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pridecroweth) wrote2020-08-27 05:10 pm
pridecroweth) wrote2020-08-27 05:10 pm
psl;
jamjar au;
monster attacks, low resources, no revival mechanics ingame but no power nerfing either.
weapons are available but hard to find. monsters are 'corrupted' but their bites don't transfer it. they are however v slow to heal.
set in a super fancy old museum with active historical displays. however, there's been lots of damage to the building/displays, few are 100 percent intact. the pcs have set up in the basement where the valuable archives were kept bc there's an actual vault.
power has been jury-rigged by pcs (idk, maybe tony stark is wandering around). water and food need to be scavenged for and rationed. maybe 30-40 pcs at present?
sam checks in with them regularly but has a 'hide-out' that's actually an old security/control room that overlooks one of the larger display rooms.
monster attacks, low resources, no revival mechanics ingame but no power nerfing either.
weapons are available but hard to find. monsters are 'corrupted' but their bites don't transfer it. they are however v slow to heal.
set in a super fancy old museum with active historical displays. however, there's been lots of damage to the building/displays, few are 100 percent intact. the pcs have set up in the basement where the valuable archives were kept bc there's an actual vault.
power has been jury-rigged by pcs (idk, maybe tony stark is wandering around). water and food need to be scavenged for and rationed. maybe 30-40 pcs at present?
sam checks in with them regularly but has a 'hide-out' that's actually an old security/control room that overlooks one of the larger display rooms.
no subject
I'm fine, [ he wheezes, bringing the pistol up to bear. The woman's crying now, but isn't scrabbling for a weapon. The man hasn't moved from where Sam was treating him. And the kid -
Pain twists in Carver's chest. There's a knife through the kid's wrist and the boy's crying, everyone's fucking crying. He looks like Matthew.
Carver grits his teeth and lowers the gun. He'll live. Probably with a cracked rib or two, but he'll live. It was stupid to lower his guard. ]
no subject
One of us needs to go back to basecamp and get that guy Hicks and the woman Ebbisaryn. She can transport them, he can treat them. There's a chance we'll get useful information out of them if we can decipher what they're saying.
no subject
[ It’s easier to focus on the task at hand. It distracts from the hurt, that throbbing sharpness that says he probably does have a cracked rib or two, the kind of damage that lingers to remind you of your sins. Better to focus on the job, on staying alive. And so he keeps his focus on the adults, on making sure the kid doesn’t try for a hidden weapon.
There’s blood on the ground now. That familiar gunpowder stink. He stares at Sam, incredulous. ]
They’re going to try and kill us the first chance we get.
no subject
[ He just sounds — tired. He needs something to tie the kid up, but for now he just stays where he is, pinning him down with one knee against the kid's good wrist, hand steadied at his back. Said kid is all of eighty pounds, it's not like he's going anywhere now. ]
I'm not going to execute prisoners for the sin of being desperate and scared.
[ He pats the kid down. He has one extra magazine for the handgun, and a knife. Those get tossed in Carver's direction. ]
I need you with me on this one.
no subject
[ Carver can feel his voice rising, anger twisting in his throat because this really is like with Dixon all over again. The rules are there for a reason. It doesn't matter why these people did what they did. Sure, Carver probably would've done the same in their position, but they fucking lost. It's just what happens. You have to protect your own people first. And if you lose, you just die.
It's God's will. An inevitability.
He picks up the knife and the handgun, though. Tucks them away. Practicality. ]
Yeah, that's the thing: I'm not. They're going to try and kill you the second they get an opening. Your brain get scrambled from that grenade or something?
no subject
He might've asked Carver to head downstairs and get the rope from his pack, but giving him something that sounds like an order might tip the scales. Instead, he just pulls his belt through the loops of his pants and uses that to start tying up the kid. ]
You know, [ he begins, calmly conversant. He ties both wrists, despite a squawk of pain, because pain's something people can fight through when they're determined enough. ] I've got four good reasons to hate mercenaries.
[ Four names. Jefferson died screaming until the flames ate the oxygen out of his lungs.
Carver pegged him as a ranger from the motto on his arm, but did he notice the faded coordinates beneath it, recognize that they're for a place in the al-hajarah desert? ]
But I was willing to give you a shot, despite my past experiences. I know they might retaliate. I know that they might be part of a bigger group that's going to realize they're missing and hunt us down. But I also recognize that information and allies are both valuable, and that this is the first chance we've had in this world to make an attempt at both. If they try to kill me, then I was wrong, and that's the consequence for it. You've got my permission to gloat over my corpse.
no subject
Four good reasons, Sam says, like that's going to change anything. Like it even matters. ]
Fuck this. You think you can control three prisoners on your own, godspeed: I'm out.
[ He made a mistake staying with the group in the first place. It's better to go out alone. ]
no subject
[ He shakes his head as he stands. He's not going to argue further — that part of him already feels scraped open and raw. ]
Leave the rifle and my bag. You ever need a hand with anything, you know where to find me.
[ The guy with the rattling breath isn't a threat. He's unconscious, condensation and blood bubbling along the trach line. So Sam hefts the kid and the woman up to their feet. He'll take the chance marching them to basecamp himself. ]
no subject
[ It comes out flat, angry. The rifle, the body armor, that's his unless Sam wants to fucking fight him for it. He'll leave the bag because he doesn't want to get weighed down, not yet, he needs to find a good place to hole up. Somewhere out of the way where he can consider his options.
Staying with the group was his mistake. He can't do that again. It made him weak. Made him fucking sentimental, talking about fry bread and all this shit that doesn't matter like the two of them could be friends.
No. Pope taught him better. It's Carver's own goddamn fault for forgetting the lesson.
He drops the damn bag. And then he turns on his heel. He'll never see these people again. He knows he ought to shoot them all right here and now, be done with it, and it's a sin that he doesn't. ]
no subject
Carver.
[ he pulls another mag out of his back pocket, this one for the rifle. ]
If you're gonna be a dick about it.
[ Might as well take the last mag. Sam's done more with a hell of a lot less than what he's got on him now. ]
no subject
[ This, with venom. Carver doesn’t turn back, doesn’t stop. Fuck these people, fuck this man in particular—it’s sentimental that’s going to get him killed, Carver thinks, furious at himself for falling into the trap in the first place. Considerable effort went into training him better. And this is he how he thanks the commander?
It’s an awful sin, surely. He deserves whatever happens to him because of it.
He doesn’t look back, doesn’t try and catch any last look of Sam’s handsome face. If they see each other again, Carver supposes they’ll kill each other. It’s how these things go. ]