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| Homesick; Solo. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 5 2016, 09:52 PM (363 Views) | |
| Triminac | Jun 5 2016, 09:52 PM Post #1 |
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Private Dick
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Infection. That's what the middle-aged nurse with Auburn hair had told him. The thumb-deep puncture on his right calf had been brutally assaulted by pathogens lurking in the sewer waters. Localized swelling and extreme tenderness took the hero's leg out of commission. That meant no adventuring. No glory-hunting. For the next two weeks, possibly more, the wounded scoundrel was condemned to a common life. Dana, ever the sweetheart, promised to bring him food and water, but that meant she had to work more to pay for it. That part of it, Virgil was fine with. If she didn't, they'd likely be spending too much quality time together for the womanizer's liking. The first day was relatively simple until nighttime. When Dana and Daisy, his nurse, left, all Virgil did was sleep the day away. With his wounds and his fatigue, there was nothing else a layabout like him would want to do. The deep, restful sleep brought him no dreams that day, at least none that he could remember. Even still, a cold sweat him awoke just after the sun had set the following evening. Virgil sat up from the couch-cushion bed he laid in, looking at his barely clothed body to find it drenched in sweat. Frightened, the scoundrel looking around the rotting shack that once housed his enemy. Moonlight poking through the spaces between the wood revealed no assassins nor monsters to speak of. It was just a simple, quiet house. As far as Virgil, or anyone else, was concerned, it was his now. Right of conquest and all that. It was relieving to have a regular place to sleep now, instead of shacking up with strangers every night. Tents made for poor shared sleeping spaces. Summoning all of his courage, the scoundrel left the waking world for another night. The second day was far worse by comparison. The infection had not spread, the side effects of it took their toll. Fever, malaise, and fatigue kept the hero bedridden for the day, yet he could sleep for little of it. Unlike the previous day, the hero only found an hour or two of slumber. The rest of the day was spent moaning and groaning over his discomfort. Dana had managed to stop by early in the morning, but luckily he was still unconscious at the point. She had taken the time to unwrap the bandages from his leg, soak a cloth in a bit of water mixed with some of his healing powder, and re-bandaged the cloth to his leg. The strange alchemy didn't ease any of the pain, but it did help the muscle tissue regenerate more swiftly, not that Virgil could tell. Someone of his poor health would likely have taken a month or two to truly repair his wound, but the medicinal powder was working wonders. The scoundrel knew better than to start shooting Med-X, though, even if it did drastically reduce the pain. A brief summer fling with a few hippie girls, and a bottle of the psychedelic, Day Tripper, later, and Orson learned that he wasn't the type of person who could handle hard drugs. Even if it meant mind numbing pain all day, the hero knew that he would thank himself later for it. The third day of confinement wasn't any better than the first. If anything it was a repeat, but with the added bonus of feeling stir crazy. Virge wasn't the type to sit around all day. As lazy as he was, he couldn't just sit there and do nothing. He was far too histrionic too spend this much time away from people. Without constant attention, the hero felt like he was withering away. His body maintained its lethargy, but his mind had finally awoken fully. Admittedly, he was expecting to be the talk of the town for the feat he had accomplished. The hero had thought that half of Copperton would be stopping by to drop off presents, or to ask for him to tell them stories about his journey through hell and back. His hopes were dashed. The drama queen even asked Daisy what the Bucket Town people were saying when she dropped by to clean his wound. The gist of what people were saying? "Huh? Yeah. That was pretty cool," And then nothing else. Orson's heart sank like the Titanic when she told him. All of that effort, for such a minimal response from the town. He wanted to cry. |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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| Triminac | Jun 6 2016, 08:19 AM Post #2 |
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Private Dick
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The fourth day left the scoundrel feeling an unpleasant mixture of bored and depressed. He didn't want to be all alone in that house, but he didn't want to be out saving the world if no one was going to care. The constant fever and headaches caused by his infection were driving him mad - he needed something to distract his weary mind, but his diseased leg would barely let him move. All of the past three days, the hero only left his bed to go spill his wastes into a bucket that he dumped in a hole out back. It was humiliating to do, especially when there were people around, even if they did the same thing. Daisy was kind enough to bring him a makeshift crutch from the clinic to borrow while his leg was out of commission, and Virgil was gradually making more and more use of it. Something Virgil liked to do when he was feeling anxious or bored was pace around a room or in an empty space outside. The dysfunctional calf made it difficult, but with the crutch the cripple could manage. A thud. TAP! thud. TAP! accompanied his footsteps as he paced in circles and figure eights around his house and furniture, just trying to think. I think this has been the worst week of my life...No. There was that one day with 'her'. Or after her, I guess. Well, I guess I didn't get so close to death that time, so maybe it was 50-50. Ugh. Why can't I just be healthy already. Ow. Jesus. I need more reasonable medication. My head is pounding. Ow. Damnit! The scoundrel's thoughts were sprinkled lightly with head throbs as his blood pressure spiked. The hero took his hand off of his crutch so that he could rub his temples. Without a support, the wood-and-duct-tape crutch made its way toward the floor. Instinctively, Orson reached out to save it, but on only one leg the scoundrel lost his balance. The hero hit the hackberry floors on elbows and knees without any cushion. The bone to wood impact sent shockwaves through his skeleton and the hero cried out in pain. The scoundrel had just about had it with his bum leg, but there was really nothing he could do. His body couldn't just rapidly regenerate and he didn't have any stimpaks to work magic. All he could do was apply the healing power in small doses until his wound closed up. Virgil rolled over onto his back and sprawled out, breathing out a heavy sigh. He needed a distraction to hold him over until the his leg was better. He didn't own a radio, so no music or radio plays would be his salvation. The next best thing, unfortunately, was a book. Fifteen minutes later, the scoundrel had stood up, redressed himself, and limped his way out the door. (Continued at Trapper's.) |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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| Triminac | Jun 7 2016, 11:21 PM Post #3 |
