Before the Captain lets himself be seen by the people on the landing strip, Doc takes a moment to peel away from the group and start cautiously working his way through the darkness, heading (in a roundabout way) towards the Kestrel.
Gilly frowns at the cap'n's decision to engage them. She sees his logic-- that's a lot of people to fight through, and it'd mean this is a town they could never come back to, after, once you kill the local lawmen...
...but gosh, that trullkin looks huge.
She feels too big (funny, considering she's still the smallest person around) and easy to hit right now, too. Before they walk up, Gilly unscrews another of her endless, strange little bottles and knocks the contents back, licking at the fizzy weird taste on her tongue.
You know how a lot of coffee makes you kind of jittery? This is like that but ten-fold.
As the stimulant courses through her veins, Gilly trots after Callum, saying nothing about Doc's sidling off to go the stealthy route.
"What's on your mind, Giz?"
"Just that I don't like that big trull, cap'n."
Callum gives Doc and the others time to get to their chosen positions. Then, nodding to Ambrose, he makes his way out of the alley, toward the waiting toughs and the ship beyond.
Ambrose yells out to the boss's men as he and the captain approach.
We're here! And we don't intend any violence!
He shows his hands outstretched and empty.
We didn't want any trouble in the first place, but Biggs and his crew come in shooting first, no questions asked. Shivers and the others will tell you the same. I killed Biggs, I admit, but it was after he and his started shooting up the place. We have no quarrel with the Boss, or you, or any of the other good folk in this town. We just want to be on our way. So, will you let us pass, so we can get gone and you can get back inside by the fire?
Callum stops about twenty feet from the Trullkin's group, resting his gun hand on his belt buckle, well away from the revolver's handle. "If you've talked to Shivers, he's already confirmed our side of things."
Callum breaks cover and strides across the intervening space and across the large pad. The man watching the group of pilots—who you now recognize to be the tall Karstaani from earlier in the night—begins to move towards you to cut you off. Then he catches your intent, gives a look at the distant trull, then moves back to watch over his position. Aggravated stares, finger waggles, and arguments come from the collected pilots as they see you make your way across the pad, but the tall Karstaani quiets them with a few of his own arguments ... his held rifle doesn't seem to hurt his case.
As you move farther out across the pad, the trullkin and his group notices you, though they make no move other than to wave you over. You notice that the two men walking patrol note your position but keep on their circuit of the darkened alleys between the moonlit ships.
Ambrose, the captain, and anyone with them stop twenty feet from the group of waiting men. They look much like the others you’ve of this town’s ‘law’ … mismatched and poorly outfitted but tough and hard. They look back at you with a mix of apprehension and distrust. The towering trullkin looks on with heavy-lidded eyes that seem to have the emotional capacity of a stone.
They listen quietly as Ambrose and Callum make their appeal. Then the trullkin responds, his deep, booming voice forming clumsy words through his thick, clumsy lips. ”Don’t care.” He makes a quick gesture with one hand and half his little group fan out to cut off easy access to the Kestrel … which now sits a quick sprint (about sixty feet) from your group’s position. ”Boss said to bring everyone in. No one leaves tonight without talking to him.”
”Don’t care.” He makes a quick gesture with one hand and half his little group fan out to cut off easy access to the Kestrel … which now sits a quick sprint (about sixty feet) from your group’s position. ”Boss said to bring everyone in. No one leaves tonight without talking to him.”
"Well let's get it over with - I'm a business man, and I'd like to continue doing business in this town, but I got a job to be about, and time is money. We had to fumble around the shadows of this town just to find our way back here. Lead on, and we'll go talk with your boss."
He gestures away from the ship, expression revealing eagerness to be done with this mess and well on his way.
Doc slips away in the darkness and heads along the edge of the field to its southern extreme. He ghosts along the south end of the tarmac, sneaking between, behind, and under the ships on his way to the Kestrel. Unburdened by the need for appearances, the archaeologist vanishes from sight to slip past the guard between the larger ships - when needed. He continues to sneak along the edge of the field relying on the darkness to cover him and Callum's open approach to distract the Trullkin and friends. When there is a chance of being spotted, he vanishes again for as long as needed to sneak up to the Kestrel's hatch.
