Pearl Davis's page

Pearl is face down on the table through breakfast, rising only to sip her coffee. She says nothing of the events of the night, and regrets all of it. But she resigns herself to continue to be a part of whatever is happening. It suddenly feels bigger than Lou. Bigger than Mama, even. Thank God for the light of day.

For this next part she has slipped into her black mini, although the has to wear a little black jacket to hide the wounds from last night, which are still healing. Luckily, her boobs were spared, and she shows them off with a dip down the front.

Creighton looks handsome dressed up, but her head hurts too much to smile.

Pearl can be awaken once we get to wherever we're going

Pearl is fine, except for having just mixed alcohol and vicodin. Might want to make sure she's still breathing.

If you prefer you can drop me off at home and I'll catch up with you later. Mick knows where Mama's place is and Creighton may know where Pearl's apartment is in the French Quarter, if he thinks it's safe.

Pearl drink the water and kicks the guy in the face who keeps saying she's a dancer. Then she sprawls out on the seat of the limo and passes out cold.

Pearl is very obviously hurt bad. She regards Wraith's abrupt return with suspicion. "I shunna drang an too tha pill. Am I unna die?"

Wraith is coming back. We can say the character was contacted by the party and shows up in a sedan?

Good enough. Wraith was surely following us to make sure we didn't get ourselves killed without her.

"Fuggit." Pearl pops the Valium.

”Those things! They’ll kill us! What do you want to know?” He pauses. ”We can’t show you the building and get you in!”

Did you mean "we can?"

Pearl gives the mouthy guy a dirty look. Dance? Hell no! "I like this car," she says. "Let's take this car."

Pearl is still inside the limo.

Pearl thumps her head on the limo, then gets up. Reaching inside through the open window, she opens the door to the spacious back of the vehicle and climbs in with the big shots.

"Move the f&#~ over," she says to one and sits down next to the booze cabinet. She grabs a bottle of something brown and takes a lengthy swig, then reaches for the vodka.

"All you f!%+ers look away. Look away dammit. And don't you turn to peek or I'll let those monsters eat your brains."

Pearl peels out of her white shirt. There's a long bloody gash on her chest and arm that hurts like f%!~ing bloody murder and is bleeding pretty good. Sitting there in her bra, she douses her wounds with the vodka and lets out a scream. "MOTHERFUUUCKER!"

Instantly woozy from the pain, she slumps against the cushioned seats. One of the big wigs turns to look and she kicks him squarely in the side of the face. "DON' FUGGIN' LOOK!" she drawls.

She grabs a couple small bar towels from the cabinet under the booze and presses them against her wounds, then gingerly puts her shirt back on, the tight cotton fabric keeping the makeshift bandage more or less in place.

"Alright you fuggers. Show's over."

She takes another long pull from the bourbon bottle and let's the booze do its work numbing her brain.

Pearl wipes blood off her face with the back of her hand, then realizes her arm is bleeding too. She takes the flask from Salvo and almost cries, then takes a long hit like a baby latched on a nipple. He's right, it burns like fuuckin' fire, but it takes her mind off the cuts over her body from those g$!&@~m harpies.

She hands it back, her hand shaking. "Thanks, Anthony. Got anything harder?"

Pearl dumps the ineffective shotgun into her bag. She's hurt bad. There's blood everywhere. She feels like she's gonna die. Then this idiot starts blabbering about his brother-in-law with red eyes or some s~%@. She's had enough of the madness.

Pearl slumps to the ground and leans against the limo. "I need somethin'" she mumbles to herself. "I can't take this. It's too much crazy."

Pearl is starting to seriously question recent life choices.

Attack: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11
Damage: 2d8 ⇒ (3, 6) = 9

8

Pearl is hurt bad this time, but she keeps shooting.

Attack: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7
Damage: 2d8 ⇒ (7, 6) = 13

Pearl gets grazed by the monster, but she shoots again.

Attack: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6
Damage: 2d8 ⇒ (8, 6) = 14

Pearl's eyes are wide, fearful, and unblinking. Then there's a small relief when Mick appears beside her. With her back to the limo she huddles next to the larger man, a professional at this sort of thing. His courage makes her feel a little safer, like they might just survive this.

