A train wreck in a bottle. Delivered neatly and on time. I think I might be in over my head.
Previously said: is there anything more I can do for you two?"
"Hit the bricks kid, you got your whole life ahead of ya."
This situation stinks. We're walking into the maw of the beast and Eddie will be three sheets to the wind before we hit the Golden Gate.
Still, Max is happy enough to put down the People of the Monolith.
Eddie clinks glasses with Max ands takes a long disturbing swallow of the whiskey as his friend's name echoes in his head. It's unclear whether or not Eddie had even used the PI's real name in a conversation before. It sounded hauntingly strange on his tongue. Almost as if it his brother was talking and not himself. He didn't like it but smiled wide with his Cicotte grin all the same.
9:50 PM Friday, June 28, 1937. Sleeping Car of The California Zephyr En route to San Fransisco. ETA 3 AM Saturday June 29
Ice tinkles in the whiskey-filled glasses as the Zephyr creaks and sways down through Rocky Mountain passes. Cool air comes through the window, washing away the stifling heat of the day. The setting sun washes the pines with striking orange hues.
Max shifts in his seat as he feels a sharp pain in his side. Probably nothing major.
Spoiler:
This, my friends, is not your everyday whiskey.
I need you to each make a CON roll. In 7th Edition, there are regular (100% of skill) / hard (50% of skill value) / extreme (20% of skill value) successes. Since you each have CON 60, a Regular Success is 31-60; Hard Success is 13-30; Extreme Success is 01-12. Extreme Success means zero ill effects. Maybe you realize what you're drinking in time, or you stave off the effects. Complete failure could be real bad.
Eddie swirls his glass examining the odd taste in his mouth. He sets it down holding back a gag reflex that he hadn't experienced since his rookie days.
Old knuckles was slipping.
Top shelf my Hiney!! We're gonna have to have a word with the manager...
9:55 PM Friday, June 28, 1937. Sleeping Car of The California Zephyr En route to San Fransisco. ETA 3 AM Saturday June 29
Eddie's forearm suddenly feels extremely itchy. He pulls up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal an ugly red rash. He suddenly feels extremely nauseous. His stomach convulses and tightens into a knotted cramp.
Max's stomach pangs worsen. He also feels itchy and nauseous, sweaty and weak. His bowels loosen and diarrhea seems imminent..
Okay, so this is a deadly poison. Eddie, you can spend 9 more Luck to get your roll down to an Extreme Success, which means you'll take only half damage (2d10 instead of 4d10). There's nothing more that Max can do. Let me know what you choose. Your bodies are weakening, but for the moment you can act however you like, with a couple criteria: Eddie needs to vomit and Max needs to defecate. Wetly.
Eddie suddenly has his bat in his hands pulling it free from his over-sized tattered trench. He never left home without Joe.
His urge to swing quickly faltered as he plants his Louisville slugger firmly on the ground and takes a knee.
Eddie vomits.
Dark coagulated blood and thick veiny balls of phlegm splatter the cabin floor from deep within. For a brief moment, Eddie feel fantastic. Like his lungs and heart had finally cleared themselves of the thick dark rancor that had plagued him through years a self abuse and depravity. On his knees, on the mound, in front of all these fans, He could breathe clear again.
As a strange sort of delirium washed over his mind, Eddie dropped his bat and lit a cigarette to the sound of the wood rolling across the dirt.
It sounded like hardwood floors. Eddie loved that sound.
? PM Friday, June 28, 1937. Sleeping Car of The California Zephyr En route to San Fransisco. ETA 3 AM Saturday June 29
Maybe it's been ten minutes, maybe hours. It's hard to tell when all your muscles are knotted in the worst cramps you have ever experienced. Your skin is covered in red welts and rashes, your throat is so itchy you want to tear it out, you can barely see through the tears. You have been moaning, rolling around in the fetal position, vomiting and shitting.
Max's place of hell has been the tiny lavoratory one car down from your sleeping cabin.
Eddie has been on the floor of your sleeping cabin.
...
Max eventually stumbles out of the lavoratory. The lights are on in the hall of his train car, and the door leading to their sleeping cabin is open. He weaves down the swaying hallway, still sweating, now filthy, and sees Eddie on the ground, wet with sweat and worse.
Two other people are in the cabin: The chief steward is covering his mouth and gagging into a hankerchief. He is retirement age, needs a shave. White stubble covers his red and wrinkled neck.
