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"Time is relative." Those are the first three words the Time Keeper said to you back when this all began. Wherever you were whatever you were doing, you wanted the power to change time, to reorder the world to fit your ideas of what should have been or should be. You wished for it, and the Time Keeper appeared to grant your wish. Maybe the Time Keeper was a white rabbit with a fob watch, maybe it was a girl with stars in her eyes, or an tired man with a old, old voice, either way you know for sure that time travel exists. It's possible and with that power you can take what's rightfully yours, undo what once went wrong, and finally see for yourself what really happened. "You'll want to watch out. Time can be taken." Those are the last nine words the Time Keeper said to you back when this all started. But now you're someplace completely different.  Time has been changed. Time has been advanced by 6 hoursIt hurts. It burns. A knife in your gut, a chill down the back of your spine, or sudden burst of discordant noise that blared in one ear and did nothing to the other. However it's expressed, you're aware that Time has been changed. It's uncomfortable and you know what just happened. Someone pushed time forward, jumped you to this morning, right now. A vague impression settles uneasily across the forefront of your mind, it happened at the airport. Or at least, the culprit is at the airport anyway. For now. October 6, 7:00 AM Rusty, Alcoholic Bum Coughing painfully to yourself as you lurch upright, you grip the edge of the cot tightly in confusion.Wasn't it just night? What the hell happened here? You'd passed out after last night's revelation from the Time Keeper, caught somewhere between painful nostalgia and a bitter hope for a better... yesterday? How the gently caress did it go? What were the words? It wasn't really important probably, but you remember that you can go back and do it all again. You saw your grandson being born, and the look on Michael's face when he picked up his son really took you back. But then somebody dropped you a twenty, and you splurged on a $20 bottle of Smirnoff. Looking down at the narrow, vomit stained cot and matching blanket, you see the lip of the bottle peeking up at you. Thank god, it's still there. "Rusty? The gently caress you doing up man? It's like 7 AM, gently caress off back to sleep ferchrissake. They don't kick us out for another two hours at least." Larry rolls over onto his other side and grumbles at you unhappily. "If you're going to freakout or have flashbacks do it on your own time. Some of us would like to get some drat sleep." "Yeah, right. Sorry." You mumble back at him noncommittally, catching up mentally to where you are now. You're at the shelter on Main, just like any other morning where it's not too full and they haven't kicked you out to air the place out. It's no Ritz Carlton but its warm and between the closed circuit cameras and threat of getting banned nobody really causes trouble and you're a lot less likely to get robbed or stabbed. What did the Time Keeper say? You have three seconds but they can be taken? Does that mean you can take somebody else's? The airport is at least a half hour's walk away on foot but its early as hell right now so traffic should be light. Maybe if you run it you can get there in time, find the guy, and... work something out? Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie "Anyway mate, I think Adelson's gonna turn. My guy at the SEC keeps warning me that they're getting tentative bites from a potential whistleblower on this windfarm thing, and out of all the junior execs I'd finger him as the weak link. Blame it on the Catholic upbringing." You can practically see Roger's sarcastic sneer as he says this, the old brit's turned halfway up revealing a mouth full of crooked, nicotine stained teeth like something out of an old horror film or a tacky Halloween mask. Waving to Elaine, you take another Powerbar and flip through the channels with the Tv on mute as the conference call continues. Tyco is up by (+0.50) which means you just made yourself another ten grand. Not bad. "What have we got on him, assuming he's fishing for immunity in exchange for turning state's witness?" Taking a deep breath you knead the space between your eyes, with one hand. You've been up all morning caught up in various international calls, trying to find the source of the leak and now that you've found it you realize the guy you're looking for is a complete blank. What the hell does Adelson even look like? Some black guy? "loving zip and zilch. I'd have axed him years ago but he's one of Daniel's affirmative action hires, too good to pass up when the son of a bitch fills three different quotas at once." That's right. He's one of those born again African refugees with a Steven Hawking robot chair. Was it a car accident or was he born crippled? Eh, same difference. "What do you think Henry? Henry Letton, founding partner of PHML weighs in and the other voices on the line fall silent. "I think before we discuss whether or not we should we use the carrot or the stick, we need to make sure for ourselves what Adelson knows and what he could conceivably leak. Best case scenario we pay a few mil in fines, send an 'overzealous junior partner' to minimum security prison for six months, and everybody else walks away clean. Worst case scenario, someone has to take one for the team, go to real jail and our time table gets pushed back by a few weeks. Let me make myself clear here though, those are the only two options. We are not losing this windfarm deal, do you understand me?" "Well yeah of course. What do you think Damien? All respect to your dad here but this was his call to make in the first place, and since our little brown whistleblower's coming from his end of the table it's only right that someone on your end do the nitty gritty." Ah, there it is. Obviously they weren't actually going to threaten or implicate your father, hence the private call with only trusted (if the word could ever truly apply in these circumstances) confidantes. But they want you to discredit or fire someone working directly underneath him, and Daniel would rather see it all burn than compromise his own twisted sense of loyalty and principles. So they want you to do the hatchet work and count on some sense of familial feeling to ease the transition. What a joke. And suddenly you're there. Or here. It's a strange and almost uncomfortable sense of dislocation. You've been up all night and all morning but it's like all of a sudden the entire world just shifted forward. Someone just changed time, which means a) The Time Keeper was real (you knew that anyway) b) There's someone else out there with a power like yours. What was the last thing the Time Keeper said? Time can be taken. Whoever it is, whatever they did. They're at the airport. Jack Tully – Veteran Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty. Lifting yourself up for another round of pushups, you blow out a slow and steady breath. Not bad for an old timer, but then you've been doing this every drat day for the last forty years so that's got to count for something right? The sun is shining, and it's a beautiful day. It's just a drat shame that Marie isn't around to enjoy it. Like every morning, you miss her. You miss her like nothing else in the world and wish that it had been you, but like every other morning you grit your teeth and get over it. Life's a shitcake and everybody's got to take a bite. It's different now though, since you met the Time Keeper. A man's place in the world, his mark on history and in the lives of his loved ones is an important thing and for your efforts you've done a lot of good and maybe only a bit less bad. But it'll all work out, because you know now, you know with absolute certainty and clarity that you can go back and do it right. Yessir, by God. Jack Tully is going to go back and do it right this time, one step at a time. Then comes the pain, the wracking turmoil and discomfort. Somebody just changed Time. You were in your bed, asleep, and now you've been up for half an hour doing your morning routine. Whoever did it, they're at the airport. You can see it in your head as clear as day, the lonely handful of terminals and small passenger planes with Faroud and his crappy old cab out front. It's pretty close, maybe call it five or ten minutes by car if you drive fast. The Time Keeper told you a lot of things, and you're pretty clear on all of them but the most important thing said was the last. Time can be taken. J-Jack McPherson "Poptart left in the oven, envelope on the counter, remember Parent-Teacher meeting tonight at 6:00. Love you, Dad." There is a poptart left in the small roaster oven, and you grin. He saved you the one with the chocolate smores. Humming quietly to yourself as you go through the cupboard for a glass and pour yourself some milk, you eye the envelope on the counter. It kind of gives you really mixed feelings. Without looking inside you know that it's stuffed full of crumpled, oil stained, and otherwise dog eared small bills and a permission slip, four hundred dollars and everything you need for the senior trip to Washington D.C. Four hundred dollars is a lot of money, and even though you kicked in with your own pay Dad was the one who came up with most of it. It's just a school trip anyway, not like a requirement or anything but he was really adamant that you go. You tried to tell him, argue that it was $400 that you guys could really put to better use somewhere else like a new water heater or any number of other things, but he got that weird look on his face and told you that you should take the chance to go on a trip with your friends and classmates, enjoy your youth while you can. Well, joke's on him. You don't have any frie- OH loving CHRIST GOD IT HURTS!?! It hurts so bad! The half drunk glass of milk smashes against the ground as you double over in pain. Why does it hurt so bad? Somebody just changed Time and it hurt so bad and this isn't what the Time Keeper promised, is it going to be like this every time? Why? Why? This isn't right, none of this is right. You were up late reading up on lottery numbers and Superbowl winners on the Internet, thinking up ways you could use your newfound power to make the world a better place and why does it hurt so bad? Gasping, you stare upwards and out the kitchen window towards the airfield and the airport in the distance. Whoever it is, whatever they did, it's right there. The schoolbus arrives to pick you up in fifteen minutes, otherwise it's a forty five minute walk to Rodderdale High. Nicole Smith You lean over the side of your bed and dry heave, jolted unexpectedly awake as you flail out and knock your alarm clock, cell phone, half a bottle of Jagermeister, and some guy with a Santa tattoo out of your bed. What just happened? Earthquake? No, it hurt and there'd be like cracks on the wall and stuff. It hurt you, inside somehow. Weird. It's too early in the morning to think, and you fumble around in the bed for a pack of cigarettes and a light. gently caress. Nothing. Maybe Santa's little helper is holding? Speaking of which, how's that guy still asleep? Leaning over you pat his pockets down and give him a look over. Not too bad looking, clean shaved, buzz cut. Just the one tattoo, a big old jolly Santa across his back but more importantly what is he doing in your bed? What the hell were you doing last night? There was a party... and uh a Time Keeper? Yeah, the Time Keeper took you forward in Time (or was it back?) and showed you a bunch of ingrates and jerks. They said a lot of nice things too, but ah... Yeah it kind of blurs together. Santa's not waking up though, but he's still breathing and doesn't seem to have OD'd on anything so maybe he's cool? You checked, and you're both wearing pants and shoes so that's probably a good sign there. You're not due at work for like another 12 hours, but you could really do with a shower and a piss, and coffee. loving god, coffee. Then it hits you. The airport, which is a little weird because you've only ever even seen it once and that was as you were on your way into town. You've got a pretty good idea of what direction it's in, and I guess how to get there but uh... eh. Kinda far. Clint Barton Hissing in pain at the sudden intrusion, you hunch over the camera, ruining the shot. Carpenter pulls away from his boyfriend (town pastor with a teenaged gay lover, who'd have figured?), gets in his car, and makes for home. Something just happened. Well, aside from you missing the exact photograph which Mrs. Carpenter is paying you for. Someone changed time, they're at the airport and it turns out it hurts. You lean forward up out of your seat and check the time on the dash, 7:00 AM sharp. It's early yet, and you can probably still make it. Work your contact at the hotel desk for a temporary key, go through the garbage and see if Carpenter or his boyfriend left any souvenirs. Or maybe head for the airport? It's not too far and you've got the engine warmed up already anyway. Dexter's fine anyway, you checked before you headed out last night and made sure he has a full bowl of water and food like you always do. The Time Keeper said a lot of things, and like a good detective you took notes. Very clear and concise notes, someone must have used their ability to change Time. But it's different than yours since yours can only go back. Flipping to a new page you start another heading- Alternate Time Powers- Go forward: Hurts like a bitch? That's two new facts right there. Maybe this time travel thing is going to be easier to figure out than you thought? For what it's worth, Clint has the item/trait: +0 Notes on Time.
