JayTee
Eight Thousand Club
Somehow I missed this update. All of the options are solid, so I have no objection to letting the vote decide without me.
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This section is for roleplays only.
ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.
Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.
Multiple Settings Brave Enough - A Werewolf: the Apocalypse Quest
- Thread starter wonderandawe
- Start date
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
No worries. The posting schedule got wonky for a while while we waited for site changes.
I will be updating on Mondays now the site migration is finished.
005 - Names
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
You give Toddy one last glance and return to your mother and Andrea. Interrupting your father’s phone conversation with Uncle Greg with questions was not the best way to get answers. Andrea seemed more forthcoming with information than your family.
“Andrea? What is with everyone’s weird nicknames?” You decide to start with an innocuous question.
“Sigrid…” your mother warns.
“No, it’s okay.” Andrea frowns considering your question. “I see no harm in answering. These names are our Deed Names. My Deed Name is Crack of Thunder. “
“Oh! Like a Gunshot!”
“Yes!” Andrea’s eyes light up when you guess the meaning behind her deed name. “You can call me Thunder. I prefer it to Andrea.”
“Do you have a deed name?” You ask your mother.
“No,” Your mother hugs herself, uncomfortable with the subject of this conversation. “Only those who work at Crying Rock get a Deed Name.”
“Uncle Greg does work at the Preserve. Dad called him Sparks. What’s the story behind his Deed Name?”
“Sparks earned his Deed Name in Los Angeles.” Andrea snorts. “I’ve heard a few stories, but Sparks won’t say which one is true.”
Your mother winces and you ponce on Thunder’s mistake. “Wait. Crying Rock is in Texas, not California. If you earn your Deed Name for working at Crying Rock, why did Uncle Greg get his in California?”
Confronted with her mistake, Thunder clenches her fists. Your hairs stand up on end. Your mother takes a step closer to you. Thunder takes a deep breath and forces herself calm. “You have a lot of questions.” Thunder tells you though gritted teeth. “We want to answer them, but we can not defy your father. It is his right to tell you what is happening to you.”
“What is going to happen? I’m getting fucking sick of this mysterious bullshit.” Toddy caws and Thunder silences the bird with a growl. “You can see Toddy, too!” you accuse. “What the fuck is he?”
“Andrea, go sit in the car.” You jump at Uncle Greg’s voice. Thunder looks down at the asphalt, nods, and leaves the parking lot.
“What is her problem?” You say. “I was just asking a fucking question.” Uncle Greg silences you with a glance. You too look down at the asphalt.
Still Uncle Greg answers your question. “Toddy is your Kinfetch. He is assigned to watch over you.”
At first, getting an answer to your question excites you. “Shit, I already figured that out!” Uncle Greg didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know.
“Sigrid, you are a smart girl. You have figured out just enough to be dangerous. Do you think this is either the time or the place for questions?” Uncle Greg nods at an empty police cruiser.
“No.” You had no choice but agree with Uncle Greg’s point. How did he manage to be both kind and condescending at the same time?
“Look, your taxi is here.” Uncle Greg smiles as the yellow checkered vehicle drives up. “You sure you don’t need help moving, Caroline?”
Your mother doesn’t respond. She takes you by the shoulders and leads you to the taxi. Uncle Greg passes the driver some cash. “If you need anything, do not hesitate to give me a call, Sigrid.” Uncle Greg reminds you.
“Anything except answers,” You remind him. You can taste the bitterness in your statement.
Uncle Greg sighs and slaps his hand on the taxi roof. The taxi pulls out of the parking lot and you look back through the dirty rear window. Uncle Greg stands in the parking lot alone. He gives you a wave as the taxi drives away.
You and your mother live in an older three story apartment building. An ancient live oak stands by the building, its roots buckling the sidewalk. Holly hedges protect each window. A line of scrub pines defend the apartment from the busy road. Dry pine needles blankets the ground instead of phosphate assisted green grass.
Your mother had a deal with the sleazy landlord. In exchange for free rent, your mother managed the property. At first, she did little besides collect rent from the residents and call the cops for domestic disturbances. When the maintenance man quit, your mother took over fixing minor maintenance problems. Soon, the landlord got a full time leasing manager for the price of rent on a two bedroom apartment.
The building is painted in a garnish paint which clashes with your mother’s artistic sensibilities. When the landlord brought the paint to the apartment, she refused to apply the horrible shades of color. Only when he threatened to evict you and your mother did she call the painters.
A stray tomcat, ear notched by territorial battles, sits on a bulging railroad tie wall. The tomcat watches calmly as the taxi pulls up to the apartment. Nothing short of large dogs and loud trucks scare this cat. Fearless, he would come up to you and beg for food. Yet as you open the door and get out of the taxi, the tomcat hisses, puffs up his tail, and flees in fear.
“Weird. Greeto’s never run from me before.” You glance back at your mother to see her reaction to the tomcat’s strange behavior. Your mother looks as frightened as the cat itself. Her fair skin paled to a ghostly white. Unshed tears glisten in her eyes. “Mom?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice cracks despite her reassurance. “It’s been a long day. Let’s get inside, Sigrid. It’s not safe on the street.”
The two bedroom apartment apartment you share with your mother is small. Brown carpets so old, you are unsure they began their life as brown. The vinyl flooring matches the beige and fake oak cabinets. Despite its scruffy looks, the apartment was clean, scented by soap and herbs.
The sleazy landlord allowed your mother to paint the walls. Though the mural above the couch was not now what he had in mind. Cowboys drive a stampede of cattle safely away from two towering giants. The juxtaposition between everyday Texas ranch culture and ancient old world myth was your mother’s favorite subject. Unfortunately, the paintings didn’t sell well at the farmer’s market. Her herbal soaps and other homemade bath products put food on the table.
You loved that mural and it saddened you it had to be left behind. If only your mother painted it on canvas. Then it wouldn’t be covered over by whoever lives in this apartment after you.
You join your mother in the kitchen. She rummages through the cabinets for peanut butter. Jelly and bread sit on the counter. Outside the window, Toddy sits in his usual spot on the electric line. You lean against the kitchen counter and cross your arms. “I’m guessing you aren’t going to tell me anything either?”
You mother opens the jar of jelly and spreads it on the bread thick, which is how you like it. “Your father can explain better than I.”
“Then he can answer any questions I have after you tell me what is going on.”
