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I Wish I Wasn't in Dixie: Across the Way (IC)

PostPosted: Wed Nov 21, 2018 2:15 am
by Benuty
OOC Link

Arc One: These Final Days

Chapter One: Death of the Old World


March 17th, 1962
Oklahoma City
Refugee District #01

Just like with every city in the world there were times of boom, and bust, and Oklahoma City was no exception to this rule. The city had in the 1940s undergone an economic depression, and entire parts of it were abandoned for the countryside as its people sought to find work on the farms or volunteer for the war raging yet again in the lands of Europe. By the 1950s Oklahoma City was undergoing a revival of sorts, and an industrial magnate bought large tracks of the city only to be killed during the second rising in 1952. The Columbian Emergency Affairs Agency or CEAA set up regions across the country following that particular event considering five percent of the Columbian population died as a result of it. Their decision to set up shelters across this ruined part of Oklahoma City for emergency purposes in 1960 would turn out to be the right thing.

Though the current mayor at the time laughed off CEAA's attempts for emergency housing due to the severe status of the rundown area it mattered not. About a month ago the graveyards all over Oklahoma City spewed open the dead who were still able to recover, and while they struggled with their existence it soon became apparent everyone was afflicted. Anyone who died would come back which didn't happen in the last two risings at all, and this horrified people. Panicked civilians began to burn graveyards, and some stormed registration areas in order to execute the "freshies" (ghouls who are still intelligent, and human-like). At first, the government accused the populace of ignorance since it was known by many at the time freshies could maintain their human-like state so long as they consumed a small amount of raw meat every few days.

This, of course, changed when suddenly all the freshies from this third rising went feral in a matter of hours and caused a global bloodbath. Oklahoma City was lucky due to the military having contained theirs so fast, but other cities weren't such as Phoenix which saw a ninety percent human population drop in an hour. CEAA cleaned up the registration centers and repurposed them into tent cities as they didn't have time to be embarrassed, and admit the lynch mobs were right for once. Statistics released from around the world indicate a fifty percent population drop of humans across the globe, and this has sent many people into an apocalyptic fervor. The cults which at least a decade prior would have been far more subtle about their methods decided to abandon their "masquerade" and operate out in the open regardless of casualties in their ongoing occultic war.

The government knows the current world is ending and has decided that the use of self-sufficient cities known as "Outposts" containing a varied number of humans will serve as future seed banks to repopulate the planet. Most people know it is only a matter of time before Oklahoma City falls, and as communication with other areas become sparse, and/or non-existent most are pinning their hopes on acceptance into "Outpost-12". This particular outpost covers the southwestern region, and with the environment as tense as it is they cannot seem to do their tests and choose who to evacuate fast enough. The five refugee districts that CEAA set up have now become full to the point that the city might start turning away refugees. The high amount of military here so far has prevented attacks by angry groups of refugees, and the occasional ghoul horde, but probably will not do much against an occultic force.

Refugee Apartment Complex #12-Formerly Sunnygrove Apartments
Time: 8:00 am.

The apartment supervisor sat fidgeting with a clock at his desk, and casually grabbing a flask out as his secretary gave an annoyed look. He chuckled knowing she severely disapproved of his rampant alcoholism, but she couldn't complain knowing the man saved her life back at Los Alamos. The facility was being evacuated, and its scientists sent to Outpost-12 while a skeleton crew maintained the place until it could be stripped down. Turns out the scientists, and anyone else important left just as a ghoul horde came through, and savaged the place. Most of the skeleton crew were killed save for the security guard (him), the secretary, and a few people scattered when trying to reach a panic room.

They decided to use military-grade explosives, and level the place taking the herd down. The military rescue team was livid as not all of the important research had been taken out of the facility, and was now lost. Instead of being given leave to head back to Los Angeles both the secretary and he were taken to Oklahoma City. For his efforts in trying to destroy a herd he lost his left leg, and the bulky prosthetic was a pain so he drank to numb the pain from having to use it. For all its advancements Columbian science hadn't exactly figured out how to get leg prosthetics from causing an unbearable pain which turned its users to pain reliever addicts of any kind just to bear it.

With one simple switch he flipped on the intercom, and after a quick swig announced in a hacky cough laden voice "Good morning everyone, breakfast will start soon, and before anyone asks the food is government issue so please don't bother complaining to me. On a more positive note, some of you will be waking up to letters in your room from the testing crew at outpost-12. Consider yourselves lucky for you have been chosen to be tested by the facility. Should you pass, you will, of course, be escorted on the next Zeppelin out of this city once it arrives for you. So please have a good morning, and be just might save your life", what sounded like a loud nudge, and a groan of pain seemed to suggest the secretary was even more annoyed with the man than usual.

PostPosted: Wed Nov 21, 2018 7:33 pm
by Biscaria
Nell & Edwin Choate

Now won't you listen honey, while I say,
How could you tell me that you're goin' away?
Don't say that we must part,
Don't break your baby's heart.

You know I've loved you for these many years
Love you night and day.
Oh honey baby, can't you see my tears?
Listen while I say...

After you've gone and left me cryin'
After you've gone there's no denyin'
You'll feel blue, you'll feel sad
You'll miss the only pal you've ever had.

There'll come a time, now don't forget it
There'll come a time when you'll regret it
Oh babe think what are you doing
You know my love for you will drive me to ruin
After you've gone, after you've gone away...

Thanks to Marion Harris's voice emanating from a portable victrola, as well as her own personal resolve, Nell Choate barely heard the man on the intercom. Sitting in a rather hard chair in the corner of a somewhat rundown "living room" of an apartment, she drank a sip of tepid tea and focused on her novel, half listening to the lyrics of her favorite song as she did so. Raising her spirits, she was dressed in one of her nicer dresses and looked quite put together. Furthermore, around her neck was a strange pendant from her youth. Overall, despite the rather grim situation of the world at the time, with her distractions present Nell seemed almost perfectly content.

Suddenly the door to the room creeped open from the outside, and from the hallway came her husband Edwin. Looking rather disconcerted, Edwin attempted to enter as meekly as possible. His attempts were futile, however, as Nell noticed his entrance immediately. "Did you meet with the Commander again?" She spoke to him without looking up.

Edwin stopped in his tracks. "Err... yes"

"And how did it go?"

"It went well enough, my dear."

"Did you pose my inquiry? About returning to our home, and to the consulate?”

"Yes, dear."

"What was the response?"

"They are looking into it."

"Are they?"

"That's what they said."

Nell turned off the record player, and finally looked up from her book at Edwin.

"They've been saying that for weeks. It's unlawful, I say. If I'm gone for any longer the whole place will go to ruin, what with these Horrors running about. Did you try phoning Papa?"

"They say the line's down."

"Did you try anyway?"

"The operator wouldn't connect."

"Oh well that is unfortunate. I suppose we'll try again tomorrow. Papa always comes through, eventually. Anyway-” She sipped more of her tea. “Did you see the Babcocks on your way here? I talked with Celia yesterday, and she was hoping we'd take up their case. She's missed Boston terribly, is what she said. She was crying even.”

Edwin frowned. “Yes I did see them.”

“And what did you say?”

“Well, I told Bill that I'm-” He noticed Nell making a face. “-WE'RE doing everything we can.

“I suppose that'll give them some comfort.”

“You know we've got their papers and all, but the fact is that without access to the consulate and contact with Hartford there's little that can be done.”

“Then we must rectify that at once.”

“Nell, I've tried all I can. I've been out all morning, since before sun-up.”