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Dec 7, 2013 04:28
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Post reserved. Link to OOC: http://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=3589896 Explanation of game/posting mechanics: http://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=3589896#post422529101
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Dec 7, 2013 04:29
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Also reserved.
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Dec 7, 2013 04:29
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Rusty "I need... I need to make sure this isn't a dream. That I'm awake. That I was awake." It's not the first time Rusty talked to himself. It's not the first time Larry's been woken up by it. And it's definitely not the first time that he's wanted to say something to him about it. In the good times, Larry's almost a friend. Certainly not an enemy, so there's always been hesitation about calling him out. He's not wrong, after all. Still... "Some of us don't get the liberty of deciding when our pasts bite us in the rear end." Wait. Three seconds, he said? Wait for the flash of recognition, the twist to anger, the realization that Rusty has just struck Larry with the past that he promised he never would. Rewind. Three seconds. One. Two. Three. "Sorry, Larry. Bad dream." Rusty rolls over, closes his eyes. Waits for the other shoe to drop. It never does. "Well, I'll be damned." There's a lot of work to be done. But first, two more hours to sleep off the hangover.
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Dec 7, 2013 04:45
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Time has been changed. Time has been rewound by 3 seconds. October 7, 7:00 AM+, T-3 Seconds Pain, terror. Time has shifted, skipped back by 3 seconds. The perpetrator is located somewhere along Main street, in one of the buildings by the old theater. Time is now locked until the end of the Scene/Hour! Rusty, Alcoholic Bum Reaching out to prove it to himself as much as anything else, Rusty grabs ahold of time and twists. It's that simple and surprisingly it feels good. It feels right, and whatever nausea or discomfort he was feeling from the hangover and other jump vanishes. Leaning back in relative comfort he regards the still darkened ceiling of the shelter's first floor. Not bad, really. Larry grunts and rolls over in his sleep. Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie ""Well yeah of course. What do you think Damien? All respect to your dad here but this was his call to make in the first place, and since our little brown whistleblower's coming from his end of the table it's only right that-" "Ah!" Doubling over in pain, the Powerbar falls from your suddenly spasming fingers. Someone son of a bitch just changed Time, right on the tail(?) of the last jump from last night and it HURT. They're at that lovely methadone addict clinic or whatever and dammit it hurts! Like nothing else you've ever felt and in a way you can't put to words, you'd be screaming if you weren't busy gasping for breath (and holding it in with all your might). "Damien? Was that you? What's the matter mate? Cut yourself shaving?" Elaine is already making her way across the desk, her concern and rising panic already showing on her face. Ever the consummate professional, she mouths silently at you- "Do you need a doctor?" Jack Tully – Veteran Thirty-five, Thirty-six, Thirty-seven. Suddenly again, or before. Whatever. It hurts just like the first time, but not as much. Maybe you get used to it? Main street, the homeless shelter by the old theater, downstairs. You've been there a couple times, helping out and donating Marie's old stuff to charity and the like. It just happened again. J-Jack McPherson Like an aftershock following behind a major tremor, Time quakes, shivers, and rewinds and suddenly you're on your feet again, crouched over in pain. The glass of milk is still in your hand and is rapidly slipping through your fingers. It's different this time, still hurts but not as bad. Just different. Main street, downtown. Quite a ways away. Nicole Smith This time you puke for sure, a dry heave turned into painful torrent of foul-smelling fluid which splashes across Santa's little helper and most of the way across your floor. It hurts so much worse this time. Some motherfucker just stuck a dick in Time's eye and Time just donkey punched you in some weird spasmodic reflex. Whoever did it is in the basement of the homeless shelter, where the winos and old addicts bed down. You can almost smell the musty old surplus Army cots and mystery stains. Which I guess could also be the vomit. Ugh. loving mess. Clint Barton Carpenter leans in, his lips parted slightly and tongue poking eagerly out of his mouth. You lock up, but this time (because you're expecting it?) it's not so bad. He's about to seal the deal, you can still take the shot. Someone just changed Time, rewinding the world by 3 seconds and they did it from the homeless shelter on Main. Puppies are dicks fucked around with this message at 23:31 on Feb 20, 2014 |
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Dec 7, 2013 06:12
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Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie 'I wonder if this is what it must feel like to be shot or stabbed.' he thinks as waves of pain radiate through his entire body. He does his best to maintain however and respond to Elena. Communicate with Elena to stage an exit(an important call) for me (+2 Business Minded, +2 Charismatic): 2d6+2+2 10 +2 for Business Minded to respond to her mouthed communication(I figure we have a system like this normally), +2 Charismatic(if applicable, to utilize our relationship). 10 or 8 If she successfully stages an exit for me... Acknowledge Stage Exit Convincingly (+4 Manipulative, +2 Charismatic): 2d6+6 14 Doing his best to maintain his composure, he comes up with an appropriate excuse and quickly leaves for his office. "Excuse me gentleman, but this is probably an urgent matter. As you all know I've been negotiating some details on that huge pharmaceutical company in Montana and the revenue that would provide would be beyond immense seeing as they cater to the whole northern hemisphere." Trying to bear the pain and make it to my office where I can scream and cry and writhe in the hurt.
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Dec 7, 2013 07:02
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Nico Everything was pain. Running a hand through her tricolor hair and surveying the puke-damage with a look of practiced disdain, Nico sighed. It'd gotten loving everywhere, and the smell of it and her intense headache were working on making sure she'd vomit again. Giving Santa's helper one last look, she hoped over him with a surprising amount of grace given the circumstances and made a beeline for her bathroom. After ten minutes she re-emerged, having completely emptied everything that needed emptying, clutching a towel. One of Eric's - he must've overlooked it when they'd done the customary "give the other person back all their stuff" breakup ritual - and started trying to cleanup what she could. She'd managed to vomit on her work clothes, which meant she'd have to do laundry or answer customers when they asked "what's that stain?!" all loving night. Ughhhh. Bending over to dab at the mess as best she could, her headache managed to grow three sizes in about three seconds. "For fucks sake." Finishing her cleanup, Nicole glanced at the still sleeping guy who'd been in her bed. Probably wouldn't believe that he'd managed to puke on his own back, so she turned the towel over a few times to search for a still semi-clean spot and practically draped it across his back. After letting it sit for a few moments, she snatched it back up, wadded it into a bundle, and chucked it into her bathroom. She'd deal with it later, she had more important things to worry about. Namely, coffee and cigarettes. Stepping out of her room into the living room, Nico was both pleased to see it looked like a bomb had gone off - so the party must've been a success - and pissed as gently caress, since it was waaaay too goddamn bright in there. Tiptoing across the den towards Eric's room, she pressed her face against the door, heard his ever-so-annoying snoring, and gently turned the handle. Once inside, she checked to make certain no one was in bed with him (hahaha, motherfucker went to bed by himself, probably still missed her,) and then grabbed the keys to his truck and two cigarettes from off his dresser before silently retreating. Still smelling like a mixture of sweat and vomit, Nico left the house, hopped in Eric's truck, fished his lighter out of the pile of receipts on his passenger seat, lit up one of her perloined cigarettes, and started down the series of roads, stops, and turns that would eventually lead her to Starbucks, and there, blessed coffee. Only once she'd finished her first cigarette of the day did she give any attention to the Time Shenanigans that had left her feeling so roughed up. Airport, homeless shelter... or sleep and laundry? She'd decide after she'd woken up fully. Nicole's gonna grab some coffee, head home, and then start to figure out what the hell is going on. Also try and find wherever the hell her pack of Camels ended up.
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Dec 7, 2013 07:19
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Jack Tully – Veteran “Twice already? Christ how many freaks like me are out there? Just as I was about finished too...” Jack said aloud to his empty home, still a bit shaky from the stab of pain that marks time being hosed over. So, Airport and Homeless Shelter; Jack had never been one for curiosity for it's own sake but at this point, why the hell not? He could make it to the Airport quick enough but turning up at the shelter for no reason could lead to a few questions. Not that George would mind the extra help but Jack didn't want too involve to many other people in this thing and the slightest event out of the ordinary could set off a trainwreck, especially in uncertain times like this. However, he did know George from his time volunteering there and when he handed over Marie's things Maybe George could do him a favour. Finishing his training set (“Again! God drat time bullshit..."), he quickly went for the nearest phone and dialed in a familiar number. “Hey there George! It's me Jack Tully. Sorry for ringing so early but I had a reason for calling. I'm a bit embarrassed about this, probably just an old man going senile but I'm a bit worried about one of your clients. When I was down there last, I heard one of them mention they'd been having fit's of pain and discomfort but I can't for the life of me remember what their name was. Anyway, from what they described, it sounded drat similar to Marie went through early on. Again, old man thinking too much on the past, seeing ghosts and shadows everywhere but when I think of someone suffering like Marie was.... Has anyone been complaining about pain, or having disturbed sleep over there? It's probably nothing, but I want to set my mind at ease.” The lie was bitter on his tongue, but it was 'theoretically' for a good cause. Still using Marie as an excuse like that? “I hope that’s the limit of the depths I have to sink to.” Jack whispered to himself, quietly so George couldn't hear. Using +2 Good Reputation and +2 Contacts, to put out a call to the Homeless Shelter and try and find out what's what, maybe weasel out a name to investigate later. Then it's off to the airport as fast as I can. I don't have an Orokos account, but if that's the way you want to do things Puppies then it only takes about 10 seconds to make an account.
