Roland
Elite Warrior
Posts: 95
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Post by Roland on Jun 22, 2009 19:50:47 GMT -6
When Roland awoke, he found himself on a bedroll in a small room, a thin sheet thrown over him to act as a blanket. Surprisingly, there were no signs of the hangover he’d been expecting. The way he’d felt the night before, he’d been prepared to feel horrible…instead, he felt alright, as though he’d barely been drinking.
Deciding he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, Roland stood and stretched, his back popping in several places. The bedroll he’d fallen asleep on was really little more than a sheet with a rolled up towel sewn on the act as a pillow. He remembered similar accommodations around the time he joined the Reclaimers, and also remembered the way his neck and back would be stiff for most of the following day. That was one part of this mess that he was definitely not looking forward to.
Speaking of…what had he gotten himself into last night? Lack of a hangover aside, his memory of the previous night’s events was a bit sketchy. He remembered the way he’d broken the bartender’s hand, remembered speaking to the crowd in the bar…at some point after that, he remembered the boys in the purple scarves offering a place to sleep. Something about them being ‘interested in his potential.’ He’d accepted, and the next thing he remembered was waking up.
A knock at the door brought him back to the present, and he noticed one of the boys who’d invited himself and Scrap to stay with them standing in the doorway. He gestured for Roland to follow. “Come on. You slept right through breakfast. The boss wants to see you.”
Roland followed quietly, wondering in the back of his mind where Scrap had wound up.
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Post by scrap on Jun 22, 2009 19:51:44 GMT -6
Scrap sat alone in a large chair, processing the various behaviors he’d just witnessed. He was in what had once been a living room, but in the abandoned mansion the New Empire Gang called home, it apparently served as a mess hall or cafeteria of sorts. After they’d arrived the previous night, he’d explored the premises, inside and out. The building was in a state of serious disrepair, with the plumbing and electrical systems working only sporadically, if at all. At first glance, the walls of the structure seemed ready to collapse, but closer inspection revealed several points throughout the house where the gang had made basic structural repairs.
By the time he’d finished his explorations, the sun was up, roughly 9:00am by his figuring. He’d come back inside to be greeted by a flurry of activity as the gang members awoke and prepared their morning meal. He’d stayed out of the way, simply observing the way they rummaged through the cupboards until they found something edible, then scrambled to find a place to sit and eat. The kitchen seemed fairly well stocked with non-perishables, with some fresh food in the refrigerator, which apparently ran independently of the building’s electrical system. A dedicated generator, perhaps.
Breakfast had been a circus of different human rituals and behaviors. Referencing what he’d learned so far about human activity, he was able to identify visually which of the gang members were new recruits, and which were held in high or low regard by the group as a whole. Throughout, however, he noted the presence of a very strong social bond between all the gang members, comparable to that of a classical family unit. He found this very interesting, and it made him ever more curious, both about the way the gang members related to one another, and about human behavior as a whole. So, when breakfast had ended, he’d sat down in the first available seat and shut down all but his most basic external functions, combing through the data he’d gathered in great detail.
Due to the partial shutdown, however, he was unaware of the entrance of a small group of gang members, led by a man with three bandanas, one around his neck and another around each forearm. The man shouted a few insults at Scrap, before gesturing to the three men he’d brought with him. When moving him proved unsuccessful, however, they simply pushed the chair off to the side of the room, pulling another in to take its place by the dark, ash-filled fireplace.
As Darian Gray sat down in the replacement chair, he scowled at the robot in the bowler hat. He’d started the New Empire Gang to try and take back the City, get it organized under one rule so it could start really rebuilding itself. He’d done it because, after seeing his home ruined during the second half of the War, he wanted to bring back some of its former glory. He most certainly hadn’t done it just so a malfunctioning AI with a stupid-ass hat could steal his favorite armchair.
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Roland
Elite Warrior
Posts: 95
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Post by Roland on Jun 22, 2009 19:55:06 GMT -6
Roland was led down a long hallway, down a flight of stairs, and down another long hallway before entering the kitchen of the house. From the size, he guessed it was a mansion of some sort, and from the state of the building, he had to guess that it had been abandoned for some time before this ‘New Empire Gang’ had moved in. Overall, he was unimpressed.
From the kitchen, he was led through what he supposed had once been a dining room, and into the living room of the house. Apparently, it served as a combination meeting room/cafeteria/common area for the group. It was a long room, roughly 25 feet across the short end, and easily twice that down the long side. At the far end of the room, opposite where he’d entered, a fireplace dominated the wall, though it looked as though it had gone some time without use. Looking around the room, he noticed a bowler hat peeking over the back of a chair that had been turned to face the corner, and sighed. It seemed that he’d found Scrap.
However, his attention was quickly drawn from the oddly-behaving robot to a chair by the long-dead fireplace. Its occupant had turned his head when they’d entered the room, and as they approached, he stood and faced them, his hands clasped behind his back.
Standing roughly 6’2”, the man was slim, although the way he carried himself suggested that his frame carried a good deal of muscle. He was dressed simply, but also very formal compared to the other gang members he’d met. Black shoes and simple black dress pants, a button-up white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a dark grey vest. Adorning this outfit were three dark purple bandanas, one covering his head, and one tied around each of his upper arms. His face showed some minor signs of age, but he was clean-shaven, and Roland guessed that he was no older than 30.
Unclasping his hands, Darian stepped towards Roland, extending a hand. “Name’s Darian. Darian Grey. You’re in the company of the New Empire. I’ve heard you have a gift for words. That’s a gift I’d like to make use of, if you’re willing to share it.”
After grasping Roland’s hand in a firm handshake, Darian turned and walked back to his seat, gesturing towards a second chair that had been moved into place on the opposite side of the fireplace. “Sit. We have much to discuss. I have a few offers that I think will interest you greatly, and I’d like to learn a bit more about you, personally.”
Roland sat in the chair he was directed to, glancing over at Scrap as he noticed that the machine hadn’t moved since he’d entered the room. However, Darian made a good first impression, and Roland’s interest in his ‘offers’ far exceeded his curiosity about Scrap’s behavior.
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