ask in just the right way and actually get what they wanted. I don’t know anything about that god.”<br><br>Jack smiled the whole time, gesturing every now and again with his hands with a patient not quite patronizing tone, as if he were a prophet or scholar of old being questioned by a learned elder, though for all anyone knew he could be older than Ole’ Abe, Gomorrah’s oldest living resident.<br><br>“Then there’s the God we all know, and I know all there is to know about that God. That’s the God who doesn’t ask for prayers or worship or anything really. When the time is right, God just takes you by the hand, whispers in your ear, and then you walk with God forever.”<br><br>Jack is still smiling, despite the potentially blasphemous or downright morbid nature of his little speech, and beams from Madison to the wiry boy, to Mimi, to Barker in turn, then back around again in reverse order.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>02-05-2013, 12:36:43</strong>
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				<strong>RUTH</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">“Huh,” Dutchess manages, and settles back into her seat, waving for Ratchet to settle the gun down.&nbsp; “Fuckin' a,” she says.<br><br>Ratchet peers on down the sights of his rifle for just a moment when Ruth bares all, but lets the barrel of the rifle droop.<br><br>“We'll call that a down payment!” Dutchess says as Ruth disappears under the gate.&nbsp; Ruth hears the girl laughing after she's past.<br><br>Esther's gang counts about one out of every ten people Gomorrah, or anyway, one out of every ten people when the choppers and the cultists aren't hanging around like they are now.&nbsp; About half of 'em keep to the compound, though not always the same ones, while the other half wander Gomorrah, mostly enjoying themselves and keeping an eye on things.&nbsp; Esther likes for people to feel her presence that way, but she also likes to know that there're always people around in case anything undesirable happens.<br><br>One of those people still hangin' around the compound is Righteous – she's one of the real bullies in the gang, the kind who makes her presence in Gomorrah known real direct-like.&nbsp; She's got this bright red hair, like cactus-fruit-juice red, all braided and tied up on her head, and she wears this hodgepodge of tanned hides, remnant leather, and cloth scraps that's more intimidating in a junkyard-monster kind of way than it is practical.&nbsp; Also intimidating: the massive pistol she carries on her waist, so heavy it pulls her belt and her pants down so they sag low, low on her hips.<br><br>She spots Ruth pretty quick comin' in through the gates, rolls her eyes as she makes her way over, restin' her hand ready on the grip of her gun.&nbsp; “Here for the boss, doc?&nbsp; Follow me.”&nbsp; Probably shouldn't've expected free roaming in the compound.<br><br>Esther's place is upstairs of the compound, and it's not a long way through before Righteous is rapping on that door, glancing now and then toward Ruth like she's an invader.<br><br>She knocks, and someone – Esther, probably – calls, “What?!”<br><br>Righteous is like, “Doc's here to see you!”<br><br>A quiet moment and the door pops open.&nbsp; There's Esther, queen of Gomorrah -- or whatever title you like, she doesn't take one except 'boss'.&nbsp; She looks the pair over and does her own little eye roll.&nbsp; “Go away, Righteous,” she says.&nbsp; "And you," she adds, pointing a finger toward Ruth that turns into an inviting hook.&nbsp; "Come in."<br><br>Esther, she's not really very intimidating, as an individual.&nbsp; Like, maybe if you know her, know she's got it in her to kill in cold blood, know about the time she gave the order to set fire around one of those little metal shacks and fucking cooked a guy alive for fucking with the fishers, then maybe she's intimidating.&nbsp; But she's a slim woman, not terribly tall, right now wearing an old t-shirt that's a little too small and some baggy combat shorts, and that's not very scary at all.&nbsp; She doesn't even look mean, and she steps back, into the room, and makes her way over to her desk.<br><br>“Welcome back,” she says, and looks over Ruth with a hint of the friendliest grin.&nbsp; There are plenty to choose from.&nbsp; The desk here is covered in those baseball cards people love so much, all sprawled out, and there's another room adjacent, marked off with nothing more than a dangling cloth drape.&nbsp; “To what do I owe the pleasure?”</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>02-05-2013, 21:03:24</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>To be honest, getting an escort is sort of a relief. Sure, Ruth knows the way to Esther's quarters by now, but walking around the compound by herself always feels a little risky. Rationally she's pretty sure she's safer here than anywhere else in Esther's territory - if anyone knows the woman values having a quick hand with the healing around it's her own enforcers, so they'd know better than to pull any serious shit with her where Esther would be guaranteed to hear about it - but knowing that doesn't shake the feeling of being completely outgunned whenever she has to walk through that gate. Maybe someone a little nicer than Righteous would have been, well, nice, but hey, it's better than nothing. The redhead earns a small smile for her abrupt greeting and they're on their way.<br><br>There's not exactly a whole lot of time between being picked up by Righteous and stopping outside Esther's door, so her periodic checks to be sure Ruth hasn't chickened out and run off probably aren't necessary. Can't blame her for it, though, considering how reticent the latter has been about stopping by the compound lately. Internally she says a little thank you to fortune that she didn't end up with one of the more gossipy members of Esther's crew; no need to worry about Righteous prying into why she finally decided to come calling.<br><br>In fact, the only thing she ends up saying to Righteous comes just as they're parting ways, a genial, "Thanks for the walk up," as she's dismissed. There, that's that. Now comes the fun part.<br><br>"Esther. Glad to see you're taking care of yourself." One of the perks of being a medic: you can cover possible flirtation with what might just be medical observations. Professional ambiguity at its finest. Ruth takes up position on the opposite side of the desk, not sitting down unless Esther does first. "Not a good times meeting, I'm afraid. I came to talk to you about Cringe. Anise is less helpful to me in my infirmary if she's there as a patient. According to her it's one of Cringe's girls who did a number on her with a bat. Skull, arms, ribs - she's pretty useless to me for at least a few days, probably closer to a week. Now I know you're no babysitter and shit happens, but what the fuck?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>03-05-2013, 06:49:22</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Havel</strong><br><br>As soon as the white light hits his brain, Havel drops to one knee, throwing up an arm to shield his face. Squinting and blinking, he tries to clear his eyes, but it's no good. Can't see shit, can't shoot, all he can do is stay down and hope neither Morgan nor Yankee shoots him in the back. That gives him plenty of time to think over what's happened while he waits for his eyes to clear. Clearly, that little burnt-up bastard had used some kind of weirdness on him, blinding him. Had to be Morgan shooting, she was the one with the machine-gun. Cold sweat breaks out all over Havel as he starts to wonder whether or not his vision will ever come back, if he'll ever see again. What if the rest of his life is just one big white light?<br><br>That thought scares him, just for a second, and then the white light turns a dark, furious red. No motherfucker is going to take his eyes and live to tell about it over a chiller. Bringing his shotgun up to his shoulder, hammers ready to fall, Havel points it at where he last saw the Priest and squeezes both triggers. Deafness joins blindness as the two barrels spit fire and death in a huge thunderclap of sound, followed by a ringing in his ears. No way of knowing what, if anything, he might have hit, and no time to worry about it. Dropping the smoke-pole, Havel draws the heavy-bladed machete from its sheath on his belt, rising up just slightly into a fighting crouch. Anyone touches him, they're gonna lose their limbs and life. Until then, all he can do is wait, and hope that he starts seeing again.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>03-05-2013, 17:42:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>RUTH</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Esther's like, "So, what?"<br><br>She tugs her chair out from behind the desk.&nbsp; It's one of the kind with wheels, and better yet, the wheels are still on it, and she rolls back up to the desk, starts collecting her cards and sorting them in a tidy pile.&nbsp; Cringe has a lot of reach, it's true, but none of that reach really threatens Esther; Cringe hasn't got much of anything she wants, and if she did, there wouldn't be much to stop Esther from taking it.&nbsp; That's sort of the way Esther runs things here; she takes what she wants, but she doesn't want for much.<br><br>"Anise is the cute one, right?&nbsp; 'If it the Golden Age hadn't ended, I'd be a princess'?&nbsp; So what are you going to do about it?&nbsp; My advice: Find out who did it and put a bullet in 'em.&nbsp; Stop that shit where it starts.&nbsp; Or make nice with Cringe, but then why bother with the gun?"&nbsp; She takes the gathered deck of cards and taps it on its side, <em>knock knock knock</em> on the desk.<br><br>"You want me to march in there and take care of it for you, you know the price." <em>The price.</em>&nbsp; Ruth had heard it before, but not often; Esther had put it on the table in the past and never felt a need to bring it up again.&nbsp; What she'd said was, "You join the gang, move your shit into the compound, you're one of mine and nobody will ever fuck with you again.&nbsp; Think about it."&nbsp; That was a long time ago, though, and nobody'd really fucked with Ruth since then, except maybe Esther herself, but at least it was usually mutually beneficial.&nbsp; Now that offer hung in the air again.<br><br>Now <strong>Ruth</strong>, what makes it such an ugly choice to throw in, official-like, with the Boss?&nbsp; What do you do?</div></div><br><strong>AMBROSEA</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">It's late afternoon, and it is terribly, terribly hot outside; the sun is casting its rays down from its edge of the sky and they cut through the real, honest-to-god glass windows of Cringe's pad.&nbsp; It's not hot in here, though; honest, it's a little <em>chilly</em>, and imagine how fucking expensive it is to keep the air conditioner she's got running, clunking along, on the generator.<br><br>Cringe sits on a big bag, plastic or leather or who knows what, exactly, on the floor.&nbsp; It's full of some kind of tiny, soft pebbles or beans or whatever, and she swears it's the most comfortable seat she's ever owned.&nbsp; She traded an assault rifle and two boxes of ammunition for it.&nbsp; She's topless – she always is – and it's so cold in here, her nipples stand like tiny towers over her chest.<br><br>She's got an old record player, and it's spinning a track, putting some music out that occasionally scratches or skips.&nbsp; A woman's singing from the big phone on it, <em>love I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine...</em><br><br>Nearby, on a heavy wooden table, all the stuff she talked out of Ambrosea in exchange for putting up those twenty-or-so cultists, going so far as to oust a couple of her other renters to make room.&nbsp; Just a month, but that's okay.<br><br>She says, “Balls is probably making dinner soon.”&nbsp; Well, Balls doesn't cook, but someone at her place does.&nbsp; It's Cringe's place more than Balls', but whatever, Balls sticks her name on it.&nbsp; Idle.&nbsp; Cringe is holding a little bowl with some of this cream, it's like a gel infused with beetletree fruit.&nbsp; She dips a finger into it and spreads it onto her lips.&nbsp; It makes them very, very red, and she smacks her lips together.<br><br>“So, that's done,” she says.&nbsp; “Have your friends settle in, just remember the rules.”