adamu
Forum Replies Created
-
Once Al conveyed to the staff at Joe’s what he was after, the next problem was all their noise about getting it done in a couple of days.
“Well folks, not ta throw off yer mindfulness schedule or anything, but some of us work fer a livin’. Reckon I’m on the clock an’ this needs done in a couple of hours, not days. But that won’t be an issue, cuz the part o’ the job ya ain’t seemed to have tipped to yet is that I’m gon’ do all the work myself. Less’n ya wanna hand me tools or whatnot. In which case ya might learn somethin’.”
To Al’s complete surprise, his remarks were met with surly hostility. Faced with the prospect of being thrown out of the place on his ear, he decided to take advantage of the fact that, over the last few years, money had become slightly less precious than water to him.
“Whoa there, kemo sabes,” he began, double peace signs aloft, “Don’t go chasin’ off yer golden goose now. Tell ya what, besides the parts I’m buyin’, the way this works is instead o’ payin’ fer yer labor, I’m payin’ fer yer space. Y’all git paid the same, but ya sit back an’ smoke while ol’ Al does all the work. An’ if that don’t top it off, if I don’t have it all done in the two hours, you can keep the truck. Cuz I won’t deserve ta drive it anyhoo.”
The truck looked like crap, but these mechanics had had a look under the hood, seen some of the mods, knew what it was worth. And the fact was, some of them did indeed have some questions for him about how he’d managed some of the work. The offer was enough for them to swallow their pride and take the bet – especially since there was no down side for them.
“Alrighty then,” Al said, rubbing his scarred hands together, “afore we start the clock, I’ll need all the components lined up lickety-split. An’ this here cash is fer the beers – they’s a requirement o’ my work, but pick up plenty fer yerselves as well.”
-
Joe’s Garage looked all right, but it made Al think of Frank Zappa, who was a hippie.
There was a cafe across the street – the sort of place people went to for coffee, eggs, toast. In London there would have been beans and mushrooms, which made Al glad he was in America. Well, sort of America.
He went in for a cup and a bite while he waited for Bronwean to show up and make her introductions.
Listened to his coworkers’ chatter and replied to Kynos’ query. “Don’t sound like ya need much back-up, but ol’ Al’s got yer back whichever way ya wanna play ‘er. Quieter the better, I reckon.”
-
Al listened. He shot Lily a wink – he was glad at least one other person wanted to confirm the nature of their target before going all wetwork first, questions later. It wasn’t just the morality of the thing – these jobs could get complicated, and just running off and doing what you were told often led to all sorts of nasty ramifications. And there were no backsies on death.
Having heard what the others had to say, he spoke his peace.
“Already said I’m fer stickin’ together. So glad we’s leanin’ that way. That decided, reckon I’m fer town first. Granted,” and he looked again at Lily, “hittin’ the farm’s got better odds o’ tellin’ us exactly what we’s dealin’ with. Kynos is right about the risk-reward equation. Less’n ya care about the bonus, which I’ll confess I don’t. As fer the weather, Ace, yer right we can’t change the laws o’ logistics. But yer wrong about a li’l ol’ blizzard croakin’ ol’ Al. We’s all dressed fer the weather, an’ I’ll allow I know a thing or three about stayin’ alive out here. An’ jist ta hedge our bets – an’ this’ll be the final argument fer town first – I’m thinkin’ in the time it’ll take ya’ll smooth operators ta check the house, I can trick my Gaz here out so it’ll sail through an Antarctic whiteout like a soft-top on Venice Beach. So I say town lickety-split. Leavin’ now, in fact – try an’ git a head start – not sayin’ I don’t LIKE ridin’ around in a freakin’ caravan with y’all, but it ain’t hardly low profile. Ace honey, ya wanna git me onna horn point ol’ Al ta the most hospitable auto shop in town?”
With that he got into his truck and took off down the road back to Sudbury.
-
Well, the last time I did any work on my rides was for Jack’s Texas job.
