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The Walking Reds
Topic Started: Nov 29 2017, 06:16 AM (160 Views)
DankPotato
Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
It was a sunny day in the Eastern Texan wasteland. Sandy and hot, as per usual. A small stone building was seemingly standing in the middle of no where, but upon closer inspection, it was in fact a mausoleum. This could be gathered from the numerous cracked and broken gravestones surrounding it. Time had worn any etchings in the stones, leaving the grave's owners little but nameless bones.

Inside the mausoleum, a man was comfortably resting on a mattress he had dragged in there from God only knows where. It was dirty and stained with numerous substances, and smelled odd, but it was soft, and a huge improvement over the cold stone floor.

The man, an older gentleman with rugged features and a trimmed beard, slowly awoke from his sleep. As usual, he laid in bed for a few minutes stretching, getting his joints to loosen up. It was a part of getting older, he had learned. Of course, he didn't like it, but he had learned to deal with it.

The man, Tony, eventually managed to push himself from the dirty mattress and sit up. The cool air of the mausoleum was musty, but a vast improvement over the suffocating dry heat of the desert. Not to mention it was a fairly sturdy little building, if a bit cracked here and there.

Gathering his pack and his weapons, he strapped them all to himself, straightened his suit jacket, then rises to his feet. He was rather tall, and had to duck down a bit to avoid conking his head on the ceiling. As he pushed the heavy stone door to the side, the dry heat rushed on and overtook the coolness. Tony sighed, then stepped out, closing the door behind him
Tony Falconi - Level 1
7. 5. 7. 5. 7. 4. 5.
Older man. Salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail and a trimmed beard. Brown eyes, olive skin, scar on left cheek. Walks with an odd gait. Slightly rough voice with a light southern accent.

Gear

Black suit jacket and slacks, white button up, untied bowtie, worn combat boots.

Rudimentary revolver, painted black and white, a dark mahogany baseball bat, spattered with blood, and a simple knapsack filled with his other loot.
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DankPotato
Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
As Tony looked around the barren dunes, he sighed again, then began to walk to the South, using the sun as a guide. The sand made walking a bit difficult, his booted feet continuously sinking into the loose grains as he trudged along. With a sigh, he rolled up his sleeves.

This goddamn sun. I should really invest in a hat.

He really wasn't a big fan of this place. But he didn't know where else to go. Maybe California? The NCR was supposed to be a pretty decent organization. They took care of raiders at least. That was a huge upside to him, and a part of the reason he wanted to go there at some point. But for now, he was here. Better to make the most of it, right?

Tony paused his thoughts momentarily as he realized it'd take a few days to get to his destination. He gave an exasperated sigh and continues. Reaching up to take his undone bowtie and tie it around his forehead like a sweatband, he tied it behind his head.

The dry desert was getting to him. He reached for a water skin hanging from his belt as he walked, the warm, leathery tasting water was like an ice cold Nuka Cola in this heat. Slightly more refreshed, he continued onward with renewed vigor, closing his skin back up and returning it to his hip.
Tony Falconi - Level 1
7. 5. 7. 5. 7. 4. 5.
Older man. Salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail and a trimmed beard. Brown eyes, olive skin, scar on left cheek. Walks with an odd gait. Slightly rough voice with a light southern accent.

Gear

Black suit jacket and slacks, white button up, untied bowtie, worn combat boots.

Rudimentary revolver, painted black and white, a dark mahogany baseball bat, spattered with blood, and a simple knapsack filled with his other loot.
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
DankPotato
Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
Tony had been walking for about two whole hours before anything happened to break up the monotony. He saw another man walking in the dunes off to his right. Ever the cynic, he instinctively started walking a bit slower as he looked for a dune to walk behind. Spotting one, he hobbled toward it, favoring his right knee.

He almost pulled it off when he heard "Hey!" from the direction he had seen the other person in. With a groan, he figured he might as well see what they wanted. With a hand resting on the smooth wooden grip of his revolver, he looked over to the person. His eyes narrowed slightly to avoid getting sun in them.

As the man walked toward him, Tony could see that he was a bit skinny, as most wastelanders are, but he made up for it with the double barreled shotgun he had in his hands. The other man was of Asian descent, and looked to be around 30. A short mess of black hair on his head, along with brown, slanted eyes were the only features Tony could make out. The rest was covered up by a little half gas mask, just covering his nose down. The man was dressed in a simple light blue flannel shirt and ripped blue jeans, along with a set of Converse style blue sneakers.

