03-04-2017, 09:32 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-04-2017, 09:34 PM by Harlan Higgs.)
This was not the scene Harlan had expected when he agreed to sponsor Cody Chode and the Fabulous Fucks or whatever their name was. He was backstage, looking out through the curtain at the teeming club full of young, trashy adolescents. "Chris." He hissed through his teeth. It wasn't like he'd expected the whole of Tier 5 to be like 1940's New York City, all class and work and wartime fervor. Or maybe he had. This was much more like his visit during the 80's. Actually, exactly like his visit during the 80's. Down to the unwashed, greasy band members that looked indistinguishable from each other.
"Listen, you fellas seem to be local heroes here, so uh...just mention the Gentlemen Jacks present this show and do your thing. Try not to incite any riots, the carpets and the paneling are already going to need replacement after this show." Cody himself nodded and slipped on a giant pair of headphones, with a notch cut out of his esoteric hairdo for the headband. Harlan rolled his eyes harder than he ever thought possible, and made his way back to the front of the house. He passed by the bartender, the man already fumbling with a pair of earplugs and a tube of heart medication. not a bad idea. The earplugs, anyway.
A black pair of rubber plugs coalesced out of nothing, and the Ravnos took stock of his first official community event. By the Lady of Chance herself, he had his work cut out for him if he was going to turn these kids into upstanding wiseguys. But then again, maybe he could only hope to spread some of his influence. He wasn't a dictator. If they picked up at least a fifth of his whole shtick, he'd be happy.
He'd been spoiled by Ocean City, he realized. The only reason he'd been able to entertain such a complete cultural transformation of the tourist town was its rather small size and isolation from the major metropolitan city center of Baltimore. The threadbare barrier between the real world and the maya of the dream realm probably played a huge part, he mused. Oh well. Maybe that could be a project for the future. If this Omniverse had anything approaching the dream realm.
Cody Chode spat into the microphone and the crowd went wild, screaming loud enough to make the hundred year old man flinch, even through the earplugs. The shit he went through sometimes. "Heeelllooooooo, Top Keeeeek!" Mr. Chode announced. Harlan would have to change the name of the bar eventually. "Tonight's show is brought to you by the Gentlemen Jacks, along with a little something extra!" The Kindred froze as the band leader pulled a fistful of little bags of red powder from his pocket. "God FOOKING damnit!" Harlan swore, lapsing into his natural irish brogue. This was not part of the plan, and the out of place gentleman moved to the very edges of the room to stand with some of the older Jacks who were equally perturbed by the display.
As the bags hit the crowd, the night's entertainment started up and the most horrendous cacophony poured from the very fine speakers Harlan had so graciously purchased for the show. "Now let's fucking ROOOOOOOCCCCCKKKKK!!!!!"
Harlan had to clasp his hands over his ears, the dead tympanic membrane in his head vibrating uncomfortably. "_____ ______ ____ _____?" He screamed at his lieutenant. The man just shrugged, utterly unable to hear anything. Before them, the crowd of unruly teens was shoving each other and jumping up and down, singing along to the vulgar lyrics. Their heads slammed back and forth fast enough to cause whiplash, hands thrust in the air in weird gang signs. Although, there was no conflict. Everyone was united in the horrible auditory chaos of sonic vibration.
Except for three orc men who were standing uncomfortably still, their eyes darting to and fro as they started to lean forward, pushing and shoving skinny gutter punks out of the way as they moved towards the front of the room, to the raised platforms next to the stage that the sound technicians were stationed on. Time slowed down as Harlan watched them move, their clothes far too heavy for this type of environment. So many warm bodies produced enough heat to fry an egg on the floor. They could only be concealing...
"___!" Harlan shouted at the top of his lungs. His guards looked at him for clarification, but the music was far too loud for verbal communication. He clasped the shirt of the man closest to him and waved his hand in the man's face, his index finger outstretched and thumb pointed upwards. "___!" He shouted again, and pointed towards the orcs. But their lack of stealth had been noticed, and he saw one of the youths (sporting a bright blue mohawk) grab the orc and rear back a fist, socking the troublemaker in the jaw. At this, his other two compatriots pulled sub-compact laser guns out of their coats and fired into the ceiling.