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Private Dick
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What a cock, a now even-more-grouchy Orson thought, as he passed through the doors of his shack. The fact that it was previously owned by a serial killer flitted through his mind and vanished a moment later. Orson just didn't care. Limping over to his bed, Orson threw the book down onto his bed made of various couch cushions. The cripple sighed as he gingerly sat onto the makeshift mattress. Leaning the crutch down, Orson laid back against the wall behind the bed, hearing the old hackberry creak from the small amount of weight. A small "urk!" escaped his lips as he tried to make himself as comfortable as possible before he cracked open what was left of the book Hunter let him borrow. Is this kid fucking serious? What am I supposed to do with a book about getting over a divorce? What could I possibly have to learn. Jesus Christ the operators of that store are assholes. As he mentally complained, Orson thumbed through the pages, the book almost jumped when he hit the gaps of lost chapter. As he flipped through the pages over and over again, the cripple's fever flared up and his head felt like a madman with a jackhammer was pounding away from the inside. As he tried to shake it off, the scoundrel noticed that, at a distance, his vision was getting blurry and tears were welling up in his eyes. Needing to distract himself, Orson stopped on a random page and started reading. "Chapter Eight," He had read aloud, "Maintain Healthy Friendships, Or Grow New Ones." The scoundrel groaned as he rolled his eyes. "Following, and even during the process of, a divorce, one cannot simply retreat from the world into the deep, dark caves called their bedroom. Cutting yourself off from others leaves you without a healthy support network, and you will only wallow in anguish and self-doubt. One of the problems with this is that divorces are not only divisive between the two significant others. If both partners have the same circle of friends, then they may feel like they are forced to choose one of you. If you end up getting the short end of the stick, you're going to have to build new connections. The best place to start, is old friends that you may not have spoken to in a while. Trying writing them a letter, or stop by their house if you have the means, even if it's only for a short while." Shortly into reading, Orson found himself engaged enough that he thought about this problem as if it was his own. Wait. Do I even have any friends still? I can probably assume everyone has figured out that I screwed them over one way or another since I met them. That probably does up my chances in the whole 'friendship department' so...hm. The scoundrel mentally catalogued his relationships with other human beings all throughout his life and found himself almost completely wanting of genuine connection. Oh! Maybe Devon might be happy to see me. I mean. It's been 15 years, but how could he forget this face? It'd be a long walk, but I'm the guy is alive and- Orson's thoughts were cut off by a knock at the door. "Uh. Come in?" |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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| Funkifan | Jun 8 2016, 07:11 PM Post #4 |
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The Cobras' Leader
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(Trim allowed my character to do a swift cameo on the current solo) The door was opened carefully, as a man with a bright red hair, combed in a typical greaser style, with bright, green eyes, that seemed filled with concern, a smooth, tanned skin, that couldn't hide the fact that the boy had mixed heritages on his blood (not that he minded, though), and a height that simply appeared to be off, for Wasteland's standards, at least. "Hey... you Virgil Wakes, right?" The Hispanic stepped inside, as he began to close the door. "I'm-" Before he could finish, what appeared at first to be a flurry of blue and gray soon materialized as a baby Brahmin, a calf, that hurriedly went to Virgil's current location, trying to skillfully navigate through the house, although failing several times, bumping into a chair and knocking it off. "Lulubelle?" The redhead asked his Brahmin companion, before she jumped over the couch cushions bed, navigating through the soft resting place of the sickly Virgil, as her hooves sinked into the spongy surface, although it was easy enough for her to finally reach her destination... and dropping her two heads into Virgil's lap, as she pushed one of the Virgil's hands with one of his snouts to receive a petting from him. "Oh!" The man chuckled for a moment, "I had never seen Lulu do that before. I think she likes you, a lot for her reaction. That means you are truly a good man." He walked closer, before making a slight caravan to Virgil. "I'm Edgar Algae, learning doctor and well... I am also your fan!" He blurted out suddenly, as he reached out for Virgil's hand. Were he to grab it, the redhead had planned to shake it a lot, before stating. "Man, I find great what you did for the town! You truly are a super hero! I thought that they only existed on comic books, but you are one! And I am really grateful you can help me with things that I couldn't even dream with doing! I am sure all the town praises you for what you did, because I certainly think is brave!" Perhaps, it was a reflex, but as he did this, Edgar appeared to give short, gleeful jumps, that didn't took him up more than an inch off the ground. Still, it was very noticiable that he was excited. "I heard that you were hurt though... so I came here to help you!" The doctor beamed, as he pulled the fallen chair up, and placed it on front of Virgil. "It was your leg, right? I remember that Daisy told me that it had gotten infected, so, I came here to take a look." He placed his XL Rucksack down, and pulled out a bottle of what appeared to be a transparent liquid. "I found some alcohol, that could help clean the wound and kill the bacteria that are trying to make your leg a cozy home for them. Maybe if I apply some of it, the pain will begin to dissipate, as the bacteria die, and your immune system will end up being victorious in fighting the infection." |
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Edgar Algae -HC- SPECIAL: 3-5-7-8-6-7-4 Level: 4 Edgar is a tall, attractive man, with red bright hair, green eyes, and tan skin, due to his Hispanic heritage. He currently wears a yellow t-shirt, with cargo shorts, a Leather Jacket (Tier 2, Good CON, plus on intimidation checks). Attached to his left wrist, he possesses an Automedical Assistant. On his back, he carries an XL Rucksack, that contains several items of his', like a Medical armored Suitcase, filled with all sorts of medical equipment. His weapon of choice is the Study Group Special, a modified mini-zapper. He is Good Natured, Spongey, and has Sex Appeal (For the girls) +120 BT Reputation; +90 Nawlins Reputation | |
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| Triminac | Jun 10 2016, 10:53 AM Post #5 |
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Private Dick
