MARCH TDM

[monstertruckers]

code

After tumbling through shadow you find yourself in a shrouded, ruined garage. It’s full of shattered windows and broken mechanical equipment, with all sorts of sharp edges to watch out for. Between that are strange symbols scrawled into the ground. Outside is cloudy weather and the beginnings of a storm flickering and rumbling.

Beyond the rundown garage is a rundown gas station surrounded by rolling, grassy hills. Close by is a Convoy of vehicles, either parked or driving up to station.

01: SUMMONING CIRCLE

This time the summoning circle and car garage is attached to retro diner, and an old wind turbine, barely still spinning and providing fading power. There’s also a broken radio playing a message about Nirvana and imploring people to head north. In fact, there’s a large amount of broken electric equipment in here and spitting sparks.

A fan circles overhead, stirring those sparks and creating a breeze. Trails of paper are attached to the fan, spinning lazily about. If Drifters choose, they can easily retrieve those paper talismans with little more than a slight static shock. While the paper is tattered and smeared with ink and blood, the following can be made out: “Broken in two […] Nothing to lose-“ “Moon mourns, call her down, ease her pain-“ “Need […] Better vessels from afar. Stronger souls-“ “Imbue with moon sigils, Give blessings of moon, share her pain. Put the ritual right.”

Hard to say what that all means, but it seems to have something to do with the summoning circle here. And there’s lingering power crackling through the building. The sort that makes the lights flash and flicker… And line up eerily with flashes of thunder on the horizon.

02: START UP

New arrivals will have a similar experience to before; a Convoy waiting outside for them, and a collection of vehicles, one of which feels like it belongs to them. The key to the vehicle may already be in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on their person, ever since they woke up in that garage. Either way, Drifters have the keys to the vehicle now.

…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.

03: STORM WARNING

There’s something odd in the sky; it shifts between a dark cloud, and a collection of birds. As the thing draws closer, it clearly becomes a mix of both. Car-sized, dark feathered birds and skeletal avians fly in a thundering flock, and turn the sky stormy in their wake. That alone is bad… But what’s worse is how the shiny chrome of the Convoy and vehicles draws the birds. As they dive towards the ground to snatch at the shiny metal, they pull the storm and bring a tornado with them. The Convoy does its best to anchor to the ground, but lighter vehicles and Drifters might not be so lucky.

The garage and diner takes it worst of all: the electric devices start spitting sparks and can even act as homing beacons for lightning strikes if a Drifter with electric abilities gets too close to them. Any remaining, intact windows shatter as the storm winds pick up, pelting Drifters with razor shards. And water starts pouring in, further shorting electric equipment and soaking anyone to the bone. There’s even a strange droning, siren like noise to warn about the storm and cut into one’s hearing. It’s difficult conditions for anyone caught up in the blow-out.

04: WEATHERING

Once the main force of the storm hits, the following happens:
Diversion: Those with Fast cars can drive away from the station and divert the birds. They’ll want a second Drifter to come along; either to snipe at the pursuing birds, or keep eyes on the terrain! Eventually the birds will tire or get culled enough that the storm disperses.
Updraft: There is the risk of getting swept up in the tornado winds. Damage, injuries… And a particular quirk this storm has. Drifters who spend more than a minute in the storm winds will find that they begin to take on traits from the Harpy monster. These traits increase in potency if the Drifter experiences hunger or violence. As the weather clears and days become calmer, the traits fade.
Downburst: If Drifters get slammed into the ground by the storm, or the dark birds flying about. They may also find themselves drenched with rain. Any injury they take mends quickly, but is replaced with scales, as the Drifters begin to resemble a Naga monster. These changes grow worse if they tell lies, but disperse with the storm.
BIRDS: The birds themselves are vicious: those afflicted with Naga traits are seen as prey, while Harpies are seen as rivals. The birds are deadly, but also clumsy if forced to the ground. The screens on the Convoy recommend crippling the wings before finishing the bird off on the ground.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, NAGA

