DarkMatter D20: Drunk Southern Girls with Guns ... UPDATED - 8/18/05!
- Thread starter jonrog1
- Start date
DARK CANADA, EH?
Chapter 1
One dark, snowy night, on the fourth floor of a prestigious Toronto museum, in one of the smaller gallery rooms, a young journalist regarded his reflection in the display case and sighed.
Flynn had just met up with an old University friend. The fellow had put on quite a few pounds while Flynn had kept his same athletic shape from his Naval Officer days, but it had been cold comfort ... the man's hair was still thick and magnificent. And everyone knew, that's what really counted. Flynn ran a hand over his buzz cut, noting the rising forehead. Damn Rogers. Damn his hair ...
Across the room, Jo rapped on the glass case around Napoleonic silverware. Denis turned to her. "It's not an aquarium."
"I'd enjoy an aquarium more." Jo yawned, moving to the next display more out of a need to keep from dozing off than any real interest. Ross and Andy stood nearby, admiring some ancient rapiers.
"Can't believe Stephen got out of this Hoffman conference," Andy muttered.
"Hey, he's spending the weekend cutting up dead bodies, hardly a vacation. " Ross pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. Off Andy's look: "Stephen left me Jo's medication schedule."
"Paranoid enough?" Andy snorted. "He didn't need to write out the entire week."
"That's not the week. That's just one day." Ross ignored Andy's stare, flipped over the schedule to read the back. Andy was distracted by a gaggle of Catholic schoolgirls standing by another of the display cases. One glanced at him, giggled shyly. Andy grinned. It was the eyepatch. Chicks dig the eyepatch ...
Andy looked up as the "MUSEUM CLOSING" announcement echoed from tinny speakers. He let his gaze fall over the other museum patrons. A middle-aged African-American couple, some German tourists, the schoolgirls of course, a shuffling young homeless man in a trenchcoat, a few other Asian tourists, the padlocked doors...
Andy blinked. The doors to the gallery room had been chained and padlocked from the inside. They were in an odd little blindspot behind a case, so no one else had noticed. Andy quickly looked to the only other exit from the room. The emergency exit to the internal fire stairs was unblocked -- for now. Andy shook Ross' arm. "We may have a problem --"
At that, the young, filthy homeless man in the trenchcoat stepped in front of the fire exit. Ross spotted the chained front doors, saw the homeless guy blocking the back exit, and immediately all that Special Forces training he'd had from Hoffman kicked in. Before the others could react, Ross CHARGED across the room and PLOWED into the trench-coated man.
"Ross, are you NUTS?" Jo yelled.
"Ross, PLEASE," Denis grumbled.
"Ross, you don't need to --" Andy began ...
The trenchcoated man threw Ross like a ragdoll, bouncing all 200-odd pounds of him off the wall behind. In the same fluid moment, the trenchcoat fell away to reveal a bizarre harness wrapped around the man's torso. It was a mess of duct tape and wiring and plastic bottles of chemicals.
Bomb.
(DM's Note: This elicited one of the big quotes from the night: "Oh sure, Ross is an @#$hole for tackling the homeless guy, but when he has a bomb, nobody thanks him ...")
Time stopped for a moment as everyone dealt with this revelation. Jo reacted first, reaching for her twin 9 mils ...
... and coming up empty. "Damn Canada," she thought, "and their filthy European gun laws!" The Hoffman agents were completely unarmed, but for their wits and training.
Andy eased forward, "Okay, buddy, you just tell us what you want. We'll give it to you."
The Bomber's eyes, barely focused, tracked to Andy. "I want ..."
"You got it, whatever."
"... I want ..."
Andy held both hands open. "Right away, sahib, you just say the word."
"I want ... THE HOLY GRAIL!"
Beat. Andy nodded. "Ah. So much for that plan."
At that, the Bomber threw a switch on his chest. The timer began running. 60, 59, 58, 57 ...
(I believe my exact words were: "How long is sixty seconds? Ten rounds? Good luck, kids.")
Several things happened at once. The schoolgirls screamed. Most of the tourists dove behind the glass display cases for cover -- little realizing that if the bomb did go off, thise cases would become shrapnel fields of metal, wood splinters and broken glass.
Ross threw himself against the fire doors, wedging them open. "Everyone OUT!" Jo rushed foreward, clawing at the wires on the Bomber's chest. Denis, behind her, winced. He was fairly sure he was the only one in the room with Demolitions training. If Jo pulled the wrong wire ...
Andy also rushed the Bomber, trying to grapple his hands away from the Bomb. Behind him, he heard a crash. Someone he didn't know had smashed a display case.
Flynn raised a randomly selected silver goblet from the Napoleonic Collection high over his head. "Behold!" Flynn bellowed, his voice ringing with drama. "The Holy Grail!" Unfortunately, the Bomber ignored him, grappling with Jo and Andy. Flynn waved the cup again. "Hey. Over here. Holy Grail." No reponse. "Grail here. Hello?"
Jo had both arms wrapped around the Bomber's right arm. The man was supernaturally strong, obviously driven by adrenaline and madness. She watched as the timer spun down past forty seconds. "Is there -- any way -- " she yelled to Andy over the struggle, "-- this could get -- worse?"
At that, the Bomber locked his right hand around Jo's throat. She gasped. It wasn't his grip, he wasn't choking her, but ...
Andy, wrapped around the Bomber's other arm, was close enough to see Jo's skin go grey. Her eyes rolled back in her head. At her temples, some of her long brown hair turned white ...
TO BE CONTINUED
Chapter 1
One dark, snowy night, on the fourth floor of a prestigious Toronto museum, in one of the smaller gallery rooms, a young journalist regarded his reflection in the display case and sighed.
