The young officer looked at him as though he had just suggested he needed too eat a harbour. "Uhhh, pfff, well son, I could give you directions, but you do know all flights gotta be cleared, eh? You'll be needin' to book it ahead of time. Same if you go by boat. Probably better to find a government office."
He called to one of his colleagues, who was older than himself. After talking a moment, the older one took out a pen and wrote Varriuss some directions on a crumpled sheet of paper, which relied heavily on taking the bus and train. "This get you too the Ministry of Immigration Building." he said. "You need fair, guy? Here."
The older police officer gave him five very odd looking coins, which did not at all look like proper English coins at all. Some depicted images of nature, some the face of a man quite simply, some what looked to be aboriginal art, and what looked like depictions of members of the royal family, but who were not in fact royals at all, people with names ans titles like King Logan most prominently. One coin was bigger than the others. The policeman said that the money totalled to six dollars. They then pointed him in the direction of the next bus stop, that being one of the indentical intersections several blocks away.
The People's Republic of Adanac (A role playing game)
Moderators: Public Relations Department, Players Department
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
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- Location: Canada
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Varrius
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- Location: UK
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Fleegle
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- Joined: Tue Aug 02, 2005 7:22 pm
- Location: Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
The friendliness and generosity of the Quebecois man put Rob at ease, as did the old man's assurances about the soldier.
"Yeah that was something allright. Very, er, empowering." Rob did not want to say anything that might put him in harm's way, though he was more relaxed.
"Look, I know this might seem a silly question, but what, um, year is it? I think I musta had a bump on the head, I can't remember." Rob was lying through his teeth. He remembered very clearly what year it was supposed to be, but it seemed fairly obvious from the speech outside, the deteriorating buildings, the strange signs and building names, and numerous propaganda advertisments, that some time had passed. Maybe he did have some kind of prograde amnesia... had he forgotten everything that had happened since the day of the earthquake? He remembered falling from the couch. He must have hit his head. Suddenly his "lie" seemed like a very real possibility. At any rate, Rob was able to rationalize what had happened, which put him even more at ease.
"Yeah that was something allright. Very, er, empowering." Rob did not want to say anything that might put him in harm's way, though he was more relaxed.
"Look, I know this might seem a silly question, but what, um, year is it? I think I musta had a bump on the head, I can't remember." Rob was lying through his teeth. He remembered very clearly what year it was supposed to be, but it seemed fairly obvious from the speech outside, the deteriorating buildings, the strange signs and building names, and numerous propaganda advertisments, that some time had passed. Maybe he did have some kind of prograde amnesia... had he forgotten everything that had happened since the day of the earthquake? He remembered falling from the couch. He must have hit his head. Suddenly his "lie" seemed like a very real possibility. At any rate, Rob was able to rationalize what had happened, which put him even more at ease.
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
The route too the bus stop was simply passing over intersections and street just like the one Varrius had woken on, with a shop or store every several blocks. The rest of the streets were heavily damaged, like the first. They were also very dirty and littered with trash. Not only did people seem to throw any small pieces of trash they had into the street, but it seemed that the large bags of garbage people threw into the alleyways (which there was one of on every street.) was never collected, but rather left to rot.
There were really not many people in the streets, and even fewer cars. One or two passed by as Varrius walked along, but other than that, there were none to be seen. The few people that were on the street were not in any way interesting. Some were walking places, perhaps to work or home, but most were loitering. Small children played in the street, youths stood around talking, drinking and smoking, transients sat around using or asking passers by for money.
Many of the tenement walls were sprayed with various graffiti, much of it clear gang tags, and many of the youths wore colors, although Varrius could not have known who for.
At the bus stop, four men, two young and two old, and an old women waited. They were all conversing quietly among themselves, and were obviously all familiar with each other. They were speaking in one of the languages of eastern Europe, that sounded like Russian or Belarusian.
The bus soon pulled up, quietly, and they all got on. “If yo’ paying cash, it’s two seventy five.” Said the driver too Varrius.
The bus then started up and pulled off.
