Steel Balls and Soft Skulls -or- Making a Merc Die: The Adventure
- Thread starter TheNine
- Start date
- Crossover
Just Like My Hero- The Hamburglar
TheNine
I’ll compromise with the skeletons
- Location
- The good ol' US of A
- Pronouns
- He/Him
As much as you'd love to flinch a bit from this asshole, there's every possibility he's already on-guard from your thinly-veiled hostility, and it probably wouldn't be a good idea to immediately rob him. On the other hand, you don't suppose you've exactly been a shining example of unbroken moral fiber since you got here, what with the corpse-looting and such, so perhaps it wouldn't exactly be out of character for you to just find someone who looks like they have some expendable cash and... take away that expendable cash. Obviously, though, about the worst thing that could happen at this point is you getting caught and arrested. Well, on second thought, getting caught and shot up is probably worse, but that seems ever-so-slightly less likely given your gender. Come to think of that, you can use your gender as a definite advantage. The plus side to a camp full of misogynist pigs is that you've got a camp full of people who won't expect you to rob them blind.
You tell the salesman that you'll pick up your horse in an hour or two, and slip out of the corral, your eyes scanning the crowd for drunks, unattended purses, or gullible softies. Much to your disappointment, no one seems to be jumping to the forefront- so soon before the race, it looks like most people are keeping on their toes. In the absence of an easy target, you'll just have to settle for a tough one. You can't help but grin to yourself. You've always loved a chance to show off, even if you're the only one that sees it. Well, you and the poor stiff you'll be fleecing.
It hits you that your internal monologue is sounding more and more like a 1930's gangster, and you don't know how to feel about that. Well, you're sure it's nothing. You slip into the most crowded area you can find, which appears to be just outside the communal cafeteria, constantly swamped. With so many people bumping and twisting against each other, it'd be almost impossible for someone to notice you picking their pocket. Unfortunately, it seems wallets are comparatively rare here, which means you're forced to rob pouches or weird quasi-purses. Still not too difficult. You slide a man's knife from its sheath, moving on before he has a chance to turn and see you. With it, it becomes infinitely easier to simply slice the strings connecting people's life savings to their belts.
Wow, maybe you really are a bad person. If you win, you'll give the 50 million to charity. That'll chase the conscience away.
You exit the crowd and slip into the space between two temporary buildings, escaping the possible eyes of your victims. Moving forward, you enter a less populated part of the camp, only a few people walking by, here and there, by chance. The perfect place to count up your earnings. On top of the knife, you've got your hands on... you whistle to yourself. 2200 dollars. You justify yourself that if none of the people you robbed had over 1200 on hand, then they must all be registered already, so at least you haven't ruined anyone's chances of being in the race. Add the 2200 to your 750, and you've ended up with a very healthy 2950 dollars. It occurs to you that these are some unusually rich cowboys, either that or this is just a world where money is cheap.
Well, you've gotten out of the situation clean, and gotten quite a bit of spending cash on you, not to mention the knife. Guess this is where you register. Or, perhaps it'd be better to go out for a ride first- get a taste for your horse, and hopefully relearn what little riding skill you have.
[] Register now, anything else can come later.
[] Pick up your horse and take him for a ride. No use registering if you're not even sure you can ride a horse.
[] Write in...
You tell the salesman that you'll pick up your horse in an hour or two, and slip out of the corral, your eyes scanning the crowd for drunks, unattended purses, or gullible softies. Much to your disappointment, no one seems to be jumping to the forefront- so soon before the race, it looks like most people are keeping on their toes. In the absence of an easy target, you'll just have to settle for a tough one. You can't help but grin to yourself. You've always loved a chance to show off, even if you're the only one that sees it. Well, you and the poor stiff you'll be fleecing.
It hits you that your internal monologue is sounding more and more like a 1930's gangster, and you don't know how to feel about that. Well, you're sure it's nothing. You slip into the most crowded area you can find, which appears to be just outside the communal cafeteria, constantly swamped. With so many people bumping and twisting against each other, it'd be almost impossible for someone to notice you picking their pocket. Unfortunately, it seems wallets are comparatively rare here, which means you're forced to rob pouches or weird quasi-purses. Still not too difficult. You slide a man's knife from its sheath, moving on before he has a chance to turn and see you. With it, it becomes infinitely easier to simply slice the strings connecting people's life savings to their belts.
Wow, maybe you really are a bad person. If you win, you'll give the 50 million to charity. That'll chase the conscience away.
You exit the crowd and slip into the space between two temporary buildings, escaping the possible eyes of your victims. Moving forward, you enter a less populated part of the camp, only a few people walking by, here and there, by chance. The perfect place to count up your earnings. On top of the knife, you've got your hands on... you whistle to yourself. 2200 dollars. You justify yourself that if none of the people you robbed had over 1200 on hand, then they must all be registered already, so at least you haven't ruined anyone's chances of being in the race. Add the 2200 to your 750, and you've ended up with a very healthy 2950 dollars. It occurs to you that these are some unusually rich cowboys, either that or this is just a world where money is cheap.
