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"Well, been lot of folks stirred up lately. Lotta talk about what the Wrecker folks been doing out west. Also got some folks sayin' there's an outbreak of Romero down south. Them folks from Holy Oak," He jabs a finger over at the Ren Faire refugees in the corner. "Are 'sposedly on their way to talk to OMNUS about some aid."
"Well, I wish them the best of luck then. They're going to need it."
Maccoy take another swig of whiskey. "No need to worry too much about spiders. As long as they don't sneak up on us, we'll be able to deal with them just fine." Maccoy pauses for a moment. "Say, would you happen to know how thick those spider's skins are?"
"OMNUS won't help 'em. It'll give them some b@&*!%%@ about Romero plague not threatening its synapses or something like that, and then send them off packing." Roach sips his beer. "Yeah, we're northrners, going to Nu Ork. Any gangs operating around here? Spiders don't worry me too much, unless they have guns."
"Mon, back in Jamaica da I and I be seeing Spiders as big as a house mon," Sherman injects into the conversation, "da I blow dem to de maker wid dynomite, the pieces taste like chicken" he chuckles before raising his whiskey, "Slant eye?" he asks Lonnie quizzically before he downs his shot. "Back in deh island, we say Cheers!" he grabs his ale mug offering it out for Lonnie to clang his glass against.
"Mon, back in Jamaica da I and I be seeing Spiders as big as a house mon," Sherman injects into the conversation, "da I blow dem to de maker wid dynomite, the pieces taste like chicken" he chuckles before raising his whiskey, "Slant eye?" he asks Lonnie quizzically before he downs his shot. "Back in deh island, we say Cheers!" he grabs his ale mug offering it out for Lonnie to clang his glass against.
"It's Old Gaelic. My great-grandfather, old Craig Lonergan, spoke a bit of it. Means 'good health.'"
"OMNUS won't help 'em. It'll give them some b&**~#*& about Romero plague not threatening its synapses or something like that, and then send them off packing." Roach sips his beer. "Yeah, we're northrners, going to Nu Ork. Any gangs operating around here? Spiders don't worry me too much, unless they have guns."
The bartender shrugs, wiping down glasses
"The farther you move down the Neticut Valley the more you'll find Nu Orkers. There's a lot of trouble down in Harfor with scavver gangs and the Droid Bikers. Spidders are dumb, but cunning. The forest round here is chock fulla big uglies, but they don't like light, so just go through the forst in the daytime. The spidders mimic stuff too, so don't fall for a cry for help."
<Coca sips a beer and follows the talk while scoping out for hot females.>Coca sees a couple of the Ren Faire rejects from Holy Oak are pretty in a deep-cut bodice kinda way. The Nu Orkers have kinda cornered the roadhouse ladies.
<Coca starts checking out Germain.... this lasts a few seconds, then he slaps himself and takes up a beer.>
"So any talk about Wreckers between here and Nu Ork? I really wouldn't want to run into any of them on the way," she lies, "and that Romero disease sounds bad and all, and nobody likes droids that have gone bad, but those wreckers sound real bad."
The barkeep shrugs
"Nah, they ain't been in these here parts. Most folk say they don't wanna tussle with Nu Ork or Bahston. I worry more about the Romeros shuffling up the road. Them things are gross and dangerous."
The bar seems lively, but as the night wears on, a few of the Nu Orkers retire. Most of the roadhouse honeys follow with them. The Holy Oak folk also begin to wander up to their rooms. The bartender looks at the party.
"You folks want lodging? I got rooms available, and wandering these parts at night can be hazardous."
The group buys lodging for the night. After the many days on the road, a soft mattress feels good. Maccoy hasn't been on the road as long, but is never one to give up good sack time.
In the morning, the heat of the Jooleye sun is already baking the Spider's Wick. The party emerges from their rooms and eat a decent breakfast of greens, taters and eggs. The other groupd from yesterday are also eating, the Nu Orkers seeming to have secured some spare ribs for breakfast. Watching their sharp shark-like teeth rip into the ribs is a bit unsettling.
The group buys lodging for the night. After the many days on the road, a soft mattress feels good. Maccoy hasn't been on the road as long, but is never one to give up good sack time.
In the morning, the heat of the Jooleye sun is already baking the Spider's Wick. The party emerges from their rooms and eat a decent breakfast of greens, taters and eggs. The other groupd from yesterday are also eating, the Nu Orkers seeming to have secured some spare ribs for breakfast. Watching their sharp shark-like teeth rip into the ribs is a bit unsettling.
<Coca slips over to the Nu Orkers. Thumps his fist against his chest to address them.>
"Yo, yo, yo bruvers. I be Coca Cola from Bichport. Peace. I be straight--done wanna waste yo clock, you now? Wonderin, we iz gonna go Big Dump ways lookin to recruit against da wreckers. Yous bruvers borrow any fought to jammin on da front?"
<Coca slips over to the Nu Orkers. Thumps his fist against his chest to address them.>
"Yo, yo, yo bruvers. I be Coca Cola from Bichport. Peace. I be straight--done wanna waste yo clock, you now? Wonderin, we iz gonna go Big Dump ways lookin to recruit against da wreckers. Yous bruvers borrow any fought to jammin on da front?"
The Nu Orkers return his traditional friendly salute and size him up. They are turned a neutral green-brown shade on their chameleon skin. By and large they are wearing decent armor and toting some heavy weaponry. Their shark teeth are capped in a dazzling display of gold and gemstones.
"We iz headed that way Homes Coca. Meeting bruthas up in de hills already fightin' the mofos."
They look down at Coca, their hooded eyes solemn.
"The Hoods, dey all beefin' right now Homes. Lotta static an' such. Might be a good time to try Bahston-town mebbe."
<Coca slips over to the Nu Orkers. Thumps his fist against his chest to address them.>
"Yo, yo, yo bruvers. I be Coca Cola from Bichport. Peace. I be straight--done wanna waste yo clock, you now? Wonderin, we iz gonna go Big Dump ways lookin to recruit against da wreckers. Yous bruvers borrow any fought to jammin on da front?"
The Nu Orkers return his traditional friendly salute and size him up. They are turned a neutral green-brown shade on their chameleon skin. By and large they are wearing decent armor and toting some heavy weaponry. Their shark teeth are capped in a dazzling display of gold and gemstones.
"We iz headed that way Homes Coca. Meeting bruthas up in de hills already fightin' the mofos."
They look down at Coca, their hooded eyes solemn.
"The Hoods, dey all beefin' right now Homes. Lotta static an' such. Might be a good time to try Bahston-town mebbe."
"Cool. Cool."
"Good to know your peeps are in the party. Tanks for the intel."
"My man in Norataom be Piet Breeanson. If you sees 'im tell 'im Coca's down this way."
<Coca nods to indicate he's finished.>
"Power wit ye bruvas."
The group starts down through the forest. The hot Juli morning sits humid and hazy under the tree canopy. The group can see many webs in the upper branches, further dimming the sun's presence. They spend the morning in a dim stuffy twilight, keeping to the road.
116 becomes more of a dirt track as they roll on. The forest is ancient, with large trees. There is a sense of watchfulness from the tangled underbrush, but nothing emerges.