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Author Topic: The Extended Steam Salon  (Read 99296 times)
The Abiliegh
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Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #250 on: June 18, 2009, 03:32:13 am »

sidebar: And the photos are wonderful, Sgt.Major, darling Smiley
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Action! Adventure! Possible Harlotry!
Abis do it for SCIENCE!
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MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
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United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #251 on: June 18, 2009, 03:53:26 am »

MW laughed, and said, "I think its just two flesh wounds. What're the odds?" He grabbed the side of the newspaper machine and hauled himself up to a sitting position, and then with Tommy's help, up on two feet, and limped over to the nearest free booth. But the pants, dammit! cost me ten dollars only a month ago!h fingered the holes, all four of them, figuring they had to have been made by .45s or bigger. he pulle dout a handkerchief that looked as if it were made from an old tablecloth, and a big folding jack-knife, pressed teh button and the knife sprang open.

He cut-ripped the hankie into two long pieces, one of which was cut again into four quarters, each quarter used to plug the holes in his leg; he used the other half to bind up the resulting dressing. Rough, and probably wildly improper, medically speaking, but it worked. "Anybody got an aspirin?" he asked.
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Walk softly and carry a big banjo...

""quid statis aspicientes in infernum"
Sgt.Major Thistlewaite
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I am, therefore I think.


« Reply #252 on: June 18, 2009, 04:45:27 am »

Sidebar: Thank you, Abi....I already had most of what I needed to put together Tommy's outfit..the double-breasted coat I got at the Goodwill for $1.50. The machine-gun I made from scratch..I posted about the construction in "All Them Guns" in Tactile..took two days to make it, and it came out really well, if I do say so myself. It is made of solid wood. In order to keep us "Forum legal," I have gone back through the story and edited out in reference to it being a "Thompson," since that gun wasn't produced until 1919...5 years past the "cut-off point" in the BG rules..although I believe those have been modified, now. Instead, I have simply referred to it as a machine-gun, and in one case a Tommy-gun, which can be explained thusly; Developed by Iron Furnace Arms & Armour, it is a forerunner of the Thompson...developed by Thistlewaite himself for the American market in 1912,(Thistlewaite did not move himself and Iron Furnace A&A to America until after the Great War, before that he was in Great Britain) its official designation is Thistlewaite's Original Military Machine-Gun, Yankee Model 1913..which puts it neatly within the spirit and the letter of BG rules. Also nicknamed the Tommy-gun from its acronym, T.O.M.M.Y. Model 1913. Wink We shall assume that Thompson took advantage of Thistlewaite's design, without quite infringing on his patents. The picture of the outside of the Salon, with the "Cocktails" sign, is the result of BG being down for much of last night and part of today...at least I was able to use the time constructively. Grin I encourage others participating here to do photos, illustrations, and other add-ons, as I feel that it always adds to a story to have some visual aids. I would be happy to do illustrations of the other characters and their equipment etc. if anyone wishes..I've got a pretty good mental picture of MW's airship, for instance, but would not presume to execute a picture without his input. And now, back to the story..... Smiley
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Yet well thy soul hath brooked the turning tide, with that innate, untaught philosophy,Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, is gall and wormwood to an enemy.
The Abiliegh
Zeppelin Admiral
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United States United States


Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #253 on: June 18, 2009, 05:24:38 am »

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Sgt.Major Thistlewaite
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Gibraltar Gibraltar


I am, therefore I think.


« Reply #254 on: June 18, 2009, 05:55:32 am »

(Excellent!  Cheesy)

"Here you go, Sir!" Clark has resumed his position behind the bar, and he efficiently provides two aspirin and a glass of water to MW. "Professor, MW...now that Clark and the Timepiece doohickey are back, I've been wondering," Tommy pushes his fedora back a bit with a thumb, and rubs his jaw. "Is there any sort of...I dunno...a recorder or somethin' on that thing..so we could mebbe figger out where and when it's been...before Brandsson got ahold of it, I mean.... mebbe it could give us a clue where ta look for him and Mrs. Cross. Other than fer Warehouse 14, I don't know where else these guys hole up...and we can't go back there ta look for clues, the Feds are crawlin' all over th' place. If Blondie over there comes to," he motions towards Honey," mebbe she could help us out...but mebbe she's gotten scared so bad that she won't...or can't." He pulls out a Camel, and lights it. "We're at a real disadvantage- based on what just happened, they know right where ta look fer us, and we don't know how ta return th' favor."
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OldProfessorBear
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« Reply #255 on: June 18, 2009, 06:12:56 am »

"True," said the Professor, "assuming, as would be prudent, that the perpetrators of that incident a few moments ago are indeed connected with the Warehouse 14 thugs."