Well, you've gotten out of the situation clean, and gotten quite a bit of spending cash on you, not to mention the knife. Guess this is where you register. Or, perhaps it'd be better to go out for a ride first- get a taste for your horse, and hopefully relearn what little riding skill you have.
[] Register now, anything else can come later.
[] Pick up your horse and take him for a ride. No use registering if you're not even sure you can ride a horse.
[] Write in...
Dark Lord Potato
Aspiring OverLord from Canada
- Location
- Ottawa, Ontario
[X] Register now, anything else can come later.
- Location
- Scotland
[X] Pick up your horse and ride him to the admissions tent. They may need to check him over as part of the admissions, and you don't trust the salesman not to try and get more money out of you for "taking care" of your new horse
Ultramandalore
Errant Quester
- Location
- just south of Parts Unknown
[x] Register now, anything else can come later.
It's About Time
TheNine
I’ll compromise with the skeletons
- Location
- The good ol' US of A
- Pronouns
- He/Him
(As per Lightsaber Dalek's recommendation, and since it doesn't contradict any other votes, she'll be riding her horse to admissions.)
You don't have a saddle yet, and you'll have to get your hands on one soon. Thankfully, you've certainly got enough money for one, and in the mean time, you rode bareback when you were on the ranch with Engie anyway, so there's no worry there. You figure it'd be a good idea to take your horse with you right now since, after all, if you leave it with that scumbag salesman, he'll probably just sell it to someone else and move out so you can't find him. Besides, you might need your horse to register in the first place. You collect your horse, avoiding as much conversation with the salesman as possible in doing so, and ride over to the registry office. You realize you don't even have a rope to tether the horse, and you curse as you leave him outside, hoping he won't bolt while you're in there.
The man you see being the registry desk is immediately odd in the fact that he looks basically identical to Tweedle-Dee, and leaves you wondering where his mildly-offensive fake twin brother is. A little bastard just under four feet tall, with a head round as an egg and a dumb little sprout of hair on his head. His uniform is dirty and scuffed, no doubt from overly long work hours on his dusty beach, surrounded by unkempt cowboys. You can't help but feel bad for him.
"Hey. I'm here to register for the race. I'm told it's 1,200 dollars?"
"That's right. I'm also gonna need to get the noseprints on your horse, and you'll be provided a saddle blanket with your registration number on it that you'll have to wear during the race. Let me just answer the common questions right out the gate- Yes, you can bring a gun, no, you won't be disqualified for killing someone in self-defense unless you're convicted in a court of law, there will be relief stations with food, water, and supplies along the race course, but if you use them you'll be disqualified. If you die, half of your registration fee will be sent to your next of kin if you have next of kin to send it to. Yes, you can take any route you like in the race presuming you hit all the checkpoints in order, and no, goddamn it, you are not allowed to swap horses at any point during the race. You get all of that, ma'am?"
You nod, a bit overwhelmed with information, but confirm that you did indeed get all of that. "When do I get the blanket? Am I gonna have to wait around for that?"
"Ma'am, I literally just pick yours up from the pile, write in your name next to your number, and stamp your horse's noseprint on there. Speaking of, mind getting that for me?"
"I'm sorry, I'm... not exactly sure how. Do I like... put ink on his nose, and then stick a paper to him?"
"That's about right ma'am, but not just any kind of ink."
He hands you a piece of paper and what looks like- well, just a sponge of ink, like you'd use for wetting a stamp or something.
"Just stick this on his nose, then get the print with the paper. Horses like the smell of the ink, so he won't fight it, but don't let him lick it either."
"Alright. Give me one second."
You step outside, looking around, and letting out a deep sigh of relief when you see that Lone Digger is off just a few meters away, munching at a stubborn bit of grass.
You get the print, return, and hand it to the registry officer. The strange little person passes you a saddle blanket in exchange, before handing you your registry paper.
"Just sign your first name there, your last name there, give me the money, and you'll officially be registered for the Steel Ball Run race event."
He passes you a pen, and you suddenly seize up. First and last name... you're Pauling. Miss Pauling at best. That was all you were, you didn't have another name, you didn't need one. The last one to know your given name was... her. And with her gone, it was... needless to say, you weren't eager to show off your given name. You simply sign it "Miss Pauling," and he doesn't seem to complain. You hand him the money, nodding curtly and a bit nervously, and he nods back.
"Welcome to the race, ma'am. Good luck out there. Lord only knows all of y'all will need it."
You take your saddlebag. On each side, it reads #2910.
"One more thing, remind me, when does the race start exactly?"
"Day after tomorrow, September 25th, 10 AM exactly. You'll be expected to be at your starting place, labeled with your number, by 9:30 AM, just in time to hear the speech by Steven Steel."
