Daunte turns to his silent companions, chewing his lip. "So the thing can be burned. You wouldn't happen to have a flamethrower lying around in the back somewhere, huh Mabel?" He taps his chin in thought for a minute, turns to the door he'd come through minutes ago. "Though there might be something useful in the store. Someone give me a hand in there?" he requested, hefting his flashlight and going back to the store, looking for anything that can generate heat: torches, matches, whatever.
Exit 23
- Thread starter Jarval
- Start date
Vardeman
First Post
Hearing all the talk about heat and fire and flamethrowers, Danny ponders using some parts of the kitchen to cobble together a crude flamethrower. Propane cylinder, some length of hose, and a pipe, along with his lighter for an igniter might make a start.
(ooc: craft(mechanical) = 5)
V
(ooc: craft(mechanical) = 5)
V
Jarval
Explorer
Danny's investigation of the kitchen turns up a short length of rubber hosing and a nozzle for an icing gun, both of which seem pretty suitable for his plans. Unfortunately, there's no sign of any suitable fuel in the kitchen...
Meanwhile, Daunte has gone back into the store, checking around the shelves. The store has yielded quite a haul in the flammability stakes. There are matches, several disposable lighters, a couple of camping stove gas cylinders at the back, some still unburnt (if slightly damp) magazines and newspapers, and quite a few varieties of aerosol deodorants.
OOC: And yet again, I've got to go away for a few days. I'll be gone from the 21st until the 29th, and it's not too likely that I'll get any updates in. Sorry about all of the interruptions the game's had of late, but once I'm the other side of this trip, I should be able to get things back to a regular update schedule.
Meanwhile, Daunte has gone back into the store, checking around the shelves. The store has yielded quite a haul in the flammability stakes. There are matches, several disposable lighters, a couple of camping stove gas cylinders at the back, some still unburnt (if slightly damp) magazines and newspapers, and quite a few varieties of aerosol deodorants.
OOC: And yet again, I've got to go away for a few days. I'll be gone from the 21st until the 29th, and it's not too likely that I'll get any updates in. Sorry about all of the interruptions the game's had of late, but once I'm the other side of this trip, I should be able to get things back to a regular update schedule.
Daunte collects all the flammable items into a container of some sort for ease of carrying, carting them back into the diner area. "So? Think this'll be enough to take down a demon?" he asks with a grin, trying to keep the tone light. Bending his knees, he deposits the stuff on the counter. "I'm particularly enamoured with this baby." He lightly taps the gas cylinder. "Now we're cooking with gas!"
ErichDragon
First Post
"There is a flare gun in my Jeep that would probably do some damage to an Ice Demon....my god, I can't believe I just said that."
Daunte shrugs and grins lopsidedly. "I know what you mean. Think you can get to the flare gun? Last time you guys went out there, the demon attacked you, didn't it? Maybe we should see what we can put together with this stuff, go for the flares when we're armed. What do you think, officer?"
I'll update once I know what you folks plan to do, and things should start going at a decent pace again. Sorry about all the recent interruptions, but I've been having a busy few months.OOC: Daunte would ideally like to get a flamethrower type weapon, but lacks the know-how to create one himself. If someone else can put one together, fine. Otherwise, he'll try to arm himself with makeshift torches made from rolled up magazines. He'll also keep the matches. After we've all got some way of defending ourselves, we can go get the flare, and finally chase after the demon. That's the way Daunte sees it, anyhow.
Thomas Hobbes
First Post
John had raised both his eyebrows at the trucker's first mention of the demon, and then fallen silent, deep in thought. His mind went around in circles, running something like this.
Phhhp. Demons. Riiight.
Then what killed those people?
What, people can't wield butcher knives anymore?
And the ice?
Hell, I could pull that chemistry trick.
And the wolf?
So a wolf went rabid. Coincidence.
And the snow globe?
At this point he started to waver. No snow globe was made of the gas station, as far as he could tell. So how did this man come into possesion of one? Sensing weakness, one side of the argument pushed on against the other's increasingly feeble replies.
He could've had one made.
Right. And then bring it here specifically to get stabbed. Look, there are too many coincidences to be coincidences anymore. Riley's stuff corroborates what the trucker said. Either he's telling the truth, or they corroborated beforehand to pull off this whole stunt. And considering acting out the stunt resulted in several people dead and no real gain in sight, either you're dealing with complete nutcases or demons.
Phhhp. Demons. Riiight.
And so it went for several roundabouts. Until, finally:
Phhhp. Demons. Riiig-
Look, just shut the F*** up, would you? It's staring you right in the face! Psychos or demons, either of which is dangerous. So why don't you do something USEFUL for once and help the other arm themselves? Jesus christ....
