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"I could get used to this place."; (PM to join)
Topic Started: Aug 23 2009, 10:07 PM (617 Views)
Zilabus
Member Avatar
Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Eli chuckled. "I could get used to this place." He sat at one of the smaller makeshift tables in Bobo's joint. The air was stale and smokey, almost dusty. Grit flew in every once and a while, but it lessened as it got darker. He'd almost fallen into the near-panic much of the townsfolk had slipped into, but he tried to take it all with a grain of salt. He kept his mood cheery, and he even ordered a drink. His more cautious side was deeply worried. There was no way you could fake injuries like that just to sell goods. Unless you where willing to have a friend lose an arm to move some equipment.

He took a swig of his beer and ignored his feelings of unease. He was just starting to enjoy hanging around Bucket-Town. It wasn't safe, with it's total lack of fortifications, but it was a hell of a lot safer then wandering out alone the wasteland. Besides, the people where nice enough, and if he saved up he could set up his own personal tent in town.

The saloon was lively tonight, mainly because of all the new people in town. People chatted and joked with eachother, and some folks, like Eli, just sat in a happy silence. The beer they served him, if you could call it that, had a biting taste and a bit of a nasty smell, but you just had to be brave enough to take a drink, and you'd see it wasn't as powerful as the smell would lead you to believe.

I thought I felt somethin' in the wiiind.
Maybe there's some people, arooound this bend.
Sometiiimes you know. But this ain't one a' theem tiiiimes.


The preformer strummed along on his homemade guitar and kept going on in his nasaly, twangy cadence. Eli wasn't a huge fan of this kind of 'country' music the Nashvillers seemed to enjoy, but it grew on you, and it was a welcome change to have some background music while you where drinking.

"Mind if I sit next to ya' there buddy?" A smashed looking, leathery sort of face stood grinning next to him. He was mising more then a few teeth, and Eli recognized him as one of the caravaneers. "Go ahead, go ahead. The names Eli Ambrose, by the way." The man was wide shouldered, but his frame didn't have much bulky muscle. He paused as the singer went on in the background.

I had a guut feeelin' that somethin' was wroooong.
But I couldn't sloow down or the day'd be reaal godamn looong.
Sometiiimes you know. But this ain't one a' theem tiiiimes.
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
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Zilabus
Member Avatar
Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
As soon as there was a break in the song he continued. "This is one'a his new ones. The names Samuel. Most folks just call me eight-ball though." He had the same kind of accent most of the traders had. Eli shook his ruddy hand. Eli had an idea as to why they called him eight-ball, but it was hard to tell under the mans wide-brimmed hat. "Nice to meet you, Sam." Eli paused for a second. "One of his new ones, huh? What'dya mean?"

"Nice to meet you too, Eli." He seemed to be nice enough. "By one a' his new'uns, I mean it's one of his new songs. He's got the gift o' the gab. Comes up with some damn catchy 'lil songs, but he don't come up with 'em very often." He seemed to smile at a hidden joke in his words.

Eli caught on in a quick moment. "A lot better then not havin' any music at all! I'll tell you that much. Where you folks come from anyways? Not makin, fun or anything, but you guys sure do talk strange." The man paused as the singer let out another lyric.

I thiiiink one a' my Brahmmiiin is siiiiick.
But if I try to check 'em, I'm sure he'll give a reall nasty kiiiiick.
Sometiiimes you know. But this ain't one a' theem tiiiimes.


Most of the people in the resturant laughed a bit at the last line, Sam included.

Samuel laughed good naturedly. "Take it you ain't been very far east, huh?" If it was a joke, Eli didn't get it. "Far east as I been is where I came from. Arkansas." Samuel smiled again. "I felt like your accent was sometin' I heard before. Your real'un, not the fake one you put on." Samuel was a lot more perceptive then Eli thought. "See, this whole Caravan is from Tennessee." Eli only understood the concept of that place in the most abstract of ways. "Nashville's the place. One o' the only big settlements in this whole area! We ain't no snobs like the punks down in The Dome either."

Eli had only faintly heard of Nashville from this caravan, and 'The Dome" was a totally new concept to him. He shot Sam an inquiring glance.

Sam waited as the singer strummed out a long line of notes on his guitar. It all sounded a little raspy and scratchy, but Eli was envious of his skill. Without realizing it, Eli found himself tapping his foot along with the singer, making a beat to go along with the strumming. He wasn't the only one.

