Briar didn't particularly need anything else in the closet, he could get more clothes and he didn't have any particular qualms about being seen in his current attire. Dying in a fire because he wanted a sweater didn't seem like an equitable arrangement.
"A book?!" Robert asked disbelievingly as Briar stuffed the tome under one arm.
"You really needed a book that badly!?" Briar didn't really bother to grace that with a sensible reply, partly because his friend was right, and partly because he wasn't really sure why he'd grabbed the old book himself. Stepping up beside the door to the rest of the dorms he palmed it for heat and turned it open, ushering in a pall of smoke and a few coarse yells from other half-awake students.
"Well come on then, let's get the hell out of here!" He called back to Robert
Robert growled a number of thankfully unintelligible oaths and left with Briar, keeping his head low and out of the smoke as much as possible.
[Building Structure [Threshold 50] 4 (margin 46: Complete success)]
The pair of them joined a rapidly growing throng of university students, streaming through the halls and down the stairs as quickly as they could, pushing their way down the building to safety.
Well, to perceived safety anyway.
Briar and Robert had made it down with the others to the third floor without incident, sweating in the intensifying heat as they made their way down the stairs to the second floor. Their path however became completely blocked by a wall of other half-dressed students, all standing and staring at the inferno that was the second story beneath them.
The wood and glass of the stairwell door was all that held the fire back from the third story, it's pane cracked from the furnace fire heat of the blaze that gnawed at it.
"The windows, we can still jump!" Someone said desperately from beside Briar.
"From thirty feet? Are you mad?" Another of the students shot back.
"Break my legs or burn to death?" Said a student said from the opposite side.
"I'm breaking my damn legs." There seemed to be a lot of general approval of that sentiment and several people already begin to turn to streak off and find windows to hurl themselves out of. [Knowledge 24 (Margin 11: Success)] Briar's brow furrows for a moment, working out the equations mentally for a fall of that height... it isn't pretty.
"Briar" Robert says cautiously from beside him.
"You're wearing the face that tells me you're about to try something stupid."((Damage mult for the fall revealed: x2, x3 if you strike a hard surface. Rolled versus athletics or endure, whichever is higher. This particular fall has a 9/10 chance to bring you to death's door -I.e Force the live/die roll-, worse if you strike a hard surface.))
Location: Miskatonic Dormitory, third floor.
Status Affects: Painkillers (9) Health: 40/40
Sanity: 70/70
Head: Reading glasses (No spots)
Body: Black Houseshirt (No spots)
Legs: Black pants (4 Small)
Feet: Brown Shoes (No Spots)
L. Hand: Strange Tome (Needs medium spot, 2 pounds, can be read)
R. Hand: Empty
Other Worn items:
Wristwatch
Carried Weight: 3/35
Available Spots: 2 Small
Inv:
Painkillers (9 doses, in pants pocket)
Wallet ($50 in small bills, in pants pocket)
The stairwell is packed with people, the door to the second floor is holding a fire (inferno) back.
Robert Denver (Close Friend) is here.
There are many panicked people here.
The building is on fire and is structurally unsound.
Loose Items,
(Unsearched)
Closed Containers,
None
---~~~---
Clay did his best to calmly advise the operator of what should be pretty damn obvious to someone with his job, call everyone and anyone who might possibly be able to help with a fire. The fire department, the police, his aunty Ginny if it came down to that, just get help!
Leaving the man on the other end sounding slightly less helpless Clayton hung up. It wasn't as if he could somehow infuse the man with a spine merely by being there for him and telling him what to do. Instead he started looking about for something, anything to use as heavy bludgeon. If he couldn't call anybody useful then the only person he knew of that could possibly help was... himself. [Observation 8 (margin 42: Complete success)]
Clay was fairly certain that nothing in the curator's office would be useful for fighting fires, there was however a brand-new fire extinguisher at the entrance to the primary library. Just because the librarians were paranoid beyond all reason didn't mean that their plan of universal preparedness didn't have its uses.
Not bothering to close the door behind him Clay sprinted out of the office, practically striking sparks from the marble steps as he sprinted up the flight of stairs to haul the heavy brass Acidized Soda-water extinguisher from its hook. Nearly dropping it as its full weight settled into his arms.
Christ this thing was heavy.
((Soda-water based Fire Extinguisher added))
Location: Inside the Miskatonic Library, stairway to the main library.
Status Affects: None
Health: 50/50
Sanity: 50/50
Head: Hair (No spots)
Body: Dress shirt (1 V.Small), Greatcoat (2 medium, 4 small, 4 V.Small, 2 pounds)
Legs: Brown slacks (2 Small)
Feet: Brown Shoes (No Spots)
L. Hand: Brass fire extinguisher (35/35 40lbs)
R. Hand: Brass fire extinguisher (35/35 40lbs)
Other Worn items:
Wedding Band
Carried Weight: 42/35 (Encumbered)
Available Spots: 3 Very Small, 5 Small, 2 medium, both hands
Inv:
Silver Pocket Watch (V.Small Coat pocket)
Pen (V.Small Dress shirt pocket)
Wallet (Small, slacks pocket, contains $100 in small bills)
You're standing at the top of the marble stairs to the Primary Library. The hallway continues east into the library, and west down the stairs to the exit.
