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Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« on: March 03, 2007, 01:31:00 am »
                Prologue.
 
 Prince Tricia stared out of her window at the scattering of city lights, considering her next move. She loosely held a scrap of paper in her hand, rubbing it idly with her thumb every now and again, as if to assure herself that it was real.
 
 Rapid City was tiny as far as cities go. She had heard tales of how the Princes in other cities overlooked their domains from humongous skyscrapers, as if they ruled over a gigantic game board and were looking down at their pieces.
 
 This city, however, had only a few buildings higher than five stories, and Tricia was not in any of them. A nice, lavish mansion near the richer section of town was perfectly adequate for the Prince of a city that had more trailer parks than actual parks.
 
 The vampire turned from the window and sat at her desk, smoothing her business skirt as she sat. She had never felt comfortable in the flimsy clothing the kine had adopted in the last decades, but one must adapt to the times. She often met with kine business leaders and couldn’t be caught wearing 1800-era clothing.
 
 Her receptionist, Carol chimed onto the intercom, “Mr. Burney has arrived, ma’am.â€?
 
 Tricia activated her security monitor through her computer and confirmed this. She typed in the door code from her office to open it.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Send him in,â€? she told the intercom.
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yes, ma’am.â€?
 
 Burney entered the room, immediately removing his wide brimmed hat. Tricia wondered if the Brujah would carry that particular gesture with him for the rest of his days, or give it up as the decades wore on. He had been a large man, ugly, with a gut that hung too far over his belt (really, how can he be comfortable with a belt buckle that large and a gut that fat?). His legs were too scrawny and his shoulders too wide, giving him a comical appearance if you didn’t look at his face. He had been a killer long before he became a vampire.
 
 Burney spat brown slime from his plug of tobacco into a spittoon provided for him. It was an understanding between the Prince and her sheriff that as long as she provided a spittoon, he wouldn’t use the carpet. Carol was disgusted by it, but Tricia came from an time where such things were commonplace. And the Prince never had to bother cleaning the disgusting urn, anyway.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“What can I do for you, Trixie?â€? Burney asked, lazily settling into a chair.
 
 In another city under another Prince, such a display of informality would be outrageous, but the two vampires held no illusions about their status: Tricia needed Burney as much as Burney needed her. If the time came that the scales unbalanced, so be it, for now they were partners.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I had a visitor tonight. It brought me this:â€? she produced the scrap of paper. Burney took it and read the message.
 Elk Hoof road, past Pringle, tonight. -Blackeye
 
 Burney read it and read it again, then set it down, thoughtfully.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“S’pose it’s a trap?â€? asked Burney.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“He’s never been so obvious before.â€? the Prince answered.
 
 Burney considered this. “Kinda the genius of it, don’tcha think? Play off our curiosity and all?â€?
 
 The Prince sat up and returned to her window. “He’s been quiet for awhile, now. Ever since the Gangrel left the Camarilla, nearly all the beasts are his. Why move now?â€?
 
 Burney set his weathered boots on the desk and leaned back in his chair. “’Cuz we ain’t suspecting it.â€?
 
 Tricia considered this. “If an open fight breaks out between us and the Blackeye, what chance do we have?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“A damn slim one, but it’s there.â€?
 
 Tricia hear the hard truth, and let the frustration wash over her, keeping herself composed. It passed.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“So why play head games with us?â€?
 
 Burney shrugged. “He’s an asshole.â€?
 
 Tricia turned away from the window and sat back down. “Send one of your people.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hell with that. I’ll go myself.â€?
 
 Tricia looked at the sheriff, surprised. “You’ve been telling me it’s a trap, why risk it?â€?
 
 Burney smiled at her, making his ugly, scarred face a twisted mush with teeth. “If he wants to fight, I wanna be sure I’m as close as I can be to taking him with me.â€? The sheriff turned and headed towards the exit, leaving the remains of his plug in the spittoon.
 
 Tricia picked up the scrap and read it again, wondering what her old enemy wanted after so much silence.
 _____________________________________________________
 
 Burney climbed into the passenger side of an old, rusty pickup truck. The truck had large, offset tires with deep treads and was perpetually covered with the reddish, sandy gravel that the Hills were made of. You could wash the car, but as often as the truck went into the actual Hills it was pointless.
 
 Burney stuffed chaw into his lower lip as he climbed in. “Head for Pringle.â€? he told the driver.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You sure?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Did I stutter?â€?
 
 The engine revved loudly, due to a hole in its muffler, and took off. Burney checked his watch.  Pringle was probably only about sixty miles away, but the twisting roads would make that journey far longer than it should be. The Gangrel had the advantage in this area. They could move faster on foot or wing than other vampires could by car, and only the Gangrel knew the safe paths through the mountains, the best places to avoid the Werewolves. They had profited much from this knowledge, even in the modern nights since the discovery of airplanes.
 
 Rapid City was essentially the hub for vampires in the Hills. There were a few vamps in Deadwood, Spearfish and Custer, but they all answered to the Prince of Rapid.
 
 Except the Gangrel. They only answered to Blackeye.
 
 The twisting roads made Burney’s guts twist, so he closed his eyes. It wasn’t true sleep, but a kind of doze where he let his mind drift where it would.
 
 The truck stopped and Burney opened his eyes. Some time had passed. The highway in front of him held a sign that read Pringle: Population 10.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Turn here, look for Elk Hoof Road.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“’Kay.â€? his driver said.
 
 There were hundreds of roads in the hills with similar sounding names like “Elk Hoofâ€?, “Elk Hornâ€? and the like. It was easy to get lost. Elk Hoof was barely a pass, and Burney was glad for the pickup’s shocks. The road had two tire trails with grass growing up on the ridge between. The next few miles were going to be bumpy.
 
 Burney’s head struck the window whenever the truck hit a bump, but he couldn’t seem to avoid it. The tenth time it happened he looked up and saw the man.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Stop!â€? he roared, but Mac had already hit the breaks.
 