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Virgil was expecting a sexy librarian to walk through the door. He wasn't sure why, but that's what was the sequence he imagined was about to happen. When the multiethnic young lad came waltzing in with a Brahmin at his side, the scoundrel was both disappointed and thoroughly surprised. When the red-head mentioned his name, Virgil perked right up. Any amount of recognition was good at this point, after four days of having no company, save the fifteen minutes or so that Daisy and Dana would spend caring for his wound. "Uh, yeah. That's me, alright," The scoundrel said, his weariness keeping him from having a cool greeting. His attention was diverted to calf as it came along, blundering through his shack and bumbling into the small amount of furniture that he did have. When the Brahmin rested its head on his lap, a small "Urk!" Escaped his lips as he cringed in pain. Even that small amount of movement irritated his wound. For a moment, the scoundrel wanted to smack the stupid animal and forced it out of his home, but after looking at its two tiny faces, Virgil was overwhelmed by the cuteness and just chuckled. Petting the animal's head, he sort of ignored everything that the stranger was saying until he said, "I'm a fan!" At that moment, the hero's attention snapped right back to Edgar. His right hand came up immediately to shake the young man's hand, not even phased by the excessive shaking. He just listened with a grin on his pretty face as the stranger lauded him and lauded him. That's what he had always wanted. Just from a lot more people. Still, that was a good start. Now that the stranger had his attention, Virgil listened all of the way through his offer to clean the infected wound. Figuring it would be better for having the wound heal right away, the hero decided it would be worth the momentary pain of dousing it in alcohol. "Uh. Sure, man. That would be great, thank you." The scoundrel proceeded to gingerly sit up and over before undressing his calf-wound slowly but surely. From underneath the bandages, a puncture about an inch wide and an inch deep revealed itself. The cripple winced a bit when he saw the yellow discoloration and small plumes of pus oozing from his infected wound. Even though it been cleaned twice a day, the infection refused to go away, leaning away from his leg, the hero turned his head to the learning doctor and said, "Alright. I'm ready. Let's do this." |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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| Funkifan | Jun 11 2016, 08:36 AM Post #6 |
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The Cobras' Leader
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Edgar nodded, as he waited for Virgil to raise up his pants. Meanwhile, Lulubelle appeared to be more than happy with the treatment that the hero was giving to her. She decided to take a moment to relax, with the gentle petting, and the comfy feeling of the cushion bed, and closed her eyes, as her twin tails moved from side to side, slightly. When the wound was finally exposed, Edgar got closer, to examine it for a moment. The first glance made him cringe, as he lightly touched his own leg, feeling a mix of unpleasantness and worry. The wound was, in the lack of a better words, a chaotic mess of tissue and bacteria. "Ouch..." Edgar turned his gaze back to Virgil's eyes. "Yeah... I can see why your friends asked me for help..." He stood up, as he searched for a clean rag, or at least, some kind of clothe that wasn't pungent or full of dirt to soak in alcohol. Finally, he found one that met the expectations for the doctor, and grabbed it. "I'm going to use this rag to apply the alcohol. Then I'll place it back where I found it." Without losing more time, Edgar took off the cork of the bottle, and placed the rag over the top, before turning the bottle around, allowing the liquid to seep into the fibres that composed the cloth. Then, when it was wet enough, he returned the bottle to its original position, and placed the cork over it again. "Very well... this might hurt. More than a little, but it will help." He smiled at Virgil, to give him some confidence. He cleaned his hands by passing the rag over his hands, to disinfect them, before he began to clean the wound by using the rag, first by squeezing the rag, allowing the drops to fall on the laceration, and then placing the rag itself over it, being mindful not to press much on the wound, as to not increment the pain that the alcohol caused. Carefully, he made sure to place the rag over the extension of the cut, placing special atention to the zones where pus was beginning to come out. It took him a few minutes, perhaps more than he needed, but he wanted to make sure that his leg wouldn't acquire gangrene, or another pathogen seeped into the open muscle. After this, he placed the rag at the side of Virgil's leg, leaving it there for a moment as he grabbed the bottle of alcohol again, opened it and poured some of the liquid on Virgil's leg, just for good measure, stopping the alcohol from seeping down his leg with the rag. After this, he placed the rag away by collocating it by Virgil's leg, and cleaned his hands again with a small quantity of the distilled alcohol, before placing the cork over it, and putting it back on his rucksack. "Alright... I think that the wound should get better now. And... I hope that I didn't hurt you too much..." He apologized, before he took out from his bag a strange book, that appeared to have ghoul skin as cover. Appearing to be somewhat disgusted, the redhead began to pass through the pages, as he took seat again. "Huh... such a shame I do not have fresh maggots. According to the entry here... they help to eat the dead tissue and prevent infection." After the mentioning of maggots, a little voice suddenly sprouted up, from Edgar's side pocket, on his rucksack. "Mmm~ Foodie~" The awfully familiar voice of a child was met with a chuckle from Edgar's side. "Yeah... sorry Zizzy, but we really don't have... maggots..." The redhead quickly took notice that this time, he wasn't really alone, so he decided to explain. "Don't worry, Virgil, I met a talking plant on my travels, so it is coming along with me. It is nice though." The plant responding with a "Yes. Me gud. Me like flies." Edgar closed his book, and placed it back on his backpack, before picking it up, and setting it over his shoulders. "Well, I believe that my work here is done. Lulubelle, let's go!" The calf appeared to be a little upset from waking up from the dozing she was having, which had been interrupted several times while Virgil squeezed and pulled while he was having his wound cleaned, making her quite uncomfortable. There was no denial that Wakes was a very comfy pillow, however, so she had enjoyed the sleep anyways. After a moment of stirring, she stood up, and went up to Edgar. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Sir Virgil." The redhead made another caravan, before heading to the exit. "Don't worry. I am sure that your wound should get better in no time! Just, remain as comfy as you can. And, if you need anything else, just tell me. I'll be here as soon as I'm able." With this, the Hispanic opened the door and headed outside, waving goodbye at his hero, with Lulubelle following shortly after. |
