Character creation

[Skylarious]

I'll be working on a character sheet format in the coming days. For now, you guys can go step by step through the first choices in your playbooks. If you haven't chosen a playbook yet and want to talk about what direction to go in, you can talk about that here. For now, start working on making the key choices for your playbook. I'm happy to discuss anything you're unsure about.

Name: Feel free to deviate from the listed options
Playbook: Remember I'd also be open to the limited edition playbooks that fit within the setting
Look: Again, feel free to go in different directions than what's listed in the playbook as long as it would fit in this kind of setting
Stats: Your playbook lists a few sets to choose from
Moves: In addition to the basic moves, your playbook will give you some special ones by default and/or let you choose from a few. Feel free to ask questions about how these moves would work.
Other: Your playbook might give you more choices to make, like the kind of gang you have following you. Again, feel free to ask how this works.

For now, hold off on working out inter-character histories. We'll do that once everyone is done with the first parts of their characters.

[Deliverator]

Name: Life Proper ("Life Proper will show *you* how to live proper!")
Playbook: Maestro D'
Look: ambiguous gender, vintage suit jacket and tie with a skirt (armor plates sown into the interior of the jacket, 1-armor), pretty face, mischievous eyes, lean body, precise hands
Stats: Cool +1 Hard -1 Hot +2 Sharp +0 Weird +1
Moves: You Call This Hot?; Everybody Eats, Even That Guy
Other: Establishment (The Dining Car):

Main attraction: luxury food, side attractions: drinks, music; atmosphere: velvet, fresh fruit, intrigue, luxury;

Regulars: Lamprey (the best, the one who brings new faces), Ba, Camo, Toyota (the worst; her weird rants sometimes get loud and awkward), and Lits

Other important NPCs: Been — wants in on it, but she ain't got nothing to offer, Rolfball — I owe him much luxe for his help getting things set up, and time is running out, Gams — thinks that shitty excuse for a place to hang, Bar Done, is competition for the Dining Car

Security: A bouncer who knows their biz (Seko, 2-harm 1-armor), plus all my cast and crew are packing (2-harm gang small 0-armor)

Other Dining Car employees: Tex, chef; Karrup, server/bartender; Scup, the scutwork boy

HX:
Sept +3 (my favorite)
Uncle Grind +1
Breaker +2
Bubblegum +1
Persi +1

[Skylarious]

Looks great Deliverator, sounds like a fun character. We can sketch up some cast and crew together. At minimum you'd probably have a chef, maybe assistant chef, some servers, someone to do cleaning/dishes, and an in-house musician or two? Though their roles might cross over. You have anything in mind?

[MontageManiac]

Name: Sept
Playbook: The Operator
Look: A man in his late 20's, an open but worn face. Wears tan colored over-coat, and scavenged military utility clothing he wears underneath with some body armor patches sewn on (1-armor). He has a sturdy body from all the work, but not overly muscular, and his eyes are very sharp, as though they notice everything. He has medium length straight dark brown hair, with a moustache and beard of similar color.
Stats: Cool +2; Hard +1; Hot =0; Sharp +1; Weird -1
Moves: Basic Moves; Moonlighting; Reputation
Gear:

Signature Weapon Cerberus Well maintained katana with a smooth, matte black sheath with flush hilt. The blade is 2 1/2 feet long, made of durable, folded steel from before the fall. (3 harm, hand, valuable)

- Oddments worth 1-barter
- 1-armor piece (scavenged military gear)

Gigs:
- Deliveries
- Scavenging
- Compound Defense

Obligation Gig:
- Maintaining your honor

Hx Uncle Grind: 0 Hx (+1) = +1 Hx Breaker: 1 Hx (+1) = +2 Hx Persi: 1 Hx (+2) = +2 Hx BubbleGum: 0 Hx (+1) = +1 Hx Life Proper: 2 Hx (+1) = +3 Hx

Crew & Contacts:

 

Mar Short for Marybelle, but Sept only found that out after saving his life and told this brick of a man that he was owed a favor. Anyone who asks about his name otherwise, or finds out about it, is likely to be killed on the spot. Mar is a bruiser, and one of the few people Sept trusts to watch his back. They share a mutual respect for one another, and loyalty is treated at a premium with them. He's the first one Sept calls, and he's the last one to fall back in a conflict. Mar doesn't like to run, unless Sept says it's clear. They met on a delivery run that went south during Sept's early days as an operator. Wasn't his fault. S*** happens. But they were the only two to make it out of that mess. Since then Mar and Sept have gone on just about every gig together. Friends are a strong word when associated with professionals, but they may be the closest thing to the meaning of that word you'd find in this world.

Cecilia One of the best drivers Sept has encountered, Cecilia got her name from an old recording in the car her parents drove when she was younger, one of the few possessions of value they had other than the car. Now in her mid-twenties, this grease monkey and gear-head has saved Sept's butt from a number of jams, more than he can count. Except he has kept count, and he makes sure to repay her in full each time because he isn't a fool. Sept sees Cecilia as something of a little sister. Oh that doesn't stop him from taking her on gigs, lord knows he needs a good driver for his crew, but it just means he doesn't risk her more than he has to. This rubs Cecilia the wrong way, and they get into a tif now and again. Not that anyone would mention it to either of their faces, but while Sept sees Cecilia as family, some might think Cecilia sees Sept as something more.