Still, not really a problem.
*Any modern vehicle will keep people alive in a common blizzard as long as the engine doesn’t give out.
* But the Gov has Life Support 2, so we could go to the bottom of a frigid lake and be fine. But it’s a street ride – a few penalties for off-road.
* The Gaz is an off-road truck with enough seating for all of us in the extended cab. However, it is currently modded for Desert conditions.
* But…in a town like this where cold weather mod components will be readily available, all Al has to do is rent some space in a Shop (not a Facility) and for a lousy 2K in parts he can extreme-cold modify in a mere two hours’ work (and I do have sufficient mod slots remaining). Thought about just having him do that before I left my Shop in Seattle, but wanted to RP the rushed drive.
Anyway, Al could pilot anything with an engine and wheels through whatever environmental mods you might care to throw at him.
-
“Well, reckon we gotta find him first. House in town’s easier fer findin’, mite harder fer the killin’. His farm’s the reverse. Either way, eyes on is the first thing we need. Since it seems like we’s puttin’ off the findin’ o’ the nephew until the mage is geeked, we can go at this one at a time all together or split up, town an’ country. Me, I’m fer stickin’ together, but unfortunately these things tend ta be a democracy, an’ one o’ them modern types where the women gits a vote, ta boot.”
-
So just to be clear so I don’t go crazy, seems like we are sort of posting two parallel timelines – one still talking with Kevin, and one outside sort of planning debating?
Not sure how it got split that way, and I have no problem with it, just want to see if I’m seeing it the way the rest of us are.
And Beta – a lot of great story hooks here, man! Excited about this game!
-
Al shared his trademark wolf-grin with Becky and all the others, cigarette clamped between his yellow teeth dead center in his mouth. He flashed a peace sign, then took the Lucky from his mouth and exhaled into the frosty air.
“Precious, you done knowed me way too long ta speak such nonsense. Chances are he’s a filthy toxic an’ I’ll be first in line ta put him down. But if he’s jist some feller pissed someone off with his insufficiently green farmin’ practices, then hurt him we will not. An’ if that’s a hard pill ta swallow from a Christian standpoint, think of it like this – if he ain’t a toxic, then yer employer misrepresented the nature o’ the target, makin’ yer contract null an’ void. Hell, ya prove he’s not bent, then ya take that ta the black demon thing, reckon end o’ they day we’ll git thanked fer our discretion.”
He paused to scratch at the stubble on his chin with a tobacco-stained fingernail.
“But like I said, probably he really is a toxic or similarly lost ta Satan an’ they ain’t no issue.”
-
Lighting up a cigarette in the cold air outside the cabin, Al listened to the team brainstorm initial ideas for making the toxic dead. They all sounded good.
“Long range shot or big explosions, ol’ Al’s got ya covered both ways. As I know many o’ the rest of ya do as well, if’n, fer example, we wanted ta make this a teachin’ exercise rather than a master class. But Ace here makes a damned good point. Once we git a twenny on this feller, best take a look-see, make sure the nephew ain’t there.”
He thumbed the Fairlight in his pocket and the Gaz unlocked with a soft click.
“An’ anyhoo, not ta cast doubt on our employer’s state o’ mind, but even his demon seems ta think he’s actin’ a bit hot off the grill. Reckon I’d like ta git a feel fer this toxic myself afore we go offin’ some poor para-farmer on some ancient geezer’s say-so.”
-
Al was listening more closely now. He’d liked this old codger right from the start, and the prospect of downing another toxic appealed greatly.
Probably everything was just the way this guy and his pet demon said it was.
But as Al listened to the details and read between the lines a little, he made a mental note to at least look into their target a bit before putting a bullet between his eyes. It was probably nothing, just a phrase here and there – especially the stuff about living “in harmony with the trees – what if this so-called toxic was just an honest American trying to make a living.
What if their employer was…a hippie!