He looked at Brantley, saying, "I do appreciate your timely return; it saves me a lot of work."

To the company at large he said, "If they know where we are, they will be back, so it might be a good idea if we were elsewhere -- or elsewhen -- before they return."

Turning again to Brantley he asked "What do you think?"
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MWBailey
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"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #256 on: June 18, 2009, 07:30:08 am »

"Thank you, clark, " Brantley said, and continued, "I think that the Good Professor is correct," Said Brantley. i also think that Mr. Gunn's idea has a great deal of merit as well. Most devices of the sort that we sent Clark back with, and that I use,"  he tapped the breast pocket of his waistcoat, "do tend to record their past journeys, be it with a built-in recording mechanism, or through a process involving interaction with the energies and stresses encountered during inter-temporal operation, and the marks and resonances they leave behind."

He took from his pocket the cigarette-case device, touched a series of tiny studs and toggles, and the sound of the diesel starting up again out back could be heard; inwardly he heaved a sigh of relief. So Pulcifer had installed the remote wiring, after all. MW pressed another series of studs; the mooring lines were let go, sheared away at the winches to which they were attached by mechanical scissor-like devices built onto the winch mechanisms. As it had before, the "tiny"(compared to most of it's contemporaries; it was still pretty big compared to the salon and  Tommy's Buick) airship flew around to the front of the salon, and set down on the wide sidewalk-and-gutter outside, the engine winding down to a low, truck-like idle.

"I believe we can fit everyone, including miss Honey, there, on board my airship. Its not very big, but the cabin is relatively roomy. A word of warning, however: once we get under way, it would be highly inadvisable for anyone to try and leave the ship, since (1.) you would probably fall to your death, and (2.) the ship will be out-of-phase with the rest of this reality, so you could conceivably end up anywhere, or anywhen. There is equipment on board that can be used to track down Mrs. Cross, and the Capn."

"Now, If someone will carry Miss Honey?  he said, as he rose from the booth, "Don't worry about me, I'm fine. I've been wounded much worse than this." They exited the salon, MW going first and vaulting over the gunwale of the scow, then raising a ramp on the inside of the boat, and throwing out and settling into place another, longer one outside, so the others had only to walk up and down  the gangway and into the scow.

"Mind those deck guns," he said, gesturing at the odd, lumpy pieces of ordnance that crouched at 'midships and bow, behind their gun-port covers, looking like overgrown, grotesque peppermill pistols attached to a mechanical fire-control system. "I don't think they'd go off if you bumped them, but I'm not completely sure about it." He said, as if he really weren't sure of that eventuality. He walked back into the cabu=in once everyone was aboard, and turned the crank on the chrono-jumper the first tim eto start the static lectri current, then set the toggles and dialed the phase he wanted, and turned the crank again; again the universe turned on three axes around the blimp, but slowly this time, and continued to do so.
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OldProfessorBear
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« Reply #257 on: June 18, 2009, 08:08:34 am »

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The Abiliegh
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Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #258 on: June 18, 2009, 04:36:44 pm »

Chink-whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

She smiled, a coquette look in her eyes to mask her thoughts.

Chink-whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Whomever... whatever... was behind the lights wasn't entirely human. The clockwork noises gave it away.

Chink-whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

It was pacing. She watched the shadow, heard the steps.

Chink-whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

"You know, mister..." she purred "we're at a stalemate 'til ya tell me who you are or what ya want with me."

Chink-whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

She had to assume the gun was still trained on her. "I'm willing to play nice."
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Sgt.Major Thistlewaite
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I am, therefore I think.