Roach Scavenger extraordinaire, he can get into anywhere or anything and come out with the last scraps of whatever is useable, and Sept does not leave home without him. They ran into one another on a scavenging gig that Sept was hired to run. Roach beat him to the score. After about half a day of Sept chasing after Roach across the desert, and Roach realizing he couldn't outrun Sept proposed a working partnership. Sept wasn't about to kill the man, not over this gig, and he considered it getting a bonus for a gig done. Split the pay on the job, gain a member for his crew that'll broaden his portfolio. Roach was a sleazy, unhygienic, smarmy little bugger, but damn if he wasn't good at stripping anything of everything valuable.

 

Biz She knows what's up, who's down, why word is out, and when's your next pay day. Without Biz, Sept would likely be a lot worse off.

Life Proper This Maestro D' has been a primary source of information and leads for Sept since coming to town. Not only has his past given him connections abroad, but his Dining Car has made a rather comfortable meeting spot/office for Sept to work out of and be introduced to prospective clients. While Sept is hesitant to call anyone his friend, Life has certainly made his life more interesting since coming to town.

"Sept, the Operator Pour. Drink. Swish. Gurgle. Swallow. Repeat as long as you can barter for more. Did water always taste this sweet? If you run out of s**t to barter, means another job better come soon, otherwise you're just a washed up meat-bag taking up a stool for someone who can better use a drink. Name's Sept. I'm the operator, how may I direct your funds? You need a delivery? It'll arrive intact. You need something scavenged? It'll be stripped bare. You want to make sure no one enters the compound? You meet the price, I'll make sure your place stays real nice. That's the spiel I give to newcomers if I'm in a good mood when they ask what I do. You caught me in a f***ing bad one, and interrupted my drink as well, so I'll give it to you a little more straight. You see my face, it's decent and comfortable to look at. That encourages prospective clients to come and talk to me when they have a job they want done but don't have the connections or people to do it themselves. You see these eyes? They catch all the ******** people try to feed me. I've eaten rocks when I was hungry, I've had sand poured down my throat, and I've even had to drink the urine from a dead animal's bladder just to get to a waypoint for a ticket to the next outpost. But I refuse to be fed ********. Someone tells me something I think don't ring true, then they can go on to the next sucker. I'm a professional. The only thing worth more than water and oil in this world is a person's word, their honour, and their reputation. Any of those things sullied, and your life expectancy just went down by a factor of "you're f***ed". What do you mean what got me so mad? Have you been alive up to this point?! Every day is a f***in' struggle to survive. You know what makes surviving easy? Looking out for yourself. Goin' your own way. Doin' what needs doin' without any regard for others. You know why? Because connections are messy. They hurt. Deeper than any blade can stab. But connections are also the only gods' forsaken thing in this world that makes a person feel like they're alive. What's that? Who's askin' for me? F**k. Sorry, apparently someone's callin' for the operator. I'm sure next time you'll catch me in a better mood, if you see me again at all. Never know with the gigs I pull. Tell you what, you ever need a job done, come talk to me. I may not be able to do it, but I won't ******** ya and I'll tell you straight how messed up we are. I recommend the water here, it's a life saver.

[Skylarious]

Looks great Montage! Love the character voice!

Edit: Taking out of secret tags since you took yours out as well.

Crew looks great to me - we don't really need to flesh them out more than that now, it can happen in play, though more detail is fine too. Main thing we'll need to figure out is where they hang out - some might hang out at Deliverator's establishment, some might have their own homestead, etc. That'll come.

One option would be that Life Proper (Deliverator's character) could be a contact - the "Everybody Eats, Even That Guy" move is one that lets you get all sorts of information on important people. That's the kind of thing that can be established when we get to the Hx part of character creation, though you guys can certainly discuss it.

[driftwood]

Name: Uncle Grind
Playbook: Hocus
Look: Big ... tall, a belly, muscular under the fat, heavy stride and huge hands. Intense eyes, yellow and bloodshot, often unfocused (yes, they can be intense and unfocused at the same time). Bald, chocolate skin. Wears a "priest's collar" made from a looped timing belt that chafes his neck. Bandoliers and vests cobbled out of gears and chains, no shirt. Workshop pants and utility boots.
Stats: Cool +1; Hard +1; Hot -1; Sharp 0; Weird +2
Moves:

• Basic Moves
• Fortunes: roll at beginning of session for Followers. 10+ is surplus, 7-9 surplus and 1 want, on a miss they are in want.
• Charismatic: roll +weird instead of +hot to manipulate
• Seeing Souls: roll +weird instead of +hx to help or interfere

Hx:

• Sept: +2 (+1 from PC)
• Life Proper: +2 (+1 from PC)
• Breaker: +2 (+1 from PC)
• Bubblegum: +3 (read soul)
• Persimmon: +1 (+0 from PC)

Piston Whisperers 20 people +1fortune surplus: 1-barter +augury +party want: +judgment +diseased-decadence

The Piston Whisperers consider themselves a Fellowship, led by their Prophet, who is aided by Deacons. But everyone's a Deacon if they're not the Prophet. Uncle Grind vocalizes the Song which whispers to him from the maelstrom, especially when there is an engine or large machine in operation. For the most part, he's the only one who feels much (with a few exceptions), and the others are along for the ride. There is ample internal conflict, but they make love, not war, so to speak.

