[Outbreak] (okay loves, ground rules!
1: After I post, we are posting in alphabetical order. Time limit for posts is ten minutes max before combat, and three minutes max in combat.
2: if you miss your declare in combat, you can declare at the end of the round, with a +1 penalty added to any of your actions. Also, your action would come at the end of the round, regardless of what your initiative was. Sorry, you snooze? You get hit in the face with stuff.
3: If I miss your question in the chat, IM it to me. If I do not respond within 3 minutes of said question, PM it to me here. There is a chance that I missed your question, and I won't get mad if you PM me. Just rest assured that, if the chat fills with OOC commentary, I WILL miss questions.
4: Don't forget to take transcript. ALL OF YOU. Be sure to save your rolls, too. You never know when a transcript may come in handy.
have fun, loves! I have a setting post coming
[Outbreak] (Oh! ALSO!
please keep multitasking to a minimum. When I ST and see people multitasking, to me it reads like "I'm just WANTING to die horribly". I won't kill you over it, but? I will be very upset if you are MTing.)
[Outbreak] To feel the rhythm of life
Everything, whether we realize it or not,starts with drums. Something powerful and percussive. Something that rings like thunder and hunger and a battle cry. Rhythm is life. Our hearts beat. They pound in subtle, monotonous time. Steady four-four rhythms, no meter changes or tempo changes unless the situation calls for it.
Sex.
Fear.
Lies.
Dread.
Joy.
Anger.
Sorrow.
All these things cause the tempo to accelerate. And when the music dies down,so does the beat. It fades,it softens, it evaporates into nothing, and it dies. It dies beautifully and the song is closed. The ending chords are played, not always beautifully, but the song is held to the abrupt end.
It resolves into major.
It crashes into dissonance and minor keys.
But the song is.
To feel the powerful beat
And it had been in their heads, all of the mages, whether they were at work or at home or enjoying the comforts of lust and passion and ecstasy and agony. It was drumming in their heads all day. Some bossa nova rhythm. A salsa. A cha-cha. Quick-quick-quick. Rest. Rest. It is felt,and the rhythm of life and the universe tells them all something, no matter where they are.
Something is coming.
To feel the tingle in your fingers
They are in Bronzeville for their own purposes. Some may be shopping, others may be waiting for a bus, but they can notice it. they can feel it in their hearts, and the rhytghm that their souls have been moving to is finally played for human ears. Something Mediterranean and Mesopotamian and Latin American from the cradle of the earth.
They say the world sprang up from between the Tigris and Euphrates, and that life was springing up again near a bus stop in the heart of the slums of Chicago.
They are a wiley bunch. One would assume them to be just roving musicians. Poor. A hispanic girl dances some lovely cliche while a man with dreadlocks drums. They were a band of five. Strings and woodwind and percussion played and the people in the city paid them no heed.
this was the rhythm of life.
People lived in cities because they were dead, anyway.
To feel the tingle in your feet.
This is where we open the scene: with street performers in a city that pays no heed to their ilk.
They were probably going to use the money to buy drugs anyway.
[Dylan Willis] It had started up this morning as he was getting ready for work, this strange drumming in his head, like his pulse beating out some sort of rhythm that was calling for the rest of him to join in, and like any good will worker, he had ignored it.
He hadn't had much of a choice. Escaping the continental United States for the better part of last month had whittled away his vacation hours, and when he had returned from his exodus alone, he had also returned to the knowledge that unless he was direly ill and whiling away his hours in the hospital, he could not just abandon his job and strike out on whatever wild whim might have gripped him on any particular day. So he had gone to work, and he had stayed there until six o'clock, and then he had gone home.
It is past six o'clock now, and he's out in search of the origins of that rhythm. His feet were not content with staying at home, they were practically itching inside of his combat boots, and he is walking now, pounding the pavement with a cigarette between thumb and forefinger, Army jacket protecting against the wind, his heart pattering like rain on a car hood, like wooden sticks on a drum kit, like the music that cascades through the streets like some sort of hellbent crowd of its own.
Dylan isn't a dancer, but he's not going to lie and say he isn't moved by what he's hearing. Not that there's anyone around who would ask him, anyway.
[Jamie Steward] Jamie was there comming out've a pub from someone's work do, he was one of the early leavers, it had taken it's wear on him. He looks a little odd, but only odd enough to be someone you give a second glance and then dissmiss as another someone trying to stick out a little, trying not to be dreary, looking to be in his mid twenties, maybe younger, not likley older in the way he's dressed. There was music in his ears already, played out into headphones around his neck but he pauses to a moment when it mixes with the music being played, there was something to it. He feels it, anticipation, dread, apprehension, exhileration, so hard to place. he stops looking around for what it is and what it isn't, trying to see between the notes, something, something more, he's interested moving out've the doorway he looks around and with them now in sight he studies them, looking for what it is that has grabbed his attention. he turns off the player and the headphones go silent as he watches. Waiting for something, but not sure what.
[Jarod Nightingale] Jarod could barely remember the last time he'd actually set foot in the bronzeville neighborhood. He was very rarely out here, and usually kept business to a minimum when he was. The Verbena had just gotten in from a trip to Tokyo, and having found himself running low on a supply of party favors (Jarod himself never took drugs, but he knew that his guests generally expected them to be available), he'd decided to venture out here to stock up before he had some acquaintances in the industry over for dinner.
