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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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Anyone ever play this? Is it even possible if you're a guy?
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It's possible if you're a guy who isn't one of the limp-brains who think all characters are necessarily self-inserts.
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>Is it even possible if you're a guy?
idk, are you a pussy?
>t. that one anon who has two campaigns extending back a year or more
>t. that one anon who has two campaigns extending back a year or more

You aren't the only one PortAnon.

Just the only one who has been consistently story timing more than one of their campaigns.
most groups ive been in are over half fujos, so maybe ?
How to Gothic.
>Remember Nechronica

I have been running a Nechronica campaign for over a year. So yes.

Hell the game is still getting updates and the unofficial translation team is still coming out with stuff.
What's going on in Protoca World?
Fair. I didn't actually intend to draw a connection to my namefagging though.
I guess I need more pictures.

I honestly haven't met any women who I would even think of floating a Nechronica game for. But I'm also semi-NEET and work in a factory, so I guess I wouldn't usually have the opportunity.

I'm kind of surprised you'd get that many, given the game seems aimed more at the Madoka crowd than anything else.
Are we going to get more Gravel Storytime in this thread?
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You can't be a NEET.

To be a NEET you have to be unemployed and not actively seeking employment, education or vocational training.

You CAN be a shut in or a basement dweller though.
Style on everyone
I was going to ask who the artist was so I can commission them to do those for my party, but you put the answer in the file name.

Thank you anon.
Pretty big developments, but I'm afraid this thread comes on the eve of an 84 hour work week for me, so I dunno if I'll be able to properly storytime.
I'll check over the logs tomorrow and try and whip something up for tomorrow night while I'm at work.There's only about one and a half sessions that haven't actually been posted up in previous threads (scheduling has been a shiiiiit and we just had first game in four months last night).but stuff happened that might be worth talking about.

In the meantime, I think I have the go-ahead from the Coleo DM to start storytiming that again, so I should have a bit of content to contribute in the meantime.

You know what I meant! But fair enough.
Just out of curiousity what does that sort of thing cost, assuming decent quality like that gif and not just some scribble from DA
>(scheduling has been a shiiiiit and we just had first game in four months last night)

What did you do to fill the time?

how did you remember how to get in the character after 4 months?

Do you do some sort of esoteric exercises to keep your characters fresh in your mind?
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That depends entirely on the artist in question.
Who has been your favorite villain from a Nechronica game.

So far mine is the Catholic Death Cult Raiders from the "American East Coast to Portugal" game.
Joy's father.
>What did you do to fill the time?
DM for that guy is a player in another game I'm in (the Coleo game) and was also part of a short campaign that I ran as my first foray into GMing space.

>how did you remember how to get in the character after 4 months?
Partially rereading logs, but me and that DM are also writing buddies and we have a few personal projects spun up that involve the Protoca Party. Some fanfiction just for fun, stuff like that. It's silly but it keeps things fresh in the mind and it's a good way to pass the time.

>Do you do some sort of esoteric exercises to keep your characters fresh in your mind?
I just write stories involving them. Either fanfiction or whatever else (though I don't really post that up anywhere so I dunno if it counts). There's also a bit of back and forth with the DM every now and then that refreshes my memory.
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>DM for that guy is a player in another game I'm in (the Coleo game) and was also part of a short campaign that I ran as my first foray into GMing space.

So wait who is the "that guy"?
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Why would i want to play a game where the only endgoal is suffering?
It's supposed to read 'DM for that game.' I'm just about to head to bed and drowsy.
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Please don't die from overworking anon.
Because that is not the only end goal.

we've had storytimes where the end goals have been things like
"to escape Mars"
"To get into a position to live a peaceful unlife with their new adopted family"
"to take command of resources of the blighted earth and use them to build habitats in space so there can be nice places to live again."
"make Apollo stop"
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Sleep well PortAnon.

I feel like to adequately stat this motherfucker you would need to use some GM only parts to stack two or three Savants on top of eachother.
lol, I'll be fine. These next seven days are just going to be rough.

I think it would mostly just be
>Extra arms
>Steel Bones
>A box of 'OOPS! All guns!' from the Armament page.
That gets you the basics of it. I think all you need after that is enough AP parts to make it able to actually shoot the party and some way to keep it from getting mulched right away.
its more than that. He/she/it's got six shooters from the unofficial material.

and I guess that long barrel pistol counts as a bear gun.

not sure what the suppressed weapons would count as.
I have this image.

Do you visit /toy/ for their skeleton threads too?

that is one way to get around the durability issue. Another is to not have it face the party alone, but rather as part of a group.

I'm imagining Coleo befriending this thing and then they combine their powers to hug all the things.

