[despite adding a link to a groovy Nadsat glossary to my forum signature I now suspect the ratling's Clockwork Orange derived slang got old quick. For convenience I've added mouse-over translations here.]
Max
Age of Fable
Noticing that Quazarn seems to have had another attack, Hobson will try to follow the ratling, observing her while being unobserved if possible.
[rolled a 55]
Dr Rotwang!
Surreptitiously, Quazarn follows the ratling.
The ratling is nowhere to be seen. However, it seems Logical to Hobson that she probably intended to meet them in the beer garden, so the two of you make your way there as inconspicuously as you can.
As you sidle into the deep shade of the baobabbler tree it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the gloom, and for your ears to tune out the constant chattering of the tree.*
"Hisst," says a low voice, just two tables over. It's the ratling. "You are like sore thumbs, sticking out. Sit!"
[*This, naturally, is a domestic baobabbler, and thus merely annoying. The voice of the wild baobabbler is rumored to cause agonizing headaches, tympanal edema and contagious glossolalia.]
Dr Rotwang!
Quazarn sits.
Max
The ratling regards Quazarn through rosy pink eyes. Her thick Slavic accent tells you her forebears must have migrated to Vanth via a Roosky colony ship.
"That thing you mentioned. Buying or selling?"
Dr Rotwang!
"Buying."
[Max -- you're kind of running two games now and it's all my fault. How do we get the band back together?]
Max
[It's really not a thing, Doc! PbP works very well for divided parties -- I can attend to each group based on the speed of your posts without forcing anyone to sit around. Remember, Fable/Hobson never really wanted to fight in the Brawl anyway, so don't feel bad.
[That said, if either side feels things are sputtering or stalled, let me know. I'm having a blast with this -- and I want all of you to be having a blast (having blasts?) too!]
rondo
(I got no problems with the split game...it's a blast anyway you slice it, thanks to some great players and an visionary JM. I would like us to float back together at some point too, but I'm sure we'll work it out).
Max
Max
"That thing you mentioned. Buying or selling?"
Dr Rotwang!
"Buying."
"I maybe have what you are looking for. Expensive goods, no?"
Glancing at Hobson she chitters impatiently, "Sit down, malenky. Pony?"
Dr Rotwang!
"Well," replies Quazarn flatly, but not impolitely, "I'm simply interested in a regular Ontobian sombreroid -- no fancy haberdashery, merely the traditional transfelt and blam-wicker...show us what you have, for I am in the market." He flashes a big, friendly smile. Everybody likes Quazarn!
Max
[phew, sure am glad to find out what the heck an Ontobian sombreroid is!]
Max
[What's up with Hobson?]
Age of Fable
I'm keeping a regular eye on things, but I have no strong opinions on the sombrero industry.
Max
"Vat can I say, droog? Ever since Ontobian Sanz Chapeau Rebellion prices go up and up. And there is price on your gulliver too. Adds up, da?" Her eyes twinkle with sinister mirth.
Age of Fable
"Oh I get it...this is a shakedown. Well it won't work, see? Because...well, because we don't have any money. But, we do happen to know the location of an enormous pile of cheese."
Max
Twitching her whiskers the ratling smirks. With deliberate movements she reaches into her leather jacket, unsheathes a wicked stiletto, and sets it gently on the table.
"I am vegetarian, malenky."
Age of Fable
"An enormous pile...of soy cheese."
"Also, you probably mean vegan."
Max
"Sha, child! Shut your chumble, em and pee are talking," she says dismissively, turning to Quazarn. Her hand rests lightly now on the handle of the knife. The sharp nails on her fingers are painted the pink to match her eyes.
Some time passes without a post from the Good Dr Rotwang...
Age of Fable
"No you're not, you're just sitting there."
Max
After an awkward pause the rat-girl sighs and rolls her eyes. Leaning across the table she snaps her fingers in front of Quazarn's face. "Bog-damn bezoomy shoot," she mutters to herself.
She pockets her knife and turns to the hobling. "This pointy head eggiweg is terrible warlock? Who would fear this sneetnik, always day dreaming? How can I bargain with a stone?"
Age of Fable
"Don't ask me - last time I tried to talk to you I didn't even get a roll."
Max
"Roll? Now you vant bread. Always you are talking about food, malenky."
[If you want to roll against a skill, go for it -- let me know what you want to do and throw the dice. Can't promise you it'll get you anywhere, but don't let that stop you trying.]
Dr Rotwang!
[Sorry, I got distracted.]
"Ratling friend, do you have the sombreroid to sell? And what price is there upon our heads, pray tell?"
Max
"Ah, horrowshow! Govoreet golly, now ve talk business," smiles the ratling, showing two or three gold teeth and a pierced tongue. Eying Quazarn's silken cravvy and fine clothes, she continues, "Traders and lovers both: I like them rich and desperate....
"So. I can get sombreroid. And price on your head is not yet set -- but for you is cheaper to pay not to see Bigby, I think. Da? You pony?"
Dr Rotwang!
Quazarn grins. He reaches into his bag and extracts this magically-shrunken beast of burden.
"It's a burro, actually," he says. "Hardier than a pony for sure."
Rondo
(The mini-burro kicks ass! pardon the pun)
Max
[Mule have to excuse me for not braying with laughter.]
Her nose twitching, the ratling squeals with unabashed delight. "It's a real live little ossyel!"
Checking her glee she says more sternly, "What else for the hat and your safety?"
After another awkward silence sternness turns to peevish boredom. The rat girl drums her fingers on the table, nails clicking on the wood. Eventually she stands up.
"If you vecks get tired of sodding around ask for Ika Norvegova. Maybe we still do business," she sneers, "Maybe you gloops snuff it first."
Age of Fable
"Maybe we should, as I believe the young people say, split the scene?" I ask Quazarn.
Dr Rotwang!
"Totally."
Max
The Remulaki grunts through a morbid psychometric fog, "Where oh where will my little donkey go?" With a shudder he carefully stows the mini-mule and stands, ready to follow Hobson.
No comments:
Post a Comment