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Post by Seya on Mar 27, 2016 12:32:21 GMT
Kat's hands shake as she wraps them around her mug, and she takes a long drink before replying. "I told you, champ, we ain't gettin' past the gates after dusk. They're gonna have plenty more than an hour advance. But," she tugs her colored hair-strands with wild eyes. "--not traders. Traders don't care for their pack pokemon like you'd care for a little babe. Not slavers neither, if that's your next thought. I don't s'pose your pokin' around town told you anything about the Gene-Children?"
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May 15, 2024 21:00:37 GMT
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Post by Robot on Mar 27, 2016 18:26:35 GMT
Cecil's expression went blank for a moment, then pale. "Scrim might've pointed them out to me. That ain't what they call the cult is it? Old man never did call them by name, just mentioned that they think that full conversion via Pokerus is divine ascension or some shit, yeah?"
Cecil's hands found his lighter, and he began nervously flicking it open and shut again. Trail would be long cold by morning, no one to question which way they went. Bunnie and Joe were as good as gone, and any utterance to the fact would set Christine and Amber on him again like rabid animals. Snap, snap, snapsnap, snap.
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Post by DataNinja on Mar 27, 2016 20:57:56 GMT
"Wait..." Christine says. "You mean that they've left town? Why would they have done that?" So much for any of our information being useful. seems like they got much more...
She thinks through all of this for a moment. "So... can you explain what this, uh, Gene-Children thing is, er, Kat? Is it just what DeLoria said? And... if so, that means if Joe and Bunnie fell in with them..." She doesn't finish that train of thought out loud. No. I can't have lost people this early... she thinks. Pull yourself together, Christine! No matter what, you will find them. Find some way to reverse the process if you have to. I'm sure it can be done. Somehow. You just need to figure it out. And I know you can do it, missy. Reasons like this were why you were chosen. Right? Right. So, don't think abou-
"Can you stop it with that lighter, DeLoria? You're driving me up the wall."
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Post by Slytherclaw on Mar 27, 2016 22:51:11 GMT
Amber sits down with Christine, expression worried. "Does rain make it harder or easier to track them?" She asks the other girl after a moment. She gestures to her boots, splattered with mud. "Does it make the prints easier to make, or wash them away...? Is that a thing people can do, or was that just something in my book?"
She frowns as the others sit down, still thinking. "Can we just...go out that way and see? They have carts, right? Wouldn't that slow them down? And...if the rain doesn't wash stuff away, wouldn't it leave wheel marks? We might be faster on foot."
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Post by Seya on Mar 27, 2016 23:10:39 GMT
"Rain? Rain washes away most tracks 'n scents," Kat answers absently as she tries her best to sort through the information and possibilities.
"Gene-Children. I dunno bout any big groups of 'em in the area, but they sneak in around the town now and then to preach their shit. Never listened much myself, but it's as Cecil said-- they take people and... and force high levels of pokerus through 'em. I dunno the methods. Sometimes it kills them, sometimes it gives them... odd affinities. Most of the time, though?"
She quirks her thumbs towards the she-machoke still bussing tables, refusing to look up.
"Most of the time that happens. It's the G.C.'s 'higher calling', whatever that fuckin' means."
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Post by DataNinja on Mar 28, 2016 0:18:46 GMT
"What I don't get is... why would Vargas and Tres go off with them? Especially without telling us." She frowns. "It doesn't make sense. I might be able to understand DeLoria over here going off with them just because it's something different... no offense, DeLoria."
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May 15, 2024 21:00:37 GMT
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Post by Robot on Mar 28, 2016 2:22:03 GMT
Snap. Cecil closed the lighter one last time, the ringing hum of the stainless steel carrying an agitated finality. It was grating hearing his name thrown around synonymous with abandonment, irresponsibility, and failure. Tres had made her choice. It was a shit choice, but it was her right to make it. Vargas was spineless, but Cecil's only comfort was the belief that the man's cowardice would protect the both of them.
Christ. Cecil's knuckles were white on his lighter, free hand closing over his face to hide his eyes. The greaser's lean body was a coiled spring of stress. A sharp exhale escaped his lips, bearing just the hint of a shudder, before the boy drew them into a tight line. Keep it together. Keep it together. Jaw rhythmically clenching and loosing, Cecil had to focus on breathing as the moments ticked on.