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Dec 7, 2013 12:51
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Clint Barton - Private Eye "Christ," I shouted as the second wave of pain hit me. "What the hell is going on?" I was not, however, to shaken up to snap the shot I'd been paid to take. "Christ again," I said to myself, "Why can't there be any decent people in this town?" I looked down at my watch as I put away my camera's telephonic lens: 7:00:46 7:00:47 7:00:48 "Three seconds," I thought. "That's not a lot...but if I could get more..." Then my whole world changed as I remembered and put the pieces together. "And the old woman...she said it could be taken. Maybe I can take it from someone else." If I did that, maybe I could get enough to go back and fix what I wasn't able to fix before. After that old woman had shown me where The Grin had killed Gemma, I immediately wrote down everything I remembered about where it was; and I remembered a lot. I put in a few calls to my old precinct about an hour after I got though processing all the information. I finally got a hold of my old sergeant, Jeff Sanderson, to see if he could look in to what I had seen. I know that what the old lady had shown me had felt real, but I had to be sure. That, of course, was before the pain this morning (or last night?). I had gotten along great with Jeff, and he had taken Mitch's suicide almost as bad as I had, so it wasn't a hard sale. He knew that I would never let it go and he trusted me enough to not ask where I'd gotten my information. Quickly, I brought out my hand held note pad, none of the new PDA poo poo. It's not that I didn't trust technology, or couldn't use it, but I knew how easy it was to track down things that technology held. The only way anyone would get this information is if I were dead and they took it from me. After that, it wouldn't matter. I flipped to a new page and began to write: pre:Time Jump Variations: First Jump: Length of time: approx 7 hours Span: October 6th, 12:00 am to October 7th, 7:00:00 am Direction: Forward Location of Infraction: Airport Second Jump: Length of time: 3 seconds Span: October 6th, 7:00:03 am to October 7th, 7:00:00 am Direction: Backwards Location of Infraction: Homeless shelter on Main Street So, I put my camera on the passenger seat, crumpled up the Taco Bell breakfast waffle wrapper so it wouldn't fly out the window as I sped off in the 1991 blue Ford Focus I'd borrowed for the job. I'm heading to the airport!
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Dec 9, 2013 04:08
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Jack McPherson Oh god, not now. Now he wasn't gonna be able to stop thinking and wondering about who or what had already rewound time. Again! Unless... Jack glanced at the phone on the counter. Maybe he could... try calling in sick? He'd never tried it before, and Dad would probably know the second he tried, but Jack had to find out. Or did he? His hand wavered over the phone, but in the end he dropped. Dad would know, somehow. And Jack wasn't brave enough to risk his already tenuous grasp on the curriculum. Sighing, he gathered his things together, snagged the poptart out of the toaster, then waited for the bus to arrive. The regret at his cowardice had already begun to gnaw at him. Jack's gonna go to school like a good little boy. 
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Dec 9, 2013 19:43
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October 7, 7:00 AM+ Jack McPherson Still worrying anxiously about what he might have missed (or a third sudden spike of soul-wrenching pain), Jack hitched up his backpack and shuffled down to the end of the block, craning his head to surreptitiously glance in the direction of the airfield as he did. There it was, right on time, the bus. It was some small comfort anyway that some normalcy remained in his life, and he took the time to examine himself for signs of injury or external damage. Time travel hurt. Why hadn't the Time Keeper mentioned this before? Was he doing something wrong or was it somebody else out to get him? Jack brooded over his prospects on the ride to school and through the halls on the way to his first period Spanish class, barely paying any attention when the books were slapped out of his hands just before he made it to the threshold of the door. "Out of the way, Serial Killer." "F-f-gently caress you Chris." "Hey whatever you say, Killer. Just don't come to school tomorrow and shoot the place up ok?" Jack knelt and gathered up his books, resigned to being tardy like on pretty much every other morning and mentally he gave the quarterback the finger. If only he had the time, he could have gone back right then and, and shown that smug fucker uh... something. For a moment he panicked. What if there were others like him out there (ok there probably were others, at least two and probably lots) and what if, what if like the Timekeeper said they were out to get him? Take his Time? Then the jump from last night, and the other one just now, both of those were pretty close (well ok, the airport one was anyway). What if the other time (travelers?) were closing in on him? He jerked upwards and glanced down the now empty halls of the high school. He checked the clock on the wall for good measure. 7:35. Time would unlock somewhere halfway through the lesson, but what if they used it again to lock him in? Block him from using his power to defend himself? gently caress. Shadowy and poorly imagined figures stalked him across his mind, but he took a deep breath and steadied himself. No, that was crazy. Overthinking it for sure. It was just a coincidence that the first jump was right near his house and the other happened right after it. Probably. Jack gulped and made his way into the classroom. Clint Barton - Private Eye It was a good moneyshot, and knowing roughly in advance when Carpenter would go in for the tongue really helped you get it exactly right. Just to make sure you upload the image from the camera onto your phone and email it to yourself. Belt and suspenders all the way, that's what pays the bills and solves cases is what Dad would have said. Or he might still be saying it. Hard to say when the last non-mono syllabic grunt you two have shared was due to an accidental meeting down at the Walmart in the dairy aisle. At least he's still on the low fat milk? Probably doesn't hurt his blood pressure any. Still maundering about it (and trying not to overthink the possibilities for what would happen if/when Jeff called back) you pull into Hollister's single claim to regional fame. The airport. Heathcliff airport is pretty much the same now as it was back when you were a kid or for that matter in the 60s when it was first built. It's the same dilapidated, retro looking terminal with an open runway that lets out into an empty field peppered with some low rent trailers and subdivisions in the distance. The same two airlines, same two elderly clerks at their lonely check-in desks, and the same vomit-colored carpet and faux wood paneling. This lovely airport, this lovely airport never changes. The old Arab guy's even out front just like you remembered him, his beat up yellow cab parked sideways in front of the terminal's entrance. Jack Tully – Veteran "Oh hey Jack, no it's no problem really. I've been up for half an hour anyway getting stuff squared away for the movie night later. If you're interested you're welcome to attend, we've got the finest works of Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin available on VHS. In fact, hang on a sec." George grunts as he sets down the cell phone, and in the background you can hear the muffled noise of boxes being moved around. "Well you know how it is with my guys, Jack, especially the older ones. Between the PTSD, the substance abuse, and whatever else could go wrong and has they're not in great shape. I mean, there's kind of a confidentiality thing at work here if it's a specific medical condition we're talking about but I know your heart is in the right place. I can probably make some careful inquiries if you're really worried. Do you remember any other details about the guy you have in mind? When did you see him last?" Nico Pulling into the parking lot Nico considered her options. At this early loving hour in time she needed nothing less than a venti-sized anything (probably something with latte or caramel because everything else was poo poo), but the contents of Eric's ashtray, glove compartment, and change tray added up to about three dollars in spare change. A quick glance at the drive-thru menu confirmed her general suspicion that Starbucks was a goddamn ripoff at a minimum of $4.75 a pop for anything worth drinking. She shrugged and pulled up to the speaker anyway, placing an order for the largest sweetened coffee drink on the menu along with a sandwich for good measure. She rolled up to the window, veering the truck a bit so that she was just a bit farther than arm's length, extending the handful of change at a long reach. "Oh gently caress drat it! Will you look at that. Geez I'm sorry." Nico craned partway out of the window precariously and looked down, frowning at the dropped coins. Most of it at least had made it into the clerk's hands. "poo poo I think some of it rolled underneath the wheel there. gently caress, and that was all I had too." She sighed unhappily and patted her pockets, coming up with a handful of crumpled tissues and half a broken button, looking mournfully at the clerk. "I guess I'll just forget about that bright idea huh?" "Oh hey don't worry about it, you know what? You can have this one on the house." Nico stopped in the parking lot and took a drink of the sweet, delicious caffeine. After steadying her nerves and taking a bite of the not-quite-honestly-gotten sandwich, she thought things over again. This time travel poo poo was definitely real, but man did that poo poo hurt. Whoever was responsible for it out there was obviously a dick, but she did have other things to do with her time than get in arguments with strangers over time shenanigan etiquette. Or maybe not. Where the hell did she leave her smokes? She had them last night definitely, it was almost a full pack and she remembered popping the top and enjoying that first sweet drag from the very first one. Did she leave them at the party or what? If so, the important question here was which one? She'd attended two. One yesterday night and another... in the future. Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie Biting back your discomfort, you spit out what is hopefully a reasonable explanation through clenched teeth, leaving Elaine to manage the other partners via conference call. You stagger into your private bathroom, and locking the door behind you collapse painfully against the wall. You have the presence of mind to roll over onto your stomach in the hopes of not choking to death on your own vomit. At some point you probably passed out, but by the time you're lucid enough to realize this the pain has faded away (slightly) to a radiating ache. Codeine. There's codeine and antacids in the medicine cabinet, although getting up there is its own painful trial. After chewing a handful of tablets you run the water, stopping to wash your face and take small sips and gradually it gets better. Rusty, Alcoholic Bum For his part Rusty gradually nods off and dozes, rather comfortably in fact. Confident in the use of his amazing new power (it's all going to get better from here) he smiles as he stretches out atop the surplus army cot. Still slightly awake and thinking back on the possibilities of what might have been, he drifts, reminiscing of everything that he's going to see or do again soon. It's quite possibly the best sleep he's had in years. Puppies are dicks fucked around with this message at 23:32 on Feb 20, 2014 |
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Dec 10, 2013 08:53
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Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie Wolfing down pills and water at a rate that he can manage, he gets back to his desk and straightens himself out. After taking a few breaths to regain his composure, he presses a button on the intercom, "Elena, please cancel the rest of my appointments for the day." He slumps in his chair and idly browses memos and acquisition dossiers while he waits for the medicine to take effect and then he leaves quickly without a word to anyone and a cold rage building up inside him. Damien heads to the airport.