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Edgar Algae -HC- SPECIAL: 3-5-7-8-6-7-4 Level: 4 Edgar is a tall, attractive man, with red bright hair, green eyes, and tan skin, due to his Hispanic heritage. He currently wears a yellow t-shirt, with cargo shorts, a Leather Jacket (Tier 2, Good CON, plus on intimidation checks). Attached to his left wrist, he possesses an Automedical Assistant. On his back, he carries an XL Rucksack, that contains several items of his', like a Medical armored Suitcase, filled with all sorts of medical equipment. His weapon of choice is the Study Group Special, a modified mini-zapper. He is Good Natured, Spongey, and has Sex Appeal (For the girls) +120 BT Reputation; +90 Nawlins Reputation | |
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| Triminac | Jun 15 2016, 08:12 PM Post #7 |
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Private Dick
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As he awaited his treatment, an apprehensive Virgil prepared to bite his hand in hopes that it might draw attention from the future burning situation in his leg. His eyes squinted as he noticeably began to pet Lulubelle with more rapidity and force. It might have been uncomfortable for the young calf, but the scoundrel didn't care; his leg was about to take a stroll through hell a second time. Through his tiny slits of vision, the hero could see that Edgar was disinfecting himself and the cloth first - a good sign that he might have actually been a doctor and not some lunatic. As the alcohol-soaked rag approached his wound, the hero instinctively leaned towards it a bit and clenched his eyelids shut in preparation. What happened next, the scoundrel did not expect. As the alcohol lit a fire in his calf, the hero lurched back and slammed his head against the wall, letting out a cry. A moment after, and he was somewhere else. The hero's eyes rolled backed into his head, and from then on he was no longer in the room, even if his body was. Screaming. A pained leg. The smell of beer. Foggy vision cleared and gave way to the sight of a bleeding leg. A child's arms reached forth to grip his calf tightly. A young ghoul, who couldn't have been more than nine or ten, was pouring the contents of a Gwinnett stout bottle onto the child's open wound with what felt like the force of a waterfall. Through bleary eyes, the child, a boy of eight, cried out to the ghoul before him. "Ow! It hurts, Devon! Stop!" Tears fell faster as the ghoul refused. "You gotta clean the wound, Sonny! That dog prob'ly had a lotta germs! You need alcohol to clean it. " The ghoul, Devon finished dumping out the stout onto the childhood leg before swiftly covering it with a rag. "C'mon. Get up so you can try and walk. You gotta fake it or your dad will find out!" The ghoul's small, radiation-burned arm extended forth as the human's own hand reached out to meet it. Pressure forced more blood out as the fire burned hotter. The ground drew close at alarming rate, accompanying the sensation of falling. The pain only got worse. Vision was blurred by even more tears. "Orson!" The feeling of a stomach dropping follows the sound of a father's voice. "What in blazes do you think you're doing, spending time with that zombie kid again?! This is what happens when you associate yourself with a shambler!" A strong pinching feeling in the shoulder elicited only more crying. As did the dragging through the dirt. "What did I tell you, you little vagrant. What kind of Neanderthal doesn't listen to his father? That's how you end up with lacerations like this." The feeling of being small was drawn out by such large words. "I'm not letting you spend another damned nanosecond with that...that...freak!" "But Dad,"was choked out through tears."He's my best-" "Shut your trap! We're leaving this pitiful breeding ground for pests. Stop crying!" "Sonny! Please, don't go! Sonny!" The blurry vision grew worse and worse as the shouts of desperation faded away. |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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| Triminac | Jun 15 2016, 09:06 PM Post #8 |
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Private Dick
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Orson Derly came to by the time Edgar was done soaking the wound. The pain had subsided, or perhaps Orson blocked it out somehow. The latter was more likely. Locked in his own little world for the time being, the scoundrel only heard small snippets about some sort of talking plant, but he was too focused on himself to be confused by that sequence of bizarre statements. All Orson responded with was a sort of, "Right, right, yeah." Before tuning the doctor back out to wonder what had just happened to him. The memory hadn't plagued him for a long, long time, so he was confused as to why his mind had chosen to bring it back. It certainly didn't help his situation; if anything, it made him feel worse, like he might never make a real friend. He tried to pass it off as the hysteria, or his extreme headaches, but the wonder refused to fade. Now stuck on the memory, it grew vivid once again. Devon was his best friend when he was eight years old. At that age, it was hard to be bigoted, especially in the absence of parents to instill the wrong values. Orson were too caught up in themselves to teach him racism, so he never placed such attributions upon others. They met when Carlyle Derly was trying to swindle Devon's human mother out of her valuables. That's actually how Orson met most of the people he had. At the time, the boy had forgotten to ask how Devon was ghoulified at such a young age. It just didn't seem relevant to him. The ghoul child's mother owned a small inn at a harbor town, so the business brought in its fair share of wealth. While the Derly's stayed at the Boathouse, the children had quite a bit of time to foster a friendship. At that age, Orson was still a nervous wreck about everything, but Devon had a way of convincing him to get into mischief, a quality that Orson tried to emulate. When that memory happened, the children had gotten caught sneaking into an old man's yard to swim in his pool, not realizing he had a rather vicious pitbull. A bit cliché, but it ended much worse than usual tale when the hound actually got up to a sluggish Orson, snapping its powerful jaws onto his right calf. The stubborn mutt refused to release the boy, even as he flailed about and shrieked in pain. It wasn't until Devon proceeded to kick the dog over and over, as hard as he could to rescue his friend. Whining, the dog retreated to its home, allowing the children time to figure out how to address the deep punctures that the dog had left behind. They were naïve then. With only cursory knowledge of medicine, Devon thought he could clean the wound with beer, not understanding that the proof of the alcohol was important too. The boy's cries and wails were a familiar tone to his father, who was drawn to the scene by them. He barely paid any attention to his son's wounds until he was done scolding him for spending time with a ghoul. At the time, Orson began to notice that his father never really gave any reasons for hating ghouls other than that they were disgusting. He just expected his son to listen, but Devon was his friend. He never treated Orson the way his father did. Carlyle Derly was rarely around to actually parent his child, so it was difficult for him to implant any long lasting ideas. Instead, Orson began to develop his own philosophies on life. His first one was never to judge a person by their race, or background, or anything they have no control over. Carrying on into his adulthood, it was one of the few beliefs that Orson respected himself for having. The scoundrel's mind drifted back into the real world only in time to say goodbye to the strange doctor fellow. Part of him regretted it; he could have made an actual friend. Part of him didn't care, he had himself to think about it. I think hm...I think I'm lonely, Orson mused, the feeling dancing through his addled mind. I'm a people person, but I just keep screwing everybody over. It's what I've always done. So here I am, people talk about me but don't care enough to actually come talk to me. I want people to care about me. If I get hurt, I want people to worry. His thoughts were still based in selfishness, but his desires were evolving from attention to companionship. Like Dana does. She actually cares about me, and I'm just going to dump her like trash. She's a decent person - she doesn't deserve that. I'll just lose another friend. I can't do that. |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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| Triminac | Jun 18 2016, 10:26 AM Post #9 |
