Stony and Pupclop.


amadeus_icon.gif doyle_icon.gif

Scene Title Stony and Pupclop
Synopsis Amadeus and Doyle discuss the rules of the dome! In these dome times, the puppeteers must reign in the catmancers, and then some other dialogue fluff and such.
Date February 7 2011

The Brick House

Mighty mighty, just lettin' it all hang out.

This spacious two-story building rises up off of the coast of Long Island City. Surrounded by a high chain-link and razorwire fence, it looks like it has been abanded for decades. Windows are bricked up, doors are boarded shut, and the grounds are unkempt and overgrown. Access to the building seem impossible, unless one was to pry off the boarding or simply smash through one of the walls. However, to the Ferrymen this structure is simply an extremely secure safehouse.

True access to the safehouse called the Brick House is made via an abandoned lot on the edge of the East River beyond the actual building. Here, an overgrown cellar hole from a factory that was demolished decades ago gives way to a concrete stairwell and a heavy iron door. This entrance is staffed by a Ferryman operative at all times, and accesses an underground tunnel leading to the basement that once connected the factory to the building that has become the Brick House.

The basement levels are cold and damp concrete shelters with freeze-dried food storages and a small armory of illegal firearms used in the defense of the safehouse. The upstairs floors are poorly furnished rooms with peeling wallpaper and paint, old dusty wood floorboards and seem to be in a constant stare of repair and renovation.

With only two windows on the second floor — facing the river — not bricked up, the building has a somewhat stale smell to it, and is lit only by artificial lighting of lamps and on occasion candles and lanterns.

Having been gone all morning, Amadeus just said he was going to get a few things. He doesn't return until the middle of the afternoon when an old blue van can be heard pulling up in front of the Brick House, the stoner sitting in the driver's side. "Yo! I got the stuff!" he calls out, holding the horn a little longer this time.

He still has his red claw tribal markings on his face, and the gold chains around his neck, so apparently he's decided what the fashion is in these dome times.

Jesus Christ.

There've been a few long honks before Doyle finally manages to make his way down the passage to the abandoned lot out back, emerges from the underbrush, and stumbles - out of breath - towards the street and that van, waving his hands in the air as he hisses as loud as he can, "Stop— just— stop! Shut the fuck up!— "

"Oh hey. I got stuff, where should we put the van? This is my van. When I woke up the dome was here." Amadeus reaches over and opens the passenger side door, sitting back and waiting for Doyle to hop in. "I got all kindsa shit in here."

As the door's opened, Doyle clambers into it and reaches over to grab the front of the young man's shirt, chains included. "What part of low profile do you not understand you little psycho shit," he hisses out, "You just advertised to every scavenger in blocks where we are!"

"Man, chill out, we'll just crossbow the shit out of 'em." Amadeus' eyes are almost perpetually half-lidded, tone mellow as he keeps one hand on the wheel, staring at Doyle. "Maybe we should get the hell outta here before someone sees us?"

"Are you high?" Doyle's teeth grit as he releases the other man's shirt with a hard push and leans back, glaring at him, "There's more than just some idiots with clubs and axes out here. There's an entire island of military personnel just a hop, skip, and a fucking jump away from us."

"Fuck yeah I am." Amadeus answers as he pulls off, relaxing back against his seat. "Man, just take it easy, we'll be fine. Where we gonna take this thing so no one steals it? And how we gonna get the supplies outta here and into the house?"

"There's a little thing that we both have," replies Doyle scathingly, smacking a hand against the side of Amadeus's head, "It's called feet for fuck's sake. Jesus. Why the hell didn't I lock you up with those other retards?"

"Hey, I know how to survive. I'm gonna run this dome after we set up shop. If my dad can con his way into Homeland, I can take over a little dome." Amadeus parks about two blocks away from the actual entrance, takes his keys out, then kicks the door open and heads around to the back doors of the van. "Come on, let's see what we're gonna take first."

When the doors swing open, all of the supplies are sitting on top of an old bed. Well, supplies mostly used very loosely in this case. There's a large HDTV box, more jewelry, a few cash boxes, but… there are actual useful things back there! A crossbow and some arrows, a few looted handguns and two shotguns, with ammo boxes. And there's a big black trashbag mixed with junkfood and numerous sugary drinks. "I say we take the TV first."

"Your father's part of Homeland Security?" A rather blank look is directed towards the younger man, and then he's climbing out, and Eric stares after him; reaching out to fumble for the door's handle, pushing it open and stepping out to circle around the vehicle. All of the stolen supplies are regarded for a moment, and then he slowly brings one hand up to rub against his face, smooshing his cheek around in circles as he counts silently to three.

"And what," he asks faintly, "Would we use the television for, kid? As— as an endtable? There's no cable you idiot. There's no power."