He kneels down next to Eddie and pulls him out of the vomit, and onto the sleeping bench.
"Sir! Sir! Can you hear me? Okay, you're coming to. Listen. You need to lie down. There is a professional on the train who knows first aid, they're on their way. Just lie down."
The young steward who served you the drinks is hauling in a bucket and a mop. He is in shock at the mess and obviously has no idea how to even start cleaning up. He spins around when Max leans into the room.
"Oh! Oh. Are... You look very unwell. Oh - you need to change, sir. Perhaps... we need to leave you two to change. Let me get your suitcases down."
The chief steward turns and stares at Max's soiled body with horror and concern.
"Yes. You two - lie down. Please. Do you need help changing? Let's get you clean, and under the sheets. There is a doctor, they will be here any minute..."
He leans out and looks down the hallway of the train, impatient for the doctor to arrive.
I reduced your HP and Eddie's Luck. For anyone else reading - we rolled in a separate app. Max took 5 damage and Eddie took 4, with 2d10!
Max grabs the kid by the lapel.
"You tried to poison me you fancy little shit - I'm gonna sue Milwaukee Railroad and name you and the Chief Steward personally as co-responsible parties. Try this on for size: loss of earnings, medical bills, mental anguish..."
"Jesus look at that mess", Max say pointing at Eddie, "he's a goner. We call that negligence causing death. You're going up the river for a long time, son.
"Now where'd that whiskey come from? Where'd you get it? Who opened the bottle?"
Law (45%) roll: 43
oc. Max has a law degree from NYU
Eddie struggles to his feet and looks at all the wasted booze and blood on the floor.
Fucking Hell!! You get the number of that train.
He scrambles a few feet to his bat and grips it tight in both hands before turning on the young steward Max was threatening. He held his bat up high in a strange and awkward stance he had adopted at the plate as his own. Both elbows more down than up, his wrists cocked in an S pattern. His power stance.
Hold him Fatman! I don't even care who sent the drinks.
? PM Friday, June 28, 1937. Sleeping Car of The California Zephyr En route to San Fransisco. ETA 3 AM Saturday June 29
The young steward swallows hard. Visibly nervous. He glances at the Chief Steward.
"It was a gift, I never opened the bottle!"
The Chief Steward touches the bottle, now lying on the ground, with his toe.
"That's not whisky we serve on the train. What is this?"
The young steward literally backs into a corner, flushed.
"I never knew something was wrong with it! It was sitting in the kitchen car in Denver, with a tip, and the note, and your names. I don't... it didn't... I didn't think this would happen!
The young steward rifles through his pocket and displays the note and the money. It's written on a piece of note paper, like something you'd pick up in a hotel. Nice clean handwriting, though. It's the handwriting of an educated person - someone who's used to doing that kind of work. Probably a man, too.
The note reads:
Please deliver to Mr. Eddie Ciccote on the evening prior to arrival in SF:
Complimentary gift and with congratulations,
on behalf of the Alameda-Kono All-Star Team.
The "tip" that the young steward took with the bottle is five one-dollar bills. Hefty tip.
...
At this point, Eddie wobbles to his feet, pants soaked in vomit, drool dripping from his chin, hefting the baseball bat.
Hold him Fatman! I don't even care who sent the drinks.
Both Stewards spin, staring at Eddie. The young steward is somewhat cornered by Max. He looks directly at Max, trying to assess whether Max is going to grab him or not.
The Chief Steward steps back into the hallway, arms raised protectively against the bat. He looks sideways for a direction to run.
"What, are you mad? Put that bat down! Right now!"
Initiative in CoC 7th edition is based solely on Dex, no rolling. (There is an optional rule for rolling, and we'll use it in gun duels and when it's worth the time for dramatic sake):
Eddie, you go first. Then the Stewards, then Max.
Eddie, since you go first, I'm going to give you a decision here. There's no Opportunity Attacks in CoC, but the Chief Steward is going to run unless you do something.
Then the Chief Steward will run.
The younger steward is going to delay his action until after Max. If Max tries to grab him, as Eddie is requesting, he will try to evade.
You can both write what you're going to do, no need to write it in order. Roll appropriate dice when you post. Then I'll resolve things in the order of Eddie - Chief Steward - Max - Young Steward.
Eddie lowers his bat and slides the looped Louisville slugger back under his off arm. His head clears, He was really gonna hit the kid.
Jesus Fats!!! I was just following your lead!! I wasn't gonna hit the kid!! We gotta get some answers..
