experimental. thrash. jazz.
Montreal Quebec Canada
Montreal Quebec Canada
Tales of the Toxic Transscape vol.1
The wall's the lowest-tech asset we have but the most valuable. What Jern told us. Not in a nice way either. We were all made thoroughly aware of the dangers lying in wait beyond the wall but as time passed it became clear that the wall was more to keep us in than keep threats out. We all need each other's power, true, but some of us need more than others it seems. Anyways, there's very little life of any kind left out there anymore, animal, vegetable or mineral. Actually we're damn lucky to have found the measly deposits we did scrape together and get the rusted, noisy hardware functioning, if barely. There's a well. Reasonably uncontaminated water. Enough soil and seeds to run a decent garden. Priceless hardware that was through some miracle partially fixable.Only the most tenacious autodis took the time to figure out the (incomplete) manufiles. it wasn't easy but it galvanized the community, all 31 of us (and falling, slowly but surely). No rest for the more able-bodied of us to trek for supplies, our list expanding in direct proportion to the demands of these seductive technological artifacts. We are managing ok enough to score a point or 2 with the groundbreaking ChloroSolutions. No fuss, no muss. Cleany clean clean… The System provided us some structure, something to work for beyond the tilling, pumping and hauling. Basic survival stuff. But we've walked outside the gates, rationing off the right pairs of eyes and have discovered snatches of the way things used to be. After who knows how long the two of us, Etty and I, are starting to think like optimists used to long ago before the Razings, Wastings and Reapings. We now look, furtively towards the City for hope.
Couldn't help but notes the slight widening of eyes and catch in breath when I told Skar about the generator and BioMassThermal. Shouldn't have said a fucking word. Not that the withered leg that he works so hard to conceal would get him far. Trek like that'd be the last thing he would attempt. Skar's got more pressing concerns. The cracked cityscape is barren. Almost picked clean, many districts still high-rad, infested with vermin of many kinds, not just the furry fourleg type. Skar's making headway as his operation gains convert manpower. A lot of muscle is needed to gather supplies to keep even this modest operation from barely keeping on it's feet. A grim daily routine is the norm for those nuts enough to live in the concrete jungle. Rad-resistant vines are multiplying but tough, more tree than juicy stem. Ditto the weeds, some growing man-height and defiantly hardhatting their way through the blistered asphalt roadways and sidesteps. Just trade, glean and prime in and out of your stone cold edifice to survive. As incredible as it seems that he pulled it off and as popular it's becoming as the word gets around to the far reaches, the Kinetik-Elektrik Moshpit and basement grogshop tapped him out materially and creatively and there were still not enough locals or itinerants these days to make much of an impact for The Hallowed Arms to keep going. The cityscape is in serious decay and toxic of course but a few hours, in and out, you can flush without too much anoxiaty. A few precie chlorobombs and you can have a whole floor to yourself. That's how Skar secured Hallowed Arms and painstakingly turned it into THE rock venue in… well, anywheres. This is my third time in, proud to say. First to make the crossing that many times. Trade's the key. Even if we can't afford tribute it would be unthinkable to leave empty handed.
The Vulden garbagepatch is highly coveted. It's becoming clear that the damage and loss of life and limbs is not worth the spoils, all shallow-digging metals and minerals have been gleaned by now. Lucky to get a few grams of battery acid on a good day. Amazing what people once threw away! Yet to this day the scuffles carry on, some weeks on a daily basis! Pubes, Grits, Hunns, Yeoman.. all have staked their claim and the lines drawn are constantly shifting. Especially when word gets out (it always does despite precautions). Each tribe carving out their own little stinking fiefdoms and feverishly defending their turf. If we had another choice we'd take it. Most "expansion" expeditions don't return, so they're rarely done. Vulden's still worth the hard knocks, 'spite the toll. No one goes unarmed or alone. Ditto for dirt runs. Fertile soil takes time and energy to find, dig, haul back and rehabilitate. Our greenhouses are our pride and joy and are almost giving up sirpluss. Found a lot over the years: cans, luminous, batt-cells, hard plastic, tar, grease, clothing and tecksiles, woodboard, dung, glassine, steel, kripin, tyres, a couple of times we even found intact music instruments, an intact saxhorn and a guitar!
Grok, plenn, ysidra, zesnoppel, brrtnes, WHUH that was intense. How long's it been? You gotta try it caramel tinted waves shunting you aside to a marshmallow carpet-roll on a side of pleasure-pain pangs of gooseflesh. It's a crime, what I'm doing. surplus is strictly guarded. I'm a philanthropist, though. a community morale booster. A grim eye on the hemostats and the water treaters is not going to make the boils any more attractive. The Scrip gave us more than tools for our lil' hardscrabble crippled community, I jacked enough night juice to dig deeper. I saw. And I wanted. We're not a pretty sight. not together and not 'vidully. "Good skin" is a thing out of a pfile buried at the end of a oldtimey drivebox. There's birthing needs that can use some prodding. sexkick'll do the trick. Come see me again if you got the rations to trade.