“Well then I suppose it shall be my turn now to make an attempt. When they hear Papa's name they should be more forthcoming – lest Columbia want an incident on their hands. Did you drop Papa's name?”

“I did. They are looking into it.”

“Hmph-” She took another sip. “Anyway, what was that bothersome voice in the ceiling going on about just now? Before you came in. Anything important?”

“The intercom? Something about a rubbish breakfast, and about about that 'Outpost' program. Letters in the room for those chosen, is what the man said. And they'd be shipped out.”

“What a sham. I hear its going someplace dreadful, and I can't take much more of the Imperials. It's bad enough that you were assigned here those years ago, and to this city even rather than some nice place like Florida, or California. We had to make do then, but now I'd rather have higher hopes. I'd like to see the sea breeze again, thank you, not tumbleweeds.”

“I know you would, Nell. But you know its a very dangerous time. Some think it may be the only case for salvation.”

Nell stood up. “I'm not daft Eddie. I know the dangers outside just as well as I know the dangers in government propaganda. We still have work here too; the Babcocks are a case in point. And Papa will call when all is done.”

Edwin looked uneasy. “Well I agree we can't leave our post here. But- but -- now this is a remote thought -- what if your father never gives us the call to Hartford?”

Nell made a disapproving look. “Really Ed? I know that man better than anyone. If he doesn't, then the world truly must be ending. And if that is so, then how does anything matter at all? It's best to keep some confidence about." She sat back down in her chair, and put her hand on an equally hard sitting place beside it. "Now sit down and rest for a bit; I feel we have a busy day ahead.”

PostPosted: Wed Nov 21, 2018 10:24 pm
by Dalria
Jack - March 17th, 1962

Jack awoke in a cold sweat, droplets rolled down the brow of the young Irishman. Night terrors had plagued him since he was a boy and throughout his experiences had just grew in power. Jack rolled over to see a woman lying nude next to him, she grasped the blanket as a soft smile etched on her face as she slept. So much innocence, Jack thought, although the world had been through hell and back how could a creature as frail as her sleep so peacefully. Jack rose gently, as not to wake the sleeping woman. He made his way over to the window, posting his arms on the open windowsill and taking a swig from his flask. His room was quite high up, at nearly ten stories he could oversee most of the grim city. Although not as beautiful as the green rolling hills of Ireland, the grey and burnt out city seemed to have its own unique beauty to Jack. Not that of an elegant painting or the buttocks of a woman but something entirely different.

"Damn..." Jack scoffed as he finished the whiskey in his flask. Upon hearing a noise he did a three-sixty motion and briskly grabbed his sidearm. He slowly let his hand off the grip as the young woman sleepily rubbed her eyes as she sat up in bed. He shook his head in relief, he couldn't be any more careful in the end of days.

"Good morning gorgeous" she yawned, "come back to bed, I enjoyed last night all to much" she winked.

Jack walked back to the windowsill and lit a cigarette, "money is on the counter. I put an extra couple of bucks in there for you, I will see you later lass" he coldly stated.

The woman got up from the bed. She was gorgeous; a young blonde, probably in her early twenties, with her shimmering blue eyes and pale skin. She waltzed over to Jack and put her arms around him, "I forgot how sexy that Irish accent of yours was. Look I'm not going to charge for last night, I should be paying you if anything" she laughed. "Besides you shared the last of your heroin last night" the woman went to kiss Jack's cheek. He abruptly turned around and pushed her away.

"Look, I got 'ting's to do lass. If you don't want the money, don't take it. Otherwise please, get out of me sight" he stammered away. The woman, looking very confused and insulted, brushed out of the room as fast as she could, grabbing the money on the way out. Jack strolled over to table, to examine a ledger. He examined his current financial situation but was instantly overtook with grief was his finger rubbed over a pinned picture of his departed wife.

To Jack
Love Claire

Columbus - $125 - Debt Collecting
Jackson - $240 - Storefront Protection
Little Rock - $25 - Bouncing
Fort Smith - $300 - Ghoul Control
Muskogee - $80 - Bounty

Oklahoma city - ? - ??

Unexpectedly a knock at the door had him slam the ledger shut and unholster his sidearm. He slowly crept towards the door, grasping the ivory handle of the revolver. He glared at the feet that stood in front of his door, ready to unload at anytime. The figure slipped a letter under his door and moved on, Jack lunged at it. He grabbed the letter and backed up from the door, pausing before letting out a sigh of relief. He opened the letter and skimmed the contents; something about Outpost-12 and an evacuation with the opportunity to begin again. Jack had heard about the Outpost program through Columbian soldiers he had fought along side with during his aid in Fort Smith, he thought it was complete bullshit. Jack didn't believe that there was some type of government program that would save any souls, he believed it was either propaganda to keep the public docile or some type of ulterior ploy. He had seen similar types of propaganda while fighting in the IRA by the British government to round of IRA sympathizers in camps.

The thought faded from his mind as he heard "...breakfast will start soon" on the intercom. He quickly fastened his vest and threw a pair of pants on and was out the door. Coming down off a multitude of drugs and alcohol can really put a dent in your stomach. As he approached the stairwell, two men rounded the corner and approached him.

"Aye we saw one of those letters get slipped under your door. You don't look so special, so what makes you special?" the man exclaimed. The two were dirty, it looked like they hadn't washed for weeks and their yellow teeth signaled that they hadn't brushed their teeth either. The man speaking was thick, he had several pounds on Jack but the other seemed as skinny as could be and had a blank look on his face.

Jack spit on the ground, "I'd say it's on the account that I'm god himself lad" Jack scoffed with a smirk.

"God wouldn't be no damn potato-eating Irishman now that's for sure. See my boy and I didn't get one of those fancy letters and I don't think you'll be needing yours so hand it over and whatever valuables you have with you as well" the man brandished a rusty blade while the other held a tire iron. This damned letter had caused more problem for Jack than he wanted, he didn't even know why he had received it.

"I'd advise you step out of the way with your ballsch or I'll remove your clackers" Jack sounded. The larger man glanced back at the other then preceded to slash at Jack. Jack dodged backed and launched a haymaker at the man, hitting him clean in the jaw and sending him straight to the dirty hallway floor. He quickly unholstered his weapon and aimed it at the smaller grunt. The smaller grunt shook with fear, dropping his tire iron to the ground.

"Please mister, we was just havin' some fun" the man shook. Jack clenched the trigger, he was tempted to blow the skinny grunt's head clean off and remove the balls of the larger man, as he promised. Jack didn't like to make idle threats, he nearly always went through with them. He heard the click of one of the nearby doors as someone prepared to exit. These two got off easy this time, Jack promised himself if he ever saw one of these two again that he'd gut them.

Jack made his way to the communal eating area. He grabbed a tray and entered the line; being the strategist he was Jack examined those near to him as a way to sort his environment. He was surrounded by sick and elderly people, most of which should have already perished in the impending apocalypse but pure luck they had survived. He made his way to the front of the line where a masculine woman scooped her ladle in a pile of mush and sploshed it right on his tray. Jack never complained about food; as a poverty stricken boy in Ireland he practically lived in potatoes, just like the stereotypes. Although these potatoes were often old and stale. Being constantly on the trail and in combat he was never one to be picky about free food. Jack quickly found a table alone and took a seat, removing the letter from his pocket. If men were ready to kill over it... it must be of some value. Or maybe just the 'thought' of acceptance into the Outpost program would have made their lives just a bit better. Regardless he laughed at the thought of them dying over a piece of paper, he quickly began to dig into his tray of mush.