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Private Dick
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Speaking of the devil, Virgil's paramour, Dana walked through the door a moment later with a bewildered look upon her face. She made a double take out the door before making her way in to sit beside her significant other. The two of them looked terrible that evening. Virgil still had his cuts, bumps, bruises all in ragged bandages. He hadn't been able to fix his hair properly in a few days and it was driving him crazy. Dana, on the other hand, was covered in dirt and grime from scavenging all day. The extra hours of rummaging through pre-war trash and remnants were clearly taking their toll on the poor girl. With so little time left in the day, she sometimes had to choose between seeing Virgil and personal hygiene. Bags formed beneath her eyes as blood pooled from exhaustion, and she walked as if every muscle in her body was ready to give out. It was all she could muster to say, "Hey, that guy that just walked out of here, did he have a talking plant?" She had definitely heard some strange utterance coming from the stranger's rucksack, but when she looked all she saw was a little sprout of a venus fly trap. "Oh, that was a doctor. I think he said he was a ventriloquist or something and he talked through the plant. I dunno, I wasn't really paying attention." The scoundrel scooted down the bed so that he could fully lie down onto the couch cushions, considering the idea of sleeping away their quality time together. He closed his eyes, conflicted with the thoughts he had only a few minutes ago. He wanted her to be his friend, but spending real, personal time with people was often annoying to him. Only in small doses was it actually manageable for the poor, jaded soul. "Have you eaten today?" Dana inquired, concerned for her boyfriend's health. He seemed pale and weak, though that could have been because of a number of different problems. At that moment, the hero realized that no, he had not. He gently shook his head side to side. Dana offered to cook for the cripple and he agreed. She knelt down to the clay oven and, with a small, steel flip-lighter, ignited some cardboard and newspaper within. The slender woman then placed the large cooking pot atop the stove, before adding in water from a old, dirty milk carton. From her backpack, Dana drew a box of BlamCo Mac'n'Cheese. "I found a special treat for you today," She exclaimed with a giggle, pouring the contents into the water. It was somewhat sad that pre-war garbage could be considered a delicacy in this era. Virgil let out a small "woo" to appease his paramour for a short while. "So," She piped, "what have you been up to all day, if you were skipping meals?" "Well," The Virge began," Mostly nothin'. I've been pacing around quite a bit. I've been trying read this book to pass the time, but I can barely get through a page. It's just so damn boring." The scoundrel lifted the self-help book above his face and needlessly flipped through the pages. "Well, I find it easier get through something boring if I read it aloud. Read me a page a two." Dana stirred the pot over and over while she listened to Virgil speak. "Um," He started. "Alright. Chapter Eleven: Closure. One of the biggest problems divorcees have, especially one who didn't want the divorce, is a lack of closure. They're missing some sort of resolution of the breakup, where they understand its whats truly best for both parties, and the two have come to a mutual, amicable understanding. " "Wait, why are you reading a self-help book about getting over a divorce?" Genuinely puzzled, the woman paused her cooking to look at Virgil and his irrelevant book. "It's all that little shit, Hunter, would lt me borrow, I figured it would at least be something to do, y'know?" The scoundrel turned to his paramour and shrugged as best he could before continuing the passage. "After a sufficient amount of time has passed for any hot emotions to cool, it can often be beneficial for both parties to meet once or twice more so that they can talk out anything they might not have been able to before. While seeing your ex-partner again may be less than desireable, it usually goes a long way towards clearing one's head on why the divorce had to happen in the first place. Don't go in with the mindset of getting back together, just try to get on even terms." |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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| Triminac | Jun 20 2016, 05:14 PM Post #10 |
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Private Dick
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"Shit!" Virgil's paramour shrieked as she knocked the cooking pot full of mac'n'cheese to the rotting wood floors. Not all of it felt out, but certainly enough to reduce it from a one person meal to a two person meal. It was extremely rare, but from time to time Orson did have bad luck. The stove was only a few feet away from the makeshift mattress, and the force of the crash caused a splash that sent some of the boiling hot macaroni airborne. Some of it even managed to land on the poor cripple. Orson let out a cry of pain as the burning semi-liquid stuck to his arm as hot cheese product does. He scraped it off as fast as he could, but the sticky substance held long enough to burn his flesh ever so slightly. Dana rushed over to dip a rag in the water they had been using to clean Orson's wound, placing it on his small, scattered burns, saying, "I'm sorry, baby! I'm so sorry!". The pain reignited some delirium in the injured man, setting his vision to fog and his temples to high pressure. The hero attempted to rub his forehead. It wasn't enough to spark an old memory like Edgar's alcohol, but he felt fatigue set in as his body wished to sleep through the pain. He didn't want to fall asleep on her, but he started finding it more and more difficult to keep his eyes open, and Dana started running her fingers through his hair to make him feel better. It wasn't long before the call to sleep was too strong to resist. |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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| Triminac | Jun 30 2016, 08:01 PM Post #11 |
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Private Dick
