I grew up on the street, yanno? And I've seen me some crazy stuff. 'Specially livin' in the Hollows.
It's a nice place, really. Dunno why so many people are down on it, and lemme tell ya, that plan I've heard rumors about? The "Lake
Wincott" project? That'd cheese me off major. I like the view the way it is, dammit.
But a man's got his limits, right? Everyone does. And these new neighbors... yeesh. It's kinda noisy, an' I was just getting to the good part in
my book.
***
Tales of the Legendary: Horror Stories
"Heating Up the Hollows"
Stayin' in one place has never been my thing before now. My current digs are what I call the Penthouse Suite; used to be some sorta office, an
insurance agency I think, but what do I know? Anyway, it's cold in winter and warm in summer and only one of the windows is open -- busted, really -- but
it's got some good things going for it too. Firstwise, the elevators in this building don't work any more, unlike most of the other buildings, and
secondly, the stairwell collapsed long before I showed up.
A little careful welding -- back in shop class, I was one of the best, but I still got a D 'cause the teach
didn't think much of mutant powers, the jerk -- and the fire door wasn't gonna open for nobody no more, and I had an entire floor to myself. Oddly
enough, it still had power, too, if you don't mind a little flickering now and then, which I'm not picky about nohow. So all I had to worry about was
them flying Outcasts, the shocker guys, and for that...
... well, old favors go a long way, yeah?
So I knew it wasn't Outcasts having fun next floor down. For one, those old favors, and for another, there were way too many moaning noises. Outcasts and
Hellions are much more into the boom, whether from a stereo or a Molotov cocktail, they don't care much. But you don't catch them moaning. Leastwise,
I sure as hell didn't want to catch them moaning, likely as not with some of them girls what hang with the Skulls or something. Yuck.
I put the bookmark in place and told the good doctor and his animals that I'd see them in a bit, and shrugged into my working clothes. I don't bother
much with a costume. A bit of black smudge across the eyes, a pair of ratty old football shoulder pads, jeans and a t-shirt, and I'm set. I sometimes
dress it up a bit with leather pants -- they handle being dragged along the ground better than jeans do, and you'd be surprised how often that happens --
but I was in a hurry tonight. Doolittle had just made it to Africa, dammit, and I wanted to see how he got away from the king.
I stuck my head through the drapes and out the window to look around and stopped. I didn't expect the sky to be... well, the only word I could think of
was blood, as in 'blood-red'. Like I says, you see some weird things living here, but nothing beats the view... usually.
Next thing I saw was a mob. And I'm talking the torches-and-pitchforks variety, excepting most were waving around superpowers instead of, y'know,
torches and pitchforks. Though I did spot a few of those in the mix, too.
And then I saw the moaners. Well, they had a lot to moan about, I guess. I'd moan too if I'd ripped myself outta the ground -- like I saw some of
them doing -- and was wandering around trying to eat brains or whatever it is they were up to.
An' then I saw one of those zombies lay into a little girl -- who, I had to admit, seemed to be enjoying the fight, but still -- and that was it. I stepped out of the window and let gravity take over, flaring my field as I fell. I'm no hero, I'm just a guy who
happens to be on fire most of the time and who likes breaking stuff, but even I know you don't step on an urchin in my town.
There are a couple fine points, I'm told, to flying and fighting with fire an' all that. That's nice. I've never been what anyone calls the
subtle sort, though, so I didn't bother with any of that crap. I let my heels open the discussion, wrapped in flames as hot as I could make 'em
without setting civvies on fire, and discovered something I didn't know before: Zombies crunch good.
I stepped out of the impact crater where asphalt and squished zombie bubbled together in an unholy soup and watched bemused as the little girl -- up close I
realized she was little-height, but not little-anything else -- wound up and punted another zombie up onto the roof of a nearby building. She dusted her hands
off and gave me a quick wink.
"Nice entrance," she says.
"Thanks?" I reply, but she's gone. Ah well. Little too lolita for my tastes, anyway.
A few minutes later and the ruckus was over. I flared my field and burnt off the goo -- handy trick if you can master it, but I lost a lot of hair the first
few times -- and stared around, puzzled.
"Hey," someone said, tugging on my sleeve and ignoring the fire which should have made them pull back a charred stump. "Wanna go
trick-or-treating with us?"
I stared down at the lolita-girl from earlier for a minute. It was Halloween already? Damn, the Doc had been gone longer than I thought. I blinked and
shrugged. "I don't have a costume..."
She looked me up and down. "You're kidding, right?" She grinned. "C'mon!"
Trick or treating... in the Hollows? Sure, it was home to me and a few others I knew, but it was also home to Trolls
and Outcasts and Skulls and Hellions and other generally nasty types.
What the hell. I needed a workout anyway.
"Lead the way," I said, and took to the air.
(edit: Interesting. Yuku ate the bottom part of this.)
This is mildly apocryphal, as Flaming Wreckage didn't participate in an invasion event in the Hollows, but the lolita-girl request for trick-or-treating?
Yeah. That happened. I wish I could remember her name, but it's been so long since I played him last that it was before I was in the habit of chatlogging
*everything*.