PostPosted: Wed Nov 21, 2018 11:39 pm
by Benuty
Refugee Apartment Complex #12-Formerly Sunnygrove Apartments
Time: 8:00 am.

Nelson's room was sparse and minimalist with very little personal items in it outside of what he brought on the trail back from Mexico. He was a man of few things which made sense given officially he was a wanted man due to going rogue while leading a region of the Imperial Bureau of Investigation. Nelson didn't care for much these days since a small bribe here or there could effectively get the grunts off his back to let him conduct business as he pleased. That said he knew his time was limited as people of all sorts were hunting him either for information or simply to put a bullet in him. "As long as the true end comes they can rage, and put as many bullets in me as they want" Nelson chuckled morbidly while heading down to breakfast.

Nelson long since abandoned the garb of an agent for one that represented his day to day wear back on his ranch lands in Mexico. He had a feeling that this would be the last connection he had to his family down there. It was better this way since if he accomplished his goal he would be back with his family again even if the circumstances were much different. It is better that all the tragedy and suffering inflicted upon humanity by occult groups seeking immortality by nefarious means rage against the machine as their actions are rendered meaningless. Better a peaceful, and quick death than an eternity of servitude to an artificial deity made up of ten corrupt humans that may very well transform into a nihilistic abyss.

Nelson was in the line grabbing the rations sent by the government which went down rather rough but was better than anything he had on his flight up here. Someone knew he was here he thought as he played with the letter in his aged hands which slightly trembled as he tried to open it. His father had it, and they used to call that disease the "shaking disease" since supposedly people began to slowly shake as their muscles wore down, and became useless. Nelson took out a small flask and poured out a little bit for himself noticing the mess a younger man was making in front of him. Nelson chuckled and said "you keep doing that, and it might piss off the wrong person especially in a city full of guns just waiting to be used", and with that, he finished the drink noticing it burned his throat a little on the way down.

Outpost-12 Testing & Processing Center [Downtown District]
Time: 8:30 am.

Contrasted to the rather grim conditions of the rundown emergency housing apartments provided to the refugees, and those who lost their property to the military things were much different here. The testing and processing center was officially an old office complex for a telegraph company who lost a lot of business after the disasterous campaign in Mexico and went under. The Outpost Program operated on higher standards than both the military or CEAA and unbeknownst the populace it was expected the program would only take ten percent of the current population off their hands. Oklahoma City was designated as a barrier zone, and its remaining populace would be well supplied and armed, but no expectation of rescue or evacuation would be given until Columbia deemed it fit.

Though morbid the city would essentially attract all the ghouls, and horrors to it, and hopefully weed some of them out as they made their way east. The building serving as the testing and processing center unlike the rundown brown predominant in the refugee districts was a clean, and pristine white inside, and out. The people working here had to wear special protective suits due to the things used in the facility. From the lights which emitted a field that caused mild euphoria, and pacified the angriest of people. To the chemicals used to induce a state of compliance, and ensured the crew got the answers they needed. Once done for the day, and in the safety of the lower level residential block, they could mingle freely without the suits.

People didn't know it, but once you stepped beyond the overly warm, and welcoming lobby the chemicals, and lights started to affect you. To the outposts especially twelve they wanted more than a genetic stockpile to preserve the human race but wanted personality files as well. The on-site facility also had two secretaries to process the load, and a medical office staffed by a doctor and four nurses. They gave everyone who entered a complementary medical inspection, but truth be told it was merely to weed out potential carriers of genetically degenerative diseases, and conditions. After an incident with a man breaking the glass on the front door in anger over rejection, the security staff was upped from two to five.

Currently, the center was getting another testing group together from the apartment complex 12 in refugee district #01. The head commander was admittedly confused at the strange bunch that was on this list, but this order came directly from the commanders at Outpost-12. Normally the process was done by lottery, but to the crew at this facility direct interference on this level was certainly strange. No doubt the facilities collection agent was out in the city by the tram station waiting to be given the signal, and begin collecting the group for their appointment. Due to the urgent, and admittedly strange nature of this selection group refusing an appointment just simply wasn't permissable.

PostPosted: Thu Nov 22, 2018 2:25 pm
by Labstoska
"Expeditions to the continent have so far been... no living... the B.E.F has... mass mourning across what remains of France... A dark day for the union."

The radio collapsed into a wave of static noise accompanied by the sound of Halleck slamming his fist into the desk. He had been tuning in to anyone still broadcasting to get news of home ever since he'd managed to find the radio hidden away in the old mould bitten cupboard in a corner of his assigned apartment, so far the results had been... frustrating, Alister would only get a precious few snippets of information before the broadcast cut out into static leaving a long list of unanswered questions and vague inklings of what had been going on in Alister's homeland. So far the entirety of what Alister had managed to learn could be summarised in one blasphemous word.

Alister commanded his clockwork arm to grab the unlabelled whisky to the side of his desk. apart from the radio and whisky the desk was bare, the same could be said for the rest of Alister's room giving it a Spartan appearance. In truth Alister had hidden nearly all his possessions away in whatever shadowy areas the room had to offer, he didn't trust a single person in this building as far as he could throw a stone most of them had come here out of sheer desperation and there was no doubt that they would be very willing to take some his possessions in order to barter with them. 1 second... 2 seconds... 3 seconds, Alister frowned and willed his arm once more to grab the whisky 4 seconds... 5 seconds... 6 seconds... Alister groaned and reached beneath his desk. His arm had been acting up ever since he had first entered Oklahoma, it had started out with simply a delay of a second or so yet it had incrementally grown worse over time, he had been reluctant to repair the arm as parts for it were almost impossible to find.

Alister pulled up a loose part in the floorboards and from beneath brought out a small briefcase, he carefully placed it down upon the desk and brought a key out of the desk's drawer and unlocked the case. He proceeded to pull his mechanical arm up onto the desk - by God it was heavy - and took a screwdriver from the case and began taking the panels that covered the intricacies of the clockwork machinery of his arm, within his arm was a awe-inspiring labyrinth of cogs and gears, his eyes now scanned the entirety of the grand panorama of interlocking metal, fortunately for Alistair he had a fairly decent set of eyes despite the fact that he was getting on in age and so after only a tedious few minutes of careful analysis Alister had managed to find the issue. Somehow a rather tiny share of metal had snaked it's way between two gears clogging up the entirety of the arm, Alister took a pair of tweezers from the briefcase and carefully started removing the metal...

Suddenly a loud blaring voice came over the intercom causing Alister's hand to flinch, knocking about 4 gears out alignment, needless to say that Alister was far too busy cursing too hear anything that came over the intercom yet he managed to make something out about food and despite Alister's best attempts the slow gnawing feeling in his stomach was starting to grow too much to bear. Alsiter set back to work placing everything back in alignment as quick as possible (0.5 seconds was an acceptable enough delay time) and hurriedly proceeded to screw the metal panels back onto his arm, pull his jacket on and shove his whisky into one of his larger pockets before heading out through the door and to the cafeteria.

The cafeteria like all things in the Refugee Apartment was filthy which seemed to be mandated by law these days, and upon entering the room Alister internally screamed as he saw the length of the line all the while his hunger grew greater. An eternity passed and finally Alister was near the serving area his stomach however was truly starting to eat itself, yet out of the corner of his eye Alister noticed something that completely took his mind off hunger. The man in front of him... Alister could swear he recognised him from somewhere but he couldn't exactly... Laggards Burrow! By God everyone in Laggards Burrow was either mad or a member of the occult, his hand immediately reached for his jacket's pocket groping for his revolver unfortunately he'd made the foolish decision of leaving his revolver in his room. The man in front of him didn't seem to be making a fuss so Alister resolved to keep a close eye on him throughout the duration of his stay, he wasn't going to let a chance for him to return home by a dammed cultist and if things came to the worst his mechanical arm was able to pack a fair punch.