"Hey." Tony said once the man got closer. "Are you gonna try to rob me? I'm askin' so I know whether or not to shoot you." He says dryly.

The masked man laughs. It's a bit muffled by his gas mask, but it sounds pretty cheerful. "Nah, I won't rob you. Hey, I'm Yang. You?"

Tony grunts in response, still not taking his hand from the grip of his gun, though he loosens his grip on it slightly. "Tony. Odd name, Yang."

The other man, Yang, lets out another muffled laugh. He shakes his head and returns the shotgun to a holster on his back as a show of goodwill. "My first name's Wyatt. Yang is my last name, but it's way more distinguishing. How many people do you know named that?"

Seeing the gun put away, Tony follows suit and takes his hand from his. He scratches his cheek and shrugs. "Makes sense, I guess. Not many people with that name around. Where you headed, Yang?"
Tony Falconi - Level 1
7. 5. 7. 5. 7. 4. 5.
Older man. Salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail and a trimmed beard. Brown eyes, olive skin, scar on left cheek. Walks with an odd gait. Slightly rough voice with a light southern accent.

Gear

Black suit jacket and slacks, white button up, untied bowtie, worn combat boots.

Rudimentary revolver, painted black and white, a dark mahogany baseball bat, spattered with blood, and a simple knapsack filled with his other loot.
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
DankPotato
Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
Yang's eyes crease a bit like he's smiling, though it's impossible to tell under the mask. He points in the same direction Tony was headed. "South. I've heard stories of this old shipwreck on the coast. Supposed to be some kind of loot in there."

Now that piqued Tony's interestest. Loot was always a good thing. He took out a Lone Ranger brand cigarette and lit it with a match. He tosses the spent match in the dust behind him. "Shipwreck, huh? Pre-war? Hot damn, those things can have good shit in 'em." He pauses for a moment. "You in the market for a guard, Mister Yang?"

Yang raisea a brow ever so slightly at the old man in front of him. He decides that this Tony definitely looked like he could handle himself. Revolver, baseball bat, and that's not even mentioning the man was a veritable giant by wasteland standards. 6'3 and musclebound. Good combination for a bruiser. The Asian man eventually nodded. "Yeah... yeah, I guess I am. I don't know what's gonna be waiting for me down there. Better safe than sorry. How much do you cost?"

This gave Tony a little smile. "Fifteen caps an hour, plus a third of whatever loot we find. Since we're travelin' in the same direction, I'll start chargin' you once we pass where I was originally headed. Do we have ourselves a deal, Mister Yang?" He reaches a hand out to shake.

Yang frowns slightly under his mask as he considered this. He wasn't exactly rich, but he didn't fancy dying on the way. Or worse, after getting there. The older man looked trustworthy enough, he supposed. After considering all this information, he reached out to shake Tony's hand. "I believe we do, Tony. Shall we?" He gestures South.
Tony Falconi - Level 1
7. 5. 7. 5. 7. 4. 5.
Older man. Salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail and a trimmed beard. Brown eyes, olive skin, scar on left cheek. Walks with an odd gait. Slightly rough voice with a light southern accent.

Gear

Black suit jacket and slacks, white button up, untied bowtie, worn combat boots.

Rudimentary revolver, painted black and white, a dark mahogany baseball bat, spattered with blood, and a simple knapsack filled with his other loot.
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
DankPotato
Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
Tony gives a nod, then turns back toward the direction he had previously been traveling in. Yang followed suit. They walked in silence for around a mile before Yang got bored.

"So. Tony. Where're you from? Let me guess, somewhere down South, right? You have the accent." says Yang.

Tony looks over at his new employer and nods a couple times, taking the last sweet, calming drag of his cigarette before flicking it off into the sand. "Florida. Place is mostly flooded, but s'good for growin' rice and shit like that. How about you?"

Yang was having a considerably tougher time trekking through the sand than Tony. His sneakers kept sinking into the dust and getting sand stuck in them, as opposed to Tony, whose sturdy combat boots handled the sand much better. "Florida, huh? That's pretty far if I remember correctly." He pauses. "Me? I'm from a little up North. Arkansas."