“Sigrid, I don’t ask much of you. Please just leave this one alone.” Your mother begs. She finishes assembling two sandwiches and offers you one. “Greg said your father will tell you everything on Monday.”
“If he shows up.” Your mother doesn’t say anything to this, sharing your bitterness. Your father has always chosen work over his family. Why should that change now?
You take a bite of your sandwich, excess strawberry jelly drips down onto your plate. Your mother puts the sandwich makings away. Then she compiles a to-do list for the move to Kirksville. Buy car battery. Find moving boxes. Pack Kitchen. Pack Art Supplies. Pack Sigrid’s room. Clean out Fridge. Shampoo the carpet. Scrub floors. As the list grows, her sandwich sits ignored on the counter.
All you were doing was stressing your mother more by pushing this. She did have a long day which included bailing you out of jail. Tomorrow she was moving back to the small town expecting who knows what welcome. Somehow you doubt they will be killing the fatted calf for your return. You should give her a break. “I won’t bug you about it anymore.” You are a big girl. You can wait until Monday. If your father doesn’t show up, you’ll go looking for him. Kirksville isn’t that big.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Your mother sets down her list and checks the peephole. “Shit. It’s Vic.” Vic was your sleazy landlord.
“Caroline!” Vic knocks again. “Is that you I hear there?!”
“Go away, Vic. It’s after midnight.” Your mother yells through the door.
“What’s this text about you moving?” Vic squeals through the door.
“Go. The. Fuck. Away.” Your mother rests her forehead against the door. “I’ve had a long day and I don’t have time to shovel your pig shit.”
“Give me five minutes and I’ll leave you alone.”
“It’s never only five minutes, you lying sack of shit.” She mutters. Your mother thuds the door with her forehead and unlocks it. ‘Stay inside.” She orders as she slips out to deal with the landlord.
What do you do?
“Andrea? What is with everyone’s weird nicknames?” You decide to start with an innocuous question.
“Sigrid…” your mother warns.
“No, it’s okay.” Andrea frowns considering your question. “I see no harm in answering. These names are our Deed Names. My Deed Name is Crack of Thunder. “
“Oh! Like a Gunshot!”
“Yes!” Andrea’s eyes light up when you guess the meaning behind her deed name. “You can call me Thunder. I prefer it to Andrea.”
“Do you have a deed name?” You ask your mother.
“No,” Your mother hugs herself, uncomfortable with the subject of this conversation. “Only those who work at Crying Rock get a Deed Name.”
“Uncle Greg does work at the Preserve. Dad called him Sparks. What’s the story behind his Deed Name?”
“Sparks earned his Deed Name in Los Angeles.” Andrea snorts. “I’ve heard a few stories, but Sparks won’t say which one is true.”
Your mother winces and you ponce on Thunder’s mistake. “Wait. Crying Rock is in Texas, not California. If you earn your Deed Name for working at Crying Rock, why did Uncle Greg get his in California?”
Confronted with her mistake, Thunder clenches her fists. Your hairs stand up on end. Your mother takes a step closer to you. Thunder takes a deep breath and forces herself calm. “You have a lot of questions.” Thunder tells you though gritted teeth. “We want to answer them, but we can not defy your father. It is his right to tell you what is happening to you.”
“What is going to happen? I’m getting fucking sick of this mysterious bullshit.” Toddy caws and Thunder silences the bird with a growl. “You can see Toddy, too!” you accuse. “What the fuck is he?”
“Andrea, go sit in the car.” You jump at Uncle Greg’s voice. Thunder looks down at the asphalt, nods, and leaves the parking lot.
“What is her problem?” You say. “I was just asking a fucking question.” Uncle Greg silences you with a glance. You too look down at the asphalt.
Still Uncle Greg answers your question. “Toddy is your Kinfetch. He is assigned to watch over you.”
At first, getting an answer to your question excites you. “Shit, I already figured that out!” Uncle Greg didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know.
“Sigrid, you are a smart girl. You have figured out just enough to be dangerous. Do you think this is either the time or the place for questions?” Uncle Greg nods at an empty police cruiser.
“No.” You had no choice but agree with Uncle Greg’s point. How did he manage to be both kind and condescending at the same time?
“Look, your taxi is here.” Uncle Greg smiles as the yellow checkered vehicle drives up. “You sure you don’t need help moving, Caroline?”
Your mother doesn’t respond. She takes you by the shoulders and leads you to the taxi. Uncle Greg passes the driver some cash. “If you need anything, do not hesitate to give me a call, Sigrid.” Uncle Greg reminds you.
“Anything except answers,” You remind him. You can taste the bitterness in your statement.
Uncle Greg sighs and slaps his hand on the taxi roof. The taxi pulls out of the parking lot and you look back through the dirty rear window. Uncle Greg stands in the parking lot alone. He gives you a wave as the taxi drives away.
You and your mother live in an older three story apartment building. An ancient live oak stands by the building, its roots buckling the sidewalk. Holly hedges protect each window. A line of scrub pines defend the apartment from the busy road. Dry pine needles blankets the ground instead of phosphate assisted green grass.
Your mother had a deal with the sleazy landlord. In exchange for free rent, your mother managed the property. At first, she did little besides collect rent from the residents and call the cops for domestic disturbances. When the maintenance man quit, your mother took over fixing minor maintenance problems. Soon, the landlord got a full time leasing manager for the price of rent on a two bedroom apartment.
The building is painted in a garnish paint which clashes with your mother’s artistic sensibilities. When the landlord brought the paint to the apartment, she refused to apply the horrible shades of color. Only when he threatened to evict you and your mother did she call the painters.
A stray tomcat, ear notched by territorial battles, sits on a bulging railroad tie wall. The tomcat watches calmly as the taxi pulls up to the apartment. Nothing short of large dogs and loud trucks scare this cat. Fearless, he would come up to you and beg for food. Yet as you open the door and get out of the taxi, the tomcat hisses, puffs up his tail, and flees in fear.
“Weird. Greeto’s never run from me before.” You glance back at your mother to see her reaction to the tomcat’s strange behavior. Your mother looks as frightened as the cat itself. Her fair skin paled to a ghostly white. Unshed tears glisten in her eyes. “Mom?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice cracks despite her reassurance. “It’s been a long day. Let’s get inside, Sigrid. It’s not safe on the street.”