Attack: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7
Damage: 2d8 ⇒ (4, 2) = 6

Too bad she can't hit s+$#.

"F&%*in' balls!"

Pearl raises her sawed-off shotgun and blasts away at the nearest horrible monster.

Shoot: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7
Damage: 2d8 ⇒ (3, 5) = 8

"Oh for f%$%'s sake."

Pearl walks up to the limo and pounds on the rear passenger window. If it opens she says, "Hey, I'm hoping you can settle a bet for me. Now I just think you're some old rich prick looking for late night action from the street where his nosy wife can't keep tabs on him.

"But my friends think you're some crazy villain waiting to see what supernatural horror is gonna leap out of the swamp and kill a bunch of people. I got five bucks riding on it."

Bluff: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (19) + 12 = 31

Is it still the middle of the night?

"Sure, let's go find one of them trucks. Where do we start?"

When in doubt, rule of 2. But in this case it seems unanimous.

Pearl catches up with the group. "What's with this f%#$in' guy? Who the f~!# are you? Seriously, dude, what are you doing creepin' around in the bushes at night with a gun raving about powerful people? Put that f@!$in' gun away before we shoot you."

Intimidate: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

"Eat a dick," replies Pearl before returning to join the others in her group.

Waiting for you to resolve the disturbance most of us reacted to in the parking lot.

Pearl jumps when the horn sounds. This is not gonna help them be stealthy and s@@$.

She marches back to the parking lot with the shotgun cradled in her arms.

"WHAT IN THE LIVING F$$@! KNOCK THAT S*~+ OFF, F#!!ERS!"

Once Creighton gets outside, Pearl busts out laughing. "I just realized how that probably looked! Sorry for that!"

Once they reconnect to the group she tugs at Salvo's sleeve. "Thanks for the coat. I totally wouldn't have thought about getting cut up by the brush and s$!*. And thanks for the confidence boost. Let's go be badasses!"

With the shotgun on her shoulder, Pearl runs back into the bar and whistles for Creighton.

"Time to go!"

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19

Did we confirm that Julian has left?

Pearl follows Salvo's keen eye toward the woods behind the bar. She notices the weight of the satchel across her shoulder, and how the strap digs at the bare skin at her neckline. The sawed-off shotgun within feels unbearably heavy.

A shiver electrifiers her body as she peers into the darkness and the unknown horrors within. Beside her, Salvo and Mick cut imposing figures in the shadowy glow from the distant lights. They look the part, she thinks.

Can I be a hero?

She breathes deep and steels herself. Then she takes the gun out of the bag and loads a shell in each barrel. "Tracks are gettin' any fresher. We should get the others."

"Whaddaya y'all looking for?"

Pearl helps the boys snoop around for tracks and clues.

Survival: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

"You're sweet but I can't. See you next time," Pearl replies on her way out the door. Nothing against Clark; she's had thousands of guys ask for her number and her bar is set pretty high.

She finds Mick and Salvo talking outside. "Guy at the bar is a security guard for the chem plant. Says a convoy got ambushed by something sounds like monsters in the swamp. That's why security is so high there right now. I guess whatever's in the sewers doesn't 'ppreciate being poisoned. His name is Clark Andrews. Nice enough guy for these parts. Probably too nice."

"Sure," Pearl replies. "Maybe I'll do that sometime. Se ya 'round--what'd you say your name was?"

She finishes her drink, letting the alcohol sooth her frayed nerves. After she gets the guy's name she steps out and goes back to Creighton's truck to wait for the boys.

Pearl sits wide-eyed as the guard tells the story. "That's... horrible." she says, shaking her head in near-disbelief. If it wasn't for her own experience in the sewer she'd say this guy was full of it. But now...

"What about the chemicals getting dumped into the lake?" she ventures as if it were common knowledge. "What are they trying to kill? Who else knows about this - the cops? The Feds?"

After her impromptu performance, Pearl guns the rest of her drink and shakes her glass at Carol, then re-engages with the security guard.

"Thanks." She's quiet for a minute while waiting for her next drink.

"You know, I sometimes jog past the chem plant. It stinks so bad but when the wind blows out of the south its not bad and actually a peaceful area of town - no problems for someone like me running alone, if you get me." She smiles at Carol and thanks her for the refill.