&nbsp; The rules are pretty simple, and mostly, they're “Don't interfere with the market,” and “Everyone gives Cringe her take.”&nbsp; Pretty standard.<br><br>“This place is getting a little crowded,” she says, leaning back into the chair.&nbsp; She sets her eyes on Ambrosea.&nbsp; “What are you doing here, Ambrosea?”<br><br>The music box is singing, saying, <em>We could've made it cruising, yeah, yeah, riding high on love's true bluish light...</em><br><br><strong>Ambrosea</strong>, what <em>are</em> you doing here, in Gomorrah?&nbsp; What's your relationship like with Cringe, has it been decent in the past?&nbsp; Is there anyone with power here in Gomorrah that <em>isn't</em> threatened by you and your wonderdrug?&nbsp; Anyway, Cringe is talking to you, what do you do?</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Queluna</strong> on <strong>03-05-2013, 20:09:49</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				"What are any of us doing here, Cringe?"&nbsp; Ambrosea asks with a slight smirk.&nbsp; She was leaning back against several of her cultists who lay with their arms entwined, resting and simultaneously providing their goddess with soft bodies to recline upon.&nbsp; A nude girl lay to Ambrosea's side, having come by and plopped herself down some short while ago, after taking a hit of the colorful wonder drug.&nbsp; Now, in her incapacitated state, she provided an armrest for one of Ambrosea's arms.&nbsp; She seemed quite comfortable, with or without a bag of beans to sit upon, herself.<br><br>"What is the point of this life, if not to enjoy what little we can out of it?"&nbsp; The hocus inquires, gazing to her side as her armrest began to stir from her slumber, and look toward Ambrosea with a dazed expression.&nbsp; Ambrosea merely smiled to the girl, stroking her cheek gently and leaning in to briefly kiss her upon the lips before gently guiding her, with one hand, to turn herself around and go away.&nbsp; She brushed her hand down from the woman's hip and over her bottom for but a moment before the girl had moved off too far that Ambrosea's hand had fallen away.<br><br>"And what better a place to enjoy what little there is we can, from this life, than here?"&nbsp; She asks Cringe, smiling softly.&nbsp; A man, one of Ambrosea's cultists, had quietly entered the room.&nbsp; He was holding a container of water, not speaking but merely presenting himself and the water in case Ambrosea were to desire some.&nbsp; She waved him over, dipping her hands into the bowl and cupping her hands to take a drink of the refreshing water, dipping her hands back in and gathering some more to splash over her face.&nbsp; Without anything to dry her face with, though, it dribbled down to her neck, and then to her shoulders, and then began to soak into some of her clothes.&nbsp; She looked quite refreshed, nonetheless.<br><br>"No, but really, what better a place is there than here?&nbsp; I would much like to know myself, for I would quite like to visit it."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>03-05-2013, 23:29:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>That's the trouble with cutting to the chase: it often leads to your opposing party doing the same. It wasn't an offer she'd considered for long the first time and her thoughts on the idea haven't changed any.<br><br>"You've got a lot to offer, Esther, and you're great company," at least when she's in a good mood, "but you and I both know that'd go bad. How long you figure before someone comes knocking with a hole in them I could patch up and you don't want it patched? That'd be the end of that, we all go away pissed and maybe somebody's dead."<br><br>Ruth takes a perch on a corner of the desk, more leaning against it with one leg hooked over the edge - the front edge, not so far from Esther's chair - than really sitting on it. A couple of playing cards are trapped under her flank. The opposite side from her shotgun; wouldn't want to give the wrong impression, make an unintentional threat. Be fucking suicidal to even imply she'd think about threatening Esther in her own fucking compound. "It's the same reason I've always turned down Cringe's offers to join <em>her</em> group, too. And she's been more blunt about her continued interest."<br><br>She only lets that idea idle in the air for a few moments, long enough for it to sink in that there's some competition going on for the doc's services, before she goes on: "If you're saying you can't help, that's fine. But we both know if I take a shotgun to Cringe or her people you're going to have a dead doctor in your hold, and how's that any good for you? So if you can't spare a couple bodies to keep an eye on my two people, might be in my best interests to just move on."<br><br>Leaning back a little, Ruth adds, almost talking to herself. "I hear prismatic pack's back in town. Maybe I should take her up on her offer next time she invites me on the crazytrain out in the dust. They certainly seem to have a good time of it."<br><br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Manipulation roll. Result: 7 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=46143)</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>04-05-2013, 14:42:35</strong>
			</dt>
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				<strong>HAVEL</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">The bang of Havel's shotgun is followed almost immediately with a loud, “Oh, <em>fuck</em>,” coming up from Morgan.<br><br>It's not the only noise, naturally – still plenty more gun fire, most of it that SMG, a few individual pops from what must be Yankee's pistol.&nbsp; Not behind anymore though, further ahead.&nbsp; Even that dies down, too, until all there is is labored breathing.<br><br>Then two more pops.<br><br>“Fuck,” and that's Morgan's voice again.&nbsp; Footsteps on asphalt.&nbsp; Nothing to see, just white, the kind of white you get when you heat iron on a forge.<br><br>Someone's labored breathing.&nbsp; Hard to be sure who exactly, until Morgan speaks up again:<br><br>“Captain, we gotta get Yankee to see someone.&nbsp; It's bad.&nbsp; I don't know if we can handle this back at the laager.”&nbsp; A pause.&nbsp; “Captain, what's going on?&nbsp; You all right?”<br><br>More of that heaving, real strained.&nbsp; Could be more than one source, maybe, just out of time, one exhaling while the other breathes in.&nbsp; Either way, it sounds awful.<br><br><strong>Havel</strong>, what's the news?&nbsp; Hard to know exactly what's happening, but the violence has died down, and it sounds like you might have bigger problems to deal with just now than one of your guys picking fights.&nbsp; What do you do?</div></div><br><strong>JACK</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">”That's so lonely,” Madison says.&nbsp; “A world without a God.&nbsp; I wonder how you can say it, when we look up every day and that righteous force bears down and pulls the water out of our skin, turns the skin on our back to blisters and boils.&nbsp; Isn't that so?&nbsp; Boy, get our guest some water.”<br><br>She shakes her cup so the ice cubes clink against the glass.<br><br>“But that God talks to us through a dead man, and that man is dead, dead, dead, cooking on asphalt as we speak.&nbsp; He'll be food for the cannibals before anyone can give him a proper burial.”&nbsp; She <em>tsk</em>s, like it's just such a <em>shame</em>.&nbsp; “A priest is no God, but without a shepard, who will guide the sheep?”<br><br>She pauses, letting the thought linger just a moment before striking it home for Jack:&nbsp; “Ambrosea.&nbsp; She'll lead them blind to their end.&nbsp; Gomorrah will die if she has her way, and our deep water will flow poisoned through this place.&nbsp; What do you see, Jack?&nbsp; Is it Gomorrah's time to walk with your lonely god?”<br><br>The scrawny kid comes back, holding a matching glass, full just short of the brim with water, freezing cold with ice cubes clinking against one another at the top.<br><br>Hey <strong>Jack</strong>, the <em>cannibals</em>?&nbsp; What's their deal?&nbsp; &nbsp;What do you do?</div></div><br><strong>RUTH</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">"Ruth, you go drinking that girl's tea, I'm really sure you <em>won't</em> be patching up anymore holes.&nbsp; Let's not joke, right?&nbsp; Let's just be serious here."&nbsp; She leans back in her chair, it kind of bends at the waist, one of those kind of chairs.&nbsp; Not the sturdy kind, the spinning kind.&nbsp; "You're a real asset here, but you're an asset to <em>everyone</em>, and that makes you a liability to me, right?&nbsp; And that's a little frustrating, Ruth, because I don't like liabilities, but I like you.&nbsp; And yeah, sometimes, we really need an angel to pull us out of the shit, and most of the time, that's you."<br><br>She pulls that deck apart, shuffles it back into itself, pulls it apart, shuffles it back together.<br><br>"But you want me to put my neck out of you, you need to be an asset to <em>me</em>, a liability for everyone <em>else</em>.&nbsp; It is good to be part of this in-group, Ruth, and I'm not as bad as you think I am.&nbsp; Gomorrah is stronger than it's ever been, healthier.&nbsp; A lot of that is you, too.&nbsp; The people know it.&nbsp; So let's unify; you can be our angel of mercy.&nbsp; People will <em>love</em> that.&nbsp; Nobody will fuck with you or Anise again.&nbsp; And I mean, what the fuck?&nbsp; You're gonna run off to Cringe?&nbsp; She'll just turn you into a commodity.&nbsp; That's worse than anything I could do to you.&nbsp; Ambrosea?&nbsp; Leave you a catatonic fuck-doll?&nbsp; Have fun with it, Ruth, and let me know when you come to your senses."<br><br>After all that, she tosses the deck back onto the table, where they splay out into a mess.&nbsp; "And if you won't, fine; I'll have Dutchess and Righteous leave some blood around Gomorrah for you.&nbsp; But if that's how you want to play this, then it's going to cost you.&nbsp; I'm not going to let you bargain the health of my people against me; you'll take Madison to your infirmary and you will teach <em>her</em> everything you know."&nbsp; Well, that doesn't make Ruth one of <em>her people</em>, but at least it keeps her in spitting distance.&nbsp; Doesn't say much about what happens after Madison's through, though...<br><br>"Your call, Ruth.&nbsp; Otherwise, suck it up."<br><br>Hey <strong>Ruth</strong>, what's it gonna be?</div></div><br><strong>AMBROSEA</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">"Better than here, in my home?"&nbsp; Cringe considers.&nbsp; She shifts in her seat; it creaks the creak of old plastic stretching, shifts the beans around inside.&nbsp; "No, but then, my home isn't all of Gomorrah, is it?&nbsp; Out there, it's hot and miserable, and there's nothing to eat but beetles and beetletree fruit.&nbsp; There's got to be better places than here when you think if it that way."&nbsp; Not that Cringe is really into this line of thought.&nbsp; She's not here to tear Gomorrah down.<br><br>Her eyes follow each body that comes in or goes out.&nbsp; Every time that door opens, the cold air escapes, collides against the heat, makes her den just a little bit more like the outside.&nbsp; She doesn't say anything, but does she notice?&nbsp; There can be no doubt.<br><br>That warm water on Ambrosea's face, it's warm too, warm like outside, but it doesn't take long to chill on her skin.&nbsp; Refreshing in its own way.<br><br>Cringe rises up from her bag chair, still holding that bowl of gel in one hand before her.&nbsp; She wears these pants that come up so low, it's a wonder they cover anything at all -- fashion so far above function, nobody else in Gomorrah could pull it off.&nbsp; That kind of luxury.&nbsp; So low, the barest hint of the trimmed fuzz of her mound can be seen poking up past the waist.&nbsp; She takes the few steps across the chill room, and goosebumps rise up on her arms before she makes it over to where Ambrosea sits.&nbsp; She sits herself down beside the hocus, and slips a finger into the bowl.&nbsp; <br><br>"Try this," she says, and brings her reddened finger up toward Ambrosea's lips, ready to spread it the way she'd spread it on her own.<br><br>Hey <strong>Ambrosea</strong>, who's the Gomorrah native you have the longest history with?&nbsp; Confer with the NPC web, or make someone up.&nbsp; Last time you were here, your cult awayed with someone that was important to somebody with power -- who was it?&nbsp; Make someone up, tell me who their boss was before it was you.&nbsp; Anyway, Cringe wants to smear some stuff on your face, are you cool with that?&nbsp; What do you do?</div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>04-05-2013, 22:20:12</strong>