"West gate's guards." Terse and quiet, his eyes glittered beneath the shield of his hand. "All we've got left of Bunnie." Cecil turned his back on the other three, slipping his hands in his pocket. The death grip on his lighter yet remained. Looking around the Drip, he tried to pick out the remainder of the gate wardens by uniform or company. A cold lump formed in his stomach as he visually probed the crowd. They don't know. Bunnie and Joe don't even know that Pokerus exists! If we don't try they're done. If we do try, home suffers for it. Bunnie WHY?!
Cecil visibly sagged under the weight of his own thoughts. Desperate for a moment alone, but no solace to be found, he could feel the well guarded facade of disinterest buckling under mixed feelings of loss and determination. Underground he'd have holed up in the pipes, smoked, maybe jacked it a few times till his head was clear. That wasn't an option anymore. "I need to go, anywhere but here. I can't do this right now." His voice broke, and he forcibly cleared his throat to follow it. Looking at Kat pointedly as he wiped his face, he took a moment to emotionally brace with hand over mouth. "You said you had a place?"
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Post by Lockdown on Mar 29, 2016 0:17:35 GMT
With morale at an all-time low, and the former quintet reduced to a quartet thanks only to Kat's addition to their group for the nonce, the Vault Dwellers follow her into the abating storm. While the rain soaks them, and the wind tugs at their clothes, the external elements are as nothing to the internal strife that grips the trio.
Kat leads them to the south-west edge of town, where a hulk of an old vehicle, a large bus, sits against a section of wall that loos a bit newer than the rest. There's no wheels and whatever machinery that once drove it forward has been stripped and salvaged years ago. But Old World tech shines through, and the composite materials that make up the outer shell are still intact, albeit a bit more weather-scarred. Many of the windows have been covered over with metal, while a few are still intact enough to leave in place; though they have crude curtains in place on the insides. The interior has been cleared of the old seats, and divided into a number of small rooms through the use of sheets of metal in a couple areas, as well as fabric sheets. It's surprisingly dry and warm once you get inside, a small heater in the ceiling hooked to an exterior power supply, and the ancient lights in the roof still flicker with dim power.
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Post by Seya on Mar 30, 2016 13:21:25 GMT
The place is colorful in the way her hair is colorful-- bit of scrap cloth in every hue and shade dangle from the beams along the ceiling of the bus, and many of the 'walls' have mediocre finger-painted art. A great deal of it seems to depict trees, bushes, forest scenery-- though the two 'rooms' furthest to the back, including Kat's own personal bunk, seem to imitate paneled wood.
Her furniture is hardly state of the art, but nearly every piece has had the same oil-spill color treatment applied, covering the dingy grey with purples and golds and greens. There's the standard deal: a make-shift kitchenette, a rickety table with two chairs, a large shelf that barely fits in the space with an odd assortment of broken mechanical doodads and scavenged finds. Only a handful of books in shoddy condition. A heavy chest with a broken padlock, from which a number of different clothing items spill.
She points to the nearest couch--one of two. It holds a pile of thick blankets, half-folded and patchwork like the rest of her life. "Take your pick. It gets cold on the surface durin' the winter so there ain't no shortage of shit to keep warm. You lot can choose how to divide the couches and bed-- the latter fits two." Usually she'd make a joke, a sly comment, but the despair in the bus is too potent and the moment and she bites her lip.
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Post by Robot on Mar 30, 2016 14:29:13 GMT
Cecil had tarried just a bit behind the others, and as they filed onto the bus, there was a loud 'FUCK!' followed by the bang of something hitting a piece of the shoddy fencing that wound around the backside of the bus. Through the dingy windows, the girls could make out Cecil's shape putting his back to the wall. Taking the slow slide to the muddy ground, in the wet, he tucked his knees against his chest. Huddled like he was, the boy shut out the world.
The abating storm held no comfort for him, and while the others might've understood, Cecil wouldn't let a woman see him cry. Bunnie had meant the world to him, and by her own choice she'd disappeared into the night with the kind of people that would ruin her to try and 'save' her. Skrub and Christine were right. Maybe we should all just crawl back into that hole before we lose anyone else?