Sam smiled again and started to explain.
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
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Zilabus
Member Avatar
Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
He was obviously a lot better traveled then Eli was, but that wasn't a problem. Sam might have beaten him in the miles travelled department, but Eli still had all of his teeth, and wanted to keep it that way. Eli still couldn't help but pay close attention. It payed off to know about other settlements and groups.

Haven't seen the sunshine, since I dunno wheeen.
And I'm alll alooone you know,
I ain't seen no other meeen.
Soooometimes you know, But this ain't ooone o' them tiiiimes.


Samuel spoke of Nashville in a way that made it sound like home. Apparently, it was a settlement of ranchers, a hell of a lot bigger then Bucket Town. Known for it's leatherworking, and it's free spirit. There wasn't much of a government, just enough to keep up fortifications and do the extremely pressing things, like keeping up bridges and damns. If you had the ambition, it was the kind of place that would be easy to step up in.

When he spoke of the other settlment, "The Dome" He spoke with spite and contempt. Very large settlment out of Atlanta, set up in some old, large sports dome. All started with some riverboat casino, and just kept growing and growing. They where the ones that used chips as a standard currency. Unlike Nashville, it was rigidly controlled and lawed, and took records of everything just about anyone did.

Samuel finished what he was saying and spit. "Bastards won't even let you take a weapon into the place! They remove the action of your gun, and they'll bond up any blade you got with a strip 'o metal!"

His cheery smile took the place of his scowl almost immediately after he'd said it. "Speakin' of weapons, you wanna play a little game?" Eli shrugged. Eli had nothing better to do, without any work and enough to trade for a room to stay in. To Eli's amazment, Sam's smile got even wider, and he stood up and nodded for Eli to follow. As Eli did the same, he got a first look at the traders clothing. He wore a heavy looking paded shirt. every so often, there was a small stud or button in it, and the fabrick puffed out in diamonds between the spaces. It was basic cloth armor, which would provide a lot more protection then the thin clothes Eli was wearing.

As they stood, Sam pulled out a handful of what looked to be small hatchets. "What! You ain't never seen a Tomohawk before? These'uns been specially weighted for throwin'." He flipped one up in the air, and it traced lazy loops as it fell back towards his hand. He snatched it up with ease.
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
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Munk
Member Avatar
One-Man Conga Line
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The sun shone in rays through the windows that were nothing than holes cut in the walls of Bobo's Bar. The dust had formed a layer three inches thick on all the tables, chairs, and floor. Hagan sat alone at the farthest corner of the restaraunt. The place was really alive today, he thought. Lots of people getting drunk in an area this small was never a sign of a good thing.

A man was singing and strumming on a guitar earlier but Hagan couldn't hear one lick. His melodies were drowned out by the sea of people, talking, laughing, clinking glasses and yelling insults. Two men sat near him at a small table, Hagan recognized one of them. A caravaner who had helped pass things down that people won. The other one he'd never seen before. A tall man, taller than Hagan, but who was extremley skinny, he wore a brown shirt with a bolo tie. He made Hagan think of a pre-war sun flower they'd grow real big and tall but in the end they're still a flower, delicate and easy to break. He briefly imagined a feather landing on the man's leg, snapping it. Hagan chuckled.

Hagan turned away from the two men. Mainly because he was still sore about losing at the auction, and didn't want to look at the caravaner. He swallowed his anger. Brenda, the only waitress at Bobo's, came beside Hagan's table. She asked if he'd like a menu.
"No, just the usual, Brenda."
"And the usual drink?"
"No, I've got my own." and Hagan shook the Vodka bottle.
Brenda gave him a look. Hagan knew it was bad for business not to buy liquor here. But he didn't have any money. Hell, he was just gonna skip out on the food bill anyway. Brenda would add it to Hagan's tab, which was currently up to something like 28 hides. It didn't matter. Ghouls hardly age. He still had 300 some odd years to pay it back. And by then everyone who knew about his debt will have died.

Hagan looked back at the men. They were gone. He looked for them a little longer and saw that they were now standing up. The caravaner had somekind of weapon out and was flipping it in his hand. Hagan wasn't sure what they were saying to each other but didn't like the way things were going. That hatchet thing looked sharp. He took a shot of Vodka and prepared himself for a fight.