-
“Chicken or egg, don’t make no matter ta ol’ Al. Hell an’ fer Christmas, ya had me at puttin’ down a toxic.”
-
Seated at the rickety table with Kynos and Becky, Al had been content to listen and drink. His eyelids were heavy, but the sounds of the axe throwing competition that had resumed in the adjoining room were warring with his desire to try and sleep.
Then Becky said something that roused him from his muddled introspections. She’d gone on to another topic before he got his tongue to work, but he finally joined in the conversation. “Yeah, don’t kill Bronwean. She’d be dead, an’ you’d be hurt, an’ that ain’t gon’ git the job done.” He tossed that off as an afterthought, then said what he really wanted to say.
“Sheee-it, Precious, pains ol’ Al ta hear it. Won’t pretend to have ever fathomed the complexities o’ that relationship, nor ever even knowed much o’ the details, but I do know the assho…er…the guy meant a lot to ya, an’ ya got my heartfelt condolences.”
-
Far be it from Al to disappoint a young lady.
“Done got through nigh half a century with no benefit whatsoever from such. Hell, barely ever saw ’em ceptin’ onna trid. Git into this crazy line o’ work, they’s almost as common as betrayal an’ hot chicas. But while they got they uses, an’ while I done met a few I was partial enough to that I lament they inevitable descent into eternal hellfire, reckon any good ever come of ’em was either balanced by mishap or else born of it. Criminy, the most good a Satanist – an’ I speak of a good friend here – most good a Satanist ever done fer ol’ Al was turn me into a damned snake! Now I like snakes, probably more’n the next feller, bein’ a lifelong handler an’ all, but the becomin’ o’ one, well that was disconcertin’ ta say the very least, an’ I’m not sure I wouldn’t’ve preferred the consequences o’ the alternative, however dire.”
Somewhere during his rant he’d lit a fresh Lucky strike, though few of his companions could recall where it had come from or when it had first appeared between his lips.
Not that smoking it deterred his monologue in any way.
“But I’ll cast my vote with the go-an’-hear-’em-out faction. Good Book trumps any weird urban merc code, so the moment they ask ol’ Al ta go agin’ it, that’s the moment I jump ship with the Lord on my side.”
That was enough for the Not-Thompsons to give the team a location, and let the ever-eager Bronwean know that the meet was not set until eight a.m. the next morning.
-
Haven’t taken the time to comb through all the old runs, but I am pretty sure that while Al knows Kynos from a couple of Seattle jobs (anarchy thing and Triads, I think), maybe none of the other three characters have worked with him? Not that you might not know him otherwise, or also I could be forgetting something.
-
“Roger that, kemo sabe,” Al said. He didn’t appear to be consciously avoiding either intentional blows or inadvertent collisions – he seemed almost oblivious to the chaotic melee swirling about the large room – but somehow the brawl flowed around him without making any sort of contact.
In one hand was a bottle of beer and in the other a habanero soyrito – courtesy of Batshit, who had made herself known to him immediatly upon his arrival. He had greeted her warmly. He liked her. And since her presence could not possibly be a coincidence, he was glad to see her since he vastly preferred working with friends to stumbling through a job with strangers. Most of all, he liked being proven right, and her presence was one more verification of his axiom that all jobs in this business involved a disproportionate number of simstar-level hotties.
His theory was doubly proven once he spotted Becky. She was playing it cool with a black-trenchcoat nod, but he was headed her way for the greeting his long-time friend and co-worker deserved, when the brawl broke out.
And then there was Kynos. Another one whose skills he knew he could trust, if his motivations were perhaps a little more gray than Al preferred. Still, he had that merc code that dovetailed nicely with Al’s own work ethic, and they’d get along just fine.
So Al alternately drank from bottle and nibbled from the plastic soyrito wrapper as they navigated their way to the back room…followed closely by Lily.
