Medallions d20 Modern (Update Wednesday 09-20-06)
- Thread starter Old Drew Id
- Start date
ledded
Herder of monkies
Eyas said:
Oh, funny thing is, that's not the half of it. He had to clean it up a lot for the SH... for some reason we are all really growing to like this character even though she is so abusive. I can't ever decide (IC) if Willie should laugh or pistol-whip her with my .44 ;^)
Heh. Trust me. Stay tuned for this one.
Old Drew Id
First Post
Re: Re: Session 3 (5/21/2003) Lunch-And-Learn
Oh, trust me, everyone at the table thought it was a bad idea, but there was this almost morbid sense of curiosity to see just how much trouble he could get himself into.
Spatula said:
Oh, trust me, everyone at the table thought it was a bad idea, but there was this almost morbid sense of curiosity to see just how much trouble he could get himself into.
Old Drew Id
First Post
Session 3 (5/21/2003) Human Resources
Session 3 (5/21/2003) Human Resources
“So you understand that the hours for this job are seven at night until four in the morning, Monday through Friday?” The woman was old, with skin like leather, and hair was wildly sprouting out in several directions, and tinted strongly blue and gray, which Joe decided looked a lot like a hairy version of the Franklin Mint Civil War chess set playing a match across the top of her head.
“Yes, ma’am,” Joe fidgeted with the tight sweat-stained collar on his shirt. He hated these stupid tight-collared button-down shirts. He knew he probably had pit-stains down to his waist. Here he was, the Sorcerer Supreme of the whole planet, and he had to wear one of these uncomfortable shirts to get a job. Besides, if he was just applying for a job as a janitor, why did he have to look all spiffy?
“And that you make $5.15 an hour and you get paid every two weeks?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joe nodded. He pulled on his tie to try to loosen up the collar on his shirt, but then the clip came loose and he was suddenly holding the whole thing limply in his hand. The interviewer just stared at him as he snagged the clip-on back onto his collar as best he could. Stupid tie…what janitor wears a tie anyway?
“Okay, let’s see what else then…are you an alien?”
“What?!” This was great, Joe thought, here he was trying to get a job at this place, trapped in this little room with this woman, and it turns out she’s a mind-sucking alien planning to eat his brains. Probably working for the government, too. Well, she wouldn’t get his brain! He started to reach for his pistol and realized that Taylor had made him leave his backpack in the car.
“Are you a resident alien? You did not check on the form whether you were an American citizen or a resident alien.”
“Um…no, I’m not an alien.” Joe answered, and his heart returned to a normal pace. Not that you would be able to tell, of course, he thought. They look just like the rest of us. That’s part of their whole plan.
“Oh, okay, here we go, and is this your correct social security number?”
“As far as you know.”
“Excuse me?”
“Um…yes it is.” Joe had to play it cool now. Willie and Brother Cooper had told him to keep his answers short and to the point. He shouldn’t say anything he didn’t have to. And of course, Crystal had threatened to give him a bloody nose if he even mentioned conspiracies to the interviewer. He had told her he had recently gained the ability to give himself a bloody nose any time he wanted, but she had just cracked her knuckles, so he left it at that.
“Well…okay then. Can you start on Monday night?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
. . .
Taylor drummed her fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music, “…and boy in back, he say everyone attack, and it turn to barroom bris … barroom bris…”
Willie bit his lip and stared out the window across the street towards the South-Medical parking lot. He reminded himself for the thirteenth time why he normally worked alone, and how he would make sure to not get trapped in a car with anyone when they staked out the Science Center tomorrow night.
Joe had been inside now for twenty minutes. He might well be another half-hour at least. Taylor seemed more than happy to just leave him there to take the bus home, but Willie was a little nervous that the guy would say the wrong thing to the wrong person and wind up running out the front door of the building, with half a dozen guards blazing bullets at him on the way out. Joe just didn’t seem to have that charisma that you needed for these kinds of jobs.