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				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>Esther's never been an easy one to bluff, especially when she's familiar with the bluffer. There's no way Ruth would really take off on a cultist pilgrimage of sex and drugs - insane, the lot of them. She doesn't even try to keep a straight face for the idea when Esther calls her on it, grinning at the very thought for just a few moments. Not like there was much point keeping up the charade by then anyway.<br><br>Time to get serious, though. Fine. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. I just..." She shoves off the desk back to her feet, goes pacing out into the room a ways, toward the curtained doorway. "I do like it here, as much as anywhere is good to be in these times. People know what they're doing. Even if I don't always agree with those goals, they <em>have</em> some. Cringe's place, all people want is <em>more</em>. Nothing to aim at's concrete. And Ambrosea..." She just laughs, shakes her head.<br><br>"Still though, I can't just up and...fuck." Ruth runs hands through her hair, thinking things over. Takes a slow, deep breath in, lets it back out. "I'll think it over while I take care of this myself," she says at last. Maybe it's not the way she wants things to go, but there are worse outcomes. Have to give it some serious consideration. Nothing like getting herself deep in the shit to make undesirable ideas seem that much more reasonable.<br><br>And since that's her answer given that's probably the end of the conversation, unless Esther has something else she wants to say? Otherwise it's time to get going. Other, less pleasant places to be before sundown. Sure as shit don't want to be hanging around Cringe's part of the hold come nightfall.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Queluna</strong> on <strong>04-05-2013, 23:06:57</strong>
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				"Nonetheless, my people have something to eat, a place to rest.&nbsp; It is more comfortable than what they are used to, even if it is not as comfortable as we are, in here."&nbsp; She says to Cringe, smiling warmly.&nbsp; "It is a nice break from the life of wanderers, unsure whether you will find food this day or the next, having to go to sleep at night with dwindling hopes and empty bellies.&nbsp; It is good to stop and rest from time to time."<br><br>As cringe stands, Ambrosea doesn't hide it as her eyes wander over the woman's body, gazing upon her bare breasts and her lowly-worn pants that left little else to the imagination.<br><br>With Cringe sitting at her side, Ambrosea grins lightly and then nods her head, puckering her lips a bit so that the woman might more easily spread the red coloring over them.&nbsp; "Will it smear or wash away?&nbsp; Will I have to worry about leaving a mark some place, long after my lips have parted from it?"&nbsp; She asks a bit playfully.<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Ambrosea has been coming and going through Gommorah with her cult for about four or five years now.&nbsp; She used to know the man who previously owned the place, and tended to avoid it due to how unpleasant he was, especially around her and her cult that he felt threatened his hold on the town.&nbsp; She was more than happy when Esther took over, and felt that she could visit every now and then when Gommorah was along her path.&nbsp; Millions used to be one of Esther's flings/girlfriends, until she became caught up in Ambrosea's cult and wandered off with her, so there's likely a bit of bitterness or rivalry over that, and a healthy fear that Ambrosea might destabilize the city of she pulls anybody else along with her.</div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>05-05-2013, 03:28:49</strong>
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				Levering himself up to his feet now that the immediate danger is passed, Havel turns his head sharply from left to right blinking hard as he tries to clear his vision. Fear and anger both went quiet under the rigid self-discipline he had learned from the veterans, back at Annum...<br><br>"That dog-sucker priest did some freaky shit to my eyes. Can't see a fuckin' thing, like I woke up starin' at the sun." He'd done that a time or two, and it was always unpleasant, but it always faded away. This didn't seem to be following the trend. Clenching a fist to cover the tremor in his hands, he shakes his head again. "I can't ride, and I doubt Yankee can either. Get to Ruth's, tell her she'll deal directly with me for payment, bring her here."<br><br>He heard Morgan's startled intake of breath at that last. While each Company Man could barter with their own goods, or convince others to help them out, the Captain controlled the communal resources of the Company itself; bikes, gas, guns, ammo... water. That meant Havel was writing the Angel a blank check to save Yankee's life, within reason. She'd still have to haggle with him.<br><br>"I'll stay here, wait for the other Company Men. They should be coming back by this road any minute now. We'll bunker down here, until you get back. I'll see what I can do for 'im. Gimme everything you got in your 'kit, stabs, bandages, all of it. He's gonna need it." Company Men didn't carry proper medical gear, of course, but it stood to reason that they'd each have something on them to stop the bleeding, given their profession. He knew that a few people had pain-stabs and such, so it was worth a shot to demand them as well.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>08-05-2013, 17:57:28</strong>
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				<strong>RUTH</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">“No, you can't.&nbsp; The last thing you want to be out there is useful and weak.&nbsp; Cringe isn't the only person out there who wants to sit on this throne, you know.”&nbsp; Some throne, with those little wheels that scrape on that wood floor.&nbsp; Esther leans back, and the chair leans with her, until her feet dangle and don't reach the ground.<br><br>“You think it over.&nbsp; Maybe give me a little wiggle on your way out the door.”&nbsp; She offers Ruth a little grin, a quiet reminder that even if things are maybe amiable right now, easy going and pleasant and diplomatic, Esther is just one of those forces that Ruth -- and so much of the rest of Gomorrah -- lives beside; principled, maybe, but she's exercised her own kind of force in the past, and she could do it again, no sweat.&nbsp; Isn't that kind of scary?<br><br>“And hey, if you really are going to make a move on Cringe, don't keep me out of the loop.&nbsp; I'd rather have a little warning before we have to clean up the mess.&nbsp; Figure out who's going to move into that vacuum, right, 'cause fuck if I want to worry about the market,” she says, and she's kind of trailing off by the end of it.<br><br>So, if that's that, <strong>Ruth</strong>, what're your plans?&nbsp; What do you do?</div></div><br><strong>AMBROSEA</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">”It will stain your lips, and each time your tongue passes them, you'll taste it, and each time you taste it, you'll want more.”<br><br>She sets that finger on Ambrosea's lips and spreads the gel in two smooth motions, one across the lower lip and then over the upper.&nbsp; It's the tiniest bit waxy, and it's sugary-sour on the tongue.&nbsp; “Like that,” Cringe says.&nbsp; <br><br>It's certainly not the same kind of stuff as Ambrosea makes, not near it, but that sour tinge does come with its own influence, a kind of euphoric relief and comfort that sets in not more than a few moments after it's spread onto the lips.&nbsp; It's very comfortable.<br><br>Millions, still naked, has made her way over to the record player.&nbsp; She lifts the pin and pops up the record, flips it over before settling it back down.&nbsp; The whole time, Cringe is distracted from Ambrosea, staring daggers at the woman touching her record player, ready to pounce if she should do anything to fuck it up.&nbsp; She doesn't.&nbsp; Cringe relaxes, and Millions returns to the pile.<br><br>“Different, but nice, isn't it?&nbsp; Just the right amount, too,” she says, and scrapes the last of it from her finger onto the rim of the bowl, and then she sets it aside.&nbsp; She leans against Ambrosea and that pile of stoned bodies she's using as a chair, wraps an arm around the cult leader and takes hold of her hand, slips her fingers between Ambrosea's.&nbsp; Those entwined fingers guide the hocus' hand to low on her stomache, not far off from the hemline of her low, low cut pants.<br><br>The record player is like, “Picture this – frezing cold weather, you got clouds on your lids and you'd be on the skids...”<br><br><strong>Ambrosea</strong>, just for the hell of it, tell me what is the most stressful thing in your life right now, like what is it you're thinking about when you've been in bed for four hours just trying to get to sleep but your mind just won't stop worrying long enough to doze off?&nbsp; Also, are you seriously about to fuck Cringe, because it seems like that's where you're headed, and do you really think it's a good idea?&nbsp; Your call: Tell me one reason it's a good idea, and I'll give you one reason it's bad, or give me one reason it's a bad idea, and I'll let you know if it's not that bad or if it's actually worse.&nbsp; Then, you know, what do you do?</div></div><br><strong>HAVEL</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Calling what Morgan's got a kit is maybe extensive.&nbsp; Yeah, she's got some shit that could pass for bandages, and she's got a canteen full of pure clean water (thanks, Esther!), maybe enough narcs to keep Yankee passed the fuck out for a little while, but that's about it, right?<br><br>So Morgan's like, “Yeah, I think you're right, Captain.&nbsp; I don't think Yankee's ever gonna ride again.”&nbsp; There's a pretty upset groan from further off at that suggestion.&nbsp; “I'll get Ruth,” she says.<br><br>So she's there a few moments longer, putting these things into Havel's hands because he's blind, right?&nbsp; It's not like she can just leave a box out there and drive off.&nbsp; Once he's got it, knows what he's got, too, then she's ready to go, and her exit is signaled by her bike roaring up like some kind of mythic beast.&nbsp; Like maybe a wyvern or something.<br><br>Havel's got some time to think, some time to play doctor too if that's what he hopes, but it'll be tough without any real vision to speak of, or rather, a <em>single</em>, commanding vision, like just the sun and nothing else forever.&nbsp; It might be a little while before Ruth or another biker show up on the road.<br><br>Man, it's hot out here on the asphalt.&nbsp; A person could cook alive out here, easy.&nbsp; Someone said once that human meat has a lot in common with pork, whatever the fuck that is, I guess you don't really want to find out, right, <strong>Havel</strong>?&nbsp; While you're out here turning into bacon, maybe tell us a little bit about how it is you came to be head of a huge fucking motorcycle gang.&nbsp; Hey, by the way, does the Company offer a consolation to prize to people who get wrecked for the gang?</div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>08-05-2013, 20:37:28</strong>