Also maybe teach it some professional skills so it can develop a passion outside murder.
>No one remembers
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Pretty much yes. For some reason my default concept of a Gothic Doll is an upbeat and friendly girl who also happens to have an insatiable hunger for raw flesh.
I think it's because Gothic can easily become kind of edgy, so I counteract that by making the character a nice girl who just doesn't really get why somebody might be uncomfortable with her messily devouring the bad guys.
>I counteract that by making the character a nice girl who just doesn't really get why somebody might be uncomfortable with her messily devouring the bad guys.
Sounds like a nice fit for the dog memory fragments.
Though, imo, Nechronica is one of the games I think you could go full Shadow the Hedgehog edge and it wouldn't really be that weird in context. Especially if someone in the group was willing to act as foil for you.

I haven't seen this one before. Is Hetza still posting up new art of his Nech OCs?
If you don't get at least two sessions, call both of us faggots. Call me a double faggot because I've been claiming I can totally get some material ready before a thread crops up.
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My circle's played a couple Nechronica games. It's really rough on the emotions.
Yes, we all stay in the Translation Discord now.

I know very little about the game. Please elaborate.
I like how Nechronica is the only game that
A) has vore loli as one of the core class equivalents
B) It's doesn't even register as particularly odd compared to some of the other freaky things you can do
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It is enormously bleak. The world is long past its end, and you're essentially a mobile corpse with vague memories of being alive. Your life is a struggle, trying to find anything to reclaim, anything that will kindle a heat in your chest or give strength to your limbs. Along the way you get torn to pieces, drag along the dismembered bodies of your friends, possibly go insane and try to kill yourself only to fail at even that because you cannot die.
A lot of emotional fatigue. At least the way we've played it, it has effectively captured the weariness of its title, "a long, long epilogue". Trudging your feet well past the point of conclusion, unable to find rest.
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I tend to feel that one of the strengths of the game is that refluffing stuff is actually as simple as just renaming something on your character sheets, which is even something the Necromancer is actively encouraged to do when encounter building.
It really lets you to get jiggy with all sorts of odd character concepts and quirks, just as long as you can justify why the renamed part has its mechanical effect. Bonus points for GMs who can reliably figure out how to incorporate character parts into the Adventure Phase, like a cyborg doll being able to understand binary or something. Really helps sell the fantasy when the world responds in unexpected but 'sensible' ways to your character.
Sounds like good fun.
>Yes, we all stay in the Translation Discord now.

Not all of us.
We need to get around to continue writing this already.
Yeah you can make it a long sequel or a long epilogue.
Both are entirely valid ways to play the game.
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>We need to get around to continue writing this already.

>We need to get around to continue writing this already.
It will take some time most likely. As it turns out, the players in that story are the same players in the gravel storytime and it seems like they want to go for that story for now.

I could cook up the rest of the story but I'm not the best at keeping things going and writing longer sentences, so I always feel like I should let the rest of the group do the writing.
>My circle's played a couple Nechronica games. It's really rough on the emotions.

Tell us more about the games of Nechronica you have played.
Who do you think the audience for it is?
Cute head.
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>cute girls
>the power of friendship
>crippling codependency
>abject suffering
Probably the Madoka Magica crowd. Just without the happy fun times adventure pretenses.
Also the people who want to play something radicaly different. There's barely any games that let you go realy weird with the bodyhorror right from the start.
>the Catholic Death Cult Raiders from the "American East Coast to Portugal" game.
>It will take some time most likely. As it turns out, the players in that story are the same players in the gravel storytime and it seems like they want to go for that story for now.

I am genuinely surprised.

I had no inkling these two games were played by the same group of people.

Very true.

Most systems don't let you start rather physically removed from normal.

Systems with a bunch of different playanle species, DnD is an extremely popular example, generally don't support starting the game as something far outside the norm for any of those races that are intended to be playable in terms of body structure and construction.

Systems that come with a sub species that can potentially allow your player to be very creative with your physical construction, an example would be World of Darkness with Clan Tzimisce, generally aren't meant for you to START the game that way and then continue to redesign or refit yourself as the game progresses, often place considerable resource sinks in the path to gaining the ability and then the resources to do so, and also tend to put these abilities in the hands of factions that the player is not intended to have easy access to in regular games.

Have some meta info for your pleasure. The gravel players play nechronica since about 2013 with minor mixups like one person not being part of the game ect. 5 games have come to a conclusion with 2 other games currently running (this includes gravel and american east coast to portugal game). One of our currently running games has been hinted in the threads a few times by now, the one about meat spaceships and FTL that kills you.