PostPosted: Thu Nov 22, 2018 10:23 pm
by Benuty
Upper Hills District
-The Estate of Sir Dunn


The Dunn family was never the same after the death of their beloved daughter Jessica in some horrible mansion fire down in her mansion at Laggards Burrow. Well, officially that was what the line spilled out by the lawyer from the public relations firm hired by the family following the Imperial Bureau of Investigations release of information regarding the former actresses links to a death cult. Suffice it to say the patriarch of the family continued to ensure the work of the order of death was never done. Despite his daughters failure the profits from her films continued to roll into the families coffer as well as the assets gained from the plantations, and connections to the political machine ensured they stayed afloat. Of course, the public while hearing of the legendary battle of Laggards Burrow never heard the complete, and whole truth.

The truth is that Jessica Dunn, the beloved daughter of the prestigious family, and former actress out of Miami, Florida did not, in fact, die in a mansion fire. The patriarch slammed his fists on his desks thinking about it "Instead of some damned normal IBI agent, and a coalition of oddities led an assault on her mansion" the memory fueled him with anger. The order of death was given a set back of ten years as the blood moon ended, the chapter down there destroyed, and one of the ten avatars of death put back into an endless sleep. After the battle of the blood moon and a recovery team scoured the remains of the town they found his daughter in a state of what appeared to be dead but wasn't. Her face scarred from the burns, and blood seeping out of five bullet holes shot by the said agent she managed to preserve her life barely.

Apparently had the agents last shot not missed the heart by an inch his daughter would be dead, but she isn't. She instead spends most of her time hidden away in a bed being healed by the best the order has to offer. Jessica's once movie star face horrifically scarred, and beautiful blond hair gone replaced by a wig. The artificial skin placed over her scar every week cracks near the end, and if someone, if they aren't careful, can see bits of her jaw thanks to the fire completely stripping the skin away there. While the bullets were able to be removed after hours of emergency surgery the wounds scar her chest, and as such, she constantly wears heavy clothing to hide them.

His daughter once the beautiful woman sought out by all hands at parties and host of a dozen or more lovers was reduced to a wreck. She constantly swore and assaulted those who were unfortunate enough to catch her skin peeling or wig falling off. The servants practically avoid her with only the orders doctor, and the family her true company. Now opportunity arises as the blood moon nears again, and they come close to locating the tenth avatar who is unconsciously sleeping in some unknown host waiting to break out. For the time being the family had greater matters to attend to such as the eventual fall of the city which admittedly would make things so much easier to handle, and deal with.

People tend to forget just how many civilians have to be bribed to keep their mouths shut or silenced with assassins so a secret society can do its job. For the moment the good news on the web is that the man responsible for sabotaging efforts in Laggards Burrow is here in Oklahoma City. The patriarch carefully opened up a letter reading aloud "Your target is found, and we expect payment shortly for your services". It was costly business hiring third parties especially suspicious cults like the Order of Dagon, but it appears their request for $200,000 was well worth it. With another $50,000 for down payment they did exactly as promised, and found of the best assassins this side of the Atlantic. Soon the rogue agent would be dead, and this time plans would go ahead soon, and with that the Dunn Patriarch issued a small prayer "Oh Death, we are closer than ever to achieving our goals, so grant us favor in this quest, amen".

PostPosted: Thu Nov 22, 2018 11:31 pm
by Biscaria
Nell & Edwin Choate

As Edwin sat resting, with Nell giving comfort through a hand on his arm, the couple's silence was disturbed by a harsh knock on the door followed by the sound of two envelopes sliding underneath.

"God damn!", Nell thought aloud. She stood up, bent down, and took the envelopes from the floor with a look of malice.

"Dear... please don't be rash..."

Nell peered at the paper in her hands. "Is this Command's answer to our troubles? Did you know about this?"

"No, no! I knew nothing. If they told me you know I would have mentioned it. You know well you can trust me."

Her anger little subdued, but tempered by Edwin's candor, Nell mustered a response. "Yes, yes, of course I trust you. You're probably the last person I can trust in this horrid place." She whipped around, meeting Edwin's eyes once more. "Do forgive me for my crossness."

Edwin met her eyes meekly. "Of course, my love."

"Then let us register this as another complaint which I must take up with Command at once. In the meantime-" Nell promptly handed Edwin his letter. "It's probably best if you held onto them, lest I get the best of me."

Edwin took the envelopes and tucked them into a suit pocket.

"New we shall embark on whatever poor excuse of a petit dejeuner they've presented down there," stated Nell with her anger redirected to pragmatism. "In a right mind I'd say we should skip, as you know we could get along without, but it's best to keep up appearances. Wouldn't want our Yankees in doubt."

"Very true, dear."

With Edwin's reply, the Choates made their customary preparations to greet the day.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Nell and Edwin emerged into the communal dining room with a considerate public appearance. Over her nicer dress she ported a rather plain, dark coat to divert the attention of undesirables. Furthermore, it covered the pendant she was wearing. On her head, she wore a dark yet tasteful little hat of velvet and flowers. Meanwhile, Edwin wore one of his usual dark gray three piece suit. While not flaunting, they did distinguish themselves from the masses of unfortunates who formed the bulk of the room.

As they walked through the hall, a female hand at one of the more distant tables beckoned the Choates over. Naturally they obliged, for they knew the figure to whom this hand belonged was a member of the city's small (and quite displaced) New Englander expatriate community.

"Hello everyone," greeted Nell as she approached the table with her husband, with her tone then growing wry. "Any new developments on the cuisine?"

"Just the same Nell," responded an amiable woman. "In case you were to be late arrivals, I implored Jim here to make sure to grab some for you two. Save you from the line. After all, you know how he has a way with those government ladies." She gave a wink at the man.

"Ellie, I beg to differ," piped this Jim, a sturdy young man with obvious charisma. "After my actions today I'd say they're more willing to spit at me then gawk. I did get the food though, in case you were wondering." He placed the bowls of curious edibles in front of the Choates as they sat down.

Edwin adjusted himself in the seat. "Well that is quite kind of you all to make a case of. We could have done the line."

"Eh, it's hard for us all," stated an older woman with a healthful disposition revealing a rather privileged past, "Least we can do is treat you two young people to some kindness, with you doing all you can to help."

Edwin responded in kind. "That is nice of you to say, Mrs. Walcott. We of course are doing-"

Nell disrupted the banter with an inquiry. "Is everyone here now?" She looked around the table. "Of our delegation, I mean. I don't believe I see the Babcocks."

"I think that may be them in line," said one man with a proper manner to him, motioning to a skittish-looking couple at the potato station.

"Poor dears," added the older woman. "I hear those Bostonians came from Tulsa not too long ago?"

"Bill did business there for a mercantile firm," inserted Edwin as he took a bite of the grub.

"And Celia, of course, came with him," added Nell matter-of-factly. "They are in a rough shape now, as would anyone having to enter the city, or even live here, at this awful time - I believe we're all testament to that."

“True, true,” exclaimed gentleman Jim, followed by a few others.

Following this, a rather timid woman, bolstered by her husband, decided to speak up on the matter which was undoubtedly in everyone's mind. “Did anyone here receive a letter for that Outlook – err, I mean Outpost – program? Mentioned on the intercom? We're just asking-”

“If you did, best not to disclose,” said Jim with a smirk and wink.

