Oh damn, I've made a terrible mistake in one of the posts. I must fix it post haste!
Somebody get me some stamps.
The People's Republic of Adanac (A role playing game)
Moderators: Public Relations Department, Players Department
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
-
Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
Roger looked at her with a puzzled exepresion. “Well, of course your not in the United States.” He seemed completely baffled. “It’s usually good to know what country your in.” he added. “We really need to get you to a station.”
“So your really from Tennessee? Wow. How in hell did you get here?”
“Well, if they have enough money to get you to college, they must have at least worked very hard.” He said. “ What I’d give ta go to college.” He added longingly.
Looking at Turi having to walk carefully over the trash and sea of glass shards, again hesitated, and then stopped and took off his own shoes, handing them to her. “No need in getting yer feet all cudt’ up.” He mumbled. “The be a bit big, but that shan’t cause no harm. Gotta have’em back once we at the station though.”
“It’s no’ so bad as that.” Said Roger. “The yankee press makes it out to be no’ so good, and things happen, yah, but it’s still a great place. Not nearly as bad as they say.” He said, in a patriotic trance. “An’ don’ worry. Police is after those mother----ers, gonna come down hard on those guys.” He then winced and bit his tongue, looking as though he felt he’d said something idiotic. “Please ‘scuse me language. I showd know better ‘ena talk that way fronta a lady. Was raised better than that...Sorry.”
A group of white youths, about fifteen and sixteen years old, was talking and laughing in a small group outside a tenement. They were passing about small glass bottles that contained a brownish liquid, and sniffing them copiously.
“Ah ouaih, j’ai un bon plane ‘ci.” Said one, letting out a laugh, and passing a bottle to his friend.
“Ouaih, ca c’est la vie, mon chum.” Said his friend, accepting the bottle and bringing it to his nose.
Roger shook his head, turning away from the scene. “The youth is going to hell. The big cheese does all he can, but with the way things are nowdays, there’s not much can be done….”
They soon arrived at a small commercial district, with shops and offices lining the street. Turning a corner, they came upon a large, square five story building. Around it was a grass yard, with a neat and well kept garden going all the way around the building. Concrete steps led up to the door.
The building was surrounded by a 15 foot tall fence of steel bars, with barbed wire coiled around the top. The gate was open.
Shouts could be heard down the street. Two officers in dark green uniforms were dragging a struggling man down the street. The man on his left had out his trebucheon, and was brandishing it widly, while gripping the man’s arm with his other hand. The detained man was screaming at the top of his lungs, a mixture of obscenities and threats, half nonsensical gibberish. The man suddenly swung and jerk wildly, causing the officers to almost lose there grip. They soon regained control, and the officer on the left clubbed the man in his right leg, causing his howls to intensify.
They dragged him up the steps and into the station.
The door to the station opened up to a lobby. Soft elevator music played over the intercom, and a young officer sat at the front desk, scribbling furiously.
On a bench in the middle of the lobby, three men sat.
The first man was dirty, greasy white man, with hair that was much to long, and who had eyes that were as bloodshot as though someone had throw sand and lemon juice into them.
The second man was a latino man, with clothes soaked with drewl, and his breath smelled as though it could be ignited.
The third man was an arab man, who swayed back and forth in a sort of trance. They all turned to wave in a friendly manner at the two, with sincere smiles, and they then went back to what they had been doing.
The young officer at the desk looked up. “Why hello! May I help you today?” he asked.
“Whatever you say, my man.” Said Sam. “But no worries. We not here to judge, eh?”
“No, no. Chicago issa mos’ dayfainaitly the is capital Illinois is.” Said Rasha. “One news time is always, toward.”
The other two nodded in agreement. “It’s the capital, man. I never even heard of Springfield.” Said Bert.
The men again exchanged concerned glances. “Your IN Alex City, you don’t know your in Alex City, and y’ain’t never heard of Alex City, and you say you ain’t no junkie. No shame in admitting it, my friend. And never heard of it? Just get off the boat from Ukraine or something?” Blurted out Sam.
Bert nodded. “Alex City, national capital, my friend. You mussa’ grow up pretty damn isolated. You hop a train into town? How could someone not know about the double C?”
“And Tha’ Cradle, man, Tha’ Cradle. Yah’ow, The Basin? Were everyone lives?” added Rasha, in a tone of rising confusion.
“Maps, man? Nah, ain’t got no maps here. Sorry.” Said Bert.
