CB's Grim Frequencies IC -- COMPLETE

[Shayuri]

Death Otter blinked at the crazy old guy as he waddled off. Usually you had to be on some freeway onramp in the city to get a sideshow like that. But hey, free Dew included! Sadly, Cyril was out too fast for D0 to see what the guy behind the counter would be willing to do. Truth be told, she didn't get a lot of stares like that...but hey, everyone was someone's fetish, right?

As she sauntered out of the gas station, already sipping at the straw of her giant drink, she tallied up the score. Crazy Indian. Free drink. Cyril got his nuts smashed.

Yep, we have a new winner for Best Pee Break Ever. BPBE was dead, long live BPBE.

Funny thing with the lights though.

As Otter piled back into the car, noting with some amusement that Cyril had consigned himself to the dungeon, she went over in her head what might cause that sort of flickery light hoodoo. Leaving out stupid random stuff like brownouts or surges or line noise.

You could, she thought, use a power line to transmit a signal. And if the amplitude of the signal was strong enough, it might cause fluctuations in power to devices served by it. Why in the name of the Spaghetti Monster anyone would want to do that though was beyond her. No one had equipment designed to read signals in power lines. You'd be screaming to a deaf audience.

Induction maybe? Powerful localized EM field? But something like that would affect portable electronics long before it had a noticeable effect on a power line.

Was she overthinking it? Maybe the apparent line noise was just...line noise. But since it seemed to be following them, that'd mean that someone was intentionally causing it. Someone who knew where they were, and had some kind of access...legit or otherwise...to the network that controlled the local power grids. Which they then used to...just sort of troll them?

Again, yeah it was technically possible, but why? Otter was no stranger to elaborate jokes, but generally the more elaborate they were, the better they had to be to make it worthwhile. If she hacked multiple power grids, including one run by the correctional system, while simultaneously keeping tabs on a group of people moving around in a car, you can bet she wouldn't just have 'oooo ghost lights, scaaaaaaaary' in mind. It would have to be epic to justify that level of effort.

Admittedly, not every hacker could boast her work ethic. Still.

Hm. What about the FCC? They'd know where they were going, giving them a good idea of where to look. And they could plausibly have some kind of device that would be powerful enough to make that sort of disruption. A high tech listening device or other remote observation doodad? Some kind of jamming to make sure Otter was playing nice?

Jamming. Hm. That was an interesting notion. She'd have to look into that.

 

[KirayaTiDrekan]

Feral sat up as the others returned, having laid across the back seat somewhat awkwardly, with his feet propped up on the back of the front passenger seat.

He yawned and asked Cyril and Otter, "Everything come out ok?"

 

[Forged Fury]

Cyril sighed. "Fine. Accosted by Apache Chief, but no worse for wear." The former lawyer glanced out the window looking for the clearly drunk native american. "Did anyone see where that dude went? I think he's going to try to wash our windows and ask for a hand-out."

 

[CanadienneBacon]

No one came out of the convenience store other than Cyril and Otter.

 

[Shayuri]

Death Otter shrugs. "He left ahead of me, when I was trying to decide how much I could take the register kid for. Didn't see him after that."

She took a big gulp of her Big Gulp.

"Buuuuuuuut he was telling me to get outta town, so it seems like we should stay for awhile."

 

[Rubberneck]

J.R. hangs up the pump and sees D0 and Cyril exiting the store, he watches D0 as she glances over her shoulder at the store and sips from the gigantic cup of soda she purchased inside, obviously deep in thought. He waves them over ushering them to hurry into the vehicle,

" Alls filled up, let's git back on da road."

J.R. slides in behind the wheel and continues their journey. Most of the group obviously believed the trip to be a waste of time as they either didn't like guns or didn't believe they were necessary. J.R. on the other hand was finally excited about something. It had been way too long since he had been to a range, the feeling of a rifle in his hand, the kick of the weapon, the smell of gunpowder. He could finally show the group what kind of contribution he could offer, other than chauffeur and bullet sponge.

 

[CanadienneBacon]

The Native American mentioned by Cyril never materialized. J.R., T-dawg, and Feral Li look around but see no one. Everyone loaded up in the van. J.R. drove another two miles--one mile to get through town, then another mile into the countryside on the east side of town--then turned right into a short gravel lane that led to a parking lot. The lot was flanked on the left and right by earthen bunkers that stood perhaps fifteen feet tall. A dense copse of trees occupied the terrain beyond the left bunker (on the east). Straight ahead lay a newish polebarn with a concrete foundation, grey metal siding, and a forest green metal roof. A woman in jeans, navy blue polo, Colts ballcap, and cowboy boots stood out front of the polebarn. Her brown hair was tied in a ponytail out the back of her ballcap. She sported a law enforcement badge clipped to her left side, and some kind of handgun in a holster on her right side. J.R. recognized the handgun as a Glock .45.

