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| To set forth; The path to Haunted Hill | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 8 2011, 09:41 PM (129 Views) | |
| Dranz | Dec 8 2011, 09:41 PM Post #1 |
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YISSS
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“Not easy parts to come by, friend.” The rough voice, sounding like it had been put through a blender and filtered through sandpaper, was characteristically dry, matter-of-fact. Direct. “You know the kind of shit we have to go through to pick up this gear? The storm's bad enough, chum, but the locals are, and excuse the language if you must, a bitch to deal with, understand?” The merchant coughed loudly into the scarf wrapped around his mouth. He was small, his frame covered with layers of cloth, draped over him like he were a glorified coat-rack. It was all covered in a film of grime, from the lenses of the goggles on his forehead, to the dirt-caked boots on his feet. The truck he shoveled stolen, or as he liked to phrase it, 'appropriated' goods was likewise covered in filth. Standing opposite of the bedraggled fence was a tall man who, while not to the extent of the broker, was dirtied, dressed in dust-covered garments befitting a drifter. His weathered appearance and stern expression spoke bounds of his disposition. “I'm not going to stand here all day and barter with you, Jace. You know what happened last time. Waste of everyone's time. Let's just cut the crap and actually talk business, yeah?” Despite the vagabond's seemingly serious nature, the hocker of wares cheeks still rose up in an obvious smile, noticeable even under the scarf covering his face. “You have something in mind, Malloc old friend? “Yeah. You could say that.” The traveler hefted what looked like an oversized briefcase up from the ground, visibly straining a bit to do so. The beady, erratically-moving eyes of the fence darted over the large silver case before he gave a slight nod. --- “You know you're not as good at this as you think you are. Might not be worth the product, chum.” The merchant's leg, made of dull silver metal, lay splayed open before the drifter. Both men had changed to cleaner sets of clothing, and were inside of a makeshift tent, out of the wind and dust. Even within the tent, around them was a thin white veil, to keep dust and debris from the area. The last thing someone wanted in their cybernetic leg was a joint or cooling obstruction. “That's a good joke, Jace. Good humor's just one of those things that keeps a man focused, you know? Sure would be a shame if I slipped and hit something.” The large silver case was open, revealing an assortment of tools and devices, most very small, their purposes a complete mystery to one not trained in their use. All of them were socketed, designed to fit into a universal tool, or in Malloc's case, his fingers. Telescoped out into thin, precise tools, Malloc's fingers danced along the internals of the salesperson's leg. His arm whirred, parts within it working, subtle movements to manipulate the delicate tools at their end. His other, far less impressive hand was working as well, using the universal tool all of the individual devices fit into, making small alterations to the internal workings of Jace's leg. “It's just maintenance, Malloc. What you're asking for cost me time, work, and a bit of blood, too. The City's not so easy to get into and back out of. The metal men are everywhere, the clans won't do business with us, not to mention those jazzed-up chromed-out tchort bastards always looking to gun anyone and everyone down. I don't know if we can just l- Hnn!” The man froze up, jaw locked shut and eyes expressing a good deal of discomfort. The drifter looked up at the shocked Jace, calm, hands unmoving, tip of the finger giving the occasional spark. “You don't tell the ex-badge ripper doc that can turn you and your boys into his own personal body bank that you might not pay him while he's in the middle of fixing up your leg. A leg that, might I add, he helped design. Now I trust you, Jace, and I don't do that often. I expect you to spill some goods. You're a fixer, and I don't work for free.” Malloc let up on the leg, much to the relief of his patient. The fence shook his head slowly, giving a slight shrug before agreeing to the terms. “Just slot and run, Malloc. I'm going to have to pull more than just a trash run to recoup this, so I might as well get to it.” Sparks and adjustments continued, Malloc smirking to himself as he worked. “Yeah. I'll make it quick.” --- Repairs and streamlining completed, Malloc sat in the tent he had been provided at the fixer's camp. The man, while by no means old, was a bit further down the line than most people like him. Those considered 'adventurers'. Men and women who would roam the world for whatever goals they might have, that would use their skills to get by, be they in killing or healing. In Malloc's case, a bit of both. He was tall, of significant build. Something of an oddity in towns and cities he passed through, especially because he looked older than he was. His skills in cybertechnology had garnered him a bit of a reputation, though, and his obvious cyber-arm only helped spur that reputation on. He wasn't the best cybertechnician, but he was probably one of only a handful outside of the Hammerdown Megatropolis. It helped with business, at least. The kit he had acquired from his work was coming in handy. Just like his briefcase full of tools for use on cybernetic implants and replacements, this one was designed for use with the same universal socket, but rather than the small, precision tools used on cybernetics, these were much larger, useful for repairing proper machinery, or for modifying something as he was doing now. He had on him a knife. It was a good knife, sharp, stylish, functional. But Malloc wanted something more. Something more closely integrated. He shaved down the handle with one of the tools his arm now operated, adding notches and ridges where they'd need to be in order to fit in with the mechanism he envisioned for it. The modifications would make it bit harder to hold, but that should be a problem. The tools were of better quality than he had expected. Malloc was quite happy with them and the work they were capable of. His modifications appeared to be about right, though he had to make a few adjustments which may have weakened the handle a bit. Either way, he