A running theme with Nechronica is to be physically mighty but emotionally vulnerable.

Characters have bodies that can take, and potentially dish out, absurd punishment and are exceptionally repairable, but thrown into situations that rattle the mind and jab at the serpents nest of issues that lurk in ones mind. You can do this with characters of any age or physical appearance. (The book assumes little girl bodies but that's silly and needless.)
That's not the case at all, madness as a mechanic is piss easy to manipulate. Unless your GM deliberately is trying to make players go mad, the party will only enter insanity own their own accord. It's one of the biggest flaws of the system with how weak the madness/insanity mechanics are, how they are ultimately just a pack of rerolls.
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Well yeah obviously. I’m asking about good quality like the gifs here and here >>73799288
no some Sonichu OC scribble from deviant art you commissioned for a case of Mountain Dew
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No I mean every artist sets their own price.

Sometimes they list I somewhere, other times they list some method of contact that you use to discuss price.
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>them hips
>the one about meat spaceships and FTL that kills you
Speak of the Devil; I was just wondering about that game the other day. How's that campaign chugging along? You guys run into any Necromorphs yet?

My head cannon for what Aster does after the game.


As one of the players from it, I can definitely say that we've run into some delightfully fucky things. I'm not sure how much I should say while the storytime itself is still in limbo (and I'm unable to really go into detail at this time anyway due to life), but presently our ship is fuckin' haunted after a close encounter with Something Massive out in space and we closed out last session (last night, in fact) with a fight against a Nega-Version of one of the party. Which is to say, four Horrors scattered across the battlemap, one for each of her hit locations, and all packing Cursed variants of her parts that got up to all kinds of nasty shit. The head kept shittalking people with Spirit Attacks, the Arms were swinging a plasma welder (Superior Katana refluffed) around, the torso was spewing out flames, and the legs were blasting machinegun fire all over the place. A definite highlight of her shittery in that fight was when the Arms got deleted and then the Head pulled out a cursed variant of Trusted Companion to resurrect them at full health so they could keep swinging and being godawful. We pulled through handily enough, all things considered, but it was still delightfully demented.
Nechronica NPC.
>As one of the players from it, I can definitely say that we've run into some delightfully fucky things. I'm not sure how much I should say while the storytime itself is still in limbo (and I'm unable to really go into detail at this time anyway due to life), but presently our ship is fuckin' haunted after a close encounter with Something Massive out in space and we closed out last session (last night, in fact) with a fight against a Nega-Version of one of the party. Which is to say, four Horrors scattered across the battlemap, one for each of her hit locations, and all packing Cursed variants of her parts that got up to all kinds of nasty shit. The head kept shittalking people with Spirit Attacks, the Arms were swinging a plasma welder (Superior Katana refluffed) around, the torso was spewing out flames, and the legs were blasting machinegun fire all over the place. A definite highlight of her shittery in that fight was when the Arms got deleted and then the Head pulled out a cursed variant of Trusted Companion to resurrect them at full health so they could keep swinging and being godawful. We pulled through handily enough, all things considered, but it was still delightfully demented.

I really want to know how this was built so I can create better and more creative combat encounters.
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I'm also pretty curious to know how these enemies (or I guess it's technically just one enemy, but y'know) were statted up. I take it the cursed Trusted Companion was tuned to revive the various Horrors rather than individual parts bit what'd the other cursed parts do?

I'm also curious to know the in-setting context behind the fight. Was she a clone or space anomaly or what?
Did 4chan go down for about half an hour for anyone else right now?
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Cloudflare had a stroke.
Seems fine now.
Are their more images like this?
I want those boots.
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>I really want to know how this was built so I can create better and more creative combat encounters.

The PC in question was a Toybox/Requiem with a very jank build, which worked out great for creating an enemy based on them because it gave lots of opportunities for fuckery.

Here's the interesting parts:
>Not So Happy Pills [Damage/1/Self] The target of the attack takes an extra point of madness at the end of the round.

>Undeniably Awful [Auto/None/Self] On a critical success of a spirit attack, choose what fetter takes the madness point.
In our group we have it done that critical successes on spirit attacks don't do anything. This obviously subverts that.

>Remote "Attack" – Action – 3 – 0~2 – Spirit Attack 1 + Explosive
Had to have something cancerous to replace stagger with and "Spirit Attack Shotgun" was something that has been threatened as a joke for years. Still weaker than what it actually should be for the meme, but ruling explosive on spirit attacks as slapping 2 fetters with madness is still enough to put the fear in them. Fluff wise, this mockery of the PC knew just what to say to get under the skin of all of the PCs.