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Dec 10, 2013 17:52
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Jack Tully – Veteran “Hah, alright I understand. Like I said I can't remember much, only that they mentioned being woken up early with pain and a bit of disorientation. I think it was around this sort of time actually. Well anyway, movie night sounds like a ton of laughs but I've got a bit of business around town today and I don't know how tired I'll be at the end of it. I'll try and make it though, it'll be good to catch up with some of the guys. I'll see you later then. Oh and George, thanks for humouring an old man.” Well it had been a bust, but now there was an in to scope out the place. It would actually be pretty nice to catch up with some of the guys there as well, since it had been a few weeks sine Jack had managed to go last. “Alright, enough small talk” Jack said to himself in the quiet of his home. “The airport won't investigate itself and I need to have an eyeful of whoever it is can make time his bitch in half-hourly chunks. If time can be 'taken', I'm betting this guy has taken a helluva lot of it. Every other weirdo like me is going to be converging on the airport as well, so it's a good time for a scouting op.” The little pep talk over with Jack strode to his waiting car, the short journey to the airport itching on his mind.
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Dec 10, 2013 21:49
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Nico Well that was some bullshit. She'd maybe left her cigarettes in the future some-loving how. Not equipped to deal with something that sci-fi - or really, deal with much of anything thanks to her hangover - the sandwich bandit made her way back home. She had a plan, but mostly she needed to park the truck before Eric woke up or she'd have to listen to him complain about her. Not at her, really, he'd probably just stick with his usual passive-aggressive chicken-poo poo tactics and bitch about her to one of their roommates when he was certain she could overhear. Which was actually what had given Nico the idea genesis for her aforementioned plan. Traffic was still pretty light, so she made it back home rather quickly. Parking the truck and pocketing the keys and his lighter, Nico lit the second cigarette she'd borrowed, spent five minutes admiring the sunlight reflected on the increasingly sparse leaves of the trees that dominated the abandoned lot near their house while she smoked it, and then gingerly opened the front door and stepped inside. As far as she could tell, no one was up or moving about. Good... onto phase two. Tiptoeing towards her room, Nico grabbed her dirty work clothes, glanced down at the mystery man who'd managed to not move at all since she'd left, and backtracked into the living room and from there the garage, which contained their washer and dryer (and a load of substantially less useful other poo poo that wasn't hers.) Starting up the machine took longer than it should have, but gently caress if every beep the thing made wasn't doing its best to make her massive headache even worse. Finally finished with that important step, she proceeded to phase three. Tiptoeing again, this time back to her room, but with the addendum that she made certain to leave her door wide open. It faced into the living room, and was opposite Eric's door on the far wall. The last step in her little scheme was to lay down next to... whatever his name was on her floor, snag a pillow and her blankets off her bed (the pillow was so she could go back to sleep comfortably, the blankets were so she could cover them both up and leave what they were or were not wearing underneath it up to whosoever chanced to see them's - say, Eric perhaps - imagination,) and attempted to go back to sleep. So long as nobody else decided to dick around with time for a few loving hours, she'd be able to get some respite from her awful hangover, and metaphorically punch Eric's heart in the dick. A win / win. She'd deal with the case of the missing cigarettes later.
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Dec 11, 2013 08:28
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October 7, 7:00 AM++ Nico Even with a pillow and a blanket it's pretty rough going. Santa's honestly not that bad of a bed partner, since he's warm, quiet (doesn't snore like some assholes), and doesn't really move around a whole lot in his sleep or for that matter at all. But the cloying smell of vomit, the caffeine, and vestiges of gut-wrenching pain (or hangover) can't help but keep you awake. Plus the floor is cold and hard and tacky. poo poo, when's the last time anybody cleaned down here? Closing your eyes, you try to make the best of it. It's too loving early for any of this bullshit and it's not like time and space are going anywhere while you sleep it off anyway. Closing your eyes you give it your best shot, eventually drifting off kind of uncomfortably and vaguely as you think about punching Eric in the dick. Punching him in the heart or the throat could work just as well too. Across the hall you can hear his door open and after a brief moment, slam shut. Sounds like a mission accomplished? You try not to grin or stretch your arm out too far into what you're pretty sure is an old ice cream stain. At least the caffeine and the sugar and the sandwich helped alleviate your feelings of general crappiness from having woken up too drat early. You almost nod off again, this time for real when you hear Eric's door open up one more time followed by the distinct shutter clicking noise of someone using their phone as a camera. What the gently caress? Jack Tully – Veteran Given how close it is, it's probably best not to drive fast anyway. Probably a bad idea to draw attention to yourself or get a ticket. Some jerk in a BMW cuts you off before the last light though, and your angry honk gets a finger in response. rear end in a top hat. Other than that, it's the same old airport. Faroud's out front with his cab like he's been forever, and as you walk up he sees you and waves. "Jack, my friend! Good morning! How is it going today?" "Ah nothing much Faroud, just running some errands and checking up on some things is all. How's the family? Hey you've been out here all morning right? Can you tell me if anybody ah, suspicious or notable happened to come through here lately? Like in the last half hour?" "Yes, 7:00 AM flight from Denver. Only five people, the Johnsons back from their vacation with their little boy, a man I think he was a policeman, and a pretty girl with a rolling luggage. She asked me about the town and if there were any sights worth seeing. " Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie This isn't the time to dick around, not with what's at stake. Your time is precious, and some son of a bitch jerking around interrupting your business is no laughing matter. You leave Ellen to make excuses and fill in the gaps to the rest of your schedule, and race towards the airport in search of whatever worthless bastard was responsible for starting your morning in such a crappy way. Between the sparse morning traffic, the power and handling on your BMW 5, and more than a few run red lights/stop signs (the police in this town are a joke anyway) you make it to the airport in pretty good time. Some schmuck honks at you along the way, and without bothering to slow down you flip them off and speed off. You pull into the private parking out back, there's no sense in leaving your car out front in the public parking where any number of gawkers or other slack jawed idiots will wind up crowding around it after all. The inside of the airport is as much of a piece of crap as the outside, and the its crewed by a bunch of yokels who match. Honestly there are plenty of good reasons that PHML has its own private airfield, and not having to deal with people like this is one of them. "Oh are those your cats? How cute! Hi I'm Damien, Damien Porter with PHML, the law firm?" The woman at the counter, a particularly shabby working class example of why going to college and actually making something of yourself is worthwhile in life looks up at you in surprise. You give her the kind of dazzling smile that could probably strip paint and really lay it on thick with the charm. "I was wondering if you could do a huge favor for me, I think there was some sort of mix-up over at our office and we missed a pickup for one of our VIPs. Our receptionist is having one of those days and it's just a hot mess. Could you take a look at the flight information and check for me to see if we did?" Ethyl blinks, obviously a bit surprised at the prospect that someone quite as meticulous and well dressed as you are is speaking to her so genially, and that another human being has a passing interest in her no doubt squalid and cat-filled life. You wave it off and give her a friendly wink. "Well I could check the flight manifest and passenger information, but I'm not sure if I'm supposed to..." "Oh could you please? I won't tell if you won't. I'm not sure who I'm looking for exactly, since the paperwork and contact information is all ajumble, but I'm pretty sure I'd recognize the name if you said it to me." "Is this for the 7'o'clock flight that just came in?" "Yes I think so." "Alright, there's a bunch of Johnsons here. Mr. Arnold Johnson, Betty Johnson, and a Rudolph Johnson. Anything?" You shrug noncommittally, and she continues. "There's a Mr. Bach on here, and a Ms. Didier. James Bach and Arr, uh... Au-ro-re Didier?" By the painfully bad attempt at an accent Ethyl is using, that last name is probably French. Aurore? Clint Barton A lot of good police work, detective work, or just life in general is just good observation. Playing it cool, keeping an eye out, taking good notes, and waiting for the right moment to act. With the incriminating photo of Carpenter and his teenaged boyfriend under your belt and safely backed up on the cloud you turn your attention to the matter of time. There are two perps out there at least (weird thinking about it in those terms but it kind of feels right), and the most grievous offender is/was at the airport so that's as good a place to start as any. Old habits die hard, and working habits are even harder so you take your time parking casually in one of the subdivisions down the road a ways from the airport and after a quick check for observers settle yourself down with your telephoto lens to watch and wait. There's two possibilities here, the first being that your perp is already gone. It took you the better part of fifteen minutes or so to make it over and if they had an accomplice waiting for them on the ground they could very well already be gone. Or they could have rented a car or taken the bus. You make a mental note to check the bus schedule later just in case. Option two, they're still at the airport or haven't yet left. Either way it doesn't hurt to wait and see who turns up and where, and as you wait your patience is well rewarded. A black BMW with local plates tears down the highway and through the dusty local roads and lining up the shot you manage to get a few good images of the driver. (male, caucasian, early thirties-late twenties, business suit, looks expensive) He pulls around back to the private parking and heads inside in an obvious hurry. A little while after that a beat up old Cadillac rolls in, and the driver (male, caucasian, mid fifties-late sixties, military bearing, casual dress, maybe six foot even) exits the vehicle and approaches the cabbie parked in front of the airport and engages him in conversation. From the looks of it, they know each other and are on pretty friendly terms. Flipping out your notebook one-handed you start a list of possible suspects as you continue to observe. Puppies are dicks fucked around with this message at 23:32 on Feb 20, 2014 |
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Dec 16, 2013 06:22
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Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie There are no words to describe just how uncomfortable Damien was with all of this. Partly, he felt as if his world was crumbling apart. Part of him wanted to refuse to believe, but it was impossible. This wasn't madness... It was much more terrifying. On the other hand, he reveled in the potential of this new found gift, but what he was unsure of was the best way to use it and his novice control over this gift left a knot in the pit of his stomach that only grew larger with each new complication. 'What am I even doing here!?' he though with some frustration to himself. "You've been a real sweetheart, Ethyl. I really appreciate you looking into this for me." he says with his best practiced smile. "One other question and I promise I'll be out your hair, do you know if all the passengers have already disembarked or were they still coming in? I just want to make sure I'm there for our VIP." Using +4 Manipulative, +2 Charisma of course  .If there's a nearby mess, -2 Mild-OCD Dependent on whether or not the passengers have already left...
