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Die'in time is here
NotSure
Dead Ferrets
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It's late evening when Henry stumbles into Dexters, shirt soaked in blood. He mumbles something that sounds like, "That double crossing son of a ich" and properly passes out on the floor.
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Posted May 21, 2015, 4:16 am
Wuulf
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'...and a straw please.'

The Barman started forming a witty retort, then as his eyes settled on Claude's oversized lips he put two and to together. A trip to the back room to find a straw would save him mopping up later.

It might save him a beating, too. This freak was ripped to frunk. The mutie's missing ear and the firelight gladiator brands on his knotty forearms added to the do-not-frunk-with-me vibe.

Claude 'the Lips' Peac0ck took the barman's pause in his stride. Mutism wasn't an unfamiliar experience at this point in his life. At least in Dexter's they actually served him, if sometimes begrudgingly, and his gang - the Ded-Hedz - were fairly hip with abnormals.

As he waited patiently for his straw, Claude's steady green eyes were drawn to the commotion at the front of the bar.

A figure lay passed out on the floor. It was hard to make out through the blood and grime, but the guy had rollers on his shirt for the Dead Ferrets - a local renegade gang.

Claude could see the usual skeezers and low-lifes start to drift toward the helpless figure.

If the Dead Ferret was fresh from a scout he wouldn't have much on him worth looting, a decent sidearm at a push, but Claude recognised some body snatchers amongst the rabble.

These vultures would strip a man like a car, selling fresh parts to whichever Elmsfield surgeon offered the most chrome. Whether the corpse was already dead or nearly dead would just be a case of semantics to these vermin.

Claude decided the hapless roller didn't deserve to go out like that no matter who he was.

"If it isn't my old mate Dave!", bellowed Claude, "looks like you caught it bad this time..."

The ever decreasing circle of predators looked almost as one to see Claude lift his hulking form from the barstool. Most decided it was better to wait for easier pickings and tried to nonchalantly distance themselves.

A group of three body snatchers didn't stop their advance. The taller of the three, an acne scarred greaseball, strode toward Claude, flanked by his two accomplices.

'See, I'm pretty sure this isn't Dave. In fact I'm pretty sure you're looking to steal our salvage, you fish face bink.'

Claude wasn't particularly quick, but his vice like grip on the back of the body snatcher's spotty neck made the steady and forceful connection between face and the pint glass in his other hand a painful inevitability.

The room looked on in shock, rooted to the ground as Claude's sinewy blue arm twisted the glass three times - deeper, deeper and to the bone in the greasy bodysnatcher's gurgling maw.

Schluu-uup..schluuu-uup-k...kriiiii-iiik

The squelching and scraping noises seemed to somehow rise above the screams.

Claude threw his tattered foe to the ground like a rag doll and held up the broken claret red glass filled with bits of lip, gum, tooth and possibly even some tongue for all to see.

'Anyone else want to call me a liar?' He challenged.

Stares diverted quickly and people busied themselves with their own concerns. The hubbub in the bar quickly returned to normal levels.

The two crestfallen henchmen dragged their mutilated and whimpering friend away - hey at least their doctor contacts in Elmsfield would come in useful now.

After ordering another pint, Claude dragged 'Dave' to a booth and propped him upright on one of the faded seats. The giant mutant decided he would sit here drinking beer through a straw until the Dead Ferret regained consciousness or died - whichever came first.