"I thought we could like, I don't know, work the TV like they do in those movies. Tank Girl has a TV." Amadeus points out as he immediately hefts the arrow bag over one shoulder, the junk food over another, and grabs the crossbow with his free hand. "And yeah, my dad's Flint Deckard."

"The movi-" Doyle snaps just a little at that, and he jerks a hand upwards. A motion that seizes control of Amadeus's arm in order to bring the crossbow up to smack himself in the face with it. Unseen threads of influence that curl into the parts of his mind that control muscle response and drop him down to sit on the van's edge.

"Now let's get this fucking straight, little boy," he says with a broad, altogether toothy smile and leans in close, "This isn't a movie. It's not Tank Girl. It's not Mad Max. This-" A smack of his fleshy hand upside Amadeus's head, "-is-" Smack. "-real-" Smack! "-life!"

"Fuck!" Amadeus yelps when the crossbow hits him, disoriented when he gets sat on the edge of the van, and wincing with every smack. "Man, you don't gotta get all fuckin' violent. I'm a collections dude and a pretty fuckin' good con artist if I do say so my fuckin' self, but bein' in a giant invisible dome ain't somethin' I've done before. So excuse me if I reference classic masterpieces such as fuckin' Tank Girl to figure all this out."

"You're a 'collections dude' and a con artist. Alright. So you should be able to understand me when I explain things simply for you," Doyle says, taking Amadeus's face in both hands and leaning in real close. Not kissing close, but more oh god is he going to bite off my nose close, for those reading this log who might have a sudden idea for slashfiction, you perverted bastards. Ahem. "Roosevelt Island is a concentration camp for Evolved. Think of it like a prison that they're inviting people to come in and hang out before locking the doors and saying 'gotcha'. Now…" He straightens, sweeping a hand to the sky, "…there's a giant dome over us. So I'm putting two and two together and saying the government did this. Which means that any day now, the Man is going to come rolling down the street in jeeps and tanks looking for us. And you're basically hanging a giant neon sign saying 'EVOLVED FUGITIVES HERE' over our building. Do you get it now?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Amadeus' eyes shift from side to side, apparently having trouble with the close proximity. "So what the fuck are we gonna do? Hide out? Break the dome? Organize the whole fuckin' dome evo population and then roll up on the dudes? Everypony's about to get sent to the glue factory, and I'm all outta factories!" He seems to have lost himself in there somewhere, getting a little excited. Then his eyes seem to be focusing on something in the air… a bird?

"There're people on the outside working on this," Doyle replies with a scowl down at him, "I've already made contact, all we need to do is keep quiet, and…" And he's completely blitzed out of his mind and not even listening. The puppeteer's jaw tenses, "…and if you don't show me that you're worth keeping around, you're going to be made into glue, kapische?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm useful, I got all this shit back here, didn't I?" Amadeus stares at the puppeteer now, peering hard without really blinking. "So we gonna get this shit inside or get mugged?"

"Junk food. A television… admittedly you've got some weapons here," Doyle grudgingly admits, "Those'll be useful. We need supplies, though. We need canned goods, weapons, gasoline— if we can find some generators, or a gas heater, or something, that'd be great. Money's useless, jewelry's useless, we need survival gear."

A finger points directly at Amadeus's nose, his eyes narrowing, "And we need to keep a low profile."

"All I've got is one tank, stole it from a buncha other cars. You know how to siphon gas outta cars? It ain't hard, we just need more of those." Amadeus thumbs back at the single red fuel tank far in the back. "We gotta get more tanks, then we can find cars and fill 'em up. I'll look around and see what I can do."

"See?" Eric's hands spread a little, and he smiles, although there isn't much warmth to it, "Was that hard? That's thinking… and one more thing." He steps up into the van's back, moving to push through the garbage en route to the duel tank, "If you're going to get fucked up? You stay indoors. I'm not risking you doing something fucking stupid and endangering the place because you were fucking high, kid."

"Hey, I'm cool while I'm high, it's when I'm drunk you've gotta start worryin'. But I don't think I'm gonna use the shit I did today, I don't normally use other people's shit, but I found it and it looked nice." Amadeus stands up and stretches, then yawns, looking back at Doyle. "I'm gonna see if I've got any connections on the island, too. I've got a lotta people who owe me favors."

"Yeah," Doyle mutters as he hauls the tank up into his arms with a grunt, "Let's just get what've this is actually useful back to the House, okay? Don't make me regret leaving you with free will, kid."

"Hey, I've worked for mob bosses and I ain't dead yet. Ghost Shadows ain't too fond of me though." Amadeus climbs into the back, slipping the unloaded guns into his coat, then stuffs the ammo boxes into the bag with the junk food and hops out behind Doyle. "Let's go!"

Eric Doyle shakes his head slowly as he carries the tank with him along back into the maze of factories and warehouses, trying to keep a lid on his temper.

He's not at the Lighthouse anymore, but it seems he's still a babysitter.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License