Now you've got several more questions. First off, Zordon said the race would be starting just hours after your arrival, not two days. Second off, the fuck is Steven Steel? And third off, it's September? Damn, California weather is fantastic.
Well, that last one wasn't a question. You step out of the registry office, glancing over at Lone Digger, doggedly trying to lick the ink off of his nose.
For the rest of today and all of tomorrow, the world is open to you. What do you do?
[] Write in...
You don't have a saddle yet, and you'll have to get your hands on one soon. Thankfully, you've certainly got enough money for one, and in the mean time, you rode bareback when you were on the ranch with Engie anyway, so there's no worry there. You figure it'd be a good idea to take your horse with you right now since, after all, if you leave it with that scumbag salesman, he'll probably just sell it to someone else and move out so you can't find him. Besides, you might need your horse to register in the first place. You collect your horse, avoiding as much conversation with the salesman as possible in doing so, and ride over to the registry office. You realize you don't even have a rope to tether the horse, and you curse as you leave him outside, hoping he won't bolt while you're in there.
The man you see being the registry desk is immediately odd in the fact that he looks basically identical to Tweedle-Dee, and leaves you wondering where his mildly-offensive fake twin brother is. A little bastard just under four feet tall, with a head round as an egg and a dumb little sprout of hair on his head. His uniform is dirty and scuffed, no doubt from overly long work hours on his dusty beach, surrounded by unkempt cowboys. You can't help but feel bad for him.
"Hey. I'm here to register for the race. I'm told it's 1,200 dollars?"
"That's right. I'm also gonna need to get the noseprints on your horse, and you'll be provided a saddle blanket with your registration number on it that you'll have to wear during the race. Let me just answer the common questions right out the gate- Yes, you can bring a gun, no, you won't be disqualified for killing someone in self-defense unless you're convicted in a court of law, there will be relief stations with food, water, and supplies along the race course, but if you use them you'll be disqualified. If you die, half of your registration fee will be sent to your next of kin if you have next of kin to send it to. Yes, you can take any route you like in the race presuming you hit all the checkpoints in order, and no, goddamn it, you are not allowed to swap horses at any point during the race. You get all of that, ma'am?"
You nod, a bit overwhelmed with information, but confirm that you did indeed get all of that. "When do I get the blanket? Am I gonna have to wait around for that?"
"Ma'am, I literally just pick yours up from the pile, write in your name next to your number, and stamp your horse's noseprint on there. Speaking of, mind getting that for me?"
"I'm sorry, I'm... not exactly sure how. Do I like... put ink on his nose, and then stick a paper to him?"
"That's about right ma'am, but not just any kind of ink."
He hands you a piece of paper and what looks like- well, just a sponge of ink, like you'd use for wetting a stamp or something.
"Just stick this on his nose, then get the print with the paper. Horses like the smell of the ink, so he won't fight it, but don't let him lick it either."
"Alright. Give me one second."
You step outside, looking around, and letting out a deep sigh of relief when you see that Lone Digger is off just a few meters away, munching at a stubborn bit of grass.
You get the print, return, and hand it to the registry officer. The strange little person passes you a saddle blanket in exchange, before handing you your registry paper.
"Just sign your first name there, your last name there, give me the money, and you'll officially be registered for the Steel Ball Run race event."
He passes you a pen, and you suddenly seize up. First and last name... you're Pauling. Miss Pauling at best. That was all you were, you didn't have another name, you didn't need one. The last one to know your given name was... her. And with her gone, it was... needless to say, you weren't eager to show off your given name. You simply sign it "Miss Pauling," and he doesn't seem to complain. You hand him the money, nodding curtly and a bit nervously, and he nods back.
"Welcome to the race, ma'am. Good luck out there. Lord only knows all of y'all will need it."
You take your saddlebag. On each side, it reads #2910.
"One more thing, remind me, when does the race start exactly?"
"Day after tomorrow, September 25th, 10 AM exactly. You'll be expected to be at your starting place, labeled with your number, by 9:30 AM, just in time to hear the speech by Steven Steel."
Now you've got several more questions. First off, Zordon said the race would be starting just hours after your arrival, not two days. Second off, the fuck is Steven Steel? And third off, it's September? Damn, California weather is fantastic.
Well, that last one wasn't a question. You step out of the registry office, glancing over at Lone Digger, doggedly trying to lick the ink off of his nose.
For the rest of today and all of tomorrow, the world is open to you. What do you do?
[] Write in...
- Location
- Scotland
[X] Check the starting point. If Zordon said the race was in a few hours, you better make sure that not-tweedle didn't make a mistake. He obviously didn't give a shit anyway.
- if the race really is in a few days, find somewhere relatively cheap to stay. Then, either negotiate for work in return for a bed, or go on a thieving spee. If all else fails, you worked with a group of eccentric mercenaries for who-knows-how-long. You have to have picked something up. Do something illegal for cash.
