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| Scavenging in Bucket-town; A mini-event. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 5 2010, 04:49 PM (453 Views) | |
| Zilabus | Sep 5 2010, 04:49 PM Post #1 |
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
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While the conflict has died down, and many a new establishments have sprouted up, the town is still wounded from the battle. Not nearly as many people call it home, now, and the evidence of a battle are still present nearly everywhere. While the pressing matters, bodies and fires, have been taken care of, it's still in a state of disrepair. For now, it seems travelling merchants and the like are cautiously avoiding the unstable town, but that doesn't mean there isn't room for profit, or at least some scavenging. A lot has been cleared and picked, but the aftermath of the battle leaves a rare chance. The chance to salvage, loot, explore, and plunder inside the town it's self. Take a chance, and wander hidden nooks between shacks, or, if you're bolder, look within abandonded shacks themselves.
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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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| HenchmenF | Sep 5 2010, 05:54 PM Post #2 |
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Wasteland leader
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Ellis had finally managed to make it back to Bucket-town. He had been shot at by lasers just before, and luckily none of them hit him. He did, however, manage to make it back to Bucket-town in a near dead sprint. Thats not what every man still wearing a sling on his arm could say. So, he walked around Bucket-town. He didn't really have anything else to do at the point. Stopping outside of a shack, riddled with Bullet-holes, Ellis slowly thought of an idea to entertain himself. Glancing down at the cleaver tucked into his belt, Ellis nodded slowly to himself. Drawing it out of his belt, Ellis adjusted his footing a little bit. Cocking back his arm, holding the cleaver in his hand, Ellis aimed it at the wall. Throwing the cleaver, awkwardly, it flew inside the shack. "Shit." Ellis mumbled to himself, trying to open the door. Locked. Looking around him, Ellis sent a booted foot straight at the door. Instead of kicking it open, like he hoped, the door simply just took his foot. Rubbing his head, Ellis wrenched his foot out and kicked agian. Now, it actually did open the door. Inside of the shack, there was the bodies of one of the former Gerade-era guards and a random civillian. The grave-diggers and the new town guards musta missed theses two. Easy to understand, considering the shack was locked the the two guards were well out of sight. Retrieving the cleaver, Ellis started to slip the cleaver into his belt again. Instead, something caught Ellis's eyes. Weapons. Glancing around so nobody might be able to see him, despite the fact that a massive Swamper kicked down the door. Bending down, Ellis quickly snatched up one of the weapons up. He didn't really pay attention to it, aside the fact that it was a pistol. Sliding it into the small of his back, Ellis looked out the still open door. Nobody. Grabbing the guards rather nice looking hat, Ellis shifted over to the random civilian. Patting him down, Ellis found nothing of note. At all. Scratching his head, Ellis poked his head out of the shack. Looking both ways, Ellis walked out of the shack, whistling a tune. Pistol and a hat. Not too bad. Not too bad. |
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Jimmy Ronan Karmichael Sandoval - HC - Karmichael's current inventory ----------------------------------------------------- The Wastes TV Tropes page. Open edit Plat: If Hench is the monarch I'd willingly accept a life of serfdom. CP: homie you a rauccous college student why you need a bed time LMG: Hench is the real enemy of Democracy | |
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| Ronto | Sep 5 2010, 07:18 PM Post #3 |
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Capt. Procrastinate
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George sat down behind a small ruined shack and lit a cigarette. He was pissed, his rifle was jammed and he wanted to get rid of it quick. He sat up and looked around, this place was a war zone, there was loot to be found and money to be made. He stood up and walked around the corner eventually reaching the old Mayor's office. The place was half burnt down from a molotov during the battle. The front door was burnt down and the walls were deeply blackened. The wrecked door seemed like a no go. There was a large ruined cabinet in the way. He looked around and walked over to the back of the building and scanned the loading bay. It to had a shut steel door that didn't seem to want to be opened. George rounded the corner once again and stopped at a small window. The opening was small and covered in a cracked glass. George was surprised the frame and glass survived 200 of wear AND a revolution. He took another long drag and sighed, this looked like the only way to get into the building without a bulldozer. George took out his rifle and smashed the butt into the window, it shattered into pieces as he used the but to clear out the space and smash the entire frame loose, he pulled it off with one hard tug. George began to holster the rifle when he felt something strange