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"Oh Wow What A Cool Box!"; (Thievery At Its Finest)(Solo)(Showdown)
Topic Started: Dec 11 2016, 03:19 PM (684 Views)
azstarael
Member Avatar
"Got a light?"
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Between the darkness and the lingering effects of the flash grenade, it took Spike an embarrassingly long time to track down his latest mortal enemy. His head hurt like hell, there was still a ringing in his ears and white spots behind his eyes. It was a mix of stubborn pride and vindictiveness that kept him going even as his body screamed for rest.

He groaned out loud when he ended up at the edge of town, outside of BoBo’s bar. Wasn’t that just fucking typical. Spike searched around for a few more minutes, hoping against hope the thief had just happened to pass by and was not, in fact, holed up in there. Too cramped, too many people to use his speed and agility to full advantage.

No such luck, of course. That was unfortunate, but unsurprising. It also meant he had the motherfucker cornered, and a moment to prepare. He ripped a few long strips from the bottom of his already-tattered shirt, plopped in the dirt, and wrapped them tightly around his bad knee. It wasn’t going to do anything significant, but would hopefully keep the joint from deciding to give out at the wrong moment. Not that there were any good times to fall on your ass, but in the middle of a fight was definitely one of the more unfortunate ones.

He slunk up the porch stairs and slipped through the entrance. The dim interior was a dull thrum of conversation, raucous laughter, and the occasional slurring shout. Spike squinted through the haze of smoke, mostly cigarettes, underlaid with a hint of something stronger, eyes darting furiously around the bar.

There he was. As expected, surrounded by people, apparently in the middle of a card game. Like he’d just been having an innocent evening of drinks and bullshitting.

That son of a bitch.

If he’d stopped to think about it for all of half a second, Spike might have noticed the box under Gilbert’s chair, the fact that he didn’t seem to be more than marginally aware of his surroundings, maybe consider that he himself was in less than ideal shape to stir up more shit. That wasn’t even including that the bar was packed tonight, at least one member of the sheriff’s security enjoying a beer or three. The only thing that mattered in the moment, though, was that his head and pride hurt terribly, and the perpetrator was almost close enough to strangle. He’d all but forgotten about the box by this point, a blaze of furious indignation scorching away his original goal and any remaining shreds of common sense. Fuck his injuries, fuck his headache, but most of all, fuck that scumbag and his stupid, dopey face.

He had his target, he had an opening, and shit was about to get real.

The bar currently being 'standing room only’ was a problem for a second. Easily remedied. Spike grabbed a shot glass out of a very drunk man's hand before giving him a hard shove off his barstool. He downed the liquor and tossed the glass aside, grabbed the piece of furniture, totally ignoring the resentful shout and immediate thud of a body hitting the floor. A few swift steps, oblivious to the few people demanding to know what the ever-loving fuck he thought he was doing, and he was in range.

“You piss-slurping, infected taint-boil!" he yelled furiously, and swung the stool for the back of Gilbert’s head as hard as he could.
Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode)
S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5
Perks
Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant
Equipment:
Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet
Armor:
Duster coat (Poor Condition)
Reputation
Bucket Town (-30)
Claw (Companion)
S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2
Perks
Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman
Equipment
Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition)
Armor
Desert Clothing (Poor Condition)
Nicholas Stahley, level 1
S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7
Perks
Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner
Equipment
Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun
Armor
Dirty Pre-war Clothes
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
Blue
Member Avatar
Showdown Record: 1 - 1 - 1
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The air was thick with noise and excitement, patrons were in high spirits from the card tables to the overflowing bar. Three girls that were fine enough to be girls over at La Ranchero were up at the bar, flaunting themselves and enjoying more free drinks than Gilbert had received in his lifetime. Of course he didn't have a flashy set of tits or even that nice of a smile anymore. Too much molerat stew and not enough mint would do that to a man; Gilbert's pearly white teeth had gone the way of his drug-addled eyes and he just hoped not to spook anyone before the night was over. It sure had been long and hard enough already.