“My wife asked a question, Mr. Derby.” replied the woman's rather stern husband.

“Look,” stated Jim frankly, no longer amused, “I swear I saw some guy get ganged up on for a letter while heading here. Steered clear of that, I'll assure you. But the fact remains that the Oakies and their kin are willing to start a fight for 'em – and that's a fight I dare say I'd rather not enter.”

“So you received one?” asked the stern husband with irate curiosity.

“I said I'd rather not disclose,” replied Jim.

Edwin and Nell eyed the conversation between the contrasting expatriates warily, preparing for the all-too-real chance of flared tempers. Fortunately, the heated words died down. Yet this near altercation did worry them well, knowing that they received the letters themselves; letters that they didn't even desire. For the time being, it was best to focus on lighter fare for conversation: it kept morale higher at such a trying time, and reduced the chance of the diplomatic mission having to intervene.

PostPosted: Fri Nov 23, 2018 10:52 am
by Flarbinia
Normally, Sean Rockwell wouldn't be working for cults. Some were scams meant to pillage the pockets of the desperate and needy. Others were basically Nazis in fancy robes. However, none of them were willing to part with fifty thousand in gold if they could afford it. The gunslinger had killed plenty of men before, but this would be the first time he would kill a government official, even if said official is a rogue agent. Suddenly, there was knock at the door and he reached for his gun, only to stop when he heard the voice of one of the mobsters that got crammed into the safe zone with everybody else.

PostPosted: Fri Nov 23, 2018 6:36 pm
by Benuty
Refugee Apartment Complex #12-Formerly Sunnygrove Apartments
Time: 8:10 am.

Nelson continued with his breakfast until hearing the sharp yankee accents penetrate the air. The accents were unmistakable due in part to living in East Sylvania which the empire had carved out of Pennsylvania during one of the unions failed wars back in 1895. Sylvania was an odd state out with a majority of its population subscribing to unionist ideologies, and thoughts especially on the matters of slavery, but for all intents, and purposes was more than happy to prosper under Imperial rule. The New Englander railroad companies would often pay to send their goods through the empire far cheaper than they would the Free States. As a result Nelson grew to know the accent of the New Englanders quite well especially when it could get really sharp during their spouts of anger or annoyance.

Finishing his breakfast quietly Nelson grabbed himself up with a stick he used to support himself. The years since Laggards Burrow had not been kind on the man, and since that night one of his legs limped, and so he wobbled over to the table of expatriates. Summoning up his courage partly aided by the increasingly brash attitude his age gave him Nelson simply asked "Do any of you mind if I sit here?". The question was merely a formality as he did so without waiting for a response, and after making himself comfortable he began to speak up. "I heard there were expatriates from New England here, and I was wondering if I could offer my services in regards to information?" Nelson smiled knowing any information was better than no information in times like these.

PostPosted: Fri Nov 23, 2018 6:59 pm
by Biscaria
Nell & Edwin Choate

Nell was miffed by the intrusion of this rather ragged stranger at their table, and showed her displeasure with a frown. Edwin minded the intrusion less so, and when the man asked if he could sit there was ready to acquiesce. The man sat down before he could reply, however, and so Edwin instead eyed him with slight caution.

After Nelson posed his question, an uneasy tension arose among the expats. Yet it was not long before that rascalous gentleman Jim Derby responded, being one with the least inhibitions.

"Well sir, I guess it depends on what information you've got. You a detective or something?"

"No, no, he must be a man from the government!" responded one of the housewives at the table, Mrs. Wentworth. "Do you know-"

"Looks more like a detective to me."

"People, people," responded Nell with authority. "Let's put an end to the mass guessing, shall we?" She turned to Nelson, doubtful of his capacity to provide any useful information to the group. "You are correct that this table is occupied by the New English community here. I sense you are Columbian? Would you please introduce yourself, sir, before making offers of services for some vague manner of information? It's not polite to just barge in like so."

PostPosted: Fri Nov 23, 2018 8:08 pm
by Benuty
Refugee Apartment Complex #12-Formerly Sunnygrove Apartments
Time: 8:15 am.

Sensing the suspicion around the table Nelson simply continued to smile, and folded his arms before speaking up. "You must forgive my poor manners in regards to introducing myself. My name is Nelson Andrews, and I work with the Imperial Bureau of Investigation or at least a faction within it these days. Ten years ago my manners in introduction would have been ever so more gentle in these matters, but I felt that you are all in need of information I may be able to provide. These days my employment is a bit more sporadic with the world ending, but that doesn't mean information should cease alltogether should it?".

Nelson simply waited anticipating the response from the two leaders at the table.

PostPosted: Fri Nov 23, 2018 8:49 pm
by Biscaria
Nell & Edwin Choate

"Well Mr. Andrews, investigator or not, you are welcome to sit here," responded Edwin, taking his 'world ending' remark more as a metaphor than truth. "And I think that all of us here could do with some more information at such a time." There was a murmur of agreement, and even Nell couldn't find anything to say in opposition. "As you may know, the military command here has not been very... forthcoming with us. We've had to leave our houses and work in Columbia during this crisis, and being here they haven't allowed us to leave for, or even contact, our homes and families in New England. As the Consul General here for our country in the Columbian Mid-West, I should know."

After Edwin finished, the circle of expats considered his acknowledgement of their difficulties, as well as what they should ask this strange investigator before them. Nell, committed to the notion of her high-ranking father, the New English Secretary of State, calling them back to Hartford and frustrated at the Columbians for what she saw as attempts to block such a call, spoke up first. Even she was in desire of some hopeful news, even if provided by the sketchy character in front of her.

"If you are who you say you are, then tell us this: what exactly is the military doing here? As it stands now, I wouldn't be opposed to giving Columbia a piece of my mind for what they've done to us! My father at Hartford is very high in government, and he would never allow for this conduct. And my husband and I," she clenched Edwin's hand, alerting him, and spoke in a tone to be heard by the entire table, "We would never allow for our countrymen to be left here in such a dismal state by your country. So, Mr. Andrews, tell us what you know. And if it is funds you are after for such a service, I'm sure we could muster it."

"And- and tell us about those, uh, horrors outside. The, uh, ghouls? Are they some kind of occultist thing?" inserted the timid woman from earlier, bolstered again by her husband, "And are they really so dangerous? How come? I- I don't remembered anything ever this bad. Not even in '52!"

Nell, Edwin, and the table stared at the woman, and then back at Andrews for his response.

PostPosted: Fri Nov 23, 2018 9:26 pm
by Benuty
Refugee Apartment Complex #12-Formerly Sunnygrove Apartments
Time: 8:17 am.

Nelson took a deep breath speaking first to the lady in front of him "Mam, I hate to tell you this, but if you had any hopes of complaining to someone truly high up on the national level it would have been before they evacuated the capital. As for what the military is doing here, at least in theory they are simply buying time while they prepare people to be evacuations to the outposts. Last I heard they started shelling Austin after it was overrun two days ago by a horde of ghouls. In regards to your homeland, I wouldn't put up too much hope of getting there just yet. Back when I was in Mexico City we heard reports that various cults were running around practically carving up portions of the country for their own ends...Hartford is still around for now, but Boston is a warzone".