There were very few people on the bus. One young asian couple sat near the back, listening to music on a walkman, and a man in old and tattered but very clean clothing was stretched out across the handicapped benches, sleeping. The driver was a skinny, handsome looking man wearing an immaculate drivers uniform, and who had his black hair neatly put into dreadlocks. The man older man, sitting on the bench just behind his seat wore a grey uniform and a tired look. He carried in his belt a can of mace and a steel police truncheon. He and the driver conversed lazily about there families, complaining a great deal.
“Oh, yeah.” Said the man. “Sacha’s stuff is always good. Like that guy, me. Real solid patriot, him. You know him, eh? Or you not from this neighborhood? I’m Jacob* by the way.”
“The year, brother? Oh, well, euh, that be two thousand fifty six, my man. Hehe! I forget sometimes too, with enough blue and magic herbs, eh? Haha!” The man seemed to have done some rationalizing himself, assuming that Rob’s unlikely ignorance of the current year too be product of chemical indulgence.
“Been using the sauce for a while, man?” he added jokingly. “Here.” He said, tossing another coin onto the desk and grabbing a newspaper from a rack. It seemed to be a national newspaper, dealing with nationwide issues. “The Dominion Post” it was called. The headline read
“Alaskan and Groenland Joint-Rebelion”
Fringe separatist groups of both territories found to be co-operating in anti-government campaign.
A few other front page article were “Indo-Canadian-Chinese Summit continues with promise.”
“New Anti-Crime Campaign yielding surprisingly good short term results.”
And “Disaster in Calgary”
“10 prostestors killed by eighteen wheeler.”
The paper did confirm what the man had said, as it did in fact state that the year was 2056.
There were really not many people in the streets, and even fewer cars. One or two passed by as Varrius walked along, but other than that, there were none to be seen. The few people that were on the street were not in any way interesting. Some were walking places, perhaps to work or home, but most were loitering. Small children played in the street, youths stood around talking, drinking and smoking, transients sat around using or asking passers by for money.
Many of the tenement walls were sprayed with various graffiti, much of it clear gang tags, and many of the youths wore colors, although Varrius could not have known who for.
At the bus stop, four men, two young and two old, and an old women waited. They were all conversing quietly among themselves, and were obviously all familiar with each other. They were speaking in one of the languages of eastern Europe, that sounded like Russian or Belarusian.
The bus soon pulled up, quietly, and they all got on. “If yo’ paying cash, it’s two seventy five.” Said the driver too Varrius.
The bus then started up and pulled off.
There were very few people on the bus. One young asian couple sat near the back, listening to music on a walkman, and a man in old and tattered but very clean clothing was stretched out across the handicapped benches, sleeping. The driver was a skinny, handsome looking man wearing an immaculate drivers uniform, and who had his black hair neatly put into dreadlocks. The man older man, sitting on the bench just behind his seat wore a grey uniform and a tired look. He carried in his belt a can of mace and a steel police truncheon. He and the driver conversed lazily about there families, complaining a great deal.
“Oh, yeah.” Said the man. “Sacha’s stuff is always good. Like that guy, me. Real solid patriot, him. You know him, eh? Or you not from this neighborhood? I’m Jacob* by the way.”
“The year, brother? Oh, well, euh, that be two thousand fifty six, my man. Hehe! I forget sometimes too, with enough blue and magic herbs, eh? Haha!” The man seemed to have done some rationalizing himself, assuming that Rob’s unlikely ignorance of the current year too be product of chemical indulgence.
“Been using the sauce for a while, man?” he added jokingly. “Here.” He said, tossing another coin onto the desk and grabbing a newspaper from a rack. It seemed to be a national newspaper, dealing with nationwide issues. “The Dominion Post” it was called. The headline read
“Alaskan and Groenland Joint-Rebelion”
Fringe separatist groups of both territories found to be co-operating in anti-government campaign.
A few other front page article were “Indo-Canadian-Chinese Summit continues with promise.”
“New Anti-Crime Campaign yielding surprisingly good short term results.”
And “Disaster in Calgary”
“10 prostestors killed by eighteen wheeler.”