 A Gangrel stood in front of the car. He was young, without the marks the older Gangrel start to get. He was standing in front of the car and never flinched when it lurched to a stop only a few feet from him.
 
 Burney got out of the car, casually, and spat into the dust. “Shut off your headlights,â€? he told Mac. Burney took a shotgun out of the truck and leaned it casually over his shoulder.
 
 The Gangrel’s eyes were glowing red when Burney turned back to him. It was always a little disconcerting to see that, but it made him a little envious, too. He’d never learned that trick. Damn useful.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You won’t need that.â€? the Gangrel said. “He’s up there waiting for you. Just follow me.â€? He headed towards the base of a hill.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I think I’ll bring it anyway.â€? said Burney
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Didn’t say you couldn’t bring it. Said you wouldn’t need it.â€? the Gangrel said.
 
 Burney spat again and followed him. Mac brought up the rear, keeping right behind his sire.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Think ther’re more of ‘em?â€? Mac asked him.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yup.â€?
 
 Mac didn’t know how to respond to that, so he shut up.
 
 Burney approved.
 
 They followed the Gangrel up the mountain into the forest. The ground was treacherous and the slope was steep, if you fell, you probably wouldn’t stop until you hit one of the jagged rocks that sprouted up everywhere. Burney didn’t bother breathing, he’d grown sick of the smell of pine tree years ago.
 
 Burney was too busy looking at his feet to notice his guide, and bumped into him. The Gangrel shot an annoyed glance at him.
 
 Burney smiled at him, asking the lick what he was going to do with his eyes. The Gangrel pointed to a spot where the trees were thicker, and the moonlight couldn’t quite illuminate the ground. But there was something there, a shadow mass of something laying on the ground.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“What’s your name, boy?â€? Burney asked the Gangrel.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Dusty.â€? he said.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’ll remember that.â€? Burney turned his back on him. When he looked again, the lick was gone.
 
 Burney made his way to the copse. He didn’t think it was a trap, they would have jumped him by now.
 
 As he arrived at the mass he touched it. Then he realized what it was.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Ho-leee-shit.â€? he said to himself.
 
 A match flared to life in front of him.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Jesus!â€? Mac yelled, and Burney’s hand whipped out and took Mac’s gun away before he could fire at the flame. Mac still looked around stupidly, not realizing what had happened to his gun.
 
 The match illuminated an old man’s face, weathered and wrinkled, then went dark as the match lit a pipe and was put out.
 
 Burney’s eyes adjusted to the light. He only looked like an old man at first glance. His face was old, his long hair was gray. Then you would notice that the hair on his arms was long and shaggy, and his forearms were too long, like he was built to run on all fours. And his fingers ended in claws. He wore a battered cowboy hat, a vest with no shirt and jeans.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Been awhile, Blackeye.â€? Burney said.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Long time.â€? Blackeye agreed. He was crouched on a rock. He blew out a long stream of smoke and considered his guests.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Fucker scared the living shit outta me.â€? Mac said.
 
 Blackeye looked at him. His eyes had become slitted, like a cat’s, Burney noticed.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Fool Rabbit jumped when he saw Coyote, and Coyote ate well that day. Smart Rabbit stayed still, and Coyote went hungry.â€? he said in his deep, raspy voice
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“...What?â€? Mac asked.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Shut up,â€? said Burney. He turned his attention back to the corpse.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You kill it?â€? he asked Blackeye, gesturing to the mass.
 
 The old Gangrel shook his head. “Dusty found ’em just after dark.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Them?â€? then Burney looked around and saw two more.
 They were lying on the ground, their eyes milky-white and their tongues hanging out. They were in their massive fighting forms. The one in front of him had been ripped open from sternum to stomach. The next closest was twisted in an odd fashion. He couldn’t clearly make out the last form, but he was pretty sure it didn’t have a head.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“The fuck takes out three werewolves?â€? he asked himself.
 
 Blackeye took a puff from his pipe.
 _________________________________________________________
 
 Blackeye stood in the shadows, his eyes glowing as he watched Burney’s pickup drive away. A form appeared beside him.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Can we trust them?â€? asked Dusty.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“No. But we might need them.â€? said the tree above them.
 Gray Feather leapt to the ground near the others. He was a misshapen thing, like a bird that was trying to force its way out of a man. His feet were bird claws and he was covered with feathers. Two stubby wings grew out of his back. A victim of the Camarilla and their moral policies.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“In a drought all beasts drink from the same pool.â€? said Blackeye. He turned and made his way back to the corpses.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Thank you, Yoda.â€? said Dusty, which got him a rap on the head from Gray Feather.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Dawn’s coming,â€? Blackeye said over his shoulder. “We need to get these bodies somewhere safe and get under cover.â€?
 The vampires moved to help him.
 ___________________________________________________________
 
 Tricia stared at the thing on her desk, fascinated. The werewolf head looked nothing like she had expected. Tricia had never seen a wolf face to face. It was smaller than she had anticipated.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Have you ever fought a werewolf?â€? she asked Burney.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Fought? Hell no, but I’ve ran the fuck away from a few. Me and some old buddies of mine did manage to dynamite one way back when, but not before it killed all of them.â€?
 
 She considered this. “Could Blackeye kill a werewolf?â€?
 
 Burney scowled at the floor and spit into his spittoon. “By himself? In a fair fight, I don‘t know, even he ain’t that tough but…I don’t know, Trixie. There’s a lot of rumors about him. The other Gangrel say he’s got powers they‘ve never seen before. So maybe he could take a werewolf, but he sure as shit couldn’t take three, and without them leaving a mark on him? If he was that strong, he would have wiped us out years back. I doubt even the entire Blackeye pack could take on three.â€?
 
 Tricia leaned back in her chair. “So what killed them?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Blackeye didn’t say for sure. He gave me some story about how Wolf is king of the forest until Bear wakes up from winter, or some damn thing like that. You know how he talks.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Skinwalker legends.â€? Tricia said, disbelief in her voice. She had never believed Burney put any faith behind them.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“So what does Blackeye want from us?â€?
 