Brenda brought his food to the table on a ceramic plate. Two servings iquana bits and a cup of mashed mut fruit. He ate it absent mindedly watching the caravaner and the skinny man. His paranoia was probably just getting to him. He doubted the man was going to start busting heads. The skinny man was talking calmly to him and didn't seem to sense any danger. So Hagan relaxed and continued to watch them.

If the caravaner wasn't going to kill someone. What was he going to do with that small hatchet-looking thing?
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40
Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC)
Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans
Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides

Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50
Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle)
Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC)
Currency: 0


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Zilabus
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"This is hardly the place to be throwing weapons around, Sam." Eli knew using his name would give his statement a little more authority. "It's packed full of people!" Even while Eli was talking, Sam continued flipping the Tomohawks about. Soon, he had all four of them spinning about, juggling them all with ease. Sam laughed, and Eli nearly jumped back, worried his laughter would send one of them flying through the air.

That only seemed to make Sam chuckle more. "Don't worry your pretty little head. I'm real good with them, I gotta be. It ain't easy using these in the proverbial gun fight." That did little to calm Eli down. By the look of them, they where sharp. In a flash, Sam split his arms in opposite directions, snatching two of the sharp throwing weapons in each hand.

The fact it was crowded meant none of the staff had come over to him with any speed, but Sam still caught the eye of the cooks son, who was busying himself with pulling sections of cloth over the holes in the walls that served as windows. It was a cold night. In a short moment, the only waitress came over and shot him a confrontational look. His response was just as confrontational.

He grabbed one of the bottles out of her hand, quick as lightning for his large frame, and lobbed it into the air. In another second, he threw one of his tomohawks in a rather strange side-armed style. The bottle shattered almost instantly after the Tomohawk left his hand, and the bladed end of the weapon sunk into a splintered table that a single ghoul had been sitting at. It made a loud creaking noise and was stuck firmly into the table.
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
Munk
Member Avatar
One-Man Conga Line
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Hagan jumped, surprised by the speed at which the tomahawk left the caravaners hand. One minute he was juggling them, the next minute it was stuck in Hagan's table.

Hagn grabbed the handle of the tomahawk and tried to pull it from the wood. The damn thing wouldn't budge. He wished he could've pull the hachet from the table so he would have something to hit the man with. Nevertheless he stood up and walked angrily toward the arrogant man.

He threw people from his way. Noticing an empty beer bottle on a table he grabbed it by the neck and smashed it against the wall. It broke in jagged, sharp edges perfect for rending flesh from bone.

He approached the man and stood from him at stand-off distance. He held the bottle out, watching the man's hands, hoping the caravaner wouldn't toss one of them tomahawks.

"What the fuck you trying to do? Kill these nice folks? You'd better put them hatchets down and walk back out that door." Hagan told the caravaner. He knew he couldn't beat the man in speed but maybe hand-to-hand. He still watched the man's hands. The fact that the caraver wore heavy cloth armor on his torso would make this interesting. Hagan would have to aim for the face or legs with quick jabs.
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40
Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC)
Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans
Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides

Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50
Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle)
Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC)
Currency: 0


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Zilabus
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The ghoul jumped noticably, as did Eli. If the throw had been just a foot or so off of where it hit it would've been buried in the ghouls chest. The ghoul wasn't about to let it go, either. He stood and tuged at the buried axe's shaft, but it wouldn't budge. He didn't miss a beat, smashing a bottle and heading in Sam's direction.

Eli stepped back a few paces, and gripped his new cleaver. He sorely wished he'd worked on repairing it sooner. The repair of it was a bit beyond him, but he could do a good enough job to get it shooting again. Instead he'd bought a bladed weapon and cam here to drink.

"What the fuck you trying to do? Kill these nice folks? You'd better put them hatchets down and walk back out that door."

The entire room was nearly silent for a short second. Eli was worried that it would come to a fight. He didn't know about the Ghoul, but from what he'd seen, Samuel was a fast with his tomohawks. He didn't want to see any blood. Instead of lashing out at the ghoul, Sam smiled again, his grin bigger then ever. As if on cue, almost half of the other folks in the bar went back to chatting or eating.