That was a part of the job that he didn't much care for... but if Jarod Nightingale was good at anything, it was pretending to be something that he wasn't. The Chinese-American halfbreed was currently dressed in what amounted to casual-wear for him: navy blue designer jeans and a button-down black silk shirt. The BMW was parked not far down the road, sitting rather conspicuously under the glare of a streetlamp.
And then there were the drums. Drums in his head that had been there all day. Distracting. Derailing the so-perfect facade of urban humanity that Jarod always seemed to affect. It pushed and pulled at his pulse. And now it was there, not just in his head but coming from a pair of street performers right in front of him. His feline movements ceased for a moment as the tall, graceful creature paused, putting out one hand to lean against a telephone pole as he watched... and listened.
[Wharil Choc] Gee, Mr. Choc! Jimmy would say, if there ever were a Jimmy. If he wasn't freelance and actually worked in a newsroom with other reporters (they're called journalists now) and young wannabe reporters like Jimmy. Oh, but this imaginary theoretical dialogue was going somewhere, wasn't it?
Gee, Mr. Choc! How do you always get such great stories? To which Wharil would fix him with a gaze over the reading glasses that made him look so distinguished and say: 'Footwork, kid. Lots and lots of footwork.'
Wharil didn't wear glasses, and he wasn't half as distinguished as he occasionally imagined himself. But then again, footwork wasn't actually as effective as he occasionally suggested it was. At the end of the day Wharil is walking through a strange neighborhood in clothes that were strange for this neighborhood. He knew that the residents around there weren't staring at his copper-bronze skin or the obvious hints of old Latin America (as opposed to New Latin America. Just like old Michael as opposed to new Michael) in his lips and nose and brows. They were staring at the white dress shirt and black blazer that he wore. Or perhaps, they were staring at the way he couldn't stand still today. The way his feet tapped or his head bobbed after he'd asked a question.
Wharil couldn't ignore it. He knew he couldn't ignore it from the very beginning. He thought, however, that he could work through it. But when that didn't work out he found himself doing extra leg work, following the music he heard this time (as opposed to the music he felt) and letting it lead him to these performers.
[Outbreak] Bells jingle and things whisper and move.
This is life. The man with the dreads is lost in his rhythm while the younger fellow with the guitar seems content to "rock out" as it were. The violinist is moved. He does not weep, but all things poetic about one's soul say it without saying. The girl dances, she moves.
They've been there all day.
They must be fatigued.
It comes apparent in their muscles,in the fine sweat across the percussionist's brow, in the way the girl's arms drop slightly when she feels a rest. In the way the violinist and the guitarists' fingers are red, are callused, would bleed if they could because that was what artists did.
They bled.
And no one noticed.
They must be fatigued.
Something stirs in the distance. A groan in the alleyway.
The dance, the music, the song intensifies.
(per+aware, diff 8. and per+alert, diff 6)
[Dylan Willis] [Awareness+Perception]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Wharil Choc] [per+awareness]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 2, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Dylan Willis] [Alertness+Perception, -2 diff (Ability Aptitude)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 3 at target 4)
[Wharil Choc] [per+alert]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 5, 5, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Jamie Steward] ((Alert))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Jamie Steward]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Per+Aware]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Jamie Steward] ((second was aware sorry))
[Jarod Nightingale] [Per+Alert]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Outbreak] AWARENESS:
Jamie & Jarod:
The music seems strange. It does not make them, want to dance but it does ping on their awareness. Whatever those musicians are doing, it is not mundane. Whatever they are doing, it doesn't seem right.
to Jamie Steward, Jarod Nightingale
[Outbreak] Jarod & Wharil
There is a groan from the alleyway, it may be feminine or masculine. It does sound human, like someone waking up from sedation. It sounds hoarse, it sounds rasped.It's a bad part of town, some drunk probably just woke up from his afternoon nap. Who knows what that means. Whatever it was, it didn't sound awful.
There is shuffling. It is the sound of more than one set of feet. There are people in the alleyway.
to Jarod Nightingale, Wharil Choc
[Dylan Willis] A heavy breath made visible by cold and smoke blows out of the tall--he's not towering, is hardly a colossal feat of human engineering, but he's 6'2" in his boots and built like a boxer or a quarterback, someone designed to be quick on his feet yet powerful; he stands out in a crowd--construction worker's lungs, and his blond brow slowly knits together as something tugs at the edges of his awareness.
His eyes scan the area, settle on the musicians for a moment, and then. Then he hears a noise, a noise that makes his blood run cold, coming from a nearby alleyway.
Were not for the fact that Dylan doesn't exactly interact with a lot of different people on a regular basis, were not for the fact that his memory is sharp enough to continue tormenting him long after it should have forgotten certain details, he might not have recognized the bronze-skinned young man he'd met at a Thai restaurant a few months ago.
That doesn't mean that Wharil is going to recognize him, but the situation being what it is, he's not going to charge in on his own.
As they converge upon the interaction, the militant-looking Orphan makes brief eye contact, a sort of Oh hey I know you, before he addresses the Euthanatos.