Tony nods in acknowledgement. "I passed through there on my way here. Kind of a shithole." He says like he hadn't just insulted a man's home. The two walked in relative silence for the rest of the afternoon, occasionally taking sips from their waterskins and canteens, and stopping to eat some food once. Eventually, they see a house off in the distance.

"Hey. Check it out man. House." The smaller of the two men says, pointing a finger over at the structure. Tony focuses on it and nods to Yang. "Good lookin' out, kid. Wanna go see if we can't get some shelter? Gettin' late."

Yang nods and gestures for Tony to follow. He draws his double barrel as he approaches the house. "Can never be too careful..." He mutters, creeping to the front door, which was ajar, and pushing it in. It creaked slowly, before just falling off its hinges.

As the door with peeling white paint fell, it made a dust cloud rise up from the rug it landed on. Yang, seeing this, sighs. "Well, shit. There goes being stealthy. Luckily no one's home. All that dust... this place has been abandoned for months, at least."
Tony Falconi - Level 1
7. 5. 7. 5. 7. 4. 5.
Older man. Salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail and a trimmed beard. Brown eyes, olive skin, scar on left cheek. Walks with an odd gait. Slightly rough voice with a light southern accent.

Gear

Black suit jacket and slacks, white button up, untied bowtie, worn combat boots.

Rudimentary revolver, painted black and white, a dark mahogany baseball bat, spattered with blood, and a simple knapsack filled with his other loot.
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
DankPotato
Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
Tony gives a nod and steps inside. "Never hurts to be careful, kid." He mutters, cautiously looking around with his revolver drawn. After he clears the front room, he gestures dor Yang to follow him inside. "This room's safe enough." He whispers.

Yang follows suit and takes his shotgun from the makeshift leather holster on his back. He nods and points to the stairs with two fingers. "I'll check up, you check down." He says quietly as he steps toward the stairs, beginning to creep up the old, cracked wooden boards.

The older man nods and goea down the hallway beside the stairs. As he steps over the ancient floorboards, they creak and threaten to give out under his weight. He eventually arrives at a bedroom with the door slightly ajar. Opting for shock and awe rather than stealth, be quickly pushes it in and aims his gun around. Nothing was there aside from an old musty bed, holes in the sheets and mattress from moths and other insects, an old rug, and a rough wooden dresser with a drawer missing. As Tony exits and checks the other two rooms, he finds much the same thing, though a faint thudding noise can be heard coming from another door... down to the basement.

Yang groans as he hears the doors downstairs slam open from Tony's inspections. "Gonna bring the whole damn house down on us..." He mumbles as he arrives at the top of the stairs, finding nothing much besides an old attic. The air was heavy and musty, a small shattered window let in a small amount of fading evening light. There was nothing much but a few cardboard boxes. He sighs and goes to check one of them. As he scrounged through the old box, he found only some old keepsakes and memories of a long dead family. Pictures, Christmas ornaments, toys... it made him sad to think of the children. He quickly stood back up and moved away from the box.

Tony crept ever closer to the basement door. This one, he pushed open with care. He didn't want whatever that was to hear him yet. The stairway down was missing steps here and there. The air smelled awful. Like rotting flesh had been sitting around for a hundred years with no airflow. As he descended the steps, he pointed the barrel of his gun around the corner in advance, not wanting to face whatever the source of the noise was unprepared. He didn't get to be this old by being brazen, after all.
Tony Falconi - Level 1
7. 5. 7. 5. 7. 4. 5.
Older man. Salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail and a trimmed beard. Brown eyes, olive skin, scar on left cheek. Walks with an odd gait. Slightly rough voice with a light southern accent.

Gear

Black suit jacket and slacks, white button up, untied bowtie, worn combat boots.

Rudimentary revolver, painted black and white, a dark mahogany baseball bat, spattered with blood, and a simple knapsack filled with his other loot.
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
DankPotato
Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
As Tony rounded the corner into the dimly lit, musty basement, he didn't see much of note. The gradually dimming sunlight crept through the small windows near the ceiling of the basement, just barely illuminating the room. It was old and mostly concrete, with mold growing in the particularly dark parts. Upon further inspectuin, he realized the thudding was from a small shutter on one of the tiny windows which was hitting the wall in the small breeze that came through. Sighing in relief, Tony closes the shutter and turns to.make his way back up to his companion.

