Voodoo - Bala

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

From Valley Forge to the region where Philadelphia's outskirts might be expected to begin was a decent journey. Nothing too long or too arduous, except for a few detours around this or that environmental hazard. There's a cluster of junk in the distance that might be city ruins, or might be deliberately reared walls- hard to say.

There is also a sign. It is yellow. The figure painted is a low-slung, four-legged, blunt-nosed creature of considerable girth. Its lone head is easily half as long as the thing's body, its jaws gaping ridiculously wide. The image only shows four thick fangs as far as teeth go, two to each jaw. Under its stubby-toed feet is lettered a single word: BEWARE.

Voodoo probably has a better chance of recognizing the damn thing than anyone else here.

Comments

[boston_bruiser]

It's not stopping. It's not stopping, and Voodoo could've sworn that last one went into its eyeball, and its kid is about to join in on the fun. This is just perfect.

"Fall back! Back down the road, I'll cover!"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

They do. They don't need to be told twice, not with a monster like that charging their way and blood spewing in every direction. Especially not when it's gaining ground-

The thunderous charge is abruptly cut short by an even more thunderous sound of gunfire, this time coming from down the road in the direction of the city. The smaller of the hippos turns and runs off as the bigger one crashes to a spattering, bloody halt and collapses to the ground.

It will be silent for a few moments before one of the figures in orange-daubed combat armor lifts a hand and whistles.

[boston_bruiser]

And Voodoo climbs out of the ditch, holding his carbine aloft in one hand, the other waving the group back to him as he walks down the road.

"Thanks for the assist. Standin' post?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Standard perimeter patrols," says the woman at the forefront, whose armor looks more like something made by CCM than is generally common. "I'm guessing you don't have hippos in your territory, huh."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo shakes his head, poking the corpse with his foot once or twice to make sure. "That's a negative."

He sticks a thumb to his chest. "Voodoo. That's Kate, Josepha, Al, and Hector. We're heading for D.C., looking to resupply here if we can."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Start chopping," the woman says to the two people who come up behind her. "There's a good week or two's worth of cheez steaks on that thing... Name's Vetter. I don't much care where you're going as long as you haven't come from the Pitt."

[boston_bruiser]

"Christ, no," Voodoo says as her subordinates get to work on the hippo. "Give me half a chance and I'd burn that fuckin' place to the ground."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Good. Any of those penguins show their faces within twenty miles of this city and every ganger worth his blades will put their rivalries aside for a chance to sink their sorry asses," says Vetter. "There's a couple of places you could get supplies from. If you plan on being here more than a day or two you're going to want to head over to Fairmount and present yourselves to the Prince, but if you're strictly in and out it's not that big a deal."

[boston_bruiser]

"Don't plan on stayin' longer than tonight. Way in's down this road?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Vetter nods. "Take the old 76 south to the Girard bridge, then cross the river," she says. "The bridge is guarded so there won't be critter problems, probably. There's a marketplace by the Steps. You should be able to stock up there without too much trouble."

[boston_bruiser]

"Works for me." As he waves the other four on: "Good hunting."

It takes about 15 minutes to get to the gate from where they are - not too bad a time, considering. The gate itself isn't much - it's a sliding rig between two pieces of formerly elevated highway, manned by two guards who, if Voodoo had to guess, are still grumpy from an early-morning shift change. It's surrounded by signs warning that it's under sniper surveillance - fine by him. Getting shot has never been on his to-do list.

"We'll have a look around at the market," he says to the group. "Sound off if you see something you want."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Wouldn't say no to better boots," says Hector. "These things've been rubbing my ankle raw for days now."

"You should've said something, Hector," Kate says. "I might've been able to adjust them."

Hector shrugs. "Wasn't worth the bother. Let's just see what these people have."

The 76, here, is one of those old elevated roads dotted with the wrecks of cars. Someone's gone to the trouble of either pushing the cars off to the side of the road or carving them apart for scrap metal, much like a lot of the old buildings on the other side of the water. Which, by the way, we don't advise looking into. It's moving, and there are things moving in it- big, blobby things that look more like living trashbags than anything especially recognizable- but it's not a particularly pleasant view. It also smells, although in its favor it's at least an organic sort of smell, but that's like saying the NYPD police stables smell better than the Arthur Kill landfill.

Someone has rammed the arm of a mannequin onto the pole that once held a 'no u-turns' sign in the middle of the road; the hand holds a crudely painted sign reading GIRARD BRIDGE, and has an arrow pointing towards the rickety, but still mostly intact, concrete-and-stone span up ahead.

[boston_bruiser]

"Here we are."

He guides them onto the bridge, letting his guard down for the moment.

"Watch your step. You fall in the water, we can't get you out."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Hector peers down a moment and wrinkles his nose. "If I fall in the water, I want a mercy kill," he says. "Last thing I want's to end up getting eaten by those things."