 Burney sucked on his dip of chew, trying to think how to approach the subject.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“He wants us to surrender to the Gangrel.â€?
 
 Tricia’s knuckles clenched together. She unlaced her hands and placed them palms-down on her desk.
 
 Tricia leaned back in her chair and smiled at Burney. He raised an eyebrow.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m going to kill him.â€? she told the Sheriff.
 
 Burney spat. “I was hoping you’d say that.â€?
 
  Chapter 1
 Max dropped out of the wheel well of the small airplane and looked around, trying to get his bearings. He smelled pine needles and saw a lot of trees. He’d never seen a city this close to the wilderness.
 
 He cloaked himself and headed towards a chain-link fence. The barbed wire at the top looked like more trouble than it was worth, so he grabbed the bottom and pulled until the fastenings broke away from the pole, then rolled under.
 He went over the directions he’d received in his head. Follow the highway uphill to a historical marker, there’ll be a car waiting for you.
 
 Trekking uphill was a strain on the legs, and Max wasn’t very pleased with his Rapid City brethren. Ah, well.
 He heard the car long before he saw it. An ancient Buick was parked by the historical marker, and the bass from the music made the entire vehicle vibrate. Some god awful heavy metal was playing, and the figure behind the wheel was obviously enjoying it. Max got up to the passenger window and looked inside.
 
 A Nosferatu, covered in large purple blisters, was gripping the steering wheel hard enough to bend it and banging his head to the music, almost as if his neck was broken and someone was shaking his body. Whenever the song got to a guitar solo, he would stop head banging and would go into an air-guitar riff. His eyes were closed.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“..the fuck?â€? Max muttered to himself.
 
 The Nos looked up at Max like he’d known he was there all along and flashed him the devil horns.
 
 Max tried the door and found it locked. The Nos hit the unlock button just when Max tried the door again. They repeated the process until the heavy metal Nosferatu leaned over and pulled up the bolt.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hey, there pal, names Skabb, that’s with a K and two B’s, honch. You must be Max, right? Good to meetcha’. Welcome to Rapids.â€? said the Nosferatu, turning down the noise.
 Max got in and shook hands with his clan mate, still dubious.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You weren’t real inconspicuous, there Skabb.â€? he pointed out.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yeah, well, I love this fucking song. Nobody drives by this road this late anyway, and they woulda seen what I wanted them to see, so don’t sweat it.â€?
 
 The Buick roared and took off. Max felt himself being thrown side to side as they careened down the twisting roads back to the city.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Shouldn’t we be traveling by sewer or something?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Sewers ain’t big enough in Rapid. Pipes’re too small. There’s some drainage wells we use sometimes, but they’re too close to the surface. Not exactly sunproof, catch my meaning?â€? Skabb said. “’Round here we gotta stick to the surface like everybody else. That means if you can’t keep yourself hidden, you’re fucked.â€?
 
 Skabb suddenly let go of the wheel and beat his fists on the dashboard in sequence with the double-bass drum on the songe he was listening to. Max grabbed the wheel and tried to keep the car on the road.
 
 Skabb came back to reality and took the wheel, grinning at Max. “Man, fucker, if you were any whiter, you’d be a ghost.â€? and laughed at his own joke.
 
 Max licked his teeth and wished he was home.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Anyway, spud, they tell you why you were coming here?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yeah, I’m supposed to investigate some lab or some shit, right?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Heh, some lab alright. You’re smack-dab in the middle of the biggest shitstorm vampire fuckfest the Camarilla’s ever seen in Rapid City.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“What?â€? Max asked, bewildered.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hah, I knew that fucker Smiley wasn’t telling you shit. Here’s the deelio, kiddo, Ther’re two groups in Rapid City. You got the Gangrel, run by Blackeye and his kids, and you got the Camarilla, run by that ex-whore Prince Trixie.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Gangrel are political around here?â€? Max asked.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“If by political you mean organized to throw down at any given minute, yeah, they’re political. I see you’re confused, let me explain: Way back before whitey stole this big-ass section of rock from the Injuns, you had Gangrel living here. Back around when Custer’s momma was desperately trying to douche him outta her gash, vamp named Blackeye took over the hills from the rest of the Gangrel. He’s been in charge ever since.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Now, when everybody first started setting up camp over in Deadwood, some vamps came with ‘em for the same reason the kine were there, Gold. Thing was, if you managed to get to Deadwood without frying in the sun or getting eaten by a werewolf, you were pretty much stuck here. The Gangrel, though, know how to get around. They knew the safe paths through the mountains. You want a message to Denver or LA or Yankton? You gotta go through the Gangrel. Blackeye pretty much had this place under his thumb. So when the Camarilla offered him the Princeship, you’d think he’d take it up, right? Wrong.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Blackeye hates the Cam. Says their policies have fucked with the Gangrel or some shit. But the Cam managed to recruit enough of the new Gangrel to keep Blackeye out in the woods and out of power. Or so they thought.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Are they Sabbat?â€? Max asked.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Huh? No, not Sabbat. Not really Anarchs, either. Just Blackeye.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Anyway, after our furry friends left the Camarilla, Blackeye’s basically been running the Hills. The only thing he doesn’t hold right now is Rapid City itself, and he’s got agents here, bet your ass. The only reason he didn’t take it years ago is ‘cuz he don’t need the damn city.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“So why’s he taking it now?â€? Max asked.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Something’s going on with the werewolves. Details are sketchy. Blackeye thinks they’re up to something. He wants to consolidate power. He just might be able to pull it off, too, but I think ‘ol Trixie’s got an ace or two in her bonnet.â€?
 