---~~~---
David decided on a more charming method of inquiry, this was a glorified whore-house and if it was female it was probably for sale.
Not that David's meager pocketbook could afford their rates.
"A drink sounds wonderful." David said, lowering his extended hand and gesturing eloquently to the bar.
"In fact, why not make it two?" He smiled in an attempt to achieve a winning expression.
"There isn't anything against you having a drink or two with a patron is there?" [Persuasion 15 (margin 15: Success)]
The serving girl's cracked facade of calm repairs itself the instant Hadjem stops asking direct questions, the cracks are still there though, just waiting for the right impact to make them shatter.
"Why no sir, I don't think there is." she said, smiling at David in a surprisingly sunny way as he led the way to the bar of well stocked illicit alcohol.
"People here call me Angie" David tried not to wince at the prices before ordering a pair of drinks of intermediate quality, damn the noble experiment and the expenses it brought.
"Short for Angel by any chance?" David said as he handed one the small glasses of moonshine to Angie.
She laughed in feigned astonishment.
"Why no sir, but it's very sweet of you to say." She sipped the drink politely, more wetting her lips against it than anything else.
"I'm curious, so stop me if I go to far, but what takes a pretty girl like you and puts he serving drinks here?" David said, making small talk until an opening presented itself.
She shrugged and grinned impishly
"It pays well, and serving drinks is a nice break from the stages." "You, ah, dance here as well?" David asked, his voice tinged with a note of genuine surprise.
"Most of us do," she laughed brightly before falling into a mock pout
"but I'm hurt that you wouldn't recognize me, I danced with Moon pretty often." David smiled, he had a name now.
"Moon? Ah yes! That was the lovely woman's name. He said with false surprise,
"I'm sorry I didn't recognize you as you are but you look... different with... clothes." Her smile moved from natural to frozen the instant she realized her slip, melting into an almost sympathetic expression a moment later.
Yes I imagine I do..." She frowned and took and her first real drink of the moonshine David bought her.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you, but Moon left recently. I don't think she'll be coming back."(($20 removed))
Location: Inside the Dancing Saint, The Bar.
Status Affects: None
Health: Base 50/50
Sanity: Base 45/45
Head: Fedora (No spots)
Body: Dress shirt (1 V.Small), Trenchcoat (2 medium, 2 small), Concealed Shoulder holster (1 small)
Legs: Black Suspenders (2 Small)
Feet: Black Shoes (No Spots)
L. Hand: Glass of excellent quality moonshine, full.
R. Hand: Empty
Other Worn items:
None
Carried Weight: 3/45
Available Spots: 1 V.Small, 2 Medium, both hands
Inv:
Pocket Watch (V.Small pants pocket)
Pen (V.Small coat pocket)
notepad (V.Small coat pocket)
Wallet (Small, pants pocket, contains $30 in small bills)
Colt detective special (6/6, Small, Shoulder holster, 2 pounds)
Loose .38 special rounds (13, small, coat pocket)
You're at the bar of the dancing saint, there are drinks ranging in price from $5 to $50 a glass up front. There are a great many people here. There are many chairs, tables, and sofas. Partitions have been erected to separate stages and the seating surrounding them from each other.
"Angie" (Callgirl, acquaintance) is here with you.
You can see several bouncers from where you are. (Observation check required for specific count)
There is an exit at the north of the building.
There is a guarded door leading up to the rentable rooms.
There is an unguarded side-door on the east side of the room.
There is a guarded door marked for employees at the south end of the room.
There is a bathroom on the west side of the room.
Loose Items
Unsearched, All have owners nearby
Closed containers
Unknown, Multiple, all have owners nearby.
---~~~---
Patric Shouldered the improvised bodybag and followed Angelo down the hall, heading for the door that led out to the back alleys. One in the morning would mean the streets would be empty, and any that caught a glimpse of them from the irregular alleys would be hard pressed to see more than a person with a bundle walking beside a person without a bundle.
That was the general idea anyway.
"Angelo," Patric asked quietly as Angelo opened the backdoor for him,
"how long did it take you to... get used to these things? I mean if he isn't crazy its even more messed up..." Angelo was silent for a moment as he led Patric down the alley, walking as purposefully as any man with lawful intent.
"Can't say that I got used to it. Tragedy still makes me creep." He held a hand up for Patric stop for a moment as a snatch of sound floats into the alley. After a moment it passed by and Angelo ushered Patric to follow again.