The two bedroom apartment apartment you share with your mother is small. Brown carpets so old, you are unsure they began their life as brown. The vinyl flooring matches the beige and fake oak cabinets. Despite its scruffy looks, the apartment was clean, scented by soap and herbs.
The sleazy landlord allowed your mother to paint the walls. Though the mural above the couch was not now what he had in mind. Cowboys drive a stampede of cattle safely away from two towering giants. The juxtaposition between everyday Texas ranch culture and ancient old world myth was your mother’s favorite subject. Unfortunately, the paintings didn’t sell well at the farmer’s market. Her herbal soaps and other homemade bath products put food on the table.
You loved that mural and it saddened you it had to be left behind. If only your mother painted it on canvas. Then it wouldn’t be covered over by whoever lives in this apartment after you.
You join your mother in the kitchen. She rummages through the cabinets for peanut butter. Jelly and bread sit on the counter. Outside the window, Toddy sits in his usual spot on the electric line. You lean against the kitchen counter and cross your arms. “I’m guessing you aren’t going to tell me anything either?”
You mother opens the jar of jelly and spreads it on the bread thick, which is how you like it. “Your father can explain better than I.”
“Then he can answer any questions I have after you tell me what is going on.”
“Sigrid, I don’t ask much of you. Please just leave this one alone.” Your mother begs. She finishes assembling two sandwiches and offers you one. “Greg said your father will tell you everything on Monday.”
“If he shows up.” Your mother doesn’t say anything to this, sharing your bitterness. Your father has always chosen work over his family. Why should that change now?
You take a bite of your sandwich, excess strawberry jelly drips down onto your plate. Your mother puts the sandwich makings away. Then she compiles a to-do list for the move to Kirksville. Buy car battery. Find moving boxes. Pack Kitchen. Pack Art Supplies. Pack Sigrid’s room. Clean out Fridge. Shampoo the carpet. Scrub floors. As the list grows, her sandwich sits ignored on the counter.
All you were doing was stressing your mother more by pushing this. She did have a long day which included bailing you out of jail. Tomorrow she was moving back to the small town expecting who knows what welcome. Somehow you doubt they will be killing the fatted calf for your return. You should give her a break. “I won’t bug you about it anymore.” You are a big girl. You can wait until Monday. If your father doesn’t show up, you’ll go looking for him. Kirksville isn’t that big.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Your mother sets down her list and checks the peephole. “Shit. It’s Vic.” Vic was your sleazy landlord.
“Caroline!” Vic knocks again. “Is that you I hear there?!”
“Go away, Vic. It’s after midnight.” Your mother yells through the door.
“What’s this text about you moving?” Vic squeals through the door.
“Go. The. Fuck. Away.” Your mother rests her forehead against the door. “I’ve had a long day and I don’t have time to shovel your pig shit.”
“Give me five minutes and I’ll leave you alone.”
“It’s never only five minutes, you lying sack of shit.” She mutters. Your mother thuds the door with her forehead and unlocks it. ‘Stay inside.” She orders as she slips out to deal with the landlord.
What do you do?
- Go outside with your mother and Vic. You can help your mother get rid of the sleazy bastard
- Go to your mother’s room and search through her stuff. Maybe she has some clue hiding in there.
- Start packing. Don’t have much time to move and there is no way you are getting sleep tonight.
- Go to bed. You are tired of this day. Tomorrow will be better.
- Other
TrueBananaz
Elder Member
Go to bed
Amerikia1126
Occasionally Active
Start packing, it's the least you can do.
JayTee
Eight Thousand Club
Start packing, but keep an ear out for any trouble. Alternately, harass Toddy for answers. Damned buzzard is obviously smart enough to answer a few questions.
Jairain
New Member
Start packing, let's take away some of moms stress. She can handle the landlord if she's already been handling him. If it gets yelly we can step in. Actually let's bust our ass to do as much work as we can. It sounds like our mother has to dramatically change her life because of us. Least we can do.
Natasha Fatale
New Member
Go outside with your mom and Vic. (You're an ass kicker now, you can put him in the hospital too.)
You don't want to cause your mom any additional stress, but you don't like or particularly trust Vic. You carefully crack the door open and listen, ready to rush out if things get rough. You've already been exonerated from putting one motherfucker in the hospital, you have no qualms about round 2 if necessary.
I'm torn between:
- Go outside with your mother and Vic. You can help your mother get rid of the sleazy bastard
- Go to your mother’s room and search through her stuff. Maybe she has some clue hiding in there.
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
Vote Count Thus Far
Go to bed
TrueBananaz
Start Packing
Amerikia1126
JayTee
Jairain
megapixel
Go Outside with Mom and Landlord
Natasha Fatale
BuggyBran (The other scenario will fall out in this manner)
Ataxia (?)
Search Mom's room
Ataxia(?)
Other Scenarios
Question Toddy - JayTee
Eavesdrop on Landlord and Mother and intervene in case of trouble - BuggyBran
How I deal with Other Scenarios
If I like an other scenario, I will try to work it into the next post if it does not interfere with the winning vote. For example, JayTee's other Toddy scenario does not conflict with the voting options, so it may come up in the next post.
If there is a tie and I like the other scenario, I will write the other scenario.
If an other scenario wins the vote, I will use the scenario to write the post, unless it throws plot off a lot. In these cases, I will bring up the issues with the scenario before the vote ends. (This rarely happens, I can incorporate a lot of different options into plot. )
Go to bed
TrueBananaz
Start Packing
Amerikia1126
JayTee
Jairain
megapixel
Go Outside with Mom and Landlord
Natasha Fatale
BuggyBran (The other scenario will fall out in this manner)
Ataxia (?)
Search Mom's room
Ataxia(?)
Other Scenarios
Question Toddy - JayTee
Eavesdrop on Landlord and Mother and intervene in case of trouble - BuggyBran
How I deal with Other Scenarios
If I like an other scenario, I will try to work it into the next post if it does not interfere with the winning vote. For example, JayTee's other Toddy scenario does not conflict with the voting options, so it may come up in the next post.
If there is a tie and I like the other scenario, I will write the other scenario.