- if the race really is in a few days, find somewhere relatively cheap to stay. Then, either negotiate for work in return for a bed, or go on a thieving spee. If all else fails, you worked with a group of eccentric mercenaries for who-knows-how-long. You have to have picked something up. Do something illegal for cash.
Dark Lord Potato
Aspiring OverLord from Canada
- Location
- Ottawa, Ontario
[X] Check the starting point. If Zordon said the race was in a few hours, you better make sure that not-tweedle didn't make a mistake. He obviously didn't give a shit anyway.
- if the race really is in a few days, find somewhere relatively cheap to stay. Then, either negotiate for work in return for a bed, or go on a thieving spee. If all else fails, you worked with a group of eccentric mercenaries for who-knows-how-long. You have to have picked something up. Do something illegal for cash.
- if the race really is in a few days, find somewhere relatively cheap to stay. Then, either negotiate for work in return for a bed, or go on a thieving spee. If all else fails, you worked with a group of eccentric mercenaries for who-knows-how-long. You have to have picked something up. Do something illegal for cash.
Ultramandalore
Errant Quester
- Location
- just south of Parts Unknown
[X] Check the starting point. If Zordon said the race was in a few hours, you better make sure that not-tweedle didn't make a mistake. He obviously didn't give a shit anyway.
- if the race really is in a few days, find somewhere relatively cheap to stay. Then, either negotiate for work in return for a bed, or go on a thieving spee. If all else fails, you worked with a group of eccentric mercenaries for who-knows-how-long. You have to have picked something up. Do something illegal for cash.
- if the race really is in a few days, find somewhere relatively cheap to stay. Then, either negotiate for work in return for a bed, or go on a thieving spee. If all else fails, you worked with a group of eccentric mercenaries for who-knows-how-long. You have to have picked something up. Do something illegal for cash.
Dark Lord Potato
Aspiring OverLord from Canada
- Location
- Ottawa, Ontario
I'm still interested in Jojo!
Wait, Another??
TheNine
I’ll compromise with the skeletons
- Location
- The good ol' US of A
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Yeah, no way you're taking that lazy bastard at his word. He sounds like an uninterested kid working the drive-thru at a Burger King. You wouldn't bet against the likelihood that he just got the date wrong and couldn't give enough fucks to correct himself. You'd really ought to check for yourself.
You stroll outside with your newly-acquired saddle-bag. You're not certain just how twitchy Lone Digger is, and so you're careful as you put it over his back. He seems to not mind much. Lucky that you got a patient horse, you suppose. Though at the same time, perhaps you don't want your horse to be too patient. This is intended to be a race, after all. You pull yourself up into the saddle, and point Digger in the rough direction of where you want to head, the starting line. Very few people are hanging around. You don't see many racers or spectators at the starting line, but just to be safe, you trot your horse over to one sharp-looking cowboy and ask him outright.
"Hey, you seem like the kind of person who can rub two brain cells together. I heard the race starts 10 AM the 25th, day after tomorrow. Is that right?"
"Yes ma'am, I reckon it is. You intendin' to participate?"
"Well no sir." You grin to yourself. "I intend to win."
He chuckles. "Good attitude to have, I suppose. One of them northern folks, right?"
"By birth, yeah. But I've spent most of my life in New- just North of Mexico. Little town called Teufort. I don't suppose you're familiar?"
"I don't reckon I am."
"Nobody is." You nod politely to him and he tips his hat. You turn away from him and trot off on Lone Digger. Idly, you pat the horse's chest. "He seemed like a nice guy."
Digger snorts.
"The 25th, huh? How about that. You think Zordon was wrong, or just lying to us?"
The horse doesn't give you the benefit of a reply.
"Yeah, I don't know either. I mean, who could know? God works in mysterious ways and all that. Like bringing back the dead to make them participate in old West horse races. Well, uh, crap. It looks like I'm gonna have to find somewhere to sleep for two nights. Think there are any condos for rent out here?"
Again, the rude animal doesn't even respond.
"Me neither. Wonder if I could find somebody who died of dysentery and just kinda... claim his stuff. Nah, it might have germs. Can you believe I almost mentioned New Mexico to that guy back there? I'm pretty sure that state doesn't even exist right now. Maybe it does. Who knows, I never went to public school."
This time, the horse actually does reply, shaking his head in such a way that his ears and mane flop about. You can't tell if he's complaining about your poor upbringing or getting a fly off of him. You break from your entrancing conversation with this master verbal charmer and glance about for anything that could be considered lodging. Soon enough you see a building that looks like it's been hastily constructed of a mixture of wood, burlap, and iguana leather. You set Digger in that direction, dismounting at the front door and tying his reigns to a nearby post you assume is for that purpose.
