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Message: <blockquote data-quote="johndaw16" data-source="post: 2766136" data-attributes="member: 12033">This is a closed game that is run for a group of friends.  Ok ladies, I know I know I'm real late on getting this started.  Pardon the tardiness but you know how I am.  A reminder for both of you, go on and subscribe to all the related threads for the game.  It will make it easier for you two to keep yourselves up-to-date on whats going on.  So here goes....For Rachel (aka Grandbanks Taulby) only...[sblock]Your jangling alarm wakes you up just minutes before dawn breaks.  You stumble into the trailer's kitchen, striking a match to the propane stove to reheat last nights coffee.  While that warms up you pull on a pair of Dickies canvas work pants, a cotton undershit and an old cotton longsleeve with a worn collar.  You step outside after cutting the stove off and retrieving your coffee.  You dig out your first El Toro of the day, cupping your palm around the cig as you light it with a match.  After your smoke and coffee you climb the rusted ladder attached to the back of the trailer to tend the catfish.  You sluice a days worth of infused sewage into the half-dozen fattening tanks, check filters, and look for leaks and algae.  You'll need to buy a new scrubber for the third tank before the weeks out.  Next you take up your net and head to the holding tank, and fish four fat catfish into a styrofoam cooler.  You lower the cooler of fish to the ground with rope and follow on down the ladder.  The alleys of the Stilts are quite this early, the usual bustle gone replaced with silent wraiths of mist and fog rolling off the Bay.  A slat ribbed cur is your only companion on the walk to Eddie's.  You pick up a half dozen gull and pigeon eggs from the old blind Vietnamese woman on the quay.  You unlock the bar and settle into your familiar morning routine: turn on the gas, heat up the fryer, check the water lines, check the fridge.  You're contemplating the virtues of gutting the fish or reading more of the novel you picked up from Gonjo's* last week, as you hear the rattle-pop of a motorcycles beat up muffler.  It's a local kid, small fry hustler, you think his name is Daniel.  And this morning he looks like the s)<img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /><img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /><img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /> you dredge off the bottom of the catfish tanks.  Mayhaps you'll get a good story this morning...* Gonjo is an old peddler a block from Eddie's, he sells a little bit of everything in a tiny convience-like store establishment.  It's all real cheap and he's a good hook up for any mass market consumer goods brought in from BACA proper. [/sblock]And this is for Darcy (aka Daniel Stone) only...[sblock]You're not sure if it's the salt in the air or the smog thats making your eyes water this morning.  But its for damn sure making it hard to see clearly this morning.  The fog rolling of the Bay isn't helping, hiding obstacles from sight, so you have to swerve and dodge on your bike like you're two days drunk.  Not that you don't wish you were right now.  Last night was drekked up real good.  The whole deal pissed over.  You don't know what the hell the Dixie in Drag* boys had tickling their asses last night but they'd made sure you couldnt unload the pair of Polish 12-gauges you had.  So now you're stuck with a lot boom you don't need.  And you're out nearly $400 in cash you do need.  You head to Eddie's thinking the least you can do is get a cup of jo and some nibs.  You start cussing as you pull up, as you realize you can't replace your bikes rusted out muffler this week.  So your vintage Ducati is still going sound like a Cuban Vespa with a fat Jamacian's ass riding it to the shocks.  You wearily settle onto a barstool at the counter trying to decide just what you want to eat.*Dixie in Drag is a local gang of cross-dressing redneck white supremacists who run up and down the Stilts, Colonial Beach, and Paradise.  They're responsible for screwing the deal up at Colonial Beach mainly by just being in the bar and acting like bunch of racist jerks.  Your buyer got scared something violent was going to go down and bugged out, leaving you high and dry.[/sblock]OOC: Alright that's the start, basic morning conversation and intro stuff would be great at this point.  You're both at Eddie's and the only two around so its not like you got anyone else to talk to. <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /></blockquote>

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