"You want in too ghouly? Me and my friend where gonna play a little throwing game. We could take it outside, if you want."
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
Munk
Member Avatar
One-Man Conga Line
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Hagan was still tense. The entire world was silent for a second. Then just as suddenly as the silence had begun, it stopped and the bar was noisy again.

Hagan looked left and right, wondering what had happened. The caravaner smiled.

"You want in too, ghouly? Me and my friend were going to play a little throwing game. We could take it outside if you want."

Hagan glanced curiously at the other man. Neither of them seemed too dangerous, though the caravaner might be insane. He lowered the bottle and relaxed. He wasn't sure he liked being called ghouly so he introduced himself to both men.

"Well, that sounds like a challenge." Hagan said, "Sure, I'll join your game, I'll be happy to whoop your ass at it, too. But let's take it outside, no reason to put these people in danger."
"By the way, my names Hagan." He stretched out one arm to each man, offering a handshake. He gave the left one to the skinny one, hoping the man wouldn't ask about his two missing fingers.
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40
Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC)
Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans
Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides

Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50
Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle)
Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC)
Currency: 0


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Zilabus
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Eli let out a long sigh, and felt his chest. The whole encounter had gotten his heart pumping heavy in his chest. It ended with a whisper rather then a yell, and everyone seemed to go back to their business without missing a beat.

"Well, that sounds like a challenge. Sure, I'll join your game, I'll be happy to whoop your ass at it, too. But let's take it outside, no reason to put these people in danger."

Sam flashed his wide grin again and wriggled his nose. Eli hadn't thought it was possible for him to be any happier, but he seemed to be now. Eli smiled too, without realizing it. He wanted to see how this would all play out.

"By the way, my names Hagan."

The ghoul seemed to be rather sociable for his kind, and extended both of his hands to shake. Eli took it without a second thought. It took a lot of time to get used to being around a ghoul withot feeling a little uneasy. Luckily, most ghouls took on work as mechanics or Data miners/hackers when they lost most of their muscle mass, and that gave Eli a lot of common ground with most of them.

The ghouls three fingered grip was a strong one. And Eli shuddered thinking of how much strength he must have had befor his transformation. "Nice to meet you Hagan, I go by Eli." Sam seemed to be preoccupied in his preperation for whatever game was to come, so Eli introduced him too. "Smiley over here is named Sam, and I think we better follow him, if we don't want to miss out."

Sam had already ripped out the tomohawk in the table, and was nearly out the door. Eli took a long drink, finishing his beer, and followed.

((The game is basically darts played with hatchets. You can start it off and describe it if you want, or I will my next post if you don't.))
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
Munk
Member Avatar
One-Man Conga Line
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((I'll do it.))

The skinny man shook Hagan’s hand and introduced himself as Eli and the caravaner as Sam. The name fit him nicely. Smilin’ Sam passed Hagan’s hand without shaking it and pulled the hatchet out of the table Hagan had been sitting at.

“We’d better follow him, if we don’t want to miss out.” Eli said and Hagan agreed.

Sam was out the thin wood door before Eli or Hagan. Bucket town was quiet and the only person outside was someone working on the defense guns that stood in the middle of town. Sam searched the ground wordlessly, then picked up a thick panel of wood and leaned it against the side of Bobo’s. He took a stub of chalk from his pocket and drew three white circles on the wood panel, each circle was placed inside another one, and the end result was something like a primitive bulls-eye.

“Alright.” Sam said, “The game is simple, take the tomahawk and toss it at the bulls-eye. Closest one to the center wins. You each get a chance, and we’ll take turns. Me, then ghouly then Eli. Let’s start.”

Sam stood from panel about 10 paces. He raised the tomahawk above his head and threw it with speed. It lodged in the middle circle. He smiled real big again. “Now you.” He tossed the hatchet at Hagan and Hagan caught it somewhat clumsily.

“Okay.” Hagan stood about the same distance from the panel and felt the weight of the tomahawk. Most of the weight was in the head, which made it perfect for throwing. Though it’d leave a nasty mark if swung. He raised the tomahawk above his head, just like Sam did. He threw the hatchet as hard as he could. It hit the panel handle first with a loud “fwocka” and fell to the dirt.

Sam laughed deep and hard. “I feel sorry for you, Ghouly. Try again. This is the last one though.” Sam said.