« Reply #259 on: June 18, 2009, 06:17:44 pm »

Tommy speaks up," I think maybe Clark should stay here, make sure we don't lose our home base...Clark, does this place have any security, like fer when it's closed?" The mechanical bar-keep answers, "Yes, Sir, it does...there is only the one window..." Clark pulls a lever behind the bar, and a steel shutter slides into place over the front window. The lighting automatically brightens as the room goes dark. Clark continues, "The front and rear doors appear to made of oak, but they have steel cores. When locked down, this Salon is almost impregnable. Additionally, if someone will press this button..here.." The mechanical marvel presses a place under his right arm, and another small port pops open, revealing a red button inside. "...then I go into 'guard' mode, and will actively oppose any unrecognized intruders. I cannot activate this myself, my programming prevents it..I am more 'service' than 'combat' oriented, but when in 'guard' mode, I can function in the capacity of a bouncer." Tommy nods, "Perfect. Should Mrs. Cross or the Cap'n return on their own, Clark can let 'em in...otherwise, the place should stay secure." Tommy crosses the room, picks up the limp form of Honey, and carries her out to MW's craft, setting her down carefully in the cabin at the rear. As the others are boarding, he says to the Customs man, "Hang on a sec, I need ta get some stuff outta th' Buick." Going back down the ramp, he retrieves the machine-gun and the sniper rifle from the back seat of the Buick, and then goes around and unlocks and opens the trunk. Inside are two cases, mahogany and brass, with Iron Furnace Arms & Armour engraved into the lids. He opens one of the cases, and replaces the machine gun and the rifle into the velvet lined cut-outs designed to hold them. The two cases were a graduation present from Tommy's Great-Uncle, the man after whom he was named, Thomas Elihue Thistlewaite, the founder and owner of The Iron Furnace. Thistlewaite is T.E.'s maternal Grandmother's brother. A great believer in self-reliance, these two cases are the only thing the Baron has ever given Tommy, although the old man is fabulously wealthy. The cases contain a full set of all the personal arms manufactured by I.F.A.&A. at the time Tommy graduated from the Police Academy...he's had them for 28 years. The cases contain, in addition to the machine-gun and the sniper rifle, two huge .50 caliber revolvers, two pocket revolvers, two shotguns, double-barreled, one of which is a side-by-side, the other an over-and-under, and an eight bore elephant gun. There are pockets and cut-outs for all the tools and ammunition required for the weapons, as well. Significant by absence, there is no automatic pistol. Thistlewaite is something over a hundred years old, though he appears no older than fifty..Tommy has never known his appearance to change...nobody really knows how he does it, but he appears to be ageless. The Baron has never manufactured an automatic pistol, considering them unreliable. When Tommy inquired about the lack, the Baron replied, "Pah! New-fangled! A revolver will never let you down, boy! Wheel guns don't jam!" Tommy later acquired his Colt .45 auto, and, despite his Great-Uncle's opinion, he prefers it, particularly in a shoulder holster. In any case, all the weapons in the two cases are of exquisite manufacture. Tommy closes the cases, and hefts them out of the trunk..no mean feat, as they weigh well over a hundred pounds apiece. He sets them on the ground for a moment, and locks up the Buick. Picking up one in each big hand, he walks back up the ramp onto Brantley's airship, and sets them down on the deck. "Ready," he says simply.
« Last Edit: June 18, 2009, 06:26:53 pm by Sgt.Major Thistlewaite » Logged
The Abiliegh
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Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #260 on: June 18, 2009, 09:01:10 pm »

"Nice, you say?" He stopped walking, and it appeared that he turned to face her. "You've never played nice..." His arm moved, and she heard the sound of metal on flesh. "But I s'pose that's an offer I cannot pass up."

Suddenly, the spotlamps went out, their bulbs fading behind the colored spots in her vision. There were hands on her before she had a chance to adjust. Her arms were held tight against her body, and she could feel metal bits pressing into her back.

Overhead lights began to illuminate slowly, and she turned her head. She knew those eyes. Oh god, she knew those eyes. No one else could look so incredibly hateful and charming like he could.

But those eyes were nearly all she recognized. A bit of his face remained... the mouth and chin, those lips, the right portion of his upper jaw and eye socket... but the rest...

Raw, intricate clockwork made up the rest of his visage. No attempt had been made to smooth out his appearence, to make him look more normal. Seeing and feeling what she could of the rest of him, she supected that the majority of the work had been done to his face and skull, but she could safely assume that there were other parts of him that were brass and steel as well.

She stiffled a wimper as he smiled. She stiffled a scream when he kissed her.
« Last Edit: June 18, 2009, 09:17:19 pm by The Abiliegh » Logged
MWBailey
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United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #261 on: June 19, 2009, 01:02:08 am »

Mw cranked the final turn on the clockwork 'jumper, and while the image of teh salon and the world around it remained visible, what appeared to be streamers of white matter streaked around and around each Axis, giving th eimpression that the Beau Rosin was hanging within an immense set of gimbals, each rapidly rotating in a unique direction.

Brantley took a leather case out of one pockety of the trenchcoat, and set up an odd contraption that seemed to be composed of three sets of nested gimbals; almost like a a demented genius's idea of an orrery, the brass base on which the brass armature and its three sets of bronze gimbals rested was precisely octagonal, and covered all ove rwith exposed bits of clockwork, toggles, tiny jewel lights, and a crank that stood up beside the odd device.

Brantley got a weirdly-shaped clamp from another pocket and clamped the device to the railing that stood in front of the ship's wheel that stood in the front center of the Cabin, before a wide window composed of many smaller panes of glass. He took out his Pocket device, set it to the exact moment within the salon at which the Cap'n and Mrs. Cross disappeared, and then cranked the gimballed scupture until all of the gimballs whirled, and tiny green static arcs ran all over the device."Don't touch this device, now, he warned, "it carries one hell of a static charge." A bell sounded within the depths of the contraption, and what looked like a small brass skillet slid out from under the device. Brantley switched his pocket device "on" and put it on the skillet. Immediately, as the scene of the Cap'n and Mrs Cross' disappearance unfolded, the machine began to draw a series of pictures, like tiny maps, with route lines superimposed upon them...
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The Abiliegh
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Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #262 on: June 19, 2009, 02:05:18 am »

sidebar: Max and Mrs Cross are not in the same place not same time
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MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
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United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #263 on: June 19, 2009, 03:55:08 am »

sidebar: Max and Mrs Cross are not in the same place not same time

Sidebar:
-I was wondering about that, thanks! that means one will have to be tracked first to find the other.

-Also: weapons can be found stashed in various places within the Beau Rosin's cabin. I wonder what you'll find...
Available unclaimed weapons
-Pulcifer, from whom Brantley got the Beau Rosin, has been a time traveler for a long time, pun not intended. Thus, the weapons could be anything from between about 1800 until about 1914, which I tend to think of as a historical and temporal hurdle for time travelers because of the gargantuan numbers of threads of causality that would be crossing over one another at that that point. (meaning that so many things changed or were altered from that point on, until around 1918 or so, that one has to travel through it instead of traveling outside of it; your history professor is/was right, a lot of different things had to happen in order for WWI to happen, and all of those threads of history were altered during the war and/or at the beginning of it).

Theory behind Chronojammers, chronojumpers, and Pocket Devices
Chronojammers
The chronojammers did so much damage because they basically locked on to one thread of causality and used that thread to steer by, and becaus ethey were essentially just pocket devices on steroids (sic) thereby also forced the other surrounding threads of causality to instantaneously alter to match the traveling thread, thus causing instantaneous and thus unstable and ultimately volatile change in those threads. This in turn caused ruptures in the fabric of spacetime. (and thus the alteration of and even destruction of standard reality.
Chronojumpers
The chronojumpers, actually just stabilized and compensated Chronojammers, still lock on to a single thread, but only trace it, instead of forcing the other surrounding threads to alter. This is accomplished, as hinted at by Brantley's manipulation of toggles and clockwork and the crank, as well as the 3-axis rotation that occurred when he turned the machine on, by "jumping over" the main target Causality Thread. The 3 axes of rotation represent the three settings necessary for the 'jumper to avoid affecting history as it passes through it. each is a thread or "sub-thread" that is used to "jump" back and forth across the travelling thread, avoiding causal resonance that might damage the flow of spacetime.
PocketDevices

Pocket devices, as stated above, are the small, hand-held, concealable devices from which the chronojammers  were first designed. The pocket devices are stable because of the small size of their Causal Release (traveling) field.the smaller field requires less power to maintain, and thus is more stable.
The Tracking Device
the tracking device uses three sets of three gimballs each, each gimball whirling in a specific and unique direction. the gimbals are electromagnetically charged, which causes them to develop an electromagnetic field when all whirling at once, which interacts with the resonances left behind by Causal-Thread Devices. Brantley's is designed with an extra feature, that of plotting the course of the main causal alteration by such a device on projected visual manifestations of the course plotted on sections of a map of the helical plane of spacetime (in other words, it's a 4-D representation of spacetime in 3 dimensions, if that makes any sense -- and even if it doesn't.).