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
It's a nice place, really. Dunno why so many people are down on it, and lemme tell ya, that plan I've heard rumors about? The "Lake
Wincott" project? That'd cheese me off major. I like the view the way it is, dammit.
But a man's got his limits, right? Everyone does. And these new neighbors... yeesh. It's kinda noisy, an' I was just getting to the good part in
my book.
***
Tales of the Legendary: Horror Stories
"Heating Up the Hollows"
Stayin' in one place has never been my thing before now. My current digs are what I call the Penthouse Suite; used to be some sorta office, an
insurance agency I think, but what do I know? Anyway, it's cold in winter and warm in summer and only one of the windows is open -- busted, really -- but
it's got some good things going for it too. Firstwise, the elevators in this building don't work any more, unlike most of the other buildings, and
secondly, the stairwell collapsed long before I showed up.
A little careful welding -- back in shop class, I was one of the best, but I still got a D 'cause the teach
didn't think much of mutant powers, the jerk -- and the fire door wasn't gonna open for nobody no more, and I had an entire floor to myself. Oddly
enough, it still had power, too, if you don't mind a little flickering now and then, which I'm not picky about nohow. So all I had to worry about was
them flying Outcasts, the shocker guys, and for that...
... well, old favors go a long way, yeah?
So I knew it wasn't Outcasts having fun next floor down. For one, those old favors, and for another, there were way too many moaning noises. Outcasts and
Hellions are much more into the boom, whether from a stereo or a Molotov cocktail, they don't care much. But you don't catch them moaning. Leastwise,
I sure as hell didn't want to catch them moaning, likely as not with some of them girls what hang with the Skulls or something. Yuck.
I put the bookmark in place and told the good doctor and his animals that I'd see them in a bit, and shrugged into my working clothes. I don't bother
much with a costume. A bit of black smudge across the eyes, a pair of ratty old football shoulder pads, jeans and a t-shirt, and I'm set. I sometimes
dress it up a bit with leather pants -- they handle being dragged along the ground better than jeans do, and you'd be surprised how often that happens --
but I was in a hurry tonight. Doolittle had just made it to Africa, dammit, and I wanted to see how he got away from the king.
I stuck my head through the drapes and out the window to look around and stopped. I didn't expect the sky to be... well, the only word I could think of
was blood, as in 'blood-red'. Like I says, you see some weird things living here, but nothing beats the view... usually.
Next thing I saw was a mob. And I'm talking the torches-and-pitchforks variety, excepting most were waving around superpowers instead of, y'know,
torches and pitchforks. Though I did spot a few of those in the mix, too.
And then I saw the moaners. Well, they had a lot to moan about, I guess. I'd moan too if I'd ripped myself outta the ground -- like I saw some of
them doing -- and was wandering around trying to eat brains or whatever it is they were up to.
An' then I saw one of those zombies lay into a little girl -- who, I had to admit, seemed to be enjoying the fight, but still -- and that was it. I stepped out of the window and let gravity take over, flaring my field as I fell. I'm no hero, I'm just a guy who
happens to be on fire most of the time and who likes breaking stuff, but even I know you don't step on an urchin in my town.
There are a couple fine points, I'm told, to flying and fighting with fire an' all that. That's nice. I've never been what anyone calls the
subtle sort, though, so I didn't bother with any of that crap. I let my heels open the discussion, wrapped in flames as hot as I could make 'em
without setting civvies on fire, and discovered something I didn't know before: Zombies crunch good.
I stepped out of the impact crater where asphalt and squished zombie bubbled together in an unholy soup and watched bemused as the little girl -- up close I
realized she was little-height, but not little-anything else -- wound up and punted another zombie up onto the roof of a nearby building. She dusted her hands
off and gave me a quick wink.
"Nice entrance," she says.
"Thanks?" I reply, but she's gone. Ah well. Little too lolita for my tastes, anyway.
A few minutes later and the ruckus was over. I flared my field and burnt off the goo -- handy trick if you can master it, but I lost a lot of hair the first
few times -- and stared around, puzzled.
"Hey," someone said, tugging on my sleeve and ignoring the fire which should have made them pull back a charred stump. "Wanna go
trick-or-treating with us?"
I stared down at the lolita-girl from earlier for a minute. It was Halloween already? Damn, the Doc had been gone longer than I thought. I blinked and
shrugged. "I don't have a costume..."
She looked me up and down. "You're kidding, right?" She grinned. "C'mon!"
Trick or treating... in the Hollows? Sure, it was home to me and a few others I knew, but it was also home to Trolls
and Outcasts and Skulls and Hellions and other generally nasty types.
What the hell. I needed a workout anyway.
"Lead the way," I said, and took to the air.
(edit: Interesting. Yuku ate the bottom part of this.)
This is mildly apocryphal, as Flaming Wreckage didn't participate in an invasion event in the Hollows, but the lolita-girl request for trick-or-treating?
Yeah. That happened. I wish I could remember her name, but it's been so long since I played him last that it was before I was in the habit of chatlogging
*everything*.
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs