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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Tickleberry" data-source="post: 305574" data-attributes="member: 1565">Set up!I do believe I have been set up big time. Jasper knew my penchant for keeping a party together and alive. I play mostly rangers, clerics, and rogues. I never play evil characters like assassins; he knows I hate that, so the one stereotype I was likely to pick would be slated as an assassin. My choices? Prom queen, cheerleader, goth girl, nerd girl, and d&d girl. I have another stereo type in mind when I think cheerleader and prom queen (think brainless with attitude), no way whatsoever. Gothic? Nerd? Possible, Gothics though, are anything but cheerful, as far as I know. They wear entirely too many piercings for my peace of mind. Nerd? Yeah, but entirely too close to home (been there, done that, no thank you). That left D&D girl. Who knew? The Assasin? I would have thought that of Goth girl, or nerd girl. D&D girl? Assassin? Okay enough, I'm starting to repeat myself. I decided to go through with it because the experience from this would help Tickleberry keep her crew alive. Why another hobbit? Natural rogues, and an assassin is nothing but a seriously BAAAAD rogue. Plus the hide bonuses are ungodly.Hey, name's Jhenn. Yeah, I know my personality is lovely, been told that many times, what's it to ya? Whatever. Being born short, imaginative, and entirely nonredneck (not to be confused with Southern, there is a difference) in the center of Redneckville is NOT good. So I'm different. Does that give the entire population the right to make my life miserable? I don't think so. While the collective imagination quota for the redneck population is zero, their quorum for compassion is slightly less. I'll have compassion. I won't torture them; I'll simply kill them. Take them completely out of my misery.For this mission, I'm wearing my comfortable, quiet sneakers, switchblade, throwing dagger, my .38 special (with a homemade silencer), and my handbag to hide everything in.I know, a handbag would be the first thing searched, right? That would require intelligence and imagination. Remember the intelligence quota for redneck central is 100, and that has to be shared out over the entire population.  Besides, I've made invisibility a specialty, and a caustic mouth that has kept me untouched through twelve long years of torture.I showed up just in time to hear the coach smoozing all over the one other intelligent being in Redneck land. Unfortunately, he shares the same lack of imagination with the rest of his kin.Can you guess what kind of greeting I got? Hmmm?"Well Miss Ross (he couldn't even get the name right, it's Rawls), don't you look nice? I hear you might graduate this year, too.""Check your roll again, Bub. I'm in the top ten. I aced this place. I won't ever have to see you bunch of losers again." Like I said, I'm so pleasant, he couldn't get rid of me fast enough. He found nothing.Well, Mister Prom Queen, I mean king (not), finally shows up. He tries to bring in a sword and armor to the dance. Sheyeah right. They ALLOW the armor, can you beat it? Maybe he ain't as dumb as I thought, or the coach is dumber. Far more likely the coach is dumber than I thought.Well, with the appearance of mister big shot, the hayride could begin. Probably the first night in my life I'll enjoy with rednecks around.We haven't even gotten halfway down the road when the hobs show up. They're a motorcycle gang with a very even view of society. They hate everybody. They hit a wet patch and a couple pile up. The rest fire crossbows at us. The horses spook, especially when Coach falls off, dead. One less I have to kill myself.The jock thinks this is the perfect time to pick on the nerd. He gets up, reaches over, and falls off. He's off balance once for the careening wagon, twice for being bent over, and thrice for the invisible girl tipping him over. I had hidden down in the hay, where no one could see me. What the hobs can't see, they (theoretically) can't hit.While the hobs are busy with him, we might get away.Mr. Prom King fires a .45 at them. Another hob goes down. How did he, of all people, get a .45 into the dance? He may be more difficult than I thought. I'll have to be careful. He mentions a cell phone. I take care of it for him. Nobody sees the nonentity take it, smash it, and throw it over. They're too concerned with the hobs. Well, they do have some survival instinct.About the time we come in sight of the old King place, Ms. Grey gets the horses under control. There's a moat around it, with an old wooden bridge. I have an idea. Of course, brainiac takes credit for it. He does okay until he calls them "barrels of hay."Our plan is simple. Throw the hay (lighted, of course) onto the bridge to burn it. Hay catches easily, and so does well seasoned wood. It doesn't hurt that one bale catches a large group and causes a pile up.Now that the hobs are taken care of, I turn my attention to the King place. It is probably the one place in town I am genuinely scared of. Oh, the rumors aren't what scare me, though they are interesting. Old man king died a long time ago. I've heard he was murdered in a fascinating array of ways: hanged, shot, disemboweled, you name it. I've heard he committed suicide in just as many. Take your pick. Then there was the girl who axed her parents for freedom. Huh, if they'd been as rough on her as everyone's been on me, can't blame her, though it was very stupid to get caught.No, the scarey part? Drugheads. They can't be reasoned with, they'd kill you as soon as look at you, and might change their mind halfway through. They are completely unpredictable, and that makes them more dangerous than myself.The DEA had rounded up a whole bunch of them out of here not too long ago. Heh, they're like roaches. They could have reinfested this place almost as soon as the drugbusters left. I don't care if there IS a sold sign up. Until new occupants move in, and light this place it is still too dangerous for my taste.Now get this, Ms. Grey wants Prom King to go up there, by himself, and see if we could use a phone. Can we say "guinea pig"? I can also say "opportunity"."Oh great, send him off alone into who knows what. Great idea! There could be crackheads in there for all you know.""For your information, miss smarteypants, the DEA cleaned this place out two weeks ago.""Oh? And they caught every single dopehead  in town? I'm sure! They could have come back since then!""That's okay, I'll go." Sheesh, either he's braver than I thought, stupider, or he has a plan. Maybe he's brave and stupid. Either way, he doesn't come back.Ms. Grey then gets the idea we should all go up there. If I'm smart, I would leave them to it. Nah, they might come out alive. I have to go. It doesn't help that I spot a HUGE fricking rat as soon as I come in the door.The first bit of good news comes when she wants me and Rami, goth boy, to go down to the basement and look for anything to help us. Well, she just helped me, anyway.She gives him a zippo to light our way, and sends us merrily on our way.  Halfway down the stairs, I pull my .38 and silencer out, shooting him in the back. He's still up, and the zippo goes out. I hear him climbing up. If he makes it, I'm toast. I have to take him out. I charge, he's not where I thought he was. I listen, hear, and dodge the kick meant to send me down the stairs. I stab out with my knife. He's not there. It's a waiting game now. He's got to get away from me to survive, and I have to kill him to survive. Whoever makes the first mistake, dies. I hear him, he kicks, and grazes me.  I stab, and kill him. I win.Off in the distance I hear a familiar kaboom. Looks like I'm not the only monster here. I warned them about the crack heads. Did they listen? Noooo. Serves them right. About this time I nearly step in what's left of Ms. Grey. Ugh! I never heard of any crackhead doing that. The woman was cut clear in half! Black Dahlia has NUTHIN on this! I decide it's better to not be seen or heard, and to get the heck outta here.I find the nerd sprayed all over the front steps, cheerleader giblets beyond that, and prom king sliced and diced next to that. Heck, somebody has done it all for me, then I see that somebody. He's huge, wearing a hockey mask, and carrying the biggest axe I 've ever seen. I make a go for it, zigging, zagging, and tumbling out of the way of that axe, and don't make it.Huh, maybe now I can get some peace. At least I was last woman standing! </blockquote>

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