You're not a horse woman, but you are very good with knots.
You step inside, and lo and behold, you're greeted by a single man behind a single desk in front of several rows of napsacks and the few odd mattresses.
You snap your fingers to get the distracted man's attention. "Hey, this a place to sleep?"
He jolts to attention. "Um, yes, it is, but... I mean, I don't want to-"
"Yeah, yeah, I get the point, "ain't no place for a lady" and all that bullshit. I've seen worse in one day that you have in your entire sheltered life, so don't go trying to protect me from the horrors of a few underdressed and underwashed men."
He scowls at you. "Yeah, I was gonna say that, but don't go on about the worst things people have seen. I had to come home to my goddamned family slaughtered by Indians, so I'm pretty sure I've seen plenty bad."
You blush, taking a step back. You gulp before speaking. "Oh. I'm sorry. The, uh, point stands. I'd like a place to sleep."
"Got your own blankets?"
"I'll make do."
He nods. "40 dollars for a spot, but we're nearly out of room, so you might have to squeeze."
You nod in turn. Going out on a limb, you decide to probe a bit about the economy. "Cheap."
"It ain't bad, but I wouldn't say "cheap."
You shrug. "I've already been in one place today that asked seventy-five for less than this."
"Well, I'm glad to be the better competitor."
"Where can someone get a meal around here? And, uh, what would it cost."
"Just down there-" He points a thumb to his right, presumably referring to somewhere outside this building of wood and burlap. "You can get some warm food. For a good meal, I guess about 20 dollars. "Good" is relative though. We're talking about bread, meat, beans."
You've only got one more question. "You know where I can get some alcohol?"
"Nowhere I can legally send you to. Sellin' and drinkin' is against the rules in the starting area. Mr. Steele doesn't want everyone to get the idea that the Steel Ball Run is made up of a bunch of drunks. I'm sure it wouldn't be hard to find someone to buy it from, though, 'long as you're quiet."
You nod. "Thanks for the heads-up. I suppose I came here underprepared."
He grins. "At least not underwashed. Good luck. And try to stop judgin' people's life stories at the first look, huh?"
Again, you blush, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks."
With that, you turn on your heels and stroll right out, untying Lone Digger before exasperatedly collapsing your torso over his back. "I just made an absolute fool of myself, didn't I?"
He snorts.
"I knoooow. Talking to people is so much harder than just shooting them."
You pause for a moment.
"Speaking of which..."
[] Spend the rest of the day finding opportunities for pickpocketing and general low-down thievery. You won't get caught. Then eat a meal and go to sleep.
[] Ask questions, get answers. Then eat a meal and go to sleep.
- [] What questions? From whom?
[] Go find somewhere isolated and practice running with Lone Digger. You'll need all the practice you can get for the race. Then eat a meal and go to sleep.
[] Be an innocent little angel and kill time until you eat a meal and get to sleep. Save your energy for tomorrow, and, of course, for the 25th.
[] Write in...
You stroll outside with your newly-acquired saddle-bag. You're not certain just how twitchy Lone Digger is, and so you're careful as you put it over his back. He seems to not mind much. Lucky that you got a patient horse, you suppose. Though at the same time, perhaps you don't want your horse to be too patient. This is intended to be a race, after all. You pull yourself up into the saddle, and point Digger in the rough direction of where you want to head, the starting line. Very few people are hanging around. You don't see many racers or spectators at the starting line, but just to be safe, you trot your horse over to one sharp-looking cowboy and ask him outright.
"Hey, you seem like the kind of person who can rub two brain cells together. I heard the race starts 10 AM the 25th, day after tomorrow. Is that right?"
"Yes ma'am, I reckon it is. You intendin' to participate?"
"Well no sir." You grin to yourself. "I intend to win."
He chuckles. "Good attitude to have, I suppose. One of them northern folks, right?"
"By birth, yeah. But I've spent most of my life in New- just North of Mexico. Little town called Teufort. I don't suppose you're familiar?"
"I don't reckon I am."
"Nobody is." You nod politely to him and he tips his hat. You turn away from him and trot off on Lone Digger. Idly, you pat the horse's chest. "He seemed like a nice guy."
Digger snorts.
"The 25th, huh? How about that. You think Zordon was wrong, or just lying to us?"
The horse doesn't give you the benefit of a reply.
"Yeah, I don't know either. I mean, who could know? God works in mysterious ways and all that. Like bringing back the dead to make them participate in old West horse races. Well, uh, crap. It looks like I'm gonna have to find somewhere to sleep for two nights. Think there are any condos for rent out here?"
Again, the rude animal doesn't even respond.
"Me neither. Wonder if I could find somebody who died of dysentery and just kinda... claim his stuff. Nah, it might have germs. Can you believe I almost mentioned New Mexico to that guy back there? I'm pretty sure that state doesn't even exist right now. Maybe it does. Who knows, I never went to public school."