“If you go to the library, they got maps. Government maps, cannae always trust’em, but they not bad maps.” Said Sam.
“Yeah, library, tones oh mapez.” Said Rasha.
There was much commotion outside the store. A large number of people were marching in an organized group down the street. They gathered outside the small shop. They were yelling, cursing, and waving what looked like politically charged banners and placards, although most were in another language, and those in English were completely nonsensical.
There must have been four hundred people outside.
“Oh f--- it!” yelled Sam as he jumped to his feet. “Here they come! Quick guys, let’s move!”
The three men went into a hurried frenzy, as they began pushing the low metal shelves in front of the windows and the door, in a haphazard barricade. In the middle of this, Sam was also on a small radio, talking to someone. “……large group a tha’ peace boys, I think there gonna try and take us out. Groups damn big, hundreds, too big I think to be counting on any civilian support, quick, we need guys over here!........”
The people outside had begun attacking the windows, which, by the fact that they had withstood a barrage of thrown rocks and garbage, appeared to be bullet proof.
However, they were no match for the clubs and rocks of the frenzied mob, and were soon smashed to bits. The sign could be seen falling from above the shop, as a group of men and women triumphantly stomped on it over and over.
The mob had succeeded in smashing the windows, but the bars and door lock proved to be an entirely different ordeal. Despite there incessant hammering and battering, the bars over where the windows once were, and the bars and lock on the door, were holding strong.
Sam switched his machinegun from safety in anticipation. The three men looked terrified.
Bert withdrew a small 22. revolving pistol from his pocket, and Rasha grabbed a piece of rusting steel rail, which he held ready to club at anyone who would pose him a threat.
“I’ll go switch on the camera. The police might want some tape.” Said Bert.
“Check if we can get out the back, too!” said Sam
“Ana aife nah, mayke sure they nah getta aine!” said Rasha frantically.
Bert soon returned, white with terror. “There’s about forty guys out back.” He said. “No chance. But I put the bar in the door, they won’t be getting’ in. And the camera’s on.”
Sam yelled in terror as the front shelves burst into flames. The mob, although they had not got through the bars, had decided that while they waited to break through, they would through a Molotov cocktail at them.
Another hit the bars, and flaming gasoline spilled on the floor.
Sam fired several rounds through the bars into the crowd, which made them draw back.
“Let’s get behind the counter.” Said Bert, quivering with fear. With the four of them safely behind the counter, Rasha and Bert lowered the protective grid, and the three of the shop workers waited in a state of hysteria as the mob renewed there attack on the building.
“So your really from Tennessee? Wow. How in hell did you get here?”
“Well, if they have enough money to get you to college, they must have at least worked very hard.” He said. “ What I’d give ta go to college.” He added longingly.
Looking at Turi having to walk carefully over the trash and sea of glass shards, again hesitated, and then stopped and took off his own shoes, handing them to her. “No need in getting yer feet all cudt’ up.” He mumbled. “The be a bit big, but that shan’t cause no harm. Gotta have’em back once we at the station though.”
“It’s no’ so bad as that.” Said Roger. “The yankee press makes it out to be no’ so good, and things happen, yah, but it’s still a great place. Not nearly as bad as they say.” He said, in a patriotic trance. “An’ don’ worry. Police is after those mother----ers, gonna come down hard on those guys.” He then winced and bit his tongue, looking as though he felt he’d said something idiotic. “Please ‘scuse me language. I showd know better ‘ena talk that way fronta a lady. Was raised better than that...Sorry.”
A group of white youths, about fifteen and sixteen years old, was talking and laughing in a small group outside a tenement. They were passing about small glass bottles that contained a brownish liquid, and sniffing them copiously.
“Ah ouaih, j’ai un bon plane ‘ci.” Said one, letting out a laugh, and passing a bottle to his friend.
“Ouaih, ca c’est la vie, mon chum.” Said his friend, accepting the bottle and bringing it to his nose.
Roger shook his head, turning away from the scene. “The youth is going to hell. The big cheese does all he can, but with the way things are nowdays, there’s not much can be done….”
They soon arrived at a small commercial district, with shops and offices lining the street. Turning a corner, they came upon a large, square five story building. Around it was a grass yard, with a neat and well kept garden going all the way around the building. Concrete steps led up to the door.
The building was surrounded by a 15 foot tall fence of steel bars, with barbed wire coiled around the top. The gate was open.