HP Strain: 12 / 12
HP Injury: 12 / 12
Potential (3): ???
Laughing Touch (7):
Arch's Luck (8): x
Spell Effects:
Zeke, standing next to the Captain, crosses his arms with pistol still in hand. The large man exhales loudly in frustration, looking boldy at the Trullkin.
"Guilty until proven innocent, eh? That's the way of it then? Nice place."
The good doctor skirts along the edge of the pad, using ships, distance, and darkness to cover his passage. With a little luck, he’s able to slip by the scant watchers without resorting to any of his … hobbyist tricks.
He finds his way towards the Kestrel, considering his options for getting aboard. Ambrose landed her with the loading bay doors facing away from town, which is ideal if they weren’t so damn loud. That leaves the small personnel hatch up on the underbelly of her port side tucked in beside her ventral fin. No doubt Gizmo could rattle off another half-dozen mechanic crawl spaces connected to exhaust ports, but Long can’t remember the halfling ever mentioning one such location specifically.
Meanwhile, the trullkin gives a thick-lipped, toothy, and not-altogether-kind grin towards Zedd and Callum. ”Not judge,” he says as he taps his own chest with a thumb. ”Boss say ‘bear’, I growl. And boss no happy with you all.”
The big creature points off-handedly to three men standing at his flank. ”Mors, Grunyig, Starns.” He points at Callum and his present crew, ”Take business-man and friends to see Boss.” He looks back at Zedd and Callum with the same predatory (if dumb) grin, ”Hurry, now, business-man. Not want to keep judge waiting.”
The three appointed escorts step forward, waiting for you to fall in with them to take you back through town.
Ambrose falls in without a comment, then looks to the others to see if they follow suit.
When the Captain and Co. are off the tarmac and on their way to see 'Boss', Doc sneaks up to the access panel at the personnel hatch, vanishes and punches in the code, with an eye to getting onboard quickly and as silently as possible... just in case negotiations fail to go well.
Gizmo rotates her tongue around inside her cheek, staring up at the trull with narrowed eyes. If these overgrown greaseheads get their hands on her ship... okay, Callum's ship, but her engines...
Silently, her fingers drumming a tense tattoo against her crossed arms, the halfling falls in behind Ambrose and Callum and Zeke. Stupid law. Stupid orders. Stupid people getting in the way of her getting to see to her engines.
All eyes seem to remain on the bulk of the crew dealing with the trullkin as Doc Long completes his quiet, moonlit stroll to the Kestrel’s port-side personnel hatch. He pauses to quietly pierce the Veil of reality. A whispered chorus of distant moans is carried off on the cold wind as Doc melts from view, making good use of his unnatural solitude to quickly tap in the ship’s access code with precise finger movements. As he opens the door, he can’t help but wonder at the dual-reality surrounding him. Horrible, beautiful, impossible beings swim through a reality overlaid with the mundane Badger Lope landing pad. It’s enough to twist most men’s minds. Doc, however, simply crawls through the small hatch, scowling at the indignity of having to crawl, and winks back into normal view just as the hatch door quietly shuts behind him.
The towering trullkin grins down at Gizmo’s glare, shaking a bald head as it mutters a few glottal syllables.
The three escorts—Mors, Grunyig,and Starns (who should totally start a law firm when their hired muscle days are over)—eye the remaining crew warily as they set out back across the landing pad and up the steep, narrow march through Badger Lope. They seem to like this arrangement about as much as you do .. and have decided that you all are at least partially at fault for them having to be out in this cold.
Once again, you pass houses, storefronts, and storage buildings—many of which now have lights on. Furtive, curious eyes peek out from behind many of them as you pass by. On the walk, you overhear a few quiet comments and observations from your grouchy guides. They seem to think they’ve rounded up all of the offending crew’s members, and you spot a few limp bodies being dragged through the night in the same general direction you’re moving.