His hand throbbed, knuckles red and raw. Taking it in the other he squeezed, felt the twinge of pain and the heat. There was nowhere to run to. Guilt and obligation choked at his free spirit. This was something else. No amount of escapism would spare him from the crushing reality of the situation.
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Post by DataNinja on Mar 30, 2016 19:50:51 GMT
Well, her home certainly is...unique, thinks Christine. It's like nothing she's ever seen before, standing out even amongst all the other things she's never seen before that she's encountered over the past few days. It certainly isn't anything like her own quarters, which were all meticulously organized and kept tidy. But there was some... almost beauty to the chaos. "Thank you for your hospitality, Kat," she says, not exactly sure what the other girl expects. But as she looks around, she realizes that Cecil hadn't ended up entering after them. "Uh, I just need to step outside a moment."
Finding Cecil like that was something Christine never thought she'd see. Sure, she might not have always agreed with the cocky, brash rebel that he usually was, but at least it was something that could be counted on. Of course, she'd also thought she could count on the fact that there was always going to be a solid ceiling above her head...
Crouching down next to Cecil, she twice tries to speak to him, before finally getting out, "It's not all on you, DeL- Cecil. Some of it's my fault, too. I should have known better..." She lets the silence hang for a few seconds, just feeling the odd sensation of the rain, before saying, "I promise you, Cecil, I'll do everything I can to get them back. If there's a way to reverse the Pokérus, I'll find it. The Vault's got stuff they haven't seen up here for ages. If anyone can do it, it-it's us." I really, really hope...
Standing, she offers a hand to help him up. "If anything, will you please at least come inside? You won't be any help to anyone if you get sick out here."
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Post by Robot on Mar 31, 2016 4:26:31 GMT
As Christine approached, he tensed. Here it comes again, I ain't even got on my feet yet and someone else is ready to put me on my ass. Cecil's dark eyes were puffy and bleary as they rose to Christine's face. There was no facade, only miserable teenager. As she spoke, his expression slid to embittered, then conflicted, finally surprised.
"Bunnie walked out on us Christine, she wasn't kidnapped. Chose to walk away from helping out everyone back home." His voice was so quiet, breaking and forcing him to repeat himself at points. "Skrub, Mom, and the others, they don't have forever. We all know that."
Taking her hand, he left his followup statement unsaid. Now was not a time that he could handle an inflamed Christine, more then that he didn't want to voice what he was thinking. On his feet at least, he didn't move for another few moments.
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Post by DataNinja on Mar 31, 2016 4:35:04 GMT
"We don't know what happened there," Christine says, softly. "Tomorrow, after some rest, we should go and ask people who were down there. See if we can get more information. Maybe they thought they'd found someone who could help us, or something..." She didn't have confidence in this last statement, though, and both her face and voice showed that.
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Post by Robot on Mar 31, 2016 4:53:25 GMT
Nodding his agreement about investigating further, Cecil looked pointedly at Christine's hand held in his own. "Don't think any of us will be sleeping much tonight." Awkward pause, and he finally released the medic's hand. Entirely unsure what to do with his own, he shoved it in his pockets and started for the bus.
"I wanted this." A dry, forced, humorless laugh escaping the boy, setting foot on the first step inside. "Two days we've been up here, and I already regret it." Ascending into the structure, he let himself fall into silence. Dripping on the floor.
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Post by DataNinja on Mar 31, 2016 5:05:13 GMT
At the pointed glance to their hands, Christine briefly flushes, grateful for the cool rain. "You're right about the sleeping. Water on the roof's pretty noisy. What I wouldn't give for a couple feet of earth above my head..."
Christine doesn't know how to reply to his drastic change in attitude, so she just follows him in, awkwardly, glancing at the other two girls.
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Post by Lockdown on Apr 2, 2016 15:11:13 GMT
Everyone is slowly shown to their resting places for the night, the wind making the entire place moan and shudder in a manner most eerie. Eventually though, you're all able to fall asleep, lost in your own thoughts on what the future may hold... and regrets of the past. +4 TXP for everyone. End of the day, and end of the chapter
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