When things are going well, the Whisperers conduct raucous and joyful celebrations of the Song, and sometimes they collectively constitute a powerful psychic antenna. But they've hitched their star to Uncle Grind, for better or worse, and when things go bad they remember that. Plus, the make-love-not-war partying can become excessive, and carries a certain price in terms of public health.

 

Deacon Tessie Ohhhhh, Tessie. Sweet girl. Used to sack with her a lot 'afore, but since the Song not anymore. Thought maybe it me, but she give the hand to all the sweet fellas chasin' her. Still wears them tight leathers. She can't hear the Song, but take it REAL serious. More 'n me, sometimes, I think. One day, she come up with a strange look in her eye, an' I got a bit excited, but she just start askin' me 'bout learnin'. "Hey Uncle... you savvy on 'martyr'?" she say in that sultry voice, chewin' her lip all cute-like. I tell her I think it what hold bricks together. She look at me real long, then nod and off she go. An' I wa'n't the only one watchin' her go! Ohhhhh, Tessie.

Deacon Jasp Jasp a sweet boy. Young, strong, nice to look at. Real good with a wrench or a gun. Plays the drums for the Song sometimes. Chased Tessie for a while, but think he goin' with Sweet Tushies now (who ain't?). Can hear the Song sometimes, when everything goin' real good.

Deacon Escalator Escalator, he a sweet boy. Twitchy, jumpy too. Long, quick fingers, beautiful when they dance. Can make wires and gaskets work reeaaaal good. Always lookin' at Jasp. Somethin' there... love, or hate, or both. Hope he don't use his knife - on Jasp or his own self.

Deacon Sweet Tushies Nuffin' sweeter than Sweet Tushies. Big smile, loves to laugh and play. Lots o' good handholds on account she can cook real good. An' sing too... when the Song is strong, she and Jasp do the music real good. Only thing is, after, they do that other stuff real loud too.

Deacon Snarf Snarf a sweet... somethin'. Dunno what Snarf is. Prolly used to be a boy or girl. Someone hurt it bad. Can't hardly see its face under all that curly hair and dirt. Hear the song real good, almost like me, and sometimes she seem to know other stuff too. Whatever happened 'afore, he still like to drink a jug and play sometimes. She watch Tessie too, but don't think for same reason us others do. Was her what found Spit.

Ex-Deacons Regina and Toothy Regina and Toothy used to be real sweet. They some o' the first Piston Whisperers back on the Bus. They sure loved the Bus. Guess we all did. Think they sorry they stuck with me, always betchin' bout this an' that. Sometimes fightin' with Tessie or Spit or Jasp or the others (not Sweet Tushies, tho!). I was speakin' the Song real strong one night, an' everyone drummin' an' dancin' an' singin' an' whatnot. Sometimes I don't remember all o' them times, when I Singin' so hard. When I come to, next mornin', Snarf got Toothy with a razor to neck and everyone shoutin'. Spit on the ground, blood all comin' outta his eyes an' ears an' nose. "You done this, Toothy?!" I roars. Toothy give me that empty smile he got. There blood on his one tooth. "Enough!" Regina shriek. "I can't believe you takin' that... that... FREAK's side over his! We found it in the act!" Everyone that stopped shoutin' afore start again. But I yell the best. "What this then?" I yell at Snarf. Snarf not talk a long time, then she mutter, "..... nah-uh" "AHHH I can't take you people anymore!" Regina screamed, an' she tear out some of her hair! "It's like being in a hothouse piped full o' crazy and the herp!" Hot house? That so funny... like an i-glue?... I giggle a bit. Regina eyes get real wide, and when she shout all this spit come out. "And you're the craziest, sickest frak of them all! Ugh, I can't believe the things I did with you... " she stop and look around "an' not just you." Tessie get all flushed in the face now, so I know she still care about me and the Piston Whisperers. "Take that back, he's the prophet of our faith! And don't think we don't know where that herp came from, you skenk!" Regina take a step toward Tessie, an' her face real ugly. But she look at the rest of us, an' instead she whirl around and kick Snarf right in the face, sending him sprawling. "C'mon, Toothy. Let's get out of here. Sick fraks." Heard they with the Crimson Suns now. So the herp.