"You feel that?" he asks, voice low. The fingers of his free hand reach up to scratch at his sternum as he waits for a response.
[Life 1: Scan-a-Rama.
Coincidental. Target: Whatever's in the alleyway. Base Diff: 5, -1 (spec. focus).]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 4)
[Jamie Steward] Jamie taps the straps of his bag he bites his lip and looks around before he slings the bag down and looks across crouching down out've the way of most people he begins to open the bag when he hears something and looks back towards the alleyway where it came from, being kind've near it he can't get a very good view so he stands up again, the bag re-shouldered, though now only over the single shoulder, he moves to step round to get a better look. As he moves he glances back at the street performers as well, a slight frown knitting across his brow. But it's only a fleeting glance the frown remains as he moves to a better view of the alley. His grip tightens on his bag slowly as he moves and he stays at the lip of the pavement and the road, leaving a little distance to the alleys mouth, just in case. That horrid feeling knotting in his stomach and visible on his face. He sniffs the air as well perhaps subconsciously expecting something to be on it.
[Jarod Nightingale] The music was entrancing, and the performers looked... exhausted. As if they'd been at this for hours and hours. As if they had some kind of primal need to continue. There was something worth noting about that, as well as the fact that the music.... clearly was more than what it looked like from the outside. They were channeling the pulse of something much greater than most people were capable of understanding.
Jarod heard something in a nearby alleyway, and for a moment he turned his head in that direction even though he couldn't actually see inside of it. It wasn't anything particularly out of the ordinary, from what he could tell, and as such, his attention quickly re-focused on the music again. For the moment, he seemed content to stand there and listen. Curiosity killed the cat.
[Wharil Choc] Eventually Wharil finds himself at the side of the street watching the procession with a smile on his face. Yes, a smile. C'mon, its a parade. Everybody loves parades!
But apparently the people of Bronzeville didn't love parades. No one out here even seemed to give a damn. And these guys were playing their hearts out. They were putting everything on the line. They were really giving...more than any street musician aught to give.
And then there's that sensation of something old, old the way the earth was old. Old the way dreams and life and death were old. Too old, in fact, to even possibly be right.
"Yeah." He said in response to the man who kind of sort of looked like the description he'd once been given of Dylan Willis. The man who, out of all the others in Bronzeville, stopped to watch this odd procession. "Yeah, something feels...off."
The dark, curious orbs of his eyes dart toward the alleyway and his lips purse slightly before he starts whispering under his breath. These performers were tired, obviously. Wharil wanted to see what kept them going.
[Read Surface Thought on Performers, Diff 5 -1 for focus]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 4)
[Dylan Willis] Something in the alleyway is vying for That Guy's attention. A warmth suffuses the very air around them as he scratches at his sternum with painfully blunt fingernails, reaching out and reaching in, and whatever he reads out there in the Tapestry, whatever his senses are telling him, make his tanned skin dusk somewhat and his pupils push out what little earth-brown iris was left over in the darkness of the evening.
'Off' is the word that Wharil uses to describe what's going on, and as Dylan returns to his senses after his exploration of the alley, whatever jitteriness he had been feeling to start out only grows in size and scope. It's not his fight-or-flight response thickening; Wharil is Working.
"I'm hearing things," he says, and drops what's left of the Camel onto the filthy sidewalk, stamping it out beneath his boot.
[Jamie Steward] Dark dark dark, he drums his fingers on the strap and he looks back at the people again briefly then at the alleyway. Not being able to see anything he puts the goggles up from round his neck over his eyes and he moves the headphones to his ears starts twisting dials on the box it's attached to.
((coincidental effect, adjusting the light he can see, low light vision. Forces 1 effect, difficulty 4))
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 6 (Success x 1 at target 4)
[Jamie Steward] ((per alert to go with it))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 6, 8, 8, 10
[Jarod Nightingale] There were others nearby, but these were faces that Jarod had never seen before. Were it not for the fact that they seemed to be reacting to something, he might very well have passed them over in favor of the musicians. But... they were reacting to something, and that made them curious. They seemed awfully interested in what was happening in that alley.
With an almost deceptively languid stretch, Jarod pulled away from where he was leaning and walked towards Dylan and Wharil, movements strongly resembling those of a prowling cat for all that they were both graceful and predatory.
"Something going on in there?"
[Wharil Choc] Some other time, from some other person, that would illicit a joke. But now, here...
"Is it in Iambic Pentameter?"
As Jarod approached, Wharil backs away from the curb, suddenly not too eager to be too close to these performers.
"Yeah. Something's coming. That's what I hear at least."
His mind and his eyes both go back to the alley, and then to the other two expectantly.
[Dylan Willis] Is it in iambic pentameter.
A dry snort leaves the construction worker's sinuses, and Dylan looks over as they're joined by a man he has never seen before. His eyes lock on him for a moment, then drift back to Wharil as he says that something's coming.
"I heard something in the alleyway," he says, "but I can't feel any signs of life."
[Jamie Steward] He turns the music he has playing up over the goggle straps, and he looks around for something in the alleyway he could use as a weapon if it comes to it, if he can see anything he'll collect it and start taking a few steps towards the forms. If not he will still go in. There's a final look over his shoulder before he crosses the threshold into the alleyway and into the darkness it affords. Moving cautiously either way he watches for movement, he watches for signs of anything, signs of life signs of death, signs of what happened here, what's happening here? He coughs and puts his left hand over his mouth as he moves in his stomach churning he swallows to make sure everything stays down.