This time, the horse actually does reply, shaking his head in such a way that his ears and mane flop about. You can't tell if he's complaining about your poor upbringing or getting a fly off of him. You break from your entrancing conversation with this master verbal charmer and glance about for anything that could be considered lodging. Soon enough you see a building that looks like it's been hastily constructed of a mixture of wood, burlap, and iguana leather. You set Digger in that direction, dismounting at the front door and tying his reigns to a nearby post you assume is for that purpose.
You're not a horse woman, but you are very good with knots.
You step inside, and lo and behold, you're greeted by a single man behind a single desk in front of several rows of napsacks and the few odd mattresses.
You snap your fingers to get the distracted man's attention. "Hey, this a place to sleep?"
He jolts to attention. "Um, yes, it is, but... I mean, I don't want to-"
"Yeah, yeah, I get the point, "ain't no place for a lady" and all that bullshit. I've seen worse in one day that you have in your entire sheltered life, so don't go trying to protect me from the horrors of a few underdressed and underwashed men."
He scowls at you. "Yeah, I was gonna say that, but don't go on about the worst things people have seen. I had to come home to my goddamned family slaughtered by Indians, so I'm pretty sure I've seen plenty bad."
You blush, taking a step back. You gulp before speaking. "Oh. I'm sorry. The, uh, point stands. I'd like a place to sleep."
"Got your own blankets?"
"I'll make do."
He nods. "40 dollars for a spot, but we're nearly out of room, so you might have to squeeze."
You nod in turn. Going out on a limb, you decide to probe a bit about the economy. "Cheap."
"It ain't bad, but I wouldn't say "cheap."
You shrug. "I've already been in one place today that asked seventy-five for less than this."
"Well, I'm glad to be the better competitor."
"Where can someone get a meal around here? And, uh, what would it cost."
"Just down there-" He points a thumb to his right, presumably referring to somewhere outside this building of wood and burlap. "You can get some warm food. For a good meal, I guess about 20 dollars. "Good" is relative though. We're talking about bread, meat, beans."
You've only got one more question. "You know where I can get some alcohol?"
"Nowhere I can legally send you to. Sellin' and drinkin' is against the rules in the starting area. Mr. Steele doesn't want everyone to get the idea that the Steel Ball Run is made up of a bunch of drunks. I'm sure it wouldn't be hard to find someone to buy it from, though, 'long as you're quiet."
You nod. "Thanks for the heads-up. I suppose I came here underprepared."
He grins. "At least not underwashed. Good luck. And try to stop judgin' people's life stories at the first look, huh?"
Again, you blush, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks."
With that, you turn on your heels and stroll right out, untying Lone Digger before exasperatedly collapsing your torso over his back. "I just made an absolute fool of myself, didn't I?"
He snorts.
"I knoooow. Talking to people is so much harder than just shooting them."
You pause for a moment.
"Speaking of which..."
[] Spend the rest of the day finding opportunities for pickpocketing and general low-down thievery. You won't get caught. Then eat a meal and go to sleep.
[] Ask questions, get answers. Then eat a meal and go to sleep.
- [] What questions? From whom?
[] Go find somewhere isolated and practice running with Lone Digger. You'll need all the practice you can get for the race. Then eat a meal and go to sleep.
[] Be an innocent little angel and kill time until you eat a meal and get to sleep. Save your energy for tomorrow, and, of course, for the 25th.
[] Write in...
WanderingTwix
Posting something good once in a full moon
- Location
- United Kingdom
YES YES YES I'm interested
[X] Go find somewhere isolated and practice running with Lone Digger. You'll need all the practice you can get for the race. Then eat a meal and go to sleep.
Too important to not do
[X] Go find somewhere isolated and practice running with Lone Digger. You'll need all the practice you can get for the race. Then eat a meal and go to sleep.
Too important to not do
- Location
- Scotland
[X] Go find somewhere isolated and practice running with Lone Digger. You'll need all the practice you can get for the race.
How much money do we have? If we won't be able to afford breakfast fast, pick pockets at dinner time. Maybe get more bullets and a melee Weapon as well.
How much money do we have? If we won't be able to afford breakfast fast, pick pockets at dinner time. Maybe get more bullets and a melee Weapon as well.
TheNine
I’ll compromise with the skeletons
- Location
- The good ol' US of A
- Pronouns
- He/Him
We had 2950 dollars and then spent 1200 on registration, which brought us down to 1750. Room is 40 bucks, dinner and breakfast combined are another 40, so down to 1670 dollars. We've got a gun with five bullets in it, as well as a knife we stole along with the money. That being considered, more bullets are probably our main consideration.
Ever'y Day Wit' Dat GRIIIIND
TheNine
I’ll compromise with the skeletons
- Location
- The good ol' US of A
- Pronouns
- He/Him
(It's occurred to me that as of the last chapter, Pauling has magically acquired reigns and put them on Lone Digger. We're just going to say that she bought them between chapters, and as such I'm subtracting 50 dollars from your wallet, leaving you with 1620.)