>Xenomorph Plushy [Auto/None/Self] When this part is damaged, the attacker takes a point of madness.
This was their treasure. Had to do something fun to make them regret breaking it.

>Cursed Kata [Check/2/0~1] - Hinder 2. Afterwards, you may make a Spirit Attack 1 against the same target.

There was the trusted companion and also one other part that, while honestly shouldn't be posted due to how jankily worded they are, is important to understand how the fight went.
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Fucking character limit

>Cut from the same Cloth [Auto/None/Self] All pawns can use the non-attack parts of other pawns as if they possessed them.
This would have been reworded better to strictly limit to the horrors that were the body parts, if there was anything else on the field. Function wise, it helped keep part count down by letting them have shit like auto separate and attack check bonuses on only one while giving it to all of the horrors, and also not having to inflate part count even more by giving everything AP parts, and also destroying one horror weakened them all. Also for the sake of not making it too obscene, each check/damage/rapid could only be used once period, so if the torso used it, the arms couldn't on a subsequent attack.

>Trusted Companions [Rapid/3/Special] This can only be used after a body part is annihilated. Recreate an annihilated body part.

Honestly this would be reworded to more explicitly call out what the body parts are and actually fucking say where they pop up (it'd be in the zone they were annihilated).

In general, stuff was kept on the horror corresponding to the location the parts were on to make it a bit more sensible and some care was taken to declare Cut from the Same Cloth to clue the players into the fact that even if Cyborg was used by the arms, they weren't on the arms. The one exception was legs because the PC had fucking nothing on their legs so the legs were turned into the machine gun platform. The head was spirit attacks and the trusted companion, the torso was molotov and defensive stuff, and the Arms were Superior Katana with Super Strength. This was a fight meant for a group with 80 favor and people who had an idea for how the game worked. This sort of thing against new players would almost certainly destroy them.
How do you desensitize yourself before running a session?

I watch that video on YouTube of a conveyor belt of live baby chickens being dumped into a running shredder while listening to audio performances where the voice actresses show off their acting chops by pretending to be beatten tortured and killed.

The nightmares were pretty bad for the first few weeks but I kind of like them now since they are PREDICTABLE nightmares, and I'm actually sleeping better than ever these days.

It's improved my GM game too.
Anon what the fuck.
I don't.

Congratulations on improving your sleep though I guess.

I'm scared to ask, but what were your nightmares like before?
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binge Franken Fran
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>t. Future Nechromancer
You don't want to know.
Oh. This looks good.
>You don't want to know.

Upon reflection, perhaps you are right.
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>Into Nechronia
>Hasn’t heard of Franken Fran
Literally how?
> listening to audio performances where the voice actresses show off their acting chops by pretending to be beaten tortured and killed.


Pic related is a great series for evoking the... "we're gonna die, but we're still on an adventure and going anyway" vibe. You could probably stat Reg as a doll pretty easily.
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>You could probably stat Reg as a doll pretty easily.
Off the top of my head:
>Wire reel
>Steel Bones
>Psycho Blaster
>Remote Attack
Anything I'm missing?
I think you could make the argument, but I don't think he usually punches stuff that much. IIRC all the big damage he causes is with the hand cannon.
Don't know, I just found it on Gelboooru looking up the artist for another pic posted in a past thread. You can look for yourself all the stuff you might have missed, but just be warned that the artist has made porn before. Also, adult site, obviously

Nechromia is an autopsy of late-stage capitalism.

When did this become a filename thread?
You misunderstand.
I am not complaining.

I am pleased and wish for more.
I want to but haven't found more than one other person to play with.
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>I want to but haven't found more than one other person to play with.

are you open to online games or do you want in person only?
Have you had any games with creepy chanting in them?
Adventures of Mark Twain is one of the things that inspires me.

I love tattoos like that but feel like no one in real life can actually pull them off.
Who is excited to play a Drug Eater?
Almost every game had some form of spooky chanting or singing in them at some point. It's a trope, sure, but it's a fun trope.

Sinister hiss: "chia seeds!"
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Drug eaters sound cool but it really feels like the GM needs to play along more than usual to make the gimmick work. Most of our combats feature Savants as more 'boss' type enemies and it would feel sort of odd narritavely for one of the party members to just walk up and decapitate them before taking their body for a joyride. Some combats don't have Savants at all, in which case the Drug Eater just kinda turns into a glass cannon melee unit (admittedly, Unsuitable Hosts makes the blade deal 8 damage to Legions and Horrors for 2AP, which is nothing to sneeze at).