[Jarod Nightingale] Typical cat. Why bother expending your own effort on something if there are others there already doing the work for you? That seemed to be his motivation behind approaching the two men, at least, and now his eyes flicked towards Jamie, who appeared to be making his way into said alley by himself.
Something's coming, Wharil said. No signs of Life, Dylan said. And Jarod contemplated this. Then he reached up to brush his hand up the side of his neck in a gesture that seemed rather casual, but in fact, probably wasn't. (In fact, it had a slightly sensual undertone.) If you want something done right, do it yourself.
[Life Scan on alleyway - coincidental - Base diff 4 -1special focus]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 6 (Success x 3 at target 3)
[Outbreak] There is nothing alive in that alleyway, save for the rather unremarkable man making his way into it.
to Jarod Nightingale
[Wharil Choc] ...but I can't feel any signs of life.
"Well that's not good." He says a little too matter-of-factly. "Cuz I heard it too, I'm sure of it. And now that I think of it, what I heard could have been moaning. And shuffling. And no signs of life?"
He didn't want to say it. He really didn't want to even think about it. His hand slid around to the back of his waist, lifting the blazer over his hip before he brings out his gun, a Colt .45 (No Bronzeville jokes, please), making sure the business end was pointed downwards and away from these potential allies before moving toward the mouth of the alley.
"We've gotta check this out." He says over his shoulder to the other two, and by the time he looks back there's...some guy in headphones? Creeping into the alley alone...and unarmed.
"Hey! Hey CRAZY! Get your ass back here!"
[Outbreak] The man disappears into the alleyway, and it is dark. This time, they can all hear it. A groan,a moan, a movement and shuffling forward. There is something wrong in that alleyway, this much is certain, and it is not drowned out by the rhythms played frantically behind them. There is focus and emphasis on the downbeats.
It is the rhythm of life.
There is nothing alivein that alleyway.
the unremarkable man disappears into the alley, and it is difficult to see him from that point on. Just an outline, vibrant against the see of what could be hung over drunks.
[Outbreak] (aaand, inits, lovelies!
From this point on, three minute declares. Post in order of initiative, so thatway should things get to combat? We can get it going much more quickly. When things dissolve into dice,I'll post more rules. Good?)
[Dylan Willis] [+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Jarod Nightingale] [+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
[Jamie Steward] ((+6))
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Wharil Choc] 6
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3
[Outbreak] Twice born: +4
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Outbreak] Romero: +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Outbreak] (Posting order is as follows:
Jamie: 8
Wharil: 9
Dylan: 11
Twice Born (3): 13
Jarod: 13
Romero: 17
Go for it!)
[Jamie Steward] Things are moving towards him, he steps back a little, pulls the headphones off "You ok?" he asks to them but he doesn't seem to be asking it expecting an answer, moving back into the street quickly and half turning to peg it away already.
[Wharil Choc] And up from behind him comes a not so large brown man with a not so large black gun in one hand. The other hand is reaching for Jamie, apparently about to snatch him by the collar and pull him away.
"I said get back here, man. What are you, deaf?"
And though he was actually eager to get the guy with the headphones out of there, there was a naggingly curious side of him that had him peering into the darkness. And once his hands were free from Jamie's collar, it moved to his own collar, undoing the first three buttons and revealing the leather thong and medicine pouch around his neck. Wharil felt at the small bones in the pouch, and tried to focus his senses not on the forces of life, but it's opposite.
[Dylan Willis] With a sigh, Dylan reaches around behind his back and unsnaps the leather strap holding his Beretta in its holster. He starts forward, holding his hand behind his back as if massaging a knot, and approaches the musicians.
[Outbreak] The female and two malesmove forward. In the light, they are grotesque. The female's head is bent at an awkward angle. Her arm dangles as though it is barely attached by threadlike tendons.
One man's jaw is missing, just like the tie on his suit. Or the wedding ring on his finger that left green and purple marks of falsehood and infidelity.
The other's glassy eyes see nothing, and they stare out at the intruders. He is the smallest. He is the most wiry. He seems the most human.
They are living lies. They mock the Wheel.
--
Dylan approaches the musicians, and they continue to play,something about the drummer slows. The dancer looks at him with an expression tha tlooks like almost abject horror. The violinist's fingers have started to bleed.
They keep playing.
[Jarod Nightingale] The strangers were right. There was absolutely no life in that alley. But there was something in there... and that meant that whatever it was, it was wholly unnatural. Being what he was, Jarod had a rather distinct distaste for things that were... unnatural. Life was life. Death was death. Going against that was an insult to the very tapestry of creation.
And unnatural was exactly the word one might use to describe what came shambling out into the moonlight...
Giving a quick glance around, Jarod stepped back to let the others do as they saw fit. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated on the life within his own body, feeling the steady pulse of his heart and the flow of blood through his veins. His hand continued to touch, drawing along his neck and dipping beneath the collar of his shirt to his shoulder.