Well, you've got more time than you expected you would, which means you actually have time to make sure you know how to ride a horse. "Looks like me and you are about to have a bit of a bonding experience, Digger."
You climb onto Lone Digger's back, again without much trouble, and trot off in the opposite direction of the starting area. You're confident that it won't be too hard to find somewhere private, but you're surprised by just how expansive this entire operation is. Did Zordon ever tell you just how many people you'd been racing against? You don't properly remember, but one way or another, there must be hundreds of participants at the very least. More likely multiple thousands. You suppose that's what a 50 million dollar prize'll do.
Eventually, though, you find a place that no one is actively hanging around in, an open field directly adjacent to the beach. In the distance, you can see one man riding closer to the race grounds, but you decide to ignore him unless he decides to get your attention.
You set Digger into something of a canter, speeding him up beneath you. You try to keep the acceleration gentle, and your mount is... remarkably willing to comply with your orders. You turn slowly around as you reach one edge of the field, and you speed up as you head back in the opposite direction. You're definitely in a run now, but not quite what you'd call a gallop. At this speed, you could probably still keep up on foot without too much trouble. You move fast, faster, yet faster. As you turn again, you metaphorically floor it. Lone Digger eagerly accelerates to a full gallop, and the feeling of speed is pretty exhilerating. At this point, you'd need to be in your own full sprint to keep up dismounted. It bothers you that you know Scout could probably outrun you right now running backwards, but fuck him. He won't even be born for like 50 years.
You make another turn, and by now, with your hips slamming against your horse's back, you realize why it'd probably be nice to have a saddle. And stirrups, for that matter. Nevertheless, your balance is impeccable and you're able to keep a good grip on Digger's back with your legs, not to mention his reigns with your hands, and you aren't particularly worried that you'll lose your seat. Even if you do, the lack of stirrups means that you couldn't possibly be... dragged.
The thought dredges up an awful memory that you would like desperately to avoid, and so you let it leave your head, distracting yourself with the sensation of speed. You have Lone Digger run the circumference of the field once more before you begin slowing him down. If anything, your deceleration is slower than your acceleration was. You're supposed to give a horse lots of time to slow down, right? As you slow to a run, then a canter, then a trot, and then a walk, you realize that Lone Digger is barely even breathing heavily. In fact, he seems antsy, eager to get moving again. What a great goddamned horse! Why hadn't anybody bought him before? He's fast, eager to run, obviously bred for racing, but he's also patient and evidently not very temperamental. Aren't horses usually either eager to run or patient with new riders?
Well, he was being sold for cheap, so there must be something wrong with him, but damned if you know what it is right now. Maybe he only eats human flesh or something.
Speaking of that, you should probably get some food for him and yourself before you turn in. You turn back to camp and ride him slowly back. You find a corral, similar to the one that Digger was staying in, and pay for him to be fed and kept there until race day. You're informed that, paying ahead as you have, you can take him from the corral and bring him back any time until the morning of the 25th. 50 for food and "board" for a day, so you hand over 100 bucks. You find the place the "hotel" manager recommended you to earlier and eat a nice, hot meal. The first since you got here. Actually, the first since breakfast on the morning that you... died. Unless you count eating lead. Or eating shit when you hit the ground.
Fuck, you hope the guys are OK. You hate that you know most of them are probably pretty broken up over your death, and you wish you could somehow tell them that you're OK, even if you can't come back right now. You know Scout and Pyro are probably taking it especially hard, but you take some comfort in the knowledge that Medic cares so little he's probably harvesting your organs right now. He's probably gonna sew your ovaries into someone, the fucker.
You head to the "hotel," more accurately described as a "bonus-size tent" and pay to sleep there for the night. About 30 hours till race time. Thousands of competitors, almost definitely including some of the best horse-racers in the world.
This is gonna be a mess.
[] Sleep through the night, then go shopping in the morning. Pick up a saddle, make sure Lone Digger is properly shod, buy some more bullets, and wish that the butterfly knife was invented. Normal stuff.
[] Sleep through the night, then think business in the morning. Train some more with Lone Digger and see what you can figure out about the particularly tough bits of the competition.
[] Sleep through the night, then go looking for information in the morning. How many people are racing, which of them are well-known racers, who's "Steven Steele," what obstacles you'll run into during the race, all the important info you can figure out.
-[] Anything else you want to know?
[] Sleep through the night, then go looking for an ally in the morning. You're pretty used to working in a team, after all. Figure out who's a good racer or otherwise experienced, and then offer to help them out during the race. If that doesn't work out, put the ol' Pauling charm on 'em.
[] Don't sleep just yet. Come out like a thief in the night and steal the things you need. Some money, a saddle, ammunition, anything you think of that can't be tracked back to you. Then sleep.