Eddie takes out his flask and takes a short swig, swirling the potent whiskey in his mouth to wash out the taste of one poison with another.
Good Cop!! Bad Cop!! Like back in Chicago!! And see, we got what we were looking for.
Eddie snatches the note from the Steward's hads and reads it, mumbling the words as he tried to make them out. The letters blurred slightly together until he moved the note further from his face. His vision was going. How old was he? Same thing had happed to his pops around this time.
Then Eddie's knees started to tremble as the truth pummelled him like a hard rain. It was quite sobering... The colors in the train car seemed to dull slightly as his vivid dream world collapsed all around him. He heard the sound of shattering glass.
Oh God Knuckles... You idiot!
I don't think think Almeda -Kono has an all-star team at all Max.
Last edited by DSIGFUSS on Mon Oct 25, 2021 5:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.
I wasn't gonna hit the kid!! We gotta get some answers..
A bead of sweat rolls down his fat cheek "...the what?"
"oh right...",
Max releases his grip on the kid's blazer.
"Listen tulip." Max straightens the kid out a bit. " You're going tell me the name of that Italian meatball you picked up in Denver. You know the one. He had cauliflower ears and a mug only a mother can love. I want his name and his consigliere too. And I want to know where he got off. You do that and maybe we'll forget about all this. Otherwise, you're gonna be picking out curtains in Alcatraz grey for your new boyfriend. Capeesh?"
1 AM Saturday, June 28, 1937. Sleeping Car of The California Zephyr En route to San Fransisco. ETA 3 AM Saturday June 29
The young man winces, touches his ear, and looks at it to see if Max's slap drew blood.
The train wheels screech and the car shifts slightly, decelerating somewhat. The lit suburbs of a modest city roll past the window: you are entering the outskirts of Sacramento, California.
Judging from your speed, you'll be pulling up to the station in ten or twenty minutes. This is the last stop before San Fransisco. You're no more than a couple hours from your final destination now.
Please roll Group Luck to see if the steward is able to give you information right here. Group Luck means the player with the lowest Luck, which is Max with 55%. I'm also marking a success for Max's Brawling roll, previously.
1:03 AM Saturday, June 28, 1937. Sleeping Car of The California Zephyr En route to San Fransisco. ETA 3 AM Saturday June 29
Wow, 01 for Luck! Okay, this will be good, then. I'm going to play into Max's successful Law roll right before this..
The young steward trips over himself in an effort to extricate himself from this mess.
"Oh, the big guy with the other man? The guy with the glasses? Yeah! Yeah, they're still on the train. Two cars over."
He tips his head towards the back of the train.
"On the right. They're in the second cabin on the right. They have it to themselves. Paid for it that way. Does that help? Are they criminals? You think they did this? I never... I mean, I guess they coulda snuck the bottle into the steward's cabin. Yeah! I bet that's what happened! That door is never locked. Kids even come in and steal sodas sometimes if we're not careful! Here, wait."
He fumbles with his belt and pulls out a key ring.
"Here. I can even open their cabin door for you if it's locked. Are you going to arrest them? Listen, sir, I - I really didn't know any of this would happen. I'm an upstanding citizen. I don't want to get in any trouble here. You'll vouch for me, right? I never met those guys before, I swear! And you know, they've been actin' kinda funny. They ordered extra food at dinner, packed it away with them, and have been cooped up in their cabin all night. That's suspicious, right?"
[OC: If you're okay with it], The young steward leads you along the swaying hallway of the train, two cars back. There are two more cars past this one to the caboose. He stands by the closed door to the cabin where the Mook and "David" are apparently resting.
The lights are off in the hallway, and you can see that the lights are on in their cabin. At 1 AM.
The curtains to the small window on the door of their cabin are drawn shut, however, so you can't see in.
Eddie holds the kid's hand from knocking on the door and puts a finger to his lips to keeop him quiet.
He grips the bat he had picked up after vomiting all over his cabin floor for this very purpose. Some one, mostly likely that fuck from the platform, was
gonna have to see an orthodontist tomorrow morning.
Eddie is about to lean into the cabin door and then pauses. He hears Helen's voice behind the door. Kinda sounds like she's underwater but she's doing that finger waving thing she does when she disapproves of something Eddie had said or puked on. It just naturally comes with the tone.
ooc - If Max want to stop Eddie from kicking the door down he's got about a 5 second window between the pause and fuck it.