[Declare: Better Body - increasing stamina - base diff 6 -1focus, -1practicedrote, -1quintessence]
[Jarod Nightingale]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 5, 9 (Success x 3 at target 3)
[Outbreak] It growls.Eyes that glow green and a body that seems more metal than man. But it was a man. Long and lean and built for speed. A lethal creature in a black suit with soulless eyes.
He would have been a menace, even if he were not dead. Even if his skin was not sallow and his flesh too bruised. His mirrorshades were broken. His right eye was missing.
he darted with an inhuman growl towards the musicians.
He's too fucking fast for this.
[Jamie Steward] Jamie half jumps out of his skin and away from wharil then turns tryingvery fast to look back at the things following as they come into the light, the remaining colour from his skin vanishes, yes he can get more pastey than that, though now it's more sort've grey. He looks like he's about to panic and about to throw up, but mostly like he is wheeling around unable to stop moving, now back peddling, turning, sprinting away, there's fear there, overwhelming irrational fear, beyond thought. Terror is written right across and through him. he stumbles and pushes and just starts putting as much distance as he can as a first reaction.
[Dex athletics]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Wharil Choc] Wharil's eyes grew dully calm, too calm for someone just exposed to the image of rotting, torn flesh walking right towards him. Jamie jumps, and immediately bolts thereafter. If this were a few years ago, if this were a younger Wharil, he'd follow. Hell, he'd probably outrun him.
This Wharil keeps his witts about him, and as he backs away from the approaching zombies, sure to keep an eye on them, he sings. Softly, gently, in a language none of them probably knew. But its not what he's singing that's really important. Its the way he sings that calms them, keeps them resolute.
[Dylan Willis] [Split Action: Shoot/Shoot/Shoot Romero. Spending WP on last split.]
[Wharil Choc] Mourner's Chant [Manip+Expression] with WP
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Wharil Choc] [Shoot the Late Mr. Mirrorshades +2 diff]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3 (Botch x 1 at target 8)
[Dylan Willis] [First Split Action: Firearms+Dexterity: Blam! -3 pool (split), -2 diff (close-range).]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4 (Failure at target 4)
[Dylan Willis] [Second Split Action: Blam! -4 pool (split), -2 diff (close range).]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 4)
[Dylan Willis] [Damage: 4 +1 (suxx).] [L]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Dylan Willis] [Third Split Action: Blam! -5 pool, -2 diff (close range).]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4) [WP]
[Dylan Willis] [Damage: 4 +2 (suxx).] [L]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Outbreak] (twice born F: advance
twice born suit: advance
twice born kid: stare)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Declare: Better Body again! Claws this time. Base diff 7 (vulgar) -1focus, -1practiced, -1quint, using WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 4) [WP]
[Outbreak] Those in the alley do nothing, and the youngest creature seems almost fascinated with wharil. It does not attack, it just... observes. It doesn't seem quite right, and it's sick, because it seems almost human.
the other two are not so benevolent.
Wharil chants, and his companions feel a little revitalized. They feel in touch with what is going on around them. What's a shame, however, is that he turns to shoot the former technocrat, and instead ends up locking up that .45 of his. It makes a hollow clicking sound.
Dylan, on the other hand, wastes no time in dealing damage. The first shot misses, sails past the man in the mirror shades, but the second hit blows a hole straight through his head. It should be disgusting. It would remind him of a pumpkin being splattered on the pavement.
The creature doesn't stop, though. It is not human. Not anymore.
He shoots again, and tears through his shoulder. The sight is disgusting, but the once-Technocrat is still moving.
Jarod takes a defensive action, prepares himself for battle. He is more feline than man, and claws are vicious and horrible. This... this could be horrible. It is inhuman. It is in his nature, he's okay with this.
Reality is not.
Meanwhile, Jamie runs. He stands as the voice of reason and says nothing. He runs.
[Jamie Steward]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Jamie Steward] He slows down enough to look over his shoulder heads on still though, gasping more air into his lungs he half stumbles forward a second later trying to keep his stomach, which is easier than it would be otherwise because everything is telling him he doesn't have enough time to throw up, just to run, and keep running. so he does across and down the road, putting more distance between him and it all.
[Wharil Choc] [Declare: Split action if Necessary - Clear Jam and move away from the advancing zombies.]
[Dylan Willis] [Split Action: Shoot/Shoot/Shoot Romero. Spending WP on last split.]
[Outbreak] (twice born F: advance on wharil
twice born suit: continue advance,spend WP to get to him and BITE
twice born kid: sack twice born suit: NO BITING WHARIL!)
[Jarod Nightingale] He was a patient creature, and he very much did not like to run into these situations unprepared. There was one thing on Jarod's side here: the animated corpses were not particularly fast. They groaned, they shambled... and in that time, he focused himself on preparing for the inevitable. The first effect wasn't noticeable to the naked eye, but he felt it: the renewed pulse of life that flowed through him and strengthened his body, hardening muscles and pumping him with adrenaline. He could run for hours now, if he wanted to.
The next part was... a bit more drastic, but necessary. Weapons of a last resort. The feline man summoned up the natural weapons of his avatar, and long, deadly claws grew from his fingers. Only when he was good and ready did he finally move in for the attack.