If an other scenario wins the vote, I will use the scenario to write the post, unless it throws plot off a lot. In these cases, I will bring up the issues with the scenario before the vote ends. (This rarely happens, I can incorporate a lot of different options into plot. )
Last edited:
006 - Introspective
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
As soon as your mother leaves, you crash on the couch trembling. You put your head into your hands and think about how you fucked everything up. This morning you were a high school student enjoying the last days of summer freedom. Your few hard earned friends invited you to go to a movie. People seem to respect you more than like you. You intimidated them. You were too intense, they would say. Calm the fuck down, Sigrid, they would say. And they were right. You wouldn’t have fucked everything up if you kept your temper.
This morning you biggest worry was if rejecting Scott was the wrong decision. Now you know you were right about Scott. You didn’t need that type of asshole in your life. You realized after your first date you liked the idea of a boyfriend more than dealing with the actual boyfriend. Texting and chatting on Facebook was fun while dating was theoretical. During the actual date, you realize you and Scott had nothing in common. You didn’t even like Scott. He was simply the only single guy in your group of friends.
What if no one else ever asked you out again? Were you doomed to be alone forever? You shake your head. Were you really thinking about boys? You are a violent criminal now. Didn’t you have better things to think about? Maybe plan your next crime? You survived this long without a boyfriend. And the rest of the male species was better off avoiding you. Your track record shows you are more likely to bash their head in than kiss with them.
Desperate to think about anything else, your eyes fall upon the ten year old Texas Road Atlas your mother kept on the bookshelf. You pull it off the shelf and flip the pages until you find Kirksville. Your finger traces the single pink line that runs through the town. Shit! This place only has one main street! There was nothing there except cow pastures and the Wilderness Preserve. Did Kirksville even has a high school? Was there anything to do in Kirksville besides tipping cows and flinging mud pies? Disgusted, you throw the Atlas back on the bookshelf. Maybe the town grew in the years since the Atlas was printed.
Your mother never talked about Kirksville. She never called her family and rarely answered when they called her. She didn’t show up to either of her grandparent’s funerals nor to her sister’s wedding. If your father didn’t threaten to take her to court, she may not even talk to him about you. Your mother often used calling your father to keep you in line and let him be the bearer of bad news.
Shit. Whatever is going must be bad if your mother wanted your father to talk to you about it.
Still, at least you could do is make the move easier on your mother. In the past year, your mother’s soap business finally turned a profit. She had regular visitors to her farmer's market booth. People would call her with special orders. Now she will have to start all over in a town smaller than her current customer base.
Guilt forces you off your ass. You wash the dishes. You clean out the fridge. You open the cupboards and inventory what needs to be packed. You groan in frustration when you realize you don’t have any newspaper nor moving boxes. You promise yourself to wake up early to steal the neighbor’s newspapers. They can always call the newspaper office to replace them.
Your mother returns, her expression weary and worn. Dark circles under her eyes betray the amount of stress she is under. “Sigrid, don’t worry about the kitchen. I’ll get it in the morning.” She closes her eyes. “I’m going to bed.” Her tone tells you she is fucking done with this day. She retreats to her bedroom and closes the door shut.
You stand alone in the kitchen, shakened by your mother’s appearance. Your mother has been though a lot over the years. Yet though every trip to the emergency room, every eviction notice, every school detention, your mother was there for you. She even threatened physical violence on a school administrator before. She handled every problem that came your way. Nothing fazed her. Being a single mother isn’t easy but your mother has always had your back. It was the two of you against the world.
Toddy caws and you shiver. You had this feeling… this certainty you were going to a place where your mother couldn’t follow. The little lies you tell yourself are striped away. You are forced to accept both you and your mother’s mortality. One day your mother wouldn’t be here to take care of you.
You will be on your own.
Toddy caws again. You open the door and scream. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid bird!” You scream out the door. “If you aren’t going to tell me what the fuck is going on, at least be silent.” You slam the door, ignoring the annoyed cries of neighbors. You didn’t care. You won’t seeing them again after you move.
Shit, you should have asked Uncle Greg more questions about Toddy. What was a Kinfetch exactly and why did only you have one? You push open the door to your room.
“What the…” You find Toddy flapping his wings from your metal footboard. You close the door and count to ten. You open the door to find Toddy still sitting there waiting. There was no way he could have gotten in. You had nightmares about the old scarred raven staring down at you while you slept. Apparently they were true.
You sit on the bed next to Toddy. “You are smarter than you look.” You accuse. “Can you talk?” You read some ravens could learn words.
Toddy says nothing and stares at you.
“What the fuck are you?” you ask.
Toddy cocks his head and caws.
“Shit, of course I don’t get the bird who speaks English.” You throw yourself back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling for a bit. Your mind refused to turn off for sleep. Then you cast your eyes around the room. If you weren’t going to sleep you might as well pack.
What do you pack first?
Out of Character Commentary Another Character Creation Decision!
To explain the traits:
Mental traits are how well you notice things, how intelligent you are, and how quickly you react to new information.
Social Traits are how charismatic you are, how well you manipulate people, and how attractive you look.
Physical Traits are how strong you are, how nimble your are, and how tough you are.
For example, (Physical, Social, Mental) means you are better than average at Physical Traits, Average at Social Traits, and less than Average at Mental traits. Note, being less than average in a trait category doesn’t mean you are disabled in that category. You just slower to process information or socially awkward or get winded faster than other average people.
I should note, now that Sigrid is calmed down, I will slightly adjust her character to fit the players’ decision. She’s been running high on emotion right now since she got out of jail. It is your time to decide what type of person she is.
Out of Character Commentary
This morning you biggest worry was if rejecting Scott was the wrong decision. Now you know you were right about Scott. You didn’t need that type of asshole in your life. You realized after your first date you liked the idea of a boyfriend more than dealing with the actual boyfriend. Texting and chatting on Facebook was fun while dating was theoretical. During the actual date, you realize you and Scott had nothing in common. You didn’t even like Scott. He was simply the only single guy in your group of friends.
What if no one else ever asked you out again? Were you doomed to be alone forever? You shake your head. Were you really thinking about boys? You are a violent criminal now. Didn’t you have better things to think about? Maybe plan your next crime? You survived this long without a boyfriend. And the rest of the male species was better off avoiding you. Your track record shows you are more likely to bash their head in than kiss with them.
Desperate to think about anything else, your eyes fall upon the ten year old Texas Road Atlas your mother kept on the bookshelf. You pull it off the shelf and flip the pages until you find Kirksville. Your finger traces the single pink line that runs through the town. Shit! This place only has one main street! There was nothing there except cow pastures and the Wilderness Preserve. Did Kirksville even has a high school? Was there anything to do in Kirksville besides tipping cows and flinging mud pies? Disgusted, you throw the Atlas back on the bookshelf. Maybe the town grew in the years since the Atlas was printed.