Yang had checked the other assorted boxes and crates in the attic, only to find nothing but old, hole-filled, pre-war clothes. Seeing as how they were dusty and eaten to bits by moths, Yang didn't think they'd be worth much to wear in the rigors of the wastes. He left them alone and returned downstairs. Upon seeing Tony emerge from the basement, he pulls his little half gas mask down to loosely hang around his neck, revealing black stubble and a defined jawline. "Nothing up there. How about down below?"

Tony focuses on Yang and grunts, then shakes his head. "Nah... nothin' but mold and a loose shutter. You think we'll be safe enough here for the night?"

The Asian man takes a moment to consider this before nodding his head and looking around. "If we push a dresser or something in front of the front door, we'll be fine. Probably." He shrugs. "Safer than making camp outside, at least."

Tony simply nods and pulls his bowtie from around his head, returning it to his neck. He pulls off his jacket and folds it neatly over a nearby chair. "Wish we had enough spare water you bathe and wash clothes with." He shrugs and unbuttons his sweat-stained mostly-white shirt.

Yang nods and adjusts the shoulder strap to his shotgun uneasily. "Don't like this place, though. Kids lived here. The last thing I want is a bunch of short little ghosts haunting me."

This gave Tony a.snort and a chuckle. "Ghosts? C'mon, kid. Really? We got Radscorpions, Deathclaws, and Ghouls to be worried about here, not ghosts." He shakes his head, sitting back on a nearby couch and laughing his gravelly laugh again.
Tony Falconi - Level 1
7. 5. 7. 5. 7. 4. 5.
Older man. Salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail and a trimmed beard. Brown eyes, olive skin, scar on left cheek. Walks with an odd gait. Slightly rough voice with a light southern accent.

Gear

Black suit jacket and slacks, white button up, untied bowtie, worn combat boots.

Rudimentary revolver, painted black and white, a dark mahogany baseball bat, spattered with blood, and a simple knapsack filled with his other loot.
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
DankPotato
Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
Yang shakes his head and scratches his cheek. He didn't like this place at all. All the dust, the dim light, and the creaking frame of the house combined to make him extremely uneasy. "Look, man. I just don't like it, alright? Guess it's better than sleeping in the sand, but we're leaving the second the sun rises."

Tony grunts and stretches. "I'll be sure to jump in front of you if a ghost pops up." He lauses, looking at the broken dolr, then sighs. "Better close this up. Don't want dogs or somethin' wanderin' in." He mutters to himself, getting up from the dusty couch and popping a few joints in the process. He looks around, then spots an old refrigerator in the nearby kitchen. "Hey, little help here?"

Yang snaps to attention, then nods and comes over to help with the fridge. He takes one side while Tony takes the other. Together, they manage to drag it over to the doorframeband set it securely against the open space.

"There we go." says Tony. "That should keep anything from creepin' up on us." He looks to his partner ans gives a nod, then goes back to his couch, stretching and putting his legs up on the old wooden coffee table in front of him. "Try to get some sleep, kid. You'll need it."

Yang, after helping with the fridge and listening to Tony, nods. "Alright, alright." He responds, before going to one of the bedrooms he had previously spotted. "Keep watch, alright? Come wake me up when you get tired."

Tony nods and waves him off. "I've done this before, kid. Just go to sleep and I'll make sure you don't get shot."

Tony Falconi - Level 1
7. 5. 7. 5. 7. 4. 5.
Older man. Salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail and a trimmed beard. Brown eyes, olive skin, scar on left cheek. Walks with an odd gait. Slightly rough voice with a light southern accent.

Gear

Black suit jacket and slacks, white button up, untied bowtie, worn combat boots.

Rudimentary revolver, painted black and white, a dark mahogany baseball bat, spattered with blood, and a simple knapsack filled with his other loot.
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
DankPotato
Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
He was back in Arkansas. In the town he grew up in. Yang looked around, seeing the adults doing work as the children played. A warm, dry breeze carried the scent of freshly baked bread to his nose, his signature mask gone from his face. Running a hand over his mouth and scratching his stubble, he slowly begins walking down the dusty road. He remembered hating this place. It was so boring.

He continued walking. The metal and wooden homes lining the streets looked more like something you'd need shots to enter rather than somewhere you'd live. Eventually he came to a larger sheet metal and wood building. The bread smell was coming from inside, as was the stench of stale alcohol and vomit. Lovely. As he came up to the old plywood door, just barely hanging on by a singular hinge, he stared at it for a moment. This situation seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn't place what it was. It was almost like deja vú.