... and others

Uncle Grind A steady cadence. The roar of fire. Sweat, smoke, grease, diesel, blood: a grimy hand, fingers dragging calouses across a forehead; wrenchessqueezy-turns and pliersgrippy-twists grinding; bodies splayed in the night. And always the pounding, drums and cylinders, welcoming in the maelstrom. Uncle Grind come from a long line of uncles, so natural enough he an uncle too. His uncle's uncle remembered the Before, and he say there used to be spooky men who go in big pointy buildings an' when they come out they have magic collars that made them God-Men - but uncle's uncle is deader than dead longtime now. Uncle Grind a big man. Worked his way up: Brake Pedal Boy, Gearshift Boy, Secondary-Clutch Lad, Primary-Clutch Lad, Baggage Cadet, Mess-y Man, tactical kineticsHorn, and at long last Driver. Grind been an uncle almost as long as he can remember, since least he first fragged someone what got in his face and then fragged (different kind of fraggin'!) all night long. He not tellin' folk how to live, any fella can have an easy time wi' him, and he rise fast in The Bus. Did the Boss sometimes take away his favorite guys and gals, the ones that he liked the best? Maybe ... but that's what Boss's do! Only ... maybe it after Sassafras (sweet gal) got jealous of Theo (sweet guy) and somehow Uncle Grind got whacked on 'a head; or maybe it after the big Derby with them Jotch Crockies, when seemed like a third of the Bus' passengers got got, and Grind almost died; or maybe it was the Devilish Dervish, who took all him barter an' promised him Magic Beans but just left him stranded three days later, with a headache and no memories. Whatever it was, he began to hear a song. A percussion that, in its persistence and intricacy, was a melody and harmony all unto itself. Its whispers were not to be ignored, and its potency greatest in the heart of the Bus' engine. He asked ... most of the rest of the Crew couldn't hear it, but when he got upset with the others, that seemed to help them hear the Song right quick. Before he know it, although afore long and after a few dislocated shoulders, he had a congregation. It's good he has folk, since he ain't the sharp driver he was before, 'afore he heard the Song. Uncle Grind appointed deacons. He upgraded his leathers to include a collar of gears (all proper ... wouldn't his uncle's uncle be proud!) and crossed bandoliers of timing belts, his stout belly protruding like a sign of good fortune. Sometimes, when they drummed and danced in time with the pistons, the maelstrom poured in and they Saw. After one of them Seeings, the Boss come down for Grind. They got to fussin' about this and that, and soon they arguin' about keelhauling a fella. An' Uncle Grind say NO. Well ... that not a-million time smart!! They put Grind in one of them trials, and most of the congregation just disappear, except for the deacons. Uncle Grind sang the Song of the maelstrom, and the Boss get all scared, so he just got sent off the Bus ... but Exile's no better than a wet spark plug! Uncle Grind still leadin' his Piston Whisperers, and they still hear the Song. It sayin' they can be a mighty Chain of Justice ... but seem like they got a long road to drive, and they ain't on the Bus no more.

[Iron Signet]

Name: Breaker

Playbook: Chopper

Look: Dark haired, dark eyed, and weathered olive complexion. Cold eyes rarely show emotion, and facial expression rarely differs from a scowl. He's fairly tall, though he has a lithe frame rather than blocky, and has a predatory way of carrying himself and moving. He has a pair of aviator goggles and a dustmask patterned after a fanged mouth that he often wears to protect against the elements, when not in use these are often worn around his neck.

Stats: Cool: +1; Hard +2; Hot 0; Sharp +1; Weird -1;

Moves: Basic Moves; Pack Alpha; F***ing Thieves

Gear: Breaker wears mostly leather: boots pants and jacket. He also has metal plates sewn and strapped over large areas of his body. (Armor 2) He has goggles and his fanged ustmask. He wields a magnum (3-harm, close, reload, loud) and a machete (3-harm, hand, messy)

The Bike: Charlie handles like a dream, both fast and responsive. She's a sleek machine that has none the less been cobbled together from whatever parts the Dust Tigers have been able to get their hands on. A bit on the skinny side for a bike, but she's enough.

The Gang: The Dust Tiger Boys, the Boys, the Dust Tigers, the Dusty Boys. They go by a few names, but their emblem is generally accepted to be a tiger (whatever that is, some sort of mythical creature with fangs and claws, and stripes). They tend to paint stripes on everything, and if they have colors they tend to be fans of orange and red. They consist of about 15 violent bastards with scavenged and makeshift weapons and armor (2-harm gang small 1-armor).

Though small in number, they are well disciplined (Drop Savage), and they're nomadic at heart: meaning they're able to maintain and repair their own bikes without a home base (+mobile). They're not as free as they'd like, however, they have a large debt to a slaver hardhold. Luckily they're far too much trouble to try to take in, or they'd all be sold off to the distilleries.