Your mother never talked about Kirksville. She never called her family and rarely answered when they called her. She didn’t show up to either of her grandparent’s funerals nor to her sister’s wedding. If your father didn’t threaten to take her to court, she may not even talk to him about you. Your mother often used calling your father to keep you in line and let him be the bearer of bad news.
Shit. Whatever is going must be bad if your mother wanted your father to talk to you about it.
Still, at least you could do is make the move easier on your mother. In the past year, your mother’s soap business finally turned a profit. She had regular visitors to her farmer's market booth. People would call her with special orders. Now she will have to start all over in a town smaller than her current customer base.
Guilt forces you off your ass. You wash the dishes. You clean out the fridge. You open the cupboards and inventory what needs to be packed. You groan in frustration when you realize you don’t have any newspaper nor moving boxes. You promise yourself to wake up early to steal the neighbor’s newspapers. They can always call the newspaper office to replace them.
Your mother returns, her expression weary and worn. Dark circles under her eyes betray the amount of stress she is under. “Sigrid, don’t worry about the kitchen. I’ll get it in the morning.” She closes her eyes. “I’m going to bed.” Her tone tells you she is fucking done with this day. She retreats to her bedroom and closes the door shut.
You stand alone in the kitchen, shakened by your mother’s appearance. Your mother has been though a lot over the years. Yet though every trip to the emergency room, every eviction notice, every school detention, your mother was there for you. She even threatened physical violence on a school administrator before. She handled every problem that came your way. Nothing fazed her. Being a single mother isn’t easy but your mother has always had your back. It was the two of you against the world.
Toddy caws and you shiver. You had this feeling… this certainty you were going to a place where your mother couldn’t follow. The little lies you tell yourself are striped away. You are forced to accept both you and your mother’s mortality. One day your mother wouldn’t be here to take care of you.
You will be on your own.
Toddy caws again. You open the door and scream. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid bird!” You scream out the door. “If you aren’t going to tell me what the fuck is going on, at least be silent.” You slam the door, ignoring the annoyed cries of neighbors. You didn’t care. You won’t seeing them again after you move.
Shit, you should have asked Uncle Greg more questions about Toddy. What was a Kinfetch exactly and why did only you have one? You push open the door to your room.
“What the…” You find Toddy flapping his wings from your metal footboard. You close the door and count to ten. You open the door to find Toddy still sitting there waiting. There was no way he could have gotten in. You had nightmares about the old scarred raven staring down at you while you slept. Apparently they were true.
You sit on the bed next to Toddy. “You are smarter than you look.” You accuse. “Can you talk?” You read some ravens could learn words.
Toddy says nothing and stares at you.
“What the fuck are you?” you ask.
Toddy cocks his head and caws.
“Shit, of course I don’t get the bird who speaks English.” You throw yourself back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling for a bit. Your mind refused to turn off for sleep. Then you cast your eyes around the room. If you weren’t going to sleep you might as well pack.
What do you pack first?
- Athletic Equipment. You were a top athletic. You do okay in school, but sports scholarships are going to pay the tuition bills. (Physical, Mental, Social)
- Cheerleader Equipment. Despite what people say, Cheer really is a sport. You love rousing the crowd to cheer the football players on. (Physical, Social, Mental)
- Old Textbooks. You were a teacher’s pet in your old school. You got your homework before the end of period it was assigned. You know the right questions to ask to impress the teachers. (Mental, Social, Physical)
- Art Supplies. You are an artist like your mother. You have a good eye for color and form. You are dexterous enough to craft jewelry and can throw heavy clay easily. (Mental, Physical, Social)
- Campaign Materials. You were on your way to becoming Junior Class President at your old school. Now you are going to have build your reputation all over again. (Social, Mental, Physical)
- Musical Instruments. You were a part of the marching band at your old school. You’ve spent the past few weeks practicing for the first football game. (Social, Physical, Mental)
Out of Character Commentary Another Character Creation Decision!
To explain the traits:
Mental traits are how well you notice things, how intelligent you are, and how quickly you react to new information.
Social Traits are how charismatic you are, how well you manipulate people, and how attractive you look.
Physical Traits are how strong you are, how nimble your are, and how tough you are.
For example, (Physical, Social, Mental) means you are better than average at Physical Traits, Average at Social Traits, and less than Average at Mental traits. Note, being less than average in a trait category doesn’t mean you are disabled in that category. You just slower to process information or socially awkward or get winded faster than other average people.
I should note, now that Sigrid is calmed down, I will slightly adjust her character to fit the players’ decision. She’s been running high on emotion right now since she got out of jail. It is your time to decide what type of person she is.
Out of Character Commentary
Jairain
New Member
Campaign materials, let's be charismatic and smart! If we can get our anger figured out we would be charming as fu**
Amerikia1126
Occasionally Active
Musical instruments. Charm people into doing what we want and if that fails, beat them up. Brains are for nerds : P
eura
Unlucky Member
Athletic just fits the portrayal of the character to me, so that one.
JayTee
Eight Thousand Club
Athletic, easily.
Natasha Fatale
New Member
Can she pack art supplies AND old textbooks?
Nutmeggera
New Member
Athletic! You are on the softball, lacrosse, and soccer team.
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
Technically, yes. But you still need to pick a preference between the two for assigning the traits.
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
007 - Lists
wonderandawe
Most likeky not a Sidereal
Mud caked cleats, a clay stained softball, a worn lacrosse stick, and other sporting equipment lie scattered around your room. You tried every sport at some point in your life.. You participated in every charity car wash and bake sale to raise money to play. Once, when your mother couldn’t afford the new uniforms, you told your lacrosse coach you had to quit the team. The next day you found a set of the new uniforms hanging from your locker. Your coach paid for them and you paid her back by leading the junior varsity team all the way to state championship. She along with the other sports coaches will be sad you will not be returning to school this year.
Despite your philandery with team sports, your true love was track and field. You excelled at long distance races. Sometimes, when you ran, the sounds of the cheering crowds and your huffing competitors would fade away. All you could hear the beat of your heart, the ground beneath your feet, and the sky up above. At moments like those, you felt you could run forever.