“Well Maria Mercurial in crotchless panties, it’s fuckin’ old home week in here.” Ignoring their hosts/employers completely, he said, “Kynos baby, ya know these chiquitas? Hard ladies one an’ all. Ya done fell inta good company on this one. An’ lookee lookee,” he observed with delight, “Not a Satanist amongst ’em!”
-
It was cold as a witch’s tit.
And Al would know.
But that was a different story altogether.
The call had come from Silky forty-eight hours earlier, and Al hadn’t slept since. But then, it wasn’t as if he’d have gotten any had he stayed in Orting. The dreams made sure of that. There was nothing about his current lifestyle that was likely to chase them away.
He hadn’t even thought about it. Just snake-sealed the garage’s office, opened the terrariums, and paid Clack the usual handful of nuyen to toss a few rats in through the old mail slot every few weeks.
Spike took care of himself.
Silky had made clear it was no special favor – just an opportunity. To work. Al didn’t need money. Not for a long time now. And he hated the cold. And he had plenty the keep himself busy with right there in his shop. But it was work. The Good Book said a man worked for a living. Or was wasn’t any sort of man at all.
Or maybe he just had trouble sitting still.
He’d taken the Gaz. That was what he liked to drive. But it was work, so he had the Gov trail a few miles behind. He’d made the damned thing smarter than he was, so it wouldn’t be an issue.
His tribal visas still valid, he’d headed almost due east. Drive-thrus worked for food and coffee, the coffee cups were good for what came after. So the only time he’d been boots on the ground since two days past was the sporting goods emporium in Minneapolis where he’d bought thermals and some arctic-grade coveralls. A stocking cap, black, because it was cool. And some gloves that he’d so far refused to put on. But there were in his pockets if they were needed.
So he parked in the gray slush under gray skies outside the gray structure that housed the bar he’d been told to go to. He’d driven long and fast and loved every minute. His ears rang with the psychobilly clamor that had been his only company. From the sound of things, the bar would be no quieter than the cab of the Gaz had been.
Well, it had better be just as warm, because even all kitted out he figured one ball would be frozen and the other merely hypothermic by the time he got across the street. He’d spent his life in deserts, swamps and jungles. The only time he’d been this cold was on that ridiculous errand She’d sent him on in the Chukchi, and it had taken nigh on month in Okinawa to get the chill out of his bones after that fiasco.
So he pulled on the cap and sloshed his way across the road as quick as his short legs would carry him, not minding that any local would immediately spot him as an addict of warmer climes.
-
@Aria – Snakehandler would be cool, but it’s a seaplane. Oops.
@Beta – for gear, I’m just going to go with off the shelf. Al simply will not wear any other jacket but his father’s, which is woefully inadequate. But I’m assuming he can go to any high-end sporting goods shop and get some bad-ass thermal underoos and get a set of arctic grade coveralls plus gloves and cap. Same as I did for my New Year trip to Iceland.
Since he also refuses to wear any armor but his father’s jacket, no muss no fuss with fancy gear. I’ll drop a thousand nuyen and slap it on my sheet.
-
Hey, I was going to do an opening post, but saw somewhere that Aria was thinking of having Lily ride north with Al…is there anything you want to coordinate on about that, Aria?
-
okay, I think all tech issues sorted.
Should have something up in the IC within 24.
Beta, Al is mostly current on OP, but I will do some updates for prior to the start of this run.
Also, if you PM me a place I can send it (do PMs work?), I can try to figure out how to send you access to the google.doc where I keep the full version of Al’s sheet, which I send to anyone that GMs him.
-
Okay – sorted my technical issues. Hope to be back to regular posting in a few hours.
Very sorry again for the disappearance.
-
Super sorry for missing the end of this.
The site revamp killed the password memory, and of course I don’t actually KNOW my passwords, and of course various overlapping security things have stopped me connecting to the Forgot Password function, and blah blah blah – if I can get it wrong with computers, I will. Total Gremlins quality.
Afraid it is still not all sorted, actually, but I will try to get things fixed soon so as to take part properly in Beta’s game.