Nelson gave them a minute to process the information while turning to the wife wanting to know about ghouls, and why they are worse than before. "You must understand that unlike with the previous 'risings' of ghouls this one is still very much ongoing as anyone who dies becomes a ghoul if the body can still move. Used to be those who died relatively intact we at the bureau called 'freshies' as they retained their humanity, emotions, and what made them the person they used to be. Of course they would have to take in raw meat every few days or else they would start becoming the mindless ferals you hear about. One more thing, something happened this time around that caused a lot of the 'freshies' to degenerate to ferals within hours for no apparent reason".

The shock on the womans face was the reaction Nelson expected. "In Phoenix, for example the empire lost 90% of citizenry there within a single hour because we were lax about quarantining the 'freshies'. Things are bad all around, and I lost contact with a friend in Dallas which means phone, and telegram lines in the interior are starting to fail as well. Oklahoma City is lucky, and that is because the military is turning this place into a fortress...or prison camp depending on how you look at it." Turning back to the leaders of this motley group Nelson said "No need to worry about payment, but the only chance any of you have of getting back home is to ride out on one of the Zeppelins".

PostPosted: Fri Nov 23, 2018 11:17 pm
by Biscaria
Nell & Edwin Choate

Nell was displeased by Nelson's information. She already generally knew about the ghouls that had been rampaging around Columbia, and that some cities were in worse shape than Oklahoma, but admittedly she didn't think it was such a problem that the oh-so-mighty Imperials would evacuate their capital. For normalcy's sake, military command seems to have suppressed that bit of information.

Meanwhile, the rest of the New Englanders reacted, with some being not so stoic. The timid woman interested in ghouls fainted of shock at Nelson's description, falling onto her husband and dropping her bowl of food in the process. Furthermore, the Babcocks, who had previously been in line for food, reached the table with their grub just in time for poor Celia to hear Nelson's comment about Boston being "a warzone." She too collapsed, turning into a mess of tears beside the table and making quite a scene this side of the hall. No one else reacted quite so drastically, but clearly the circle of New Englanders was now feeling more overall upset. Edwin thought of his family, with his old mother at home in Beacon Hill, and felt a great deal of worry which he tried his best to suppress. The Choates had a Christmas fruitcake she had sent to them at the house they had to leave in Oklahoma City, which, despite his general dislike of fruitcake, he hoped was still there.

Nell, on the other hand, looked over at Celia Babcock. The woman was being comforted by her husband as well as the usually amiable Ellie Bartoll, a music teacher by profession, who sat them down at the table and was trying her hardest to give some measure of support.

After he finished, Nell confronted Nelson over the new disorder. "Well this 'information' certainly hasn't done much for morale here. Look there at poor Celia, and I think you may have done something similar for dear Mrs. Herrick," motioning at the faint woman in her shocked husband's arms. Nell assessed the damage at table further, before returning to a more topical subject. "So, you said that the Imperials have left the capital? Oh well, how unfortunate. For our sake, If Hartford still lives, then there is always hope." In her mind, she thought of her old childhood home in Ipswich; the place which she had once pined to leave. Called Castle Hill, she had no doubt that the old estate was still standing as a fortress against disorder; since the Occultist troubles began all those years ago, the grounds would be manned in a heartbeat at any sign of a threat. And, she thought, what if Asenath Goldthwait made a return there...

Following Nell's observation, Edwin cleared his throat. "Err, yes well, erm, it may indeed give some comfort, that, uh, Hartford still lives. Anyway, thank you for your, uh, information, Mr. Andrews. I, um, I think I should go check on the Babcocks now." He got up and went over to the Babcock couple just as Miss Bartoll placed a cool compress on poor Celia's head, with Bill Babcock sitting adjacent with one hand meeting his wife's hand and the other meeting his forehead in astonishment.

Meanwhile, the aged woman they called Mrs. Walcott, looking to be somewhere around her 70s, who was sitting across from Nelson inserted herself into the conversation seeming only passively perturbed by his news. "My, my, Mr. Andrews, that is some terrible story you tell. Oh, it's a good thing my dear Abner isn't around to see the world today; oh, how it would have distressed him so!" She seemed to be looking over his rugged demeanor, disregarding (or perhaps factoring in) his infirmities, with some manner of want. "I, however, would be happy to hear more, if you would so oblige. Name's Lucy. Lucy Walcott," the old woman gave Nelson a smile, contrasting the sad situation among the rest of the expats. She clearly found Nelson attractive.

Nell, sitting adjacent to Mrs. Walcott, turned away and rolled her eyes, putting her hand on her forehead in a fashion similar to Mr. Babcock. "Oh brother..." She looked across at Nelson again, hoping to divert him away from Mrs. Walcott's attention. "You mentioned zeppelins, Mr. Andrews? You wouldn't happen to know when the next one leaving for New England would be, would you?"

PostPosted: Sat Nov 24, 2018 10:46 am
by Benuty
Refugee Apartment Complex #12-Formerly Sunnygrove Apartments
Time: 8:20 am.

Nelson gave everyone a moment to take in the information "You must understand in my business, at least whats left of it we have learned that being bluntly honest in the only thing human left in this world. Think for a second about how much deception goes on here? The military is lying about how safe this place is, and various groups are lying to their followers about gaining glory for whatever cause they seek. Would you rather know the truth or seek to hide in the darkness? Heavenly creator knows we have more than enough of that going on here".

Nelson took out a small flask from his pockets, and poured some into the cup he had brought over earlier. "The government as it stands isn't dissolved, but rather they have fled to the outposts. Currently there are about nine military districts trying to keep the facade of normalcy as the empire, and admittedly the world collapses. All that said there may be hope for quite a few of you to get home before things get rougher up there. The people maintaining the Zeppelin station in the transport hub have reportedly seen a huge increase in smugglers".

Nelson took a small somewhat gentle sip from the cup, and wiped his mouth partly in remembrance of the manners he used to have. "If you were just regular folks I would suggest you try your luck with some of the underground runners, but that is incredibly unsafe. As for Zeppelins, the smugglers pull no punches in how much it will cost you. These days the Zeppelins only come to drop off supplies, and take those who pass whatever 'test' the Outpost program has for them. When time comes later this week after the candidates of this week pass the Zeppelin will take them off to Outpost 12. However this particular Zeppelin will continue its journey into the western fringes of Virginia before picking up supplies to head back on its normal route".

The look on the faces of the people still listening signaled some interest so Nelson continued. "Currently Virginia is handling the crisis much better than the southwest is, and still has functioning civilian railroads. From there you might be able to get a ship, and get back to your homes before things start amping up in intensity. All that being said, you will have to wait on the Outpost program to push orders through since they control the Zeppelin leaving the city. I still have business to attend to here in Oklahoma City, but while you still can I suggest you pull some strings where it matters, and get out when the time comes as this place doesn't have long".

PostPosted: Sat Nov 24, 2018 10:51 am
by Labstoska
The mashed potato looked more like cold porridge then anything edible. Already Alister could imagine the cold sludge snaking it's way down his throat, it was enough to make him retch as he spooned the alleged food onto his plate. All the while Alister made sure to of keep an eye out on the man from Laggards Burrow, he had moved to a group of New Englanders which caused Alister's suspicions to rise further, Alister didn't know much about New England however he had heard that it was a battleground of various cults and a breeding ground for eldritch abominations and this man's association with these people didn't do much to prove his innocence to Alister.

Alister took his tray to an abandoned table relatively close to the New Englanders and the individual from Laggards Burrow. The idea of eating the food in front of him was in now way an inciting prospect yet the gnawing feeling in his stomach was beginning to become unbearable, in order to make the food seem just a little more edible Alister took the unlabelled whisky from out of his pocket and gave it a swig. the effect was instantaneous and devastating, it felt as if someone had brutally applied a sledgehammer to the back of his skull and then had proceeded to pour molten gold down what remained of his throat. Alister was forced to place his head in his hands lest he throw up, pass out or something altogether worse yet slowly the storm in his head passed and when he looked up the world seemed to look a little brighter.