 Max decided to stop asking questions. He was getting a headache from trying to follow all this. This Prince Tricia would be able to fill him in on the rest. Skabb turned the music back up after deciding Max wasn’t interested anymore. The digital display on the stereo, which probably cost more than the actual vehicle, read “Fear Factoryâ€?.
 
 They traveled through the streets of Rapid and Max took in the tiny city. It almost looked like it  was one big ghetto, with a couple of decent spots thrown here and there.
 The houses did start to get nicer before Skabb pulled up to a gate outside a very large mansion. He rolled the window down and stuck out one claw to push the intercom button.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yes?â€? came a voice.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Sewer rat delivery for a Mrs. Bellemont.â€? Skabb said.
 The gate opened with no reply.
 
 Skabb pulled up to the doors and looked at Max.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Well, it was nice knowing you kiddo, but I gotta roll. They’ll take care of ya from here on out.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Wait, wasn’t I supposed to meet the Primogen for Rapid?â€? said Max.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“And just who the fuck did you think I was, Scooter? Don’t worry about masking yourself, everybody in there is down with the program.â€? Skabb took off before Max could close the door, heavy metal already pouring out of the stereo.
 Max watched the car roll away, speechless. He turned and headed for the door.
 
 A butler came out and held the door for him. “Come this way, sir.â€? was all he said.
 
 The butler lead him to a receptionist staked outside a door. The door was big and wide and looked heavy. Max had to bet it was reinforced.
 
 The receptionist was going through some paperwork. “Just a moment, sir, I’ll be right with…â€? she looked up at Max’s face. He eyes went wide and her jaw dropped.
 
 Max sighed. He wondered if Skabb had done this on purpose.
 The woman got out of her desk and backed up against the wall. Her hands dug in her purse until she found a can of Mace, which she pointed at Max. Her jaw was working like she was trying to speak, but no words came out.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“What’s going on out here?â€? said a fat cowboy from the door. Max hadn’t noticed it open.
 
 The cowboy looked from Max to the girl and back. “C’mon, we’ve been waitin’ on you, rat.â€? he waived Max through the door.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Damn idiot thing to do, come in a building without your masque on. Thought you Rat’s were smarter than that.â€? Said the cowboy.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Nos-â€? Max began, but the cowboy cut him off and waived him away, turning to deal with the woman.
 
 A woman sat behind a desk in the office, arms folded, waiting for Max.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You must be Max. You kept us waiting long enough.â€? She said.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m sorry, I-â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m not interested in the smart-mouth of a Nosferatu. Now. I understand you have a background in the area of physics.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yes, I was a professor at-â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I don’t care. We have a job for you. It will pay well. Have you ever heard of Homestake?â€?
 
 Max didn’t respond.
 
 Tricia frowned. “Well, have you?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I was allowed to respond.â€? Max said, and instantly regretted it.
 
 Tricia locked eyes with him. “No, ma’am, I’ve never heard of Home Steak.â€? Max mumbled at the floor.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Homestake was a gold mine, the largest in the country and very profitable for awhile. It was founded back in the days of Deadwood. I have been one of its caretakers since that time, and continue to be, even though the mine has been closed for several years…officially.â€?
 
 Max looked up and nodded to show he understood.
 
 Tricia continued. “The South Dakota government has been trying to install a physics laboratory in the mine nearly since its abandonment. It has recently come to my attention that they did install a clandestine lab in the mine several months ago. I want you to go in and determine exactly what they were doing.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“May I ask a question?â€? Max said.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“What is it?â€? Tricia said.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Why me?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You have a background in Physics. None of my people do. You’re also a Nosferatu, so I can safely say you’re very sly. And you’re from out of town. I’m not sure I can trust some of the local Nosferatu. You’ve met the local Primogen, Skabb?â€?
 
 Max nodded.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Lovely character, isn’t he? He’s been meeting with the Anarchs. The Anarchs have been talking to the Blackeye. You’d do well to avoid him, for your own sake.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Anyway, I want you to enter the lab, see what happened and report back to me.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Okay, sounds simple enough.â€? Max got out of his chair.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Here is a map of the mine, and I’ve highlighted a few areas I want you to check out in detail. Someone will give you a ride there. You may have to spend the day inside, but you shouldn’t have a problem with personnel.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Why’s that?â€? Max asked, a little perturbed.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Because the mine personnel refuse to go back in.â€? Tricia said.
 
 I want to go home. Max thought.
 
                       

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Year_of_the_Scarab

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #1 on: March 03, 2007, 08:47:00 am »
                Was hoping you'd eventually get bored enough to start writing something. Nice to finally read a story with original characters, who aren't angsty leather-clad sexed up teenagers from the pages of Anne Rice meets Blade with the obligatory trenchcoat and mascara.
 
 I'll repeat what I said way back - you should be doing this professionally. Just... type the damned Camarilla with one "m" in it :P
 
 Oh, and "Dusty", eh?
 
 peace                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #2 on: March 04, 2007, 01:34:00 am »
                In Reply To #2
 
 Thanks, man, I'm glad you liked it.
 
 
La posted:
Just... type the damned Camarilla with one "m" in it :P

 
 Oh snap. *Fixed
 
 

Oh, and "Dusty", eh?

 
 What, you thought he was dead? ;D
 
 Later.                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Year_of_the_Scarab

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #3 on: March 06, 2007, 06:51:00 pm »
                Well, no, figured you liked the character too much to let him die :P
 
 And *bump* cuz more people should read this. You are going to continue, right?
 
 peace                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #4 on: March 06, 2007, 07:16:00 pm »
                In Reply To #4
 Working on chapter 2 now, although I was kinda hoping somebody else would comment on whether they liked it or hated it or just thought it was eh.                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Year_of_the_Scarab

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #5 on: March 10, 2007, 12:20:00 pm »
                Yeah.. the thing with that is your writing here is very VtM - from the characters to the uh "ambiance" - while this board is only loosely VtM themed nowadays. The way I see it, anyhoo.
 