Willie pulled a cigarette out of his pack of Kool’s and scanned the perimeter of the parking lot again, just for good measure. He saw an ashtray near a service entrance and opened the car door. He explained, “Sit tight Tee, I’m gonna go have a smoke, “ and then mumbled, ”at least until this song is over.”
If Taylor noticed what he said, she gave no appearance of it, and waved to him as he got out to go smoke. Willie limped across the parking lot, sticking close to the shade trees as much as possible, just for good practice. And then he saw it.
The car looked expensive. A little sticker in the corner of the window noted that the driver was a South-Medical employee, and the parking spot was a reserved spot for an executive. But the dead giveaway was the license plate. Willie had read that license plate number out to Lucille only a couple of days ago.
Willie was looking at Jack Bolling’s car.
Willie casually lit his cigarette and considered the car for a minute. He would love to get some information from this guy; to find out what he had to do with everything that was going on, what was up with Scorse and the freaky book and the picture from 1924, and what all this crap about coin-collecting and magic medallions was really all about.
Which was fortunate, because the bald guy was walking out the front door of the building right now.
Willie decided to forego subtlety in favor of getting some answers. He leaned against the hood of Bolling’s car, gripped his cane a little more tightly, and continued to casually smoke.
Bolling approached, wearing an Italian designer suit even on a Saturday, and carrying an expensive leather briefcase. He wore mirrored sunglasses, and had his keys and remote out in his hand as he approached.
“Hello, Mr. Bolling.”
Bolling never even looked directly at Willie, as far as he could tell with the mirrored glasses. He used his remote to unlock the car from ten feet away, and never slowed down. He didn’t even look up at Willie as he opened the door and tossed his briefcase inside. He whispered simply, “Not here. Follow me somewhere where we won’t be seen,” and slid into the front seat.
The car started and Willie stepped away as Bolling pulled out of the parking space. “Well…damn,” he mumbled, and then hobbled as quickly as possible (while still trying to maintain a cool and casual look) back to Taylor’s waiting car.
Session 3 (5/21/2003) Human Resources
“So you understand that the hours for this job are seven at night until four in the morning, Monday through Friday?” The woman was old, with skin like leather, and hair was wildly sprouting out in several directions, and tinted strongly blue and gray, which Joe decided looked a lot like a hairy version of the Franklin Mint Civil War chess set playing a match across the top of her head.
“Yes, ma’am,” Joe fidgeted with the tight sweat-stained collar on his shirt. He hated these stupid tight-collared button-down shirts. He knew he probably had pit-stains down to his waist. Here he was, the Sorcerer Supreme of the whole planet, and he had to wear one of these uncomfortable shirts to get a job. Besides, if he was just applying for a job as a janitor, why did he have to look all spiffy?
“And that you make $5.15 an hour and you get paid every two weeks?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joe nodded. He pulled on his tie to try to loosen up the collar on his shirt, but then the clip came loose and he was suddenly holding the whole thing limply in his hand. The interviewer just stared at him as he snagged the clip-on back onto his collar as best he could. Stupid tie…what janitor wears a tie anyway?
“Okay, let’s see what else then…are you an alien?”
“What?!” This was great, Joe thought, here he was trying to get a job at this place, trapped in this little room with this woman, and it turns out she’s a mind-sucking alien planning to eat his brains. Probably working for the government, too. Well, she wouldn’t get his brain! He started to reach for his pistol and realized that Taylor had made him leave his backpack in the car.
“Are you a resident alien? You did not check on the form whether you were an American citizen or a resident alien.”
“Um…no, I’m not an alien.” Joe answered, and his heart returned to a normal pace. Not that you would be able to tell, of course, he thought. They look just like the rest of us. That’s part of their whole plan.
“Oh, okay, here we go, and is this your correct social security number?”
“As far as you know.”
“Excuse me?”
“Um…yes it is.” Joe had to play it cool now. Willie and Brother Cooper had told him to keep his answers short and to the point. He shouldn’t say anything he didn’t have to. And of course, Crystal had threatened to give him a bloody nose if he even mentioned conspiracies to the interviewer. He had told her he had recently gained the ability to give himself a bloody nose any time he wanted, but she had just cracked her knuckles, so he left it at that.
“Well…okay then. Can you start on Monday night?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
. . .
Taylor drummed her fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music, “…and boy in back, he say everyone attack, and it turn to barroom bris … barroom bris…”
Willie bit his lip and stared out the window across the street towards the South-Medical parking lot. He reminded himself for the thirteenth time why he normally worked alone, and how he would make sure to not get trapped in a car with anyone when they staked out the Science Center tomorrow night.
Joe had been inside now for twenty minutes. He might well be another half-hour at least. Taylor seemed more than happy to just leave him there to take the bus home, but Willie was a little nervous that the guy would say the wrong thing to the wrong person and wind up running out the front door of the building, with half a dozen guards blazing bullets at him on the way out. Joe just didn’t seem to have that charisma that you needed for these kinds of jobs.
Willie pulled a cigarette out of his pack of Kool’s and scanned the perimeter of the parking lot again, just for good measure. He saw an ashtray near a service entrance and opened the car door. He explained, “Sit tight Tee, I’m gonna go have a smoke, “ and then mumbled, ”at least until this song is over.”
If Taylor noticed what he said, she gave no appearance of it, and waved to him as he got out to go smoke. Willie limped across the parking lot, sticking close to the shade trees as much as possible, just for good practice. And then he saw it.
The car looked expensive. A little sticker in the corner of the window noted that the driver was a South-Medical employee, and the parking spot was a reserved spot for an executive. But the dead giveaway was the license plate. Willie had read that license plate number out to Lucille only a couple of days ago.
Willie was looking at Jack Bolling’s car.
Willie casually lit his cigarette and considered the car for a minute. He would love to get some information from this guy; to find out what he had to do with everything that was going on, what was up with Scorse and the freaky book and the picture from 1924, and what all this crap about coin-collecting and magic medallions was really all about.
Which was fortunate, because the bald guy was walking out the front door of the building right now.
Willie decided to forego subtlety in favor of getting some answers. He leaned against the hood of Bolling’s car, gripped his cane a little more tightly, and continued to casually smoke.
Bolling approached, wearing an Italian designer suit even on a Saturday, and carrying an expensive leather briefcase. He wore mirrored sunglasses, and had his keys and remote out in his hand as he approached.
“Hello, Mr. Bolling.”
Bolling never even looked directly at Willie, as far as he could tell with the mirrored glasses. He used his remote to unlock the car from ten feet away, and never slowed down. He didn’t even look up at Willie as he opened the door and tossed his briefcase inside. He whispered simply, “Not here. Follow me somewhere where we won’t be seen,” and slid into the front seat.
The car started and Willie stepped away as Bolling pulled out of the parking space. “Well…damn,” he mumbled, and then hobbled as quickly as possible (while still trying to maintain a cool and casual look) back to Taylor’s waiting car.
Last edited:
Morte
Explorer
Re: Session 3 (5/21/2003) Human Resources
Look, this just isn't fair. I really liked this SH from the start. I've been unable to read it for three or four weeks, and I came back to loads of updates which was great, and just as it got to a "plot thickens" moment... ...I'm caught up.
Take pity on a sick man, Mr Id, and post some more.
*crawls out of ditch and waves can of meths at the screen with big smile*
Old Drew Id said:
Look, this just isn't fair. I really liked this SH from the start. I've been unable to read it for three or four weeks, and I came back to loads of updates which was great, and just as it got to a "plot thickens" moment... ...I'm caught up.
Take pity on a sick man, Mr Id, and post some more.