The food although still being disgusting was suitable enough for Human consumption and Alister began to wolf it down causing the gnawing feeling in his stomach to vanish. Unfortunately due to both the debilitating effect of the whisky and the general noise of the cafeteria Alister was hardly able to hear anything of the conversation going on between the New Englanders and the man from Laggards Burrow, all he was able to discern was something about Boston and the Columbian capital. No concrete evidence that this man was a member of the occult yet still nothing that came out of Laggards Burrow was good and Alister wasn't going to allow for some cultist to kill him in the middle of the night.

After finishing his meal he deposited his tray in the cleaning area and then left the cafeteria, he quickly rushed through the corridors and back to his room, lest the man from Laggards Burrow leave the cafeteria before he returned. He wrenched upon his cupboard and pulled out his revolver from beneath a mound of clothes and loaded 6 bullets into it, he pulled on his holster and headed back out to wait for the man from Laggards Burrow hopefully to catch him alone, he was going to confirm if this man was indeed of the occult.

PostPosted: Sat Nov 24, 2018 11:53 am
by Biscaria
Nell & Edwin Choate

Nell processed all the information Nelson was telling. "So, you're saying... that the only safe way to get back East... is to pass this... "test" for the "Outpost" program? And then make use of their airship to Virginia?" She gave a tortured look, revealing her disdain for the matter. "Well, if that's the only way... then we'll take it. My husband and I do still have some connections here, as unreliable as they have recently been." She then spoke to the entire group. "When push comes to shove, we will do everything in our power to ensure that we are all able to return home safely, whether you have a letter or not. As your country's representatives, it is our prerogative."

The table took in Nell's words with reassurance, as they knew of her assertive nature when it came to such things. Her father was, after all, very high in the New English government, giving them confidence; in addition, the expatriates certainly had a great deal of money between them that could be used to aid such connections. Most of the expats still in Oklahoma City were those who owned property or had a vested interest in the region, with those having more fleeting interests and means having left at the first sign of trouble. At this point in the crisis, after being forced to leave their property and interests by the military, nearly everyone was happy to leave if they could.

"Well, with this turn of events, I guess I'm happy then that I got a letter!," exclaimed Jim Derby with a smile.

"AHA! I KNEW IT!" shouted back Mr. Herrick, whose wife was just beginning to come to and was given a jolt by her husbands exclamation.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Walcott, not discouraged by Nelson's lack of acknowledgement, continued to smile at the man whom she was smitten with. "I for one would be happy to stay right here in Oklahoma, Mr. Andrews. Folks like us don't have much time left anyway, and I made the decision to retire here, after all. Best to enjoy life while you can, yes? Now, what business exactly do you have in the city? I would be happy to hear more... perhaps in my room?"

On the other side of the table, Edwin was still helping the Babcocks, with Celia's tears beginning to cease but her deliberating sorrow continuing. Nell, on the other hand, just stared at Mrs. Walcott's blunt advances, and then looked back at Nelson.

PostPosted: Sat Nov 24, 2018 1:33 pm
by Benuty
Refugee Apartment Complex #12-Formerly Sunnygrove Apartments
Time: 8:22 am.

Nelson acknowledged the ladies tortured look before him, and spoke up "I am aware the name for the program is somewhat quaint, but they call it that because it claims to be an 'outpost' for the future of humanity. The people that do get taken out of the city by the Zeppelin are the lucky ones chosen for the sake of the future of humanity or at least that is the intent. Though I understand the premise, and need for the outposts I disagree with the governments way of fighting this. They are simply giving in, and retreating to the outposts using the military to buy them time as they do so. Its partly why I no longer work for them, but instead a few compatriots, and I are taking the fight directly against the enemy, but if its any small consolation you have my apologies for their conduct".

Turning to the woman who seemed to be eyeing him rather intensely in a way that reminded me of a predator seeking prey in this case for rather sensual pursuits. "Unfortunately madam I have an appointment later in the day that is very urgent, but perhaps on the return back I might accompany you?". It was obvious by the reaction of some at the table that mentioning anything to do with the outpost program was a sensitive topic, and he didn't have time to engage in some womans fantasies. All that said she might prove an interesting conversation partner unless she tried anything in which he would simply have to flash the marriage ring she hasn't yet spotted. As he gathered himself ready to leave Nelson realized something, and looked at the two in front of him "How rude of me, I forgot to ask earlier when I came over earlier, but what are your names?".

PostPosted: Sat Nov 24, 2018 2:00 pm
by Biscaria
Nell & Edwin Choate

"Nadelia Putnam Choate, though everyone calls me Nell and you may do the same." Edwin came over from the Babcocks, and was now standing by her. "And this is my husband Edwin, whom you already may know is head of New England's diplomatic mission here in Oklahoma City. I'd say that the two of us work as a capable team running its operations." Edwin smiled meekly and began to outstretch his hand but, before he could, Nell outstretched hers towards Nelson. "Do forgive me for my earlier crossness. We are pleased to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Andrews."

Earlier, Nell had unfastened her coat for some comfort due to the heat in the room, and so when she stretched out her hand, the glint of a small necklaced charm with some ornate elements became visible on the dress above her chest.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Walcott found a way to insert herself in response to Nelsons attention. "Oh I would be very pleased about that, Mr. Andrews." As Nell stretched out her hand, the old woman slid over the table a small folded note with her name, room number, and telephone number within, with the writing finalized by a little red heart drawn in lipstick. "If I'm not here, you know where to find me."

PostPosted: Sat Nov 24, 2018 2:39 pm
by Benuty
Refugee Apartment Complex #12-Formerly Sunnygrove Apartments
Apartment Corridor
Time: 8:24 am.

Nelson replied graciously "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance especially in these trying times". The necklace Mrs. Choate wore seemed to catch his eye as it seemed to catch his eye with him thinking "Where have I seen that trinket before?". Nelson continued to steady himself on the staff he had while shaking Nell's, and ultimately Edwins hands. He casually took the note that the lady near him slid over, and put it in his pocket, and said "I am sorry about having to leave, but I must attend to something in my room first". As he was on his way back to the room he was staying in for the time being he noticed he was being followed, but within seconds the man pressed his revolver into his back saying "don't move" thus causing Nelson to leave his key into the door...he seemed oddly familiar to him.

PostPosted: Sat Nov 24, 2018 5:01 pm
by Dalria
Jack - March 17th, 1962

Jack listened to the group of affluent citizens discuss their matters at the nearby table; their rambling about ghouls and the occult, something all to common nowadays. Once the man named 'Nelson' left the room, Jack waltzed over to the table with the two New Englanders. He sensed an opportunity here; two politically influent individuals stuck in some dangerous dump far away from their native home.

"Aye lass" he winked, "sir" he then nodded to her husband. "I couldn't help overhearing about your predicament. Being stuck in the dark here so far away from the comfort of your home back in New England" Jack paused and removed his hat. "How rude of me, the name is Jack O'Connolly and I'd like to offer my services".