on it. He looked at the firing mechanism, it had a small crack. George squeezed the rifle hoping to see how resistant the pipe was. As he squeezed, the internal structure collapsed, misfiring. As the gun fire unexpectedly, George was very surprised and dropped the thing. "SHIT!" He cursed his bad luck and looked at the ruined gun, he was out of a firearm, never good in the wasteland. He kicked the gun in anger,even though it could still probably fire, he didn't want to see the damn thing again, in anger, George took the rifle and threw it onto of a shack, that thing could be VERY deadly if fired again, he was looking out for his safety. George began to think where to get a new weapon; this was Texas, and this was a store, in Texas, they used to sell guns everywhere. George grunted as he tried to squeeze through the window, he had a bit of a hard time getting his waist through but finally managed to make it in. As he fell off the ledge, George landed head first onto a small toilet sending 200 year old still water everywhere. "Aww FUCK!" He screamed in anger. George stood up and wiped the dirty water off his face, it smelt terribly in the small bathroom but George was thankful he made it inside alive. He looked around and noticed he was in a small, soiled bathroom. The place was a mess, but it was nothing to what was outside the door. George slowly opened the door and looked around for a few seconds before almost hurling from the smell. There were half a dozen dead, burnt and rotting bodies littering the floor. They were all littered with small bugs and insects. The poor bastards seemed to be old guards, receptionists and other city officials unlucky enough to get trapped in the building. George covered his mouth and stepped inside the main room. It was dark and smoky smelling, there was a solid half inch of black ash covering anything. He looked around and lit his Zippo for extra light. George slowly made his way to the other side of the room and through a small corridor trying to avoid stepping on the corpses. The entire place was devoid of life. George looked around to see a small room with a sticker entitled 'Storage'. It was the locked storage room which seemed like a good place to start looking for supplies. He grabbed hold of the doorknob and tried to turn in. Locked. George cursed his never ending bad luck and began to slam and kick the door hoping to open it. No avail. George looked at his equipment and pulled out his shovel. He began to slam the shovel into the door and doorknob finally snapping the doorknob and unlocking the door. The door squeaked open. George chuckled as he hit the door one more time for good measure. As he did, the spade snapped into two pieces and the metal bent in an odd way. George screamed in anger once more as he threw the broken weapon onto the ground. He entered the small room. George was overcome by amazement, the room was clean and neat. It had multiple shelves filled with empty tin cans of pork and beans and dozens of sheets of papers, the food was gone but hopefully there were some guns around. George searched through the shelves finding nothing but trash. He finally came about something interesting. There was a small locked metal box painted in a tough looking army drab color. George smiled and pulled the box into view, it looked heavy. George took the lead pipe off his belt and smashed it at the rusty lock finally breaking it. He opened the box as a few rectangular metal parts spilled out, they looked to be odds and ends of metallic parts. He looked inside the box to see an L shaped metal object. George sat down on the ground and began to laugh. It was a good day. |
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[align=center]Joe Pera 7,9,7,4,5,5,3 Level: 1 [/align] | |
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| Munk | Sep 5 2010, 08:23 PM Post #4 |
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One-Man Conga Line
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Tack walked through the ruins of a place called Bucket Town. He’d heard about the town, but hadn’t yet seen it. Rumors spread about a small war that raged here, only for an afternoon but damn, it had apparently done severe damage to everything around. People were rebuilding, the sand was littered with teeth, shell casings and blood stains. Tack liked it, the people were working hard and they looked strong, everyone pulling their own weight. They’d make good slaves certainly and Tack noted that in his mind. A few lazy people sat in the town square, sobbing or begging for change. A young woman with torn clothes and limp hair asked Tack for some money. Tack shoved her and told her to get bent. The woman kicked some sand and ran away. Tack didn’t make chase but he did notice that the woman had left something behind. Tack bent over and picked it up. “Nice.