*crawls out of ditch and waves can of meths at the screen with big smile*
Last edited:
Old Drew Id
First Post
Session 3 (5/21/2003) Secrets and Ingredients
Session 3 (5/21/2003) Secrets and Ingredients
The empty parking garage was as quiet as a grave, and Willie’s footsteps echoed vulnerably as he walked towards the idling car. He kept his hands in his pockets: his left hand on his gun, and his right hand on his radio. He keyed the transmit button as he walked, and locked it into place. Whatever happened, he wanted Taylor to be able to hear it.
Bolling lowered his window, but did not get out of his car, remove his mirrored sunglasses, or stop the engine. He had led them through several circles of downtown traffic, down a handful of alleys, and finally through a service entrance to this hospital parking garage, evidently to shake off any pursuit, though neither Willie or Taylor had spotted any sign of anyone following them.
“I don’t have long, Mr. Lamar.” His voice was so devoid of emotion, it was almost metallic.
Willie grimaced, “So, you know my name? Fine, you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Been having many dreams lately, Mr. Lamar? Dreams of coins? Dreams of medallions?”
“Fine. Two for two, %$#hole. Yeah, I’ve had some dreams, and I read your stupid book, too.”
“Good, so you’ve found the secret library then? That is good.” Bolling nodded, but otherwise gave no sign he was even interested in the conversation.
“Okay, I asked you nice.” Willie felt his temperature rising. “Now I’m asking again. Want to tell me what this is all about? Why is somebody messing up places where they got money from your boss?”
“Don’t assume that things are always as they seem. Scorse is not my boss, Mr. Lamar.”
“Oh that’s right. He wasn’t good enough to get into your coin society, was he? Want to tell me something about that?”
Bolling drew in a breath to answer, then stopped himself and reconsidered. After a moment, he answered, “I want you to imagine something for a moment, Mr. Lamar. Imagine you are in charge of protecting something. You know that if too much attention is paid to what you are doing, then someone might come after this thing you are protecting, or they might come after you. Now, how would you go about ensuring that too much attention was never paid to you?”
Willie squinted and tried to make sense of what Bolling was saying. He hoped that Taylor was hearing all of this.
“I’ll tell you, Mr. Lamar. You set up a charismatic decoy. Someone to draw attention.”
“So…Scorse is just…what? A front man?”
Bolling ignored the question and continued with his story. “The decoy allowed others to work behind the scenes, unnoticed and unhindered. Now imagine that this decoy was, while useful, still expensive to maintain. And then one day, fairly recently, we were done. And the decoy was no longer needed. So my employers are letting him fall.”
“Okay…what the f#%$ are you talking about? So you don’t care what happens to Scorse anymore? And what do you mean, you’re done? Done with what?”
Bolling put the car into gear, and began to raise the window. “Send my greetings to the rest of the class of 1924, Mr. Lamar.”
Before Willie could react, Bolling hit the gas and the car sped down and out of the parking deck.
. . .
The odor of formaldehyde and natural gas was intense, but Crystal was long since used to it. A lot of students had a tougher time of it, probably from a mixture of the odor of the lab and the stifling heat. The air conditioning was never on in the university labs on the weekends, and it could get sticky pretty quickly when you turned on a few burners and let them run.
Fortunately, that was what Crystal had been planning on when she came in. The labs were deserted, and she had free run of the equipment for the majority of the day.
She finally looked up when the machine beeped. Really, the machine did most of the work for her. Crystal had slipped the sample from the janitor’s rag into the feed stream of the capillary gas chromatography machine, pushed a few buttons, and then just waited for the resulting chromatogram. After that, there would be some chemistry to figure out, but really, it was child’s play. She even had time to study while the machine worked.
The chromatogram finally came through and she sighed heavily. There were a huge number of peaks on the graph, and a lot of it was organic. She cracked her knuckles, took out the mud sample from her backpack, and set up the machine again for a run at that sample. She now had an hour at least while that ran, so she could look up some numbers on this first chart.
Time passed and she made a lot of progress on the chart. This was what she liked about chemistry, and why she had at one point even considered it as a career. She had fed the “black goo” into the machine, and it had split the sample into all of its constituent substances. After that, it had produced a graph showing the little peaks for each substance, and then she just had to match the peaks up with the info from her book, and presto, Crystal could say what the substance was.