Flynn had just met up with an old University friend. The fellow had put on quite a few pounds while Flynn had kept his same athletic shape from his Naval Officer days, but it had been cold comfort ... the man's hair was still thick and magnificent. And everyone knew, that's what really counted. Flynn ran a hand over his buzz cut, noting the rising forehead. Damn Rogers. Damn his hair ...
Across the room, Jo rapped on the glass case around Napoleonic silverware. Denis turned to her. "It's not an aquarium."
"I'd enjoy an aquarium more." Jo yawned, moving to the next display more out of a need to keep from dozing off than any real interest. Ross and Andy stood nearby, admiring some ancient rapiers.
"Can't believe Stephen got out of this Hoffman conference," Andy muttered.
"Hey, he's spending the weekend cutting up dead bodies, hardly a vacation. " Ross pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. Off Andy's look: "Stephen left me Jo's medication schedule."
"Paranoid enough?" Andy snorted. "He didn't need to write out the entire week."
"That's not the week. That's just one day." Ross ignored Andy's stare, flipped over the schedule to read the back. Andy was distracted by a gaggle of Catholic schoolgirls standing by another of the display cases. One glanced at him, giggled shyly. Andy grinned. It was the eyepatch. Chicks dig the eyepatch ...
Andy looked up as the "MUSEUM CLOSING" announcement echoed from tinny speakers. He let his gaze fall over the other museum patrons. A middle-aged African-American couple, some German tourists, the schoolgirls of course, a shuffling young homeless man in a trenchcoat, a few other Asian tourists, the padlocked doors...
Andy blinked. The doors to the gallery room had been chained and padlocked from the inside. They were in an odd little blindspot behind a case, so no one else had noticed. Andy quickly looked to the only other exit from the room. The emergency exit to the internal fire stairs was unblocked -- for now. Andy shook Ross' arm. "We may have a problem --"
At that, the young, filthy homeless man in the trenchcoat stepped in front of the fire exit. Ross spotted the chained front doors, saw the homeless guy blocking the back exit, and immediately all that Special Forces training he'd had from Hoffman kicked in. Before the others could react, Ross CHARGED across the room and PLOWED into the trench-coated man.
"Ross, are you NUTS?" Jo yelled.
"Ross, PLEASE," Denis grumbled.
"Ross, you don't need to --" Andy began ...
The trenchcoated man threw Ross like a ragdoll, bouncing all 200-odd pounds of him off the wall behind. In the same fluid moment, the trenchcoat fell away to reveal a bizarre harness wrapped around the man's torso. It was a mess of duct tape and wiring and plastic bottles of chemicals.
Bomb.
(DM's Note: This elicited one of the big quotes from the night: "Oh sure, Ross is an @#$hole for tackling the homeless guy, but when he has a bomb, nobody thanks him ...")
Time stopped for a moment as everyone dealt with this revelation. Jo reacted first, reaching for her twin 9 mils ...
... and coming up empty. "Damn Canada," she thought, "and their filthy European gun laws!" The Hoffman agents were completely unarmed, but for their wits and training.
Andy eased forward, "Okay, buddy, you just tell us what you want. We'll give it to you."
The Bomber's eyes, barely focused, tracked to Andy. "I want ..."
"You got it, whatever."
"... I want ..."
Andy held both hands open. "Right away, sahib, you just say the word."
"I want ... THE HOLY GRAIL!"
Beat. Andy nodded. "Ah. So much for that plan."
At that, the Bomber threw a switch on his chest. The timer began running. 60, 59, 58, 57 ...
(I believe my exact words were: "How long is sixty seconds? Ten rounds? Good luck, kids.")
Several things happened at once. The schoolgirls screamed. Most of the tourists dove behind the glass display cases for cover -- little realizing that if the bomb did go off, thise cases would become shrapnel fields of metal, wood splinters and broken glass.
Ross threw himself against the fire doors, wedging them open. "Everyone OUT!" Jo rushed foreward, clawing at the wires on the Bomber's chest. Denis, behind her, winced. He was fairly sure he was the only one in the room with Demolitions training. If Jo pulled the wrong wire ...
Andy also rushed the Bomber, trying to grapple his hands away from the Bomb. Behind him, he heard a crash. Someone he didn't know had smashed a display case.
Flynn raised a randomly selected silver goblet from the Napoleonic Collection high over his head. "Behold!" Flynn bellowed, his voice ringing with drama. "The Holy Grail!" Unfortunately, the Bomber ignored him, grappling with Jo and Andy. Flynn waved the cup again. "Hey. Over here. Holy Grail." No reponse. "Grail here. Hello?"
Jo had both arms wrapped around the Bomber's right arm. The man was supernaturally strong, obviously driven by adrenaline and madness. She watched as the timer spun down past forty seconds. "Is there -- any way -- " she yelled to Andy over the struggle, "-- this could get -- worse?"
At that, the Bomber locked his right hand around Jo's throat. She gasped. It wasn't his grip, he wasn't choking her, but ...
Andy, wrapped around the Bomber's other arm, was close enough to see Jo's skin go grey. Her eyes rolled back in her head. At her temples, some of her long brown hair turned white ...
TO BE CONTINUED
Breakstone
First Post
Wheeee!
Great stuff, Mr. Jonrog!
Great stuff, Mr. Jonrog!
Kanegrundar
Explorer
Thank you, Jonrog! I can't wait for the next post!
Kane
Kane
KidCthulhu
First Post
Poor Jo. First crazy. Then disarmed. Now she's going grey. She just can't catch a break.
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