(*ahem* please note that this is all science fantasy and that none of this resembles anything much that I have read anywhere else, or even most actual trans-temporal travel theory that I am aware of. If you can come up with a mathematical proof for it, or an actual treatise supporting it, more power to you! --but i won't be able to make head nor tail of it!  Cheesy  )
[/i]
« Last Edit: June 19, 2009, 04:21:41 am by MWBailey » Logged
Sgt.Major Thistlewaite
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I am, therefore I think.


« Reply #264 on: June 19, 2009, 05:00:12 am »

While we're doing back-story and set-up, let me add that in my conception of this particular version of space-time, we're in 1948, World War II never happened, the Great Depression lingered into the early 40's, a certain German corporal named Schickelgruber( Hitler) is remembered only because he was a fair architectural artist, and died heroically right at the end of The Great War, earning, posthumously, the Iron Cross . The Martian Wars are a whole 'nother kettle of fish.( I mention this only because Abi referenced it in the intro..so if someone later wants to write it in, it's available.) Pearl Harbor never happened, either, and the U.S. and Japan are still on friendly terms, with mutual admiration for each others cultures. No Manhattan Project, either, and no development of the Atomic Bomb...hence Tommy's awe at the vision of the waterfront exploding. In my vision of this alternate reality, oil is not the cheap and plentiful resource it is in our reality, thus the extension of steam technology into the 40's. Oil is available, just more scarce and harder to access, so Pulcifer's diesel is possible, just not common. The Communist Revolution did occur in 1917, and, politically, the Russian Communists are the Big Boogie-man, not the German Nazis, who never existed. Great Britain is still a major player on the world's stage, and the British Empire still exists.
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MWBailey
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"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #265 on: June 19, 2009, 06:13:06 am »

Okay, that still jibes with my vision; pulcifer's airship is sort of an anomaly, then. Most of its armament is probably woefully outdated (the "peppermill" cannons actually have an 1890's -era real world US Naval ordnance counterpart). if Brantley manages to install teh electric drive for the Gatling gun, that might serve as a less-outdated weapon, but by and large the ship as a whole still packs a wallop, being that its almost like an "armed" T.A.R.D.I.S. (lol).Might also be usable for trips to Mars if teh cabin can be made airtight(j/k).
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Sgt.Major Thistlewaite
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I am, therefore I think.


« Reply #266 on: June 19, 2009, 11:13:48 pm »

The airship rises smoothly into the air, as Brantley concentrates on his device, gives the wheel a quarter turn, and resumes studying the little machine. Tommy's not particularly comfortable...he doesn't much care for flying to begin with, and the whole idea of "temporal displacement" leaves him a bit unsettled. These three whirling circles of ....what....he doesn't know...doesn't think he wants to know. He grips the rail, and gazes at the ground moving below...."At least, he thinks, " I can keep a lookout for th' mugs in that Cadillac..we seem ta be headed in that general direction, and they won't have gotten too far on three wheels an' a rim..." Life has gotten a lot more complicated for the big detective since he walked into that bar with the neon "Cocktails" sign." Interestin', though..." he thinks, "Dangerous, but I ain't been bored..and we've already nailed Lipschitz an' his greasy pal Krunk, so that's somethin'...sure hope we can find Mrs. Cross..she's quite a gal." He continues to scan the territory below...at least it makes him feel a little less useless.
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The Abiliegh
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Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #267 on: June 20, 2009, 03:00:18 am »

<Flashback>
We were all there, me, Billy, Max and Larry. We were all situated around a table strewn with booze, cigarettes, guns, and money. And we were laughing.

Jazz music played in the background, and I saw myself rise from the group, hands lingering on both Billy and Larry as I walked past them, knowing looks shared.

My, how happy we all used to be.

The boys made small talk, loosely planning the next job, while I took a pull from a bottle of gin and draped myself over Larry. He rubbed my arms, a wicked smile on his face. A victorious smile.

I saw Billy looking at us. It was a look... that look... that changed everything.
</flashback>

He pulled from her, clockwork buzzing with life.

Abiliegh was breathless. "Larry.. I..."

"Larry?" He scoffed. "No one calls me that any more. Whats the term you all use these days... Lippy the Lizard, ain't it?"

"Larry... I... I'm sorry."
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MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
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United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #268 on: June 20, 2009, 04:02:53 am »

Suddenly, both the Beau Rosin and the Chronojumper mechanism began to show signs of a temporal anomaly (think of it as a section of the Highway of Time that has been riddled with temporal potholes), the 'jumper emitting arcs and visible ripples in the air, the airship making odd bouncing jerks, as if it were bumping along over a fence and barely scraping the tops of the fenceposts; Brantley suddenly cut back on both the diesel and on the chronojumper, flipping several toggles to  "off," and looking at the slowly-spinning dials on the top and starboard sides of the housing.

