Post by The Mouth on Sept 19, 2014 17:58:47 GMT -8
1963, May
The world is different. Everything is moving faster, clearer, dirtier. The air is less foul with coal and ash and instead tastes like the ass end of an apothecary. Celebrities grace screens in moving pictures, pictures with sound and light and fantastic effects.
More and more it seems like the Kine have moved into the demense of the supernatural through their clever inventions. I've learned about this 'Cold War'. I've been hearing noises about some place called Viet Nam.
My old ways of making money are gone. Records are freely available to the common man; teenagers, a new term, spend huge amounts of money on them - Indulged by their parents to excess.
No one wants to hear a man on a stage re-tell a speech made famous by another man. No one needs to pay to see an act on vaudeville... Plays are still a thing, and a new form of opera is hugely popular - Something called Musicals.
I need a new way to make some cash. Thankfully I have other skills to rely on.
1965, June
I work as a bag man for the local mob. Nothing like what I've read about the East Coast, but I need to get out of the work quickly, surveillance is a problem.
1968
I killed a werewolf.
I'd started running little games, feeding lines to a friend, Jin Nguyen. He was Hmong, some group out of Viet Nam that wasn't quite like the locals and generally despised by them. He thought I was a vet, learned enough of the lingo from the actual vets on the streets to fake it. Said I'd had a facefull of jet fuel with a spark chaser, but Jin was sharp enough to not ask further questions. I kept my face hidden, and he was smooth enough that we could work together.
Then we tried to con this new guy. New fish are great to target, they can't admit they got played and by the time they are a concern you have a new name and a new line. But this guy was different. Comes in with a stable of runaways from California, all looking a lot young. Something ain't right about him, I get a sense right off the bat. My beast, when I get near him, it wants to flee in terror.
Jin does the approach, hints we can connect him to Colacurcio, the local Guy to Meet. Just that it will cost a connection fee of five grand. This guy likes to hang near Tukwilla, round the guys getting out of the factories and what all, we run in a different part of town, figure if it gets out of hand I can muscle in for Jin, nothing new.
This was new.
We soak the asshole, name of Kent Bridger, for his 5g's. Pay a friend of Mr. Colacurcio's a couple hundred bucks to arrange the meeting, and they have their business. Only thing is, Kent has to pay another two grand to get the meet with Colacurcio, he figures he got soaked.
I'm counting my half of the money when the door to my shitty rat hole of an apartment bursts open. I hear growling, snarls, Jin screaming and the sound of blood splashing, meat parting, and bones popping. I bail out the window and climb down the fire escape. I look up and I can see two green glowing spots in the middle of a lot of fur and teeth.
Jin, I'll miss the guy. But he had a bad draw.
I run for a few blocks, cursing that I never learned how to hide, also aware that it might not matter with a damned werewolf. I needed to get some tools, fast. I could hear something howling, and my Beast trembled. I get three more blocks before something hits me and sends me through a window.
It's 4am, the streets are empty, and it's the Central District.
Nope. Not a cop in sight. And you know it's bad when you're a vampire prayin for the cops.
I pick myself up, and in the window is a man shaped thing. It speaks, "You took my money, leech. Now I'm going to take your fangs." Yeah, that sounded like Kent, just the wrong shape. "You know I'll just give you the fangs, right?" I gasp out. Kent laughs, his eyes glowing green again.
I scrabble around, looking through the display case I've fallen through. My hand closes on a bundle of something metal and I don't have time to think about it as the shape is leaping at me, growing fur and claws and...
It stops. It whines, twitches. My hand is in the werewolf's gut, clutching the honest to god silverware I picked up. A bundle of forks, at the pawn shop I just fell through.
I pull my hand back and jam the forks into the monster again, and it squeals and tries to flee and dies.
Weirdly, it don't change back to a man, like it does in the movies. I drag it into the sewers and present it to Eddington as a present. He's less than thrilled, I mean what if something followed the scent. I look at the sewers pretty pointedly and comment that anything that can track something through this, deserves it.
He gets the fur, bribes the Prince with it, and I get some status.
For the rest of my nights, if I never meet another one of those things I'll be glad. That little trip through the window? Also through the security bars. And the claws went through me. I was healing up for months.
1971, November
Things are slowing down. People are leaving in droves. Abandoned houses, cars, business. 'Will the last person to Leave Seattle Turn Off the Lights?'
Assholes. This is just a temporary set back, but the younger ones are chattering that it is time to leave.
1981, April
Spring is wet and cold as usual. The Presidents are blurring into a smudge of suits and caricatures over the years. I no long need to follow their mannerisms but I still do just in case I have the need to perform again. Shakespeare and more modern plays are all the rage still, so I can still get the occasional work doing spoken word performances in a mask.
Most of the time I make my money with the disposal of documents. Turns out that everyone is less worried about the Reds than they are about other corporations stealing their secrets. The Roustabout is going off about these new computer things, says they are going to be something amazing. That girl the Marquis brought over is pretty obsessed with them, both of them hinted that paper was here to stay for a while.
So I hired some guys, put some capital together, and let a very talented young man run the business. Names Whitney Nguyen, his uncle was Jin. Figured I owed it to the family.
1987, November
Turns out I like finding people. On occasion I work as a 'miracle worker' and find people for bail bondsmen. Pays all right, but I like having the friends in the business. Getting some work from lawyers too. They don't ask how I find them, and I don't ask them why they want them.
1995, Christmas
I miss the old days. Getting old while staying so weak is more than meaningless, it's a constant trial.
1999
On the eve of a new millennium. Maybe now I can finally make it big.