 *bump* anyway
 
 peace                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Year_of_the_Scarab

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #6 on: March 10, 2007, 06:26:00 pm »
                In Reply To #9 & #10
 
 Dear god, there's two of them...
 
 But seriously I'm guessing it's probably the new & so-called-improved forum system we're seeing at work here, it's already had problems with people logging in... Anyway, good read.
 
 In Reply to #8
 
MooCHa posted:

 I've had a little to much vodka

 
 Do you ever post here while sober Moo? grin
 
 peace
 
 ED: Though perhaps a little more indepth descriptions? Re-read the whole thing and realized that there's not much visual detail on some of the characters (the prince, Max, Marv) when compared to the sheriff or that gangrel girl, for instance. But maybe that's just how I tick.                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #7 on: March 10, 2007, 01:28:00 pm »
                Chapter 2
 
 Noel walked into Marv’s shop, wondering why he’d called her.
 Marv’s shop was just outside of the traffic areas in Deadwood. You could call it a gun store, but Marv would get upset.
 
 The walls were covered in racks of fine hunting rifles. He had displays of antique firearms here and there, and a few historical pieces as well. A glass case on the wall opposite the entrance was filled with Marv’s prize collection, black powder rifles and revolvers, old pistols and the like. Almost all of them were highly detailed, the metal etched in various patterns. Marv used the finest wood to make the gun stocks. A rose symbol appeared in nearly every gun he had made.
 
 Most people didn’t know that Marv had made all of the guns in the store, including the historical pieces.
 This wasn’t a shop for the average person. Marv didn’t even open up unless you made an appointment, and none of the guns had price tags. Most of his legitimate business was through special order.
 
 Noel stopped to admire a pair of revolvers, based on the Colt single action. These were made by Marv, though. Her work necessitated function over form, but she could appreciate the detail that went into making the gun. She also knew that the revolver would fire as smooth as any modern weapon, probably even better.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“William Hickok walked into my store and looked at those very same guns, young lady,â€? said Marv. “He made me an offer but I had to turn him down.â€?
 
 Noel looked at him lazily. She smiled, letting him know she wasn’t falling for his bullshit.
 
 He smiled back. “His credit wasn’t very good back in those days,â€? he continued, undaunted by Noel’s smirk. “He was killed shortly thereafter, I sometimes wonder if I had sold them the guns if they would have saved his life.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Funny, I always heard Wild Bill was shot in the back.â€? Noel said.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Well, yes, that’s one version of the story.â€?
 
 Noel sighed. “How are you Marv?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Good enough, I suppose. Love, you could be as beautiful as a sunrise if you would just dress for the part.â€? Marv said, shaking his head at her clothes.
 
 Noel shrugged. She was wearing a zip-up hoodie, her old camouflage pants and her boots. A gray baseball cap hid her hair, with a ponytail sticking out the back. Her pistol, a slim automatic, was tucked in its hidden holster at the base of her spine.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You sound like my dad, old man.â€? she told him.
 
 He reached out and patted her cheek. “Come on back.â€?
 
 She followed him into her back room. Most black market dealers she knew had a legitimate business as a front, and Marv was no different. But where the regular dealer was prouder of what he had hidden from the world than the façade he showed everyone. Marv, however, loved his shop. What he hated was the ugly wooden racks of guns he had in the back room. Stacks of cheap pistols and a handful of rifles were in there. He didn’t sell most of these here, he was a stopping point for bigger dealers. The Hills didn’t have a high enough crime rate to make selling back-alley weapons necessary to anybody but vampires.
 
 If Marv had the choice, he would have given up on the black-market trade years back, but his sire had made other plans.
 They walked through his shop, a tidy center with parts lying in neat little arrangements. Marv would make a gun from the basic metal and wood to the end product. His work was well in-demand from the rich sportsmen that could actually afford his pieces.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“So why am I down here tonight, Marv?â€? she asked him.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“In a moment. Have you cleaned your pistol lately?â€? he asked accusingly.
 
 Noel smiled. “Are you coming on to me?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Ah, how juvenile, childe.â€? he said dryly, holding out his hand.
 
 Noel pulled the gun out and gave it to him. Marv unloaded it and took it apart, deftly. Noel had cleaned it, but Marv was a stickler. Besides, he did a thorough job and might catch a defect Noel would miss.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I have a job for you.â€? he said as he ran a brush through the barrel, which was now separated from the rest of the gun.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I thought so.â€?
 
 He grinned at her, sadly. “I need you to gather up a few items for me. From Ellsworth.â€?
 
 Noel started. “The base? You want me to break into Ellsworth Air Force Base?â€?
 
 Marv nodded, not looking up from inspecting the hammer of her gun.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Why don’t I just get into the White House while I’m at it?â€? she said.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Noel, you’re exaggerating. It's just the military. Now I need you to pick up a crate of firearms-â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“A crate!? Do I look like a Brujah? How exactly am I supposed to carry it out of there?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m sure you’ll manage, love.â€?
 
 Noel sighed, wiping her hand across her forehead. “Who’s it for?â€?
 
 Marv looked up from his work. “You’ve never asked that before.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“We’ve never been this close to a fucking turf war before.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Don’t fool yourself, Noel, the Hills have always been a hairsbreadth away from where we are now. We just got used to the tension.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You’re avoiding the question.â€?
 
 Marv returned his gaze to his work. “Burney.â€?
 
 Noel shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re doing jobs for the Cam right now.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Of course I am. I’m Camarilla.â€? he said.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“How ‘Camarilla’ are you going to be when the Blackeye take the Hills back?â€? Noel asked, gently.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Not everyone can switch sides, childe. All you have to do is play fetch a few times and you’re as good as Blackeye’s new pet. Do you think they’ll give me the same options?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m not Blackeye, they don’t trust me any more than you.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“That's shit, little girl. You’re Gangrel, you can turn Blackeye anytime you want.â€?
 
 Noel held up her hand. She hadn’t come here to argue.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I know she’s your sire, but Jesus, Marv, when was the last time she even talked to you?â€?
 