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Dec 18, 2013 00:18
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Jack Tully – Veteran “Ah, the Johnsons! There'll probably be a party or something going down to welcome them back then.” Jack wasn't exactly a social butterfly, but he got around; the Johnson's were good people with a pretty cute kid that was still young enough to be entertained by war stories, and out of the 5 people that he knew about, the family covered a good 60%. The thought felt bitter in Jacks mind, disliking the fact a young family like that could be dragged into this mess. “So, a pretty girl looking for the sights, eh? I wonder what the hell made her come to bumblefuck nowhere. And a policeman flying in? Bit out of the ordinary; I hope nothing big is going down...” Jack said fishing for a bit more information from Faroud about the recent arrivals, but Jack guessed it would be for naught. Chatting with Faroud was reason enough in itself, plus it gave him an excuse to loiter for a bit more; there was no way he was the only one around knowing about the time-keeper, which meant he wouldn't be the only one heading for the airport. Gonna shoot the poo poo with Faroud for a bit, scope out the landscape and take in what's what while looking out for any newcomers or anything suspicious. Going to put my +4 US Army Vet scouting and reconnaissance skills to the test.
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Dec 18, 2013 04:06
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Nico Well, the odds of that being a good thing were basically zilch. Laying on the floor next to... whatever this guy's name was... the sound of the picture being taken echoed through Nicole's thoughts. She couldn't figure out exactly why Eric had done that, but was certainly pissed about it. Either he was going to edit the time / date on his phone to finally have fake proof that she'd cheated on him, (which wasn't a bad plan to be honest,) or Santa's helper was someone she didn't need to be in a suggestive picture with, and Eric knew it. Maybe he was dating one of their friends, or was like... some local pariah or something. Whatever Eric's reason, it was trouble, and yet another irritant on this loving finest of mornings. Goddammit, she needed another cigarette. Taking another look at the irritatingly asleep guy on her floor to be certain she didn't actually know him, Nico scooted towards her door while remaining under the covers, nudged it closed with her foot, and then stood up. Glancing around her room for a second or two, she considered her options. She could set his door on fire, or just knock on it and demand to know what the gently caress he was doing playing paparrazi at 7:somethingsomething in the morning. While option A was clearly the all around better choice, it was also most certainly a lease violation. Talking to him it was. Before she did, though... Nicole ran her hands through her hair, making certain it was in a state of maximum bedheadedness, and changed out her Labyrinth t-shirt for the Babyshambles one Eric had bought for her last birthday. Preparations completed, she opened her door a few inches, slipped through the slim crack, and then closed it behind her. A few short steps across the wooden floor of their living room later, and Nico had made it to his bedroom. Knocking on his door in a manner that approximated the intro to Seven Nation Army, she cupped her hands between her mouth and the door and all but shouted "Yo Eric, What The gently caress?!" Nico's hoping he'll reveal why he took the picture after they talk for a bit - maybe a bit of Lying [+4] might help her trip him up enough or convince him to reveal it. Failing that and provided he opens the door, she'll just use her Agile [+2] nature to snatch the phone from his hands, flee to her room, and then lock the door. After that she'll delete the picture, and then read through all of his messages / see who he's been calling since they broke up. Rauri fucked around with this message at 09:28 on Dec 19, 2013 |
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Dec 19, 2013 09:26
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October 7, 7:00 AM+++ Nico "Eric! Hey!" Nico pounded on Eric's door, and was quickly rewarded his stupid smirking fat-chinned face. He grinned in that way of his like he had just clogged the toilet and it was someone else's job to clean it. Motherfucker. "Hey Nico! How's it hanging? Things staying fresh in the state of Denmark for you?" "The hell are you talking about, honky?" "What, I just thought you'd be busy with your new boyfriend is all. I passed by your bedroom a little while ago and saw you guys all snuggled up and poo poo. You guys are a tight new thing right?" "Yeah well some of us move on in life Eric, living in the past is for chumps and weirdos who still get groceries and tuition money from their mom." Nico scowled, this wasn't really working out the way she'd figured. He was just standing there looking so smug. What the gently caress did he know? Maybe it was time to change tactics. "Actually that's kind of the thing, dudebro actually doesn't seem to be like very responsive or keen on waking up despite everything that happened last night. Does he have any people to call or something? Any medical conditions we should worry about?" She feigned concern, still best guessing that someone in the house probably at least knew what the guy's name was and leaned back from the door, looking back at the still sleeping (how the gently caress was he still asleep?!) mystery man. Despite himself (and because he was a stupid simp) Eric's eyes moved to follow hers, and subconsciously he went forward when she pulled back. With practiced agility and easy knowledge of where he liked to keep his phone, she darted in and snatched it from his dresser, already behind her door and slamming it shut before he realized what had happened. "Hey! My phone!" Eric pounded on her door, the situation reversed as she flipped through his recent contacts, messages, and calls along the way towards deleting the possibly incriminating photo. She shouted back as she did. "Why the gently caress are you taking pictures of me you creep?!" "Hey gently caress you! You're the one that tried to set up some sort of fake Penthouse Letters bullshit with Ernesto to try and make me jealous. You think I wouldn't figure that one out?" "How do you know he didn't light my candle? He's amazing and for your information he's bigger than you are!" "Hah! Joke's on you, that guy's gay as a giraffe and everybody knows it! Gimme back my phone. Nico!" Pulling her pillow up from the ground she leaned back against the door and made herself comfortable, sitting down to go through Eric's messages and calls to see what the hell he'd been doing and who he'd been doing it with since their breakup. Maybe there was something incriminating or embarrassing she could pin him with or 'accidentally' forward to his mom. "Seriously Nico, quit being a dick. I gotta leave for work in like twenty minutes and this poo poo isn't funny." Eric's recent calls and text messages were honestly pretty sad. Some messages from his mom and other chode friends giving condolences for his breakup, long boring unsent whinging texts to old girlfriends asking about his own flaws or failed relationships, and a handful of drunk dials to her phone which she kind of vaguely remembered. poo poo. Where was her phone? Jack Tully – Veteran Jack eased in alongside the old cabbie, casual as anything else. They were just two old guys hanging around in the cool morning sun, chatting about trivial things. He was genial and responsive but through it all he kept a critical and sharp eye out for his surroundings. Experience had taught him that sometimes the best camouflage was to lay low and look harmless and really what was threatening or suspicious about two old guys hanging around shooting the poo poo? "Yes it was a bust. Five people and none of them needed a ride, ugh. And I exactly wondered that, other than the military base and maybe the quarry what is there even to see around here? She was French I think, from the accent. The policeman he went with Mr. Barton, they come to pick him up in the cruiser and the Johnsons had their car parked already by themselves. Maybe later eh?" Faroud rambled on in response to Jack's questions, and gradually the details came out. It really wasn't much to work with, but somehow he got the impression that it was worth it to stick around. Something about the scene gave him an odd feeling, but despite his careful and discreet searching nothing really stood out. Eventually though his patience was rewarded. A black BMW, the same BMW that had cut him off earlier during the day pulled out of the rear lot, and just as casually Jack turned his head away and got a good look at the driver, a young guy in a business suit. "Wow look at that. Don't see too many of those every day do you?" "Oh that guy? Yeah he came in earlier in quite a hurry, didn't even stop for the speed bump actually. Just a little bit before you did actually." Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie "Uhm, yes I'm pretty sure that was everybody. There were five people on the manifest and five people got off. Are you sure you're here at the right time? Because there's another flight coming in later today at four but that's from Tulsa. There're more people coming in on that one." She seems pretty sincere and overawed by your presence. Ethyl pushes her thick rimmed glasses up her nose and checks the computer one last time as she does, looking at you with the kind of confused friendliness that most people tend to adopt by default once you turn on the charm. Somewhat subtly and out of habit you reach out and straighten the pens on the counter between you before flashing another dazzling smile. "Oh you know that must be it, gosh thanks you're really a lifesaver. I'll try back then. Thanks so much really." She moves to shake your offered hand and accidentally knocks over the stack of flyers, spilling them across the desk and onto the floor which leads to an even bigger mess as she tries to pick them up and you do your best to put everything back properly. It takes quite a while. As you walk away you think back on that last bit, grinding your teeth at the thought of how the strange new stress is causing you to fall back on old habits that you're already well above and past. This thing really needs to get taken care of and taken care of right before it gets any worse and intrudes on your personal life further. Either way, the homeless shelter is as logical a stop as any and with any luck you can find some answers there. You're already in the car and most of the way back to town when you replay the events of the morning over in your head one more time and realize there were more people at the airport. Ethyl and that cab driver and some other guy, and the flight crew, and janitors or mechanics or whatever the hell the airport staff were made up of. Thinking on it you actually stop at a stop sign instead of rolling through. Alright so it wouldn't make sense for someone at the airport to just move time forward six hours if they were leaving right after right? There's just no point in it, so the plane's pilot and crew are probably out. And Ethyl was out, why the hell would anyone conceivably want to actually put themselves into a lovely dead-end job with nothing but a stale linoleum and faded posters for company. But what about the cabbie or any of the nebulously vague airport staff? Stopping at the stop sign you tap your fingers against the wheel and think it through one last time. Rusty, Alcoholic Bum The fire alarm is going off! The shrill beeping of the fire alarm jolts you awake, and around you in the dim light of the shelter's basement you can hear the others groan themselves awake too. Damnit that's loud. It's coming from outside the basement and down the hall, and coming down at a quick run George, the manager of the shelter flicks the lights on and claps his hands loudly. "Guys? Everybody? We really have to get out of here. There's some smoke upstairs and fire department is on their way but we have to leave the building. Alright? You can bring your stuff but really we have to doubletime it here and nobody's going to get left behind ok?" There's a lot of grumbling and cursing, and despite the alarm and George's efforts some of the men in the room simply roll over and give going to sleep another go. But gradually as the alarm continues and the smell of smoke creeps into the room the other homeless gather their belongings (easy enough to pack light when you have so little anyway) and shuffle out and upstairs. There might not be a fire but there's definitely smoke and a lot of it and it's probably a good idea to clear the place out anyway. A young blond woman walks among you, lending a helping hand to those who need it and murmuring words of comfort to the assembly of bleary-eyed men too hung over, stunned, or still drunk in the early morning. Most people just grumble or shrug, and some of them don't even really bother acknowledging her presence. You feel great though and are surprisingly alert, noticing that she says something else to everyone she meets right before passing on and moving to the next person. Eventually she reaches you and hands you a bottled water, the plastic seal still intact. She looks in your eyes inquiringly, speaking quietly in some kind of foreign accent. "Time is relative."