Tindra has a record boil on her neck. the few littles we still have standing point and stare just before their minders-of-the-day hustle them away with hushed, harsh tones of reprimand. The only one sadistic enough to say anything was that fucker Jern's lackey, Wilber. The bastard was jacked on juice and god knows what wise he managed to scrounge from his daily rounds of graft and stared hard at the boil, squinting like a cataract patient trying to read an onionskin hotel bible without bifocals. Straightening up he bellowed…
Couldn't help but notes the slight widening of eyes and catch in breath when I told Skar about the generator and BioMassThermal. Shouldn't have said a fucking word. Not that the withered leg that he works so hard to conceal would get him far. Trek like that'd be the last thing he would attempt. Skar's got more pressing concerns. The cracked cityscape is barren. Almost picked clean, many districts still high-rad, infested with vermin of many kinds, not just the furry fourleg type. Skar's making headway as his operation gains convert manpower. A lot of muscle is needed to gather supplies to keep even this modest operation from barely keeping on it's feet. A grim daily routine is the norm for those nuts enough to live in the concrete jungle. Rad-resistant vines are multiplying but tough, more tree than juicy stem. Ditto the weeds, some growing man-height and defiantly hardhatting their way through the blistered asphalt roadways and sidesteps. Just trade, glean and prime in and out of your stone cold edifice to survive. As incredible as it seems that he pulled it off and as popular it's becoming as the word gets around to the far reaches, the Kinetik-Elektrik Moshpit and basement grogshop tapped him out materially and creatively and there were still not enough locals or itinerants these days to make much of an impact for The Hallowed Arms to keep going. The cityscape is in serious decay and toxic of course but a few hours, in and out, you can flush without too much anoxiaty. A few precie chlorobombs and you can have a whole floor to yourself. That's how Skar secured Hallowed Arms and painstakingly turned it into THE rock venue in… well, anywheres. This is my third time in, proud to say. First to make the crossing that many times. Trade's the key. Even if we can't afford tribute it would be unthinkable to leave empty handed.
The Vulden garbagepatch is highly coveted. It's becoming clear that the damage and loss of life and limbs is not worth the spoils, all shallow-digging metals and minerals have been gleaned by now. Lucky to get a few grams of battery acid on a good day. Amazing what people once threw away! Yet to this day the scuffles carry on, some weeks on a daily basis! Pubes, Grits, Hunns, Yeoman.. all have staked their claim and the lines drawn are constantly shifting. Especially when word gets out (it always does despite precautions). Each tribe carving out their own little stinking fiefdoms and feverishly defending their turf. If we had another choice we'd take it. Most "expansion" expeditions don't return, so they're rarely done. Vulden's still worth the hard knocks, 'spite the toll. No one goes unarmed or alone. Ditto for dirt runs. Fertile soil takes time and energy to find, dig, haul back and rehabilitate. Our greenhouses are our pride and joy and are almost giving up sirpluss. Found a lot over the years: cans, luminous, batt-cells, hard plastic, tar, grease, clothing and tecksiles, woodboard, dung, glassine, steel, kripin, tyres, a couple of times we even found intact music instruments, an intact saxhorn and a guitar!
Grok, plenn, ysidra, zesnoppel, brrtnes, WHUH that was intense. How long's it been? You gotta try it caramel tinted waves shunting you aside to a marshmallow carpet-roll on a side of pleasure-pain pangs of gooseflesh. It's a crime, what I'm doing. surplus is strictly guarded. I'm a philanthropist, though. a community morale booster. A grim eye on the hemostats and the water treaters is not going to make the boils any more attractive. The Scrip gave us more than tools for our lil' hardscrabble crippled community, I jacked enough night juice to dig deeper. I saw. And I wanted. We're not a pretty sight. not together and not 'vidully. "Good skin" is a thing out of a pfile buried at the end of a oldtimey drivebox. There's birthing needs that can use some prodding. sexkick'll do the trick. Come see me again if you got the rations to trade.
Tindra has a record boil on her neck. the few littles we still have standing point and stare just before their minders-of-the-day hustle them away with hushed, harsh tones of reprimand. The only one sadistic enough to say anything was that fucker Jern's lackey, Wilber. The bastard was jacked on juice and god knows what wise he managed to scrounge from his daily rounds of graft and stared hard at the boil, squinting like a cataract patient trying to read an onionskin hotel bible without bifocals. Straightening up he bellowed…
-What was that??
-I didn't hear anything.
-uh, thought I heard something.
-tripwire's set, took half an hour to set it up so quit complaining. We're good.
-I think you know that's not def true.
-whatever, I didn't hear nothing so get some shuteye.
-THAT! you heard that right??
-what, whaddya talking about? I hear some wind that's all. What'd it sound like.
-a snarl.
-Snarl? what type
-dog, wolf, like that.
-I don't think so, this route's had no reports of canis here for..
-just telling you what I heard.
-well I didn't so chill, the tripwire…
-yeah, yeah.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*SKKHHHKH*
BzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzSQREEEEEEYUNHLEEEEEEEduntz
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*HHHnNNNnnnNNNNNNKTP!!!
BzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzXTRRKKKLNNMMXXXRRRTTTTT!!
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*SSKKKHHHHH
-I didn't hear anything.
-uh, thought I heard something.
-tripwire's set, took half an hour to set it up so quit complaining. We're good.
-I think you know that's not def true.
-whatever, I didn't hear nothing so get some shuteye.
-THAT! you heard that right??
-what, whaddya talking about? I hear some wind that's all. What'd it sound like.
-a snarl.
-Snarl? what type
-dog, wolf, like that.
-I don't think so, this route's had no reports of canis here for..
-just telling you what I heard.
-well I didn't so chill, the tripwire…
-yeah, yeah.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*SKKHHHKH*
BzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzSQREEEEEEYUNHLEEEEEEEduntz
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*HHHnNNNnnnNNNNNNKTP!!!
BzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzXTRRKKKLNNMMXXXRRRTTTTT!!
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*SSKKKHHHHH
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