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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Thomas Hobbes" data-source="post: 1108066" data-attributes="member: 8623">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  <a href="http://www.firstworldwar.com/audio/itsalongwaytotipperary.htm" target="_blank">old World War One music hall song he picked up somewhere.</a>  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.</blockquote>

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