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Dec 30, 2013 05:34
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Nicole Smith Jeezus. Talk about pathetic. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. "If you've got twenty minutes, it's not really that loving urgent, is it?" She asked him in a haughty tone, tossing his phone onto her bed while she set about looking for her own. Santa's he... er, Ernesto, was still asleep. Double Jeezus, how was that possible? Eric had been banging those fathands of his on her door like he was trying to break the drat thing down. Nico didn't expect to find her phone that easily. She gave her room a quick look over, and her guess was confirmed. She'd need to clean up later tonight... or tomorrow. Maybe this weekend. Certainly before the end of the month at least. Still feeling her hangover and regretting that they kept the ibuprofen in the kitchen, she decided to concentrate on checking her dresser, bed, desk - all the places that didn't entail bending over or scattering the clothes she was storing on the floor everywhere. She didn't have much luck with that either... gently caress. Inspiration struck around the third time she'd pointlessly shifted the clutter on her desk around, hoping the cell phone would miraculously appear there out of respect for how hard she was looking for it. She'd just use Eric's phone to call her own. If somebody answered, it meant they'd nicked it during the party. If it rang in her room, she'd just keep calling it until she found the drat thing. And if it was in the main room, presumably Eric would find it first, and she'd just hold his ransom for her own. The Ex had work way before her anyways, so it wasn't like he could afford to keep hers. Besides, unlike him she wasn't a dumbfuck and knew to delete messages and her recent call list with some regularity. Fumbling his cell out from her pocket, Nico started to enter the digits for her phone, saw that she was in his phone as "EXGF ," giggled quietly for a bit, and then dialed herself.
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Jan 3, 2014 07:17
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Jack Tully – Veteran A French Lady, a Mr Barton, the Johnsons and a young speed freak with a black BMW. That type of fancy car would be easy to track with a call to the DMV guys Jack had met at a little shindig a while back, or to the nice guys on the force he had met at a slightly bigger shindig. (Colonel Jackson was always getting Jack invites to the big social events of Hollister. He had even met the new guy running for Mayor once in passing; could he be the same Barton? Maybe Jackson could pull a few strings and get him some more info.) The Johnsons Jack could see at any time, this Barton could be anyone so he'd leave that for now, the BMW Jack would look into when he got home and the French gal would be untrackable for the moment. So Jack could either go home or go to the shelter, which soon gave him an idea. He had come to the airport because he could sense the use of this time travel malarkey which he could also sense at the Homeless Shelter. Maybe whoever was responsible here at the airport could also sense whatever went down at the Shelter? It was a possibility and better then heading straight home, so Jack decided to go immediately. With his little bit of snooping done, Jack chatted to Faroud for a few more minutes before politely excusing himself and returning to his car. With his destination set in mind, Jack was soon on his way. Nothing more here for Jack, so let's head to the shelter before swinging home.
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Jan 5, 2014 01:53
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Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, it isn't long before he grips it tightly in full on frustration. Truth be told, he was lost and acting impulsive. Something he hadn't been so accustomed to. The ability to manipulate time was beginning to seem more like a curse than a gift, but his determination to master this like all other things kept him going; that or his ego. He was missing a crucial piece to the puzzle, and upset with himself for missing it. "This is no time for pity, Damien. Get your poo poo together." he mumbles, just as someone honks at him for idling at the stop sign. "Hey! gently caress you, pal!" Damien shouts before recklessly driving off, continuing towards the shelter. He thinks aloud as he drives. "I probably squandered my opportunity to learn something at the airport, and if the shelter turns up to be a dead end or if I just blindly miss the obvious like I did the time before... then my next move should be one of patience. Like the predator I am, I'll sit and wait, absolutely charming and unassuming. Then I'll take what's mine." Headed towards the shelter still. He'll kick himself for now, but he knows it is only a matter of time before someone else or the same person reveals themselves. He only hopes that the pain won't do him in from another leap across the continuum.
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Jan 7, 2014 07:17
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October 7, 8:00 AM Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie Whatever. gently caress it, one last spur of the moment shot in the dark in the hopes that your irrational instincts can pay out. You didn't get where you are today by being a risk-averse kind of guy anyway. Success is about identifying weaknesses and having the balls to seize control of opportunities as they appear. The shelter (turns out it's not a methadone clinic) is just as you pictured it in the shittier, grungier part of town and as you pull in up the street you notice a marked increase in the number of vagrants and other undesirables kind of just listlessly hanging around the area. Oh. Firetrucks, an ambulance, and even a few police cars are parked out front. A portion of the road has been closed and an officer is directing the flow of sparse morning traffic towards the side. Something must have happened. Looking at the scene more closely, there are a lot of homeless just standing around staring at the shelter in slack jawed silence. Was there a fire? There must be some kind of connection. Just up ahead a police officer is waving cars through in alternating directions. Jack Tully – Veteran Jack waited and continued to bide his time, making sure to say goodbye and wish Faroud well before heading towards town and the homeless shelter. It wasn't much of a surprise (there was after all only the one road) but the speed freak was up the road well ahead of him. He wasn't very surprised (still only so many roads coming from the airport after all) when the black BMW turned off towards the older part of town and the shelter itself. Then traffic slowed to a crawl, and his sharp eyes caught the distinctive shape of fire engines and police cars in the distance. What had happened at the shelter? It looked like part of the road was closed up ahead and a lot of people were clustered around the old theater. He thought about it for a second, get close or stick to the edges of the action? He still had 20/20 vision after all, and maybe there was set of binoculars or something in the box of junk he was going to donate to Goodwill in the back seat of the car. Nicole Smith "We're sorry; the number you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again." Nico frowned at the phone and gave it another try and after that a third, and a fourth. What the gently caress? Was it off or out of power? It goes to voicemail when that happens right? loving poo poo, how the hell was she supposed to find it now? She gave the pile of clutter on her desk and dresser another hard look and was disappointed when it failed to appear. Alright, time for an inventory check. She looked down and patted herself again. Same pants as yesterday, same shoes, same shirt no phone in any pockets or on the side of her shoe or some other poo poo. Aaah, assuming she came into the bedroom and had it the phone would probably be on a flat surface or maybe it fell out in the bed. The bed! She stepped over Ernesto (guy gotta be narcoleptic or something) and turned up the things on her bed, throwing aside the remaining pillow, flipping the blanket and stained Toy Story bedsheet, dislodging various articles of clothing, other peoples' jewelry, and a black leather wallet in the process. Huh. Still no phone, but it does turn out Ernesto's last name is Villalobos. That's Spanish for House of Wolves or something like that isn't it? Kind of badass. He's got some pretty swank looking credit cards, is an organ donor, and about $500 in twenties. "Nico! Please, I don't have time for this poo poo. I gotta get to work!" The pounding had stopped (abruptly and all too soon as was the usual case with Eric) and now he was whining. Rusty, Alcoholic Bum You shrug and grunt something unintelligible. Dunno what the hell her deal is. Some kind of foreigner thing maybe? Too loving early, and too drat bright. You rub your eyes and suppress the urge to belch in her face and after a moment of scrutinizing you the young woman moves on. It's turning out to be a lovely morning already though, the goddamn fire alarm is still going and shrill as hell despite the fact that the fire department's taken care of the fire (probably) since the smoke's stopped anyway. Like everybody else just standing around outside somewhat aimlessly you catch your fair share of suspicious and strange looks from passerby and the police, but for the most part everybody is just waiting around for the all-clear in the hopes of heading back in for another couple hours of rest. Technically pan-handling is a misdemeanor, but that doesn't stop the guys who really don't give a gently caress from wandering towards early morning joggers and pedestrians to give it a shot. The cops are right there, and it's broad daylight and in public so things'll probably be ok. Might get a bit hairy when the attention dies down though.
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Jan 12, 2014 01:38
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Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie No time to waste, Damien sets a rather impulsive plan into action. Jump forward in time 2 seconds. "Now. Let's see... Who looks like they're about to double over in inexplicable pain." He murmurs before stepping out of his vehicle, wearing his classic, privileged, better.than you smile Doing his best to avoid suspicion, he surveys the scene for anything out of the ordinary, in particular spotting someone unexpectedly surprised and/or agonized. They probably weren't tied to what happened with the airport, but they might have answers. Damien approaches. Idle Amalgam fucked around with this message at 05:04 on Jan 12, 2014 |
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Jan 12, 2014 04:18
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Time has been changed. Time has been advanced by 2 seconds. October 7, 8:00 AM T+2 sec. Pain, terror. Time has been advanced forcibly by 2 seconds. The perpetrator is located somewhere along Main street, on the street by the old theater. Time is now locked until the end of the Scene/Hour! Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie Damien stepped out of his car, smug and confident in the brilliant plan that just occurred to him, turned his head and watched as the world skipped forward. He looked for it, and exactly like he imagined he saw him. One of the vagrants in front of the shelter flinched at just the right time and turned to look at him in response. Their eyes met and a strange sense of recognition? disgust? pity? passed between them. They were alike, somehow. Not in a literal, direct, or even hygienic sense but a kind metaphysical time-violating sense. Something about them was similar but at the same time the man seemed... off, wrong somehow. Hands in pockets, he advanced on the homeless man. Somewhere off in the distance a car horn blared. Jack Tully – Veteran It's the guy! The guy driving the BMW, you're looking right at him from across the distance and you know it's him. He's the guy who just pushed time forward by 2 seconds, and almost before you catch yourself you slam hard on the brakes from the shock and pain. Worse than last time but nowhere near as bad as the first, you tense up as the pain washes over you. The pickup behind you comes up short with a screech of rubber. "Hey rear end in a top hat! What the hell are you doing?" The guy's leaning out of his truck and shouting at you, not entirely unreasonable since you did just stop in the middle of the road and all. Nicole Smith "Motherfucker!" Nico turned her head, an angry and sarcastic reply already on her lips turning into a shouted expletive as the burst of pain struck her. "Well gently caress you too! Gimme my phone back you crazy bitch! I'm seriously tired of your poo poo, Nico!" Some cocksucker did it again, although it wasn't as puke-worthy or wrenchingly painful as the other times it's definitely some assdick messing around with time. The whole thing got pushed forward by 2 seconds, and whoever did it was on the street in front of the homeless shelter (that loving shelter! seriously those motherfucking hobos must think time is an all night laundry or a public library or something the way they keep making GBS threads it up. Motherfuckers!) "Oh my god! What the gently caress are you guys doing? It's like six in the loving morning and some of us are hung over AND ALL THIS loving SHOUTING DOESN'T HELP! WHAT THE gently caress MAN?" Jen shouted from down the hall, and through her door Nico heard the sound of something slamming against the wall by her door (probably a thrown shoe, her other roommate was pretty fond of throwing shoes while drunk or otherwise). Hung over and down the hall, the chances of Eric catching a shoe to the face were pretty slim. "Hey don't shout at me ok? Tell the bitch to give me back my phone, I got work in ten minutes." Rusty, Alcoholic Bum A lovely morning just got worse, you clench and curl up momentarily in pain and panic. Time just shifted and it happened almost right on top of you. Turning your head you see the guy who did it, a suit with slicked back hair and expensive shoes. He's looking right at you, oh god does he know? What is he here to do? For a second (or two) it seemed like the world itself revolved around him and he's somehow wrong and off, and he just keeps coming.