"Just cross the bridge, old man," says Al.

"I'm just saying," says Hector, as he starts making his way over. The others follow. Thankfully, nothing makes any kind of an attempt to jump up at them, and while there's a heavily armored gunman in another CCM helmet on the other side, he basically glances at the arrivals and turns his attention back to scanning the river for anything that might try to get out. "Market's that way," he says, and waves a hand.

[boston_bruiser]

"Thanks."

'That way' is thankfully within walking distance, and Voodoo lets his carbine hang across his chest, tightening the sling as he does so.

"You know the drill. Anything that can go boom, run it by me first."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The market, as Vetter said, is sprawled out across and in front of the Steps. The Steps may look familiar to Voodoo. It depends on his movie viewing habits; once upon a time, Rocky Balboa used them for his training montage. His statue's long since gone, of course. The replacement looks like someone found a dark brown store mannequin and dressed it in whatever combat armor they weren't using. One can only assume the laser rifle in its hand is nonfunctional; who'd put a thing like that out where anyone could walk off with it?

Assuming they got through the Market itself, of course. The Museum of Art's all but collapsed in most places, but that hasn't kept the crowds away. There are booths set up all over, like something out of an extraordinarily neat favela or an extraordinarily battered flea market. Most of them are general sellers of many things, but a few seem to be specialized- there are two gun sellers, one purveyor of clothing, and one booth stocked with bottles, jerrycans, and a couple of fifty-five gallon drums.

[boston_bruiser]

Indeed, the Steps are familiar - what self-respecting tough guy hasn't seen at least one Rocky? They are not fixated on, but noted.

Quickly, he scans over the market, then starts pointing out booths and giving orders.

"Josepha, Hector, you see what one of the arms dealers has to offer and I'll take the other - take what you want and look for a weapon that'll give us a good base of fire while you're at it. Machine guns, that sort of thing - you know the drill. Al, head over to the clothes vendor and report back on what they've got - if they've got armor, focus on that, if not, let me know what looks warm. -and see if they have boots for Hector. Kate, see what those jerrycans are goin' for - canteens won't last us more than a day without a refill. Any of you think you're being hustled, use your best judgement. Regroup on me when you're done."

With that done, he heads to one of the arms dealers and nods in greeting. "This everything you got?" he asks, gesturing to the displayed weaponry.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Not everything, but you're gonna have to outbid the Nailers if you want a Blackrock Special," says the seller. "Ratchuk put in a bid on the good stuff this morning, but he knows damn well I'll sell it to anyone who pays me more than that and faster than him."

[boston_bruiser]

-huh. Curious.

"Then show me a Blackrock Special."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Sure," says the man, and turns to start unlocking a sizable reinforced metal case. "I've seen maybe three of these in the past... I dunno, five years. Damn shame, they're good guns and I can get a hell of a price for them, but whoever's turning them out's probably sitting pretty on a nice little pile of Days and doesn't need to make more."

The weapon he removes from the case is scoped, but not exactly consistent with the design of Capital Wasteland scoped weapons.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo grunts as he looks at it. It's certainly...different, but that's not necessarily bad.

"So sell me on it. Why should I go with it over this?" he asks, patting Patience's stock.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The man glances over at Patience a moment. "Not that you haven't got a fine piece there, but I'm going to go out on a girder and bet that's a semiautomatic at best," he says. "The Blackrock Special's full auto, but it's had a few modifications that compensate for the worst elements of that. You won't find a weapon from here to the Commonwealth that can put more lead into a smaller patch of a target in the span of ten seconds. Not to mention that it takes the same rounds as an ordinary American-made assault rifle, so you can afford to feed it even if all you've got to your name is Nuka-Cola caps."

[boston_bruiser]

Once the dealer's finished saying his piece, Voodoo grunts in acknowledgement and strokes his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

"'cept if it's as accurate as you say it is, it's gotta be heavy as hell to manage the recoil. Add that onto the bulk of the thing, and just how're you supposed to move fast with it under fire, or manage carryin' it more than a few miles? Magazine looks too small for sustained suppression, and there's no quick-change mechanism for the barrel, not to mention the rounds - five-five-six is okay for a light MG, but for a sniper rifle I wouldn't trust my life to anything less than seven-six-two. No backup iron sights, either, so if the full-auto throws the scope outta zero, you're fucked."

He's quiet for a few moments.


"What'd Ratchuk put down for it?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Haven't had either of the other Blackrocks come back to me with the scope screwed up, I can tell you that much," says the man. "Ratchuk's got until sundown to come back here with either fifteen Days caps, seventy-five Champ Cherry caps, or fifteen hundred Nuka-Cola caps."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo grunts. "Then Ratchuk can keep it. Too much buck, not enough bang."

His eyes fall on one of the double-barreled shotguns prominently displayed on the table.

"Hey, Hector! How's your shotgun doing?"