This month, Drifters will have access to the serpentine Naga. On top of all Naga species traits being available, the following occurs:
+Cold Blooded: the rain and storms can potentially make Naga slow and sluggish, or inclined to sleep or seek out other heat sources to gain energy; this includes basking in body heat from others!
+Water Divert: With their water shaping, Naga can divert falling rain and even ground saturation to make the area or other Drifters more dry. They can also concentrate water into different areas, and can also change water into mist or ice.
+Blue shift: the scales of Naga become more vibrantly blue, or a strange mottled combination of blue and stormy gray, the more intense the rains become. These scale colors can also reflect their moods.
+Extra arms that are painful and disorienting to grow, and can result in coordination issues.
+Scale Pains: Pain and discomfort when scales grow in, as well as fangs or talons!
+Water glide: during floods from the rains, Naga find they can easily traverse deep water as though they were simply walking (or slithering) across it.
+Thermal vision, making it easy to track others in the middle of storms. Vision may also become disorienting, and eyes become slitted.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, HARPY

The storm will bring a second monster this month, in the form of Harpy. On top of all Harpy species traits being active, the following occurs:
+Storm Rider: high agility and capable of flying through the storm winds without hindrance. Even tornadoes can be mastered!
+Feather pains: itching, or full pain when growing feathers or wings. Talons may also be painful when growing from fingers or from feet.
+Wind Affinity: able to shape wind, including diverting the worst of the storm winds, or summon and focus wind into razors.
+Warbling Voice: words may waver and slip into something more songlike, or even a damaging sonic scream if emotions are heightened.
+Height Call: a need to get higher into the air, whether through perching on buildings or the convoy, or through flight. A sense of euphoria as they go higher.
+Nest Building: a compulsion to create a nest out of spare and soft objects, and feeling more safe inside that space.
+Heightened vision like a bird of prey, able to pick out details even at great distance. This may be disorienting at first, as vision becomes telescopic.

05: RAIN, SHINE, OR SALVAGE

Upon culling enough birds, the storm disperses. The monster avians dissolve as they drop into streams of energy, feeding into Drifter Sigils and providing limited healing. And handful remain intact when they hit the ground and can be harvested for meat, feathers, and possibly even talons.

There is one extra problem, in the form of falling debris. After being pulled up into the sky, wreckage (and possibly stray Drifters) are going to drop back down. It’s advised to look out for falling objects and people. It might be possible to salvage something in the form of scrap metal for any vehicle repairs, but such a task requires two.

06: STORM SHOT

The storm can be dispersed in one of two ways. One is waiting the storm out. The second is a battered collection of machines melted into the roof of the garage and gas station. When touched they burn the hands of Drifters, but also fire a jolt of lightning into the storm. One shot lessens the effects of the storm, repeated shots completely disperses the weather.

In the aftermath of the storm, something different rains from the sky in the form of glowing, quicksilver feathers. These feathers can suppress one avian or serpentine trait for a month, and can also drain away any Naga or Harpy changes from the event completely.

Alternately, the feathers will allow Drifters to temporarily access flight for one day. Doing so completely robs the feather of its magic: only one effect can be chosen from a feather.

MICRO ENCOUNTERS:

PLEASE NOTE! These are small bits of set dressing for players to include in threads if they wish, rather than full fledged prompts or events. You may handwave your exploration of these areas, or thread them out.

Windy Days: Preceding the storm are gales of strong winds, enough to stagger Drifters or send them staggering into other people or other vehicles.

Diner Is Served: While the retro diner attached to the garage has only limited food stores, curiously there is a respectable amount of cooking equipment that can be plundered. Portable stoves, pots and pans, spoons, and the like are all available for the taking.

Fading Storm: In the aftermath of the storm, the garage and diner look like they’re on their last legs, barely held up by their shelving. Anyone who wants to try salvaging had better move fast and carefully, before the entire thing comes crashing down.


NAVIGATION || RESERVES || APPLICATIONS

Comments

Start Up

[lonedanger]

Nope.