Congressman Daniel McCoy - March 17th, 1962

"Dammit! Linda I'm stuck in the dark here. I can't get ahold of the anyone since the evacuation of Montgomery and they me stuck in some garbage apartment" Daniel angrily vented to his secretary. "I want answers now like what status our current government is in. Am I even a congressman anymore?" he paced back and fourth around the room. The officials in Montgomery had been evacuated swiftly with little notice of what their tasks were to be. Daniel was on a roll before the evacuation, serving as the chair of the House of Nobility and one of the most powerful men in the Imperial States. There was often talk about his presidential run in '64 but this had changed everything. How could such an influential man not know what was going on in his country?

He grabbed his coat, "Linda I shall return, I need a smoke" the congressman took a stroll down to the lobby of the apartment. He excited, the cold air met his skin, sending a chill down his spine. He pulled out his pack of Morley cigarettes, cigarettes being a rarity in the current situation, and lit it with a match. Daniel had a meeting that night with the officials from Outpost-12 later that night and eagerly awaited to speak with them.

PostPosted: Sat Nov 24, 2018 6:02 pm
by Sudbrazil
Montgomery Antiques & Artifacts
March 17th 1962

"That would be seventy five dollars."

The client complied and slipped him a few banknotes. In return, the vendor presented him with a small pocket watch, decorated with gold, which was quickly stowed away in his pocket.

"A particularly fine choice, if I do day myself." commented the Texan man with a smile, "You'll always be welcome here, Samuel."

James Atticus Montgomery took a deep sigh as the man strolled out. With the emergency situation, business was fluctuating quite a lot. Though the penniless refugees were not interested in paintings nor book collections and other trinkets, clocks and radios were selling extremely well as apparently most refugee complexes were lacking in those departments. Coincidentally, many of them had been sold to him during the confiscation period by fleeing families.
After checking his own pocket watch, he took the last sip from his ice cold mint julep and directed himself towards the entrance. His store's walls were lined with paintings and furniture from all time periods as well as the latest gadgets and curios. Defunct movements meddled with modern fads, and Montgomery was quite fond of it all. He set the storefront sign to closed and pushed the door aside, prompting the familiar bell to ring. As he had not yet had breakfast, his stomach commanded him to have a short break to go back 'home' for food.
His true house was in the antiquary, but that had been occupied by a Columbian officer. He did not blame the fellow, as the shop was located in a pleasant neighborhood with wooded streets that had been well-maintained in an attempt to keep a semblance of normalcy. Very few people would reject living in such conditions. Who he did in fact blame was the bureaucrat who had placed him in a shoddy apartment a few blocks away.


The corridors were rather dilapidated. Bits of wallpaper were peeling off here and there, the lights occasionally flickered, and parts of the creaky wooden floor were splitting. The apartment was Spartan, with a humble bed and simple wooden furniture. But for now, it was home, and it was relatively tidy. His stomach growled once more, and James remembered the communal dining hall. He placed his large framed revolver into his coat pocket, an object which he officially did not possess, before noticing a letter at the doorway. He swooped down and pocketed the paper, making a mental note to read it afterwards.
The Texan opened the door and glanced down the corridor. Noticing two gentlemen who were seemingly having an unfriendly conversation, he froze for a second before closing it again. Perhaps he had left his non-existant stove on...

PostPosted: Sat Nov 24, 2018 9:40 pm
by Biscaria
Nell & Edwin Choate

Nell exchanged looks with her husband, and then stared with him at the somewhat scruffy Irishman in front of them. She fastened her coat again, fearing his potential aims perhaps a bit more than the old Columbian that had been there previously, and prepared a response. This time, however, it was Edwin who replied first.

"What services are you offering, Mr. O'Connolly?"

PostPosted: Sat Nov 24, 2018 10:31 pm
by Dalria

Several years earlier
Jack - December 18th, 1949 - No Man's Land - Eastern Europe

The territory was barren; a winter wasteland. There seemed to be no life in this desolate place, it was a place touched by the hands of the war. Several figures began to scurry in the brush, nearby a railway track. Jack, painted with mud, appeared ahead of the group. Weilding a Kalashnikov rifle, his warm breath pierced the air. He motioned for the other men to leave the brush, three others made their way onto the track and began tampering with explosive devices.

"Aye, why the fuck are we even out here? We could be sitting on a warm beach somewhere, not fighting for some government that we don't give a shite about" a man shivered.

Jack gave him a piercing look, "stop whining you eejit. We are here because we are being paid to be and quite the sum at that. You think the lads on the front are making as much as we are? Be thankful and soon we will be out of this hellhole" Jack screeched. These men were former Irish patriots who were contracted to carry out a guerilla warfare campaign on Soviet soil with promise of a full pardon and a lump sum of cash. They had traveled their way deep into Northern Russia near Novgorod to destroy important rail lines and supply dumps.

"Boss, train is a'cmoin" one of the men hollered as the group of men scurried back into the brush. The train cut through the snowy bank, rounding off onto the straightaway that the Irishmen had boobytrapped. The engine was pulling twelve boxcars filled with a multitude of munitions and arms.

"Ten...nine...eight" Jack began to count in his head, "" Jack put full force onto the plunger. The explosion sent the engine off the track, the boxcars quickly following as they spiraled out of control. The Irishmen lunged out of the brush and began firing their weapons upon the engine to ensure that the Soviet men were dead. They quickly rounded the train, each man greedily diving into the individual boxcars to grab what new toys they could acquire. "Whohoo lads! Fuck them damn commies, another train bites the dust" Jack cheered. Jack heard a groan, one of the men trapped in the explosion crawled toward Jack's feet. Unsymmetrically, Jack pulled his revolver out and ended his life swiftly. Jack began to examine the Soviet officer's belongings, grabbing his transcript orders. These would come in handy, they had the location to several Soviet supply bases in the Northeast. "Lets go lads, we have a fuel dump a couple miles that way" Jack ordered.

Present Day
Jack - March 17th, 1962

"I am a solicitor of safety, a retailer of security, a merchant of peace of mind! We all have been condemned to the same fate, being stuck in this godforsaken city with the apocalypse impending. I am offering my veteran services to keep you and your wife here safe. Being people of your class, you will be a target when the last bit of civility in this city falls. I implore you that I am an upstanding and loyal individual" the Irishman had a large grin on his face.

PostPosted: Sat Nov 24, 2018 11:24 pm
by Biscaria
Nell & Edwin Choate

"I see, sir. Well you certainly tell quite a job description," replied Edwin. "So in essence you are-"

"-a bodyguard?" finished Nell promptly. She eyed the Irishman up and down, examining his physical physique. "Hmm, you do seem to be quite fit for the task, and indeed these are trying times." Nell looked around at the ragged mass of people in much of the cafeteria. "How astute you are to notice our plight. As the representatives of our nation in this city, it would be beneficial to have some... protection." She glanced at Edwin, awaiting his input.

"Ah, err, um, yes I do agree," replied Edwin meekly. "It has been rather, err, risky going about since the consulate guards were requisitioned..."

"Then we are of the same mind, dear." She looked back at the eager Irishman. "Allow us to introduce ourselves. My name is Nadelia, Nadelia Putnam Choate. However, you may call me Nell, as does everyone." She motioned over to Edwin. "And this here is my dear husband Edwin."

"How do you do?" he greeted. "My title here is Consul General of the Columbian Mid-West, and my wife and I are, as she already pointed out, the stewards of our country's diplomatic mission. We are ensured with providing for the safety of our fellow citizens in a time such as this..." Nell gave him a nudge. "And, ahem, I suppose it would be beneficial to have our safety ensured as well."

Nell gave him a look of approval, and then took over the negotiations. "So now, what is your price for such a service, Mr. O'Connolly? I assume you have some form of resume with you as well?"

The couple stared back at Jack, awaiting his response.