"Hmmm..."

He pulled a pair of navigator's dividers from the inner pocket of teh trenchcoat, and measured various protrusions of brass blades, lik ethe guide one uses on a lathe to match a certain pattern of turned stock, that stuck up and had slowly altered their heights as teh  Beau Rosin had proceeded. He compared the divider measurements to a slide rule that he removed from another pocket. He pulled a ring that protruded from the lower stern-ward  side of the 'jumper's varnished walnut housing, and a whirring began inside the box, the ripples and arcs ceasing almost immediately.

"Anomalous Field, folks! We may have found one of our Lost Ones."

A disturbingly-off-key keening sounded, then, and Brantley whippd back around to the 'Jumper and Turned the crank forward once more, then back twice, flipping two toggles back to "on, and opened the left light of the bay window before the wheel, and shouted out to Tommy: "You might want to get in here, Tommy, its going to get rough!" and turned to those still in the cabin:

"Folks, what we have ahead of us is a possible paradox, caused by something, or someone, continuing to exist despite all Logical or Probable Causality. In other words, somebody we thought was killed, or something we thought to be destroyed in that raid may have made it through. The disturbing thing is that the trail We've been following runs right smack through the anomaly, and is currently paralleling it." He paused for breath, and then went on, "you might want to arm yourselves if you haven't already; we'll have to materialize in real-time to fly through this. Maybe we can rescue whichever Lost One  is tangled up in it while we're at it." And with that, he pulled the Fuel feed lever open a bit wider, and then reached over an flicked the Chronojumper to "off."

It was a different bunch of warehouses, elsewhere than before, and looked to be a few years later as well -- but a big, black Cadillac Flashsteam Cabriolet, the rear bonnet riddled with bullet holes, rear window shot out, and rear tire not only flat but also slashed to ribbons from having been driven on 'way too far after the air escaped, sat to starboard, outside of one Warehouse, on the side of which one of the sliding doors gaped partway open. Any further doubt that that warehouse was their destination was removed by the thug that stepped out of the dark doorway with a hand-cranked gatling carbine, and opened up on the Beau Rosin. "Away from the portholes!" shouted Brantley, as he grabbed the emergency descent lever, and the ugly little blimp dropped like a stone to a point barely above the pavement; as the bullets thudded into the (thankfully) thick oak of the cabin walls, Brantley roared unintelligibly and rotated a crank that was mounted on the railing to the right of the ships wheel, causing the two starboard guns to fire off a salvo of two shots each, blowing the cadillac to scrap metal and stopping the gatling bombardment.

"well, I'd guess they know we're here, now, said Brantley
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The Abiliegh
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Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #269 on: June 20, 2009, 04:49:10 am »

He backhanded her with more strength than any man ought to have.

She lowered her gaze. "What 'appened to you?"

"Your man Gunn put a bullet in my skull. You were always a skirt that brought more trouble than you were worth."

She turned all the way around to face him, her temper flaring, fire in her eyes. "Now look here, Larry. All that wot happened was years ago. Billy is dead, thanks to you, and Mr. Gunn just walked into my bar a few days ago... sort of. What you boys have between you has nothing to do with me..." She paused, her next words careful. "When did this happen?"

"10 years ago, today."

Her mind raced, and she glanced down. She wasn't 10 years older, that much was certain. Which meant she was flung here when she'd tried to go back into that bar... She realized she had no idea what had happened with Tommy premonitions... she didn't know if any of them had survived.

She fought back a swoon, allowing herself to slump to the floor. "You bastard. Larry, you bastard." A tear rolled down her cheek and fell to the dirty concrete floor.

A bit of the man she used to know showed through as he knelt beside her and brushed the hair from her face. She didn't know where the sudden affection came from, but she couldn't waste it. She had to keep him talking, she had to know what was going on, why she was thrust here.

"So, you didn't destroy the city I take it. Are you trying again?" She kept her eyes averted, her voice soft. It wasn't difficult to look demure.

"I've got bigger fish to fry than this damned city, doll."
Logged
Sgt.Major Thistlewaite
Zeppelin Admiral
******
Gibraltar Gibraltar


I am, therefore I think.