The list was more or less finished, and the results were more than a little frightening. Crystal took another sample of the goo and put it under a microscope to confirm a couple of findings, and sure enough, it was just what it looked like. She needed to call the others and tell them what this was.
But first, the chromatography machine beeped again, and the mud sample graph was ready. Crystal breathed a heavy sigh again, but this time in relief. At least the mud was not complicated. It was just normal mud, with a bunch of trace minerals in it. This was easy, and was what she was supposed to be an expert at handling.
She compared the chart to her geology reference. The trace minerals in the mud were like a fingerprint. The specific mix of minerals in soil varied from place to place, and if you knew the right combination of minerals, you could tell were a particular soil sample came from. Her geology reference listed the chemical makeup of the soil for almost every populated area in the state. Following her finger down a long list of numbers, Crystal found it. An exact match.
The mud came from the shores of Lake Martin. Interesting, but not necessarily enlightening. Lake Martin was a place where rich people had lake houses, maybe an hour outside of town. Nothing Crystal could make of that right now. And besides, the first sample was way more interesting than that.
Crystal took out her cell phone and called Brother Cooper.
. . .
Brother Guyzell Cooper pulled his truck over across the street from the homeless shelter. He was a few minutes early but he was sure they could use the extra help. Then his cell phone had rung, and he was suddenly being accosted with a list of chemical names and all sorts of scientific terms.
“Okay, now slow down, Crystal. Now tell me again. Gimme the list of what you got in that…uh…sample, in English if ya don’t mind.”
Crystal began her list again, and Brother Cooper felt his stomach getting queasy.
Insect material, probably a centipede. Walnuts. Stomach lining, not human, maybe from a cow or goat. Sugar. Human blood. Eggs. Chocolate.
Session 3 (5/21/2003) Secrets and Ingredients
The empty parking garage was as quiet as a grave, and Willie’s footsteps echoed vulnerably as he walked towards the idling car. He kept his hands in his pockets: his left hand on his gun, and his right hand on his radio. He keyed the transmit button as he walked, and locked it into place. Whatever happened, he wanted Taylor to be able to hear it.
Bolling lowered his window, but did not get out of his car, remove his mirrored sunglasses, or stop the engine. He had led them through several circles of downtown traffic, down a handful of alleys, and finally through a service entrance to this hospital parking garage, evidently to shake off any pursuit, though neither Willie or Taylor had spotted any sign of anyone following them.
“I don’t have long, Mr. Lamar.” His voice was so devoid of emotion, it was almost metallic.
Willie grimaced, “So, you know my name? Fine, you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Been having many dreams lately, Mr. Lamar? Dreams of coins? Dreams of medallions?”
“Fine. Two for two, %$#hole. Yeah, I’ve had some dreams, and I read your stupid book, too.”
“Good, so you’ve found the secret library then? That is good.” Bolling nodded, but otherwise gave no sign he was even interested in the conversation.
“Okay, I asked you nice.” Willie felt his temperature rising. “Now I’m asking again. Want to tell me what this is all about? Why is somebody messing up places where they got money from your boss?”
“Don’t assume that things are always as they seem. Scorse is not my boss, Mr. Lamar.”
“Oh that’s right. He wasn’t good enough to get into your coin society, was he? Want to tell me something about that?”
Bolling drew in a breath to answer, then stopped himself and reconsidered. After a moment, he answered, “I want you to imagine something for a moment, Mr. Lamar. Imagine you are in charge of protecting something. You know that if too much attention is paid to what you are doing, then someone might come after this thing you are protecting, or they might come after you. Now, how would you go about ensuring that too much attention was never paid to you?”
Willie squinted and tried to make sense of what Bolling was saying. He hoped that Taylor was hearing all of this.
“I’ll tell you, Mr. Lamar. You set up a charismatic decoy. Someone to draw attention.”