A commotion at the bar stopped any good 'That's What She Said' jokes from coming to mind, and Gilbert turned to see the last person in town he had wanted to see. Not only was he not a huge fan of the junkie for stealing Gilbert's stuff, but the man also seemed hellbent on bludgeoning him with a bar stool. It would have made contact if the hunter sitting next to him hadn't also turned his head in response to the shouting at the asshole with the chair; instead, the poor hunter was clobbered into next week and several of his teeth clattered onto the card table in a splatter of thick blood. Gilbert tore his eyes are from the carnage and scampered away from the junkie and his blood-stained barstool. He hardly heard the profanity riddled rant that the junkie spit his way over the sound of the bar erupting around them.

The man who lost his barstool came up swinging and the whole crowd followed suit. The smartest and most cowardly made a mad dash for the door, but the drunken men and women who bared the wasteland day in and day out weren't the least bit afraid of a little action. Punches, kicks, and wild barstools filled the air alongside screams of valor, victory, and pain. All the while the poor off-duty deputy struggled to maintain order with a mug of beer in one hand, and a heavy derringer in the other.

There would be no quick end to the bar room brawl, which meant Gilbert and the junkie were more or less alone in the middle of a war zone. Gilbert swallowed hard and tried to focus on the junkie's movements; his eyes felt beady and shrunken, and in the aftermath of his come-down, Gilbert was having trouble with the sensory overload.

The pitcher of gin was still in the middle of the table and Gilbert snatched it up so he would have something besides a knife to defend himself. There was no need to kill the man, however much Gilbert disliked him. Even with the pitcher in hand, Gilbert didn't feel like much of a threat. Without a second thought, Gilbert splashed the whole pitcher of bathtub gin at the junkie's face and did his best to kick the chair and the man's shins. He scooped up the box of seeds and turned tail to run.

The exit was crowded with many folks who just wanted out of the bar before the brawl turned deadly, and there was no way Gilbert was about to slip through the wall of human flesh. Wall of human flesh, that sure was a scary thought, Gilbert hoped he wouldn't see any of those anytime soon. Instead, Gilbert did his best to duck under stray punches and avoid wild barstools and make his way to the bar unscathed. He leaped over the bar and crouched beside the ghoul bartender and waitress who had taken cover. He stashed the plant behind a hole in the counter and grabbed a mostly empty bottle of wine from the shelf to protect himself in case the junkie came back.

The deputy was nearby, but his efforts were on forcing the fight outside. The stubby little pistol in his hand went off and plugged a hole into Bobo's ceiling. The gunshot did nothing to quell the increasingly violent and bloodthirsty antics of the mob, and the deputy swore over the noise of the brawl.

"God Dammit! I will get the Sheriff down here!"

If the threat of Roy wasn't enough to stop this brawl, then Gilbert wouldn't be safe anywhere. He kept his eyes peeled for when the junkie inevitably would come for him.
Gilbert Rose Level 5
S.P.E.C.I.A.L: 3 5 3 8 6 9 6
Weapons: Type 57 Machinepistol, Stun Grenades
Short, thick brown hair and beard, lanky and surefooted.

"Doctor" Jasper Cobb Level 1 -HC-
S.P.E.C.I.A.L: 4 6 6 3 10 6 5
Weapons: Scalpel
Short, with round features, looks unsettling to most.

Sebastian Coates Level 1 -HC-
S.P.E.C.I.A.L: 7 3 6 6 4 7 7
Weapons: Homemade Shotgun, Cultist Knife (Tier 1)
Average height, bulky for a ghoul.

Sun Apr 30, 1:17:19pm
cewebwalz: your my spaghetti daddy blue

Tue June 19, 9:52:57pm
lonesomedrifter23: ^Blue the best mod in the business
Online Mini Profile Goto Top
 
azstarael
Member Avatar
"Got a light?"
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Oops.

Spike had a split second to feel chagrined before the room exploded into chaos. Fists and chairs were flying, blood spattered and glass shattered across the floor. The roar of noise made his headache flare agonizingly; he bared his teeth, dropping the barstool and ramming both palms into his eyes. Despite the pain almost flooring him, it ended up being something of a lucky break. When a pitcher of strong liquor hit him square in the face, only a small bit got into his eyes. On the other hand, a good deal went up his nose.

Spike had just started to choke out another obscenity when a chair actually did floor him. He managed to tuck into a sloppy somersault, and would have ended up back on his feet if it hadn’t been for the hunter he’d just clocked. The body knocked him sideways, he sprawled out on the floor, and barely twisted out of the way of a large boot to the face. He was back up in a second, grinning manically, a rush of adrenaline flowing through his limbs and what he was pretty sure was moonshine burning a very empty stomach. He scrubbed furiously at his face, sneezed out bathtub gin and something from the compost pile, then ducked just in time to avoid a table leg to the head.