Hagan wished that Sam would use his name. He picked up the tomahawk and threw again, not as hard this time. This time it hit with the blade and stuck in the panel. Hagan wasn’t sure where on the panel he’d hit and he turned to Sam and asked. “What do we get if we win?”

((OOC: Zilabus, since this is your thread and both Eli and the caravaner are your characters. You can determine where Hagan’s tomahawk landed and who wins after Eli throws. Also the prize if there is one. Feel free to edit my post for the caravaner's throw as well. By the way, Fwocka :D ))
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40
Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC)
Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans
Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides

Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50
Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle)
Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC)
Currency: 0


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Zilabus
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The game was so simple it seemed like something a child would play. Although he doubted many children had access to weapons as precise as this. The ghoul was first to go, and he had mixed success. His first throw was a good one, and seemed sure to hit the target dead on.

Fwocka

Instead, it bounced off of the side of the wall with an extremely strange noise. The weighted head of the tomohawk never hit it's target, but rather, it's lighter handle had bounced off the side of the wall. There had to be some trick to making it spin correctly.

“I feel sorry for you, Ghouly. Try again. This is the last one though.”

The ghoul seemed undaunted, and set out again with another overhanded throw. Eli watched how he moved his hand closely this time. It rang out with a reassuring thunk. It'd nailed the target Sam had set out, and near the center too.

“What do we get if we win?”

Sam chuckled again. "Hell, I got the prototypes for these things in my pack. I'll give one a'em to each a'ya just for not startin' anything in the bar. Now then, I believe it's my turn."

Eli watched really closely this time. Sam didn't move a muscle. Instead, Sam laughed to himself a little, Eli looked up. Sam was looking back down at him. Sam held his first tomohawk backwards, the head of it below his fist. He threw it quick as a flash, starting at his side and rasing it upwards. He was throwing it strangely on purpose to throw off Eli. It curved downward in a strange fasion. It hit the target dead center.

His second throw was just as strange, flipped upward in a lazy lob. This one managed to hit just above the other one, head to head, so to speak. "Your up there, Eli"

Eli's throwing was little more then an educated guess as to how the other two threw their Tomohawks. His first throw was done sidearmed, and flew a lot slower then the others seemed to have, and landed about a foot away from the target.

"At least it sunk in..." Eli told himself to throw it just like a baseball. His second attempt came out a lot better then the first, actually coming out inside the target, but it was still far off from the center. Sam laughed at Eli's ineptness and retrieved all of the throwing weapons. "Well what'dya know! I win! And with that, I'm turnin' in. I bought a room, and I intend to use it. I'll see you fellers in the morning."

Eli looked over at the ghoul cautiously. Eli had enough spare junk to trade for his own room, but didn't want to squander any of it. "You wannna set up camp together? It costs a hell of a lot less, and we can trade off watch duty."

He planned to set up on the outskirts of town. He didn't have anything to sleep in, so he wasn't alloud to set up in town. Eli doubted anyone would enforce the rule, but it was there for a reason.

((Looooong post. I'll add on our 'prises' as part of the reward. The plan is to end out the night, and then set out for some salvage/hunting/whatever in the morning.)
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
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Munk
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One-Man Conga Line
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Hagan felt proud that he hit near the center. He walked to where other two were standing. Sam had told him the prize and he could hardly believe it.

“Hell, I got the prototypes for these things in my pack. I’ll give one a’em to each a’ya just for not starting anything in the bar. Now then I believe it’s my turn.”

It seemed too good to be true. Hagan watched as Sam threw twice, both times he threw in a strange fashion. He was obviously skilled with those things. It worried Hagan a little, that man could throw a tomahawk into both his and Eli’s skulls before the two could so much as blink. Sam’s first toss hit dead center and his second one landed almost blade-to-blade on top of the first.

Now Eli was up. The tall, skinny man threw it side-ways and it flew lazily away from the target. A clean miss. Next time, he threw overhand, like a pitcher. It landed in the target this time but was by no means a perfect throw.

Sam laughed again, walked to the target and pulled the weapons from the wood. “Well what’dya know! I win! And with that I’m turning in. I bought a room and I intend to use it. I’ll see you fellers in the morning.” He said smugly and walked away. The contest was obviously rigged but considering the prize Hagan resisted the urge to call Sam an arrogant bastard.

Now Eli had walked over to him. He asked a question that Hagan found very surprising. “You want to set up camp together? It costs a hell of a lot less, and we can trade off watch duty.”

