Fantasy Bleeding Acid

[ThaDruid]

"Welcome to a world of pain!"
​

A long time ago, there were no Scrapper teams hauling junk around, no Hunter boys hunting mutants, no warlords and warladies murderin' eachother over and over again until the earth's saturated with their blood.
A long time ago, the world was a lush, green place, where man had no worries. The chemicals ruined all that. Made it toxic. Made it Acid. And we followed suit. Everyone's got Acid in their blood now. Made us strong, but fucked us up deep inside. You see, nobody's a real human no more. It all eroded away. Nothin' left to do but survive, like beasts in a cage. Maybe that's why they're keeping us holed up in this Crater. Maybe out there somebody's watching... Laughing as we tear our throats out...

But what the hell would I know. I'm just a dying man, bleeding acid all over the place!

Osthavula

 

[Osthavula]

"Come in. "

And she did. The clothing layered with cloth and metal made the distinctive sound as she walked in, hands at the back like a soldier. The man who she listened to turn around in his chair dramatically. Frank, the very boss of the group, clapped his hand slowly and firmly as his two bolt rings clang against each other.

"So, my Queenie, my little bird. How is it today?"

"All good. "

"Good, good. Good to hear. What's today's mission again? Scraps? Hunting?"

"Hunting, sir."

"Good, good. What else? How's the pay?"

"It's the usual."

"Usual? Ah, and I had hoped they would pay up the remaining sum from last month. You did tell my message properly, ye?"

"All very clearly. "

"Good, good. " Frank leaned back into his tall chair with a satisfied, toothy smile. There was something else about his smile, that stank like sewage water. He waved her away, in motions like a wingless fly. She didn't, though. First time in a long time, Frank frowned.

"What is it, my little Queenie?"

"The men..." She whispered, black hair hung over her overhead and blocked Frank's sight from seeing her face.

"What about the men. "

"Oh, funny you should ask. "

It was in the sudden horror that Frank had to see the door being kicked down behind her, and man after man streamed in, each holding their guns and knives. The woman walked calmly, slowly, straight towards him, and as he was held down onto that very chair he stuck his butt in, she hopped on his desk easily and squatted down, leaning in, face inches away. Only then, he saw his obedient toy, second in command, had a grin on her face.

"This is unacceptable! You are ..."

"Oh, give me a reason why we shouldn't? You've been here in the office while we all run for you, me and my men. We get very little of your sum, and?" She pulled out a drawer near him. "As I suspect, empty. There were no papers to file, what had you been wasting time doing here then, huh?"

She grabbed what Frank's hands were reaching for. A very cold, dark, long object. He stared at her coldly. "You don't know how to use that. "

"Do you?" Said her with a wide grin, a hunter grin, as she pusheth the end of the object to his forehead. The click sound sounded familiar like the sound of her armour. Cold, cruel, effective. But cruelness was nothing in this world, nothing.

Bang.

His brains scattered on the floor like water, his mouth now forever gaped, having a bloody hole above it. The woman looked at the dark object with thoughts. "It's not meant for close range. " Then without a second look at the body, she ordered. "Clean it up. "

"What should we do with it?"

"...Give it to some kids. Not the best, but it'll be the cleanest they get in this waste. "

 

[ThaDruid]

"My mother told me!"
"Someday I would buy!"
"Galley with good oars!"
"Sail to distant shores!"
"Stand up high on the prow!"
"Noble barque I steer!"
"Safe course for the haven!"
"Hew many foe-men!"
"HEW MANY FOE-MEN!"

The Scrappers cheered, waving their hands into the air, pulling on ropes and clapping merrily. Whatever their task was at the moment, singing these shanties made it all the easier... Or at least, it kept the boredom away. Currently, their task was waiting. To keep their ears peeled for a signal, that was the last order from their Captain. Whatever that wa-

BANG

The muffled but unmistakable sound of gunfire came from the small concrete block that their ship stood adjacent to. The Scrappers waited a few more moments, just to see if anything else followed the signal. Nothing. "Clean kill." A giant of a man commented, looking up from the card game he had going with another crew member. "This bosslady's a real professional. Good lookin' too." The other player replied, shuffling cards between his scarred hands. "TIME TO READY THE SAILS, YOU DOGS!" One screaming Scrapper waved his bell around, using its endless clanging to wake even the heaviest of sleepers. The crew slowly set to work, and a familiar echo sounded once more.