The paper did confirm what the man had said, as it did in fact state that the year was 2056.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
Joseph Stalin
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Fleegle
- Posts: 638
- Joined: Tue Aug 02, 2005 7:22 pm
- Location: Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
Two-thousand fifty six??? Rob was flabbergasted but managed to contain his feelings. He gulped and composed himself.
"I need to get home... where's Bronson avenue from here?" It barely registered in his mind that "home" was likely someone else's apartment now... if it even still existed. Still, something compelled him to go there. Perhaps it was because it was the closest thing to home that he could think of, or perhaps it was the host of unanswered questions that still swam inside his skull. He needed to know what had happened "last night", which apparently was 50 years ago. The state of calmness he had managed to cling to had vanished. His eyes darted between the old man, the sleeping soldier, and the Quebecois man, and his palms were sweaty.
"I need to get home... where's Bronson avenue from here?" It barely registered in his mind that "home" was likely someone else's apartment now... if it even still existed. Still, something compelled him to go there. Perhaps it was because it was the closest thing to home that he could think of, or perhaps it was the host of unanswered questions that still swam inside his skull. He needed to know what had happened "last night", which apparently was 50 years ago. The state of calmness he had managed to cling to had vanished. His eyes darted between the old man, the sleeping soldier, and the Quebecois man, and his palms were sweaty.
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
"Uhhhh... I dunno." Jacob looked almost as confused as Rob. He was obviously surprised at the sudden inquiry. “What part of town is that in? Yer’ in Petertown right now. Street R R three. Take a wrong bus or something?”
After lengthy discussion, and Jacob grabbing a bus and route map from a stack, he finally figured out where it was Rob wanted to be. “Oh, there! Well, that’s in Centertown. Eh, Old Ottawa.” He added, seeing Ron’s confusion. “Here, I make you some directions.” He said, taking out a pen and a card.
Jacob had soon made out a sheet of directions, and giving Ron some fair, said his farwell. “Hey, but you come back sometime, y’ear? Sacha our neighbhourhood guy. Speaks every week.” Then, hitting his chest twice with his fist, he said, smiling, “Long live the dominion.” And then walked off.
The buses were near empty this time of day, as were the trains. Barely anyone seemed to be going anywhere. The streets were much the same. Those who were outside were did not really seem to be doing anything productive or usefull.
By the time Rob had begun to recognize street names, the great change had become very much apparent. What had not changed was run down and crumbling.
Bronson was a very different place. The apartments were old and badly kept, and covered in graffiti. Like much of the rest of the city, trash was everywhere. Men and women of all ages were loitering and outside, as many in the city were doing.
The field in front of the college was strewn with garbage of all kinds. Many children were playing there, some with soccer balls and Frisbees and the like, but most with
nothing more to use but trash.
The sign was smashed and cracked. It also looked as though the letters had been pried off and replaced, although a long time ago. It now read “Alkatami University”.
After lengthy discussion, and Jacob grabbing a bus and route map from a stack, he finally figured out where it was Rob wanted to be. “Oh, there! Well, that’s in Centertown. Eh, Old Ottawa.” He added, seeing Ron’s confusion. “Here, I make you some directions.” He said, taking out a pen and a card.
Jacob had soon made out a sheet of directions, and giving Ron some fair, said his farwell. “Hey, but you come back sometime, y’ear? Sacha our neighbhourhood guy. Speaks every week.” Then, hitting his chest twice with his fist, he said, smiling, “Long live the dominion.” And then walked off.
The buses were near empty this time of day, as were the trains. Barely anyone seemed to be going anywhere. The streets were much the same. Those who were outside were did not really seem to be doing anything productive or usefull.
By the time Rob had begun to recognize street names, the great change had become very much apparent. What had not changed was run down and crumbling.
Bronson was a very different place. The apartments were old and badly kept, and covered in graffiti. Like much of the rest of the city, trash was everywhere. Men and women of all ages were loitering and outside, as many in the city were doing.
The field in front of the college was strewn with garbage of all kinds. Many children were playing there, some with soccer balls and Frisbees and the like, but most with
nothing more to use but trash.