Hagan looked Eli over, assessing the situation. Eli didn’t seem too tough, but he was extremely tall and he threw the tomahawk with a speed that indicted at least some muscle. He was probably smart too. In the wasteland you were either strong, smart or a smooth talker and Eli seemed to be the last two. Hagan was nervous to set up camp with a near stranger but decided that it’d be better than sleeping alone in the wasteland.

“Yeah, that sounds mighty fine, Eli. I’ll take first watch for six hours and then we’ll switch. Just wake me up in the morning. Can’t afford to miss all the things going on in town, what with the election coming up.”

The campsite was small and they didn’t have anything to sleep in. They’d set up on the very edge of town so Hagan was doubtful if any one would see them. They’d had built a small fire and Hagan stood watch, he wasn’t sure whether Eli had fallen asleep yet. The night wore on without much action, he saw what looked like a Brahmin out in the distance, but he didn’t want to leave Eli alone at the camp with all of his gear to go kill it. He still didn’t trust Eli, that skinny pale face and lanky body just set him on edge for some reason. ‘Course Eli probably felt the same way about him.

Bored, Hagan stripped his shotgun. The fire provided enough light and he sighed. “I need a new gun, dammit. This old peace of shit is falling apart. At least it’s heavy enough to use a club.” He thought. He’d have to keep his eyes open for a sale at Trapper’s.

He put his shotgun back to together and looked at the countryside again through his busted binoculars. Not much hunting left out here, maybe he’d get a different job. Bobo had offered him a job as a bouncer once, but that was a long time ago, and Hagan wouldn’t be allowed to drink on the job. “What’s the point of being in a bar, if you can’t drink.” He scoffed.

Hagan took a swig of alcohol then picked up a small piece of spare firewood and began to whittle it into a small statue of a mole rat. His switchblade was old but sturdy and he looked at the design on it's handle. It was a pin-up girl, she was tall and curvy of course, her colors had long faded but Hagan remembered her as a blond in a blue bikini. One hand she held an American flag and she was sitting on the hood of an old Ford Nucleon in a suggestive pose. Under the Nucleon's left wheel was a communist flag and the phrase "All-American" was spelled out in letters remiscent of a neon sign.

The small wood block started to take shape and Hagan began to carve the skin texture and facial features on to it. Before he realized it, it was time to switch guard positions. Hagan woke Eli, then took off his boots and jacket. He sat the mole rat statue beside him and pulled his baseball cap over his eyes. Using his leather jacket as a makeshift pillow and, putting his nervous feeling about Eli aside for now, Hagan soon dozed off to sleep.
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40
Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC)
Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans
Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides

Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50
Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle)
Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC)
Currency: 0


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Zilabus
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
“Yeah, that sounds mighty fine, Eli. I’ll take first watch for six hours and then we’ll switch. Just wake me up in the morning. Can’t afford to miss all the things going on in town, what with the election coming up.”

Eli breathed a sigh of relief. He would rather take his chances with one ghoul robbing him in the night then a group of raiders or eaters come up and find him asleep. They set up quite a distance away from town, but it's silloutte was still visible from a distance. Hagan was taking first watch, and he started a small fire. Hagan knew what he was doing.

It was just the right size. It wasn't as warm as a big bonfire, but it didn't light up the night, and it didn't put off a lot of visible smoke. It reminded Eli of the stories he'd heard about tribals using smoke signals to get their scouts working in unison. It was a real good trick if you where trying to patrol a certain area. Problem was it took a a while to send anything important.

Eli tried to go to sleep. It was getting colder, and the nights where getting a lot longer. Eli watched the ghoul take apart what appeared to be a single barrel shotgun. It wasn't in good shape, but Eli drifted off before he could get a closer look at it. His sleep was light and felt all too short.

Hagan nudged Eli, and he woke quickly. It was already time to switch. Hagan didn't need much urging, he set up and went off to bed quickly. Or, at the very least, he did a good job feigning sleep. Eli looked down at the figure. All of his teeth where visible, and it gave him a creepy appearance.

It was difficult for Eli to keep focus. He wnted to get close to the fire, but it's light would only ruin his night-vision, and limit his abilities to a short circle around the camp. It didn't seem to matter much, it was nearly pitch dark, not a star in sight.