[ Len pops the P with tremendous, lingering relish, having managed to eavesdrop by virtue of making his way down the convoy line. Hard not to comment on questions posed to the thin air, though the specificity of the subject matter is what has him screeching to an unceremonious halt in front of the man just trying to change his damn tire.

The coveralls are vague, no insignias, and slightly too small for the frame of the guy wearing them. It isn't the first time since Len woke up here a couple hours ago that he's been oddly tickled the find something familiar. ]

Just gasoline and a prayer.

[ Len braces his hands on his hips, leaving the Pip-Boy on his wrist an obvious target of interest for someone who might recognize it. He tests the waters. ]

Whereabouts are you from?

[androidvictoriam]

[ There are levels of unfamiliarity to this whole situation, and one tends to try to assume the least bizarre explanation possible for any given weird occurrence. Or one does if one thrives on order and regularity in the way Danse does, anyway. It's still easier, given what he's seen thus far, to assume he hasn't been flung that far afield, with technology he already knows can do such a thing.

But for all that, it's still an unexpected relief to see something as recognizable as a Pip-Boy. He tilts his head, inclined to regard the stranger with slightly less suspicion than he's extended others so far. ]

The Commonwealth. Up from the Capital Wasteland.

[ Not "Boston," or "Washington D.C.," likewise testing. The further away from an area one gets, he finds, the likelier people seem to call it by its pre-War name, and he doesn't often see people dressed like this man. It'll come as a shock to him the first time he realizes anyone might come from a different time than his own. ]

Gasoline and prayer have both been in short supply there for a pretty long while. What about you?

[lonedanger]

[ Smart response. Someone who didn't know any better probably wouldn't be able to clock the effort to suss out more information. It becomes a little bit of a game of chicken, after a certain point. Who knows what. What entities a man works for. Whether he enjoys killing people for sport.

That sort of thing. ]

Mojave Wasteland.

[ The capital. Len's never been that far, but in fairness, few people in the southwestern territories probably have. Usually the only folks crossing the former contiguous United States are folks who don't have to walk, and they're typically not welcome in his little stretch of Heaven. The scrutiny with which he pinpoints the man subsides into a cheeky grin.]

East-coaster, huh? Heard it gets colder than a witch's tit out there.

[androidvictoriam]

[ It's a rusty skillset for Danse, the kind of thing he would have disdained as "subterfuge" a month ago, accustomed as he's grown to being completely upfront about anything he damn well pleases because nobody outside the Brotherhood has the power to pose a threat. One gets used to thinking of that as the moral option, of anything less as dishonorable.

But here, alone, unarmored and barely armed, he's as vulnerable as the Rivet City junk dealer he was a lifetime ago, fending off switchblade robberies with varying degrees of success and needing a man like Cutler to watch his back. Here, he has to remember how to ingratiate. At least there's something charming enough about this man's smile to make Danse feel a little more like he wants to--but that's as much a reason to be wary as it is a reason to lean in. ]

You're not wrong. It's not so bad down in the Capital, but one Commonwealth winter was enough to last me a lifetime. I imagine you'd enjoy it even less, if that's where you're coming from.

[ He's always had some vague romantic notions about that region, based on what little he's seen of media that's mostly pre-War anyway, but it doesn't do to say stupid things about cowboys when trying to suss out a stranger. He glances back at the Pip-Boy. ]

I take it you didn't come by that in an operational vault.

[lonedanger]

[ It becomes an immediate relief to be able to speak on roughly the same wavelength, even if the brick shithouse in the too-tight coveralls happens to be from the opposite side of the country. It's a better frame of reference than knowing nothing at all about a person. Commonwealth could be a couple options, but it's safe to say it's cold and north of D.C. Len tips his head toward the Pip-Boy on his wrist. ]

This? Nah. I ain't one of those vault dwellers.

[ He says, with only a small amount of disdain for the suggestion that he might look like somebody freshly green behind the ears. ]

Consolation prize I got from a nice doctor for getting shot in the head and being a model patient.