Shivers Place still looks occupied, though now with a far more subdued energy. Through a window now decorated with a single bullet-hole—cracks spiderwebbing outward and fragmenting your view—you see Shivers and his daughter working to clean up much of the mess. Tables have been righted and Cinda mops at a thick red smear on the floor. She pauses to give you a blank stare on the way past. Surprisingly, it’s not an angry look … maybe your soft words haven’t gone completely unheard.
You’re just wondering how much farther the three stooges are going to march you up this daemon-kanoodling, frozen, mountain road when you see what you suspect to be the Boss’s place. While bigger than the houses around it, and encircled by a seven-foot privacy wall, there’s not much that’s really outstanding about it other than an air of quiet solidity. A soft glow illuminates a second-floor window in the otherwise dark structure. As you march closer, a massive shadow detaches from the wall and steps between you and the door. At first it appears to be the trullkin from earlier, then you realize it can’t be because this one is a female. It’s an honest mistake. Who can tell the difference with trullkin?
With a few muttered words from the guide you think might be Starns, the she-trullkin nods and takes lead, effortlessly pulling open a heavy wooden gate-door and ushering you inside the small, stately compound. You pass through the gate, across the small courtyard, into the house, up some stairs, down a hall, and into some kind of waiting room. Overall, the place has a utilitarian simplicity that is set off by the meticulous care and cleanliness its been given. Almost nothing looks overly-expensive or extravagant.
Finally, you arrive in a second-story waiting room, a largish long place with a few simple couches along one wall and a few chairs around a lit fireplace. While the fire provides some illumination, the room is lit predominantly by a few electric candles along the inner wall. In addition to your own important selves and your escorts, two figures stand in the room. One is a third trullkin, this one—a male, you think—is surprisingly short, standing at a mere six feet. But he’s no less thick and bulky, which gives him gives a comically-stalky frame. The thing’s arms and chest are armored in bands of metal. Otherwise, he appears unarmed.
The other figure draws your attention, though. Standing near the fire, both hands out in front of him feeling the warmth, the man’s graying hair gives him an older look, but his back remains straight. Squared, well-muscled shoulders fill out a simple, dark brown long coat. Well-worn-but-well-oiled boots peek out from entirely unremarkable pants. But when he turns around, a few things strike you immediately.
Remove a few years, a few pounds of muscle, thin down his features and recolor his eyes … and this man could be Shivers. (Dramatic reveal.) He regards you with steady, nearly-black eyes, his face impassive.
”You all pose a bit of a problem,” he begins in a quiet, even tone that could sound casual if not for the unnerving steel underlying an otherwise warm voice. ”Badger Lope is my business. And my home.” He picks up a glass of whiskey from a side table, taking a slow sip as he gets the measure of each of you—including Rowena—with his dark eyes. ”I’ve managed to strike a delicate balance out here. Which meant I needed to cultivate a particular … reputation.”
He sets the glass down, putting both hands in his pockets in a comfortable manner. His quiet voice has no difficulty traveling easily across the fifty or so feet between himself and you. ”James told me about the tussle down at his place.” The comfort of Shivers’s first name reinforces your guess as to their relationship. Brothers? Cousins? ”Says he doesn’t really think this is your fault. But what do you think is going to start happening around here if word gets out I let a couple of captains land on my pad and shoot up my saloon?”
He waits patiently, clearly expecting an answer and just as clearly comfortable letting a silence stretch to his favor.
Well, this guy gets right to the point. No introductions...
Callum lets the silence draw out for a stretch. "I don't imagine it would be much worse than if word got out you let one captain land and kill a tavern full of patrons... and James. Like I told your boys at the landing pad - I'm a businessman. I came to the Lope to do business, which came to an abrupt halt once he started blasting up the place."
"I'm not sure what you know about Biggs, and I won't pretend you care. The reality is that he came here looking for trouble, and didn't care who he had to go through to find it. He started killing indiscriminitely, and we did our best to keep them busy until your boys could show up and stamp it down. Biggs disrespected you - shot up your town and your people - and it got him killed. That's the word that's gonna get out."