- The Mouth
The world is different. Everything is moving faster, clearer, dirtier. The air is less foul with coal and ash and instead tastes like the ass end of an apothecary. Celebrities grace screens in moving pictures, pictures with sound and light and fantastic effects.
More and more it seems like the Kine have moved into the demense of the supernatural through their clever inventions. I've learned about this 'Cold War'. I've been hearing noises about some place called Viet Nam.
My old ways of making money are gone. Records are freely available to the common man; teenagers, a new term, spend huge amounts of money on them - Indulged by their parents to excess.
No one wants to hear a man on a stage re-tell a speech made famous by another man. No one needs to pay to see an act on vaudeville... Plays are still a thing, and a new form of opera is hugely popular - Something called Musicals.
I need a new way to make some cash. Thankfully I have other skills to rely on.
1965, June
I work as a bag man for the local mob. Nothing like what I've read about the East Coast, but I need to get out of the work quickly, surveillance is a problem.
1968
I killed a werewolf.
I'd started running little games, feeding lines to a friend, Jin Nguyen. He was Hmong, some group out of Viet Nam that wasn't quite like the locals and generally despised by them. He thought I was a vet, learned enough of the lingo from the actual vets on the streets to fake it. Said I'd had a facefull of jet fuel with a spark chaser, but Jin was sharp enough to not ask further questions. I kept my face hidden, and he was smooth enough that we could work together.
Then we tried to con this new guy. New fish are great to target, they can't admit they got played and by the time they are a concern you have a new name and a new line. But this guy was different. Comes in with a stable of runaways from California, all looking a lot young. Something ain't right about him, I get a sense right off the bat. My beast, when I get near him, it wants to flee in terror.
Jin does the approach, hints we can connect him to Colacurcio, the local Guy to Meet. Just that it will cost a connection fee of five grand. This guy likes to hang near Tukwilla, round the guys getting out of the factories and what all, we run in a different part of town, figure if it gets out of hand I can muscle in for Jin, nothing new.
This was new.
We soak the asshole, name of Kent Bridger, for his 5g's. Pay a friend of Mr. Colacurcio's a couple hundred bucks to arrange the meeting, and they have their business. Only thing is, Kent has to pay another two grand to get the meet with Colacurcio, he figures he got soaked.
I'm counting my half of the money when the door to my shitty rat hole of an apartment bursts open. I hear growling, snarls, Jin screaming and the sound of blood splashing, meat parting, and bones popping. I bail out the window and climb down the fire escape. I look up and I can see two green glowing spots in the middle of a lot of fur and teeth.
Jin, I'll miss the guy. But he had a bad draw.
I run for a few blocks, cursing that I never learned how to hide, also aware that it might not matter with a damned werewolf. I needed to get some tools, fast. I could hear something howling, and my Beast trembled. I get three more blocks before something hits me and sends me through a window.
It's 4am, the streets are empty, and it's the Central District.
Nope. Not a cop in sight. And you know it's bad when you're a vampire prayin for the cops.
I pick myself up, and in the window is a man shaped thing. It speaks, "You took my money, leech. Now I'm going to take your fangs." Yeah, that sounded like Kent, just the wrong shape. "You know I'll just give you the fangs, right?" I gasp out. Kent laughs, his eyes glowing green again.
I scrabble around, looking through the display case I've fallen through. My hand closes on a bundle of something metal and I don't have time to think about it as the shape is leaping at me, growing fur and claws and...
It stops. It whines, twitches. My hand is in the werewolf's gut, clutching the honest to god silverware I picked up. A bundle of forks, at the pawn shop I just fell through.
I pull my hand back and jam the forks into the monster again, and it squeals and tries to flee and dies.
Weirdly, it don't change back to a man, like it does in the movies. I drag it into the sewers and present it to Eddington as a present. He's less than thrilled, I mean what if something followed the scent. I look at the sewers pretty pointedly and comment that anything that can track something through this, deserves it.
He gets the fur, bribes the Prince with it, and I get some status.
For the rest of my nights, if I never meet another one of those things I'll be glad. That little trip through the window? Also through the security bars. And the claws went through me. I was healing up for months.
1971, November
Things are slowing down. People are leaving in droves. Abandoned houses, cars, business. 'Will the last person to Leave Seattle Turn Off the Lights?'
Assholes. This is just a temporary set back, but the younger ones are chattering that it is time to leave.
1981, April
Spring is wet and cold as usual. The Presidents are blurring into a smudge of suits and caricatures over the years. I no long need to follow their mannerisms but I still do just in case I have the need to perform again. Shakespeare and more modern plays are all the rage still, so I can still get the occasional work doing spoken word performances in a mask.
Most of the time I make my money with the disposal of documents. Turns out that everyone is less worried about the Reds than they are about other corporations stealing their secrets. The Roustabout is going off about these new computer things, says they are going to be something amazing. That girl the Marquis brought over is pretty obsessed with them, both of them hinted that paper was here to stay for a while.
So I hired some guys, put some capital together, and let a very talented young man run the business. Names Whitney Nguyen, his uncle was Jin. Figured I owed it to the family.
1987, November
Turns out I like finding people. On occasion I work as a 'miracle worker' and find people for bail bondsmen. Pays all right, but I like having the friends in the business. Getting some work from lawyers too. They don't ask how I find them, and I don't ask them why they want them.
1995, Christmas
I miss the old days. Getting old while staying so weak is more than meaningless, it's a constant trial.
1999
On the eve of a new millennium. Maybe now I can finally make it big.
- The Mouth