"My mother told me!"
"Someday I would buy!"
...
...
...

Inside the cramped building, the steady scritch-scratch of a cane against the floor announced The Captain's arrival. A couple of men parted, letting him enter the room. He winced. Seeing Frank's brains splattered against the wall... The brutal image of death still had an effect on him. He passed a hand over his sweaty brow, moving the eyepatch that covered an empty eyesocket back in place. The Captain frowned, leaning into his cane (Which was more of a harness wrapped around his left arm attached to an iron crutch with a sharp tip) and tapping his peg leg on the floor.

"Happens to the worst of 'em."
He shuffled forward, now standing just behind Queenie. Queenie... What a strange name. A name that seemed to belong more to an animal. But then, Queen felt too royal. He would settle for Q. "I wager you've made some people angry with this kill. My crew is preppin' the ship as we speak. You got any other loose ends to tie up 'fore we get out of this shithole?"

He couldn't help but place a hand on his belt, dangerously close to the handheld crossbow kept in place by a leather strap. Anyone holding a gun could turn psycho and shoot you. Black powder makes you feel powerful. Makes you too much trouble.

 

[Osthavula]

"Oh, I'm going to make people very angry. "

Said the woman as she turned around, slipping down the table edge while presenting a letter between them. On the letter, there was the signature of a name notorious to the residents of the waste. The two of them stood so closely, that they were both breathing on the yellow paper.

"We can either avoid them or be prepared when they come, either way, they will find that things weren't exactly what they were told, and certainly not as easy. " She tossed the paper away, and in the same position sliding the top of the stack of papers away, which then flew all over the floor into the scattered brain. "And this, this is our contract, Long John. I'll take it. "

Stuffing the paper into a box-like piece in her armour (and ignoring the rest), she nudged her man who was waiting on the side, causing quite a fearful reaction of him flinching. And while she chuckled, a single toothy knife raised above the heads of those men in the corner. They completely blocked the sight of what lied in between them.

The flinched man organized his embarrassed self for order and was happier when she told them to take everything valuable in the building. "Yes, boss lady. " He saluted, ready to walk away.

She pulled him back, an odd twinkle in her eyes as she lowly and solemnly ordered, again. "Call me Queen."

"Y, yes! Queen!"

Queen appeared quite thoughtful after he left, and didn't react when the others overheard and cheered. It had been years since she heard that name from another's voice. Her real name, her birth name. It became disgusting, ever since Frank gave it a twist and made it a pet name. For years, her fists had made sure no one had it on his tongue outside the office.

She was getting her name back.

Facing the Captain, the woman was expecting him to think her strange. "Queen" in its other meaning, sound pompous at best. Telling him to lead the way, she finally heard the singing outside of the door. She could see the ship, among the disfigured metal sea they now live, her men like ants over the irregular landscape.

Galley with good oars, huh.

 

[ThaDruid]

Outside, the air shifted. A wind blew in. Fast. Rugged. Violent. It cut at the skin of your face, leaving faint streaks of red in its wake. Everyone pulled down bandanas and makeshift gas masks, knowing well what came after. Fog of War, the locals called it. Thick, yellow dust that obscured your vision and painted everything in an acrid, sickly color. And with it, the smell of rotten eggs and death. Like an angel from the sky that spewed on everything you knew.

"Better ta' get the hell outta dodge. Fumes like this always spell a bad omen." Muttered Long John from under a red cloth. "A bad omen indeed..." The sun's hot glare got worse, made stronger by the suffocating sand. Slowly, throats began to burn and eyes began to water.

Rope ladders were thrown down from the Scrapper vessel. It was a mighty, imposing thing. Using the base of a war rig, with a hull of sheet metal all around. Black paint decorated the material with insults and skulls. With its evident welding spots and exposed junctures, it was a work of ramshackle art. All over it, humanoid figures climbed and writhed, swinging from one rusty chain to another, readying the ship for travel.

"AHOY!"

The scrappers on board yelled and a heavy chain rattled, before tensing suddenly.

"AHOY!"

Another yell, and the chain was pulled again, bringing up an anchor of inconcievable weight. A dried old corpse hung limply from the iron piece, with now-unreadable words carved deeply into his chest.

"AHOY!"

Until the anchor was up...