Shrugging it off, the man pushes open the door, the single hinge squeaking in protest. He steps inside the bar, old, worn out chairs and tables dotting the area, a long, surprisingly clean stained wood bar in the middle. Behind it, stood an old ghoul. Darnell. The man's skin was darker than most ghouls, and his bone structure looked like he had once been a black man. Milky brown eyes dart up to meet Yang as he steps inside, a smile crinkling up the rotten skin of the man's face, showing off yellowed teeth. "Wyatt! Damn good t'see you, boy." The man spoke with a deep, rich voice. Yang had known him for years. Since he was born, as a matter of fact.

"Darnell!" His voice came out higher pitched than normal. "Hey, can I get a... beer?" Said the man, a hopeful note in his voice, almost childlike in nature as he looked up to the large, burly ghoul. The ghoul considers it for a moment, before nodding. "Awlright... just don't tell y'parents, hear?" Says the older of the two, which was answered with a quick, eager nod by Yang. Darnell flashes that yellowed grin once more before he goes to grab a warm beer from under the counter, using the edge of the bar to get the cap off. "And keep the cap. Use it to buy some candy'r somethin'."

Yang nods enthusiastically, quickly snatching both the bottle and cap from the large, leathery hand that held it. The overeager young man immediately tips the bottle back, intending to take a long swig of warm alcohol. In reality, he got only a mouthful down before coughing and sputtering for air. "God!" says Yang in a raspy voice. "Gotta drink slower..." He mutters, tilting the bottle back, more moderately this time.

Darnell was in the process of letting out a deep, rich chuckle when suddenly the rickety plywood door is knocked straight off its hinge. A man with a revolver storms into the establishment, a cowboy hat shasing his eyes, while his lower face was visible under the shadow his headwear cast. He levels the revolver at Darnell. "Alright, you ugly zombie fuck! Give me all your goddamn caps right fucking now!"

Yang, who had spilled his beer all over himself in surprise, was busy cursing as the man makes his demands. As he hears them, his eyes go wide as he slowly looks up, fear overtaking his face as he sees the gun.

Darnell scowls at the man. "The fuck're you talkin' to, boy? I'll rip your face off'n shove it up your ass!" roars the large ghoul, seemingly unfazed by the gun pointed at him. Behind the bar, he was reaching for his own weapon - a rather large shotgun. "You better get the fuck up outta here before I eat your liver on m'mashed taters, y'thievin' bastard."

The robber just scoffs and turns the gun om Yang. "Fine! I'll shoot slanty-eyes here if you don't give me caps. You want that on your conscience, old man?! The death of this kid?!" The man practically growls as he says this, moving his gun around for effect.

Yang's eyes go even wider. He frantically shakes his head, nearly in tears from the pure fear in his heart. He looks pleadingly to Darnell.

Darnell narrows his murky eyes as he looks from the man, gun, and Yang. "You leave Wyatt outta this, y'hear? He ain't got nothin' t'do with you bein' a DEAD MAN!" He shouts the last words. In a flash, his shotgun is out and firing at the man. The acrid smell of gunsmoke fills the air, pellets ripping through flesh and bone as the robber is sent flying backward. Before Yang has the chance to recover from the first mind-shattering bang, another, closer one is heard. From a revolver.
Tony Falconi - Level 1
7. 5. 7. 5. 7. 4. 5.
Older man. Salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail and a trimmed beard. Brown eyes, olive skin, scar on left cheek. Walks with an odd gait. Slightly rough voice with a light southern accent.

Gear

Black suit jacket and slacks, white button up, untied bowtie, worn combat boots.

Rudimentary revolver, painted black and white, a dark mahogany baseball bat, spattered with blood, and a simple knapsack filled with his other loot.
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
DankPotato
Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
Yang sat bolt upright in his bed, sweating and breathing heavily. He frantically rips the mask off his face and feels the old wound. Yep. It was definitely old. A scar on his cheek where that man had shot him. He'd neaely died that day. He was lucky the bullet hadn't gone higher, or he'd be- BANG!

Okay, that definitely wasn't a nightmare. It sounded like it came from the living room. Tony! Shit, he needed to get out there. He hastily straps his mask back on, grabs his shotgun, and rushes back out to where he had left the old man. As he careens around the corner of the hallway, almost slipping and falling, he sees the source of the shot. Tony was standing up and staring at the door that was blocked by the fridge. A bullet hole was in the wall near a small crack between the doorframe and machine, allowing a narrow view out into the night.