And all Hell broke loose.
"Listen, you fellas seem to be local heroes here, so uh...just mention the Gentlemen Jacks present this show and do your thing. Try not to incite any riots, the carpets and the paneling are already going to need replacement after this show." Cody himself nodded and slipped on a giant pair of headphones, with a notch cut out of his esoteric hairdo for the headband. Harlan rolled his eyes harder than he ever thought possible, and made his way back to the front of the house. He passed by the bartender, the man already fumbling with a pair of earplugs and a tube of heart medication. not a bad idea. The earplugs, anyway.
A black pair of rubber plugs coalesced out of nothing, and the Ravnos took stock of his first official community event. By the Lady of Chance herself, he had his work cut out for him if he was going to turn these kids into upstanding wiseguys. But then again, maybe he could only hope to spread some of his influence. He wasn't a dictator. If they picked up at least a fifth of his whole shtick, he'd be happy.
He'd been spoiled by Ocean City, he realized. The only reason he'd been able to entertain such a complete cultural transformation of the tourist town was its rather small size and isolation from the major metropolitan city center of Baltimore. The threadbare barrier between the real world and the maya of the dream realm probably played a huge part, he mused. Oh well. Maybe that could be a project for the future. If this Omniverse had anything approaching the dream realm.
Cody Chode spat into the microphone and the crowd went wild, screaming loud enough to make the hundred year old man flinch, even through the earplugs. The shit he went through sometimes. "Heeelllooooooo, Top Keeeeek!" Mr. Chode announced. Harlan would have to change the name of the bar eventually. "Tonight's show is brought to you by the Gentlemen Jacks, along with a little something extra!" The Kindred froze as the band leader pulled a fistful of little bags of red powder from his pocket. "God FOOKING damnit!" Harlan swore, lapsing into his natural irish brogue. This was not part of the plan, and the out of place gentleman moved to the very edges of the room to stand with some of the older Jacks who were equally perturbed by the display.
As the bags hit the crowd, the night's entertainment started up and the most horrendous cacophony poured from the very fine speakers Harlan had so graciously purchased for the show. "Now let's fucking ROOOOOOOCCCCCKKKKK!!!!!"
Quote:Oh, For F***'s Sake
Harlan had to clasp his hands over his ears, the dead tympanic membrane in his head vibrating uncomfortably. "_____ ______ ____ _____?" He screamed at his lieutenant. The man just shrugged, utterly unable to hear anything. Before them, the crowd of unruly teens was shoving each other and jumping up and down, singing along to the vulgar lyrics. Their heads slammed back and forth fast enough to cause whiplash, hands thrust in the air in weird gang signs. Although, there was no conflict. Everyone was united in the horrible auditory chaos of sonic vibration.
Except for three orc men who were standing uncomfortably still, their eyes darting to and fro as they started to lean forward, pushing and shoving skinny gutter punks out of the way as they moved towards the front of the room, to the raised platforms next to the stage that the sound technicians were stationed on. Time slowed down as Harlan watched them move, their clothes far too heavy for this type of environment. So many warm bodies produced enough heat to fry an egg on the floor. They could only be concealing...
"___!" Harlan shouted at the top of his lungs. His guards looked at him for clarification, but the music was far too loud for verbal communication. He clasped the shirt of the man closest to him and waved his hand in the man's face, his index finger outstretched and thumb pointed upwards. "___!" He shouted again, and pointed towards the orcs. But their lack of stealth had been noticed, and he saw one of the youths (sporting a bright blue mohawk) grab the orc and rear back a fist, socking the troublemaker in the jaw. At this, his other two compatriots pulled sub-compact laser guns out of their coats and fired into the ceiling.
And all Hell broke loose.
“I don’t wanna be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me.”