Long watches the party get escorted away... long enough to see the rough direction they were going. He pats the dogs and slides into the pilot chair, running through a quick pre-flight check and making sure the nose gun was spooled up. Without warning, he fires up the engines and takes off, only adding in a belated and largely unnecessary warning through the loudspeaker, "'Ware the downblast!"
The Ketrel climbs to about 40', pivots on her centerpoint, then takes off South.
HP Strain: 12 / 12
HP Injury: 12 / 12
Potential (3): x
Laughing Touch (7):
Arch's Luck (8): xxx
Spell Effects:
Giernig listens impassively and seems to genuinely consider Callum’s words. When he speaks, though, he sounds unswayed, ”I reckon that may be one story that could reasonably get out. But we both know folks in this business gossip worse than anyone and are rarely reasonable. Regardless of who shot first, the only killing that was done tonight was done by your crew.” He eyes Ambrose’s axe before continuing. ”James didn’t say as much, but it seems to me the worst danger he and his patrons were in tonight was being near y’all.” It’s delivered not in an accusatory fashion, simply an observation. ”You say you’re just a reasonable business man. I’m inclined to believe you. Problem is most businessmen who use my pad aren’t known for being the reasonable sort.”
He shrugs, ”Biggs’s ship … well, my new ship will help me pay for any damage done to my town. My reputation, however … regardless of who shot first, I can’t allow this to go on in my town unanswered. You can see my predicament. And since I believe you about Biggs, I’d love to know what you think we should do about all this.”
"Unanswered? I should think not. You say the Lope is your business and home, and a fella comes in starting a ruckus, and trying to kill your guests - hospitality aside, it never shoulda come to that. Your boys let an armed posse of a dozen men ransack a bar and shoot up it's patrons - yessir, you got a real public relations issue on your hands."
Looking the black-eyed man straight on, Callum gestures to his revolver, and continues calmly. "Like I said, I'm a business man. I never said I was a pacifist. Only reason I had to kill Biggs is because your rooftop boys let him get as far a Shiver's place riled up and murder in their eyes."
"You ask what I think you should do? Well, taking Bigg's ship is a right good start - discourage any more hot-heads in the future. As for my crew, if you got some problem with a man defending him and what's his, you might wanna think what kind of message that sends to the folks filling up those barstools, bringing cargo, and buyin' and sellin' in your town. Folks might get the wrong idea, feel like their business isn't safe in Badger Lope. Feel like they can't keep themselves safe, and take their business elsewhere. Doesn't seem like that would be good for business. But I'm not here to tell you how to run things. I'm just here out of professional courtesy."
Cal shrugs, taking on an easier tone. "A thug aimed to stir trouble in your town, and we put a stop to it. If that don't make us friends, it at least means our interests align. I think a business man like you sees the advantage of having more guys like me around. If I'm wrong, we'll be on our way, and I do business elsewhere from now on."
Ambrose watches "the boss", trying to glean some information about his motives.
All too aware of that itch between his shoulders - a sure sign of trouble looming, Cal lets the silence return, sizing up this Giernig and his guards. What's his angle? He wants something, but he wants me to bite the hook, first.
Doc quickly flares the engines to life, flooding the tanks with Aerum for a quick ascent. The Kestrel groans in response, but lifts responsively off the pad. He watches the through thick front glass as the men turn around dumbstruck, one guy going so far as to scratch his head like some character in a sketched daily.
The trullkin responds immediately, breaking into a sprint towards the nearest landing strut. Doc loses sight of him as he rushes under the Kestrel’s nose, but as he drifts up and over the aership to port, he sees the creature down below ... raging impotently up at his escaping quarry before turning and rushing off towards the main road.
Doc and the Kestrel roar away from the Lope, gaining a bit of altitude before swinging her nose back around and searching the small string of dots of light for one that could be on a building prominent enough to be Giernig’s. With the help of a pair of binoculars, he’s able to pick out a few buildings with lights on that are bigger than the other tiny houses. Then he sees it. Big. Nice. Walled.