"Tony?! What the fuck, dude? What're you shooting at?!" says Yang, slightly scared, but mostly confused.

Tony gives the younger man a hard glare. "Shut the fuck up, y'dumbass." he nearly hisses. "I'm listenin'..." He upnods at the door again as he focuses again, eyes flitting from the door, to the boarded up windows.

Suddenly, a banging came from behind them. The backdoor. Tony and Yang instantly turn to face it, almost in perfect sync. "What the fuck is it?" hisses Yang quietly. Tony shrugs and starts slowly creeping toward the door. He cautiously holds his left arm in front of himself, aiming his gun at the door with his right. As he finally arrives at the door and slowly reaches out to grip the handle, he cocks his gun. Suddenly, he yanks open the door and... there's nothing there. What the fuck. Tony sticks his head out and looks both ways, but sees nothing. Nothing... aside from footprints in the sand... they looked people-sized. Raiders? Mercs? Fuck, maybe Confeds? He shakes his head and slowly closes the door again, securely locking it.

"Don't fuckin' like this... we need t'get upstairs. Easier t'defend." he says to Yang, who was aiming his double-barrel down the hallway... at the basement door. "The fuck, kid? Y'see somethin'?"

Yang tensely nods and points at the end of hallway, before returning the sweating hand to supporting his gun. Tony frowns and goes to look at the end of the hall, at the basement door. Only to see... a body? That wasn't there before... Tony briefly considers going to check it out, before shaking his head stubbornly, and gesturing to the stairs. "Yang. Attic. Now." he commands, reaching a hand out and practically dragging the young man up the stairs, while simultaneously hauling ass himself. He didn't like this shit one fucking bit. Maybe Yang was right about ghosts?

Yang eventually snaps out of his trance. One second the hall was empty, then when he turned back... a fucking body. In the doorway to the basement. Fucking scary. He knew this place was haunted. Allowing himself to be dragged up the stairs, he rushes up the ladder to the attic of his own volition. Fuck staying downstairs.

Tony follows the Asian man up. For some reason, he pauses at the top of the ladder and looks at the stairwell they had come up. He squinted. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he noticed something... off. A portion of the darkness that was darker than the rest. It... looked like a person. And it was looking right. At. Him.

Needless to say, that lit a fire under Tony's ass. He practically jumped up the rest of the ladder and slammed the trapdoor shut, looking at Yang. "We might be fucked."
Tony Falconi - Level 1
7. 5. 7. 5. 7. 4. 5.
Older man. Salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail and a trimmed beard. Brown eyes, olive skin, scar on left cheek. Walks with an odd gait. Slightly rough voice with a light southern accent.

Gear

Black suit jacket and slacks, white button up, untied bowtie, worn combat boots.

Rudimentary revolver, painted black and white, a dark mahogany baseball bat, spattered with blood, and a simple knapsack filled with his other loot.
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
DankPotato
Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
Yang looks at Tony with an expression that could only be described as equal parts confusion and terror. "The fuck do you mean 'we might be fucked'?" He gestures toward the trapdoor. "What the hell is down there, man? Did you see something?"

Tony shakes his head, then nods, then shakes his head again. He gestures vaguely to the trapdoor with his gun. "There's somethin' fuckin' down there. I saw it. It was lookin' up at us from the stairs." He frowns. "Looked like a person... but was in the shadows. Couldn't see what he looked like."

Yang scoffs and shakes his head. "This is all sorts of fucked up, dude. I knew this shit was haunted." He reaches for his shotgun from where he had dropped it on the attic floor. "I don't like being trapped up here. Goddamn ghosts can go through walls and shit, right? We're not safe up here, we're in a coffin!"

Tony shakes his head again. "What d'you fancy doin', then? Go down there and fight whatever the hell that thing is? What if there's more than one?"

Yang freezes in his movement to open the trapdoor, then shrugs. "I don't know. What I do know us that I have a shotgun and a bunch of shells and I'm not gonna wait up here to be murdered by a bunch if ghosts. Are you with me, or are you gonna stay up here with your thumb up your ass?"