In the distance, a long, fat figure pawed the ground with a hoofed foot. Probably a stray or a mad brahmin. Not many went unclaimed out here. They where expensive and extremely useful. Eli slowly stepped towards it. Two or three rad-roaches where lunging at it, almost as if they where organized into some kind of pack. The brahmin killed one with a mighty stomp, and another by butting into it. The final roach gave it a wide birth and fled.

Eli wondered if one could train a radroach as a companion. They wheren't as smart as dogs or molerats, but they wheren't just some stupid bugs. Eli walked back into camp, stumbling next to Hagan. He picked up the hunk of wood he'd stumbled on. Strangely, it had the general shape of a Molerat. Eli decided to add to it, and pulled out his new cleaver.

It was nearly impossible to cut into it with any precision, but after a time he'd carved out a squat figure next to the molerat. It had a passing sort of resemblance to a radroach, sitting next to the molerat. Eli dropped it in the sand with a look of frustration. He could see the figure in his head, he just couldn't get it into the wood with the tools he had. He pulled out his revolver idly. He hoped Hagan was a heavy sleeper. He'd need to rework the barrel heavily, or cut it off closer to the cylinder.

Eli worked a long time with no progress. Eventually, he just cut off the edge of the barrel. Less acuracy, (If it even worked anymore) but at least it wouldn't expload in Eli's hand. With a blink, he relized how long he'd been working on it. Some night-watchmen he was. Regardless, it was almost time. Eli went over and gave Hagan a nudge, his revolver still in hand. The sun would rise in about ten minutes or so.
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
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Munk
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One-Man Conga Line
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Hagan felt a nudge on his shoulder and stirred. He wasn’t ready to wake up yet. He felt a harder nudge and looked out from under the brim of his cap. Eli was standing over him. As Hagan’s eyes adjusted to the rising sun, a dark shape began to show in Eli’s hands. Hagan looked a little longer and realized what Eli was holding. A revolver.

Hagan was shocked, almost appalled in fact. He had just trusted Eli to stand watch and now the bastard was robbing him! Hagan stayed still and thought it out. Eli was skinny but he was sure faster then Hagan. Hagan had him beat in strength but that doesn’t matter much with a bullet in your brain. Hagan decided what to do.

He threw himself about a foot from Eli in one sudden movement. He landed next to his shotgun and picked it up, putting Eli’s tall body into the sights. The gun wasn’t loaded but Eli didn’t know that. At least Hagan hoped he didn’t. Hagan stood calm and stoic, the unloaded gun at his shoulder, trying his hardest not to betray his own trickery. He wasn’t exactly sure what he would do if Eli decided to shoot at him, but he damn sure wasn’t going to run.

Dust blew across Hagan’s still boot-less feet and a powerful wind removed his ball cap in one quick movement. He resisted the strong, compulsive to chase it as it blew far away. He couldn’t afford a mistake now, his exposed, bald and flaking head somewhat decreasing his confidence. He’d wrap something around his head later but right now he had to concentrate on Eli.
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40
Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC)
Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans
Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides

Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50
Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle)
Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC)
Currency: 0


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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
It took more then a little nudging to wake Hagan. But when he did awake, he burst into action, rolling and jumping up in one smooth motion. In a second, he'd grabbed onto his weapon, and he rose with shotgun in hand. Eli had hesitated long enough. As Hagan rose, he leveled his revolver at him, and held it firmly pointed at Hagan's chest.

Eli was no idiot. He knew not to work on a loaded gun. Now he dearly wished he had loaded it with his last four rounds before he had woken Hagan. They stood in a standoff. One blast of buckshot from this distance would almost surely kill him. All Eli could hope was that Hagan was counting on Eli to shoot back.

A gust of wind blew from the side, rubbing grit into Eli's teeth and eyes. Normally he would have turned away, all of the sand and grit blowing in his face could easily have originated in a pool of stagnant radioactive filth. Hagans cap blew off, revealing his bare head. He didn't look away for a second, and niether did Eli. He fought the urge to peek down at Hagans shotgun. His eye's where much more important to watch.

"Strange way to plan things, bastard. It woulda been much easier to kill me while I was asleep. But I ain't complaining. You can kill me. But at least I'll know that your going to die too." Eli smiled. It was a wierd way to think of things, but death would bring easy, nice, closure to everything.
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
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