dags arc 20 start

<Antioch|GM> ...
<-> Bel is now known as Bel|Dags
<-> Firlz is now known as Khandead
<Antioch|GM> Despite the open bar, the wake is still a subdued affair. Less people from the funeral are there. Even TGK wasn't able to show... granted, with his lab trashed and an attempt on his life one night fresh, it's not unreasonable.
<Antioch|GM> Haddon is sitting down in one of the corner booths, having a discussion with two Tinkers who apparently were acquaintances or customers of Absynthesis.
<Antioch|GM> Where most of the patrons are just drinking booze, Jiangjun's seated at the bar, picking at a paper tray of greasy, heart-failure flavored bar fries. Royal Flush and Maia are... trying to out-drink each other, knocking back shot after shot in hostile succession, from what it looks like. ||
<Bel|Dags> ...
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<Bel|Dags> I keep to my own corner of the bar. The perils of a dedicated bartender, the glass never falls below half-empty before getting filled to the brim, and I'm in an all-empty kind of mood.
<Bel|Dags> I drum along to the tinkling piano sounds from the jukebox. Thoughts keep trying to swim together in my pickled brain. I'd rather not be thinking right now, thinking gets you in trouble.
<Bel|Dags> "Lookit Khandhas," I say out loud, "Smart guy, good power, sneaky attitude, an' where's he? Thinking's a death sentence, f' sure." ||
<Antioch|GM> Jiangjun scoots down the bar, taking his fries and drink with him, sitting next to Dags.
<Antioch|GM> "Living's a death sentence, my guy."
<Antioch|GM> He waves a limp, oozing fry, as if to emphasize his point.
<Antioch|GM> "Hence my diet." ||
<Bel|Dags> I raise my glass, knocking back another slug. If whiskey were fish, I'd be an ocean. Hell, might still be.
<Bel|Dags> "Won't argue that." I lean back on the stool, careful to hold onto the bar so I don't fall off. This ain't my first rodeo.
<Bel|Dags> "What a pile'a shit, right?" ||
<Antioch|GM> "How tall did that pile have to get for you to notice it?" Jiangjun replies, rolling his eyes. ||
<Bel|Dags> "Wonder o'th' world," I continue, bulldozing past his sarcasm, "th'sheer mass an' variety of bullshit people can make."
<Bel|Dags> I slouch back onto the bar, casting an inquisitive glance down the bar. "Those two a'right?" ||
<Antioch|GM> Jiangjun shrugs, leaving him in even worse of a slouch than before.
<Antioch|GM> "They'll be fine. There are worse ways to shed baggage."
<Antioch|GM> "So," he says, eyes narrowing. "You're finally smelling the bullshit. What are you going to do about it?" ||
<Bel|Dags> I shrug, slumping yet further. "Reckon there's another bottle'a Laphroaig back there, an' a coupl'a more Macallans. Oughta get me t'... next week? 'S Tuesday, right?" ||
<Antioch|GM> "That's only enough raw materials for a single-digit quantity of Molotov cocktails," he replies. "Think bigger." ||
<Bel|Dags> I rear up. "If you're suggesting we burn /Laphroaig/, then... then fuck you." Funny how being drunk makes it easier to say the Scottish names.
<Bel|Dags> "Listen, I got a big pile'a the shit in a box, right? Spent a real long time gettin' it there, near lost a hand a coupl'a times. But who gives a fat fuck? 'S always more shit out there."
<Bel|Dags> I wave my hands in the air, and say, "Woo, I got the biggest box of shit, watch out or I'll throw'er at ya!", before slumping back onto the bar. "Big whoop." ||
<Antioch|GM> "This..."
<Antioch|GM> Jiangjun sighs.
<Antioch|GM> "... alright. You handle honoring Khandhas's memory by drinking yourself blind. It's what he would have wanted."
<Antioch|GM> He stands up from the bar stool, leaving fries and drink there.
<Antioch|GM> "I'll handle the rest." ||
<Bel|Dags> "Hey, hey, hey now! Y'never said you had a plan." I sit up. "If ya got a plan, I'm all ears." ||
<Antioch|GM> He shakes his head, looking somewhat regretful.
<Antioch|GM> "Sorry, Dags. You're just a piece on the board."
<Antioch|GM> Walking away, he hesitates, turning back for a parting remark.