Maybe this hadn’t been such a bad turn of events, after all.

Spike was in his element. There were few things more fun than a good bar brawl. He’d prefer not to have started with a headache and knives in his sides, but what could you do. Disappointing that he couldn’t join the fray; he had a nemesis to find.

A beer bottle came for his face. He dipped backward onto one hand, immediately pushed himself back up, and drove his elbow into the would-be assailant’s nose in one swift movement. The woman went down like a sack of rocks, blood gushing from the bridge of her nose, and her screech of rage made him flinch; he knew that voice, he’d heard it before, on his very first day in Bucket Town.

She was not going to be happy about this one.

Once again, Spike firmly attested that she’d started it.

No time to apologize, he had a thief to catch. He ducked into the tornado of fists, elbows, flying teeth and bottles, weaving around some of the blows, knocking others aside, and occasionally giving one back. A hard knee to someone’s gut. Another elbow, this time to a solar plexus. Both arms up, crossed in front of his chest to block someone’s fist; grab them by the wrist and bring his elbow down just below theirs, the sick snap of bones breaking and the man was on the ground, screaming, clutching the strangely-angled limb. Jump over a sprawled body, dodge a flying glass, flat on the ground to avoid a chair whipped at his head. He scrambled through a few pairs of stomping feet, grabbed someone’s belt and used it to heft himself back up. He ended up yanking the owner down, effectively trading them places, scanning the chaos for his target the whole time.

A different sort of movement than flailing and kicking caught his attention, someone had just hopped over the bar, and Spike’s gaze snapped toward it just in time to catch the barest glimpse of a box as the person vanished from sight.

There he was, that son of a bitch.

A burly man went down on his knees just in front of him. Spike planted one foot on his shoulder and pushed off, over a writhing tangle of bodies, accidentally kicking what he was pretty sure was the back of someone’s head. He was getting a bit winded, but he was also feeling the effects of the shot more strongly than he’d expected. Whatever the guy had been drinking, it was pretty good shit. Whip past a knee aimed at his crotch (he wasn’t letting that happen again any time soon), spin around a pitcher coming for his forehead, deliver a solid kick to the back of someone’s knee and leap-frog over them. He took a glancing blow to the ear from a table leg, making him swear and whip around in a lightning-fast roundhouse. His foot connected a lot more solidly, the woman went down again, and this time, she stayed there.

Oh, goddammit.

He’d make it up to her somehow. A gunshot cracked, deafening, but did nothing to quell the riot. Through his headache, the fresh ringing in his ears, and overlying roar of pandemonium, he could barely hear the deputy shouting angrily. Something about the sheriff, which wasn’t great. He was running out of time. Needed to get this done quick, before he ended up in even more trouble.

He finally managed to reach the counter, leapt over it with one arm, and landed right on Bobo. The Ghoul swore, Spike swore, and the bartender swung a surprisingly quick fist at his face. It connected hard with his mouth, and another hit his eye before Spike manged to ram an elbow into his forehead. Bobo stopped swinging very quickly after that. Spike's lip was bleeding now, one of his eyes already starting to swell shut, but at least he hadn’t gotten his nose broken. The waitress was scrambling away from him, screeching something equal parts panicked and furious, leaving Spike alone with the cause of this entire fucking escapade. The predatory grin split his face, baring both sets of sharp canines.

“Hey, buddy. Nice box.”

He launched himself at the thief and swung hard for his ear, twisting right after to bring his leg up again. His knee twinged painfully as his foot rocketed toward Gilbert’s head, irrelevant; he had the dirty bastard cornered, so Future Spike was going to have to handle that one.
Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode)
S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5
Perks
Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant
Equipment:
Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet
Armor:
Duster coat (Poor Condition)
Reputation
Bucket Town (-30)
Claw (Companion)
S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2
Perks
Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman
Equipment
Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition)
Armor
Desert Clothing (Poor Condition)
Nicholas Stahley, level 1
S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7
Perks
Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner
Equipment
Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun
Armor
Dirty Pre-war Clothes
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
Blue
Member Avatar
Showdown Record: 1 - 1 - 1
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The bar scene wasn't becoming any less rampant, despite Gilbert's silent prayers. The waitress and Bobo both didn't seem to mind that he was behind the bar, they were much more fixated on stopping any stray looters who were interested in using the brawl as an excuse to pick up free booze. Bobo had given the thief one sideways glance, but Gilbert was on the side of the bar that lead to the back room and he wasn't making any moves toward the shelf full of fine post-war liquors, nor the crates full of salvaged pre-war brews. Gilbert kept his eyes focused ahead, watching the crowd for some sign of the dirty junkie; the man obviously still had a score to settle with Gilbert, and random barflies just never seemed to be as much fun to kick the living shit out of; it was one of Gilbert's more desirable qualities.

The brawl raged around Gilbert; he had been smart enough to get behind the bar early so he wasn't trying to navigate the raucous crowd with a pulsing headache. The come-down from Magnitude wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and Gilbert could feel the white-hot pain rising behind his eyes. The headache and nausea had been bitten back by the rush of adrenaline of the brawl opening, but now Gilbert was helplessly waiting for the junkie to come to him, and the sickness and exhaustion was muscling its way back into his system.

He spotted the junkie's ugly mug before the bastard could mantle over the counter top. Gilbert yelped a warning to Bobo and the waitress, but it didn't do the innocent ghouls much good. The junkie landed and made a brutal and bloody statement when he bashed Bobo's face in with nothing but his elbow. A wet snap sounded over the screams and the roar of the crowd, and then preceded to echo in Gilbert's ears when the junkie's head flipped up to face him.

Gilbert hardly heard the waitress scream bloody murder when she fled. His eyes were locked on the junkie's twisted and ugly features as they slowly wrapped themselves into a haunting and hungry grin. He could swear the fuck was nearly slobbering in anticipation; Gilbert was only far too aware that his only defense seemed to be the thick wine bottle he held between sweaty fingers.

The junkie launched himself at Gilbert with a look of pure blood lust. The man's movements were whipcord fast and Gilbert peeled backwards to avoid the man's dirty fists. Gilbert, hobbled and strung out as he was, managed to avoid the junkie's first strike; however, his stomach ate the full force of a kick and Gilbert's body was sent several inches into the air. The air shot out of his lungs when he slammed into the cold flooring, and Gilbert silently gasped for air like a fish out of water. There was no respite, the junkie came at him again with heavy blows across Gilbert's body; his fists felt more like the ends of billy-clubs and Gilbert groaned in pain with each blow.

The reign of blows was quick and unyielding; Gilbert did his best to cover his body with his arms, but the junkie was far too quick for him. When Gilbert blocked high, the junkie already knew it and was aiming the next punch at his ribs. Gilbert was getting beaten and battered and it wasn't until he took a shot straight to the jaw that the fight swung in his favor.

The junkie's grubby knuckles slammed into the side of his face and Gilbert's features scrunched up in pain. His jagged teeth crunched down on the inside of his gums and wave after wave of hot, coppery blood spilled sputtered into Gilbert's mouth. The flow was nearly as strong as the junkie's period, and Gilbert spat heavily at the junkie's uncovered face. The bastard was so chained into wailing on Gilbert's battered frame that the thief had the smallest opening to hawk a giant wad of yellow spit and oozing, rusty blood right at the man's eyes.

In the same motion, Gilbert forced his bruised arms up and under the junkie and used the angle between them for leverage to create separation. The junkie rolled backward off of Gilbert and the thief scrambled back to his feet. Blood dripped down the acne on his chin rolled off onto the dirty bar room floor; his hands clasped the thick glass bottle and he had himself another weapon that wouldn't help him any. The thief was on his last legs and a dreary veil of hopelessness and pain seemed to have overpowered him after the last exchange.

Gilbert wasn't even sure he could hold his ground anymore. This needed to end.

He whipped the glass bottle at the junkie as hard and fast as he could, and used that to create some sort of opening. The junkie had been severely injured on the rooftops, and Gilbert crashed into him in hopes of damaging the ugly fucker's ribs even further. Gilbert's arms tightened around the junkie's clothing and he held for dear life when the man battled back with fists and kicks, trying to shake him off. Gilbert chopped his feet and whipped the junkie into the bar's counter top with a satisfying crunch. Gilbert let go of the junkie and let the man slip to the floor in a moment of silent pain. Gilbert followed that up by scooping up the plant box and hauling himself over the counter with the last of his strength.