Tony just stares at Yang for a long moment. After what seemed like an eternity, he sighs and nods. "Guess you're right, kid. This's is a bad situation, but waitin' up here ain't makin' it any better." He picks his revolver up. "Ready when y'are, kid."
Tony Falconi - Level 1
7. 5. 7. 5. 7. 4. 5.
Older man. Salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail and a trimmed beard. Brown eyes, olive skin, scar on left cheek. Walks with an odd gait. Slightly rough voice with a light southern accent.

Gear

Black suit jacket and slacks, white button up, untied bowtie, worn combat boots.

Rudimentary revolver, painted black and white, a dark mahogany baseball bat, spattered with blood, and a simple knapsack filled with his other loot.
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
DankPotato
Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
Yang gives Tony a tense nod, then in one smooth motion, yanks open the door and aims his double barrel down the hole. He sees nothing aside from darkness and the ladder they had used to get up. "Nothing... could it be waiting for us somewhere?"

Tony shrugs and looks down the hole, holding his revolver close. "This's fucked. We only seen one of 'em, whatever they are, though. Maybe we can overpower it." He suggests, looking back up at Yang, knuckles turning white as he gripped his gun.

Yang considers it for a moment. On the one hand, he didn't want to fight a ghost. But on the other hand, he didn't want to stay trapped in a haunted house WITH a ghost. He eventually comes to a decision and nods to Tony, hopping down the hole and aiming his gun around. Nothing. What the hell. "All clear, I guess." He whispers up to the older man.

Tony watches Yang hop down, then nods as he gives the all clear, climbing the ladder back down and looking down the hallway to the jaggedly broken window at the end. "Could be a person, keep in mind... I imagine we're a helluva lot more cunnin' than some dumbass ghost."

Yang nods slowly. He felt like they were being watched. He couldn't place where from, though. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It could be from any one of the pitch black bedrooms on either side of the hallway... or the bottom of the stairs. He lightly elbows his companion and gestures toward the pair of rooms on the right side of the hall. "Clear those two. I got the other one." He nods to the larger master bedroom on the left side.

Tony jumps slightly at the elbow, but nods tensely. He creeps off toward the first of the indicated pair of rooms, the floorboards creaking under his large size. He peeks into the room. A child's bedroom. It had an ancient crib, toys scattered haphazardly around, and a rocking chair that looked like it might fall apart at any time. The dim moonlight creeping in through a windoe illuminated a large portion of the room. Tony didn't see anything. He walks inside and up to the old crib, looking inside. Yang was right. This was creepy.

Watching Tony follow his orders, Yang walks slowly into the master bedroom. He pre-aims his shotgun around the corner, but sees nothing. Nothing aside from a queen-size bed with rather soft looking blankets on it. He briefly considers laying down on it, but quickly decides against it. He looks around and lets out a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding in. It was at this moment that he heard a grunt, followed but a scuffle in the parallel room. The man quickly rushes over into the other room.

Tony had been looking at the crib when suddenly he felt a pair of cold, strong hands gripping his left arm. In a flash, he whirled around and backhanded his assaulter. It was... just a feral ghoul. The man's rotting flesh smelled awful up close. He was clothed in a black button up and matching slacks. He lacked shoes. Tony's backhand had unhinged his jaw and destroyed the rotting flesh and ligaments holding it to his face. It dangled from the joint on only one side, the other a caved-in mess.

This had been the cause of the scuffle Yang heard.

Yang entered just in time to see the ghoul go flying as his ruined face was further obliterated. He looked between Tony and the emaciated figure.

Tony just stares at the fallen ghoul. As the thing began to stir, he cooly pulls out the bat from the holster on his back and slams the dark wood down onto the skull of the former person. A sickening crunch can be heard as the brittle skull gives way to the massive force behind the swing. The bat sinks into the rotting, bloody mess of a head, causing a sickening stench to permeate the air.

Needless to say Tony and Yang both gag.

Tony gestures for Yang to get the fuck out of dodge, pulling his bat out of the monster and following after the Asian man. As they exit the smelly room, Tony takes in a deep breath. "Fuckin' ghouls..." he mumbles. "We need t'get outta here, now. If we're in a goddamn ghoul den, we're fucked if the rest of 'em come back."

Yang nods in agreement and upnods at the stairs. "Agreed. Come on, let's get the hell outta here, dude. Fuck ghouls. That little bastard scared me shitless."

"You?" questions Tony. "Y'ain't the one he grabbed and fuckin' startled." Tony replies as he hobbles down the stairs and grabs his coat from the couch.