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Orson’s eyes flickered open as a man beside him nudged him with his elbow. As the young man awoke from a deep sleep, he remembered that he was aboard a caravan with his father and a few traders. The sky had started to blend its dark blues and violets, meaning he had been asleep for several hours at that point. Carlyle Derly had told him before that they were on their way to a city where the money flowed like radiation, a place with walls that stood sky high and there was fresh water all around. Orson had forgotten to remember the name of this grand city, but it didn’t really matter. They would be in and out within a few days. As he regained his bearing, Orson realized that they were only a few hundred feet from the civilization. From that point, they all got a good look at where they were headed. By no means was it the legendary city they were told, but compared to the world around it, it might as well have been heaven on earth. Upon closer inspection, it really wasn’t all that different from any other settlement. The walls may have been painted, but they were just the same materials as any other scrap barrier: grated fencing behind plywood boards, all held with spit and prayers. Orson had seen his fair share of settlements at this point, so he wasn’t particularly moved either way. The merchants behind them were quivering with excitement, but when the young scoundrel looked up at his father, the man barely responded. He just stared forward and grinded his teeth. He had gotten bad intel. For some strange reason, Carlyle’s circle of con artists gave on another tips on where to find the best suckers, and as they drew closer, he remembered that conmen aren’t always the most reliable sources. As they neared the city, the gates opened, allowing a bright light to shine through. A moment later, and the world went dark. Virgil drifted in and out of consciousness as his mind left the dream. It was another memory, but less flashbulb than the previous one. It was one of Orson’s worst memories, but he was barely cognizant enough to notice. He felt a strange, slow, rhythmic sensation on his belly, and when he looked down to see what it was, he found Dana had fallen asleep with her head resting on his abdomen. She was still sitting in the chair, so her body was awkwardly propped up between it and the couch cushion mattress. Virgil snickered and, without thinking, placed on hand on her head and gently rubbed back and forth through her silvery hair. The world felt peaceful, and quiet. In the stillness of it all, Orson allowed his eyes to close and left the waking world. |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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| Triminac | Jun 30 2016, 08:02 PM Post #12 |
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Private Dick
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Orson sat at a green, felt table with four other men and one young woman. She was likely around the scoundrel’s age. At least 17 or so. The scoundrel was almost surprised to find someone so young dealing at the poker table. A few hands in, Orson found himself regretting underestimating the young lady. According to her nametag, she preferred to be called Vanessa. According to Orson’s father, she was the mark. Her parents owned the town’s casino, an attraction that kept the whole town afloat. Assuming she would know the passcode for the gambling house safe, Carlyle left it to his son to charm his way into the young lady’s good graces. There were only a few people in the entire world who could best Orson at poker. His poker face was nigh unbeatable, he could outsmart more than a few people, and his cards were damn near perfect every time. For this girl to be besting him at the game, she had to have been cheating. Every time she dealt, the young scoundrel tried to watch her hands, but he just couldn’t focus on it. He was too frustrated with losing what he considered to be 'his' game. Whenever he tried to make some passive flirt to get her distracted, she would shut him right down. He would say things like, “So, what’re you doing later?” and she’d hit him with a, “Nothing with you,” then look down at her cards and smirk. The other players would laugh each time at the reject, and it burned him inside. He kept looking at her in disbelief, and he was only slightly paying attention to how attractive she was. She was pretty, but not ‘pretty’ pretty. Vanessa, or so her nametag said, had shoulder-length, brown hair that curled at the ends, with her bangs pulled over and tucked behind her right ear. She was a sort of golden brown with freckles on her cheeks, hinting at perhaps mixed ancestry. She didn’t wear any makeup to augment her features either, and that confused someone as superficial as Orson. He figured she was the type of girl who boyfriends would say, “She has a good personality,” and he was right. She was quick with the comebacks. Easily smarter than the scoundrel could ever be, but it was all light-hearted. She clearly enjoyed taking the narcissist down a peg, but none of her words were actually malicious. Unable to accept defeat he kept trying and he kept failing. The more frustrated he got, the more he lost. The more he lost, the more frustrated he got. “You need to keep eyes on the prize, hon, not the pretty face holdin’ it,” She said, laying a full house down onto the table. Orson only had an ace high. He hadn’t been paying attention to his cards enough to fold before the hands were laid out. He was too focused on how someone as insignificant as her could be besting him at poker. Raking in the poker chips, Vanessa stood up from the table and chuckled at her victims. “ Well boys, looks like the House one-uped ya this time. See ya tomorrow night, unless you’re scared.” The dealer poured the chips into a burlap sack before heading off into a room marked ‘Employees Only’. Though the scoundrel kept his poker face, he was burning with rage on the inside. No one was allowed to beat him at his own game. |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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| Triminac | Jul 1 2016, 10:58 PM Post #13 |
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Private Dick
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Again, Orson’s eyes fluttered open so that the scoundrel could snicker at himself. He found it funny that he was dreaming of her. It was so coincidentally relevant to the passages he was reading, it was almost stupid. Not that he put that much thought into it, the snickering was almost instinctual. He couldn’t really help but find his dream funny. His dreams were usually littered with pieces that he made up in his imagination to make himself feel good. The woman he wooed were always much more attractive, he won at everything, and everybody fawned over him. These two dreams were surprisingly accurate. At least, as far as he could remember. He knew how the journey ended. It was painful. In spite of that, some part of him wanted to go back. Seeing her face again could only be a good thing, even if it wasn’t real. Looking down, Orson saw that, perhaps in her sleep, Dana managed to curl up next to him on the couch cushion bed. It was kind of cute, in a way. The scoundrel let out a quick puff of air from his nose, laid his head back and closed his eyes, letting the