[Declare: Split claw/claw suit]
[Outbreak] romero:
action 1: punch dylan
action2: bite violinist
[Outbreak] (punch!)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Outbreak] (damage)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Dylan Willis] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Outbreak] Bite the violinist
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Outbreak] (damage)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Dex+Brawl -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Str+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Dex+Brawl -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 4, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Str+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Outbreak] ((twice born suit: attempted ouchies)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 6 (Failure at target 6)
[Outbreak] Twice born kid: tackle!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Outbreak] TB Suit: contest
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Dylan Willis] [First Split Action: Firearms+Dexterity: Blam! -3 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 4)
[Dylan Willis] [Damage: 4 +1 (suxx).] [L]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Dylan Willis] [Second Split Action: Firearms+Dexterity: Blam! -4 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 10 (Success x 2 at target 4)
[Dylan Willis] [Damage: 4 +1 (suxx).] [L]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Dylan Willis] [Third Split Action: Firearms+Dexterity: Blam! -5 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 7 (Success x 3 at target 4) [WP]
[Dylan Willis] [Damage: 4 +2 (suxx).] [L]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Outbreak] The former technocrat goes into behaviors that are programmed into his muscle memory. He swings at Dylan, because it is all his body knows. He makes a good showing of it as well. The former technocrat makes a solid hit, but does little damage to the disciple. Dylan has trained his body, he knows how to handle himself. The technocrat, the monster, the pile of dead flesh turns to bite the violinist- it is not what he was born and bred to do, but this is instinct. And when the muscles refuse to cooperate the mind and body react to whatever stimulus they can. He was hungry, and it required nourishment.
it doesn't touch the violinist. Doesn't even hurt him. It just crapes his flesh, blood-on-blood mingling.
Contamination.
The musician holds his neck and looks shocked, amazed that this has just happened to him. He does not know what to expect, but he steps away quickly. He calls out to his companions and drops his violin. The music stops. abruptly.
"It's up, run!"
"But, we can't-" the the guitarist protests.
"Fucking run!" replies the violinist.
the girl is the first to run, and it seems that, once she opened her eyes longenouhg in the dancing, she is horrified. The teenager flees, and runs as fast as her legs can carry her. It's hard to tell where she's going. It doesn't matter. the drummer glares at the violinist. His eyes flicker to his neck, and back to his eyes.
They all run at that moment.
All except the guitarist.
Jarod claws through the man in the suit, rends his flesh and causes his arm to become severed at the shoulder. It twitches, but is dead like the rest of him. His claws stick into his flesh, and Jarod pulls back to find putrid flesh on his claws. This sort of destruction feels right. It feels natural.
reality disagrees.
The other creature advances on wharil. The female does not make any progress, moving forward at a tortoise's pace. Slow and steady would win her this race. And while the man in the suit, the slow, bumbling creature tries to approach the Euthanatos, the kid and Jarod make use of him. Jarod rends his flesh while the other monstrosity tackles him. The logic is difficult to follow,but the creature does not seem to care. There are wants and needs, more than hunger. The flesh moves, the heart fails to beat, but something human remains. Who knows how long it will stay.
By the time Wharil unjams his gun, the Hispanic girl is running away, and she is making enough ground that she might catch up to Jamie. by the time Wharil unjams his gun, Dylan Willis is firing his.
Dylan shoots, but he barely grazes his target. It is close, it is seething and bleeding and is nothing more than mindless rage and hunger. It needs, it wants satisfaction that will not come with food or a fuck but with sheer, unadulterated violence. To claim another life, to make still another beating heart. The second shot is just as bad as the first. It would have been enough to take down a human.
but we have established that the former technocrat is not human. Not anymore.
The third shot is enough. It severs his spinal column, leaves the mirror shaded menace in a pile of rotting, smoking flesh. There should be more blood than there is, but there's nothing. Just a dead body and limited blood and rotting everything.
Jamie looks back enough to see the progress made, and a Hispanic girl barreling his way in an absolute panic. She doesn't know she's crying yet. The rest of the musicians scatter. In the chaos, it is hard to track them. One goes east, west, south. they split up.
[Jamie Steward] He slows down a mindute, almost stumbles looking back at the girl running and the zombie finally dying, it takes a moment for it to fully click that she's not zombied or anything he stops looking back at her catching up and at the zombie that just died, and then his mind connects again, sort of, and he's stepping backwards, not looking where he's going looking back, but still wanting the distance, his eyes are wide the panic has fled, atleast some, but the horror and terror is still pretty stark, he opens his mouth, moves them like he's speaking, but not words come out, silent words.
[Wharil Choc] [Declare: With gun cleared, lets try this again - Headshot Zombie Suit, 1 WP]
Meanwhile...
[Reflexive: "Hey! Keep playing!"]
[Dylan Willis] [Declare: Shoot/Shoot Femme, Shoot/Shoot Kid. WP on last split.]