« Reply #270 on: June 20, 2009, 05:46:29 am »

"Tommy, you might want to get in here, it's going to get rough," MW hollers. Gunn turns from the rail, noticing as he does so that the three whirling circles around the blimp have suddenly faded away. As he starts to move toward the stern, however, suddenly they start taking fire, and the deck drops out from under him. He loses his footing, and hits the deck hard as the Beau Rosin halts just above the ground. He winces as he hits the deck, his ribs reminding him of his recent injury. Bullets are still impacting the gunwales of the scow, so Tommy decides that hugging the deck may be a pretty good idea anyway. Four percussive booms from the starboard guns nearly deafen him, and the gunfire abruptly stops. Tommy dares a glimpse over the rail, "Yep..there's the Caddy..or what's left of it." More men, shouting and shooting, pour from the warehouse like angry hornets from a disturbed nest. Still protected by the gunwale, Tommy flips open one of the mahogany cases, and pulls out the eight-bore elephant gun, quickly assembling the two pieces. There are several different types of rounds in the case, each just under an inch in diameter. Selecting one with a red stripe across the back of the shell, Tommy opens the breech of the big rifle and pops it in. He takes a breath, and, making sure the huge gun is firmly on his shoulder, he raises up quickly,steadies the five foot barrel on the rail, aims at one of the goons near the center of the group, and fires. The recoil of the big rifle knocks him back onto his butt on the deck, but the big bullet finds its mark, and, hitting the man dead center, explodes with shocking force. The red striped shells are actually contact grenades, and it takes out at least five of the other men in proximity to the one struck, who promptly disappears in a burst of flame, smoke and a cloud of red mist, blown to smithereens. "Whew," thinks Tommy, " I'd forgotten what a kick this baby has." The blast has caused the other attackers to seek cover, at least for a moment, and Tommy drops the elephant gun to the deck. Flipping open the other case, He grabs the machine-gun, slings it across his back, and pulls the two big .50 calibre revolvers from their cut-outs. One in each hand, he takes another deep breath, then vaults the rail and lands running, crouching and zig-zagging over to the ruined Cadillac, and slides to a stop behind it. Staying in one place and getting shot at doesn't make sense to the big gumshoe..."Take the fight ta them," he thinks, "Hell, if nuthin' else, it's th' last thing anybody'd expect."
« Last Edit: June 20, 2009, 05:53:30 am by Sgt.Major Thistlewaite » Logged
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
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United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #271 on: June 20, 2009, 06:38:57 am »

MW saw movement in the darkness of teh warehouse doorway, and figured Tommy was about to get pinned down.

 There were two ways to raise the 90-caliber gatling gun from under the deck:(1) unlock the latch in the deck and yank the trapdoor up and manually unfold the gun and its peek-a-boo mount, or (2) turn the crank next to the starboard fire control crank.

MW chose option #2, yelled "STAY THERE TOMMY!" Then dashed out on deck just as somebody opened up from inside the warehouse with what sounded like a either a Maxim or a Lewis gun, spraying bullets that spanged off of the wreckage behind which tommy crouched. MW yanked the gatling around to aim at the doorway. Apparently the gunner in the warehouse saw him at the gatling; they turned the fire in his direction, hosing the gatling down with rapid-fire bullets. If not for the shielding plates (now ringing like an electric alarm bell) mounted on the gun mount,and teh armored coolant sleeve around the barrels of the gun itself, Brantley would have been a lump of hamburger dripping off of the gun's breech assembly, and the gun would have been rendered inoperable. He started rapidly cranking the gun, the big 90-caliber sharpies intermingled with tracer rounds slicing through the sheet metal side of the warehouse, riddling the men crouching there, and knocking the now-visible gunner back and to the side, the Lewis gun flying off in the opposite direction; something in the line of fire behind a partition caught fire and exploded violently, throwing gears and a very large mainspring into the air.
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The Abiliegh
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #272 on: June 20, 2009, 07:07:05 am »

Her voice caught in her throat. He'd always been one to shoot high. And, more times than not, he was successful. He had luck, more luck than any joe had a right to have.

"And what about me, Larry? What do ya want with me?" Her voice was small, choked.

"Cut the act, Abiliegh. You miss it, don't ya? You an' me. Back in the days we were stealin' cars and knockin over banks... We had our fun. We can go back, you know?"

She didn't know why he was doing this. They didn't part on good terms, and it had been years since she was his girl. he couldn't want this. It couldn't be this simple.