… and in a stroke of luck, the one lit window is mostly southern-facing.
Gizmo stands there twitchy, not least because of her awareness of the power in the room (in a literal sense, not the power that men wield over others). Feels like it's cracklin' along her neck hairs, but she don't got an easy way to convey that to the others.
"What'd you 'spect us to do?" she mutters. "Biggs fired at me, an' hit one of your townsfolk in the arm instead; an' after that we just tried to get on outta there defendin' ourselves. ..sir."
Frowning, the little halfling hooks her thumbs into her tool belt. "But you already know we didn't cause it. You don't care cuz it's your reputation out there and it's what gossip's are gonna say. Well, you let it get out that you fined us nice and hefty for this whole mess and that you made it clear we left all manner of poor-- after all, all the town saw us bein' marched here under guard, I 'magine they figure you're doin' just that anyway, layin' down law on us. So you just add to what folk are thinkin' and the word gets out that trouble in Badger Lope means you wind up dead if you're Biggs, and you wind up payin' money to the boss if you're not Biggs. Seems to me you satisfy your rep while meanwhile you don't actually penalize us for doin' nothin' but tryin' to keep our skins free of holes."
It's plain that any sense in Gizmo's suggestion may be somewhat overshadowed by her borderline insubordinate tone and obvious resentment at being here.
Stupid trullkin. She'll snack them.
Giernig’s expression drops to disappointment as Callum continues. ”This is getting us nowhere.” His features begin to harden when Gilly speaks up. Despite her tone, she’s clearly speaking along lines he’s more comfortable with. ”Finally, someone talking reason, but I don’t want your money, and I don’t want folks thinking a stop in Badger Lope will cost the more than what’s fair. So, I’m afraid we’ll need to take the story a bit further. You pull a job for me, and you do it for the price of my good will, and … like your captain said … we part ways as friends. If you could be seen as my friends … well, nobody would fault a man for standing up for his friends when they get shot at, am i right?”
”Whaddaya say?”
Callum meets eyes with Giz and the others, sensing their mood. He wears an all-too-familiar look of a man about to spit in the eye of a lion.
Here's the gist of what I'm attempting to do:
Make like a hot-air balloon and float in a position to keep an eye on the meeting through binocs while staying in weapon's range - so maybe 200' on the diagonal at a height of 70-90' maybe? You tell me on that. Then I hang there and wait while spying on the meeting.
If the discussion goes well - grand. I'll pick up the team when they leave.
If things look like they may be going downhill - Doc will announce his presence by strafing the fence briefly.
If things get violent - then I blow an exit through the fence and window wall, hammer anyone not on my team (or at least force them to keep ducking instead of firing at my guys), and then drop in for evac when the team is on the lawn.
If I'm feeling particularly naughty... Once the team is on-board, I switch to a turret and slag the house. This will have three effects. First, I'll foster a 'regime change' in Badger Lope and whoever takes over should owe us some thanks. Second, they will know the penalty for screwing with our team. And third, the next mayor will understand the necessity to live in an underground bunker. :)
Doc practically hums in the darkened cockpit. It was sort of romantic running without lights, with the gatling guns and engines purring. He gooses the engines for as long as he feels it is safe and then lets the momentum carry the ship forward over the town. He smiles as he sees his team and the escorts entering the house. He bleeds off a tiny bit of aerum, letting the ship lower like a feather, just a touch. Don't want to attract attention yet. He pumps a handle to give the ship a bit of yaw to bring that big plate glass window right into his gun-sight.
It takes Long a bit of time with the binoculars to pick up the Trullkin racing up the hill. He smiles a bit - timing was everything in a job like this.
Ambrose nods in understanding, exhaling loudly, relief showing plain on his face at the man's offer.
So that's the way of it--Biggs' ship wasn't enough, you want us to pull a job for you for free, too. Boss, you're going about this all wrong.
Ambrose smiles, and his tone is jovial.