Pack Leader I leaned against Charlie, lost in thought as the sounds of the Boys breaking camp. Actually, I could hear some of them calling, but it didn't sound urgent and I knew none of 'em would bother me until I actually acknowledged 'em. They were good lads. Well, strictly speaking not all of them were lads, but they were still good lads. I was reminiscing. Reminiscing is important sometimes, dammit! I stared at the old stained photo that I held in my hand, Charlie purring softly against my seat in anticipation of departure. I could only guess at the colors that the photo once had, everything faded to yellows and greys and browns. It was strange, Rick had always stared at the photo just like this, but I still couldn't tell exactly what he was looking for in it, I didn't really get what it was. Did he? It was small building with big windows and a wussy little picket fence around it, thing didn't look defensable at all! Must have been from the old days, before the dirt and the brown soaked into everything, back before life itself was all stained mud. Word said, back then there was more to life than the road, and you didn't have to sleep with a gun in your hand. Rick did used to go on sometimes, sounded like a bunch of myth and bluster, and then he died and I had to take over. If only I could- "Breaker! Breaker! Oy!" Sounded like Bonehead, she never did know when to shut up. She was a kid, I could forgive 'er. "What'you want Bonehead! Kent ye see I'm busy here?! You lot'd be road rabble by now if it wernt fer me!" Did'nae mean I had to be easy though. "Sorry Boss, I know I aint supposed to bother, but we got an enemy gangscrappers comin'!" Looking up at Bonehead, I couldn't help but be reminded how small she was. One of the street gangs was no place to grow up, not that she couldn't hold her own. The Boys be tough, every one of 'em. Which is also why I could never bring myself to leave her in a holding somewhere, Dust-Tiger Boys never leave a lad behind. Quickly, I loosened my magnum and machete in their sheathes and let my eyes scan toward the horizon. There was the dust cloud, heading right this way. The fog of red dust was clouding and framing the sunrise, it was beautiful. "C'm on you louts! Mount up! We got scrappers comin', lets bust some heads!" A roar of shouts and hollers acknowledged my command, and Bonehead scuttled off t'her ride. She was a good kid, if nothing else the gang kept her outa trouble with some of them seedier lowlifesjunkers, the Boys were her home. Better than some slaver hardhold of slumbags at least. Magnum in hand, I swung my leg over Charlie's back and revved her engine up. After all, home is where the heart is. Suddenly it all clicked.

[Ganguropocky]

Name: Bubblegum
Playbook: Gunlugger
Look:

-Woman. (Ah got girl parts! A'least last time Ah checked!)

-Scrounged mismatched armor. (Ain' nobody Ah know own a matchin' set'a nothin', let alone clothes! But I found some o' this an' that an' it gets the job done.)

-Scared/blasted face. (Y'know... folks used'to tell me I was all... perty like. Then came the accident... shrapnel in the face, flames... Y'know, they say ya'oughta cover up when ya play with chemicals?)

-Mad eyes. (They say... y'know... when I look a guy on the eyes... it's anough to send a chill down their spine.)

-Hard body. (Ah carry lots' a gear, y'know? So Ah'm strong! Like way strong! An' I gotta bod on me! Don' mind showin' it neither... but'cha better keep yer damn fingers to yerself!)

Bubblegum is a girl who started life with every physical advantage available to a soul these days. Unfortunately, her mind was far from well put together. One faithful day, one brought the other down with it. An... experiment... went wrong, and her good looks were taken from her.

Terrible scarring, and burns mar a shapely and powerful figure now and she doesn't bother to hide it. She wears her clothes skimpy, and armors herself with patchwork armor.

Stats: Cool +1, Hard +2, Hot -1, Sharp +1, Weird +0
Moves: Battle Hardened, Insane Like Drano, NOT TO BE ****ED WITH.

Gear: Grenade Launcher.
SMG.
Grenade tube.
Grenades.

Bubblegum's Story. Total slaughter~Total slaughter~ I won't leave a single man alive~ Mah pa' always tol' me that if yer gonna do somethin' ya aught ta set out to do it right. He also tol' me that'cha should start with broad strokes. So when I kill't 'im for tellin' me I had a sweet ass, an' tryin' to put his hands on me, Ah did it with a bang. Ol' hand grenade he kept hitched to his jacket. See, he weren't my real Pa. Don't think so anyway. But he raised me to the ripe age'a .... the age of... welp, the age when I kilt him, an' I guess that makes him muh Pa. Said he won me in'a card game 'long with a pack'a old chewin' gum from a man what seemed darn pleased to be rid of a mistake, an' a extra mouth to feed. Sum'bitch couldn' even name me proper like I aught'a been. An' how... I wondered quite a while, carryin' what I stole off my Pa's ... Well... what were left of his corpse. Tell ya what, I ain't ever imagined a man had so much meat on 'im. Ya ever eat... naw, ferget I said. Been through a handful of gangs, ya know? Here an' there. I don't tend ta last long with'um. Or maybe vise-a verse-a. Been pickin' yer boys outta my hair for about an hour now. I'll be cleanin' you outta my teeth Fer a week. You was'a fat sum'bitch... an' ya should'a shared. I ain't ate fer... well, the sun set on me a few times since! Hah! After I'm done eatin'... I s' pose I can bury ya. What's left of ya. Then, I'm gonna raid yer ride, take yer ammo... and see what I cin see~

[Skylarious]

Alright, so now let's have everyone introduce themselves by name and outlook (you don't need to list your look again, but it'd be good to have everyone distill their outlook on life into one or a few sentences). Then I have a few questions for each of you [sorry, a couple of you I'll need to get to later or tomorrow]. The answers can be as brief or detailed as you like. Feel free to fill out details about the area as you answer. And you're free to work the other PCs into your answers if they agree that it makes sense.