world go dark again. A flash of light blinded Orson for a quick second as walked into a place of music, wine, and neon glow. A few more steps in and his vision returned. He was in the club on the other side of the casino. It was the evening after his glorious defeat at the hands of the villainous Vanessa, and the scoundrel had time to cool and get his head back on track. He had heard that the poker dealer went sat at the bar every Friday night. He heard she sat alone and drank, not bothering to talk to anyone and no one really knew why. In the back of his head, Orson remembered from one of his old superhero holotapes that there used to be a drinking age, but these days nobody really cared. The world was an awful place, and there was no reason a person shouldn’t be able to drink their troubles away if they had them. The liveliness of the place enthralled Orson more than he was prepared for. All of the town seemed to be there that evening, drinking, laughing, and dancing. Colorful lights were scattered across the room, giving everybody their own little glow. Swept up in the happy scene, the scoundrel couldn’t help but take in the sights. The club was surprisingly spacious, with enough room for a bar with tables and chairs on one side, and a dance floor for the drunkards to stumble around on without slamming into everyone on the other. The bar was lit just enough so that people could count their money, but dim enough so that patrons couldn’t se how dirty the placy was. At the far corner at the end of the dance floor, a plywood stage sat, elevated above the rest of the room by a foot or so. Three men, sweating into their patchwork suits sang into rusty microphones the classic doo-wop songs of the pre-war era. A band in the matching outfits took care of the instrumentals for them, and the entertainers even had a few dancers on stage to make the music look more artsy. The scoundrel was so caught up in the music and snapping along that he didn’t even realize that he had walked right up behind his mark and was ignoring her completely. “Well hello there,” Orson heard, and swiftly realized that Vanessa was talking to him, “are you stalking me, sir?” “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” the scoundrel retorted playfully, thinking quickly,”Lady Luck brought us together tonight. Some might even call that fate.” The charmer leaned sideways onto the counter to up his coolness. “And some might call it stalking,”Vanessa snickered, taking a sip of what appeared to be gin. Inside, Orson was feeling that frustration build up once more. She was absolutely right. He was one hundred percent stalking her. He didn’t plan on assaulting her or anything, but he was still following her with a purpose without her consent. He felt a bit like a creep inside. “Well, we’ll call it chance and leave it at that. “Orson gave the best he could come up before raising a finger to the bartender to bring him some drink. She nodded and poured a glass from an unlabeled bottle. She didn’t even ask for money, she just smiled and winked before returning to her other customers. There was a bit of an awkward silence as Orson and Vanessa sipped from their drinks, mutually trying to figure out what they could possible say. “So, do I get the honor of knowing my stalker’s name? Or are we keeping this strictly professional?” Vanessa jeered him with a smirk, still enjoying the game of pissing off a stupid boy. “Well, I have more than a few names, but I guess my friends call me Sonny,” “Well, I guess I can’t call you Sonny then,” She quipped. Orson was somewhat taken aback with how witty she was. Impressed, really. It was rare that he actually met someone that could hold a conversation at his level, let alone outwit him. Orson wasn’t outrageously intelligent, but he was clever, and conversing was something that came easy to him. Vanessa was clearly his better, and he wasn’t sure if that made her more endearing, or annoying. “I suppose if you prefer a professional relationship, you can refer to me as Orson. “ “Good god, that’s an awful name. Sonny it is then. “ Vanessa grinned a sheepish grin as she finished her drink. |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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| Triminac | Jul 22 2016, 05:45 PM Post #14 |
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Private Dick
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"Oh gosh, how did it get to be so late?" In a stir, Virgil heard the faint whines of a lesser being/girlfriend. Though he was thoroughly annoyed that she woke him from a pleasant dream, he didn't have the energy to snap at her, still in a lull. With what he could muster, the scoundrel lifted his head to see Dana hurriedly collecting her things while trying to remain as quiet as possible. With a thud! taptaptaptaptap! a few odd doodads of Dana's tumbled to the floor. In her haste she wasn't careful and did the exact opposite of what she wanted. Mortified, the young woman's eyes darted to Virgil to see if she had awoken him. Though the scoundrel was already awake, she assumed it was her fault, which it easily could have been . "Oh baby, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." "Huh? Oh, it's fine. Just be quick," The sleepy scoundrel said, rubbing his eyes a bit. With heavy breaths and half yawns, Virgil pulled himself up and swung his legs over the bed. At a rabbit's pace, the young paramour scurried out the door with her things, leaving a wistful Orson all alone with his thoughts. For a while, the memory he dreamt of was a good one. That night, he somehow managed to convince her that they would make a decent couple, and to some degree, he was right. Sonny wasn't one to spend time in actual relationships; his usual was a sort of "grab-and-go" kind of deal with fast paced, unsatisfying action and then a disappearance into the night. At the very least, the scoundrel tried harder with Vanessa; he would stop by her work every day to chat and eat lunch with her, a few days in, they would meet at her house to cook dinner and listen to the radio. Without fail, 'A Whole Lot of Shakin' would play and the two would dance those three or so minutes away with as little skill as possible. Vanessa's father loved Sonny. Said he was a good egg, with a good head on his shoulders and somewhere, in the back of Orson's mind, he was proud of that. It was far too rare that he earned someone's respect. Her father was a good man, too. One would have assumed a casino owner would be a snake of a man, but he seemed wholly decent. He would use the gambling money to feed wanderers and traders as they stopped in town. Said it helped him meet new people in a more personal way. That's why he would always make Vanessa eat with him, and when Orson came along, he would sit down at the table too. It wasn't long before the young man figured out where Vanessa's wit came from. The old man talked like a radio show host from the pre-war, with constant quips and dadly jokes peppered into the dinner conversation. Turned out a man brought in a whole box of pre-war comedy show holotapes as collateral for a few hands at poker. When he lost the whole box, daddy dearest brought the tapes home to play for his then twelve-year-old daughter. She sort of grew up on them. He liked to work on cars in his free time, even if they never worked, he always enjoyed cleaning them up and polishing them. A few