You see, the Captain, well, he's like a woman, or a mule, or maybe both. He doesn't like to be told what to do. You trying to strong arm him like this, you'll never get what you want. All the show with the big fellas and their guns, doesn't set the mood right. You wouldn't try to take a lady out by having her stare down the barrel of a gun, now would you?
Ambrose scratches behind Rowena's ear, letting his words sink in and taking his time, like a storyteller who loves the sound of his own voice.
You offering us this job, it shows you respect our skills and how we dealt with Biggs and his men. And I thank you for that respect. Now if you'd have just told us that from the beginning, that you have a job that we just might be good enough to handle, and let it be the Captain's idea to take the job, you'd have yourself a deal. But the Captain won't take orders from anyone and, as a rule, we don't work for free. Now, you said Biggs' ship is more than enough payment for the damages, so pay-wise we should be square now. As to this job--why don't you tell us what it entails and make us a fair monetary offer, and we can all part ways happy. Coercion doesn't make for the start to a good friendship.
Not shy about his take on the matter, Zeke chimes in:
"We already got a job, friend."
Zeke spits out the word, clearly feeling anything but friendly towards this man.
"Cap, I don't like this guy. Don't like being strong-armed neither. Seems like the kind of guy who will repay us for our troubles with a bullet in the back, soon as we're done with the job. Already got a sniper up there waiting too, probably for if we tell him to shove this job up his s!*~hole."
"Well, there you have it. What is sounds like is extortion, and that's not an idea my crew is too keen on. We fit in no man's pocket. You got a job, we can talk - but we don't work for free. Your good will isn't currency that I can spend, trade, or barter with."
Pointedly turning toward the window, Cal examines the roofline out the window. "Zedd, I think the sniper is more insurance against any move we might make against him. Prudent, considering Biggs' fate. Still, Giernig - this just reinforces what you said earlier. I'm not like the captains you usually deal with, it seems. I said before, I'm a businessman. There's no profit in picking a fight with you, and I've got no desire to burn bridges in the Lope."
Turning way from the window again, he faces Giernig once more. "Here's my counter offer. You tell me about this job. If it doesn't interfere with our other client's job, and it's suitable to my crew's ability, We'll talk price." Letting the offer hang in the air, Cal pauses a few beats before continuing. "I'll even give you a respectable discount, given the inconvenience of your position, and of course, your good will. Everybody walks away satisfied, and we both profit."
Gilly sucks on her teeth but keeps her yob shut, looking squinty-eyed at Shivers Senior Giernig and at her captain. She's still on edge, but how to tell the cap I think he's got this place rigged with all sorta juice and I don't like our odds of a fight here?
Nothin' to do but ride with it, tapping her fingers fretfully against her thigh and ponder the flammability of various objects in the room.
She holds her breath, waiting to see if Giernig's going to keep trying to get their services for free or if there's a deal in the works.
Between the lights in the room, the dark outside, and the small size of the windows, Callum sees nothing of note outside.
Giernig quirks an eyebrow at being told the captain is like a woman, but quietly endures the collective responses, his face slowly hardening. By the end of Callum’s counter-offer, his face is cold, calculating, and with no little naked ambition written in his quick eyes. The Boss.
”This is … unfortunate.” He picks up his glass and takes a sip, his eyes dropping to the floor. When he continues, it seems more for himself, and his voice is tinged with frustration. ”I see I’ve wasted my time.”
Without pause, he turns and strolls towards the room that was behind him, giving his men a casual look back over his shoulder on his way out. ”Take care of this.” There is no uncertainty to the intent of the words. Five pairs of eyes—three human and two trullkin—swing in unison to your group, all hardening to violence. The trullkin with the bands of metal for armor begins to step forward, a wickedly-dumb half-smile on its thick lips revealing yellowed teeth.
As for all of the more aggressive actions you outlined, just keep in mind tactical positioning and rules for firing into melee/past cover/whatnot. If you need a map to make informed decisions, let me know and i'll get something up (even if it's crude).