Questions for Life Proper
~So where do you get this luxury food?
~How do your customers pay for it?
~How long have you been running the Dining Car? Is it older than Bar Done?
~You spend much time outside your establishment?
~Who among your employees do you trust the most? The least?

Questions for Sept
~Sounds like you've been in the area for a while, with your contacts. What brought you here, and what made you stay?
~Any jobs you're particularly well known for?
~How'd you get that signature weapon?
~Who's your most lucrative employer?

Questions for Uncle Grind
~Now that Regina and Toothy are gone, who's most likely to blame you for their troubles? (Referring to want: judgment).
~How long's it been since the bus? How have you been traveling?
~Heard anything about the bus since you left?
~Since Tessie stopped sackin' with you and Regina went away, you had your eyes or hands on anybody? Starting to get the itch?

[Breaker and Bubblegum to come, as well as some instructions for working out Hx with each other]

[driftwood]

~"Ain't nobody better blame Uncle Grindme for 'er troubles! Shet. But ... I guess ... Bear talkin' to me one night, after we done and just layin' there, an' he start askin' 'bout Spit again. Used to spend a lot o' time together, Bear 'n Spit. Bear real big an' strong, bigger 'n me even. He say, he don't think it Toothy, or Regina, or Snarf even, but maybe the Song ... through me! I tell him that million-time dumb - if I can't remember that part, how could I 'av done somethin'? Dumb shet. He don't come hang no more, but sometimes I see him talkin' wi' Jasp or Tessie. But I ain't 'fraid o' him. Not even a little. Well ... maybe a little."

~"Since the Bus? Dunno rightly ... 'bout a year? More than a few months, less than a few years. We kinda got out ways o' livin' now, but still feel a bit new."
Gotta smile when I think 'bout our shetty little bus. On the Bus, steerin' wheel as big as me, but this itty-bitty little one 'bout size o' my hand. When I firs' started drivin, kept almost tippin' over on account o' spinnin' the wheel too good.
"We still drive a bus, just not The Bus. Fellas got 'er rigged up pretty nice with windows and fans, so even though bus pretty small it not smell too bad. Drives slow, turns bad, and the toilet just a hole in the floor, so we always makin' potty stops. Lotta people, gets pretty loud."
Gotta think for a sec now. Oh, yeah. "Got a pickup truck too. Jasp drive that one, sometimes Escalator ridin' shotgun, and another fella in the back mannin' the rifle mounted atop the cab. It don't always work, though. Plus, we got couple o' two-wheel trailer hitches, on account o' we gotta bring everyone's stuff wi' us everywhere we go, so we put one behind the bus and one behind the truck."

~"Yeah, we hear about the Bus. We all still miss it somethin' fierce. Wiped out a gang o' choppers and burned a hardhold not too long ago. No one messin' with the Bus." I get all sad-serious for a time. " 'ceptin the Jotch Crockeys. They fecked us up right proper. Fecked me up. If all those choppers ridin' around on big hogs makin' up for havin' tiny peckers, these guys havin' biggest gear I ever heard o' ... those some tiny bikes. Too quick to shoot - speedin' up, slowin' down, turnin' this way an' that, an' the Crockeys superfine at gunnin' while they at it. Think maybe they have their own Song helpin' 'em."

~"Uhh..." Question making me all twitchy. "Uh, yeah. Scratch that itch a lot. There Nie and Rough File, sometimes, but, uh. The main thing ... my uncle's uncle had these words, he say, Sometimes you gotta scrap the bottom o' the barrel, which I think mean you take off the bottom o' the barrel and look through at the ground and see some shet, and that pretty badtime. So, ah, under my barrel I see Snarf. Sometimes." <coughs>

[Skylarious]

Questions for Breaker
~Anyone else make a bid to take over when Rick died? Had he planned you to be his successor?
~You get in fights often with the scrappers and others? Remember who started the feud?
~How's your gang tend to make scratch? You take what you need, or do jobs for pay?
~Who in your gang do you trust the most? The least?
~You always been on the road?

[Skylarious]

Questions for Bubblegum
~You learn your skills from somebody, or does it just come natural?
~What brought you to the area? Just wanderin'?
~You ever make any friends on the road?
~What do you do for food when you're not with a gang? You take what you need, work for it, spend savings?

[Skylarious]

Hx
Hx is like your history with the other character. It's something like how well you know them, based on how much you've observed them, how open they've been, and experiences you've shared (you might hate them or love them, doesn't matter). It's asymmetric, so character A might have Hx +3 for character B and know them well, while character B has Hx -1 for character A and knows little about them. Hx can change in game. When it gets to +4, Hx rolls over to +1 (or -4 to -1) and you mark experience.