“ He smiled and slid the object into his pocket. Now that he thought about it, the sand was probably hiding all kinds of treasures, for anyone willing to search. In fact, the whole town was open and ready for the taking. Tack whistled a tune, he wasn’t worried about these people in the square doing much of anything, they were probably too lazy to jump in water if their ass was on fire. As he was leaving the main square, and heading deeper into town, he saw a man, leaning against a post with a sign around his neck. “Homeless, will work for shelter.” “Hey.” Tack said. The man looked up. Tack spoke to him. “If you need work, build your own damn shelter, lazy bastard.” The man flipped Tack off. Tack chuckled and walked away, people like that were hopeless, even as slaves they were useless. The walls of the houses setting back further in town looked flimsy. Few people were back here, most working were in or around the square to rebuild the main businesses. He stroked his goatee and thought for a second. One building looked suitable and interesting It seemed abandoned and stood farther back than most. It was two stories and looked to be some kind of garage or storehouse. Tack walked around it, checking the dusty, yellow windows. He could see weird metal equipment and a few tools lying on the floor. He wandered around the building, looking in until he was sure it was empty and the he slid open the large wooden door slowly. “Hey, you got business bein’ in my grand pappy’s place?” A young, lean man stood there with a strong look. He wasn’t holding a weapon but looked defensive. Brown, curly hair covered his eyes entirely and his checkered blue shirt was grease-stained and baggy. He look almost like a sheep-dog. Tack looked around. “This is all your grandpa’s? Mighty impressive.” Dog Boy stayed on edge. “Yup. This is my pappy’s. He spent his life collecting stuff.” “He liked to build stuff?” Dog Boy raised a furry eyebrow though it was almost impossible to see. “No, not really. Pappy just liked to collect stuff. He was a packrat by nature but Nana told him he couldn’t have it all in the house. He built this place.” Tack noticed decayed state of the junk around him. That’s what most of it was, junk. The roof was full of small holes and small beams of sunlight allowed him to see the dust that coated things tin thick, choking layers. “So, if he spent his life collecting things, why is all this stuff so shitty?” “With all respect, sir, that’s none of your business.” Dog Boy looked serious but he also seemed young and a bit naive. He’s probably spent a sheltered life in town, being told by his mother not to talk to strangers. It’s a nice thing to raise children on but Tack had seen enough kids in cages to realize it normally didn’t stick. “Son, I’m not trying to invade on your privacy here, I’m simply curious. Your pappy sounds like a great man and I’d like to hear more about him is all.” “My pappy was a great man, he used to tell me about his adventures. See that big ol’ sign there?” Dog Boy pointed at a metal sign on the wall. It was a faded blue square and read: “Interstate 6” in big white letters. “My pappy was given that as a shield when he was accepted into a tribe in Arizona, the spear is around here somewhere.” Tack pretended to be in rapt attention. “Fascinating. What else is in here?” Dog Boy picked up, almost excited. “Come up stairs, I’ll show you this old motorcycle he found next to this dead guy named Goose.” Dog Boy quickly turned and jogged up an old set of stairs, which creaked beneath him. Tack followed. The stairs suddenly cracked beneath him and Tack fell through the staircase. It was a short fall but Tack found himself painfully hanging just about an inch from the ground. He managed to open his eyes enough to see his goatee had caught on a nail and stopped his fall. His chin was tugged upward. He’d be proud of his strong hair if he wasn’t in so much pain. Dog Boy had hopped down off the staircase and came to stand behind Tack. “Ouch man, hold on, I have a knife. I’ll cut you down.” “No way!” Tack kicked a little bit, tried to yank himself down. The tips of his shoes scraped the floor noisily. “You touch the goatee and I’ll fucking drop you.” “Jeez, man. You’re overreacting.” Tack heard the knife click open and watched the blade cut the very end of his goatee off. He fell on his ass to the hard wood floor, away from the nail and the half-inch hairs cut from his goatee floated down lazily. Tack felt himself well up. “You stupid fuck!” Tack stood up, grabbed Dog Boy by the collar and tossed him to the other side of the room, the knife Dog Boy was holding clattered noisily away from him. Through the thick curls of hair, Tack could see he was shocked. “What the hell man?! I just saved you!” Tack approached slowly. “You should’ve let me hang.” Dog Boy stood and put his hands up. “I’m sorry man, really.” “It’s too late for that, you son of a bitch.” Tack sent a right jab straight through Dog Boy’s upright arms and into his chin. Dog Boy fell back and decided that was enough, he rolled his hands into a fist and threw a left at Tack. Tack caught it on the shoulder and rolled with it, coming back with another right. Dog Boy wasn’t a fighter, that much as sure. He took the right on the temple and went down easily on his face. He wasn’t out but just stayed down. Tack looked at him. “See, kid, that’s what a sheltered life in a town will get you.” “Just go away.” He mumbled. “I’ll go as soon as I take a few things from this place.” Tack said. Dog Boy tried to get up, Tack put his foot in the small of the kid’s back and pressed down. Dog Boy couldn’t get up now, though god knows he tried and struggled. “Kid, listen. Dying isn’t a nice thing, it can be painful and take minutes, even hours. You’ll pass on and you’ll see your failures last. You’ll realize that you couldn’t defend yourself and you couldn’t defend what you had left of your grandfather. That is the last thing you will know when you die. Do you want that?” Dog Boy seemed scared. “Fuck you.” He muttered. Tack pressed his foot down much harder, the boy