The plant was familiar enough in his hands that he managed to pull the pin on his final stun grenade and more or less 'drop' it over the bar once he was on the other side. The explosion melted away the surrounding noise of the bar and the remaining combatants. Several of them covered their ears or eyes in response to screeching noise and white light, but those who did found themselves victim of quick retaliation from those strong enough to power through the distraction. Gilbert's senses were already fucked raw, and being able to hear and see less than before hardly bothered him. He was able to slide out from behind the animal skin door to Bobo's before anyone accosted him further; perhaps because many were in state of unconsciousness that Gilbert was far too jealous of.

The night swallowed him whole just when Roy's boys arrived to clean up shop.

(OOC: Awesome showdown AZ, I had a freaking blast. As for this last post, this is just my finish. If a mod declares me the winner this is how the ending will more or less be. I assume if AZ is the winner that Gilbert will be beaten to a pulp and Spike gets to make off with the box. Any concerns over the grading should be able to be addressed by one of us! Thanks to whoever grades!)
Gilbert Rose Level 5
S.P.E.C.I.A.L: 3 5 3 8 6 9 6
Weapons: Type 57 Machinepistol, Stun Grenades
Short, thick brown hair and beard, lanky and surefooted.

"Doctor" Jasper Cobb Level 1 -HC-
S.P.E.C.I.A.L: 4 6 6 3 10 6 5
Weapons: Scalpel
Short, with round features, looks unsettling to most.

Sebastian Coates Level 1 -HC-
S.P.E.C.I.A.L: 7 3 6 6 4 7 7
Weapons: Homemade Shotgun, Cultist Knife (Tier 1)
Average height, bulky for a ghoul.

Sun Apr 30, 1:17:19pm
cewebwalz: your my spaghetti daddy blue

Tue June 19, 9:52:57pm
lonesomedrifter23: ^Blue the best mod in the business
Online Mini Profile Goto Top
 
Midnight Rider
Member Avatar
The Super Cereal
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
This was a hard one to grade, both writers brought their A game to the proceedings. Blue at your best you beat AZ, but in the middle you got bogged down a bit. AZ consistently had a good solid showing and ultimately I have to concede that AZ won the showdown.

So AZ the mystery box and the strange plant Fom had inside is yours.

Blue despite losing you had a good showing and I feel like you should get something too. Feel free to take an item of your choice from the shop as a consolation prize. Its not a mystery box, but what is.
Posted Image
Gordon "Stone" Hennigan, SPECIAL: 5.6.9.3.5.10.3. Level: 6 HC
Peter McCullough SPECIAL: 4, 4, 4, 10, 10, 4 , 4, Level 3 HC

THE CURSE OF THE MUMMY

The spirits have taken an interest in you for all the wrong reasons! Unexpected challenges will come to you during your RPs but the rewards doled out will be much juicier. It is possible to live with such a curse, but if you would rather live curse free, you could simply sell the corpse and wash your hands of the whole situation.

Lmgthev: MBP is handsome
LonesomeDrifter23: Sometimes I think MBP is a being made entirely of satire.
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
Blue
Member Avatar
Showdown Record: 1 - 1 - 1
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Just wanted to say congrats to AZ and that I'll be claiming the basic mechanical kit from Abe's inventory that he said was kept in the store.
Gilbert Rose Level 5
S.P.E.C.I.A.L: 3 5 3 8 6 9 6
Weapons: Type 57 Machinepistol, Stun Grenades
Short, thick brown hair and beard, lanky and surefooted.

"Doctor" Jasper Cobb Level 1 -HC-
S.P.E.C.I.A.L: 4 6 6 3 10 6 5
Weapons: Scalpel
Short, with round features, looks unsettling to most.

Sebastian Coates Level 1 -HC-
S.P.E.C.I.A.L: 7 3 6 6 4 7 7
Weapons: Homemade Shotgun, Cultist Knife (Tier 1)
Average height, bulky for a ghoul.

Sun Apr 30, 1:17:19pm
cewebwalz: your my spaghetti daddy blue

Tue June 19, 9:52:57pm
lonesomedrifter23: ^Blue the best mod in the business
Online Mini Profile Goto Top
 
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