You take turns providing the Hx the other players have for you to them, based on your playbook. They often give you the option to choose one or more special bits of history. So the gunlugger for instance could choose one character who fought shoulder to shoulder with them, and that character would have Hx+2 with the gunlugger (this is the Hx the other player would put on his or her sheet, not the gunlugger's player). She could also choose one who left her bleeding and did nothing, and that character would have Hx-2 with the gunlugger. (This is a cooperative process - you can ask a player if it makes sense they did that together, and work out what exactly you think happened). Finally she could choose someone she things is prettiest for +2. She'd tell everyone else they have Hx=0 with her.

After that, the gunlugger would wait to find out her Hx with the other characters based on what they tell her - but with the tweaks noted on her sheet (in this case adding 1 to her Hx with the character she thinks is smartest).

So whoever wants to go first can start by giving their name and a brief description of their outlook on life (to make it easier for the others to see how they might have behaved toward each other so far), and then suggesting some prior experiences with the others based on his or her sheet (which the others involved can then help detail).

Make sense? let me know if you have any questions.

[MontageManiac]

I look at you with one of the best poker faces you’ve likely seen. It better be anyways, I spend a lot of time trying to hide what I’m thinking from people. It’s a survival skill out here, it’s something that helps you get some sort of advantage over the other person without putting a gods be damned gun against their head.

"My name’s Sept, and I’ll tell you one thing; there’s a lot to struggle for in this life, a lot that determines whether you survive another day or not. Those things are hard to change, and are very short term, because you have to live that way. But me? I still feel like I gotta look at the long term. If you kill a man today so that you can survive to make it to the next, but that man had a family that comes gunning for you the next day, and then they had family, and so on and so forth, well, your days are numbered nearly as much as if you had let that first man kill you that day. Chances are you’d have suffered less. So while many laugh at me, and think I’m more nuts than Uncle over there, I try to live an honourable life. I try to solve problems before they get violent. But if they get violent, I make sure they’re put down fast."

I take a moment and just look at you again, maintaining my poker face for as long as I can until the tension from the silence stretches out to a point that I determine will likely make you uncomfortable. Me? I’m just fine. I like to keep people guessing and on edge though.

"You ask a lot of questions. I’ve been in the area maybe 5-7 years. Prior to that… well we don’t need to discuss that. Suffice to say I was on my own for a long time, and needed to leave behind a lot. Travelling the vast desert was no small task, but I managed to do it. I’m in my late 20’s now… always hard to know how old exactly. Don’t think I’m quite 30. I came here because it’s one of the few places that has people who don’t wanna kill you on sight. They may after some time spending with you, but that’s likely cause you’re a frakking a**hole. The other thing that makes this place mostly livable by today’s standards is the clean water well we have. I ain’t talking a well that has no irradiated water in it but is practically mud. I mean pure, clean, fresh water. It’s one of the few things that makes me think there may be gods in the world. When’s the last time you saw pristine clean water? The well goes deep, and it’s by far one of the most valuable resources around here. You got a number of bars and restaurants circling it, including Life Proper’s place. I imagine you talk to him real soon too, huh? Nosy little…"

Before I let my temper get to me and say something I really regret, I take a moment, take a breath, and just exhale, then put on a showman’s smile and look at you again.

"Many of the reasons I stay are the same reasons I came here in the first place. Over the years I get to know more and more people. Don’t like most of them, but there’s a few who I’ve come to trust. I consider trust a high commodity. Mar, Cecilia, Roach, even Biz if I know she ain’t trying to pull a fast one on me. When you’ve got a community, even a small one, of people who you trust, and who you can rely on? That’s rare. You gotta protect that. I consider that the honourable thing to do… one of the few things I remember my parents teaching me…"

Gods be damned if I can’t look you in the eye right now. Gods be damned for bringing up these memories. Shove them in a box, lock it up, and hide that key under 20 feet of hard packed sand and salt. Frakk. Frakk me. Frakk.

I compose myself and look at you again with another poker face, listening to your questions.

"Any jobs I’m particularly known for? I try my best to keep things quiet… sometimes it just doesn’t go that way though. Yeah there was this one job that seems to have people seeking me out who aren’t even around here. This was after I met Mar, Cecilia and Roach. I took all three of them and some freelancers with me on this delivery run. You ever hear of a settlement called Wicked Tree? It’s about two weeks trip from here, heading North by North East. We had some travellers pass through here, looking for secure passage to this settlement. There was a family who was just looking to start a new life in a safe town, and then this real pompous son-of-a-sow. He was transporting something else. Somethin' in a briefcase. We load up Cecilia’s rig, Mar brings his weaponry, and Roach is along in case **** happens to the rig and we gotta find ways to fix it. He’s my scavenger you see. Can strip just about anything down, but he also has a bit of a gift when it comes to putting **** back together. Between Cecilia and Roach, they could probably build a thing of beauty if they had enough resources. There ain’t never enough resources. Point besides, we take them on this journey. It’s long, it’s hot, we have the supplies we need. We arrive in Wicked Tree, family is dropped off, their safe, and thrilled as beans. We get paid, job well done. The pompous a**-hat, says he’ll pay triple what was quoted to take him a bit further on to a secure location. I ask him where, he says it’s classified."