Hopefully he'd pull through - 'Dave' looked like he might have an interesting story to tell...
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Posted May 21, 2015, 3:12 pm Last edited May 21, 2015, 3:35 pm by Wuulf
NotSure
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...The commotion that preceded had begun quiet down and many of the onlookers returned to nursing whatever beverages where in front of them. Claude, realizing this might be a long evening and made a quick jester to the barman for some of Dexter’s notorious “live or die” salts. These salts, administered orally, had the net effect of killing the patient or reviving them. Success was about 50/50 regardless of the objective. There was little middle ground as the ingredients that included nitroglycerine, distillates, amphetamines, and a fungus found in a nearby cave. The barman was quick to deliver the ####tail as he reckoned it would be his best chance of any kind of reimbursement from this pair. Claude began administering a ####tail of volatile compounds to Dave’s nasal cavity. The smell of solvents filled the immediate vicinity as ‘Dave’ came back the land of consciousness. “What the hel-shot… I need a shot.” Dave mumbled as Claude was quick to roll back the concoction into Dave’s throat and where it ultimately headed to his gullet. ‘Dave’ was awake.
“What’s your story?” Claude started, eager to understand what he just invested in. As Dave’s eyes came into alignment and focus, he cut Claude off, “That son-of-boow.” Dave grabbed his side. It wasn’t clear if this pain came from the injuries or the effects of the salts.
“Bishamon!” Dave said vocally enough to cause a small pause in background chatter. “If I ever see any Bishamon cut, I swear… I will shoot to kill.”
Claude was taken a bit back by the young’in sitting across from him who appeared dead a few moments ago. Before Claude could cut in, Dave continued, “Do you know if Corene made it out?”
Claude was puzzled until Dave pulled out the event registration. From across the table he could read:
“SS Professional Event Registration S392829.
$600 Paid.
Flag: Dead Ferrets”

Claude immediately made the connection. Yes, this was the event that the locals were talking about… members of the Bishamon gang entered the arena and started killing. Not the normal combat routine, where participants go for immobilization and move on but the targeted assassination that has not been a part of professional combat in nearly a decade. After all, Somerset had become, well, civilized. At this point Claude realized he was to be the first learn of a Chrome bounty that Somerset will talk about for weeks and months to come…
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vet wv

Posted May 22, 2015, 2:26 am
*The X Man*
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A shadowy figure in a chair, leaned back and propped up against the wall. Black and oil stained boots healed upon the table. Both hands grasping a beer bottle up by his chest his as if he was choking it to death... then shaking it slowly.

Hearing talk like this at Dexters doesn't happen very often, but this time it woke up the wrong guy. Two words got his attention, Chrome.... and Bounty.

The dark figure raises the bottle to push up the brim of his hat just enough to give a glare out of one eye. In a low gravely tone, "I know of whom you speak", he gulps down the rest of his beer and pounds the empty bottle on the table. "Post your bounty son... I will be back to collect it".
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Posted May 22, 2015, 6:28 am
*Snipe*
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Watching it all from a safe distance, sitting back in his dark corner of Dexters, Marcus takes another deep pull on his beer.

"I told you that there would be a need." Marcus smirks as he turns to Julie, who is too busy with paperwork to notice the whole affair.

"What are you over there rambling about, Marcus?" Julie says. She pushes the paperwork into a rusty case and settles herself in the chair beside him.
"Like I said, back when we left Robin Hood, we shoulda become bounty hunters. Everyone was so sure that there wouldn't have been enough business. Now we are sitting back, so busy with bull@!#* that we have forgotten what its like to be the warriors we all are."

Julie sits back, "Well, the other problem is that we are the law. We can't just go out and start shooting other gangs for money, unless there is a "legal" reason. That is the burden of wearing the stars."

"Screw the stars!!! Two Renshai have died in the hospital----TWO!! We aren't meant to sit around, watching, we are fighters. At least that is what I was taught when I joined."

At this point his raised voice has brought up the attention of many nearby locals. He looks around the tavern, and most eyes abruptly avoid his, which surprises him given the fact that in his mind - the Renshai have gotten old and mostly harmless. As his gaze finally finds Julie, he starts with surprise. She is staring with a look he hasn't seen in way too long.

She downs the rest of her warm beer, "You know what, you are right. Get word back to the garage - The Renshai are going hunting again!"

Marcus is up and on his way out the door before she is even done talking. He already knew where this was going by the look in her eyes. They call her "Hardcore" for a reason, one that he was afraid she forgot. Apparently not, he mused as he left the smoky bar - eager to spread the word that the Renshai were back in business.

Julie has had a hard time sitting back and watching for the past few years, and Marcus' referral to Curtis and the fact that he died in a bed - not glorious combat - affected her deeply. Valhalla does not await those that sit around and wait for death - you must fight for your spot. And Julie had every intention of reaching Valhalla.

And the sad truth is..........Julie is starting to feel old herself.
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Posted May 22, 2015, 8:53 pm
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