<Antioch|GM> "I'm the hand that moves them." ||
<-> Druza is now known as Druza|attemtp2
<Bel|Dags> I slowly turn back to the bar. Wordlessly, I chug the glass of whisky down to the bottom, then push it away.
<Bel|Dags> That's the rub, isn't it? Work as much as you like, fight and kick and wheedle.
<Bel|Dags> Never in control.
<Bel|Dags> Why bother.
<Bel|Dags> Head down, I turn just enough to watch Maia and Royal Flush. Might as well. ||
<Antioch|GM> They've stopped drinking, now slurring unintelligibly at each other. Waving fingers at each other, gesticulating, red-faced and emphatic. ||
<Bel|Dags> Figures.
<Bel|Dags> It's a good enough metaphor that I don't feel the urge to stitch another one on top of it. Not like I'm paid by the word, anyways.
<Bel|Dags> Speaking of words...
<-> Lysa is now known as Lysa|GM
<Bel|Dags> Where's Brigid Sullivan at? I'm sure I invited her, and she's not one to pass up a drink. I slip my phone from my coat pocket and check it clumsily, just to be sure.||
<Antioch|GM> There's no response from her. She's... otherwise preoccupied, presumably. Who knows what she gets up to. The woman is an enigma. ||
<Bel|Dags> I frown, pocketing the phone. Not like her, but then again, what is?
<Bel|Dags> I slide from my stool, careful to keep a solid hold on the bar, and sidle my way down towards Maia and Friends. Maybe she's heard something. ||
<Antioch|GM> "Oh, look, it's Dags," Maia says. "Look at him, with his face. And his scotch. Look at him. Get over here."
<Antioch|GM> "I'll, I'll, I'll punch you in the gut," she slurs, "I'll knock your teeth in. Look at me with those eyes why don'cha. You're /ruining/ my buzz."
<Antioch|GM> "Maia, -hic-, Maia wants some alloooonnneee time." ||
<Bel|Dags> "Oh fuck you," I snarl, staggering on towards the back. If Jiangjun hadn't just finished taking a dump down my shirt, maybe. But not now.
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<Bel|Dags> I bump and stumble my way to a back room, picking one at random and piling in. Hopefully it's empty. ||
<Antioch|GM> Just him, some leather-upholstered seating, and a felt-lined table. There's still a deck and chips sitting atop it, scattered about haphazardly. ||
<Bel|Dags> Good. I collapse into a chair and sulk properly. Miserable assholes. ||
<Antioch|GM> His phone buzzes in his pocket. A text message from Brigid, upon closer examination. ||
<Bel|Dags> Exciting. I guess. What's her excuse? ||
<Antioch|GM> No excuses, just a link. To an encrypted server. Hosting a video, and some additional text files. ||
<Bel|Dags> Huh. This is disconcertingly close to my... dead man's... switch.
<Bel|Dags> Uh oh.
<Bel|Dags> I jab at the video a few times to get it to play. ||
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<Antioch|GM> It's Brigid. Granted, she looks somewhat different. It takes him a moment to place that she's in a cape costume -- some sort of longcoat -- sans the mask, and in some kind of bathroom (granted, a relatively tidy one).
<Antioch|GM> "Hi Dags. This is Brigid. Josette. Quickdraw. Whichever." ||
<Bel|Dags> "Oh."
<Bel|Dags> I slump down even further in the chair, head held up on my elbow.
<Bel|Dags> The house bombing. Tinker involvement suspected. One civilian killed.
<Bel|Dags> A Josette Bouchard-Sullivan.
<Bel|Dags> I shake my head, angrily. "No." ||
<Antioch|GM> She goes on, mentioning the files on the server. A lot of dirt on Wink, much of it redundant with what they already have. A detailed outline of a plan to take down Wink, contingent on the PRT's collaboration. Rough specifications on her Tinkertech and where it can be found in her house.
<Antioch|GM> The video jump-cuts to another scene.
<Antioch|GM> "Guess I'm not under fake arrest anymore, and Wink will never be under real arrest unless he walks into a jail cell."
<Antioch|GM> She looks... deeply, deeply tired, not even having bothered to cover up the bags under her bloodshot eyes. Beneath the fatigue, the exhaustion, there's genuine anger and frustration in her tone of voice. ||
<Bel|Dags> I keep shaking my head, although the connections are getting too hard to ignore. This must have been around when I invited her over to the bar for the first time. What happened?