The sign was smashed and cracked. It also looked as though the letters had been pried off and replaced, although a long time ago. It now read “Alkatami University”.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
Joseph Stalin
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Fleegle
- Posts: 638
- Joined: Tue Aug 02, 2005 7:22 pm
- Location: Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
Rob felt more anonymous on the street. Though his clothing was rather different, nobody payed much attention. The crowd had dispersed and Rob had no difficulty making his way to the nearest bus stop. He did not have to wait long for a bus.
The bus routes had been all changed around in the past years. Rob had used the busses as his primary mode of transportation. He was slightly amused by the name "AC Transpo", for it had once been "OC Transpo". He knew what the AC stood for, having seen numerous signs around the city.
He was saddened by the state of the few recognizable buildings he could see. Rob had gone to that University when it had been Carleton, not "Alkatami". It had changed, and the garbage piling up in the field caused him to frown. He shrugged his shoulders and made his way northbound up Bronson, to where his apartment was supposed to be. Indeed, it was still there, but it had fallen into disrepair and looked almost condemned. Nevertheless, it had once been his home, and perhaps he would find some answers there. He walked into the building and made his way to the third floor. "The moment of truth," thought Rob. He tried his key, and was amazed when the door actually unlocked. He pushed the door open slowly and carefully stepped into the apartment...
The bus routes had been all changed around in the past years. Rob had used the busses as his primary mode of transportation. He was slightly amused by the name "AC Transpo", for it had once been "OC Transpo". He knew what the AC stood for, having seen numerous signs around the city.
He was saddened by the state of the few recognizable buildings he could see. Rob had gone to that University when it had been Carleton, not "Alkatami". It had changed, and the garbage piling up in the field caused him to frown. He shrugged his shoulders and made his way northbound up Bronson, to where his apartment was supposed to be. Indeed, it was still there, but it had fallen into disrepair and looked almost condemned. Nevertheless, it had once been his home, and perhaps he would find some answers there. He walked into the building and made his way to the third floor. "The moment of truth," thought Rob. He tried his key, and was amazed when the door actually unlocked. He pushed the door open slowly and carefully stepped into the apartment...
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
(Please excuse my language. Also, I don't know what the apartements look like, so I am just guessing)
"Jesus f--cking christ, Jesse! You why didn't you lock the motherf---ing door?!"
The voice came from the right of the room. A large greasy looking white man, about thirty years old, was sprawled on the floor, looking like he’d just fallen off the couch up against the right wall. He had dirty brown hair, and was wearing a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. He looked dangerously angry.
The apartment, although structurally the same, had been, predictably, refurnished and re arranged. It was exceedingly dirty, and trash was mixed about the room along with a multitude of useful items. The only utilitarian furniture was the couch, a low coffee table (made out of a board on top of two cinder blocks) and a small table opposite the couch up against the left wall, near an outlet, on which was a television. A dirty old army cot lay near the left hand corner.
There were many other pieces of furniture, which crowded the room to a ridiculous degree. One could barely move with bumping into them. However, what they were was unknowable, as they were draped in white shower curtains. They may have been crates, or they may have been something else. What could not be discerned.
On top of and around these were many miscellaneous objects. A blender, a radio, newspapers, books, magazines, spent matches, a microwave oven, washcloths, and a multitude of other things.
The door was heavy with new deadbolts and key locks, aswell as two strong chains. Obviously, these people found home security to be very important, and not locking the door seemed to be a very serious infraction of their rules.
A door slammed and out of the bathroom stumbled a skinny looking white guy, also with brown hair, that looked to be spiked with gel. This was, apparently, Jesse. He wore a pair of old blue jeans and was shirtless. He tripped over his pants before hiking them up. He looked to the man on the floor, who was now rising to his feet, and then at Rob, and his face twisted into an expression of horror.
“Who in god’s name are you and what the hell are you doing here?” asked the first man, putting his hand in his left pocket, sticking out of which could be seen the end of a handgun.
Following suit, Jesse grabbed a switchblade off of one of the crates, although he did not open the blade.
"Jesus f--cking christ, Jesse! You why didn't you lock the motherf---ing door?!"