grunted. “How old are you?” Tack asked. “Nineteen, I’ll be twenty soon.” He said through gritted teeth. “You’re young kid, you’ve got plenty of life in you. Don’t waste it by making me kill you. You’ve done me a great injustice by hurting my goatee. I’m going to take a few odds and ends from this place to make it up. If you make me kill you, I will take everything.” Tack smiled and pressed his foot into Dog Boy’s back a little harder. “Is that what you want? Your parents to find you dead and the place looted? I can make that happen, ya know.” Dog Boy seemed completely defeated now. Tack took his foot off his back. “You stay calm and everything will be fine.” He said. Dog Boy didn’t respond or even sit up. Tack went through the first level of the building and took a couple of things. He stepped half-way out of the sliding wooden door and turned back. “And get a haircut. Jesus, you look like a damn fool.” Tack left with his new goodies afterwards. Maybe Dog Boy would do something with his life now. |
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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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| TjRyan | Sep 6 2010, 11:45 AM Post #5 |
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Vault dweller
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Wandering though the back parts of town, Banjo hadn't see such devastation in a long time. His own home looked something like this when he left, just on a smaller scale. Most buildings were damaged, though not severely. Bullet holes, some half burned down shacks and in one case, a small crater marking the location of an unlucky piece of property. He took a closer look. Nothing was left of this particular building, the various walls scattered around town. The explosion had also damaged the buildings on either side, both sporting large holes. He looked at both, and noticed that whilst both were deserted, the one on the right had burn marks all over the furniture. Maybe a Molotov cocktail went wrong in there. Whatever the case, there was sure to be nothing of value in there. The other house looked more promising. Whilst nothing more then a one room shack, he thought he saw some lone metal tubes. Banjo limped to the hole in the wall, and peered inside. Somewhere in his mind, there was someone trying franticly to alert him to the wrongness of barging in and taking stuff that wasn't yours. The other, more dominant few braincells urged him forwards, more adapted to the wasteland mentality. And besides, he had seen others do the same. That would make it ok, right? He squeezed through the gap, which was a bit too small for him. This resulted in cuts on his arms. The sharp metal edge didn't take kindly to intruders. Once he stood inside, he blinked to adjust his eyes to the sudden dark inside the shack. Stepping away from the hole, he stopped blocking the light and he could again see what he was doing. The shack was a mess. A torn bedroll lay in one corner, whilst a table and chair stood in the other. The only other thing in the shack was a chest standing at the tail side of the bedroll. He took a closer look, and discovered that it was made of wood. Testing the lid, he found it locked. Applying more pressure, the lid suddenly came loose, the rotten wood splintering. The force he had applied to pulling was strong enough for him to hit himself in the face with a large chunk of lid. Banjo dropped the wood, and promptly sat down on the floor. That hadn't gone according to plan, and it also hurt! Rubbing his nose, he got from his butt to his knees, and leaned over to see what the chest had contained. He blinked, then looked again. He'd never seen anything like this before. Except that, he'd seen something like that before. Taking both items from the container, he quickly stuffed them in his duffel bag. Suddenly, he felt scared, afraid to be caught in this situation. Apparently the dominance had shifted to his other braincells, who urged him to get the hell out, whilst he still could. Struggling to his feet (Something that is surprisingly hard if you only have one foot in good working order), Banjo squeezed himself back out the hole, earning himself more cuts. He then walked away from this place, apparently unseen. |
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Banjo Pennington SPECIAL: 8, 7, 9, 5, 2, 4, 5 Level: 1 Bucket Town Reputation: 0 Traits: Heavy Handed, Bruiser Equipment Weaponry: Baseball Bat, Home Made Shotgun. (Poor), Cheap stun grenades (x1) Armor: Tattered Jumpsuit Looks Caucasian 5'5, big and brawny. Walks with a limp. Short brown hair. Brown eyes and a cleanshaven face. Tattered jumpsuit. | |
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| Zilabus | Sep 6 2010, 12:25 PM Post #6 |
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