"It's kinda weird there now, with so many more guards and dogs and all. What's up with that?"

Pearl hasn't sung in days, which is unusual, but in the wake of Mama's death and all the trauma since then, her muse has been silent. Truth told she wouldn't have imagined breaking into song now, in this dump full of unlikely characters, but the whiskey was hitting her hard, and she felt something stir in her soul, something spiritual. She thought of Mama and felt like she would cry if she could not put her emotions to the refrain resounding in her head.

It was spontaneous, soft, authentic, and beautiful. It wasn't for this stranger or for any of her new acquaintances. This was for her.

Perform: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (20) + 9 = 29

Pearl's performance

"I'm Stacey," says Pearl, offering her stage name and a hand to shake. She waits for him to return the introduction before continuing.

"You must've just got off work, huh? Normally I'd just be getting ready to go in, but no gig tonight." She sips her drink and small-talks a little bit.

"So what factory do you work at?"

In an effort to speed up the dialog...
Diplomacy (Charm males): 1d20 + 6 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 6 + 3 = 21

Pearl offers a quirky grin. "You need mace for your job? Sugar, I sing and flash my t$!% for a living, and I don't carry that stuff. What do you do that's so dangerous?"

Pearl winks at the bouncer and sizes up the bar. It's full of odd ducks, she decides, and approaches the bar, sidling up to the guy with the blue dress pants.

"Carol, would you believe that nice man at the door bought me a drink. I'll have a whiskey lemonade." She looks at the man next to her and then adds, "Make it stiff."

Her eyes settle on the can of mace. "Hi. What's with that? Afraid the local girls bite?"

How old is this guy and what does he look like? Clean shaven, bookish, serious, etc? I mentioned earlier that anyone local to New Orleans may know who Pearl as her stage persona. Reputation is +5

"I'm a Mac's virgin," Pearl replies, smiling with her eyes. "But I'll come again if my friends and I have a good time tonight." Every word drips copiously with innuendo. She leads Creighton by the hand and touches the bouncer's arm on her way in. "Later, sugar."

Since we're going to the bar first, Pearl still wears her white crop top and torn jean shorts.

"Take me with you," Pearl whispers to Creighton. She looks at Wraith. "I can't stay here alone with these crazy mercenaries."

Pearl follows through on the promise of coffee and pizza for the neighbor and returns to be amused at Creighton's suggestion that he owns a suit.

She reaches into her satchel for her black dress, which is all about the goods without giving too much away for free.

"I'll get changed, but I'm not walking far in these heels. Do we have a car?"

"He wants to save the planet or some s#+&," responds Pearl. "I don't know if we need to go back and talk to him again right now, but I got the picture he'd be willing to jump down into the s~!#hole the next time you boys wanna get ripe."

"Uhh, okay. I'll tell the guys you're in to help the next time they want to go wreck s~$#."

Pearl heads back to Lou's house and walks in the door. "Hey guys, what's C-4? That sketchy weirdo next door has a crate of it serving as a table where he keeps his pizza."

"Probably. Look, if you can shoot more than windows with that thing why don't you strap on and help us kill whatever is snatching all the people around this neighborhood. I'll buy ya a f#@~in' pizza, if that will help you make up your f@+&in' mind."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26

If this guy is a dead end Pearl bails and joins the others back at the house for wherever we're going next. Don't want to drag this out.

yeah we're sort of ret-conning this interaction.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

"Mister, do I look like I could grab you? Who the hell are you talking about?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18

"Of course they're short-staffed. The world is going to hell," Pearl replies to her new companions' s!$~ty attitudes. "You think people want that job? What are we doin' here? Trying to make a f&+#in' difference, I s'pose. Same as most of them. Y'all lived in the ghetto. You know it ain't f$$@in' Disneyland. More kids either dropped out or died than graduated in my class, and I was one of them that dropped out. S&!! is real and I don't rag on the cops for not wanting to deal with all of it and preferring to go home to their families rather than crawl into some f+~!in' sewer on the word of some meth head."

Pearl storms out of Lou's place and swears never to set foot in that dump again as long as she lives. "Let's f~**in' go wherever we're going already."

Honestly, it would be good to get more from GM in general. This group of players is rp-ing the hell out of this game. It would be nice to feel rewarded for that time and effort.