<Bel|Dags> I wipe my face roughly with one arm, staring at the phone. ||
<Antioch|GM> She goes on about info she'd acquired through her contacts in the Neighborhood Watch, what she'd uncovered about Blackjack and its operations.
<Antioch|GM> On and on and on. Her voice flags, she looks like she's about to fall asleep partways through, but she continues. There's a great deal of information to go over.
<Antioch|GM> "I'm having a real shit day," she concludes, "so I'm going to go blow up some bad guys. If this is the last message, assume I got me too."
<Antioch|GM> She steps away from the camera, but it keeps rolling. ||
<Bel|Dags> I stare at the screen, willing her to come back. That can't be it. ||
<Antioch|GM> She steps back into the screen, as if she'd forgotten something. One last remark.
<Antioch|GM> "Brigid Sullivan. Seriously. How did you not figure that out? Merde, man!"
<Antioch|GM> She steps away again, this time for real. The video cuts off. ||
<-> Saff|GM is now known as Saff
<Bel|Dags> I throw my phone at the wall. I hope it breaks. ||
<Antioch|GM> Thump. It hits the wall, then the floor. ||
<Bel|Dags> I kick the underside of the table, over and over and over and what the fuck why is everything so SHIT. ||
<Antioch|GM> Wonder of the world, the sheer mass and variety of bullshit people can make. ||
<Bel|Dags> I huff, staring at the light set in the ceiling until my eyes dazzle as I wait for... what?
<Bel|Dags> What is there to wait for?
<Bel|Dags> Nobody gives a shit. It's not important what happens. I've been dealing and begging and negotiating for my whole goddamn life, and it's still the same.
<Bel|Dags> No respect.
<Bel|Dags> I pull myself out of the chair, limping slightly on the foot, and lean against the wall to pick up my phone, brushing off the screen. ||
<Antioch|GM> The screen isn't even cracked. ||
<Bel|Dags> Good. I scroll through the contacts, picking one of the drivers who's probably not wasted, and putting a call in.
<Bel|Dags> Phone held to my ear, I stumble out of the room and head for the back door.
<Bel|Dags> It's time to start demanding. ||
<Antioch|GM> His ride arrives, and it doesn't take long. Interior with heated seats, tinted windows (pointless in the night) and a soundproof divider between back seat and front. ||
<Bel|Dags> I fall into the back, rapping on the divider to get it down. "HPIA office, Joe." ||
<Antioch|GM> He pulls off. It's not a long drive. At this time of night, with no traffic? Five minutes, tops. ||
<Bel|Dags> I pull out my flask and take a swig. Can't be losing my nerve now, what I'm about to do'll only get me killed by half the thugs in Cleveland. ||
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<Antioch|GM> Joe parks behind the building, putting him next to the rear entrance. He fumbles for his office keys, finds them clipped onto his belt. ||
<Bel|Dags> I let myself in, past the darkened front desk and the closed office doors, heading into my office. And the cabinet. ||
<Antioch|GM> It's there, as he left it. Two keyed locks, one digital lock, a combination lock, and a great deal of safeguards to stop anyone who tries to get in with other methods.
<Antioch|GM> He'll need to focus, drunk as he is. ||
<Bel|Dags> I take a swig of warm whiskey to steady my hands and get to work.
<Bel|Dags> Fuck 'em. ||
<Antioch|GM> One lock, two locks, three, four... he unlatches the topmost drawer, rolling it out on wheels that haven't seen use in a long while. It's stuffed to the brim with files. Paperwork, dossiers, duplicates and forgeries of vital documents...
<Antioch|GM> Even if three quarters of the cabinet's contents were obsolete, he could bring the city to its knees, up in flames shortly afterwards. ||
<Bel|Dags> I stare at the stacks upon stacks of blackmail, phone in hand. I could call somebody. Haddon or Mendez or someone, somebody important, get their opinion.
<Bel|Dags> My grip tightens on the phone. Those /fucks/.
<Bel|Dags> Everyone in this goddamn town is responsible. Nobody gets to call the shots now.
<Bel|Dags> Nobody except me.
<Bel|Dags> This is my show now.
<Bel|Dags> I pull out the first folder and start dialing. ||
<Antioch|GM> Then the second folder, the third, on and on and on. His flask empties soon after, but he continues without refilling it.
<Antioch|GM> The gang members he's spent the years collecting information on, blackmailed.