[] Write-in...
Well, you've got more time than you expected you would, which means you actually have time to make sure you know how to ride a horse. "Looks like me and you are about to have a bit of a bonding experience, Digger."
You climb onto Lone Digger's back, again without much trouble, and trot off in the opposite direction of the starting area. You're confident that it won't be too hard to find somewhere private, but you're surprised by just how expansive this entire operation is. Did Zordon ever tell you just how many people you'd been racing against? You don't properly remember, but one way or another, there must be hundreds of participants at the very least. More likely multiple thousands. You suppose that's what a 50 million dollar prize'll do.
Eventually, though, you find a place that no one is actively hanging around in, an open field directly adjacent to the beach. In the distance, you can see one man riding closer to the race grounds, but you decide to ignore him unless he decides to get your attention.
You set Digger into something of a canter, speeding him up beneath you. You try to keep the acceleration gentle, and your mount is... remarkably willing to comply with your orders. You turn slowly around as you reach one edge of the field, and you speed up as you head back in the opposite direction. You're definitely in a run now, but not quite what you'd call a gallop. At this speed, you could probably still keep up on foot without too much trouble. You move fast, faster, yet faster. As you turn again, you metaphorically floor it. Lone Digger eagerly accelerates to a full gallop, and the feeling of speed is pretty exhilerating. At this point, you'd need to be in your own full sprint to keep up dismounted. It bothers you that you know Scout could probably outrun you right now running backwards, but fuck him. He won't even be born for like 50 years.
You make another turn, and by now, with your hips slamming against your horse's back, you realize why it'd probably be nice to have a saddle. And stirrups, for that matter. Nevertheless, your balance is impeccable and you're able to keep a good grip on Digger's back with your legs, not to mention his reigns with your hands, and you aren't particularly worried that you'll lose your seat. Even if you do, the lack of stirrups means that you couldn't possibly be... dragged.
The thought dredges up an awful memory that you would like desperately to avoid, and so you let it leave your head, distracting yourself with the sensation of speed. You have Lone Digger run the circumference of the field once more before you begin slowing him down. If anything, your deceleration is slower than your acceleration was. You're supposed to give a horse lots of time to slow down, right? As you slow to a run, then a canter, then a trot, and then a walk, you realize that Lone Digger is barely even breathing heavily. In fact, he seems antsy, eager to get moving again. What a great goddamned horse! Why hadn't anybody bought him before? He's fast, eager to run, obviously bred for racing, but he's also patient and evidently not very temperamental. Aren't horses usually either eager to run or patient with new riders?
Well, he was being sold for cheap, so there must be something wrong with him, but damned if you know what it is right now. Maybe he only eats human flesh or something.
Speaking of that, you should probably get some food for him and yourself before you turn in. You turn back to camp and ride him slowly back. You find a corral, similar to the one that Digger was staying in, and pay for him to be fed and kept there until race day. You're informed that, paying ahead as you have, you can take him from the corral and bring him back any time until the morning of the 25th. 50 for food and "board" for a day, so you hand over 100 bucks. You find the place the "hotel" manager recommended you to earlier and eat a nice, hot meal. The first since you got here. Actually, the first since breakfast on the morning that you... died. Unless you count eating lead. Or eating shit when you hit the ground.
Fuck, you hope the guys are OK. You hate that you know most of them are probably pretty broken up over your death, and you wish you could somehow tell them that you're OK, even if you can't come back right now. You know Scout and Pyro are probably taking it especially hard, but you take some comfort in the knowledge that Medic cares so little he's probably harvesting your organs right now. He's probably gonna sew your ovaries into someone, the fucker.
You head to the "hotel," more accurately described as a "bonus-size tent" and pay to sleep there for the night. About 30 hours till race time. Thousands of competitors, almost definitely including some of the best horse-racers in the world.
This is gonna be a mess.
[] Sleep through the night, then go shopping in the morning. Pick up a saddle, make sure Lone Digger is properly shod, buy some more bullets, and wish that the butterfly knife was invented. Normal stuff.
[] Sleep through the night, then think business in the morning. Train some more with Lone Digger and see what you can figure out about the particularly tough bits of the competition.
[] Sleep through the night, then go looking for information in the morning. How many people are racing, which of them are well-known racers, who's "Steven Steele," what obstacles you'll run into during the race, all the important info you can figure out.
-[] Anything else you want to know?
[] Sleep through the night, then go looking for an ally in the morning. You're pretty used to working in a team, after all. Figure out who's a good racer or otherwise experienced, and then offer to help them out during the race. If that doesn't work out, put the ol' Pauling charm on 'em.
[] Don't sleep just yet. Come out like a thief in the night and steal the things you need. Some money, a saddle, ammunition, anything you think of that can't be tracked back to you. Then sleep.
[] Write-in...