Shouts could be heard down the street. Two officers in dark green uniforms were dragging a struggling man down the street. The man on his left had out his trebucheon, and was brandishing it widly, while gripping the man’s arm with his other hand. The detained man was screaming at the top of his lungs, a mixture of obscenities and threats, half nonsensical gibberish. The man suddenly swung and jerk wildly, causing the officers to almost lose there grip. They soon regained control, and the officer on the left clubbed the man in his right leg, causing his howls to intensify.
They dragged him up the steps and into the station.
The door to the station opened up to a lobby. Soft elevator music played over the intercom, and a young officer sat at the front desk, scribbling furiously.
On a bench in the middle of the lobby, three men sat.
The first man was dirty, greasy white man, with hair that was much to long, and who had eyes that were as bloodshot as though someone had throw sand and lemon juice into them.
The second man was a latino man, with clothes soaked with drewl, and his breath smelled as though it could be ignited.
The third man was an arab man, who swayed back and forth in a sort of trance. They all turned to wave in a friendly manner at the two, with sincere smiles, and they then went back to what they had been doing.
The young officer at the desk looked up. “Why hello! May I help you today?” he asked.
“Whatever you say, my man.” Said Sam. “But no worries. We not here to judge, eh?”
“No, no. Chicago issa mos’ dayfainaitly the is capital Illinois is.” Said Rasha. “One news time is always, toward.”
The other two nodded in agreement. “It’s the capital, man. I never even heard of Springfield.” Said Bert.
The men again exchanged concerned glances. “Your IN Alex City, you don’t know your in Alex City, and y’ain’t never heard of Alex City, and you say you ain’t no junkie. No shame in admitting it, my friend. And never heard of it? Just get off the boat from Ukraine or something?” Blurted out Sam.
Bert nodded. “Alex City, national capital, my friend. You mussa’ grow up pretty damn isolated. You hop a train into town? How could someone not know about the double C?”
“And Tha’ Cradle, man, Tha’ Cradle. Yah’ow, The Basin? Were everyone lives?” added Rasha, in a tone of rising confusion.
“Maps, man? Nah, ain’t got no maps here. Sorry.” Said Bert.
“If you go to the library, they got maps. Government maps, cannae always trust’em, but they not bad maps.” Said Sam.
“Yeah, library, tones oh mapez.” Said Rasha.
There was much commotion outside the store. A large number of people were marching in an organized group down the street. They gathered outside the small shop. They were yelling, cursing, and waving what looked like politically charged banners and placards, although most were in another language, and those in English were completely nonsensical.
There must have been four hundred people outside.
“Oh f--- it!” yelled Sam as he jumped to his feet. “Here they come! Quick guys, let’s move!”
The three men went into a hurried frenzy, as they began pushing the low metal shelves in front of the windows and the door, in a haphazard barricade. In the middle of this, Sam was also on a small radio, talking to someone. “……large group a tha’ peace boys, I think there gonna try and take us out. Groups damn big, hundreds, too big I think to be counting on any civilian support, quick, we need guys over here!........”
The people outside had begun attacking the windows, which, by the fact that they had withstood a barrage of thrown rocks and garbage, appeared to be bullet proof.
However, they were no match for the clubs and rocks of the frenzied mob, and were soon smashed to bits. The sign could be seen falling from above the shop, as a group of men and women triumphantly stomped on it over and over.
The mob had succeeded in smashing the windows, but the bars and door lock proved to be an entirely different ordeal. Despite there incessant hammering and battering, the bars over where the windows once were, and the bars and lock on the door, were holding strong.
Sam switched his machinegun from safety in anticipation. The three men looked terrified.
Bert withdrew a small 22. revolving pistol from his pocket, and Rasha grabbed a piece of rusting steel rail, which he held ready to club at anyone who would pose him a threat.
“I’ll go switch on the camera. The police might want some tape.” Said Bert.
“Check if we can get out the back, too!” said Sam
“Ana aife nah, mayke sure they nah getta aine!” said Rasha frantically.
Bert soon returned, white with terror. “There’s about forty guys out back.” He said. “No chance. But I put the bar in the door, they won’t be getting’ in. And the camera’s on.”
Sam yelled in terror as the front shelves burst into flames. The mob, although they had not got through the bars, had decided that while they waited to break through, they would through a Molotov cocktail at them.
Another hit the bars, and flaming gasoline spilled on the floor.