The captain climbed up with a certain dexterity that only years of experience could give, while still being slowed down by one too many wooden legs and the clunky harness around his left arm. The crew helped out in their own ways, pulling him up by the coat and helping him stand upright between a slap on the back and a cheer. One scrapper with tattoos swirling around his body pushed a long syringe in the old man's hands, followed by a whisper in his ear. Long John nodded knowingly, and slipped it into a hidden pouch. He heard the Acid's call.

Looking back at the Queen with his one good eye, he patted his chest, where the heart should be. "Got somethin' that needs taking care of. You head on under into the deck. Got a man there with a map, he'll tell you what routes we got planned. Once your lads are on board you give the sign and we get goin'." He began heading off into the cabin, limping on the pointed tip of his cane. The door was held open by a scrapper with red hair that he barely acknowledged. It was closed once both of them made their way in.

Up top, the crew's work slowly died down and they began returning to their sour lethargy. Their eyes paused on the Queen's form too long for comfort. They whispered among eachother, vaguely pointing and gesturing. One scratched absentmindedly at a dagger strapped to his thigh. All attention was on her...

 

[Osthavula]

Queen nodded to the Captain and pretended she didn't notice the gazes. There were too many tasks at hand, too many people to speak to and too many farewells that she had to execute before she even could consider what those strange look meant from the Captain's men. Frank had a building, so there wasn't any worry about how many people walk in or stay. This vessel, however, couldn't let all the men in. The sole number of them would crush the vessel into scrap metals.

"Reggie."

She called out to the men surrounded by a couple others armed guards, assuredly stepped in between Reggie and the giant metallic safe box, sabotaged and opened by force. There was somewhat a troop forming a few more steps further down, all the men seemed impatient. Reginald in his mask turned around, even then his frown was felt with the cover. "Queen. Are you sure you will go with them? We can start something without Frank, it won't have to be different. "

"I have a mess to clean up, Reggie. "

He silenced. That was his first mention of the proposal, and he knew one was enough. For an answer.

"The ration should be enough to divide it among the men including Long John's men. I'll be honest, the men are not too happy about that. You'd better not lost their ration to the other..." He shook his head. "Scraps we divide more to you, which sounds generous but I hope to shake off the attention. What's more is Frank's personal stash. "

"What about it. "

"I need more. I have more people. "

"... I thought we have already decided on the share. "

"Yes, but I'm thinking about what happens if they chase us. We are a big target, Queen. " Reginald knocked on the cracked lock. "About 50 men in a wasteland is not what I call a good strategy, boss. And Frank's vessel, what should I say... Reeks of his taste. "

Queen frowned looking at the men hoisting their stash into what they just said was Frank's vessel. They never used it, it was fashioned too much like the outerland where it was not as polluted. Smooth, unnecessarily comfortable, and not in the slightest bit camouflaged. She saw some men trying to paint it, but that still couldn't disguise it.

"Take my share. "

"That's not a lot. "

"Take my rations too then. Sell it, you'll get something. "

"But isn't it easier to just get a few of their shares..."

"Contract, Reginald. I'm already starving myself, what do you want? I'll take out you and your men as well as me myself if you suggest more. "

His eyes wandered to her mask, to the firm eyes behind yellowed goggles, to her armour and guns, and bowed his head. "You are right. ... So you are really starting off again, without Frank. Coming clean?"

"Us, Reggie. You'll never achieve that level of crooked and sleaziness. Not with your son out there, anyway. "

"Right, sometimes I forget..."

"It's the acid. Watch your intake. "

"Right. "

They didn't say more after that but waved the men forward to start moving the things. They had to hurry. Someone might be coming. Watching the rations and scraps for Long John and her seven men's cargo moving in, Queen finally stepped into the vessel itself. The man the captain mentioned was waiting for them with a sharp-ended glove, peeling with dried blood. She heard someone of hers shuffled. Hunting monsters and mutated men was one thing, meeting a well man in the regular practice of mapping and charting with blood was something unfamiliar. His figure striked as odd in the moving burly lots.

"So, tell me. "

That's all she said to the man.

 

[ThaDruid]

The lanky navigator looked up from his hunched position, intent on drawing another map on what probably was some poor sod's tanned skin. He pushed the parchment away, rising up and stretching his back. For a bit, the uncomfortable sound of popping bones was the only thing that could be heard in the room. Adjusting the spectactles on his hawkish nose, the mapper gave a low whistle, and a malformed ferret barrelled over from beneath the wooden table. On three small stumpy legs it moved, agile yet lacking any sort of grace. Once the beast came close enough, the navigator raised a foot and quickly stomped it down, crushing the ferret's throat with his wooden sandal. One hand grabbed the pitiful animal by the head, while the other one, gloved, punched its jagged tip into the little mammal's neck. Crimson flowed from the open artery, spilling over the floor and onto the man's hand.

