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The Wastes Breathe [Open]; Part 1/x of the I-10 campaign, open
Topic Started: May 4 2018, 03:21 PM (48 Views)
Ricktor
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Marsh
[ * ]
(IMPORTANT! This is the first thread in my "I-10 campaign," Which will be chronicling David Marsh's journey from San Antonio to Glaveston, and Glaveston to Crown Top along Interstate 10. Any free characters are able to jump in for however long you like! Let's have some fun with this!)

It's been a day and a half since Marsh left the city limits of San Antonio, headed East along Interstate 10. The weather's as favorable as it gets in the wasteland, that is dry and hot. Nights are comfortable enough, but finding suitable camping spots isn't particularly easy. The road here's not used for much trade, so the switchgrass and weeds have taken over. What's left of the asphalt is cracked and ground, and the corpses of vehicles litter the fields. The tops of the plants rustle here and there, be it from the wind or molerats running through. The sun's just begun to reach it's highest point, and David is rummaging through the wreck of a Highwayman for any spare parts he can use. Nothing's turning up.

As he steps back from the car, Marsh wipes the sweat from his brow. It's warm, and to be honest the old man's always preferred the more northern states or up in the mountains. Not a cloud in the sky as he begins walking back down the road. The grasses make it somewhat hard to navigate, but Marsh has dealt with this kind of terrain plenty of times. Every once and a while the brush clears enough to climb up onto a car and see out across the planes. It's nothing but grassland as far out as he can see. The skeletons of a few billboards and an overturned truck or two are the only things sticking up over the tops of the brush. It's a beautiful sight, the browns and greens of the land all splayed out in front of him. This is the kind of view that Marsh lives for. In fact, feeling the fatigue of a few days walking, David slowly sits himself down on the roof of the car to just relax and catch his breath for a minute.

Most old timers would use this time to think back on their life, but Marsh doesn't much care for the past. David reaches down to his hip and withdraws the revolver he keeps strapped to him. Setting it beside him, he swings his rifle off his shoulder and sets it on his lap. The old man cranks open the action and starts taking the whole thing apart. It's basically a pile of junk with a firing pin, so it isn't very hard to break down and strap back together. He silently checks over the barrel, scrubbing a little rust off with a scrap of fabric. He just goes on like that a while, enjoying the view and checking over his equipment. Nice enough day for it.
David Marsh
An old cowboy type, prefers getting shot at to conversation
Inventory:
Pipe rifle (tier 1 rifle)
Rudimentary revolver (tier 1 revolver)
Nuts-n-bolts knuckledusters (tier 1 unarmed)
Duster coat (tier 1 clothing)

Alabaster Shandy
A southern gentleman ghoul from before the war, and a fantastic cook
Inventory:
Pocket knife (tier 1 knife)
Leather Jacket (tier 1 clothing)
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Cewebwalz
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Henshin a go-go baby
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Klaus was a good guy, shame he disappeared in the morning.

Didn't leave Jesse enough change for a hangover cure, so here Winter's was, back on the road with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. He was hoping to find some gross, runoff sewer water or something drinkable to filtrate with his dirty hands and hope not to catch a disease. That seemed like an alright way to avoid dying of dehydration, as long as the next town over was friendly enough to lend some antibiotics for whatever kidney disease he developed.

I-10 was a bit of a ghost strip, it was strange. He focused on the road as much as possible to keep his mind clear, the more he sweat from the heat the more he lost clarity. Most highway vehicles were blown to rust and dust piles, with nothing more than the skeletal frames of vehicles remaining. There seemed to be some preservation in the cards here, even with how well marked it was on every map. Rubber tires were good for armor and often looted, and the metal was useful even if it was all rust according to the various merchants Jesse had met in his life.

He took a moment to collect his breath, exasperated and crispy from the sun, Jesse whipped open a red hot door handle and tossed himself onto shards of broken glass to avoid the rays any longer. He thanked the heavens above for his ragged orange prison jumpsuit, so full of holes and flimsy that he was practically naked when the windy breeze swept through him. It was the only reason he hadn't passed out from heat stroke yet, and he clumsily passed through the vehicle once he realized there was no water, just ugly fabric.

He kept an eye on the inside of these vehicles, praying for salvation. It took time to check thoroughly, he had to slow his pace considerably as he passed by faded green and orange sedans and trucks. Their original color might've been lost to time, Jesse thought to himself, but what about the radiator?

An ugly brown, fat cat Cadillac was chosen as his victim, seemingly in 'flawless' condition other than a missing wheel. It was almost as wide as an entire highway lane. Jesse forced the hood open with strength alone, the latch busting with barely a finger pressed to it. Winters sighed, holding the sheet metal engine cover above his head, and mused at the parts on display. He wasn't really sure what to look for, the words and text were all faded and indecipherable. A long rubber hose connected from the top of the engine to the side, and lead into a metal cap. Jesse figured he found his culprit, and slice into it with a flick of the knife hidden within his sleeve. It ran dry, but Winters wasn't quite ready to give up yet.

He groaned and squirmed his way under the car, one of the wheels was sitting on the axel, providing just enough space for Winters to squirm under the radiator. He sighed and held his breath as the blade inched it's way through old steel like butter, just a knick was necessary.

The moment Jesse removed the blade from plugging the hole, nothing but conjugated, sticky dust seemed to pour out of the radiator. Winters sighed heavily, mucky sand blowing into his eyes and mouth, him coughing up a storm as he rolled out from under the car and off the hot asphalt.

He was going to die today, wasn't he?
Edited by Cewebwalz, May 19 2018, 12:56 PM.
Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist
8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC-

Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator
5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
Quote:
 
Lmgthev:� Like tbh I agree CP is not the golden boy at all
Lmgthev:� You're like John Candy from Cool Runnings
Lmgthev:� Washed up has been who teaches the newcomers the trade� :D

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"What is Adderal, anyhow?" - Funky Fan
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