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((Can you say timeskip? Takes place immediately aftershowdown, before leaving with Shawna and Hagan)) Eli was tired and sore. He'd wandered his way back towards Bucket town, probably for the final time. He'd heard quite a bit about the battle hear, from more then one person, and now he was finally checking out the damage. If he was to never return, then there was no reason not to give things a final look. And that he did, keeping his head down and keeping out of the way. The town had always been pretty sleepy, but it had never been this deserted as far as Eli knew. The heart of the town was active, with new faces abound, but that was only a small section. As soon as Eli past the small ring of new businesses, it became a ghost town. It was as if entire rows of shacks and other miscilaneous tents had turned into nothing more of a buffer between the open wasteland and the real town. The new town, he should say. It was a profitable buffer. Eli wasn't about to rob the dead, but he had no problems with taking what was left behind, especially when the people who left let the law get kicked over, and then abandoned the place. Eli wandered until there wasn't another person in sight, and carefully slipped into a rather large tent. "C'mon people, you had to leave something useful behind" |
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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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| Cewebwalz | Sep 6 2010, 07:08 PM Post #7 |
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Henshin a go-go baby
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The battle with the Jackal had been rather…strange. It certainly hadn’t been what he had earlier expected. Rather then a simple “sneak into bedroom, cut the monster’s throat” it had devolved into a rather strange fight. The ending certainly hadn’t been what he had suspected, and he was still a bit sore over all. Sun however, had not expected what he had saw when he came into town. The last person he saw suggested that he come to bucket town. He had either been playing a rather cruel practical joke on the tribal, or he hadn’t seen the current state of the town in quite some time. To be blunt, it was wrecked. It looked as if the Brahman herds marched through, or as if a raider gang recently assaulted the town. Parts of the town’s ground was still red with blood, and bodies where being buried. Sun decided to check it out. He moved inside of the town, glancing left and right frantically. Sun stayed along the side of the town, circling it. Nothing but carnage. Mass graves where being dug on the other side of the town, and the people doing it varied from raider looking types, to every day townsmen. Well, the townsmen where certainly varied, that was for sure. Sun’s attention soon moved elsewhere. A man with a blue, red, and white bandana was staring at him. Clutching a carbine, and wearing what appeared to be a motorcycle jacket, he appeared visibly angry. Sun exchanged glances at the man for a short period of time, before the man stopped leaning against the shack, and went off somewhere else. Siyu soon began to investigate the center of the town. A few men where standing outside some sort of store. The tribal, rather then investigating, moved on. He didn’t have any way to buy anything, and window shopping wasn’t appreciated in some communities. Siyu soon found himself at the far end of town, surrounded by the tents. A strange smell was coming from one of the tents. The tribal decided to investigate. The smell was all too familiar, and Sun couldn’t help but look. Inside of the tent where several bodies, piled up in the corner. It was rather sickening, and the bodies had already begun to decay. One of them certainly seemed older then a week, and the others seemed rather recent. Didn’t matter too much, though. If the owner of the tent cared if people rummaged through, he wouldn’t stock pile dead bodies inside. The artist soon noticed the pile in the corner. Not much, but the tribal’s curiosity took over. He began to search through the pile. Finding several items, he soon grabbed them, and left the tent. A little on the side never hurt. Besides, not like the tent’s keeper seemed like too good of a person. |
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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-
full-sized avatar "What is Adderal, anyhow?" - Funky Fan | |
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| Clearing | Sep 6 2010, 08:19 PM Post #8 |
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Official Code-Puppy
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Betty walked quietly through a side alley, eying every corner for potential passerbys. Alleys had always made her nervous, but there was too much of a ruckus going on in the main areas. Bodies being buried, people rustling around and moving everything. Things being built and things being taken down. The entire process made her uneasy, and bodies had never been her specialty. Bodies weren't really anybody's specialty persay, but a primal fear kept her away from any of the burials or lingering corpses. She turned down an unfamilar corner, subsequently gagging at the smell of the decay. It didn't take her long to edge right back out and continue going straight. Her eyes slid from building to building, locking for some reason on a particularly demolished hovel. Betty slid inside through a broken wall. Her eyes flitted from side to side, examining the mostly empty building. She walked in closer, continuing to search. Roman followed in behind her, a soft growl emitting from his throat. "There oughtta be somethin' round here, pup..." She whispered, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim. |
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| Zilabus | Sep 7 2010, 10:18 AM Post #9 |
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
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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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