[Outbreak] TB Femme: try to bite Wharil
TB Suit: try to get up
TB Kid: WP to try and keep control
[Jarod Nightingale] [Declare: Split claw/claw female, spending wp on both]
[Jarod Nightingale] [Dex+Brawl -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Str+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Dex+Brawl -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 3, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Jarod Nightingale] [Str+2+1]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 6, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Outbreak] TB Kid:WP
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Outbreak] TB Suit: get up!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Outbreak] Saucy Zombie Wench: Bite Wharil!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Outbreak] damage
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Dylan Willis] [First Split Action: Firearms+Dexterity: Blam! -4 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 4)
[Dylan Willis] [Damage: 4 +NOTHING!] [L]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Dylan Willis] [Second Split Action: Firearms+Dexterity: Blam! -5 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 4)
[Dylan Willis] [Damage: 4 +1 (suxx).] [L]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Dylan Willis] [Third Split Action: Firearms+Dexterity: Blam! -6 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3 (Failure at target 4)
[Dylan Willis] [Fourth Split Action: I Ain't Got No Dice!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 4)
[Dylan Willis] [Damage: 4 +NOTHING!] [L]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Wharil Choc] Headshot Zombie Femm, Point Blank, +1 Diff changed action, with WP
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5 (Success x 2 at target 5) [WP]
[Wharil Choc] Damage: 6 + 1
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Outbreak] The first claw to the animated corpse causes her already tenuously connected arm to fall from her body. She seems unphased, and her intent does not change. She continues to shuffle forward, and the second claw does little to slow her down. It removes pounds of flesh and there is nothing there. She continues forward, just as the suit starts to raise and is promptly brought back down by a bullet.
The kid growls, as the last vestiges of humanity are lost.
It howls with inhuman hunger and charges... but charges the guitarist instead of the party.
The female bites Wharil, barely gets a good chunk of his flesh before Dylan shoots her. Again.
Bam
And again.
Bam
and-
Bam
That shot of Wharil's goes off the same time Dylan shoots the kid. It barely grazes its temple,but Wharil Choc takes the female's head clear off. It falls lifeless once again, immobile and gory.
[Jamie Steward] Jamie stands, looks back in bewilderment, slow steps back, rational meets irational and the entire thing is pretty close to a stand still slow progress away, slowing, he looks past the woman running past, back at the sounds and whatever he can see of the conflict, dazed. Slowly still back, slowing even.
[Wharil Choc] Declare: Shoot Boy Zombie (Sorry little friend)
[Dylan Willis] [Split Action: Shoot/Shoot/Shoot Wharil's Friend.]
[Outbreak] (twice born kid: screwing up a WP roll is BAD
action 1: bite guitarist
action 2 split: a: bite/2b bite (WP))
[Jarod Nightingale] [Declare: Split Claw/Claw kid]
[Jarod Nightingale] [...with WP!]
[Jarod Nightingale] [Dex+brawl -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Str+2+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Dex+Brawl -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Jarod Nightingale] [Str+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Outbreak] (Bite the guitarist!)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Outbreak] (bite damage)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Outbreak] (bite again, -2)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Outbreak] (damage)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 3, 5 (Failure at target 6)
[Outbreak] (bite! -3)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Outbreak] (damage)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 4 (Botch x 3 at target 6)
[Dylan Willis] [First Split Action: Firearms+Dexterity: Blam! -3 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 4)
[Dylan Willis] [Damage: 4 +1 (suxx).] [L]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Dylan Willis] [Second Split Action: Firearms+Dexterity: Blam! -4 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 10 (Success x 2 at target 4)
[Dylan Willis] [Damage: 4 +1 (suxx).] [L]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Dylan Willis] [Third Split Action: Firearms+Dexterity: Blam! -5 pool (split).]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 4)
[Dylan Willis] [Damage: 4 +1 (suxx).] [L]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Outbreak] Jarod claws the kid, and his claws sink in deep. He was born to have these sorts of things, but it seems that there is no justice here. He claws once, but does little good the second time. The kid is barely injured when he bites into the guitarist. he screeches in pain, and he tries to push the kid off of him.
The second bite does not hurt, and the third does no damage. Does nothing but cross-contaminate the man.
Dylan Willis opens fire on the once human figure, and he fires. he shoots as though he has nothing to fear at that moment. he shoots like he is a professional. Dylan Willis shoots like he has been doing this for years.
The man is a good shot, and he blows the kid away. There is nothing left by the time Wharil opens fire.
Just a pile of dead flesh and a shell shocked guitarist who is bleeding rather profusely from his throat.
[Dylan Willis] The buzz cut man in the green Army jacket has been called many things since returning home from the war. "Murderer" is one of those things. It's not as bad as "baby killer," which almost got a man in bar in St. Louis killed with a broken Budweiser bottle, but "murderer" is still about as far as most people are willing to stray from the commonly held "support the troops, not the war" policy.
As he acquires a shooter's stance and opens fire on first the charging former Technocrat, then the fleeing female, and finally the lunging kid, there isn't a shred of emotion in Dylan's eyes. He does not flinch as the gun reports in his ears, does not recoil when gristle and blood fly, does not lower the weapon when the first target has fallen. He just shifts his aim.
When it's over, when the last of the reanimated dead have hit the concrete, when he only has five rounds left in the Beretta, Dylan lowers his straight arms, transferring the weapon to his left hand and looking around at the injured and the bleeding.
His ears are ringing and deafened by the time it's over, and when he sees the guitarist is still there, albeit bleeding profusely, he walks over to assess the damage.