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				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>"You don't have to worry. If anyone's erased about this it's whatever bitch had the bat. I don't need Cringe's head over some bruises and bones." Just some assurances. The last part stays internal; Esther'd be happy to give those assurances, but her price is too high. Dammit.<br><br>Still, no reason to get bitter about that. Business transactions don't always go your way. That doesn't mean it stops being helpful to have the opposition a little soft on you. That's why Ruth takes the time to pause in the doorway, give her hostess a coy look on her way out the door, says, "I already left a down payment with Dutchess on the way in - ask her if you want. So I can't go dropping deposits all over the place, right? Feel free to drop by yourself when you wanna pick up the rest. Probably due for a checkup as it is."<br><br>With Ruth's luck lately that pickup visit would come at the most unfortunate time possible, but she can't worry about that now. Have to keep things light, hopeful, friendly. Best she can hope for, for now.<br><br>So okay, it's, what, early evening by now? Shit, probably be dark by the time she got to Cringe's part of the hold anyway at this rate. ... Maybe that's not so bad, though. Her crew's gotta be high most of the day, so they're coming down by nightfall, right? Maybe not crashed outright, but tensions gotta be running a little lower, at least. If you're an optimist anyway. Okay. Okay, maybe this won't be a disaster after all. Just gotta take things slow, careful.<br><br>But that's later though. For now it's a brisk walk back to the infirmary. To be honest she was sorta expecting to find Righteous waiting outside for her to be kicked out, but "go away" must've meant "more than five feet away" 'cause she's nowhere to be seen outside the door. Maybe out in the compound somewhere, sure, but Ruth's not exactly looking for her. Doubtful anyone would ask what she had to say to the boss lady anyway. They're just the help; it's none of their fucking business what the doc and the boss have to talk about. If they were gonna get involved they'd have been invited to join in. So maybe Dutchess and her rifle boy will talk some more shit, so what; she's leaving, not coming. Means she doesn't have to pay them attention this time. Just keep on walking, put her shit together upstairs, figure out how to handle this.<br><br>First things first: fashion. She's dealt with Cringe a few times - who hasn't had to that lives here? - so she knows the way the woman works, the way she acts. Maybe doesn't have such a good grip on <em>why</em> she's that way, but Ruth's fair confident she knows the kind of thing to expect. Maybe play into that a little, put her more at ease instead of on the defensive right away. Nothing in the infirmary that'd hold up against Cringe's decadent sensibilities but there are always options for presentation. Yeah...yeah, the more she thinks about it the more that seems like the way to go. Cut a couple corners, so to speak. It could help. Couldn't hurt, anyway; if she's gonna get hurt it'll happen no matter how she looks so no reason to worry about backfiring. Shit happens where it happens, end of story.<br><br>The gun's the real problem. Be stupid <em>not</em> to take it with her, but carrying a shotgun around makes it sorta hard to seem friendly and reasonable. She'll ask John about it when she gets to the infirmary, see if he's got any ideas on how to tone down the threat of just having a shotgun visible. No idea if he'd have anything useful to say on the subject, but hey, can't hurt to ask.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>chaoslord29</strong> on <strong>09-05-2013, 04:16:54</strong>
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				Jack takes the water inclining his head to the kid, then proceeds to raise it towards Madison in salute before taking a long cool draught, letting the sweat from the glass drip along his hand and down his arm precisely the way Jack never seems to. Not a drop however escapes Jack’s lips, even as he pulls the glass away, admiring it for a moment before turning back to Madison. “Everyone dies alone, I’m afraid.” Though his voice conveyed nothing resembling fear so much as morbid fascination. “The sun kills, thirst kills, men and women kill, rocks kill, Jack even knows of a man lucky enough to die by water. Drank himself to death of his own wealth. Everything kills, everything dies. It is the way of things, the ultimate expression of power. God is all powerful, so God kills all things, and the only thing that all killings have in common is Death itself.”<br><br>He shrugs, “People believe though. Not Dead-Madison believes clearly, and Jack finds that belief is power to. The cannibals believe they can take death into them by consuming dead people. They damn themselves to death in doing so, yet their belief preserves them, slows their death to inches.” Then after taking another drink, soothing his parched mouth from the extended speech.<br><br>“I would believe as you believe though, if only to see where Belief and Death meet.” The shift to the first person was sudden, given no explanation, and did nothing to humanize Jack for any of those present. Then, shaking his head briefly, he took another drink, finishing off the cool water and watching the ice melt delectably in the glass.<br><br>“Jack heard you say Ambrosea though . . .” It was difficult to tell if&nbsp; they had been talking to the same person, as Jack had remained every bit as eerie during the shift back then forth. “Few are capable of killing Gomorroah, not dead-Ambrosea might be one. You said also there was dead-priest?”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>09-05-2013, 17:23:34</strong>
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				Stuffing the bits of kit Morgan had been able to hand over into the pouch on his belt, Havel fumbles around until he gets his shotgun reloaded, snapping it closed and letting it hang by the strap at his side. It's not all that hard to do, since he doesn't really have to see the gun or the shells in his belt-loops to do it, but the pure lack of sight has his hands shaking something fierce. It's mostly rage now, rather than fear; Havel isn't the kind of guy who scares easy, and even then it turns to anger and hate in very short order. That the priest took his eyes would have been bad enough, but to cripple or kill one of Havel's Men? A Company Man?<br><br>Unfortunately, the object of his hatred seems to be already pretty much dead. Lucky for him, fuckin' priest. No good cutting off his thumbs or poking hot needles into his eyes now, wouldn't even make Havel feel any better. All he can do is see to Yankee and keep his ears peeled for the sound of approaching bikes, or if the Universe decided to shit all over him for a third time today, footsteps. He can't think of anyone friendly who travels on foot, except maybe the Doc, and she's coming by way of Morgan's motor today. Hopefully.<br><br>It seems to take a while for Havel to find his way over to Yankee, using the other man's harsh rasp of breath for a guide. On the way, he starts thinking about all the things he's done wrong so far, and what the Old Man would have said to him about it. That thought brings a whole welter of long supressed memories up to the surface, the faces of men he's outlived, and a land lost in flames. Tall buildings of brick and carved stone, steel and glass, ancient towers of the Time Before arranged in a cramped maze in the center of a wasted city. Annum... The Campus... Home.<br><br>He pushes it away, word and thought alike. Home isn't a word Company Men use with any kind of fondness, not any more. Now the word means scars, loss, and death. It's a word they use when they're drunk enough to be feeling really low, and not care if anyone knows it. It's a word they use when they're talking about all the people they used to know, the ones who didn't make it when a kid named Havel rounded up thirty odd riders of the Campus Guard Company and fled the oncoming blaze that took everything from them. At first, they had hated him for it. Now, they love him for the same reason.<br><br>"Yankee," Havel says, his voice rough as he settles down on one knee by his fallen Man, taking out one of the narc-stabs. "Yankee, lie still. Gonna give you somethin' for the pain, brother. Don't move." Groping around in the blinding light, he finds Yankee's throat, flicking the plastic cover from the needle and driving it in next to the finger laid along the pulsing vein there. Settling back wearily, Havel lets loose a long, pained sigh.<br><br>"M'sorry, Yank. You didn't deserve what you got. Tell me where you're hit, I'll try an' patch it up, okay?"
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Queluna</strong> on <strong>09-05-2013, 22:31:21</strong>
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				"Mmm, when you put it that way, it sounds quite like some other drug that I know."&nbsp; Ambrosea says with a smile as she smacks her lips to be sure it had spread evenly across them.&nbsp; She takes a few moments to breathe in and out, eyes half-closing as she focuses upon the sour yet euphoric sensation that washes over her.&nbsp; She shivers a little with excitement before giggling lightly.<br><br>"Mmm... and so quite like some other drug that I know."&nbsp; Ambrosea says as Cringe pulls Ambrosea's hand lower across her stomach, down toward the hem of her pants, grinning like a horny little rabbit and pressing her own body a bit closer to the woman's.&nbsp; She goes the rest of the way herself, sliding her fingertips beneath the hem of the woman's pants, reaching down toward the woman's sex and stroking her fingers along it gently.&nbsp; "And would you feel the same sensation, I wonder, should I press my own lips to yours?"&nbsp; Ambrosea inquires, smacking her reddened lips with a light but audible pop as she fondles the woman's nethers.<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Ambrosea's main worry is how she is going to keep supporting her people, not only with her wonderdrug but also with food and water, if her cult continues to grow as it is.&nbsp; There are limited resources in this apocalypse world, limited amounts of drinkable water and very limited amounts of food that grow.&nbsp; If her cult continues to grow, they'll have no greener pastures to turn to, just the same they have been roaming for so long now, which are likely growing smaller in time rather than larger.<br><br>Ambrosea is totally going to fuck Cringe :P&nbsp; She is thinking it might be good idea because it is useful to have friends in Gommorah, and Cringe is a powerful girl.&nbsp; Plus, doing drugs with this girl might eventually lead to the sharing of Ambrosea's own wonderdrug, and the potential to recruit Cringe and some of her girls.</div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>13-05-2013, 17:33:16</strong>
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				<strong>RUTH</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body"> Esther laughs at that.&nbsp; “I'm sure,” she says, and it's the last thing she says before Ruth's disappeared out of the room with the door shut behind her.&nbsp; <br><br>In the infirmary, when Ruth's worrying about what to wear and more important, how to wear it, especially that scary gun of hers, John's there, kind of doting on Anise.&nbsp; She's wonked right the fuck out, really done-for today, probably be pretty stoned for the rest of the night while the worst of it settles down and the pain isn't so fresh anymore.&nbsp; Somewhere outside, there's an engine roaring out loud.&nbsp; John's kind of like, “Just wear it, right?&nbsp; A gun says, 'I'm not here to screw around,' but it doesn't say 'I'm here to pick a fight,' until you do.”&nbsp; Is it true?&nbsp; Lots of people in Gomorrah carry guns or weapons around with them.&nbsp; It's an ugly world, and while Gomorrah is safe-ish, there's no real police or enforcement here but Esther, and really, nobody wants Esther to get involved in their problems.<br><br>Except maybe Ruth.<br><br>To provide an example, maybe, of that tendency to carry guns, someone with one pops right into the infirmary, no announcement or nothing, and she's a little disheveled, sweaty (just like everyone out here, though, at least the sun'll be setting sometime soon.)&nbsp; She's wearing those biker gang colors, and yeah, she's got a gun on her hip, too – a meaty SMG, at that.&nbsp; She looks from John, to Anise, to John, to Ruth, and she's like, “I need the doctor.”&nbsp; She might not know which soul exactly is Ruth – maybe they haven't met before.&nbsp; “I need the doctor now,”&nbsp; she clarifies.<br><br><strong>Ruth</strong>, what's the deal?&nbsp; A doctor's life is exciting, but this chick's not hurt, and you have some problems of your own to handle, right?&nbsp; What do you do?</div></div><br><strong>HAVEL</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Yankee's like, “Fuck, Captain,” and still breathing pretty heavy.