The woman came forward and offered Feral a hand in greeting. "Hi, I'm Deena. You're the team from Indy?" Deena looked around at the group. Her brown eyes were quick and keen. "I'm told most of you don't know your way around a firearm. We'll fix that, don't you worry." Deena led the way through the polebarn, which looked like half conference room and half administration, into the firing range in the back of the building. Targets had been set up at intervals 25' to 50' distant. An expanse of winterized grass greeted the group. It was cold outside but clear. A series of earthen hillocks surrounded the firing range on all sides.

Deena walked over to a table beneath the polebarn's patio roof. A large outdoor heater was blazing full blast, and a cooler of water stood beside the heater. She pointed to an array of weapons and a pallet of ammunition. "We'll work our way through these, let each of you determine which weapon best suits your arm. There's water, make sure you drink up today. Tomorrow we'll work on technique. The day after, we'll do weapon safety and qualification."

OOC: Deena has all the Handguns that require a License (+1). She does not have any of the four Handguns that are restricted: the Beretta 93R (9mm machine pistol), MAC Ingram M10 (.45 machine pistol), Skorpion (.32 machine pistol), or the TEC-9 (9mm machine pistol). She also has all the Longarms that require a License (+1), but does not have any of the Longarms that are restricted (too many to list, please consult Table 4-4: Ranged Weapons (hardcover pp 96)). Please consult the list of weapons and let me know if any of you wish to select one that you are interested in acquiring. This would be a good time to add such an item to your wish list, if you haven't already.

The first day at the firing range has its episodes of idiocy (feel free to provide descriptive fluff for what your character does today, just please no shooting anyone), and at the end of the day everyone is cold and tired. Deena is an able instructor; she insists on sound-muffling headphones and plastic eye protectors, and even those you who entered the range not being safe within ten feet of a sidearm end the day at least able to hit the target some of the time from the 25' distance interval.

"Good job," Deena says as the sun starts to dip low in the sky. She starts putting away the ammunition first. Deena works quickly and efficiently, but there is a lot to pack up. "Anyone up for BBQ? I know a joint."

OOC: It is 4:00 pm and starting to get dark. BBQ in Indiana is pulled pork with red sauce. Many BBQ places also serve chicken or beef. It most certainly will not, however, be halal.

 

[KirayaTiDrekan]

Feral gives the woman a firm handshake. One of the things he'd learned early on about being a man was that people judged you by your handshake.

Feral had a natural knack for shooting, which surprised him, given his preference for being in someone's face when he was trying to hurt them. He found, however, that even with ear protection the noise bothered him quite a bit. He couldn't help flinching a bit every time someone fired, including himself.

Feral shrugged at the mention of food, "I'm not picky. As long as we can get a corner booth."

 

[gribble]

T-dawg spent most of the day using a huge revolver that looked ridiculously over-sized in anyone else's hands, but like some sort of hold-out pea shooter in his. He wasn't too bad, managing to hit the targets more often than not, though his body language made clear this was something he was doing because he was expected to rather than because he enjoyed it.

At the end of the day he helped Deena put away the ammunition, but in typical fashion he didn't speak to her first and greeted any small talk she tried to make with monosyllable answers.

When Deena mentions a BBQ dinner, his brow creases with the now familiar signs of uncertainty and doubt, but he doesn't immediately answer, instead looking to the others to see how they respond first.

 

[Forged Fury]

Cyril picked through the firearms with disinterest, eventually settling on a Beretta 92F. Mostly because it looked kind of sexy. The Walther PPK called out to him too, but even Cyril could see the ammo capacity was probably insufficient. He wasn't quite as good a shot as James Bond. Yet.

The man picked up the weapon, looked down the barrel, and promptly attempted to spin it on a finger. As one would expect, this ended disastrously, flying off his finger and landing in the dirt. Sheepishly, Cyril reached down to pick it up.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing, idiot?!?" Deena yelled.

Cyril looked up and around to see who had gotten in trouble before realizing that it was, indeed, he. "Uh..."

"Never look down the barrel of a firearm and never, ever spin it on your finger," she chided him. "You don't even know if it's loaded!"

"Well... is it?" he asked.

Deena gave him a dirty look and snatched the weapon out of his hand. Cyril felt like he had scored a point there. After receiving the safety briefing, he finally realized what had pissed Deena off so much. For the rest of the day, Cyril studiously followed all of the rules to the best of his ability. He only accidentally discharged his weapon three times and pointed it at the group once.

Finished with the practice, he was famished. "BBQ sounds awesome, but what about my man, T-Dawg? He can't eat pork. Right?"