 Marv was silent for awhile, but busily put the gun back together. He handed it back to her.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You’ve never understood the blood bond, Noel.â€? he said, sadly.
 
 Noel sat down on a stool opposite Marv and sighed.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“How much does it pay?â€? she asked resignedly.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Your usual rate, plus ten percent," he said cheerfully. "Now, you might need a few extra clips of ammunition.â€? He wandered off to look for bullets.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“When do you need it?â€? she asked.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Tonight.â€? he called from the back room.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You son of a bitch.â€?
 ___________________________________________________________
 
 The crow flew over Ellsworth’s gate and circled the base, getting its bearings. It finally settled on the top of a nondescript storage shed near the center of the complex.
 The bird twisted and swelled until it became Noel. She flattened herself against the roof and flipped the switch on her radio transmitter.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m in.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Wow, nice 007 line there, toots. You learn that in Super Secret Vampire Ninja Academy?â€? Skabb asked. Noel could hear heavy metal in the background.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yeah, right between the handflip escape maneuver and where to shoot a Nosferatu for instant death.â€? Noel replied distractedly. She pulled out a pair of binoculars and glassed around, getting the feel of the place.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Is it my dick? Fuck I coulda told you that. What’s your position?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Grid 4 C, small building just south of a hangar. Your dick fell off years ago, you even showed it to me.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Ductape is a wonderful thing, furball. Uh huh, yeah, ok, I gotcha. You’re on top of a storage shed. Give me a few minutes, I’m gonna tap the camera feeds. Hey, where exactly do you stick my highly expensive radio equipment when you get all hairy, and more importantly, can you fit a crate of guns up there?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I don’t know where it goes, and you were keeping the headset in your  toilet.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Safest place for it. How the fuck am I going to forget I put a radio set in a toilet? So why did you turn the set off?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Something that happened one time on another job.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“How’s that?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Well, the communications guy was listening in when I changed. At first all he heard was static. Then he thought he caught something. Voices. He couldn‘t tell what they were saying, but ever since he started hearing shit in radio static. He disappeared after that.â€?
 
 There was a pause. “You’re fucking with me.â€?
 
 Noel grinned. “You’ll never know.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Oh fuck you, you cunt, I can hear you grinning. Alright, I got the cameras on my screens. Huh.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“What’s ‘huh’ mean?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Security’s a little lighter than usual. Somebody must be helping us out.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Whatever. Where’s weapon storage?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Northwest of you. You got five guys in your way, from what I can see. How do you want to play this?â€?
 
 Noel thought for awhile. She could get anywhere in the base undetected, she knew some of the same tricks the Nos did. The problem was, she couldn’t carry the damn crate and the special order stuff for Marv without the military knowing about it right away.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Find me a high-ranking female officer, somebody about my size.â€? she said.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Ooh, I see where you’re headed. Okay. Let’s see here. Hmm, I’m not seeing any chicks…hey wait. There is a very small Colonel who has been staying in the barracks. He’s about your size.â€?
 
 Noel sighed. “This job is going to get me killed.â€?
 ____________________________________________________
 
 Colonel Severson busily worked on his report, pausing every few minutes to check the clock. He was sure someone had adjusted the time while he’d been out. It never took him this long to type up a simple 42cC report. Someone had been in his room, playing with his time. It was the privates, he knew it. They always find out how important time was to him, and then the pranks begin.
 
 Severson reached out and grabbed his stress ball, squeezing it compulsively. He took a sip of his brandy. He allowed himself one drink a night, to deal with the basic stress of life. He let the warm brandy flow over his tongue before he swallowed it.
 
 Back to work.
 
 There was a knock at the door.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yes?â€? Severson asked.
 
 The knock repeated itself.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Speak up out there.â€?
 
 He heard the knock again. Severson got up and walked to the door, opened it and peered out.
 
 A large black bird flew in and landed on a bookshelf. It considered him.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“What the franks?â€? Severson muttered. “Get out of here,â€? he said, gesturing towards the open door.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Son of a bitch.â€? He grabbed a broom from behind the door and swung it at the bird, narrowly missing. The bird just fluttered back and forth, dodging his attacks.
 
 Severson shook his head at the ridiculousness of the situation. He turned his back and stepped towards the phone to call maintenance. He heard the door close and started. How did that happen?
 
 Someone grabbed his hand and twisted his arm up behind him. He tried to call out, but then felt a sharp sting in his neck and then all was pure ecstasy…
 
 Noel drank her fill, then licked the wound and put Severson in a sleeper hold, cutting off air and blood to his brain. He passed out and she caught him under his arms.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Oof,â€? she grunted as she caught his weight. People were hard to carry when unconscious or dead. She managed to drag him over to the desk. She tried to put him in the chair, but it kept sliding away.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Fuck it,â€? she muttered and dropped him to the floor. Noel dumped a little brandy on his shirt, and a lot more down the drain of a small sink installed in the room. Noel briefly wondered why a Colonel was in a room this drab, but didn’t dwell on it.
 
 She dug into the closet and laid out the uniform. It would be a little big, but it might work.
 
 She stripped quickly and started putting it on.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Who do we have to deal with to get this done?â€? she asked.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Looks like two guards at the weapons storage, and the guys at the actual gate. Severson’s pretty new and doesn’t mix with the lower grunts, so I don’t think he’s had any contact with any of them.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“That’s awful convenient.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hey, don’t look a gift horse in the crotch.â€?
 
 Noel winced. “The mouth. It’s ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Who’s interested in its mouth?â€?
 