&nbsp; Finding his neck means getting a little touchy, and that means getting a load of the warm, hot mess all over Yankee's shoulder and back along the way.&nbsp; Yeah, not sweat; more sticky, less slick.&nbsp; <br><br>Yankee, he laughs a little bit, though, he's like, “Fuck, Captain, I think I'm down an arm.”&nbsp; That's not good; it's not impossible, but man, it's hard to ride with one arm.&nbsp; Not a good place for a Company man to be, but probably better than cooking out half-buried in the sun the way the Solar cultists do with their dead.<br><br>A little bit of reading by touch would reveal that it wasn't an unreasonable guess on Yankee's part; one of his shoulders is a mess of mangled flesh, and it's not cosmetic.&nbsp; Whose damage, though?&nbsp; Yankee wouldn't be dumb enough to step into the line of fire, right?<br><br>In the distance, there's the roar of bikes, that grumbling sound that carries through the air like a warning wherever the chopper and his gang go.&nbsp; Noisy fuckers.<br><br>Once the stab starts to kick in, Yankee's breathing goes less ragged, more shallow.&nbsp; Soon it's too quiet to hear at all over the bikes coming on.<br><br><strong>Havel</strong>, are those bikes coming up from Gomorrah or heading into town from the laager?&nbsp; What do you do?</div></div><br><strong>JACK</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">”Ambrosea,” Madison repeats.&nbsp; “Her little vials are dark temptresses, each of them drawing the souls of Gomorrah under the sway of the vortex that is... her.”&nbsp; She shifts her parasol, keeping the sharp tip of it dug into the ground below, a point on which it pivots.&nbsp; “And our home may run with deep with waters, but clean water feeds flowers just as well as weeds, doesn't it?”<br><br>But then she nods, and shifted the handle of the parasol again, the needle-point tip remaining stuck in place.&nbsp; “And the sun priest is dead,” she agrees.&nbsp; “Can you see it out there, beyond your mind?&nbsp; That light has grown dark.&nbsp; It is done.&nbsp; But his zealots, what will they do?&nbsp; I think they will find their way to Ambrosea, and that worries me.&nbsp; I fear for the future of Gomorrah while she's here, and you are the killer, are you not?&nbsp; I think we might be able to work together...&nbsp; To protect Gomorrah, yes?”<br><br><strong>Jack</strong>, what do you do?&nbsp; Also, take a look in the OOC thread, those questions about the Psychic Maelstrom are for you too!&nbsp; Ruth and Havel don't deal in the Maelstrom much, but Jack is weird, right?</div></div><br><strong>AMBROSEA</strong><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body"> “Less poisonous,” Cringe accuses, though it's playful.&nbsp; “And tastes better.&nbsp; Maybe you'll find out.”&nbsp; Cringe's pants are a tight fit, at least there where they offer so little coverage, and she unflips a clasp to give Ambrosea's hand more space; hidden under her clothes, Ambrosea's fingers find the hot, slick mess of the market-lady's excitement – something building, maybe, for some time, maybe since Ambrosea and her underdressed clan had invaded her home.<br><br>So that's how that goes: Ambrosea and Cringe spend some time rolling around in the cold, twisting and grinding and playing against each other while the stinging sour drug makes its way, slowly but surely, from their lips into their blood.&nbsp; <br><br>It's hard to be sure just how long they're at it, but when they calm down and relax, the record's spinning but the tone arm's up, the music's done.<br><br><strong>Ambrosea</strong>, how'd that go?&nbsp; You got plans for the future?&nbsp; Cringe is kind of a selfish lover, did it bother you?&nbsp; What do you do?</div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>13-05-2013, 18:03:57</strong>
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				<strong>Havel</strong><br><br>"Sonuvabitch," Havel mutters when he feels the mess that ought to be Yankee's arm. He starts feeling sick down in the pit of his stomach; if he couldn't ride, Yankee was going to spend the rest of his days in Gomorrah, whether the Company stuck around or not. The best he could hope for was being a permanent contact in town, supported by the gang but no longer a true Company Man. Another problem was that it just plain felt like shotgun damage, and he hadn't seen any of the cultists packing that sort of heat. Worry about that later, first see to Yankee.<br><br>While he was wrapping a thick pad of clean linen from his own kit with a strip of cloth from Morgan's, he heard the approaching bikes but let it go until the bandage was knotted down tight. "That'll stop the bleedin'," he said, to himself as much as to the wounded man. Settling back on his haunches, he turned his head slowly from side to side, trying to figure out which direction the gang was coming from. If he'd been facing towards town when they'd stopped, walked forward towards the cultists... Yeah, they had to be coming from town. At least five, maybe as many as ten. That'd be the boys, at least a few, heading back to the laager. Probably to help Loper and Scribe hold down the fort; smart move.<br><br>Standing up as they get close, Havel waves one hand up in the air over his head to attract their attention, letting them know to slow down and stop before they started skidding and slipping all over the place.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>13-05-2013, 21:09:07</strong>
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				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>"Telling Cringe I'm not there to screw around on her turf gives her a reason to fuck with me about it. Posture all big, remind me she's got more guns than I do, all that shit. I'd rather skip that part." Being threatening isn't the problem - if she felt like she <em>could</em> threaten Cringe then fuck she'd do what it took to pull that off. That was why she'd gone to Esther in the first place. Failing that, Ruth would rather not have threats involved at all; they could only make things worse for her.<br><br>Fortunately she has an idea, came up with it while she was checking on Anise when she first returned to the infirmary. Hey, priorities, right? She might be in a little bit of a hurry to deal with this shit with Cringe but first things first, and in this case first things include checking on your patient. Be pretty stupid to go do the protective boss thing only to come back and find Anise bit it while she was gone, make it all for nothing. That definitely had to come first. Just a lucky coincidence that she got an idea for how to walk the line on appearances in the meantime.<br><br>'Course that delay means she's only just starting to get changed when their biker visitor shows up. Sorta lucky, in a way. Would've been a little awkward if she was getting really stripped down when some unfamiliar face popped in. As it is she's still in her boxers with her shorts only down around her knees, so it's not a big deal to pull them back up, turn around, size up their guest's problems. Which don't appear to be her problems, personally, whatever they are.<br><br>"Doesn't look much like you need a doctor," she says. "Not unless you're heatstruck. We can spare some cold water if you need it." Not that that was likely. So? "What's the problem?"
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Queluna</strong> on <strong>17-05-2013, 02:59:30</strong>
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				When Ambrosea had decided to lay with Cringe, she did so with the willingness to be as generous as possible.&nbsp; After all, she doesn't get on Cringe's good side unless she's willing to go down on the woman without expecting much in return, and she had been more than generous in that regard.&nbsp; By the time the two had finished, she was just happy to have gotten the other woman off more than just a couple of times, regardless of herself.<br><br>"Mmm, can you feel it?"&nbsp; She asks, giggling lightly.&nbsp; Embracing the woman warmly from behind, she trails a hand down Cringe's shoulder toward her chest, following a little trail of red marks that her lips had left over the woman's flesh.&nbsp; She trailed down toward her breast, squeezing it gently in her hand before moving down over her stomach, caressing it gently.&nbsp; The marks grew more and more prevalent the further she went, until she halted just over the collection of marks she'd left upon the woman's sex.&nbsp; "Does it tingle?"&nbsp; She asks, giggling again.<br><br>Ambrosea sighs contently, rolling onto her back and stretching lightly before sitting up.&nbsp; "Mmm... I suppose I should go tend to the flock, for the time being.&nbsp; I suppose I'll be seeing more of you tonight."&nbsp; She says, gliding a hand down over Cringe's bottom and rubbing it, grinning lightly.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>19-05-2013, 19:52:12</strong>
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				<strong>HAVEL</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Yankee, he's like, “Yeah.&nbsp; I'm gonna lose my fucking bike, Captain, ain't I?”&nbsp; That thought seems to strike him.&nbsp; “Fuck, might as well just leave it off and let me go,” he goes on.&nbsp; “Broken down in this place, Captain,” he says, like that's really it, that's all that needs to be said on the topic.&nbsp; Then a sigh, a real heavy one, ragged on the end.&nbsp; There's coughing.<br><br>Havel's got experience, plenty of it, with those bikes; he's got no problem telling just how far off they are, hell, just where on the road they're at.&nbsp; He might even be able to pick out the bikes and their riders by the roar of their motors, especially since he isn't wasting any of his brain-power on pesky things like <em>vision</em> right this moment.&nbsp; Or maybe that's just rumors.<br><br>The bikes roar up and then they roar down, quieting their cacophony as they slow down and eventually stop, not far from Yankee and Havel.&nbsp; Kickstands clicking into place and settling on the asphalt.&nbsp; No sound at first, until the nearer bikes kill their engines, and then it's boots on asphalt.<br><br>The first voice is Whiskey, he's like, “Ah hell.&nbsp; This is even fuckin' worse than we heard.&nbsp; Fuckin' a, Gnarly, you dumb fuck.&nbsp; Captain, what's goin' on?”&nbsp; Whiskey is an ugly fucker.<br><br>Second voice, that's Brandy.&nbsp; Her and Whiskey, they're twins, and she's even uglier than he is.&nbsp; Not that Havel can appreciate that right now.&nbsp; “Is that Yankee?”&nbsp; She's kind of got to yell over the other engine's that're still going.<br><br>“Who the fuck shot Yankee?”<br><br><strong>Havel</strong>, you know the deal.</div></div><br><strong>RUTH</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">This stranger, she's like, “I don't need water, I need the <em>doctor</em>.&nbsp; That's you, right?&nbsp; Get your clothes on.&nbsp; We got a guy down...”&nbsp; She kind of looks rushed.&nbsp; “Look, Captain says he'll deal with you straight, so let's not fuck around, right?&nbsp; Yankee's dying out there.”<br><br>John says, “Shotgun also tells people who just barge in while you're in your undies that you mean business,” and he nods toward the guest.&nbsp; “See her?&nbsp; She's got a gun.&nbsp; She means business, right?”&nbsp; He's not the king of bedside manner.<br><br>The visitor, she gives John this real annoyed look, looks him up and down and decides that he's not even worth the effort.&nbsp; Her bike is still chugging out there.&nbsp; “Look, the bike's running, and you know the Captain's good for it, but if you don't put your fucking pants on and get on my bike, I am going to cause you both some very major problems.”&nbsp; Ruth maybe doesn't deserve that, but it seems like John did enough to rile her.<br><br>At least she's not going for gun.<br><br><strong>Ruth</strong>, what's up?</div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>19-05-2013, 20:08:22</strong>