Sam fired several rounds through the bars into the crowd, which made them draw back.
“Let’s get behind the counter.” Said Bert, quivering with fear. With the four of them safely behind the counter, Rasha and Bert lowered the protective grid, and the three of the shop workers waited in a state of hysteria as the mob renewed there attack on the building.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
Joseph Stalin
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west
- Posts: 4649
- Joined: Mon Aug 25, 2003 5:23 pm
John crouches behind the counter with the others. As a precaution, he takes off his belt, with its heavy Civil War-style "US" buckle, and wraps it around his left fist, so that the heavy bronze is separated from his knuckles by four or five layers of leather. Despite his nervousness, he can't help laugh to himself.
Damn hippies.
He zips up his hoodie the rest of the way, pulls the hood over his head, and slips his ring back onto his right index finger.
If they get out of this mess alive, he'll have to head to a library. Just because everyone in the store takes "Alex City" for granted, or that everyone knows where the "cradle" is, doesn't mean there won't be maps to help him out.
Thus reassuring himself, he waits in anticipation with the others.
Damn hippies.
He zips up his hoodie the rest of the way, pulls the hood over his head, and slips his ring back onto his right index finger.
If they get out of this mess alive, he'll have to head to a library. Just because everyone in the store takes "Alex City" for granted, or that everyone knows where the "cradle" is, doesn't mean there won't be maps to help him out.
Thus reassuring himself, he waits in anticipation with the others.
I'm not dead; I'm dormant.
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wichita
- Administrator Emeritus
- Posts: 4427
- Joined: Mon Jan 17, 2005 6:46 pm
- Location: Suomessa!
Mark freezes in fear, not knowing what to do. His eyes dart down the track for a train to heroicly arrive - nothing. He looks around for some sort of security official on the tracks.
"Look, I don't have any money, man. Well, okay...I've got like 67 cents in my pocket I think. Just enough money to hopefully get me back home. UNlike everyone else who probably comes down from the center of the city, I'm not looking for drugs, or hookers, or booze. No I um....I was donw here for....um....research. Yeah...research. I am a scientist. I was down here collecting a view of the problems in this part of the city, experiencing them first hand. There is a movement to help rebuild the economy here....to um...to bring lots of money into the area -" He runs into the walls of the glass shelter and smiles nervously. "Look, I don't think I've even got enough cash to make it home on the train. You guys can surely find someone else more capable of helping your local economy. I'm just trying to get back home here."
"Look, I don't have any money, man. Well, okay...I've got like 67 cents in my pocket I think. Just enough money to hopefully get me back home. UNlike everyone else who probably comes down from the center of the city, I'm not looking for drugs, or hookers, or booze. No I um....I was donw here for....um....research. Yeah...research. I am a scientist. I was down here collecting a view of the problems in this part of the city, experiencing them first hand. There is a movement to help rebuild the economy here....to um...to bring lots of money into the area -" He runs into the walls of the glass shelter and smiles nervously. "Look, I don't think I've even got enough cash to make it home on the train. You guys can surely find someone else more capable of helping your local economy. I'm just trying to get back home here."
"Y-O-U! It's just two extra letters! Come on, people! This is the internet, not a barn!" --Kid President
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
(Give me a minute, I'll write the next part in a minute.)
The crowd had now begun to chant in unison, as a number of the burlier men hammered and threw large piecies of trash at the bars, although as of yet, it was a futile attempt.
"Kill'em! Kill'em! Kill'em! Kill'em! Kill'em! Kill'em! Kill'em!"
The crowd screamed over and over, although the words were heavily slurred by many thick accents.
The three men were now white with terror, and all had white knuckled grips on there weapons.
The crowd stopped it's chanting and was now thinning out, away from the shop, with only hapazard shouting now.
Soon the crowd was so thinned out, what was occuring could now be seen. A great amount number of simaritans, on both sides, obviously quite agitated, was now attacking the protestors furiously, shouting back at them.
The mob that was previously attacking the shop was now grieviously outnumbered, and many of there elk were either being chased off or beaten down.
"Get in my way, will you basards?!" yelled one man at the top of his lungs, swinging a crowbar. "I have to get to work, sons a b........"