The voice came from the right of the room. A large greasy looking white man, about thirty years old, was sprawled on the floor, looking like he’d just fallen off the couch up against the right wall. He had dirty brown hair, and was wearing a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. He looked dangerously angry.
The apartment, although structurally the same, had been, predictably, refurnished and re arranged. It was exceedingly dirty, and trash was mixed about the room along with a multitude of useful items. The only utilitarian furniture was the couch, a low coffee table (made out of a board on top of two cinder blocks) and a small table opposite the couch up against the left wall, near an outlet, on which was a television. A dirty old army cot lay near the left hand corner.
There were many other pieces of furniture, which crowded the room to a ridiculous degree. One could barely move with bumping into them. However, what they were was unknowable, as they were draped in white shower curtains. They may have been crates, or they may have been something else. What could not be discerned.
On top of and around these were many miscellaneous objects. A blender, a radio, newspapers, books, magazines, spent matches, a microwave oven, washcloths, and a multitude of other things.
The door was heavy with new deadbolts and key locks, aswell as two strong chains. Obviously, these people found home security to be very important, and not locking the door seemed to be a very serious infraction of their rules.
A door slammed and out of the bathroom stumbled a skinny looking white guy, also with brown hair, that looked to be spiked with gel. This was, apparently, Jesse. He wore a pair of old blue jeans and was shirtless. He tripped over his pants before hiking them up. He looked to the man on the floor, who was now rising to his feet, and then at Rob, and his face twisted into an expression of horror.
“Who in god’s name are you and what the hell are you doing here?” asked the first man, putting his hand in his left pocket, sticking out of which could be seen the end of a handgun.
Following suit, Jesse grabbed a switchblade off of one of the crates, although he did not open the blade.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
Joseph Stalin
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Fleegle
- Posts: 638
- Joined: Tue Aug 02, 2005 7:22 pm
- Location: Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
At the sight of the handgun and switchblade, a lump rose in Rob's throat. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone lived here... it's just, well, it's just that, I-I used t-to live here... a long time ago! I d-didn't mean to uh, interrupt. I'll just, be on my way then, okay? S-sorry to bother you."
Rob backed slowly out the door.
Rob backed slowly out the door.
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
The men took on softer expressions and seemed to repent having been so intimidating.
“I’m sorry.” Said the first, largest man. “It’s just usually we lock the door, and you really startled us. Thought you were someone else.”
He bit his finger oddly, and then said “Come in if you like.”
“I’m sorry.” Said the first, largest man. “It’s just usually we lock the door, and you really startled us. Thought you were someone else.”
He bit his finger oddly, and then said “Come in if you like.”
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
Joseph Stalin
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Fleegle
- Posts: 638
- Joined: Tue Aug 02, 2005 7:22 pm
- Location: Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
The lump in Rob's throat dissolved, and he stopped his retreat. The presence of the weapons still made him nervous, but the sudden change in the expressions of the men told him they were not an immediate threat. Better to stay calm and take the little bit of hospitality the city seemed to offer. If he turned and ran anyway, these men might suspect him of foul play. So Rob wandered slowly into the main area of the apartment.
Noticing the ashtray on the table, Rob drew the pack of smokes from his pocket carefully, so that the men would not think it was a weapon. He pulled a cigarette out for himself and offered one to each of the men.
Noticing the ashtray on the table, Rob drew the pack of smokes from his pocket carefully, so that the men would not think it was a weapon. He pulled a cigarette out for himself and offered one to each of the men.
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
The men seemed to be uneasy letting Rob into their apartement, but seemed bound by the bigger man's offer to be hospitable. As Rob took out the ciggarette pack, they tensed, but then relaxed seeing it was but a benign object. They accepted a ciggarette each, and the bigger man fumbled around for a light. "Hey Jess, seen my matches?" he asked the skinny man. "Yeah." said Jesse. "Hold on." He went quickly too the bathroom and returned with a pack of wooden matches. He gave lights all around. "Wooden matches is best." said the larger man. He then held out his hand to shake Rob's. "I'm How." he said. The skinny man the held out his hand. "Jesse." he said. "Hate to ask, but you don't mind if we check you for surveilance equipement, do you?" he watched Rob's reaction to the question carefully.