[ Which isn't...entirely untrue. ]

[androidvictoriam]

[ Danse doesn't even know Len's name yet, and already the closest he can imagine this guy getting to a vault would be picking up that Pip-Boy off an unfortunate ex-dweller's body. His suggestion had been more to ascertain how dead the vault-dweller might already have been before surrendering the device, but that story knocks him for a visible loop.

Presuming that it's true, but it sounds almost too crazy not to be. ]

You don't say.

[ Were he not keeping up a deliberate attempt at professionalism, that would have been a "goddamn," and sounds like it. He scans Len's face in far closer detail than he had before--though he's already given it a bit more lingering of a look than he usually does, at that smile--and notices the scarring to back that tale up, raising his eyebrows even further. ]

It's a shame I can't buy you a drink to hear that story.

[lonedanger]

Ain't much to it.

[ Len shrugs. Even the abridged version that particular tale is simple enough, despite lacking some contextual details. He just isn't in the business of trading something for nothing, particularly with the offer of a drink on the table. After all this, they could use one. He saunters closer at a leisurely pace, conversational- ]

But tell you what: you find some liquor at our next pit stop? I'll give you that story.

[ -and stopping just a couple feet away, extending a hand. ]

Len Darin. Courier.

[androidvictoriam]

[ Courier. Well, Danse supposes he can believe that, though it says nothing about what else Len might be in addition to a courier, and he suspects that may be the point. It's not as if this garage is a compound he's obligated to defend, or as if he himself has anything in particular that anyone else would want at the moment. The need for suspicion is low.

He stands up as Len advances, out of quick reflex rather than politeness, and ramrod-straight in his posture. The hand, though, is accepted without pause. ]

Danse.

[ It's the first time in fifteen years he's actually had to introduce himself to anyone without a title to preface that or an organization to tack onto the end, and the slight hesitation suggests that it doesn't feel right or comfortable, but it is what it is. ]

You've got yourself a deal. [ He's not a stranger to drinking alone, but there is something about this guy that makes Danse think it would be more fun to share a find like that than keep it to himself. ]

If I had anything else on hand, I'd ask your going rate for helping me with this tire.

[lonedanger]

[ Danse stands like a military boy, and it's very possible that he was. Plenty of former NCR Rangers wander the wasteland, not even taking into consideration that there are sparse pockets of the Brotherhood, camps of the Legion scattered across the desert. He can only imagine how many other region specific groups there are on the east coast. ]

Oh, that I can do pro bono.

[ He quips, feeling audacious enough to wink mischievously at him. With all of this abundant free time, there's no sense in letting some poor, handsome bastard suffer, especially when they all need to have working vehicles to keep pace out here.

Len jerks his chin toward the flat tire and the small pile of tools Danse had been using. ]

You get the lug nuts off yet?

[androidvictoriam]

Pro bono, huh? Good of you.

[ Danse is not always a guy who recognizes teasing or flirtation, let alone double entendre. But neither is it always lost on him, either, particularly when accompanied by a wink that brazen.

It's the sort of thing he's encountered often enough from civilians, for one reason or another--trying to charm their way into lenience for some transgression against the Brotherhood, or hoping he'll let his guard down enough that they can sneak away with supplies or information they shouldn't have, or sometimes just trying to get a rise out of him for their own amusement like he's a stone-faced guard at the old British palace he once read about in one of Quinlan's books. If this is anything, he assumes it's that.

But it still works. He hates that it works. His lips twist into a little smile of their own accord before he looks away, having to remember now where he even was with his progress on the tire. ]

I've got all but one that won't budge. I think it just needs a bit more torque.

[lonedanger]

[ There are no immediate supplies with which he could sneak away, nor is there a strong desire to ruin a stranger's afternoon, exactly - to Len, it feels a little bit like getting back into form, establishing some normalcy. Charming a man with the mass and presence of a brick shithouse falls into that category, and if the worst that happens is that someone tells him to piss off, well.

Things could be more catastrophic. ]

Might could use some decent leverage. [ Len tips his hat up his forehead, examining the offending equipment. ] Saw a proper tire iron back in the garage. Probably do you better than that wrench and your brute strength.