Soon sirens could be heard, and a few dozens men on foot showed up, some wearing holsters and bullet proof vests, others in uniforms much like Sam's, with machine guns and rifles and machineguns slung over there chests or around there necks on straps. All had black radios on the front of there uniforms, and all sported steel trebucheons, with which they began attacking the remaining protestors along with the citzens. The protestors, with there arm and head bands bearing slogans and symbols, were very easy to pick out.
Soon, the source of the sirens arrived, those being a number of armour plated hummers. Some were painted white and blue, and others dark green and black, the latter also having revolving chain guns on the top, the former with the writting acronym "GRC" painted on the side in black letters. Both had sirens, much like police sirens, on the top.
Getting bored of beating the mob people who had been blocking the road, the remaining citzens moved on, rushing along as they had before.
The uniformed men, however, began putting handcuffs on the remaining ones, and dragging them off on foot, or into the hummers, before driving off.
Bert cautiously slid the bars back up, and went to pull the shelf away from the door, letting in a man in a green uniform, from the last remaining car outside.
"Wow, those guys were crazy. Woulda killed you. Always pays to lock the door, eh?" said the young uniformed man, chuckling happily.
"Tell me about it!" said Rasha, laughing also.
"Wow, this must be the first time this happened here in a while.....what, eight months?" asked Bert.
"Yah, seven, eight months, was last time." said Sam.
"Got the tape?" said the officer.
"Yup." said Bert, going into the back room and coming out with the tape, and handing it too the uniformed man. "Guys who were out back ran for it. Long gone." said Bert.
"Figures." said the young uniformed man. "Ah well. Thanks, we'll have someone back, maybe, if we can free a guy up. Not that it matters, though. These guys are having these guys have reviewed there own case already."
"True enough." said Sam. "When will they learn, I wonder?"
"There's no learnin' hippies." said the man in the green uniform.
"Not that 'ey don' try, eh?" said Rasha, sending all three four of them into a good hearted chuckle.
"Well, see you around." said the uniformed man, walking out the door too the lone hummer.
"Yah, take care, man." said Rasha.
"Well, that's that." said Sam. "I suppose those guy's I'll be here to repair, soon, I guess." He said this on the way back to his folding chair, which had been moved to make room for the barricade.
"I suppose." said Bert, going back behind the counter, and leaning on his elbow."
"Yup." said Rasha, going to get a room so as to sweep away the glass. "Nes' time, you get the glass." said Rasha to Bert.
"I know, I know...." said Bert.
"Oh, here, I'll write down directions to the nearest library." said Sam, getting up and pulling out a napkin and ball point pen, quickly scribling down a number of street names and instructions. "You might wanna take some food for the road. The hand outs don't start till later tonight."
The crowd had now begun to chant in unison, as a number of the burlier men hammered and threw large piecies of trash at the bars, although as of yet, it was a futile attempt.
"Kill'em! Kill'em! Kill'em! Kill'em! Kill'em! Kill'em! Kill'em!"
The crowd screamed over and over, although the words were heavily slurred by many thick accents.
The three men were now white with terror, and all had white knuckled grips on there weapons.
The crowd stopped it's chanting and was now thinning out, away from the shop, with only hapazard shouting now.
Soon the crowd was so thinned out, what was occuring could now be seen. A great amount number of simaritans, on both sides, obviously quite agitated, was now attacking the protestors furiously, shouting back at them.
The mob that was previously attacking the shop was now grieviously outnumbered, and many of there elk were either being chased off or beaten down.
"Get in my way, will you basards?!" yelled one man at the top of his lungs, swinging a crowbar. "I have to get to work, sons a b........"
Soon sirens could be heard, and a few dozens men on foot showed up, some wearing holsters and bullet proof vests, others in uniforms much like Sam's, with machine guns and rifles and machineguns slung over there chests or around there necks on straps. All had black radios on the front of there uniforms, and all sported steel trebucheons, with which they began attacking the remaining protestors along with the citzens. The protestors, with there arm and head bands bearing slogans and symbols, were very easy to pick out.
Soon, the source of the sirens arrived, those being a number of armour plated hummers. Some were painted white and blue, and others dark green and black, the latter also having revolving chain guns on the top, the former with the writting acronym "GRC" painted on the side in black letters. Both had sirens, much like police sirens, on the top.
Getting bored of beating the mob people who had been blocking the road, the remaining citzens moved on, rushing along as they had before.
The uniformed men, however, began putting handcuffs on the remaining ones, and dragging them off on foot, or into the hummers, before driving off.