figured it would work, at least when he finished the augmentation of his arm to accept it. Once more the large silver case came open, tools were slotted, and with a new focus, Malloc's hand spun about at the wrist, turning a full one-hundred-eighty degrees to face inward as he got to work, panels opening on the underside of his arm allowing him access to the delicate internals. Minute details took him longer than he had expected. Working around such intricate parts was a hassle, but one Malloc had learned to deal with. There was only so much free space in such a close approximation of a human male's arm, but the lack of significant upgrades to his meant there was still room for a few more improvements, including this magnetic knife slide. Designing and finalizing the mechanism was exhausting in and of itself, but nowhere near as stressful as seeing if it worked at all. With its altered hilt, the Gerber Mk. II should fit right in, detachable and all. Malloc took a deep breath before easing the weapon toward what would hopefully become its new sheath. He inspected his work. The arm looked the same from the outside. Obviously artificial, metal, powerful. Malloc twisted the limb about, feeling the quick response and fluidity of movement in the arm. It felt good, his maintenance had gone better than he expected. He held the limb out, pointing away from him. He tensed up, activating the mechanism he had just installed. Immediately, the sharp, six-inch blade jutted out from under his wrist, certainly with enough force to puncture flesh. With another command, the bottom of the mechanism opened, dropping the knife into his hand for use as a normal weapon, or utility blade. Malloc, quite pleased with the performance of his new toy, replaced his knife and started packing up his tools. By the time Malloc had finished altering, modifying, building, and testing, the sun was low in the sky. His nature as a drifter afforded him little time to rest, resulting in a rather sudden onset of exhaustion. Malloc had not slept well in days; Having a tent and a bedroll would be a nice change of pace. With everything put away, and his arm working better than it had when it was new, the wanderer allowed himself to lie down, to sleep. The rest was welcome. --- Reid Madigan. A man who hailed from the largest and most technologically advanced city in the known world, the Hammerdown Megatropolis. From the clan of the Rising Dragons, he was raised to fight for the city he was born into, and to die for the Unification, the coalition of human clans in the region. He was gruff, good with his hands, a man who knew how to work, and how to work well even under pressure. Valued by his people, until he was exposed to an entity no human was to come into contact with and survive. He looked at the silver locket. Heart-shaped, a token of love. He hit the clasp, opening the compartment on it and revealing the inscription and picture inside. Though small, the picture spoke to him. His deep, brown-tinted eyes stared into the cold steel-blue of hers. Tracked over the wisps of jet black hair still draped across her smooth, young face. His eyes trailed down the pipes and tubes emerging from her head and neck, all dull silver and lifeless. Like her expression. On the other side of the picture, the other half of the locket, was the inscription. To Reid, with love... ~The Cybernetic Queen Madigan threw the locket over his shoulder, hearing it snap shut in the distance. He stood now outside of where his tent was, having helped pack it up. He looked to the truck, with its thin red paint and nearly unreadable sign. “Smilin' Jack's Moving and Unpacking” it said. Almost got the name right, even. The nomad Reid glanced at the men piling into the back of the truck, into the extended bed of the vehicle. Jace was up front, yelling at his crew as per usual. Hefting both his backpack and heavy tool kits, Malloc stepped toward the weathered thirdman still barking orders. He was certain the merchant would be agreeable, especially after all of the work he did. Not to mention the vague threat. Jace caught a glance of Reid moving toward him, and cut himself off mid-sentence to address the vagabond. “What is it, chummer? We've got to get moving if we want to get in another good run.” “Up in Gromskal, right?” Malloc asked, knowing vaguely the path that Jace tended to set for himself on his routine travels to the more technologically inclined lands. “Yeah, of course. Those Church goons toss more flash than they know what to do with. Good haul from there, usually.” Reid smirked. “Clavies always run dirty, don't they? Lo-tek's with no sense of value spliced in with jockeys in some kind of mish-mash of newtek and drek all. Can't grasp cityspeak, either. Can't say I wouldn't mind tagging along.” Jace almost laughed, judging by the scratchy sound in the back of his throat Madigan had come to associate with amusement from the man. “Pull your weight and don't complain when you've got work, and we're good. No collars here, we labor, right? We've got room. Get in back, and make it quick.” With a quick thanks, Red was headed towards the pickup, ready to set off again to new places, for no real reason other than to be there. He began thinking about what exactly he could do up in Gromskal, but was cut off by Jace's voice calling to him. “By the way, you ever think of getting a new handle? Malloc's kinda boring, isn't it?” The drifter scoffed at the comment. “Shut it, fodder. All you do is use someone else's name.” |
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Rimbad
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Dec 8 2011, 10:00 PM Post #2 |
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LORD HIGH EXECUTIONER
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GRADED. A short descriptive essay, demanding a highly specific set of interactions. 60 Mental - For engineering replacement body parts, for displaying a shrewd talent for haggling, for exploring a new linguistic paradigm and for careful appraisal of the tools of your craft. Also, for the sake of a painful memory. 15 Physical - For the exertion of an extended maintenance session, detailed manual work and the muscular movements involved in throwing objects over your own shoulder. Add an additional +5 to each for excellent nuance in such a short post. + New Tools! - One Locket (+ One Locket!) Edited by Rimbad, Dec 8 2011, 10:02 PM.
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