 Noel rolled her eyes and finished putting on the uniform. She spied a humidor of cigars and pulled one out, looking at herself in the mirror.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“This is not going to work,â€? she muttered.
 _________________________________________________________
 
 Privates Bradley and Denkers were leaning back in their chairs in weapons storage, watching a small television.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“We should go back to that rez casino on leave tomorrow.â€? Denkers said.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yeah, how about we don’t, I’m still broke from the last time.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Fuck, you were the one begging me to go down there ‘cuz you won big the first time.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Oh eat my-â€? they were interrupted by the squawking of their radios.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Denkers, Bradley, look alive. Colonel Severson is on her way, you are to let her in and assist her.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Ten-four,â€? Bradley said. “Who the fuck is Colonel Severson?â€? he asked Denkers.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Uh, I don’t know. I heard he was a dude, actually, so I gues I don't know.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You heard he was a guy?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yeah, that’s what Smyrack was saying, that he was this little dude, kinda wrapped pretty tight.â€?
 
 Bradley shrugged. “Guess Smyrack was wrong.â€?
 
 They waited outside the door. A jeep pulled up, a woman was driving it. She looked about the same age as Denkers and Bradley, but she was in a Colonel’s uniform. She was wearing dark glasses and smoking a cigar.
 
 The soldiers stiffened up and saluted.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“As you were,â€? Noel said. “Open that garage door.â€?
 
 They moved to do so, and Noel backed the jeep in. She stepped out and addressed the waiting soldiers.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Alright men, I need crate 20-3a, a .50 cal rifle, box of .50 cal cartridges and access to the testing area.â€?
 
 They were silent, looking a little uncomfortable.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“What’s the problem, soldiers?â€? she asked, giving her voice an edge.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Uh, sir, you need requisition forms for all of that-â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Alright, pay attention boy. This equipment is not going on the books. It doesn’t exist.â€?
 
 The privates looked at each other. “Sir?â€?
 
 Noel pulled off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Son, do you understand the nature of our work overseas right now in Africa?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Um, yes sir, we are a peacekeeping force for-â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yes, yes, we are a good bunch of American peace corps wannabes right now, giving aid and food and all sorts of good shit to the great country of Who-Gives-A-Fuck, that’s the official version.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Um, well, yes sir, I-â€?
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Shut up son. Now pay attention. Say hypothetically that our boys know the location of a certain unnamed African asshole, somebody who’d make all this ‘peacekeeping’ we’re doing a whole lot easier if he was, oh, say, a piece of chewed up hamburger? What would you think about that?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Uh…â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yeah, ‘uh’. Alright, I’ve said too much already. This equipment, as far as you’re concerned, never left this building. It’s somewhere in the back under a bunch of shit. Do you understand?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yes, sir.â€? the grunts said, sounding more confident.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Good boys, that’s real good. What’re your names?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Bradley and Denkers, sir.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Good. I’ll remember your names for letters of commendation. You don’t know what a service you’re doing for our boys right now.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Laying it on a little thick, aren’t we?â€? Skabb said in her ear.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Alright, let me into Weapons Testing and load up that other equipment.â€?
 
 They moved to do so. One of them punched in a digital code on a little room, letting Noel in, then moved to help his friend.
 
 Noel grabbed a few electronic devices on the list Marv had given her. They looked like parts for explosives, though. Hmm.
 
 She spied a vest on a table with some other equipment.
 
 There was a note near it.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Jackie, check this new body armor out.â€? the note read. “They call it ‘Dragon Scales’. It’s supposed to stop rifle bullets even, way better than Kevlar and a hell of a lot lighter, too. The preliminary testing looks good.â€?
 
 Ooh, new toys for me. Noel thought. She picked up the vest. She double-checked the list and saw that everything was accounted for. She had it all in a duffel bag she’d looted from the barracks.
 
 The soldiers had loaded the jeep and were standing by it.
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Alright boys, thanks for your help. Remember, I was never here.â€? They nodded.
 
 Noel got in the jeep and drove off.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“So what do you think Marv wants with a .50 cal rifle?â€? Skabb asked.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“He probably wants to shoot something with it.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hmm.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“What are you thinking, Skabb?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Well, if I was a certain Camarilla sheriff with a grudge, and I needed a certain Gangrel dead, let’s say a very old Gangrel whose body is so goddamn tough you’d probably need a diamond-tipped drill bit to make a hole in it, what kind of gun would you get?â€?
 
 Noel didn’t answer. She’d been over this in her head already.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Me, I’d get the biggest fucking rifle I could,â€? Skabb continued bemusedly. “Something with an armor-piercing bullet that’d zip right through an old-ass Gangrel like a cock through an eighty-year-old whore.â€?
 
 Noel remained silent.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I think you just picked a side here, little girl.â€? Skabb said, his voice just a little serious.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Send a message to the gate guards, tell them to let me through.â€? Noel said.
 ________________________________________________________
 
 A few hours later, in Marv’s workshop, Noel wandered around, picking up various tools and parts, examining them, putting them away. She had changed back into her clothes, with her new vest on underneath her jacket. It was surprisingly comfortable, light.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“What exactly am I going to do with a military jeep?â€? Marv called from the other room.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Road trip?â€? Noel offered. She spied an old toolbox with an opened padlock.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m going to have to get rid of it. Do you know any chop shops anywhere in the area?â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I don’t associate with criminals.â€? Noel said. The box was old and beat up. She opened it.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I think I’ll just drive it onto the reservation and leave it. The Indians will do something with it, don’t you think?â€?
 
 Noel pulled out an ancient shotgun from the box, and was immediately in love. The metal was scarred and pitted, as if it had been left to rust, but had been cleaned thoroughly. It was a lever-action, a Winchester-style. She couldn’t tell if it was Marv’s work or an actual Winchester. No one had made lever-action shotguns in years. This one had been modified from the original. Most of the stock had been sawn off, leaving the pistol-grip handle, which was wrapped in leather. The barrel had also been shortened. The finish on the wood had been worn down. It was an ugly old thing, but Noel saw its purpose. This was a very specific tool. She noticed dots on the foregrip, burned into the wood. A count of kills? Animals or people?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“People.â€? said Marv, standing in the doorway. “Please put that down, Noel.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“What’s the story?â€? she asked, still examining it lovingly.
 Marv sighed. He stepped towards her. “I made that gun and sold it  when I was still human to an old cowboy. He went insane and murdered his entire family with it, and himself. This was back when Deadwood was a small camp in the middle of the woods.â€?
 