Back to drawing he went, but not before motioning for Queen and her retinue to come closer.

thick lines of rich blood made arrows, circles and symbols. The map detailed two different planned routes, going in opposite directions but meeting at the same location: the ruins of a once-great city, now only known as the Madame. One route, heading west with a winding and twisted line, seemed to take through a more civilized land, if the blocky landmarks and humanoid figures on the map were any tell. The north route seemed to be consisting of straight lines that suddently and unexpectedly changed direction, and a distinct lack of landmarks made the drawing feel eerily empty.

"Ther- There's two roads we planned. Both da- dangerous. In their ways. Usually we don't get a choice, though."

The navigator spoke with an unexpectedly gentle voice, punctuated by slight stutters and ending with a short, almost nervous chuckle. He wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, then gestured back at the parchment.

"The road to the west, that leads into Pi- Pigskin's territory. You know how he is, he'll demand tribute as soon as his patrols sight us. A- And we won't stain our reputation with a warlord just for you, lady, no matter how much you're paying. Those paths are for... Eluding his boys until we get fa- far enough. Yes. B- But you better go in expecting to go a few nights with no eating. Yes."

Pigskin was a rough one to deal with. Full of himself, tough as nails and sitting on a good stash of gear. Not many warlords dared going toe-to-toe with him.

"And make sure none of yours are feeling trigger-happy. Th- That will end badly for all."

The mapper's hand moved slowly, now over the second route.

"This one, we'll be more... Alone here. This one goes through mutant county. Flat land, roads and wrecks. Completely uninhabited. Just the beasts roaming free. Even just one of those ca- can be dangerous for us. We will have to keep watch day and night. And no stopping, ever."

The man adjusted his itchy poncho, scratching the side of his neck. He leaned back into his stool, shoulders to the wall. Awaiting Queen's response, he began cleaning his scratched up spectacles, breathing into the glass and wiping whatever dirtied them away.

 

[Osthavula]

Queen stepped next to the navigator. The bloodpool barely clung on the metal of her boots, mutely reflected her dark garment. The hide, peaking out the scraps, was not unlike the ones on the beast's head if not stiffer. Then the woman leaned over to study the map with intrigued eyes. It was a remarkable map, she judged. No man in Frank's hire possessed the talent of creating a map, and they were forced to remember roads by memory and experiences, then by whatever map they salvaged from the other survivors. Where did Long John find such a treasure in this wasteland?

Her men took him with less ease. The eccentricity and the strangeness of such a person existed took them by surprise. They stood on the other side of the table and waited. Eyes wide open at the movement of the two.

The line, drawn by the medium of ink, fleshed out the landscape that Queen now vividly recall. Of course, there was no simple choice. Nothing in this terrible zone ever had an easy choice besides death. Only the stubborn ones left behind, earning breaths from the other burrowing kinds. She sniffed, like a beast picking up its prey's scent. Blood, grease and the others. Sharper scent. Acid? A beast in her hide jumped internally. She called its obedience biting her lip, grimacing.

"I won't say we are trigger-happy, but the man who will come after us certainly is. "

The usual option Frank would do is to turn people with territories against each other. He will pick Pigskin's territory, make sure the ones behind get a close chase, then kick off the dirt as soon as the others started yelling. It's business that Queen had gotten only too tired of. Lies. Turning coats. She would prefer not to go there just so she could start up the same business over again. Still, nevertheless, it was a safer option to lessen the hounds behind them. Starving was no stranger option to anyone.

The other side was the usual mutant hunts. Their main job. She knew better to underestimate the danger of it. Rough roads, unguarded. Anything happens to the vehicle and most of the people will be overpowered and devoured. They were experienced, sure. But nature, however rotten, does not require it to call annihilation.

Either way, she could smell blood. Grease. Everything that could leak if you smash a man on the grounds hard enough. The ground of more scraps, wreckages, dust and decomposed matters of old. She finally lifted her head up to the navigator, spirited eyes moved to the map and back to him.

"Tell me, what suits your boss's taste more?"