As you shove sports equipment back in their bags, you wonder what girl’s sports were available at your new school. All you knew was they had a football team. You father played when he was in high school. He was good enough to earn a scholarship to Florida State University. He turned it down when your mother found out she was pregnant. You always worried your father blamed you for screwing up his future football career.
If you didn’t overfill your schedule with sports, you could focus more on school. You had passing grades, but with more effort you could be making As and Bs. Sign up for only Track, maybe Lacrosse, and drop the others. Get your grades up in preparation for college.
It doesn’t take long to pack up your things. Besides clothes, a five year old laptop, school books, and the equipment, you didn’t own much. You didn’t even bother to decorate your room. It was a place of sleeping and storage. When you needed some time alone to clear your head, you ran outside rather than retreated to your room.
By the time you check your phone, it is three o’clock in the morning. You debate staying up for the newspaper delivery, but decide on a few hours of sleep instead. You sneak out of your room and head to the bathroom not wanting to disturb your mother. Hearing a sound, you pause at your mother’s door.
Sobbing. Your mother is crying. “Gaia, why did you have to take my daughter?” She softly wails to herself. Shakened, you retreat from your mother’s door and hide in the bathroom, lights off.
Gaia. The Earth Mother. You have heard stories of Gaia all your life. Gaia was both goddess and the Earth. The Sons of Fenrir roamed the earth as wolves and protected Gaia from the evil Jotun. The Jotun strived to corrupt Gaia until she was more like them- decayed, diseased, and dying. The stories your mother told you as a child were more violent than the sanitized Norse myths you read in school. You like your mother’s versions better. Still to you, Gaia was a myth. You never heard your mother call upon her as a deity before.
After a few minutes, you turn on the bathroom light. You brush your teeth and stare into the mirror. Icy blue grey eyes stare back at you. You pull off your blood-stained shirt and throw it in the bathroom trash. Despite spending hours in the summer sun, your pale skin refuses to tan. Nor does an ounce of fat soften the ropy muscles on your long arms and legs. You were tall, thick boned, and had a broad face. Your nose was bent, a souvenir from your years in Lacrosse. No chest to speak of, which is good for active sports and poor for attracting male attention. Strands of dirty blonde hair escape your hair clip. You free your hair, brush, and plait it.
Dressed in nothing but your socks, you walk back to your room. Toddy dozes on your footboard, unconcerned by your nakedness. You dig out a nightshirt and set an early alarm on your phone. You slip under the covers and watch the ceiling fan turn. You should have not sent Scott those pictures. You should have not chased Scott down in the movie theater parking lot. You should have not threatened to beat the shit out of your Uncle.
You should have got to your mother and comforted her. Instead you fled like a coward. You rolled over and closed your eyes. Who was Gaia and where the fuck was she taking me? was your last thought before you fell asleep.
A mockingbird chirps in imitation of a car alarm. Unable to reach the annoying mockingbird, you throw a pillow at Toddy instead. The raven retreats to the top of your headboard. The late morning sun shines through the blinds. You curse and check your nightstand for your phone. It’s missing. You find your phone across the room, lying next to a chunk of drywall. You pick it up. A spiderweb of cracks crisscross the screen. You wipe drywall dust off your phone with your nightshirt. Thankfully, the touchscreen still works.
You throw clothes on. Your elderly neighbors are sure to have retrieved their newspapers by now. You open the door and trip over a pile of stuff. Folded moving boxes scatter across the sidewalk. A packing tape gun clatters to the ground. You catch a box imploring you to be a bagel hero before it falls. A box of coffee sits safely by the door next to a car battery and packing paper.
A note taped the car battery reads “See you in Kirksville -GW” You snort. Uncle Greg must want you to move as soon as possible. You bring in the coffee and bagels. You put a bagel in the toaster and retrieve the rest of the items.
You finish half a bagel when your mother shuffles in, fully dressed yet half asleep. “Good morning, did you have any strange dreams?”
“No, Uncle Greg left us moving stuff and breakfast.” You lick cream cheese off your index finger.
“That bastard!” Your mother rages. She crosses her arms at the offending pile. “He even fucking left a car battery.”
“Um….” You set down your half eaten bagel. Your mother was a proud woman but you did need boxes to move. “Do we have to give the stuff back?”
“No…” your mother rubs her forehead. “Go ahead and eat.” She picks up the car battery and head to the van.
You don’t drink coffee, but you down a cup to make up for your lack of sleep. You pick up your mother’s moving list and cross off “Find moving boxes” and “Buy car battery.”
Over the next two days, you and your mother work your way through the list and clear out the apartment. By Sunday morning, the van is packed and your mother is driving to Kirksville. Watching grey stone and red brick buildings of Austin pass by, you wonder when you will see the city again. You also worry the van will not make the two hour trip to Kirksville. As your mother drives on the highways that spider across Texas, you pull out an old notebook. You write down questions you don’t have an answer to.
“What are you doing?” Your mother asks.
“Writing down questions for dad to answer so I don’t forget.” You answer. You underline the word “Fuck” a few times. You know your mother could answer these questions if she wanted to. Your mother leaving you in suspense pisses you off.
Your mother says nothing to this. She fiddles with the radio dial, trying to find decent music to listen to.
“I believe what I believe. It makes me what I am. And I did not make it. No, it is making me…” Your mother tunes away from the Christian Rock station.
“There’s a special place nobody knows, way up on the hill. Where the moon shines through the tall pines…” The country station does not suit your mother’s mood either. She gives up and leaves the radio on NPR.
You close the notebook and attempt to get information from a different direction. “Why did we leave Kirksville in the first place?” Your parents divorced years ago, but your mother also avoided the rest of her family. While most kids in school went home for the holidays, you and your mother stayed in Austin. She didn’t even attend Aunt Anne and Uncle Greg’s wedding.
“Your father was too involved in the family business.”
“You mean the Wilderness Preserve?”
“Yes, Crying Rock.” She took a deep breath. “It changed him. Made him more irritable. More violent.”
You knew your father had a temper, but you never heard your mother use the word violent to describe it before. “Was he on drugs? Did he beat you?”
“No! No drugs!” Your mother denies. She grips the steering wheel. “Though there were times I feared he would hurt you. Do you remember breaking your arm?”
You grip your left arm unconsciously and search your memory. You have nothing but fragments from the time before you left Kirksville. “No.”