 Marv reached for it, but Noel didn’t hand it over.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Later,â€? he continued, putting his hands down. “It was returned to me, and I sold it again to the owner of the Gem Salloon. Their bartender used it to kill a band of thieves, before he shot himself in the foot with it. A thief made off with the gun. The wound got infected and it killed the bartender.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“That same criminal went on a killing spree all the way down to Tombstone. The Marshall’s cornered him in a barn and he shot himself in the head with it. I lost track of the damned thing for awhile.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Twenty-five years ago, a deer hunter walked into my shop with it, in its present condition. He said he found it next to an old corpse in the woods. He was lying. I read his mind, but all I could glean was a series of accidents that followed that damned shotgun.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I bought it back for a dollar, put it in that toolbox, and forgot about it. It’s cursed. Put it down.â€?
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You’re full of shit, and I want it.â€? Noel said.
 
 Marv was silent. “Fine. Consider it part of your payment. Take it out of here and don’t come back with it.â€?
 
 Noel was a little taken aback. She thought Marv had been joking, but he was dead serious. He pointed to the door, eyes angry. She shrugged and headed out.
 
 She stepped out of the shop and breathed in the night air, relieved to be done with a night’s work. She calculated the time until sunrise, wondering what to do with what remained of the night.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“That’s a nice-looking’ gun you got there, baby.â€? said a voice.
 
 Fuck. thought Noel, the pit of her stomach twisting.
 She looked around and saw him.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hello, Dusty.â€? she said.
 
 He was leaning against a doorway of a shop right next to Marv’s. She didn’t always see him dressed in clothes, but he must have been trying to fit in in public. He was in tattered jeans and a loose t-shirt that read “I’m with stupid.â€? He was wearing shoes, but they were mis-matched. Dusty didn’t often wear shoes, especially since his toes had become clawed.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“So wat’cha doin?â€? he asked.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Just talking to Marv. Bought a gun.â€? she said, holding up her prize. Was it loaded? She hadn’t had time to buy shells for it before getting kicked out.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“That wouldn’t have been payment for that little errand he had you run, would it?â€?
 
 Fuck.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“I don’t know what you’re talking about.â€? she said.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yeah, that’s a lie. Pretty weak one too.â€? Dusty said lazily.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“What do you want?â€? Noel said.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Me? Hows about ten minutes alone with my Sire and a book of matches. But it ain’t what I want, baby. The old man would like to have a word with you.â€?
 
 Fuck.
                       

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] MooCHa2

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #8 on: March 10, 2007, 04:16:00 pm »
                In Reply To #7
 
 This is not my opinion Grendel but the the other halfs with no knowledge of any wod. She found your story telling skills to be very good.
 
 I will put it this way sir. She read it all the way through and that means a great deal where books and story's are concerned. She is a bookworm.
 
 To be honest usually she looks, starts reading, then fucks of saying, that sucked, This wasn't the case.
 
 I don't know if that comes to much but rarely do I ask her opinion on this sort of thing.
 
 The question she has is! Why was the lady referred to as a prince. She was mentioning that there are cases where ladies are given male honorifics but there tends to be a good story behind these.
 
 I've had a little to much vodka but in all you get a big thumbs up from her.
 
 On another note. I think it's good myself but I feel, I am not qualified to comment appropriately  as I normally read technical books.
 
 Regards...
 
                       

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #9 on: March 10, 2007, 05:50:00 pm »
                In Reply To #8
 Hey glad you and she liked it, thanks.
 
 As to your question: Camarilla leaders are called princes, regardless of gender. Yeah, I don't know why.
 
 later
 
 whoa, weird, something's going on with my account.                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #10 on: March 10, 2007, 05:53:00 pm »
                Yeah, that was really me. Just FYI                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #11 on: March 11, 2007, 06:38:00 am »
                In Reply To #11
 
La posted:

 Dear god, there's two of them...
 </quote>
 We are many, our name is Legion.
 
 <quote by="La">
 ED: Though perhaps a little more indepth descriptions? Re-read the whole thing and realized that there's not much visual detail on some of the characters (the prince, Max, Marv) when compared to the sheriff or that gangrel girl, for instance. But maybe that's just how I tick.

 
 Excellent point, one I knew you'd call me out on eventually. Chalk it up to one part laziness, one part just not having a clear mental image of some of the characters. Burney is based off my grandfather and Noel is one part Sarah Connor (from Terminator 2) and one part friend of mine, But Max? The best I could come up with is that he's "Nosferatu-looking". Yay, me.
 
 I will be working on this.
 
 How are my other descriptions? Adequate? Lacking? Good? Needs improvement? (preceding questions not aimed at Lancea alone)
 
 Later                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] MooCHa2

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #12 on: March 11, 2007, 12:04:00 pm »
                In Reply To #10
 <quote by='Grendel Avenged'>
 Yeah, that was really me. Just FYI</quote>
 
 Np. I could have tried to elaborate better what I was trying to get across but regardless of that, You got the point that it was good which ultimately mattered.
 
 Thanks for clearing up about gender concerning the prince.
 
 In Reply To #10
 
 I'm not a total alcoholic tongue
 
 I do post here quite a few times when sober but normally I only drink once a week at the weekend. This week twice happy
 
 Regards...                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Year_of_the_Scarab

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #13 on: March 16, 2007, 11:53:00 am »
                The (very shy, as usual) audience demands more.
 
 peace                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Vongetta

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Re: Dead and Damned in Deadwood
« Reply #14 on: March 16, 2007, 02:09:00 pm »
                Waiting for more, Grendel. You should write a novel. happy
 
 Can I offer you grapes and honey-wine on a silver platter? A foot bath perhaps? *bows*                        

 

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