Doc begins swinging the Kestrel back into position for a quiet, late-night evac … doing his best to use the moons' positions and what he hopes is the sound of the winds to mask his approach from any of the few roof-top riflemen . He eases back on the props, pulling her to a gentle stop in mid-air as he watches the trullkin huff and puff his way up the main street. The trullkin appears fully absorbed in his night-time sprint and completely unaware of the Kestrel .
At your current altitude and velocity, it’ll take a bit of piloting to quietly drift down next to the nearest side of Giernig’s estate (which is the side with the window). The difficulty of “running quiet” while navigating the high-mountain winds is tricky, so to complete this approach, I’ll need a series of Pilot Aership checks from you (modified as usual for piloting our girl, the Kestrel).
Every Pilot check takes a single six-second round. The target DC for each attempt will be 15. Every failure will mean Doc has to halt the approach to readjust speed and trajectory. Any roll of a 1 will alert the roof-top watchers to your position. With every success, you’ll take the number by which you exceeded the target DC and add it to a ‘success pool’. Your goal is to get this ‘success pool’ up to 15 before alerting the guards (which is the roll of a 1).
Once (and if) you succeed at accumulating the 15 in the success pool, you’ll have arrived at your desired location without alerting the guards, and it will have taken you a number of rounds equal to the number of piloting checks you made to get you there.
Doc drifts the ship in closer by playing the winds, shifting aerum, and pushing his luck. Avoiding the attention of the rooftop sentries is the trickiest bit.
HP Strain: 12 / 12
HP Injury: 12 / 12
Potential (3): x
Laughing Touch (7):
Arch's Luck (8): xxx
BI (1): x
Spell Effects:
Pilot Aership +3 for 4 min
"Boring conversation anyway..."
"Oh God, oh God, we're all gonna die?"
Digging this back out of archive. Life is normalizing. Will be pushing forward no later than Wednesday.
For an absolutely painfully-long moment, the room seems to freeze as the inevitability of violence sets in. It’s almost as if everyone has literal months to size each other up in this bubble of expectation.
However, on your way in, Gizmo noted some ugly patch-work around the southern end of the north-south-running hallway that leads from the stairwell past your current room. It’s a solid guess that—based on what you saw—there could be some heavy wiring and cabling in the southern-most of the two rooms on the east side of that hallway. Now, what’s in there? No way to tell from the outside, but Gilly’d bet her best wrench set that it’s got POWER in there.
… then, just as quickly, that bubble pops. Or, rather, it CRACKS with the muzzle-flares from the twitchy trigger-fingers of Mors, Brunyig, and Starns as they fire their pistols point-blank into the crew. The far-duller (if no less loud in these tight quarters) BOOM of the female trullkin’s shotgun is only a second behind.
Bullets rip through clothes, scrape skin, and ping off walls and windows, and—while no one takes any mortal damage—the captain, Ambrose, and (especially) Zedd feel their luck running out. All the while, Giernig casually and slowly leaves the room.
— Rowena 19: 10 Strain / 0 Injury
Callum 17: 10 Strain / 0 Injury
Doc Long 12: 0 Strain / 0 Injury
Gizmo 15: 0 Strain / 0 Injury (Mutagen rd 1 of 30)
Zedd 22: 14 Strain / 0 Injury
Baddies
Giernig
stalky trullkin
female trullkin
Mors
Grunyig
Starns
The rooftop watchers (of which there are three) all react to the violence within, and they begin making their way towards the edge of the building to watch the southern, eastern, and northern exits. They don’t seem to know you’re there.
Ambrose recoils from the point-blank gun blast, his armor not absorbing much of the impact. The big man uncoils his net and swings it at the nearby gunman's legs.
His aim is off as his head still rings with the sound of gunfire. He points at his attacker and yells an unnecessary attack command, at the same time Rowena lunges in to bite the foe.
Rowena snaps at the lackey's leg, trying to hamstring him.
Long fires the Gatling gun through the window, trying to turn the one gunman standing away from the rest into a greasy spot.