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				Havel isn't the kind of Captain who's ever going to lie to the troops unless it's really important. This is the kind of thing they should be able to understand; Company Men get hurt, and crippled, doing what they do best. Protocol is pretty fucking clear. Shit. From his place on the ground by Yankee, Havel sighs and wipes his bloodied hands on the knees of his trousers, then slowly stands up.<br><br>"Listen up! I shot Yankee, as far as I can tell. We were riding to town to back up Gnarly when we ran into the Sun Cult fuckers. Yankee was walkin' with 'em, like one of their own." Ugly growls, audible even over the nearby rumble of engines. Raising a hand for attention, Havel continues. "That fuckin' Priest had him fried in the brain, sure enough. I got him clear of it, but when I challenged the Priest, he let go with some kinda freaky shit. I went blind and tried to get 'im with my scattergun, but somehow I seemed to get turned wrong and hit Yankee instead. He and Morgan were backin' me up. He's a Company Man, through and through."<br><br>Waving his hand back in Yankee's direction, Havel says, "He's one of us. But maybe he can't ride, and he doesn't want to be left here with just one arm. Gnarly, if you're standin' there, you oughta give him his Rights when the time comes. I'm still blind on account of whatever that Cultist shit-bag did to me, and we'll handle that when the time comes. For right now, we've got a Brother to attend to. Doc's on her way, but if she can't do anything for him..."<br><br>Dropping his hand to hook both thumbs in his belt, Havel waits for their reaction. The only Rights a Company Man had was the Right to Ride, and the Right to Die, both of them under the banner. If Yankee wanted it, and Havel gathered that he did, he could ask for a mercy kill, quick and sure. What with the narco-stab in his system, he shouldn't be feeling anything right now. He'd just slip away, clean as anything.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>20-05-2013, 02:27:02</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>Well, fuck, that's one way to ruin a timetable.<br><br>"Shut up, John." It's not snappy, just what she says: wants him quiet right now. He's not a bad guy but he has a way of making things worse when they don't need to get worse. Ruth looks over Anise for a few seconds, sighs, shakes her head. "Goddammit. John, keep watch here."<br><br>Normally she'd just send John on the errand to pick up whoever this Yankee is, have him brought back to the infirmary for the real work - no doubt he'll need to be moved there eventually anyway - and go deal with the Cringe issue in the meantime, but that'd mean leaving Anise alone. Can't do that. So she'll just have to put that off longer and go on the road. No reason to really believe their guest is telling the truth, but she's got to assume it for the time being. If she is and Ruth assumes she isnt, somebody dies. The alternative is riskier for Ruth, but at least it doesn't run the risk of executing someone through inaction.<br><br>Sometimes being who she is sucks.<br><br>On the upside, the chopper crew isn't exactly light on arms, so she can leave her shotgun in John's hands. Has to have some way to keep the infirmary safe, after all. "Fine. Let's go. We'll talk about deals after the bloody part is over."<br><br>Just a matter of following the visitor back to her bike and piling on after that. Got to get on the road quick if it's so dire and just hope it hasn't gotten worse before they get wherever they're going.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>24-05-2013, 01:07:53</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>AMBROSEA</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">"Maybe," Cringe says as Ambrosea goes, and slips away from the pile of cultists as they too stand up to go, following after Ambrosea.&nbsp; Cringe ends up back at her bean bag chair and settles back into it, and waves as Ambrosea goes.&nbsp; Her pants are off on the floor elsewhere; she's only wearing socks.&nbsp; She's still a bit out of it, maybe from that drug, maybe from something else.&nbsp; Just before Ambrosea slips out from the door, Cringe says, "Hey, if you see Balls out there, let her know I'm waiting for her."&nbsp; She sort of slinks and digs herself into that chair and curls up, and then Ambrosea's gone, and the cultists disappear out behind her.<br><br>After the time in Cringe's air-conditioned room, even the rest of her place is warm.&nbsp; By the time Ambrosea's back out there, the sun's starting its descent, but man, it is fucking hot.&nbsp; The worst part of Cringe's chilly chamber is leaving; the sun demands its due in this world, and it's like as soon as Ambrosea's out there again, she's cooking.&nbsp; Millions is out there with her, too, and did she even bring clothes with her?&nbsp; She kind of hangs on Ambrosea, she's still naked, slipping her way under the hocus' arm and clinging to her.&nbsp; She whispers something up, something about needing her fix, and won't Ambrosea please take care of her?&nbsp; Out in the heat, sweat's starting to bead on her skin, too, almost making her gleam in the setting of the sun.&nbsp; Something about visiting the altar.&nbsp; Millions is a pretty girl, but she's addicted <em>bad</em>, her need for that drug borders on gluttonous.<br><br><strong>Ambrosea</strong>, your cult's all in places rented from Cringe, right?&nbsp; Do they have anything besides their drugs going on, as far as religion and faith go?&nbsp; Rites, rituals, ceremonies?&nbsp; Enlighten us, Hocus, and let us know what you're up to.</div></div><br><strong>HAVEL</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">So Gnarly's out there, somewhere, and Havel can tell because Gnarly's kind of got that sort of voice, the kind of voice that grinds, that brings to mind his namesake, those overgrown places where a tree grows in on itself and in on itself until it's an unhealthy, ugly <em>thing</em>.&nbsp; And he's like, “Fuck.”<br><br>Maybe among some people, these Rites are more involved.&nbsp; Some of the real crazy types out there, they get really into their ritual and whatever.&nbsp; They have folks whose only job is to remember these things, word for word, like they're magic.&nbsp; Maybe the Company has some of those, too, but it ain't Gnarly.<br><br>So there's the clad of his boots as he steps over, and he's like, “Yank, man, I fuckin' love you.&nbsp; You know it.&nbsp; You're not gonna ride anymore, you know it.”<br><br>Yankee's like, “I know it, I know it.”&nbsp; More wheezing.&nbsp; “Don't take my colors.”<br><br>So Gnarly, he's like, “No way, Yank, you ride in 'em, and you die in 'em.&nbsp; A real Company Man.”&nbsp; And then it's just like that, <em>bang bang</em>, almost more like little pops.<br><br>Then there's a flare up, all at once, all the bikes present roaring their engines, and that goes on, it goes on for a long time, just Gnarly and Whisky and Brandy standing by while the rest of 'em play out that dirge.&nbsp; And eventually, that dies down, too.<br><br><strong>Havel</strong>, what do you do with your dead?&nbsp; I'm not about to make a move here; I think maybe you and Gnarly got a few words to exchange before things move – and anyway, it sounds like maybe you're gonna have a visitor.</div></div><br><strong>RUTH</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">So this woman, this Morgan, she's pretty upset as it is, though she's got an observant eye on her anyway.&nbsp; So she's looking around, even as she's waiting for Ruth, though her eyes come back each time, waiting on the doctor.&nbsp; “Looks like one of your own took some licks,” she says as they start to head out.&nbsp; “I'm sorry to peel you off from her.”<br><br>Then she's back out to where her bike's still goin', still chugging out its engine noise.&nbsp; She climbs up right up front, waits for Ruth to take that place on the back.&nbsp; Her bike's not really well set up to seat two people – some of these guys, they have fuck-off huge bikes with side-cars and everything, but Morgan's is sleek and kind of small, so it's kind of a call between sitting back on the edge of the seat or sitting right up against her.&nbsp; And man, just in case Ruth's never been on a motorcycle and doesn't know what to expect, that thing sure does <em>rumble</em>.<br><br>Morgan isn't terribly talkative, but she is in a rush, so as soon as Ruth's back there, she gets moving.&nbsp; And her bike fucking <em>moves</em>.&nbsp; She nearly runs down some stupid kid on her way out of town, but the urchin manages to make it out alive, and then she's back out on the road, driving hard until the sound of more bikes comes apparent, and then closes in on this scene: about a half-dozen bikes, all rumbling, three people still straddled over their engines, four more standing around one guy on the ground.&nbsp; Company Men.&nbsp; Also, six of those sun-seared cultists and one of their sacrifices, all of 'em dead or if not dead, wounded damn near to it, spread out around where those bikes are parked.<br><br>Morgan, pretty calmly, pulls the bike up and kicks down the stand.<br><br><strong>Ruth</strong>, you got a situation here, no doubt.&nbsp; Lot of wounded, lot of leather-clad gunluggers abound.&nbsp; What do you do?</div></div> 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>24-05-2013, 01:56:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>Under the circumstances sticking close seems like the best option available: Morgan, as the woman had called herself, is ostensibly there to bring a doctor back intact for some doctoring, so she's got reason to make sure Ruth stays in good shape. If that means being a meatshield for bugs and debris on the road, well, that's what it means. She hugs up real tight against Morgan's back as best she can and just kinda hunkers down behind her shoulders, arms wrapped around the larger woman's midsection to hold on for dear life, her kit wedged in between the two of them. It's not her first time on board a bike, but it is the first time she's been on one with so little room for a passenger, and she doesn't remember going quite so <em>fast</em> on previous occasions. Urgent need has a way of doing that to engines.<br><br>Fortunately (or not?) it looks like the action's all over by the time they get where they're going. To be perfectly honest, while the Company Men are familiar from their in-and-outs of the hold, it takes Ruth a while to identify the bodies lying around. She picks up on the fashion eventually, just takes a while for it to sink in. The whole mindless cult thing never held much appeal so the sunny bunch never gave her a reason to hang around, get to know them. Hell, she hardly even cuts Ambrosea much slack and that bunch at least acts semi-sane, even if they're a bunch of junkies. So, what, they ram their bikes through the faithful here and need some cleanup for the mess? Doesn't seem like the Company's style, having sympathy for their roadkill.<br><br>That's about when she notices the other body. The one they're crowded around. Didn't see him at first separated from the more eye-catching carnage the way he is. One for six. Not bad, considering. Probably not how they see it, though.<br><br>Ruth disembarks with her kit in both hands, makes her way around most of the fallout to head for the biker group. That's probably where Morgan's headed anyway, right? She can't see a whole lot that looks like it'll get saved among the bodies on the road so there's no rush to go to their aid just yet, though really it's more she's got the feeling looking after those bodies first probably wouldn't go over so well with all the well-armed folk watching her come their way.<br><br>Not that that stops her from being blunt about things: "Doesn't take a doctor to see from here that man you've got isn't getting back up. So what am I doing here?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>26-05-2013, 19:13:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Havel</strong><br><br>Hearing Morgan's bike on the return, Havel turns in that direction, cracking his knuckles of one hand against the palm of the other, than switching and repeating. Cold sweat's running down his back, and he has to fight down a shiver, since he knows that this is probably his last shot. "There's the Doc," Whiskey says, confirming hopes and fears alike. He can't show it, though, has to keep in control, keep them moving forward. <br><br>"Kettle, Gnarly, I'm gonna deal with you two. Later. Drag these cocksuckers off the road." They're on his shit list right now, and he wants everyone to know it. Assigning them to hauling the trash will send that message loud and clear. "Whiskey, Brandy, you're my eyes for now. Rest of you, set Yankee aside and burn 'im." That was standard practice for the gang; enemies get left for the critters, Company Men get burned and scattered. There's always enough gas to make sure the job gets done quick and proper, not that it takes all that much as fast as a corpse dries out in the sun.