“You broke your arm when you were five. Your father was watching you while I cooked dinner. It was one of the few nights he was free from work.” Your mother stares straight ahead, refusing to look at you. “He said you fell out of a tree. I couldn’t be sure if that was the truth or if he lost control.”
“Mom,” You clench the notebook in your hands. “You are making dad out to be a monster.”
Your mother ignores your comment. “My family stood by him. Said I needed to stop worrying, but they didn’t understand. Before… before he started working at Crying Rock, he was different.” Your mother’s eyes shine in remembrance. “We both dreamed of leaving Kirksville and living our own lives.” She smiles. “We were going to get a dog after we moved to Tallahassee. You can’t tell anyone this, but Frank always wanted a dog. “
“But then you got knocked up with me.”
“Sigrid.” Your mother’s voice was firm. “Do not blame yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault. Once your father started working at Crying Rock, he couldn’t leave even if you weren’t born.”
“You make it sound like he didn’t have a choice. “
“You’ll understand when you see your father.” Your mother’s voice falls to a whisper. “Just be careful, Sigrid. Your father is a dangerous man, but remember that he loves you.”
You frown and cross your arms. “So we left Kirksville to get away from dad. Why are we going back? Can’t we tell Dad and Uncle Greg to fuck off?”
“Kirksville is the best place for you right now.”
“Why!?” You slam the dashboard with a fist. “Why is Kirksville so much better for me than Austin?! It makes no fucking sense!”
“Sigrid, please control your temper!”
“No!” You wither in rage. You dig your fingernails into the notebook. “I’m so sick of everyone bitching about my temper. What about dad’s temper?! No one says anything to him about it!” You want to smash your mother’s face into the steering wheel.
Wait, what? You don't want to hurt your mother. She was your mother! You can barely breath when you make the connection. “Oh, god! I’m just like him!”
“Sigrid, calm down. We are about thirty minutes away from Kirksville.” Your mother says calmly. She has a death grip on the steering wheel. “Tell me about the time we when to Galveston. Remember the seagulls on the beach?”
“You are trying to distract me!” You accuse. Despite its cavernous size, the van feels suffocating.
“I’m trying to stop you from doing something you will regret.” Your mother counters. The droning voice of NPR cuts out. All the gauges drop to zero. “Shit! Not now!” Your mother glides the car to the side of the road.
What do you do?
Despite your philandery with team sports, your true love was track and field. You excelled at long distance races. Sometimes, when you ran, the sounds of the cheering crowds and your huffing competitors would fade away. All you could hear the beat of your heart, the ground beneath your feet, and the sky up above. At moments like those, you felt you could run forever.
As you shove sports equipment back in their bags, you wonder what girl’s sports were available at your new school. All you knew was they had a football team. You father played when he was in high school. He was good enough to earn a scholarship to Florida State University. He turned it down when your mother found out she was pregnant. You always worried your father blamed you for screwing up his future football career.
If you didn’t overfill your schedule with sports, you could focus more on school. You had passing grades, but with more effort you could be making As and Bs. Sign up for only Track, maybe Lacrosse, and drop the others. Get your grades up in preparation for college.
It doesn’t take long to pack up your things. Besides clothes, a five year old laptop, school books, and the equipment, you didn’t own much. You didn’t even bother to decorate your room. It was a place of sleeping and storage. When you needed some time alone to clear your head, you ran outside rather than retreated to your room.
By the time you check your phone, it is three o’clock in the morning. You debate staying up for the newspaper delivery, but decide on a few hours of sleep instead. You sneak out of your room and head to the bathroom not wanting to disturb your mother. Hearing a sound, you pause at your mother’s door.
Sobbing. Your mother is crying. “Gaia, why did you have to take my daughter?” She softly wails to herself. Shakened, you retreat from your mother’s door and hide in the bathroom, lights off.
Gaia. The Earth Mother. You have heard stories of Gaia all your life. Gaia was both goddess and the Earth. The Sons of Fenrir roamed the earth as wolves and protected Gaia from the evil Jotun. The Jotun strived to corrupt Gaia until she was more like them- decayed, diseased, and dying. The stories your mother told you as a child were more violent than the sanitized Norse myths you read in school. You like your mother’s versions better. Still to you, Gaia was a myth. You never heard your mother call upon her as a deity before.
After a few minutes, you turn on the bathroom light. You brush your teeth and stare into the mirror. Icy blue grey eyes stare back at you. You pull off your blood-stained shirt and throw it in the bathroom trash. Despite spending hours in the summer sun, your pale skin refuses to tan. Nor does an ounce of fat soften the ropy muscles on your long arms and legs. You were tall, thick boned, and had a broad face. Your nose was bent, a souvenir from your years in Lacrosse. No chest to speak of, which is good for active sports and poor for attracting male attention. Strands of dirty blonde hair escape your hair clip. You free your hair, brush, and plait it.
Dressed in nothing but your socks, you walk back to your room. Toddy dozes on your footboard, unconcerned by your nakedness. You dig out a nightshirt and set an early alarm on your phone. You slip under the covers and watch the ceiling fan turn. You should have not sent Scott those pictures. You should have not chased Scott down in the movie theater parking lot. You should have not threatened to beat the shit out of your Uncle.
You should have got to your mother and comforted her. Instead you fled like a coward. You rolled over and closed your eyes. Who was Gaia and where the fuck was she taking me? was your last thought before you fell asleep.
A mockingbird chirps in imitation of a car alarm. Unable to reach the annoying mockingbird, you throw a pillow at Toddy instead. The raven retreats to the top of your headboard. The late morning sun shines through the blinds. You curse and check your nightstand for your phone. It’s missing. You find your phone across the room, lying next to a chunk of drywall. You pick it up. A spiderweb of cracks crisscross the screen. You wipe drywall dust off your phone with your nightshirt. Thankfully, the touchscreen still works.
You throw clothes on. Your elderly neighbors are sure to have retrieved their newspapers by now. You open the door and trip over a pile of stuff. Folded moving boxes scatter across the sidewalk. A packing tape gun clatters to the ground. You catch a box imploring you to be a bagel hero before it falls. A box of coffee sits safely by the door next to a car battery and packing paper.
A note taped the car battery reads “See you in Kirksville -GW” You snort. Uncle Greg must want you to move as soon as possible. You bring in the coffee and bagels. You put a bagel in the toaster and retrieve the rest of the items.
