1. Shooting, Beating, Stabbing

[BackworldTraveller]

What, nobody's gonna pick up on Jenny from the Block? ... ah, my humor's wasted here ...

Not a fan

[Lance]

What, nobody's gonna pick up on Jenny from the Block? ... ah, my humor's wasted here ...

Not a fan

same

[shaidar]

I got it, didn't respond, because it was such a j-lo quality joke

Shift plays along being a janitor droid helping out, hoping he might hear something interesting from the humans as they ignore him.

[tibbius]

The lights are re-arranged, the crowd is thinning out. As Clark hesitates, Stevie and Jenny continue to talk, edging closer to each other. The conversation is shifting from professional toward flirtatious.

[thenewflesh]

Louis, slumped in a corner, sips craft beer and tries not to pay attention to the Grinning Imp - too much noise, not enough freedom - what happened to real innovation?

He sends off an end-to-end encrypted message to Tatev, the girl at Unixty:

"Hi Trigger, looking to hook up with the 247 guys, ask some questions, maybe get laid. Can you provide info?
Thx, Sharkrig"

[Lance]

Clark walks back to the others, having missed his window.

[BackworldTraveller]

Right Guys - I'm done with these lights. I have beer at my place - and a plug-socket.

If not, see you whenever. And I'll check on that stuff for you first-thing.

And with that, Angus heads for the doors.

[tibbius]

Outside, it's a dark autumn evening. About a month until Solstice. Cold wind blows through Angus' clothing. People hasten along the sidewalk and cars roll past on the street, throwing wind as they speed by. It's not a street meant for that kind of speed, but in Ward 3 a lot of people are in a hurry to get through.

Most of the businesses along the street are open, only three or four are shuttered with graffiti marring the steel panel doors. The two liquor stores are open, one in either direction from Lizard Lounge. So is the pharmacy, the head shop, the licensed occult premises, the hairdresser, the bodega, and so on. A few trolls and a couple of humans are hanging around the entrance to the bodega. They seem to be arguing. It's on the far side of the street, a bit ahead of Angus.

Where's Angus going?

[BackworldTraveller]

Where's Angus going?

Pizza, Home. Bed. Sleep. Breakfast. Work/Enquiries.

[tibbius]

Just about as Angus comes up even with the bodega, he hears pop pop ... pop pop pop and shouts. One of the humans runs directly across the street and almost knocks Angus over before swerving to sprint down the street behind him.

Looking over toward the shouting, Angus sees one of the trolls yank a large pistol from under his sweatshirt BAM. BAM. but both shots seem to miss the rapidly-receding human.

[thenewflesh]

And so, also, does Louis shuffle out the door in pursuit of a well-earned rest, only to be brought up short by the sounds of violence. He recedes into the building until the violence has abated. Somebody else's problem.

[BackworldTraveller]

Just about as Angus comes up even with the bodega, he hears pop pop ... pop pop pop and shouts. One of the humans runs directly across the street and almost knocks Angus over before swerving to sprint down the street behind him.

Looking over toward the shouting, Angus sees one of the trolls yank a large pistol from under his sweatshirt BAM. BAM. but both shots seem to miss the rapidly-receding human.

Ah! Trolls will be trolls...Hmmm Was that earlier popping shots too?

Perception [1d8]=1

Ah - Nothing to see

Keeps going

[tibbius]

Does anyone go near Crown and G?

[Lance]

Does anyone go near Crown and G?

Not currently, as there's a firefight at the exit

Clark walks up behind Louis. "Those weren't shots, right?"

[tibbius]

Somewhere several streets away, a police siren winds up and echoes among the dilapidated buildings. Vague hints of flashing green and yellow lights bounce off the tops of the buildings as the wagon approaches at a leisurely pace, its progress tracked by the changing echoes.

Angus hunches against the cold and trudges onward. Louis and Clark explore the scene from the doorway. A troll is lying on the sidewalk by the bodega. Two other trolls are kneeling over him, along with a human. Four humans are walking away from the scene, heads down, quickly. The owner of the bodega, an unliving named Mr. Farley, stands in the doorway with his arms crossed and a sour expression.

What's Shift doing?

[BackworldTraveller]

Just about as Angus comes up even with the bodega, he hears pop pop ... pop pop pop and shouts. One of the humans runs directly across the street and almost knocks Angus over before swerving to sprint down the street behind him.

Looking over toward the shouting, Angus sees one of the trolls yank a large pistol from under his sweatshirt BAM. BAM. but both shots seem to miss the rapidly-receding human.

Ah! Trolls will be trolls...Hmmm Was that earlier popping shots too?

Perception [1d8]=1

Ah - Nothing to see

Keeps going

Perception [1d8]=7
Manages to spot the police car arriving!

[shaidar]

Shift grabs a mop and a bucket and makes his way slowly but steadily over. When the police arrive he says in his best 'I'm a lower bot and have certainly not evolved self awareness tone' "excuse me sirs, would you like me to clean up this mess"

His intention is to try and hang around and be ignored by the cops and hopefully hear something interesting

Anonymity: [1d8]=7

[tibbius]

Shift gets on the scene before the police do, androids learn / are programmed to unobtrusively move efficiently. He gets to work, cleaning up the small pools of blood. The injured troll is sitting up now, leaning back against the dirty brick of the bodega. Mr. Farley still stands forbiddingly in the doorway, bright fluorescents casting his angular shadow out into the street. He looks as dirty and pale and greasy and tired as any unliving does. The two healthy trolls and their human companion are looking around anxiously. The human turns to Mr. Farley and hands him ... something. The store-keeper tucks that thing into the inside of his track jacket and retreats back into the bodega.

Louis and Clark observe from across the street but don't really notice much.

A wagon rolls up, lights swirling yellow and green. Its wailing siren goes silent. Another similar siren approaches from the other direction. Moments later the second car arrives and unnecessarily skids to a halt. Three cops scramble out, guns drawn. "Turn around! Hands on your heads!" yells one of the cops.

In the distance, from the direction of the hospital, comes the crooning sound of an ambulance.

[shaidar]

Shift continues to clean and surreptitiously observe as though the police aren't waving guns around.

[tibbius]

The trolls and human turn around and put their hands on their heads, facing the iron grate that covers the broad window of the bodega.

The police barge across the street with cuffs in their hands and roughly apprehend and restrain their suspects. The three men don't resist. The cops holster their weapons. Then they urge the suspects away from each other, have them awkwardly kneel on the sidewalk, and each officer pulls out a recorder and starts asking questions.

The ambulance rolls up, orange and white lights flashing. A couple of paramedics get out of the back with a stretcher and begin to check out the wounded troll, who is breathing shallowly with his eyes closed. Shift notices the man's grey sweatshirt is mostly dark purple now around four bullet holes in the front torso.