times, he took Sonny on a tour of his fixer uppers and even let him sit in one from time to time. It felt good to be behind the wheel, even if it didn't work, there was a sense of raw thrill there. Or at least the potential for it. From time to time, Orson would hang out with Mr. Filipova while Vanessa was busy working, to make a good impression on him. All the while, Orson's father would pressure him time and again to get on a move on that vault password. Each time, his son would just say, "I'm working on it," or "I need more time," or just ignore him altogether, and was only pissing him off more. While Orson was a lazy son of bitch, he usually had the information he neede within a day. It had been three weeks of just lying in wait, using what money they had saved up in hopes of a bigger score, and Orson was wasting it because of a stupid girl. Apparently Sonny's method was the right way to go, however. Three weeks in, on Vanessa's lunch break, she was ready for Sonny as he walked through the door. Orson closed his eyes and remembered the scene as a sort of waking dream. "Hey, guess what?" She seemed bursting with excitement, yet still under incredible self-control. "What," the boy asked with a smile, "Is it my birthday already?" "Close," She said, "I do have a surprise for you." "Oh?" Without another word, Sonny's girlfriend took his hand and dashed off to the far corner of the casino, to a door marked "Employees Only." The sign had somehow survived the apocalypse and the Filipovas made appropriate use of it. Beside the door, build into the wall, rested a terminal, blinking "Enter Password" in analog text. She typed the password in the blink of an eye but Orson still managed to follow the finger strokes. He was much better at noticing things like that back then. Though that skill faded over the years, he made fantastic use of it now. The password was "Mulaney". It was the last name of a pre-war game show host that the Filipovas listened to. Sonny couldn't help but smirk as he succeeded in this venture without even trying. Swiftly the two slipped inside and locked the door behind them. The room didn't really have much in it aside from a desk with a ledger and lamp atop it. The walls were undecorated because they didn't need flair, so they were simple concrete. Beside the desk rested a safe with combination lock on it. Before Orson could take the rest of it in, Vanessa had spun around, pulled him close, and kissed him. And it felt like fireworks. The world went away as bursts of joy exploded into the room. They had danced before but they had never been this close to each other, and he never knew how soft she was. It was a wonderful surprise. |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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| Triminac | Jul 27 2016, 12:44 PM Post #15 |
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Private Dick
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Orson opened his eyes once more to realize that he was still sitting up off of the bed. He laid back down onto the couch cushion mattress with a sigh, knowing that the memory was reaching its end. The scoundrel knew how it would come to a close, and wanted to avoid it, but if he wanted sleep, he would have to suffer through it. His leg twitched, feeling like a small animal or a large bug nipped him on the calf, as if his body was attempting to remind him that his body needed rest, even if his mind didn't want it. Another sigh escaped his lips as his eyelids slid shut. Perhaps it was the worry that kept him from sleeping. Perhaps it was the discomfort in his leg that kept him away. Orson would have told others it was the latter, but inside he knew otherwise. The dreams were skipping to the points that mattered most to him. He wouldn't have a brief interlude in the dream of the happy times that followed their first kiss. He knew he wouldn't dream of how many times they would snea away during work to kiss in the backroom, or of how kissing her was all he wanted, with no ulterior motives. He knew he wouldn't dream of the week where Carlyle would demand he finish the job, say that they were out of money and they couldn't coast on charm for much longer, of how he just made excuses each time his father chastised him. Orson played out the scenes leading up the end in his head, still awake. He grew so engrossed in them that he didn't even realize that his body and mind were drifting off to sleep. "Get out! I said get out!" Vanessa couldn't help but scream when betrayal unraveled before her eyes: at two in the morning, she found Sonny in the vault with the safe cracked open. When she walked through the door, both of their mouths dropped to the floor. Orson was stunned with horror when he saw her. Her hair was all disheveled and out of place, she was wearing stitched and patched pajamas and she wasn't even wearing any shoes on those filthy floors. She looked beautiful. All Sonny could think was 'I don't want to be alive right now.' as he just stopped and stared at Vanessa in all of her fury. Her teeth were gritted and fists clenched as, for once in her life, she barely knew what to say. This was almost too much to process. A minute passed in silent anger and fear while each waited for the other to speak. "Well?! Aren't you going to say something?!" Her shouts nearly tore Sonny to pieces. He never felt so weak. He tried to speak, to say that it wasn't what he wanted, that he was being made to do it, but his throat had closed shut. Small gasps and choked breaths were all that came out. Not since Orson was a child had his words failed him. He always had something to say, some excuse, some bullshit to spew, but at the moment, his mind blanked and his tongue tied. He just felt tears well up in his eyes, watching helplessly as Vanessa's did the same. Shaking uncontrollably, the young woman charged up to Sonny and put a finger to his throat, as if she was going to slit it with her fingernail. "I should have fucking known. I should have fucking known! I've watched your sleazeball dad charm his way into free shit around here. You've only gambled once and you lost. You didn't bring anything into town, so you're not merchants, you're dressed way better than anyone else but you never say where your money comes from. Of course you're fucking thieves! I was just too dumb to realize it!" With all of the strength her fury could muster, Vanessa smacked the thief across the face. Though it stung like hell and dyed his cheek a deep red, the hurt couldn't compare to how it felt to see her look at him like she was. "V-Vanessa. Please. It's-it's not what you-" "Get out! I don't want to hear any more of your bullshit! Get out of my life! I never want to see you again!" Sonny's ex-girlfriend turned away from him to sob into her hands, unable to control herself. Instinctively, the boy with the breaking heart leapt to her side, attempting to put an arm around her and comfort her. He was met with a hard backhand to the face. The scoundrel felt her knuckles dig into his cheekbones with surprising force, the unexpected blow sending him to the floor. Shocked and in tears, the scoundrel couldn't withstand the guilt and he scrambled out the door. That would be the last time he saw her, and it was the worst thing he had ever seen. |
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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6:23 AM Jul 11