<Antioch|GM> A massive bundle of collated data, sent to the PRT, police, other hero groups in town.
<Antioch|GM> Documents falsified, incriminating evidence planted, accusations levied.
<Antioch|GM> Chaos incited.
<Antioch|GM> Seven (or is it eight?) folders in, he scoops up the remainder, fills up three cardboard boxes, staggering under the weight, piling them into the rear of Joe's car.
<Antioch|GM> They drive.
<Antioch|GM> He continues.
<Antioch|GM> The show doesn't stop for anyone, for anything. ||
<-> ixi is now known as ixi|afk
<Bel|Dags> This is good.
<Bel|Dags> This is how it should have been, all along.
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<Bel|Dags> They got comfortable. I could have done this at any time, to anyone I wanted, and they thought I wasn't a player?
<-> Faustus|GM is now known as Faustus
<Bel|Dags> Well, turns out God put dynamite inside the pieces, and this one was going to light each and every one of their fuses.
<-> SOMA|Valentine is now known as SOMA
<Bel|Dags> Time to level the playing field. ||
<Antioch|GM> ((Ha! That's an excellent play on words.))
<Antioch|GM> ((This will be the session quote. I so decree.))
<Bel|Dags> ((Dags' entire character arc has been building to that line.))
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<Antioch|GM> As Joe drives, he can already feel the shockwaves ripple through the city.
<Antioch|GM> The wail of a police siren, several blocks away. A warm, glowing red. House fire.
<Antioch|GM> Shortly after, the sharper, more urgent wail of an ambulance.
<Antioch|GM> They circle the city, taking a winding, circuitous route.
<Antioch|GM> Whoever survives the aftermath can rebuild from the ashes. ||
<Bel|Dags> It's always easiest to see danger after it's sucker-punched you right in the gut. Maybe they'll clean up their shit.
<Bel|Dags> I consciously decide not to define who 'they' are. I got no respect, and anyone could have given it. 'They' is whoever I want.
<Bel|Dags> Can't wait to see Mendez's face in the news. Or Wink. Or Capo The Second. It'll be grand. ||
<Antioch|GM> Dags doesn't notice anything awry, amiss. The sirens, the fires, the files -- that's the focus of his attention.
<Antioch|GM> His driver, however, does. Wheels screech to a halt, but even so, the impact on the hood is enough to make the car buckle upwards, then crashing back down.
<Antioch|GM> The collision jars him. Even through the soundproof glass, he can hear a meaty fist ripping through the tempered glass like sugar. ||
<Bel|Dags> Dammit.
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<Bel|Dags> I slap the divider open. "Capo, cool it." ||
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<Antioch|GM> Granted, he has enough time to get those words out before another fist snakes through the divider, clenching ruthlessly onto his throat.
<Antioch|GM> "You know what the problem with mutually-assured destruction is?" he growls.
<Antioch|GM> If he's expecting a response, he certainly isn't allowing any leeway to give one.
<Antioch|GM> The driver's head is smashed against the steering wheel. Possibly dead. Only one casualty among many over the course of the night, all things told. ||
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<Bel|Dags> Sorry Joe. Figured the anonymous car would be enough. How many cars did he smash before he found this one?
<-> Turn|GM is now known as Turncoat
<Bel|Dags> I squeak and claw at the hand wrapped around my throat. Not that it matters. ||
<-> soulpelt|Jimmy is now known as soulpelt|
<Antioch|GM> With his free hand, he tears through the divider, creating an opening wide enough to yank him through.
<Antioch|GM> They rise, steadily. The bite of the air in the cold winter night is sobering.
<Antioch|GM> The strangulation, doubly so. ||
<Bel|Dags> This is always how it would end. Jumping off the knife's edge instead of teetering off, but still.
<Bel|Dags> I gasp fruitlessly for air, swinging through the air like a man already hung. ||
<Antioch|GM> His vision fades at the edges, but his hearing remains intact.
<Antioch|GM> Two thrums, a third.
<Antioch|GM> Thock, thock. Thwip.
<Antioch|GM> Metal hitting something hard, unyielding, twice.
<Antioch|GM> Metal hitting flesh, once.
<Antioch|GM> The sound of Capo II gagging, then retching, the loosening of the grip on his neck.
<Antioch|GM> Dags gets enough room to breathe, and then the fingers go slack.
<Antioch|GM> He plummets.
<Antioch|GM> ||||