Bert cautiously slid the bars back up, and went to pull the shelf away from the door, letting in a man in a green uniform, from the last remaining car outside.
"Wow, those guys were crazy. Woulda killed you. Always pays to lock the door, eh?" said the young uniformed man, chuckling happily.
"Tell me about it!" said Rasha, laughing also.
"Wow, this must be the first time this happened here in a while.....what, eight months?" asked Bert.
"Yah, seven, eight months, was last time." said Sam.
"Got the tape?" said the officer.
"Yup." said Bert, going into the back room and coming out with the tape, and handing it too the uniformed man. "Guys who were out back ran for it. Long gone." said Bert.
"Figures." said the young uniformed man. "Ah well. Thanks, we'll have someone back, maybe, if we can free a guy up. Not that it matters, though. These guys are having these guys have reviewed there own case already."
"True enough." said Sam. "When will they learn, I wonder?"
"There's no learnin' hippies." said the man in the green uniform.
"Not that 'ey don' try, eh?" said Rasha, sending all three four of them into a good hearted chuckle.
"Well, see you around." said the uniformed man, walking out the door too the lone hummer.
"Yah, take care, man." said Rasha.
"Well, that's that." said Sam. "I suppose those guy's I'll be here to repair, soon, I guess." He said this on the way back to his folding chair, which had been moved to make room for the barricade.
"I suppose." said Bert, going back behind the counter, and leaning on his elbow."
"Yup." said Rasha, going to get a room so as to sweep away the glass. "Nes' time, you get the glass." said Rasha to Bert.
"I know, I know...." said Bert.
"Oh, here, I'll write down directions to the nearest library." said Sam, getting up and pulling out a napkin and ball point pen, quickly scribling down a number of street names and instructions. "You might wanna take some food for the road. The hand outs don't start till later tonight."
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
Joseph Stalin
-
Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
(Again, if your character would have reacted differently to something than I assumed, please, inform me post haste. I will refund postage.
Alright, that joke's getting old.)
The leader of the group looked quizically at Mark for a moment, with confused air, and then snorted with disgust, drawing back.
"That is arguably the most rediculous thing I have ever heard." he said. "I must say I am very insulted. I we may not have gone on to secondary education, but that doesn't mean were stupid. That's just offensive. I mean, really man! Firstly, you know damn well you can use that transfer until one a.m. Secondly, they is no such program, and even if there was, scientists do not scope out stuff like that, they use, uhhhh......What do they call those guys again?" he asked aloud. "Social something?"
"Something like that." said the oriental man.
"It sounds right." said the massive man. "Although I can't quite pin down the exact name."
"Do you know?" the man asked Mark, as though he had been conducting a perfectly normal conversation. "They call them social surveyors or something, right?"
"Anyhow," he continued. "They don't use scientists for that. Scientists study science. And even if you were a scientist, that would mean you have money, and are quite capable of buying all the tickets you need."
"Please, my friend, we're just trying to conduct a simple transaction. Please, just save yourself some trouble, preserve your dignity. Just give us your money, please. We'll leave you your transfer. C'mon, my brother. Just hand it over. It's just money, it's not worth your health. Just hand it over."
"Or we'll steal your shoes, too." piped in the albino man.
The large man nodded knowingly. "We've done it before. It's a really unpleasant ordeal, believe me. It's happened to me before. C'mon, man. No one wants to hurt anyone tonight. We've nothing against you."
Alright, that joke's getting old.)
The leader of the group looked quizically at Mark for a moment, with confused air, and then snorted with disgust, drawing back.
"That is arguably the most rediculous thing I have ever heard." he said. "I must say I am very insulted. I we may not have gone on to secondary education, but that doesn't mean were stupid. That's just offensive. I mean, really man! Firstly, you know damn well you can use that transfer until one a.m. Secondly, they is no such program, and even if there was, scientists do not scope out stuff like that, they use, uhhhh......What do they call those guys again?" he asked aloud. "Social something?"
"Something like that." said the oriental man.
"It sounds right." said the massive man. "Although I can't quite pin down the exact name."
"Do you know?" the man asked Mark, as though he had been conducting a perfectly normal conversation. "They call them social surveyors or something, right?"
"Anyhow," he continued. "They don't use scientists for that. Scientists study science. And even if you were a scientist, that would mean you have money, and are quite capable of buying all the tickets you need."
"Please, my friend, we're just trying to conduct a simple transaction. Please, just save yourself some trouble, preserve your dignity. Just give us your money, please. We'll leave you your transfer. C'mon, my brother. Just hand it over. It's just money, it's not worth your health. Just hand it over."
"Or we'll steal your shoes, too." piped in the albino man.
The large man nodded knowingly. "We've done it before. It's a really unpleasant ordeal, believe me. It's happened to me before. C'mon, man. No one wants to hurt anyone tonight. We've nothing against you."
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
Joseph Stalin
-
wichita
- Administrator Emeritus
- Posts: 4427
- Joined: Mon Jan 17, 2005 6:46 pm
- Location: Suomessa!
"I am a sociologist.", Mark replies, scrounging some confidence. "Have you ever heard of the social sciences? We observe people and their interactions in an organized and scientific manner. And the money is not all that great, so you shouldn't assume that I am rich just because I am from a different part of town and have a different job than most people around here."
He digs through his pockets and pulls out the handful of coins. He tosses them on the deck of the platform angrily. "There! Are you happy now? There you can go buy a pop, now. Transaction complete." Begins to inch his way slowly down the deck towards the next boarding slot.
He digs through his pockets and pulls out the handful of coins. He tosses them on the deck of the platform angrily. "There! Are you happy now? There you can go buy a pop, now. Transaction complete." Begins to inch his way slowly down the deck towards the next boarding slot.
"Y-O-U! It's just two extra letters! Come on, people! This is the internet, not a barn!" --Kid President
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
The leader of the group looked exasperated and annoyed as Mark talked about his job in sociology. He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. The men behind him did not look terribly happy about it either, as though they had other things to do and that this was a waste of there extremely precious times.
There eyes widened as Mark tossed the coins onto the platform. They did not look so much surprised as the amount of money as by the action. They glared at him for a moment, as though he had been extremely insulting, and then the albino and the tall man stooped and began picking up the coins.
“I must say, that was a terribly rude thing to do. We ask you just to give us your money, and you pretend like you have none, you lie to us about ridiculous government programs that do not exist, and then you throw change on the ground as if we are idiots and dogs who are not good enough to have it handed to us, rather having to pick them off the grounds like dogs. How very insulting. Lesser men would kill you. Your lucky I don't just slice open your throat and take the rest of your damn money, classist punk.” And with that he turned to begin picking up the coins.
The oriental man, who had been standing there fuming, and who had moved to Marks right, did not stoop to pick up the coins. As soon as the man finished his little diatribe, he yelled quite suddenly, at the top of his lungs “I AM a lesser man!” and with taking several quick steps, crouched down, and using his right hand, swung the piece of pipe at Mark’s left shin.
There eyes widened as Mark tossed the coins onto the platform. They did not look so much surprised as the amount of money as by the action. They glared at him for a moment, as though he had been extremely insulting, and then the albino and the tall man stooped and began picking up the coins.
“I must say, that was a terribly rude thing to do. We ask you just to give us your money, and you pretend like you have none, you lie to us about ridiculous government programs that do not exist, and then you throw change on the ground as if we are idiots and dogs who are not good enough to have it handed to us, rather having to pick them off the grounds like dogs. How very insulting. Lesser men would kill you. Your lucky I don't just slice open your throat and take the rest of your damn money, classist punk.” And with that he turned to begin picking up the coins.
The oriental man, who had been standing there fuming, and who had moved to Marks right, did not stoop to pick up the coins. As soon as the man finished his little diatribe, he yelled quite suddenly, at the top of his lungs “I AM a lesser man!” and with taking several quick steps, crouched down, and using his right hand, swung the piece of pipe at Mark’s left shin.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
Joseph Stalin
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wichita
- Administrator Emeritus
- Posts: 4427
- Joined: Mon Jan 17, 2005 6:46 pm
- Location: Suomessa!
"Aaahh!" Mark screams as the pipe connects with his shin and he falls to the ground in pain. "Dear God! Please don't hurt me! I gave you all my money! Please just leave me alone! What is wrong with you guys? I'm just trying to get home! I was trying to mind my own business. Please, leave me alone!"
He tries to crawl away from the gang slowly, looking around for help from someone on the platform...but fearing for the worst.
He tries to crawl away from the gang slowly, looking around for help from someone on the platform...but fearing for the worst.
"Y-O-U! It's just two extra letters! Come on, people! This is the internet, not a barn!" --Kid President
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
The leader of the group stood up abruntly, soon followed by the two others. They moved quickly to block off there friend, who had been about to strike again.
"Study that, bass'ard!"
With some shoving and arguing, they soon got the attacker to lower his hands to his sides. Although not in posistion to swing again, his face was still twisted in an exepresion of rage, and he was breathing heavily.
"Calm down, Laurence!" said the albino man. "For christ sake, man!"
"Why you lie?! Why you lie?!" Laurence began to scream.
The leader of the group cast a glance over his shoulder at Mark, as though is were his own fault.
"Really man, why you say things like that? And throwing the coins like that was just very insulting, why you do things like that? Not safe." said the largest man, shaking his head.
"It's not his fault. He's higher than the national." said the leader. "Will you be alright?" he asked Mark.
"Get home, man." the largest man, as the group began to walk away, sourounding the man called Laurence so as to make certain he could not turn around.
The ground had been picked clean of coins, and several minutes later, the train rolled into the station.
"Study that, bass'ard!"
With some shoving and arguing, they soon got the attacker to lower his hands to his sides. Although not in posistion to swing again, his face was still twisted in an exepresion of rage, and he was breathing heavily.
"Calm down, Laurence!" said the albino man. "For christ sake, man!"
"Why you lie?! Why you lie?!" Laurence began to scream.
The leader of the group cast a glance over his shoulder at Mark, as though is were his own fault.
"Really man, why you say things like that? And throwing the coins like that was just very insulting, why you do things like that? Not safe." said the largest man, shaking his head.
"It's not his fault. He's higher than the national." said the leader. "Will you be alright?" he asked Mark.
"Get home, man." the largest man, as the group began to walk away, sourounding the man called Laurence so as to make certain he could not turn around.
The ground had been picked clean of coins, and several minutes later, the train rolled into the station.
Last edited by Schme on Wed May 11, 2005 9:26 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
Joseph Stalin
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wichita
- Administrator Emeritus
- Posts: 4427
- Joined: Mon Jan 17, 2005 6:46 pm
- Location: Suomessa!
Mark jumps on the train as quickly as he can and quickly finds a seat to land in, rubbing the charleyhorse on his shin. Where am I? He thinks to himself. This is insane! How am I ever going to get home? I hope I don't need any of those coins to get to wherever I'm trying to go
Mark looks around the train cautiously like a whipped pup. Everyone seems to be ready to pounce on him, ready to take advantage of the foreign guy. Who's going to beat me up next? Are the evil girl scouts going to try and steal my transfer slips?
Mark looks around the train cautiously like a whipped pup. Everyone seems to be ready to pounce on him, ready to take advantage of the foreign guy. Who's going to beat me up next? Are the evil girl scouts going to try and steal my transfer slips?
"Y-O-U! It's just two extra letters! Come on, people! This is the internet, not a barn!" --Kid President
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west
- Posts: 4649
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John smiles. "Thanks again for everything."
He takes a few candy bars from a shelf, after looking to Rasha for permission, and shoves them into one of the pockets of his sweatshirt. He also takes an apple from one of the baskets.
He pockets it, and takes the directions from Sam.
"You've been real pals. Best of luck to ya."
He takes his belt from his arm and puts it back on, buckling the "US" belt buckle again.
Thus equipped, he pokes his head out the door, looks for remnants of the violent crowd, and glances at the directions Sam gave him.
He takes a few candy bars from a shelf, after looking to Rasha for permission, and shoves them into one of the pockets of his sweatshirt. He also takes an apple from one of the baskets.
He pockets it, and takes the directions from Sam.
"You've been real pals. Best of luck to ya."
He takes his belt from his arm and puts it back on, buckling the "US" belt buckle again.
Thus equipped, he pokes his head out the door, looks for remnants of the violent crowd, and glances at the directions Sam gave him.
I'm not dead; I'm dormant.
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
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Schme
- Posts: 2067
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 10:21 pm
- Location: Canada
Alright, I appears I don't have time to make a proper exetremly long winded and repetitive response today either. I'm only really half done, and something has just come up.
And so, I suppose I shall try and finish up tommorow.
It's slow, but still moving.
See you later, everyone!
Take care, and keep your heads down.
And so, I suppose I shall try and finish up tommorow.
It's slow, but still moving.
See you later, everyone!
Take care, and keep your heads down.
"One death is a tragedy, a million is just statistics."
Joseph Stalin
Joseph Stalin
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