[androidvictoriam]

[ There's just something about the way Len talks that falls pleasantly on the ear, his turns of phrase just a little exotic and unexpected--not exactly the way people talk in old cowboy holotapes, because Danse imagines nobody really does talk like that, but close enough to evoke them. It's nice. Nice enough to want to hear more of, and certainly to give Danse a reason beyond mere courtesy not to tell him to piss off. ]

Been a while since I ran up against anything I couldn't brute-force if I had to, but you're right.

[ If nothing else, he can find some gallows humor in the fact that a stuck flat tire is now such an apt metaphor for his entire life. He doesn't take long to locate the tire iron, because it would be a disappointment to come back and see that Len's found something better to do after all, and sets about loosening things with more finesse this time. It's not so much his forte. ]

You know, I've only ever known a few people from out west, but the one thing they always tell me is that you have better music than anything on our airwaves.

[lonedanger]

[ Len doesn't bother offering to help in the immediate sense - partly because it'd be insulting to suggest someone Danse's size couldn't handle it, and partly because there's such a thing as too many cooks in the kitchen - but he does loiter about until the man returns, tire iron in hand. He crouches in solidarity for the effort, however, sensing that the company is enough to assuage Danse's crawling annoyance at the circumstances. ]

We got decent tunes, though I'll admit I'm biased.

[ He observes amusedly, sliding an upturned hubcap over to him to catch the nuts and bolts. Len isn't familiar with much more than local radio; disc-jockeys are few and far between even when there's a working tower in proximity. But Mr. New Vegas dominates the tri-state area. ]

You a country connoisseur, Danse?

[androidvictoriam]

[ The fact that Len has stuck around elevates him another notch or two in Danse's esteem, and he relaxes just a tiny bit further into the flow of the conversation as they work, catching the hubcap easily just as he happens to need it. ]

Only when I used to get lucky enough to pick up broadcasts from Appalachia, and that wasn't easy. Up north, you can forget about it. All they play on Commonwealth stations is jazz, more jazz, and colonial-era fiddle solos.

[ Even when he's not mentioning the Minutemen, it is a universal constant that Danse will find some way to mock them. ]

I would be if I could, though. No bias in having good taste. You much of a music guy, then?

[lonedanger]

[ Appalachia. He's heard that before, yet another thing that sounds vaguely familiar. Mountain people, though the mountains are a lot less severe than the ones they have north of the Mojave. ]

Jazz ain't too bad, we get some of that and plenty of swing out in Vegas.

[ He's partial to Bobby Darin over Frank Sinatra, but that may be same surname bias talking. Colonial-era fiddling sounds godawful.

Elbows braced on his knees, Len laces his fingers together. The picture of (relatively) polite respect while he somehow manages to avoid lending a hand - not that he thinks there's much he could do anyway, until the tire is off. Danse seems like he has the manual labor thing pretty well-handled, and Len won't persuade him otherwise. ]

But I like music, yeah. Do a bit of it myself here and there, when I can find an intact guitar. [ It is heavily implied that those moments are few and far between. ] Used to pick up gigs in New Reno when I needed the caps.

[androidvictoriam]

Really?

[ The surprise in Danse's voice is mild, because it's not a far jump to make when he's already been idly noticing how enjoyable Len's voice is, but it's not something he would have assumed, either. Never having encountered a guitar in any condition throughout his years as a trashpicker--even in the false memories, let alone the real ones--he knows precisely how few and far between those moments must be, but it's a hopeful thought nonetheless. ]

Well, you never know what we might come across in a place like this. I've been here about an hour and I'm already sick of this "Nirvana" drivel, so I doubt anyone would object to you providing an alternative.

Not that I've heard you, but if people pay you for it, I'll trust their judgment.

[ The tire is finally in a position to be pried off, and Danse sets to it, muscles straining with a grunt before it finally pops free. He doesn't actually mind Len being more moral support here than physical assistance, though now he could use the extra pair of steadying hands as he reaches for the spare. ]