<br><br>Engines shut off and Tom-Tom, One Eye and Lady move around to their given tasks, moving with a solemn quiet. No bickering, no grumbling, and especially no joking. This has not been a good day for the Company, but it's time to move on and refocus. Hearing Ruth's no-nonsense tone, a little more relief trickles through Havel, and he gives her a nod that probably ends up somewhere to one side of her.<br><br>"He didn't make it. I thought he might when I sent Morgan, but he just wanted out." Gesturing at himself, Havel beckons the Angel onwards. "King-dick cultist got me in the eyes with some kind of whammy. Want you to come take a look. I'll compensate you for your time and trouble, whatever it is, even if ya can't help me." It's a long shot, sure, and probably she won't even be able to tell what the hell is wrong, but what has he got to lose? Not a damn thing. If he can't see, he can't ride. If he can't ride, he can't lead, or even stay with the Company, and that puts him in the same place as Yankee. If he's lucky, Esther would just kill him instead of keeping him around as some kind of trophy.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Queluna</strong> on <strong>27-05-2013, 08:33:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Sure thing."&nbsp; Ambrosea says before disappearing out the door.&nbsp; Despite all the time she'd spent in the heat of the sun, it was hard to become used to, especially after her body had been adjusting itself to the cold inside Cringe's place.&nbsp; Going back into this heat is a bit of a shock to her senses.<br><br>As Millions slips under Ambrosea's arm, the hocus smiles to her and leans in to kiss her upon the corner of her lips.&nbsp; "Sweetie, put on some clothes for me, please?&nbsp; I do so enjoy seeing you as you are, but I think it would make Esther awfully jealous, and a jealous woman is a dangerous woman.&nbsp; Let us be kind to her for so long as we are here, yes?&nbsp; There is no reason to make our stay here unpleasant for her, or anybody else."&nbsp; She says to Millions, running her hand down the woman's back to gently rub at her bottom.&nbsp; "And if you can do that, and if you can wait until a bit later tonight, you can take those clothes back off for me, and I'll give you your fix personally."&nbsp; She promises.<br><br>Ambrosea decides to take a walk through the town to see how her loving cult is doing, hoping that they were not only resting well, but perhaps stirring the community a little as well, what with their wondrous drug and eagerness to share and socialize with others.&nbsp; She also intended to fetch some water from the well, too.<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Yes, her cult is resting in housing provided by cringe in return for Ambrosea's 2-barter!&nbsp; Ambrosea is their goddess, as far as they are concerned, but that does revolve a good deal around the effects of the drugs as well.&nbsp; As far as any rites, rituals or ceremonies...&nbsp; it depends on person to person.&nbsp; Ambrosea is fairly lenient in what she allows people to do, whether they want to be alone or in groups, do their drugs in an orgy or just in an intimate moment with one or two other people.&nbsp; She kind of makes things up as she goes, herself, as well.&nbsp; I figure people are usually pretty chill with it, as long as they get what they're after in the end.</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>27-05-2013, 22:07:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>Makes sense. Should've figured an open-ended pay offer would mean the big guy himself was the one in need of help. Pretty badly, too, from the sound of it: eye damage is no joke. That shit's damn near paralyzing and hard to fix if it's serious. Can't exactly stitch a cut eye back together and expect it to work.<br><br>No sense worrying about how bad it might be before she gets a look at the damage, so Ruth up and hauls her kit over to where Havel's idling, sets it down and gets to work. "Hold still," is all she says, close enough to Havel that he should take the hint it's her hands that start touching his face. He'd called it a "whammy," not exactly the most specific term, so surface wounds are the first thing to check for: just gently moving and stretching the skin around his eyes, looking for any cuts, burns, that kind of thing that might not have been real obvious right away, then moving on to getting a good look at the eyes themselves - which, all things considered, don't look too bad for having been through a messy gunfight.<br><br>Okay, so probably not direct impact damage. Let's see just how bad he's doing. She holds a hand up in front of his face. "Follow my finger. Don't turn your head, just track it with your eyes." Back and forth it goes, up and down, waiting to see how much trouble he has with the movement.<br><br>I think we all know how well that goes.<br><br>That's the start of a series of bad indications. There are a few more quick checks she can make and they all come out the same way: he's not seeing shit. Of course he could've just told her that, but it's good to confirm with reliable methods. Problem is, there doesn't seem to be any <em>reason</em> for it. Medically he's...fine, for lack of a better word, and she says as much. "I can do some more in-depth tests back at the infirmary but, to be blunt, I don't think it'll accomplish much more than this did. I don't have the equipment to deal with having your eyes burned out by the sun if that's what happened, but I doubt it - there'd be more scarring, more <em>something</em> to see than there is. Whatever this guy did to you, I don't know where to start trying to undo it..."<br><br>The thought tails off at the end. See, she <em>does</em> have an idea where to start, come to think of it. If he got fucked over by a leader of crazies, maybe a leader of crazies is what he needs to get unfucked. "...but I know someone who might have some idea. Pretty sure I heard she's back in Gomorrah somewhere. Ever heard of Ambrosea?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>30-05-2013, 23:38:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Havel</strong><br><br>Putting up with Ruth's examination with a patience that was mighty lengthy all things considered, Havel does everything she tells him, keeping quiet except to answer questions and holding still. Maybe he wasn't given the best rearing ever, but his daddy taught him to listen when the Doc is talkin'.<br><br>His first reaction when the Doc mentions Ambrosea is 'No Fucking Way'. Havel could handle freaky sun cultists, 'cause they died when you shot them like anyone and anything else. Even getting blinded was pretty okay, all things considered, since that's the kind of thing you could expect when you tangled with dickbags who went poking around in the Maelstrom for giggles. Sun cultists blind you, makes sense. Ambrosea... A couple of the Company Men who hear the name also have less than joyous reactions, from the sound of spitting and muttering that arises from that quarter. Somebody else, sounds like Brandy, gives a low, earthy chuckle.<br><br>"We've run into that one before. Had a bit of a problem with her gang tryin' to recruit from the Company." Havel waves a hand in the general direction of the Sun Cult's fallen, to indicate how his people responded to that kind of enemy action. "Knocked a few heads, but we didn't have to kill any of 'em. Don't know how happy she'd be to see me askin' for help... Probably pretty fuckin' happy, now I think of it."<br><br>From behind Havel, the sound of a lighter being sparked, followed by fire blooming to life and the smell of burning gas, hair, and meat. Kettle and Gnarly give a grunt as they toss the last body off to the side of the road. "We're done here. Everybody saddle up! Whiskey, I'm ridin' bitch with you. Brandy, you've got the Doc." Both of them have the kind of big comfortable bikes made for carrying passengers or some cargo, far better than Morgan's light scouting model. "Kettle, Gnarly, go back to the laager and relieve Loper and Scribe. Nobody into the camp, period."<br><br>Everybody gets into gear, swinging onto bikes and starting them up with a series of belching roars. Havel clumsily climbs aboard behind Whiskey, eliciting a dirty joke along the lines of 'snuggle up close, boy,' to which the Captain responds with a rough fist in the ribs. "I can still kick yer ass, dickhead..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>12-06-2013, 11:40:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>AMBROSEA</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body"> Millions kind of shrugs under Ambrosea's arm.&nbsp; Maybe she's not stone sober, maybe she's still seeing colors like the way people who haven't seen the world through Ambrosea's wonder-drug see 'em in the sky after rain or on the black roads where an auto's bled out its black blood and left a prismatic stain behind.&nbsp; Maybe she is sober, though, maybe she just doesn't care what anyone else thinks, maybe it's just too fucking hot to get dressed.<br><br>She says, "La la, if you say so," a little bit pouty, but it's not long before she slips out from under Ambrosea's arm and wanders off, taking careful barefoot steps out in Gomorrah, watching careful for any unpleasantness she might set foot on.&nbsp; Probably heading back to her own rented shack, but she definitely doesn't show any sign of being concerned about a jealous hardholder.&nbsp; She's got a nice swagger to her gait; she draws eyes, for sure.<br><br>Back out in Gomorrah, there's a lot of place to be, but the exciting places are closer to the well, so that's where Ambrosea finds herself: moving closer to the well.&nbsp; Balls' place keeps pretty busy, too, though as Ambrosea comes on it, she sees that there's maybe the wrong kind of excitement happening out there.&nbsp; There's a woman out front, she's wearing these pants that cut off short just around her shins and she's got suspenders on, but they're hanging down by her pants instead of holding 'em up.&nbsp; And she's got a pistol, she's got it out, pointing it pretty indiscriminately.<br><br>Ambrosea hears, "I don't give a fuck what Cringe has to say," and is that Balls out there with her?&nbsp; Must be.&nbsp; "You let one of ours get fucking wasted out here, girl, you better be fuckin' <em>thankful</em> Esther sends me and doesn't fucking crater you, dig?"&nbsp; She emphasizes herself by swinging that pistol around, really making a scene.<br><br>"Who the fuck was it?"&nbsp; A pause.&nbsp; "Awh, fuck, they got <em>Apricot</em>?&nbsp; The fuck'd he ever do to anybody?&nbsp; Just a fuckin' kid, man."&nbsp; She kind of paces in a circle.<br><br>Someone else is dragging something -- someone -- out of the door to Balls' place.&nbsp; <br><br>Somewhere, there're gunshots, three of 'em quick.&nbsp; <em>Bang bang bang.</em> Further off, bike howling like a pack of wild dogs, and getting closer.&nbsp; <br><br><strong>Ambrosea</strong>, what you're telling me is, you got all these followers hyped up on drugs, but you never bothered to give 'em any commandments or rituals or rites or anything, they haven't made up any on their own?&nbsp; They just bullshit their way through?&nbsp; I mean, if that's what you're into, I just figured if I were a living deity I'd be stricter is all.&nbsp; You know any of these people, by the way?&nbsp; That's Look out there with the gun, not sure who the guy comin' out the door with a corpse in tow is.&nbsp; What do you do?</div></div><br><strong>HAVEL and RUTH</strong><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Brandy and Whiskey, Havel and Ruth, all ready to go; behind them, a fire's starting getting going, crackling leather and all.&nbsp; They're moving just as the distinct pork smell of searing human starts to reach, Gnarly out there stomaching it as best he can until he knows for sure the fire's not gonna stop.&nbsp; That's gotta beat being left out in the sun to cook, the way these cultists got it coming -- but then, isn't that how they honor their dead, like the half-rotten, half-mummified corpse those guys were carrying out into the desert?&nbsp; That's pretty fuckin' ugly.&nbsp; Out here around Gomorrah, bodies don't just shrivel up, they fester and get picked apart by rats and ants and locusts until there's nothing left.&nbsp; Driving from the laager to Gomorrah's gonna be an unpleasant trip for a while.<br><br>So Gnarly, he's the last one onto his bike, but it's not too long before he's out there beside Kettle making his way back to lock things down.<br><br>The bikers don't usually get the warmest welcome when they come into town.&nbsp; They're usually armed, that scares people, they got these bikes that make noise like you wouldn't believe and that just pisses people off.&nbsp; So the group's met with these looks that Havel's probably used to, wary disapproval more than anything, maybe a little bit of surprise at seeing Ruth, reliable town doctor, clinging to the pock-marked, mat-haired Brandy.<br><br>She smells like like her namesake, by the way, Ruth, but not quality stuff, cheap brandy.&nbsp; So does Whiskey, for that matter, but Havel's probably more used to that.<br><br>There's no big sign that just announces, like, <em>here be Ambrosea.</em>&nbsp; Her influence spreads wherever she goes, her little cult working people up to that first hit that hooks 'em.&nbsp; But those cultists ain't her, and for the most part.&nbsp; So who fuckin' knows.&nbsp; As they cruise deeper into the heart of Gomorrah -- after all, that's where the action is, the well's the heart of the state -- gunshots can be heard somewhere, hard to be sure where, just a trio of 'em, <em>bang bang bang.</em><br><br>Then, all that comfortable cruising goes south: there's some naked woman coming their direction, just strolling down the open street between makeshift shacks like nothing out of the ordinary, looking up the sky now and then, mostly just smiling like it's the finest day there's ever been.&nbsp; Maybe that was what was distracting the bikers up front, enough that they weren't ready for it when three people suddenly erupted out from one of the little ragtag buildings at their sides, chasing straight out into the street in front of them, like they're terrified of something behind 'em, terrified enough that they're safer running right out in front of a bunch of bikes.&nbsp; <br><br>Maybe One-Eye's distracted because he's only got one fucking eye, but whatever the reason, yeah, he doesn't brake until it's too late, so his bike smashes into one of these guys running out from that house and starts to skid, going down with his bike.&nbsp; That starts a mess in the rest of the group as people start pulling off to the side, hitting their brakes, whatever it takes not to hit One-Eye and his bike and these people, and yeah, Ruth and Havel are on the least balanced bikes in the pack, riding double as they are.<br><br>There's some yelling, yeah.&nbsp; Some of it sounds like, "Get back, get back!" and some of it's like, "Oh, shit!" and, well, most of it's mostly people shouting because they just got whacked by a bike or because bikes are falling over or because of whatever it is that just happened to draw their attention here.<br><br><strong>Havel, Ruth</strong>, either of you recognize the naked chick?&nbsp; She's Millions, one of Ambrosea's hangers-on, but she's pretty new to the cult so honestly I wouldn't be too surprised if you haven't met, what with your shaky relations with the hocus.&nbsp; Anyway, things are getting exciting here, and exciting means, <em>life sucks for you guys today, huh?</em>, so what do you do?&nbsp; Try to do it before Whiskey and Brandy hit something, by the way, because these streets aren't very wide small and they don't practice a lot of safe driving behaviors.</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shjade</strong> on <strong>12-06-2013, 20:31:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Ruth</strong><br><br>Well, fuck, from bad to worse.<br><br>The stenches she could live with: Ruth's been around nasty burns before, sometimes while they happened, so the smell of that biker going up in smoke isn't altogether unfamiliar, not that that makes it any more fun to have around; and alcohol's not exactly rare in Gomorrah so Brandy's aura is nothing new either. Riding around piggyback on a series of hogs she can bear, too. But all that piling onto a wreck that looks to turn into a metal massacre? That's where she gets off.<br><br>No, seriously, that seems like time to get off. The whole train of choppers is pulling back to maneuver around shit anyway so it's not like they're ripping down the road anymore, but that wobble in Brandy's first weave is way too unsteady to garner confidence. Ruth's seen enough bike wrecks to know what a mess they make of the riders, and it only gets worse with bonus cargo in tow. Rather take her chances with a dive than wait and see if she gets the whole machine piled on top of her when things go south.<br><br>Can't just jump without letting her chauffeur know what's up, though. That'd throw her off for sure, guarantee she goes down with her wheels, and wouldn't <em>that</em> help Havel's mood? So she does the best she can: slaps Brandy on the shoulder once, hard, just tryin' to get her attention, shouts, "Dropping weight!" Then she shoves back, lifting her kit up to do what she can to cushion her hard drop to the ground.<br><br>The kit's not exactly a pillow, but it does have some padding - mostly on the inside to keep the stuff in it from breaking - so it's marginally better than dropping her head on a rock. Marginally. Maybe more important, though, is it gives her an anchor, something to help slow her down so she doesn't just keep rolling on behind Brandy's bike as it skids on ahead down the way. Maybe cuts her rotations down to two or three instead of six, seven, eight. Still gonna be a hell of a time counting the scrapes and bruises, but hey, better than the alternative if that shit went bad. She'll take the devil she knows every time. Well, most times. She's not going to do a whole lot more than lie there and feel hurt for a little while after, though. Just give her a minute to put her head back on straight.<br><br>Staring up at the sky, the noise of wrecks and shouting kinda put into the background for the time being, her head sorta rewinds things a bit, tries to unravel what started that all going bad. They'd gone by some streaker, hadn't they? ... No, that's right. She knew that look. One of Ambrosea's, right? Yeah, the puppy girl. Hadn't been introduced, just thought of her that way, glued to Ambrosea's side the way she'd been the last time Ruth saw her. Real quiet type, seemed like. Ha. Maybe something is going their way after all; if that girl's wandering around her keeper's gotta be close by, right? Walking distance, maybe. That is, assuming she can walk in a bit. One thing at a time.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Queluna</strong> on <strong>14-06-2013, 07:42:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Her first instinct is to turn and walk away, to not be a part of this, what ever it was.&nbsp; She is not a fighter, nor is she a woman to put herself in harm's way.&nbsp; At the same time, she doesn't know many people here, and despite the fact that they may have heard rumors, many people here didn't know her either.&nbsp; Nobody had reason to hate her, to risk the wrath of her cult should they harm her.&nbsp; Perhaps it was an opportunity for her to see cool heads prevail, to make a few new friends, and perhaps a few new followers.<br><br>She didnt recognize the woman with the gun, but she recognized Balls.&nbsp; They hadn't spoken much at all, really, but she had seen the woman a few times here and there, during her interactions with Cringe recently and in the past.&nbsp; She was quite taken with the woman, but was respectful of Cringe's things.&nbsp; "Oh, has Balls been a naughty girl?"&nbsp; Ambrosea asks, shaking her head in playful disapprovement as she makes a pouty face, stepping closer to Balls.&nbsp; She moves around behind the woman in a non-threatening manner, placing her hands gently upon her shoulders as she leans in to speak into her ear.&nbsp; "I can't imagine Cringe would be very happy with you, if you've been making trouble."<br><br>She moves to stand close to both of the women, now, but not between them.&nbsp; Still looking toward Balls, she speaks, "She's looking for you, by the way.&nbsp; Perhaps you should run off and tell her what you did, before you get into any more trouble."<br><br>When the three gunshots went off in the distance, Ambrosea looked in their direction briefly before turning her eyes toward Look.&nbsp; "What's going on?&nbsp; Those related to this?"&nbsp; She asks of the gunshots.<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Ambrosea's drug comes in the form of a body paint, kind of like woad.&nbsp; It intoxicated the people wearing it.&nbsp; When they use it, they tend to enjoy staying in the nude, and sometimes the application process itself can be very sexual.&nbsp; They also have various night time rituals performed with candles or other lights in a stained glass casing, providing many colors in their small tents and shacks.</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: [AW:Desert's On Fire] The First Session</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>15-06-2013, 19:06:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Havel</strong><br><br>Being all blind and shit like he is, the Captain isn't really aware of the situation until Whiskey hollers "Roll off!" all of a sudden, slapping him on the leg real hard and urgent. Whiskey's bike is loud as hell, plenty loud enough to keep him from hearing the ruckus up ahead, right up until One-Eye's bike goes sideways on the pavement and starts sliding with a shriek fit to wake the dead.<br><br>Surprised and still pretty damned disoriented, Havel hesitates for just a moment before reflex and instinct takes over, sending him off the side of the bike. Tucking into a ball, he tries to take the fall on his armored back and shoulders, wrapping his arms over his head. It pretty much works, but he doesn't hit the ground with so much of a roll as a bounce, white pain flashing up his spine and down his legs as he tumbles into something that doesn't do a damn thing to cushion him when he comes to rest against it. Tasting copper blood, he just kinda lays there for a moment, spitting red and groaning, arms wrapped around his ribs. Broken, sprung, or just bruised? Is the blood from biting the inside of his mouth, or a hole in his lung with some bone shoved through it?<br><br>Sitting up slowly, he makes a check of himself, trying to work his arms and legs, feel his sides. At least he can move at all; that kind of tumble could just as easily have broken his neck as any other bone, but he feels pretty good all things considered. Of course, that might just be the pulsing red rage that's starting to cloud his senses, now that the shock and surprise is wearing off. Havel's not having a good day, and when the Company Captain has a bad day, fuckin' everyone better be having a bad fuckin' day. If he weren't blind, like he is, he'd already be seeing to it that heads rolled for whatever the hell had caused him to come unseated.<br><br>As it is, he pretty much just waits for Whiskey to limp over with a slightly pained, "Dude. Not cool." Something pokes Havel in the shoulder, and he grabs for it; the stock of his shotgun, along with the rest of it still attached, shells loaded within. "Report," Havel says, scooting himself back to lean on whatever he'd fetched up against; felt like some kind of shanty wall. Whiskey fills him in on what had happened, as best as he could see it. Mostly just that someone was naked and One-Eye had wrecked and the Doc had bailed out. "Go find her. And Brandy. Regroup here, and for fucks sake grab any Company Man you see and bring 'em. Where the fuck is everyone?" <br><br>The last is more of a mutter to himself as he bends to the side with a wince, spitting some more blood into the dust. Word should have gotten around by now about the trouble at Ball's place. The shots in the direction of the laager would have been noticed. And now a full-blown motorcycle wreck in the town itself? Every Company Man in Gomorrah should have been crawling all over, guns and blood up, ready to take action. Too much was happening too fast, and he needed his gang around him if he hoped to survive to nightfall, the way shit was going so far. Was it even noon yet?
			</dd>
		</dl>
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