"I just understand why he does it now." "And why does he do it?" Patric asked as he readjusted the weight on his shoulder.
"To keep everyone else off balance, to keep everyone afraid of what he'll do next." Angelo grunted in a way that could have been a laugh.
"He's not right in the head, the way he's able to do it without hesitation, but he ain't crazy. Here, be quiet now, we're crossing the street. Walk like you've got a reason." [Luck [Threshold 50] 18 (Margin 32: Complete Success)]
The lamplit street was mercifully empty as Angelo and Patric crossed, shoe heels clicking loudly on the almost unnaturally silent street.
"There." Angelo breathed as he and Patric entered the cover of a few decorative trees and stepped though the mouth of the alley on the opposite side of the street.
"That's the only time we have to be in the open when taking this route." "You sound like we're going to be doing this again..." Patric said softly when Angelo finished.
"Heh. We will. Assuming you don't tender your resignation to the boss." Patric wasn't sure he wanted to know what Tragedy did to people who resigned their posts, as far as he knew it never happened. People left from time to time, but he'd never heard about anyone actually resigning. That wasn't something he wanted to think on for too long.
A couple of buildings later Angelo called a stop behind a plain looking house, floral curtains in the windows, tidy exterior. Hardly a likely looking place for a body dump.
"Hold still and don't make any sudden moves, they're a little jumpy around strangers." "They?" Patric asked.
"Be Still." Angelo commanded as he knocked on the back of the house four times, two quick and then a long pause between the next two.
A silhouette appeared almost instantly in the floral window, looking much less homey and welcoming with its addition. After a minute of stillness and waiting a two foot square of the house's back wall began to slide back into the house, revealing a chute just large enough to fit the body through comfortably.
"What happened to the other one? The girl was easier to look at." Asked an unfamiliar and harsh voice from the other side of the false wall.
"She's in the bag." Angelo replied without emotion.
"This one is my new assistant." The voice tsked to itself briefly.
"Don't like him, looks like trouble." "You'll get used to him." Angelo said brusquely
"Now are you ready for the package or not?" "Of course, push her on in and stop standing around like a pair of monkeys in bad suits. Give my regards to Tragedy." Taking that as his cue Patric slung the carpeted body off his shoulder and began feeding it through the hole, pushing her into the back of the house until another pair of hands grabbed it from the inside and hauled it the rest of the way.
"Time to go kid," Angelo said as he pressed Patric back down the alley
"they don't like it when people stick around outside." Patric and Angelo walked in silence back up to where they'd crossed the street before, Angelo stopping and lighting a cigarette at the edge of the trees.
"So. Moment of truth." He said after he'd taken a drag on his cigarette.
"What truth?" Patric asked cautiously.
"Yours. Whether you stay on with us or leave." Angelo said slowly, giving Patric time to let it sink in.
"If you leave, I'll tell Tragedy. You'll never be employed by a Trade run business again, but as along as you don't snitch you won't be bothered." He took another drag and exhaled before continuing.
"You choose to stay and you become a full member, there will be a years wage for you on the table, and your annual pay will be doubled. Take your pick." ((Trade knowledge is spoilerized below since it didn't make much sense for you to ask about them))
The Trades are the crime family of Arkham, notably for being exceptionally pragmatic and for their deep connections with local business.
The Trades are responsible for a large part of the reason why Arkham has weathered the depression better than most other communities, holding together the face of business through a safety net of grey and black sub-enterprises. The living Trades, Malachi, Bernard, Anthony, and Sasha each control a portion of the business. Malachi runs most of the face of Trade enterprises, controlling the white assets as well as the smuggling. Bernard controls most of the production assets, drugs, firearms, alcohol, and the fencing of stolen goods. Anthony keeps a tight control over most of the black and grey assets, the thieves, the clubs, the swindlers, the corrupt judges, etc. The adopted sibling Sasha runs the enforcers and the silencers, motivating the debtors and removing anything extraneous from the equation.
The Trade family is currently near invincible, the depression ensures that any act against them by the city would be an action of mutual destruction. The two have become linked so inextricably that the fall of one would almost certainly topple the other.
Street
Status Affects: None
Health: 75/75
Sanity: 55/55
Head: Hair (No spots)
Body: Cheap Suit (2 small, 1 V.Small)
Legs: Tan Slacks (2 Small)
Feet: Black Shoes (No Spots)
L. Hand: Empty
R. Hand: Empty
Other Worn items:
Wristwatch
Carried Weight: 2/55
Available Spots:
Inv:
Brass Knuckles (V.Small, Slacks pocket, 1 pound)
Wallet (Small, Slacks pocket, $50)
There are several decorative trees around you. There are several houses to the South, there is a church to the North.
Angelo (Co-Worker) is here
Loose Items,
Rubbish
A heavy stick
Author
Topic: City of Madness; Arkham. Ch. 1: The Lord of Broken Song (Read 30321 times)