Yang just shrugs. "Still spooked me. Tension, y'know?"

The older man scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I'd love t'continue this conversation, kid, but we gotta get the fuck outta dodge." he says, walking toward the door and pulling on it, only to find it was stuck. This gave Tony only momentary pause before he just rams his shoulder into the door, using a combination of his size and strength to force the rotting old wood to give.

As the door is reduced to splinters, Yang tsks and shakes his head. The big man lacked finesse. Though honestly, he was just being critical because he was scared shitless. Fuck ghouls. He hated them. The ferals, anyway. The normal ones were cool. He follows Tony out of the door and into the cool nighttime desert. He briefly looks back at the old house, the flaking white paint peeling off the exterior, and sighs. So much for a safe place to rest his head for the night.

If this ordeal had taught him, anthing, it was that no such thing existed.

Tony grunts as he licks his thumb and holds it up to the wind, then gazes at the moon for a few seconds. "We ain't far from Bucket Town. I think. I say we go there and call it quits for the night. Can find your treasure later."

Yang nods. "Alright... sounds good to me." he responds. Honwstly, a bed in Bucket Town sounded fantastic. He couldn't care less about the treasure anymore, he just wanted to sleep. He warily trudged after Tony until they reached Bucket Town.

The pair walked to the bar, grunted a goodnight, then collasped in their respective rented rooms, thus ending a spooky night in a haunted house.


[ Aaaand, finished! Hope I did well, y'all. I'm proud of this one. ]
Tony Falconi - Level 1
7. 5. 7. 5. 7. 4. 5.
Older man. Salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail and a trimmed beard. Brown eyes, olive skin, scar on left cheek. Walks with an odd gait. Slightly rough voice with a light southern accent.

Gear

Black suit jacket and slacks, white button up, untied bowtie, worn combat boots.

Rudimentary revolver, painted black and white, a dark mahogany baseball bat, spattered with blood, and a simple knapsack filled with his other loot.
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HenchmenF
Wasteland leader
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Ok!

So I really enjoyed this roleplay. I think it was a cool moment to have in the wasteland, where it showcased some of the paranoia that I personally think is super common for travelers. You did a really good job of luring us into the story of the ghost (I personally thought it was a ghost at the very least) and then revealed it as a feral ghoul. Other elements like the slamming board, but the basement smelling like rotten flesh, I thought that really created a nice scene. I got drawn into the story as it progressed, and I thought it was interesting that as you posts became longer and more detailed, my interest in the story grew.

I didn't notice any spelling or grammar mistakes, which is always good to see. The dialogue worked well! One minor issue that I had was a moment where Yang got dragged up the attic but then Tony followed him up, but that's so minor I'm just being nit-picky. Also nit-pick number 2: the currency of the southern wastes is hides, not caps!

My main issue with the story is that I learned ALOT about Yang during the entire sequence in the house and I learned very little about Tony, who is your player character. I think one of the most important things you can is continue to tell stories from your character's point of view. Imagine the RP if you explained Tony becoming freaked out by the supposed ghost, or whatever is in the house? Almost all of the story elements you used in describing Yang's backstory, or his actions or whatever could had been used to describe Tony's character and that is something that I think is a miss opportunity. I'm assuming you're setting up Yang to be future companion or your buddy in another RP; but use your writing time to explore Tony.

If you've got anything else you want to talk about, feel free to shoot my a pm on the site or in changto and I'd love to chat! :)

Reward time!

Quote:
 


X1 Rubber Ducky: A small rubber ducky, the type that you would see floating in a bathtub for a child to be entertained with. It's faded yellow, but the "Choking Hazard" label underneath is still a crisp black. Noticeably, the eyes are missing. You're not sure how this ended up in your pocket, but, you feel noticeably less stressed when you squeeze it.

x3 rolls of developed film (Cherry bombs): You snagged these up when you were glancing through the possessions of the former residents of the "haunted house". The funny thing about these rolls of undeveloped film, still in their plastic canisters, is that they're actually highly flammable and create a loud "pop pop pop!" sound when their on fire. Add a fuse to it, and you've got yourself a nice little distraction.

1 small hide: Yang gave you a small advance for keeping him safe from the supposed "ghost" in the house.




Jimmy Ronan
Karmichael Sandoval - HC -
Karmichael's current inventory

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