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Jan 12, 2014 05:56
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Rusty, Alcoholic Bum Life on the street has taught Rusty a few things, lessons that have been carved into his soul with a blunt knife. One of those lessons, "never trust a man in a suit", kicks to the front of his mind as the yuppie approaches. Dull pain still pulsing behind his eyes, he takes a single step back away from Damien. Whatever this man's intentions are, they can't be good. And then he remembers how he was supposed to be able to get more time. Aw, poo poo. "Whatever you're plannin', Mister, ya might not wanna do it in front of all these cops."
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Jan 12, 2014 06:07
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Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie "Why, whatever do you mean? Let's get you cleaned up. Away from this nonsense. I just want to talk, HONEST. My name is Damien Porter" Damien says as charismatically as he could extending his hand for a shake. For the time being, his gestures were sincere. He needed to know more, needed to forge alliances, strange though they may be. +2 Charisma if there is some roll involved. Not trying to be manipulative yet.
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Jan 12, 2014 17:58
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Jack Tully – Veteran After giving the truck driver the 1-fingered salute, Jack decided to get closer to the shelter and find out what happened; he was a semi-regular volunteer there after all, ignoring all the time bullshit. He quickly drove his car along the road, looking for a little alley, side-road or car park he could leave his vehicle in without attracting to much trouble. After finding one, he moved closer to the burnt out shelter on foot, keeping his eye on the man and whatever had caught his attention. 'Close enough to figure out who he is, what he's doing and to intervene if necessary. Far enough that I won't be in danger of being discovered myself. Unless I need to intervene anyway; I bet I could take him if I needed to, though. Settling in to watch how the situation played out Jack again sank back into his recon training, keeping a hidden eye on the action. Playing the spy game again, +4 Army Vet to get a better idea of what's going on with the rich guy as well as the apparent fire. Getting in there to intervene if necessary. I'll decide if I want to reveal myself and join in based on whatever happens next (assuming I don't have to go in swinging). If anyone get's suspicious as to why I'm hanging around, I can use +2 Contacts since I know George personally (and he knows I was swinging around anyway) and +2 Good Reputation
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Jan 14, 2014 00:19
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Nico Smith Uggggggggghhhhhhh. "Maybe you should try asking for it nicely, dick." Nico unhelpfully suggested through her door, clutching Eric's phone in one hand and Ernesto's wallet in the other. Her loving phone was missing, but luckily the universe had provided for her. Looking down at the credulity-straining sleeping man on her floor to make certain he was still passed out, Nico nimbly hoped from one clutterless spot on the ground to another, making her way with practiced grace to her bathroom. She closed and locked that door behind her too, and then stashed the wallet underneath a pile of particularly dirty clothes. She'd retrieve the cash later - no point in having it on her now - and the dude could just send away for new cards and get another driver's license. Wasn't particularly nice of her, but she couldn't exactly afford to buy another phone, so tough titties Ernesto. Maybe next time don't carry $500 dollars around, 'cuz that was enough for a new phone, a nice meal, and probably a quarter of dank. Flushing the toliet to produce the sound it made, Nicole unlocked the bathroom door, repeated her island hopping from door to door, and opened the door into the main room. Jen looked pretty pissed, Eric mostly just looked pathetic and tired. Smirking, Nico considered tossing his phone back and forth between her hands to watch him try and fail to grab it, but came up with a better idea. "Eric, I'm really sorry - that you're so loving ugly when you're mad. Here's your phone bitch-boy." She underhanded the phone at her whiny ex, and fully planned on laughing if he was too stunned to catch it and it smashed into the floor. "Hey Jen." Her tone of voice had turned on a dime, and she was suddenly the person she was when Eric wasn't around. Not that that person was much nicer, but she at least tended to sound more pleasant. "You seen my phone? Think someone may've nicked it, but I tried calling it and it didn't even go to voicemail. loving weird. Did I like, let someone use it or anything? You remember last night, 'cuz I sure loving don't?" Nico's gonna make coffee, continue being a poo poo to Eric until he leaves (she should've run him out of gas, it would've been hilarious,) and see if Jen can give her any clues about the night before all these time travel shennanigans started to occur.
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Jan 16, 2014 07:44
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October 7, 8:00 AM+ Nico Smith Eric gave Nico the finger as he hurried back to his room, muttering something beneath his breath about crazy bitches getting locked up like they really deserved. "Yeah I dunno dude, you weren't even here for most of it were you? You kept disappearing and popping back up in weird places later, talking about crazy poo poo." She thought about it as she retrieved her steel toed boot, following Nico into the kitchenette. "Hey you didn't take any of that guy Charlie's Special K did you? Because that dude is a supercreep and meth head, I think he watched too many episodes of Breaking Bad or something because he keeps cooking poo poo up in his microwave or loving bathtub and pawning it off as real poo poo." Nico shrugged as she tried to piece together what she recalled of the last night's events, fiddling with the coffee machine and lovely instant filter as she tried to vaguely to recall who the gently caress Charlie was and what that had to do with anything? Where had she met Ernesto? No loving clue. "I'm loving late! gently caress!" Together they watched Eric as he ran out of his room, hands smoothing back his hair as he checked himself (and his stupid rear end in a top hat Best Buy uniform) in the hall mirror before setting out. Nico lifted the battered mug to her lips to cover her smirk as he came slinking back half a minute later, "Hey uh, Jen? Can I get a ride to work? My car's out of gas." "Ugh, fine whatever. But you're buying me White Castle on the way. Anyway I dunno where your phone got to Nico, but from what I recall you, Ernesto, and Charlie were hanging out on the couch for the longest time last night so work your way backwards from there. As long as you didn't take any of his sketchy rear end bathtub crank you're probably ok." Jen waved at her on their way out, leaving Nico alone in the house except for Ernesto and whoever else may still be passed out elsewhere. Jack Tully – Veteran Pulling your car into a side alley you make your approach from the other side of the crowd, hiding in plain sight (and behind the guy just in case). He's not doing anything, just standing around having a conversation with a homeless guy is all. George spots you, and after waving off one of the firefighters ambles your way. "You're here pretty early for movie night." You grin and exchange pleasantries with the shelter's managing director, and slowly work the morning's details out of him. Apparently there was a fire in the Men's room, no real damage by the looks of it, the firefighters think somebody got careless with a cigarette and the wastebasket. "It really sounds like a reasonable explanation but I'd like to think the guys are better than that, but as long as nobody was hurt I'm not going to press the issue at all. You nod casually towards the guy in the suit still in the distance. "Who's that over there?" "The guy next talking to Rusty? No clue." Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie/Rusty, Alcoholic Bum Damien smiled as he gladhanded the vagrant, already thinking of the next step. He could definitely pump the guy for info, maybe see about buying his loyalty or in the least negotiate some mutually beneficial cooperation (in simple terms). It really wasn't any different from an ordinary photo op with the denizen of some third-world hellhole where they made iPods for fractions of yuan on the dollar anyway, all he had to was remember to make sure to sanitize and wash his hands properly later. He smiled reassuringly. For his part, Rusty wasn't buying it. The guy just seemed fake somehow despite the warmth in his voice. He got a closer look at the guy, the silk tie, the expensive shoes, classy aftershave, and that smug smile that told the world that he was the one calling all the shots and everybody else should get ready to bend over. No loving way, this wasn't somebody to trust. He was nowhere near drunk or stupid enough. Damien attacks with (+2: Charismatic) Charming Friendship Strike aka- "I'm TOTALLY not a narc, trust me." Rusty defends with (+2: World-Wise Old Man)- "gently caress off, Wallstreet!" Rolling some die for the Damien vs. Rusty face-off, Damien first and Rusty second: 2#1d6+2 5 6 Looks like Rusty has it.
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Jan 17, 2014 08:27
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Rusty - Alcoholic Bum Gently but firmly separating himself from Damien's grip, and taking a step away to get his personal space back, Rusty regards the man with eyes like a viper's, and decides he does not like what's happening one bit. "Listen, Wall Street, I'm poor, not stupid." Rusty feels his whole body tense, "I ain't exactly Miss America. So, there's something you gain from talking to me. Me in particular. Busy man like yourself, you've got places to go, wallets to wring out. So why don't we both just cut the crap and say what we mean? I'll even go first." "I will claw your eyes out with my bare hands before I let you take my Time." Using World-Wise Old Man +2 and/or Tough As Nails +2, as appropriate.