“So…Scorse is just…what? A front man?”
Bolling ignored the question and continued with his story. “The decoy allowed others to work behind the scenes, unnoticed and unhindered. Now imagine that this decoy was, while useful, still expensive to maintain. And then one day, fairly recently, we were done. And the decoy was no longer needed. So my employers are letting him fall.”
“Okay…what the f#%$ are you talking about? So you don’t care what happens to Scorse anymore? And what do you mean, you’re done? Done with what?”
Bolling put the car into gear, and began to raise the window. “Send my greetings to the rest of the class of 1924, Mr. Lamar.”
Before Willie could react, Bolling hit the gas and the car sped down and out of the parking deck.
. . .
The odor of formaldehyde and natural gas was intense, but Crystal was long since used to it. A lot of students had a tougher time of it, probably from a mixture of the odor of the lab and the stifling heat. The air conditioning was never on in the university labs on the weekends, and it could get sticky pretty quickly when you turned on a few burners and let them run.
Fortunately, that was what Crystal had been planning on when she came in. The labs were deserted, and she had free run of the equipment for the majority of the day.
She finally looked up when the machine beeped. Really, the machine did most of the work for her. Crystal had slipped the sample from the janitor’s rag into the feed stream of the capillary gas chromatography machine, pushed a few buttons, and then just waited for the resulting chromatogram. After that, there would be some chemistry to figure out, but really, it was child’s play. She even had time to study while the machine worked.
The chromatogram finally came through and she sighed heavily. There were a huge number of peaks on the graph, and a lot of it was organic. She cracked her knuckles, took out the mud sample from her backpack, and set up the machine again for a run at that sample. She now had an hour at least while that ran, so she could look up some numbers on this first chart.
Time passed and she made a lot of progress on the chart. This was what she liked about chemistry, and why she had at one point even considered it as a career. She had fed the “black goo” into the machine, and it had split the sample into all of its constituent substances. After that, it had produced a graph showing the little peaks for each substance, and then she just had to match the peaks up with the info from her book, and presto, Crystal could say what the substance was.
The list was more or less finished, and the results were more than a little frightening. Crystal took another sample of the goo and put it under a microscope to confirm a couple of findings, and sure enough, it was just what it looked like. She needed to call the others and tell them what this was.
But first, the chromatography machine beeped again, and the mud sample graph was ready. Crystal breathed a heavy sigh again, but this time in relief. At least the mud was not complicated. It was just normal mud, with a bunch of trace minerals in it. This was easy, and was what she was supposed to be an expert at handling.
She compared the chart to her geology reference. The trace minerals in the mud were like a fingerprint. The specific mix of minerals in soil varied from place to place, and if you knew the right combination of minerals, you could tell were a particular soil sample came from. Her geology reference listed the chemical makeup of the soil for almost every populated area in the state. Following her finger down a long list of numbers, Crystal found it. An exact match.
The mud came from the shores of Lake Martin. Interesting, but not necessarily enlightening. Lake Martin was a place where rich people had lake houses, maybe an hour outside of town. Nothing Crystal could make of that right now. And besides, the first sample was way more interesting than that.
Crystal took out her cell phone and called Brother Cooper.
. . .
Brother Guyzell Cooper pulled his truck over across the street from the homeless shelter. He was a few minutes early but he was sure they could use the extra help. Then his cell phone had rung, and he was suddenly being accosted with a list of chemical names and all sorts of scientific terms.
“Okay, now slow down, Crystal. Now tell me again. Gimme the list of what you got in that…uh…sample, in English if ya don’t mind.”
Crystal began her list again, and Brother Cooper felt his stomach getting queasy.
Insect material, probably a centipede. Walnuts. Stomach lining, not human, maybe from a cow or goat. Sugar. Human blood. Eggs. Chocolate.
KnidVermicious
First Post
Oh. It was just a bug and blood smoothie. Nothing to worry about, really. Or was it a Nestle Haggis With Nuts Bar?