"So how long ago you used to live here, man?" asked the larger man. "You worked for the university or the building?" he ventured.
"So how long ago you used to live here, man?" asked the larger man. "You worked for the university or the building?" he ventured.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
Joseph Stalin
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Fleegle
- Posts: 638
- Joined: Tue Aug 02, 2005 7:22 pm
- Location: Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
"How. Jesse. Nice to meet you both." He drew his palm and shook How and Jesse's hands.
Rob didn't think of denying them when they asked to check him. It obviously wasn't really intended as a question, and though he was more comfortable he still didn't want to anger the men. "No, I don't mind, of course not. I got nothing to hide." Rob puffed on the cigarette, and he relaxed a bit more. He lifted up his arms while Jesse frisked him.
Rob felt trapped by the next set of questions, for he knew they would not believe his answer. But on the other hand he did not feel comfortable lying to the men, for he sensed that they would see right through it. He gulped and let it all out.
"Well, I used to study at the university, but that was many many years ago, when it was Carleton, not Alkatami or whatever... Look, I know you won't believe this, but I, I lived here... 50 years ago. I don't know what happened, I just know that there was an earthquake, I fell and hit my head, and I woke up across town apparently 50 years later. I wish I were making this up, but I swear it's the truth."
Rob didn't think of denying them when they asked to check him. It obviously wasn't really intended as a question, and though he was more comfortable he still didn't want to anger the men. "No, I don't mind, of course not. I got nothing to hide." Rob puffed on the cigarette, and he relaxed a bit more. He lifted up his arms while Jesse frisked him.
Rob felt trapped by the next set of questions, for he knew they would not believe his answer. But on the other hand he did not feel comfortable lying to the men, for he sensed that they would see right through it. He gulped and let it all out.
"Well, I used to study at the university, but that was many many years ago, when it was Carleton, not Alkatami or whatever... Look, I know you won't believe this, but I, I lived here... 50 years ago. I don't know what happened, I just know that there was an earthquake, I fell and hit my head, and I woke up across town apparently 50 years later. I wish I were making this up, but I swear it's the truth."
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
(Sorry it’s so long. You’re the only one posting, though.)
Simply seeing Rob's answer seemed to satisfy the men, and Jesse checked him quickly and unthouroughly. After that, the men seemed to trust Rob (although they stood between him and their crates) and no longer seemed ready to pounce on him. They were glad he'd brought cigarettes, and were much less tense now. Jesse's knife soon lay on a sheet covered crate, and soon so did How's pistol.
They listened as he explained how he’d lived there fifty years before. They seemed a little taken aback at first, but How calmed down as quickly as he’d gotten doubts. “Oh, so went all ref-u-gee on us, eh, bro? Haha! Where to? Germany, eh I bet? They sent you back, huh? Yeah, that crazy motherfucker up there…Don’t blame you though. I would’a left too if I could’ve pulled it off. Almost got myself killed once trying.” Jesse nodded, either too confirm his friends story or in agreement to his statement that he would have left had he had the chance. “’Course, that was when all the warlords big and stuff, all runnin’ around with they’re AK’s and shit. Crazy Tank around here back then. Crazy S.O.B, believe me. I wouldn’t have regretted missin’ it. But when the big man came around, with all his troops and guns and cannons, that guy was scared outta his mind. Fought left right, killing everywhere, and the Total boys came and smashed him. Caught him, and the big man personally ordered him strung up all out up at the industrial park down there.” He pointed out the window in a direction that should not have led to an industrial park. “Everyone came out too see. Well, not me, but I saw a few ‘a his guys swing. Believe me, big man did us all a favor when he stretched those fools.” A hint of affection and gratitude for the one he called “Big man” could be detected in his voice.
“But things quiter now.” He went all. “All calmed down now.”
“Much calmer now.” Agreed Jesse.
“Man, musta been pretty bad coming back though. The Kids must of grilled you some bad minute you stepped off the boat, eh? Don’t blame you for hitting the stuff. Those guys, crazy…”
“So you went to University, eh?” Said Jesse. “What for? You labeled for political? Don’t really remember it ever being Carleton, though. Was it?”