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Jan 17, 2014 09:01
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Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie The man's matter-of-fact nature intrigued Damien. It was foolish to think he could strut in here with good looks and charm alone, he would have to play at the man's needs and heartstrings. "While I appreciate a man who doesn't mince his words, you'll find that there will be no need for that type of hostility. I just want some of your time... Ah, I guess that probably comes across "peculiarly" given the circumstances. I just want to borrow you for a friendly conversation, Is that better?" He says as straightforwardly as he can before turning his mood "Then I'll bring you back to this desolate stretch of filth and destruction if that is what you truly desire, but you and I both know that your potential is beyond this now. Maybe it's a chance for you to make some things right. For yourself? For someone else? Just hear me out, it's all I'm asking." +4 Manipulative
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Jan 17, 2014 16:41
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October 7, 8:00 AM+ Social combat round check-in Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie/Rusty, Alcoholic Bum The two men stared each other down, Rusty doing his best to present an aura of Don't Mess With Texas and Damien already hunting for the angles with which to manipulate the old bum. Although he did his best to seem tough and give the impression that he'd go down swinging Damien took one look at the old man's posturing and saw it for what it was, a bluff. Oh sure he'd probably have to worry about catching Hepatitis B or something if the guy bit him, but unarmed, in broad daylight, with the cops not more than 20 feet away? The old man was bluffing, trying to psych him out. Honesty, honesty and mixing enough rough-sounding bullshit that the man would think they were speaking the same language would do the trick. Unfortunately being an old hand, Rusty had seen and heard it all before. The suit was just trying to push his buttons, entrap him somehow or goad him into loving himself over in front of the police. His ex-wife's lawyer boyfriend had done something like this years ago, it didn't end well back then and probably wouldn't now. Damien vs. Rusty Pt. 2, Rusty first: 2#2d6+4 9 12 Not intimidated by the old man with shaky hands and terrible, terrible morning breath! Damien vs. Rusty Pt. 2, Damien's turn: 2#2d6+4 10 16 Manipulate this, you slimy gently caress! No damage taken by either party.
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Jan 17, 2014 18:44
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Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie Seeing that the man was unyielding in his resolve and not wanting to make a scene. Damien pulls out his business card holder and retrieves one from the case. "Here. If you decide you want to talk about this later on, you'll know how to reach me." Handing him the card, Damien counts this as a loss. He was getting nowhere with the man. Like the predator on the hunt, Damien would have to wait to seize a better opportunity. +2 Business Minded to try and reason out the best course of action in divulging more information out of Rusty. *** He turns away before the man can respond and proceeds to one of the listless looking civil servants. "Excuse me officer, is everything o.k. here?"
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Jan 17, 2014 19:15
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Rusty - Alcoholic Bum Taking the card without a word and stuffing it in a pocket somewhere, Rusty lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. That man was someone who couldn't be ignored- he was going to find someone, sooner or later, who was more gullible than him. There was no way Rusty could keep that man from getting what he wanted from someone, even keeping himself out of the business had felt like staring down a freight train. If he couldn't prevent, then he had to prepare. Somehow, Rusty didn't think this was the last he'd seen of Damien Porter. Rusty 'wanders off' and hopes nobody else takes much notice of a tired old bum slowly walking in the direction of the airport. Using Street Smarts to hide himself and his intentions from prying eyes. Since it's still before noon, he's got a couple of useful hours in him before the bars and liquor stores open and Alcoholic kicks him in the teeth.
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Jan 17, 2014 19:40
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Jack Tully – Veteran “Welp, looks like it's over. Whatever IT was. Hmm, Rusty? He didn't happen to have a bit of disturbed sleep last night, did he?” Jack watched the rich guy go insinuate himself with the local law enforcement; an eerie mimicry of Colonel Jackson whenever he got an invite to one of those fancy parties. Making up his mind, Jack gave a quick farewell to George. “I'm just going to see if everything is alright. That "talk" looked like it got a bit heated.” Jack meandered his was across to “Rusty”, trying carefully to avoid the notice of the Suit with the cop. He found Rusty had already wandered off. drat it Jack; to much time on the spook, not on the target. You're getting sloppy. You're too quick for me Leper Colon. Anyway, +4 Army Vet for trying to keep track of Rusty in order to have a brief chat. Hopefully far away from
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Jan 17, 2014 19:48
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Nicole Smith Well, at least they were gone. That would make tearing the house apartment to find her phone a little bit easier - and maybe Jen would help her when she got back, if only to restore the living room to some semblance of order. Questions kept plaguing Nicole while she finished her coffee and poured herself another cup. Who the gently caress was Charlie? Why was Ernesto apparently unwakeable? Was Eric dumb enough to have left his door unlocked (probably,) and did he have any cigarettes lying around since her pack was appearently Philip J. Fry'd? Why was all this time poo poo happening, and why were the bums so eager to play around with the timestream? Where in the goddamn name of gently caress was her phone?! Sadly, she didn't have that many answers. Heading over to the couch to try and test her luck there, Nico decided that was as good a place as any to search. Worst case scenario, she didn't find it, and had to share some of her last bowl with Jen in order to entice her shoe-throwing roomate to help her look around for it. Plus, tearing the place apart with someone else present would help prove to Ernesto, when he woke up from his almost comically deep slumber and found his wallet missing, that it must've gone missing the night before - Jen would be able to vouch they didn't find it. Rauri fucked around with this message at 06:43 on Jan 22, 2014 |
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Jan 21, 2014 08:31
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October 7, 8:00 AM+ Nicole Smith The contents of the couch were: 1 - semi-stained receipt from Wendy's, with the experience survey thing filled out and promo code for $2 off a sandwich or salad mostly legible, probably split the difference between a "4" and an "H" on the end there 2 - Tv remotes for DirecTv broadcast satellite television receiver devices 1 - Swiss Army knife Assorted buttons, space change, fossilized french fries, and 1 bent fork. Putting aside the fact that noone in the house (or on the block) had DirecTv, it looked like her phone was still pretty well and lost. gently caress. Using the fork to slip through the gap in Eric's door Nico popped the lock open and started going through the rear end in a top hat's dresser. There had to be some cigarettes in there somewhere. Socks, underwear, textbooks, spank mags, sweaters, more socks, nothing but crap. She was about to give up when she looked down and saw a pair of jeans on the ground with a suspicious looking bulge. From experience she knew that he didn't have the sack to be stuffing so it was with triumphant satisfaction she emptied out the pocket and found a crumpled hard shell full of smokes. "Found you, you fuckers." There were still a good half dozen left in the pack, although the menthol would normally have been a bit too Robert Johnson for her tastes beggars can't be loving choosers. She tapped one out and lit it up, yeah. Just like sucking down a mouthful of loving toothpaste. The motherfucker must have started smoking menthols as part of some stupid mid-life crisis or something. Jack Tully – Veteran "Hm... no idea sorry. You want me to ask him about it- oh yeah sure. See you later Jack." Rusty wandered vaguely off down a side alley, and keeping a eye on him you try to follow at an easy distance (while keeping an eye out for pursuit of your own) but further down the alley the bum flat out disappears. He must have doubled back or ducked behind something. Retracing your steps you try to spot any sign of him or figure out where it was he managed to slip away, to no avail. Well drat. That's ten minutes wasted. Could he have spotted you and gotten the wrong idea? Or maybe he went inside one of the buildings in the area? There were simply too many possibilities. You eye Main street and the marquee for the old theater in the distance, he's got a pretty good lead on foot but assuming he hasn't gone to ground maybe you could cover more ground doing recon from your car? Rusty - Alcoholic Bum Rusty meandered through the streets, occasionally ducking into alleys or side streets to make sure the suit (Damien Porter of PHML for whatever the gently caress that meant) wasn't trailing him. It looked good, no black helicopters in sight, no crown vics or unmarked cars with suspicious antennae trailing him, and most importantly no creepjob drones out to steal his time. 'A moment of your time' he said, that had to be some kind of backhanded threat. The airport was pretty damned far away for a guy on foot, but if he kept walking he'd make it in maybe another hour and change barring any interruptions. There were plenty of ways he could stay off the main streets to get there, but the last couple miles stretch would be nothing but empty road and desert. Thinking on it there was also the bus which ran out there periodically during the day, but what if the suit was watching that too? Damien Porter, Nouveau Yuppie The cop gives you a bored look, brows lifting slightly as he takes in the expensive cut of your suit. He straightens visibly, unsure if you're someone important or not before settling somewhere between respectful and anxiousness. "Uhm nothing to worry about sir, just a trashcan fire in homeless shelter. One of the bums must have ditched a cigarette in the wrong place at the wrong time. We're just keeping people out of there and the building cordoned off until the firefighters give us the all-clear." Watching the cop react anxiously as he reorders his view of the world around how possibly wealthy or politically connected you are gives you an idea about how to deal with the vagrant. It was all about the approach with the blue-collar types really, the carrot before the stick. Guys like that talk a big game about a big game about principles, high-minded garbage about faith, loyalty, family, or whatever but in the end it's just a matter of finding whatever thing it is they need the most and offering plenty of it, usually money. The guy lives in a homeless shelter and smells like he last saw hot water during the Bush administration, so your after-dinner mints from last night probably cost more than he sees during an entire week. Thinking on it you recall that this particular shelter has some sort of partnership or treatment program for addicts, you'd definitely read something about that in a report someplace. Makes sense given that your first guess for the place was that it's a methadone clinic. Maybe the guy's a junkie?
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Jan 25, 2014 04:41
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Rusty - Alcoholic Bum Walking that road alone, in the middle of nowhere, would be a terrible idea even when there wasn't somebody looking for him in particular. And somehow, Rusty's willing to bet that he knows the bus routes better than the yuppie. Hell, he probably hadn't even seen the inside of a Greyhound before. The more he thinks about it, the better hopping on the bus sounds. "Maybe he knows where I'm goin'. Maybe he don't." Rusty flexes and relaxes his aching joints. Still way too drat early in the morning for all this. "Don't really matter, I guess." Let's go the bus route. Street Smarts +4 to get on a bus to the airport that he won't get booted off of for being smelly and short fifteen cents.
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Jan 25, 2014 06:02
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| # ? Jun 10, 2024 04:54 |
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Jack Tully – Veteran “Ah, bugger it all.” Rusty was already gone and while it might be possible to track him down by car, Jack had to many other leads to waste it looking for a guy who was desperate not to be found. He had a face, a name and a George who could point him in the right direction later on. Thinking back to George, Jack double-timed it back to where he had left him. “Sorry 'bout that George. You know us old-folks; happy to drone on and on until we get distracted by something. Rusty wasn't in to much of a mood to chat at the moment, I think that suit might have spooked him. When he gets back, could you tell him that 'If he wants to talk to a friendly face about all this Keeper business, Jack's free anytime'? Apart from that, is there anything I can do to help with this fire business? Got nothing to do but make a few calls back home, so I'm free if you want another pair of hands to help out.” Rusty will resurface when he resurfaces. Let's help out a bit here before I bother the Colonel again.
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Jan 25, 2014 13:20
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