You finish half a bagel when your mother shuffles in, fully dressed yet half asleep. “Good morning, did you have any strange dreams?”
“No, Uncle Greg left us moving stuff and breakfast.” You lick cream cheese off your index finger.
“That bastard!” Your mother rages. She crosses her arms at the offending pile. “He even fucking left a car battery.”
“Um….” You set down your half eaten bagel. Your mother was a proud woman but you did need boxes to move. “Do we have to give the stuff back?”
“No…” your mother rubs her forehead. “Go ahead and eat.” She picks up the car battery and head to the van.
You don’t drink coffee, but you down a cup to make up for your lack of sleep. You pick up your mother’s moving list and cross off “Find moving boxes” and “Buy car battery.”
Over the next two days, you and your mother work your way through the list and clear out the apartment. By Sunday morning, the van is packed and your mother is driving to Kirksville. Watching grey stone and red brick buildings of Austin pass by, you wonder when you will see the city again. You also worry the van will not make the two hour trip to Kirksville. As your mother drives on the highways that spider across Texas, you pull out an old notebook. You write down questions you don’t have an answer to.
“What is a Kinfetch?”
“Why can’t mom see Toddy?”
“Am I the only one with a Kinfetch?”
“Why is Uncle Greg called Sparks?”
“How did Uncle Greg get his Deed Name in LA?”
“What is dad’s deed name?”
“Why is a deed name called a deed name?”
“Is Gaia real?”
“Where the fuck is Gaia taking me?”
“Why can’t mom see Toddy?”
“Am I the only one with a Kinfetch?”
“Why is Uncle Greg called Sparks?”
“How did Uncle Greg get his Deed Name in LA?”
“What is dad’s deed name?”
“Why is a deed name called a deed name?”
“Is Gaia real?”
“Where the fuck is Gaia taking me?”
“What are you doing?” Your mother asks.
“Writing down questions for dad to answer so I don’t forget.” You answer. You underline the word “Fuck” a few times. You know your mother could answer these questions if she wanted to. Your mother leaving you in suspense pisses you off.
Your mother says nothing to this. She fiddles with the radio dial, trying to find decent music to listen to.
“I believe what I believe. It makes me what I am. And I did not make it. No, it is making me…” Your mother tunes away from the Christian Rock station.
“There’s a special place nobody knows, way up on the hill. Where the moon shines through the tall pines…” The country station does not suit your mother’s mood either. She gives up and leaves the radio on NPR.
You close the notebook and attempt to get information from a different direction. “Why did we leave Kirksville in the first place?” Your parents divorced years ago, but your mother also avoided the rest of her family. While most kids in school went home for the holidays, you and your mother stayed in Austin. She didn’t even attend Aunt Anne and Uncle Greg’s wedding.
“Your father was too involved in the family business.”
“You mean the Wilderness Preserve?”
“Yes, Crying Rock.” She took a deep breath. “It changed him. Made him more irritable. More violent.”
You knew your father had a temper, but you never heard your mother use the word violent to describe it before. “Was he on drugs? Did he beat you?”
“No! No drugs!” Your mother denies. She grips the steering wheel. “Though there were times I feared he would hurt you. Do you remember breaking your arm?”
You grip your left arm unconsciously and search your memory. You have nothing but fragments from the time before you left Kirksville. “No.”
“You broke your arm when you were five. Your father was watching you while I cooked dinner. It was one of the few nights he was free from work.” Your mother stares straight ahead, refusing to look at you. “He said you fell out of a tree. I couldn’t be sure if that was the truth or if he lost control.”
“Mom,” You clench the notebook in your hands. “You are making dad out to be a monster.”
Your mother ignores your comment. “My family stood by him. Said I needed to stop worrying, but they didn’t understand. Before… before he started working at Crying Rock, he was different.” Your mother’s eyes shine in remembrance. “We both dreamed of leaving Kirksville and living our own lives.” She smiles. “We were going to get a dog after we moved to Tallahassee. You can’t tell anyone this, but Frank always wanted a dog. “
“But then you got knocked up with me.”
“Sigrid.” Your mother’s voice was firm. “Do not blame yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault. Once your father started working at Crying Rock, he couldn’t leave even if you weren’t born.”
“You make it sound like he didn’t have a choice. “
“You’ll understand when you see your father.” Your mother’s voice falls to a whisper. “Just be careful, Sigrid. Your father is a dangerous man, but remember that he loves you.”
You frown and cross your arms. “So we left Kirksville to get away from dad. Why are we going back? Can’t we tell Dad and Uncle Greg to fuck off?”
“Kirksville is the best place for you right now.”
“Why!?” You slam the dashboard with a fist. “Why is Kirksville so much better for me than Austin?! It makes no fucking sense!”
“Sigrid, please control your temper!”
“No!” You wither in rage. You dig your fingernails into the notebook. “I’m so sick of everyone bitching about my temper. What about dad’s temper?! No one says anything to him about it!” You want to smash your mother’s face into the steering wheel.
Wait, what? You don't want to hurt your mother. She was your mother! You can barely breath when you make the connection. “Oh, god! I’m just like him!”
“Sigrid, calm down. We are about thirty minutes away from Kirksville.” Your mother says calmly. She has a death grip on the steering wheel. “Tell me about the time we when to Galveston. Remember the seagulls on the beach?”
“You are trying to distract me!” You accuse. Despite its cavernous size, the van feels suffocating.
“I’m trying to stop you from doing something you will regret.” Your mother counters. The droning voice of NPR cuts out. All the gauges drop to zero. “Shit! Not now!” Your mother glides the car to the side of the road.
What do you do?
- Redirect your rage at your Uncle Greg. Call him and bitch at him for giving you a bum battery.
- Go for a walk to calm down while your mother calls your Aunt Anne.
- Flag someone down from off the road to help.
- Run to the nearest gas station at the highway turn off for Kirksville.
- Something Else?
Last edited:
Bysmerian
New Member
Run.
Burn off some steam, try to reconnect with the Track and Field a bit, and the closer we are to Kirksville the more likely we are to run into something resembling family; if the family business is oh-so-fucking-important, maybe we can find someone there who'll help.
Burn off some steam, try to reconnect with the Track and Field a bit, and the closer we are to Kirksville the more likely we are to run into something resembling family; if the family business is oh-so-fucking-important, maybe we can find someone there who'll help.