John snapped out of himself. Not only had he lost several minutes review his internal monologue, and not only had that monologue become a dialogue, but one side of the dialogue had become abusive.
Right. Must be stressed. Hoping to distract himself, he strides quickly and starts rumaging through the kitchen. He even starts wistling an old World War One music hall song he picked up somewhere. As he does, he tries to remember back to his year as a senior in college, where he had known an eccentric chemistry professor named Mr. Garber. Mr. Garber had always joked in class, wore a funny blue labcoat, and drank odd-colored liquids out of a glass beaker during lectures. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, which meant John had often ended up receiving a telling-off (being slightly foolish himself), but they had been friendly with each other.
One odd night, John had met him in a bar. Thoroughly sloshed, the professor had thrown one arm over his shoulder and began describing “his old revolutionary days,” which seemed to have taken place in a South American country, although Mr. Garber was vague on details. Bemused, and not knowing whether or not to believe a word of it, John had listened as Garber had detailed how to set up an ambush, forage for supplies, and build high explosives out of common household products.
It was this last that John tried to recall, as he grabbed some dishwashing soap from under the sink. When done, he places the massive medley of containers from all corners of the rest stop on one of the tables. He then walks apologetically over to Mabel. “Excuse me ma’am, but I’ll need some glass bottles. Full or otherwise, if you don’t mind losing the contents."
Ooc: Using his 1337 Craft: Chemical skills and taking 10, John will make as many Molotov cocktails as he can scrape together from the supplies in the rest stop, and any extra glass bottles. For fire safety reasons, he insists that if possible they confront the “madman” outside if possible. While getting the flaregun, he could fill any of the extra glass bottles with gasoline from the pumps.
Phhhp. Demons. Riiight.
Then what killed those people?
What, people can't wield butcher knives anymore?
And the ice?
Hell, I could pull that chemistry trick.
And the wolf?
So a wolf went rabid. Coincidence.
And the snow globe?
At this point he started to waver. No snow globe was made of the gas station, as far as he could tell. So how did this man come into possesion of one? Sensing weakness, one side of the argument pushed on against the other's increasingly feeble replies.
He could've had one made.
Right. And then bring it here specifically to get stabbed. Look, there are too many coincidences to be coincidences anymore. Riley's stuff corroborates what the trucker said. Either he's telling the truth, or they corroborated beforehand to pull off this whole stunt. And considering acting out the stunt resulted in several people dead and no real gain in sight, either you're dealing with complete nutcases or demons.
Phhhp. Demons. Riiight.
And so it went for several roundabouts. Until, finally:
Phhhp. Demons. Riiig-
Look, just shut the F*** up, would you? It's staring you right in the face! Psychos or demons, either of which is dangerous. So why don't you do something USEFUL for once and help the other arm themselves? Jesus christ....
John snapped out of himself. Not only had he lost several minutes review his internal monologue, and not only had that monologue become a dialogue, but one side of the dialogue had become abusive.
Right. Must be stressed. Hoping to distract himself, he strides quickly and starts rumaging through the kitchen. He even starts wistling an old World War One music hall song he picked up somewhere. As he does, he tries to remember back to his year as a senior in college, where he had known an eccentric chemistry professor named Mr. Garber. Mr. Garber had always joked in class, wore a funny blue labcoat, and drank odd-colored liquids out of a glass beaker during lectures. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, which meant John had often ended up receiving a telling-off (being slightly foolish himself), but they had been friendly with each other.
One odd night, John had met him in a bar. Thoroughly sloshed, the professor had thrown one arm over his shoulder and began describing “his old revolutionary days,” which seemed to have taken place in a South American country, although Mr. Garber was vague on details. Bemused, and not knowing whether or not to believe a word of it, John had listened as Garber had detailed how to set up an ambush, forage for supplies, and build high explosives out of common household products.
It was this last that John tried to recall, as he grabbed some dishwashing soap from under the sink. When done, he places the massive medley of containers from all corners of the rest stop on one of the tables. He then walks apologetically over to Mabel. “Excuse me ma’am, but I’ll need some glass bottles. Full or otherwise, if you don’t mind losing the contents."
Ooc: Using his 1337 Craft: Chemical skills and taking 10, John will make as many Molotov cocktails as he can scrape together from the supplies in the rest stop, and any extra glass bottles. For fire safety reasons, he insists that if possible they confront the “madman” outside if possible. While getting the flaregun, he could fill any of the extra glass bottles with gasoline from the pumps.
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