[Jamie Steward] Jamie finally manages to stop retreating, Not because he's stopped so much as going backwards sooner or later you hit something, in his case it's the end of the curb, he tumbles backwards and lands on his ass between in font of a car parked at the corner, he stares back at whatever he can see and starts mumbling quietly to himself, at this moment he hasn't got quite enough going on to get back up, he needs a moment, he needs to slow down he needs to think he needs. He pulls the bag off the one shoulder, opening it clumsily, someone trying to rush. He also keeps glancing up from the bag to back that way which doesn't help. Still too nervous still half expecting more. he grabs a packet of pills and pops two out, or rather he pops four out, loosing two in the process of shaking hands, he pulls out a bottle of soda and downs the pills followed by the drink to wash them down.
((Mind 1 effect calming himself, difficulty 4))
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 6 (Failure at target 4)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Per+Aware, WP cause why not right?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 7) [WP]
[Jarod Nightingale] Jarod Nightingale was not built for combat. He was sleek. He was beautiful. He was supposed to enchant... not tear things apart with his bare hands. Sometimes situations simply called for extraordinary measures.
Ultimately, he didn't prove quite as useful as those of their party who'd been packing firearms, but damage was dealt nonetheless. His claws ripped and tore through the corpses, ripping out hunks of flesh and severing appendages, and when it was all over... he'd barely broken a sweat. There was something eerily feline about the way he moved and attacked. As if he was channeling something primordial. When the zombies were all dead, he stood to his full height and looked around, taking in the scene. Rotting gore had stained his expensive clothes. Fetid body fluids coated his hands. This was not something that he enjoyed. Looking down, he crinkled his nose in abject disgust and tried to flick as much of the mess off of himself as he could. Something in the back of his mind was screaming at him to wash it off, get clean, put everything back perfectly in its place.
But for now, he held that voice at bay. Its chief effect was to put him in one hell of a sour mood. Jarod's gaze swung between Dylan, who seemed fine, Wharil, who was bitten but alright, and the guitarist, who looked... rather worse for wear. Then the Verbena turned around and leveled an absolutely frozen stare at Jamie. Then he started walking... and when he got in front of the other mage, Jamie would notice that the pupils in the man's lovely indigo eyes were... vertical. Like a cat. You'd half expect him to hiss, but instead, he lashed out, swiping one clawed hand across Jamie's face.
It wouldn't hurt him seriously. The idea was just to cut him a bit.
[Dex+Brawl]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 6, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Jamie Steward] Dex dodge
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Wharil Choc] Wharl, now bleeding from a nasty looking, possibly infected bite mark, had leveled his gun at the speedy child-like form, and in that very instant he saw it fall. Dylan's bullets had torn it apart, and Wharil told himself that it was good. That this was a good thing. But a part of him couldn't help wondering.
"That man needs medical attention." He said, pointing with his gun hand non-committaly at the guitarist. "Can one of you see to him, please?"
And in the meantime he holstered his weapon again. Looking down at his arm, it was obvious that the gun wasn't the tool for this job. No, for this it would be the knife that he kept at the opposite hip.
[Heal self: Life 2, Vulgar - Base Diff 6, WP, cuz paradox hurts!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Outbreak] "Y'know what's just fucked-" the guitarist said between a gurgling cough and a hack "-is that the suits'll cover this up fierce."
Then there was blood again, and he held his guitar up as though it was a shield.
"Jeezus fuck I wanna see Marla now!"
[Jamie Steward] Jamie's eyes go wide, he tries to duck back, he tries to interject his hands but all to no effect he gets scratches across his face at whatever depth that's going to do. He starts scrabling again, up to knees then his feet and he's running again. hand over face he jogs the bag manages to catch it and drag it with him, though it's open and some of the papers come out the heavier contents remains in the bag. The pills and the bottle are left behind.
[Dylan Willis] Reaching into his pocket, Dylan hauls a white handkerchief out and presses it against the man's throat.
"Shut up and hold still," he says.
[Life 3: Heal Other.
Vulgar, No Witnesses. Base Diff: 7, -1 (spec. focus), -1 (taking time). Spending quintessence to heal agg.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5) [WP]
[Jarod Nightingale] "How about we try to help next time?" he hissed venomously. Evidently, he'd had a point to make, but the display looked much worse than it actually was. For all that the blow practically blurred the air, his claws barely touched the other mage's face, leaving only three paper-thin red lines where the first layer of skin had been scratched. Jamie, however, didn't stick around long enough to take the message to heart. He did what any reasonably sane person would probably have done in that situation: flee.
Jarod watched, bemused, then he seemed to calm a bit, relaxing as much as he was able with the mess that was still on him, and the verbena turned and walked back to the others, moving towards the injured guitarist. Dylan was tending to him, so he waited to see if any of his own help would be needed before actually offering it.
[Wharil Choc] He looked at his arm, which was just as wounded as ever, and as he feels the magic come together and suddenly...fizzle out...he seems to decide that this would have to wait.
His ears perk backward at the voice of the guitarists.
"Marla?"
And the next minute he's walking toward him with a curious and almost accusatory look on his face.
"How the fuck do you know Marla? And for that matter, what the fuck were you guys doing out here? Did you raise these fucking things?"