I can’t help but laugh at this point. This story still gives me the giggles. Mostly because I can’t believe how STUPID I could have been.

"Now, normally when someone tries to change a deal on me, I tell them to shove it and shut it, and threaten that Mar will make sure they never open it again. But I told you I had freelancer’s with me. I hired them boys, and they were itching to get a bigger payday. I couldn’t blame them. We were getting a hefty amount for all this delivery, and getting three times more on top of that to do a little more, that could get a lot of water back here. I ain’t gonna leave the boys behind either. I just couldn’t do that. They were good lads, but they didn’t know their right ass cheek from their left foot. So, despite my better judgement and experience, I said I’d take the damn job."

I sigh and lean back in the chair, biting my lower lip. Memories were flooding back in my mind and I was shaking my head to jar them loose. It was a bad job.

"I’ll give you the abridged version. After 7 weeks of being gone from here, I return with Mar unconscious and bleeding out in the back seat, Cecilia passed out in the seat next to me, banged up and bandaged, and Roach leaning on Mar in the back, uninjured, but looking pale. No freelancers. Me? I just drove us in, parked the rig. Took Mar to the doc, Cecilia home to bed, and Roach to Proper’s place for a meal and a drink. I drank my water, cleaned my equipment, and buried the briefcase in a six foot hole where only I know. Why do people know me because of this job? Because it’s the only job where I got screwed… and they heard about the nicely dressed corpse that was left in the middle of the desert, bone bleached white, on a crucifix of stripped pieces of cars, with the name Sept was here on the man’s skull."

I just look at you, and I can see from your expression where my face has gone. My eyes went dead again. Usually they’re sharp, usually they pick up on details. But I got lost too deep in that memory. Far, far too deep.

"In this world, and in my business, you need to have a reputation. People know I’m honourable. People know I stick to my word. People also know what happens if they cross me, or the people under me. Smart people do anyways."

I continue looking at you, then I grab my glass of water and drink it slow. Even when I’m upset, I know to savour each drop.

I look down at the dust covered scabbard leaning against the bar just below me as you ask about it. I place a hand on it, thinking thoughtfully, and brush my thumb against the hilt, which is flush against the rest of the scabbard.

"You want to know about Cerberus? She’s a beauty isn’t she? In a world where we scrap together anything we can just to make it functional, this is one of the few things left in this world that looks the way it’s meant to. I found her on a scavenging trip when I was just starting out. Even before I arrived here. I was looking through some ruins, and came across a gang unintentionally. Boy was I frakking stupid. I didn’t have a weapon on me. Don’t give me that look, I had my reasons… anyways.

They chased me around half the ruins it felt like, cornered me into a crumbling building. Rat trapped. That’s best way to describe it. Thinking it was going to be my last stand, I was looking around for maybe a rock, piece of rebar, anything that might give me some chance. In a patch of dust that was blown by a breeze passing through the building, the glimmer caught my eye. I go over to investigate, and it’s this beauty slightly pulled out of its sheath. The sand made it dusty, but it also preserved it from the air over the decades. Yet another miracle that makes me think there are some gods out there, just playing a practical joke on us.

I pull it out from the rubble, and it’s intact, in this hard black sheath. It’s then that I was reminded of a story my father would tell me. He knew a lot of stories. Told me a lot of them. This one had to do with a three-headed dog that guarded the gates of hell. Well, outside was an entire bike gang just waiting for fresh young meat to step outside. Seemed pretty much like hell to me. That’s when I got Cerberus. And that’s also when she and I got to know each other… very intimately."

I continue to stroke the sheathed katana under the table, my mind going elsewhere that I barely hear your next question, but when I think about it, I look up slowly and raise an eyebrow, ignoring any pretence at hiding how stupid I think the question is.

"You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you were asking me these questions to find out the lay of the land to stake your own claim. You understand you’re not moving into my territory, right? This isn’t a question of whose dick is bigger. No. This is a question of who is established where. I’m sure Wicked Tree could use someone like me, why don’t you look there next, hmm? You know who my most lucrative employer is? This community, collectively. Because they trust me, and I try and put my trust in them. I can’t stand more than half of them, and I don’t trust anyone more than what I can count on my hand, but these people are able to survive better because of me, and I do likewise by them. You try and walk in and establish that rapport. You know what creates that? Years of blood, sweat, and hard work. They know that I’ll stick to what I say I’ll do. So why don’t you finish your glass of water, and see yourself outside before I welcome you to the gates of hell?"

OOC Sorry for length response. I got on a roll. lol.

Life Proper Hx: +1

Uncle Grind Hx: +1

Breaker Hx +2 You once faced down dedicated violence to get me out of a fix.

Bubblegum Hx +1

Persimmon Hx +1

[Skylarious]

Great stuff, thanks Montage!