“Yeah.” Said How. “Up up until the Totals took the reigns, man. Hell, don’t you know nothin’?”
“Well kiss, man, I ain’t never lived here.” Replied Jesse. “Not my fault. How is I supposed to know?”
“Hey, sorry to be living in your place, eh man?” Said How. “Real sorry. Must be awful tough, comin’ home to some guys who smoke all yer cancer sticks, eh? Haha! No, but really, I’m sorry. We’ent no stuff when we got here ‘ceptin some old boards though, swear it.”
“Well, there was a jar of vinegar.” Said Jesse.
“Well, yeah, there was jar of vinegar.” Said How, sounding as though he did not really think that all to important.
“So what you use, my friend, to black you out all crazy like that?” How asked, shifting the subject. “Up stuff, or you like ta “Rhyme real slow”? Unless you’d rather talk ‘bout it.”
Simply seeing Rob's answer seemed to satisfy the men, and Jesse checked him quickly and unthouroughly. After that, the men seemed to trust Rob (although they stood between him and their crates) and no longer seemed ready to pounce on him. They were glad he'd brought cigarettes, and were much less tense now. Jesse's knife soon lay on a sheet covered crate, and soon so did How's pistol.
They listened as he explained how he’d lived there fifty years before. They seemed a little taken aback at first, but How calmed down as quickly as he’d gotten doubts. “Oh, so went all ref-u-gee on us, eh, bro? Haha! Where to? Germany, eh I bet? They sent you back, huh? Yeah, that crazy motherfucker up there…Don’t blame you though. I would’a left too if I could’ve pulled it off. Almost got myself killed once trying.” Jesse nodded, either too confirm his friends story or in agreement to his statement that he would have left had he had the chance. “’Course, that was when all the warlords big and stuff, all runnin’ around with they’re AK’s and shit. Crazy Tank around here back then. Crazy S.O.B, believe me. I wouldn’t have regretted missin’ it. But when the big man came around, with all his troops and guns and cannons, that guy was scared outta his mind. Fought left right, killing everywhere, and the Total boys came and smashed him. Caught him, and the big man personally ordered him strung up all out up at the industrial park down there.” He pointed out the window in a direction that should not have led to an industrial park. “Everyone came out too see. Well, not me, but I saw a few ‘a his guys swing. Believe me, big man did us all a favor when he stretched those fools.” A hint of affection and gratitude for the one he called “Big man” could be detected in his voice.
“But things quiter now.” He went all. “All calmed down now.”
“Much calmer now.” Agreed Jesse.
“Man, musta been pretty bad coming back though. The Kids must of grilled you some bad minute you stepped off the boat, eh? Don’t blame you for hitting the stuff. Those guys, crazy…”
“So you went to University, eh?” Said Jesse. “What for? You labeled for political? Don’t really remember it ever being Carleton, though. Was it?”
“Yeah.” Said How. “Up up until the Totals took the reigns, man. Hell, don’t you know nothin’?”
“Well kiss, man, I ain’t never lived here.” Replied Jesse. “Not my fault. How is I supposed to know?”
“Hey, sorry to be living in your place, eh man?” Said How. “Real sorry. Must be awful tough, comin’ home to some guys who smoke all yer cancer sticks, eh? Haha! No, but really, I’m sorry. We’ent no stuff when we got here ‘ceptin some old boards though, swear it.”
“Well, there was a jar of vinegar.” Said Jesse.
“Well, yeah, there was jar of vinegar.” Said How, sounding as though he did not really think that all to important.
“So what you use, my friend, to black you out all crazy like that?” How asked, shifting the subject. “Up stuff, or you like ta “Rhyme real slow”? Unless you’d rather talk ‘bout it.”
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
Joseph Stalin
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Varrius
- Posts: 44
- Joined: Thu Aug 11, 2005 7:20 am
- Location: UK
Varrius found a free seat on the bus and Sat down, looking around he still wondered "how could I have got here?" thinking a little longer, Varrius decides he will stay in this City and look for other who appeared strangely like this, maybe he could even find Jess or failing that another good looking girl.
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