"Who's actin', Larry? It sure ain't me. Sure, I might miss the glamour of it all a bit... the jobs, the singing, the audience, the wild nights... But we're older now, Larry, we can't go back t'all that, and you damn well know it.What do you really want with me?" He stared at him, both honesty and fear in her eyes.

His clockwork face contorted into a look of anger. "You dames are all alike. Trouble, the lot of ya." She stood, and began pacing once again.

She watched him from the concrete. It was time to be careful again. His temper was legendary.

"You're my luck, Abiliegh. I've never had it so good than when I was with you. call me superstitious, but I want you on my arm when I do this. When they get here, I want them looking at you. I want them awed by you. You've always been the best way for me to seal the deal."

"They?" She chose the question less likely to cause an argument. She's like to smack him for thinking of her as such an object.
Logged
fireheart storm
Zeppelin Captain
*****
United States United States


Monster hunter, researcher, & cyberjacques's rival


WWW
« Reply #273 on: June 20, 2009, 07:43:27 am »

SideBar: 
I'm sorry I haven't posted, I've had a hectic last few days, and will be leaving early tomorrow morning to go camping until the 25th.  I trust all of you here so feel free to use Ms Storm as needed until I get back (short of killing her of course) or just have her sit in for the ride.  I will catch up ASAP when I get back.

Fireheart Storm
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Sgt.Major Thistlewaite
Zeppelin Admiral
******
Gibraltar Gibraltar


I am, therefore I think.


« Reply #274 on: June 20, 2009, 04:16:45 pm »

More fire from the direction of the warehouse, bullets spanging off the ruined Caddy. Tommy hunkers down as far as he can, as the angry chatter of a machine-gun sounds."Lewis gun," he thinks,"Jehosaphat! What've we got ourselves into?" Looking back towards the Beau Rosin, he sees Brantley bringing up the big Gatling. The hoods turn their attention to him, and the steady hail on the far side of the Caddy lessens for a moment. As MW sprays the warehouse, Tommy reaches up and tries the door latch on the rear door of the Caddy. The door handles on this model are by the center-post, rear doors opening backwards. Surprisingly, the door sticks a little, but then opens. Figuring if he can't go around the car, he'll go through it, Tommy is about to crawl inside when he notices a wooden crate on the floorboard. He pulls it to him...it's heavy..and out of the car onto the ground. Opening the crate, he whistles..the crate is full of "pineapple" type grenades. "They're gonna be sorry they didn't take these!" T.E. puts the big revolvers in his suit pants pockets. The pockets are extra-deep, and leather lined, an idea Tommy got from reading about a famous gunfighter, John Wesley Hardin, and had Hao Bao Chu tailor into all his suits. He unbuttons his double breasted suit coat, and removing ten grenades from the crate, he hangs them across the front of his waist, hooking them by the spoons behind his belt. There are fifteen grenades left in the crate. Tommy takes out two, and sets them beside the shredded rear tire. Bending the lid of the crate all the way back, he wrenches it hard a couple of times, and tears it off the crate. Although Brantley is doing a masterful job with the Gatling, there is still heavy fire coming from the warehouse..there must be some kind of heavier equipment inside that the goons are using as cover. For the moment however, all their attention is focused on the Beau Rosin. Tommy takes a deep breath, then another. "This is nuts!," he thinks. Thirteen pineapples left in the crate. Back in his Academy days, Tommy was an athlete, Track and Field, his specialty....the Hammer Throw. He takes one grenade from the case, pulls the pin, and drops it back into the box. Standing quickly he grasps the lip of the box with both hands and spins, the centrifugal force straightening his arms. Once, twice, three times he spins full circle, then releases the crate, which travels in a high arc, landing flat and sliding right through the door of the warehouse. "Welcome Wagon!" bellows Tommy. "Here's yer fruit basket!" The live grenade goes off, which sets off the other twelve, some immediately, some scattering before they explode. The resulting blast is nothing short of stupendous, blowing a huge hole in the bullet riddled side of the structure, and scattering the bodies of mobsters like bowling pins.
Picking up the two grenades from beside the tire, one in each hand, Tommy pulls the pins with his teeth, and, holding down the spoons, jumps up and runs toward the hole in the side of the building, screaming like a banshee the whole way.
« Last Edit: June 20, 2009, 04:25:40 pm by Sgt.Major Thistlewaite » Logged
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