It's cool, but it's a concept I still kinda need to be sold on.
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I see your walker and raise you:

Though this actually brings up a question that I had. Is there an elegant solution to statting up a properly giant enemy like pic related? It occurs to me that you might be able to do multiple specialty horrors a la >>73808941 but part of me feels like that wouldn't really feel like fighting a giant.
If you forcibly start everyone in Eden and force them to use the battle map as climbing each part of a colossus vertically and attacking individual hard points to it built as horrors while it tries to hit and shake them off that could work
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Make the token bigger. This is half joking, half serious as having the token itself much larger than anything else can help get the feel. Having done or played with all the ways it realistically can be done, that is probably the cleanest solution you're going to get. You can also do >>73823081 but that is best for really big fucking things like your image. For something smaller but still big, you'd do multiple horrors. The last option is to just give it a fuck ton of ablative parts but you'd also need to give it multiple AP tracks to not be action economy'd to death, and even then, if it's a party that has some favor, they'd render it mostly incompetent by having way more reactions/hinders.
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You might even run battles in sequence to simulate the transition of defenses as the party moves. Might be easy to overtune an encounter like that though, so I doubt I'd try that until I had more experience.

Multiple Horrors sounds like the most reasonable. For that method I imagine that the upper limit would be something on the upper end of the Monster Hunter scale before things just turned silly, which should be big enough for anything I might need to throw together.
>action economy'd to death
I got to be on the receiving end of that as a player in a test combat, not fun.
DM took a Savant we kinda rolled over 4v1, doubled him, and then set those up against three different dolls with Legion backup. Proceeded to nothin' personnel us real good.
I enjoy nechronica
it is a fun game to GM for
but every time I think about it I can't help but think it's one of those dumb gags
>YE- wait what
also you skipped guro, snuff, corruption, and couple other fun things
I felt like it would be too drawn out listing all of it
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If you mean in real life, yeah that's expected. If you're talking online, that shouldn't be an issue.

>You might even run battles in sequence to simulate the transition of defenses as the party moves. Might be easy to overtune an encounter like that though, so I doubt I'd try that until I had more experience.

Yeah, essentially you'd do it with a party that had a chance to bleed off madness because it'd be very easy to TPK via madness on a party not built for a rolling battle like that. It's a pretty fun thing if you manage to pull it off, but you need to understand the party and the mechanics you're gonna be using to not have it go sideways because moving across the battlemap from Eden to Tartarus is 12 AP for a normal doll, which is more than many dolls have in a round if they do nothing but move.
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>a nazi CR-T token
Can't say I ever expected to run into one of these in the wild.

The beauty of Nechronica is you can do anything and make it work.
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And something ate the image.

Does the doll that prompts this skill by using a move part need to be in the same region of the map as you?

Does the doll that prompts this skill by using a move part need to be targeting themselves with the move part?

If a doll across the map uses boost on someone or something are you able to use the Follow skill to move toward or away from the doll that used boost? If so then that's cool.
>If a doll across the map uses boost on someone or something are you able to use the Follow skill to move toward or away from the doll that used boost?

As far as I know the answer is yes.

Now I'm wondering what kind of shenanigans a party could get up to if they saved up and all bought follow.
No, otherwise it'd be noted somewhere

No, for the same reason

Yes. You can move in either direction with Follow since it's just a Move 1 and doesn't have any stipulations placed on the movement itself.

Sweet. That's actually pretty good.
Please take such talk to >>>/b/ it is not appropriate for this thread or for /tg/, despite almost anything being /tg/ appropriate.

Thank you.
Impregnation of corpses is part of the game.

>Within Dead Wombs, Flowers of Life

>Aisha:"Um... I want to tell you something. You won't get mad, right?" I open the door to the vault and go in.
>Tomari:"No way. I wouldn't get mad at anything you were to say, Ai-chan."
>Aisha:"I want to... have a human baby."
>Tomari:"Huh? Have... a baby? Ai-chan?" Uh, well, her body seems a little young for that...
>Aisha:"I think... I can do it."
>Tomari:"B-b-but how?" My heart's pounding.
>Aisha:"With these..."
>Aisha picked up two test tubes.
>In one were eggs, and in the other sperm.
>After fertilizing the egg, she put it into her Womb.

>Children dwell within the Dolls made from girls' corpses.
>Whether they will be human, or corpses themselves...
>That we cannot know.
>We can only pray for the fortunes...
>of those children born after the end of the world.

I've made a version with the screen hollowed out so people can fill it in with what they want. I recommend putting what you want in a layer beneath the token since the edges of the screen have a faded transition from black to transparent instead of a sharp pixel perfect cutoff.

I don't include any lore or events from the modules in the campaigns I run because they are creepy in a bad way.
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"Howdy, pardner!"
>For some reason my default concept of a Gothic Doll is an upbeat and friendly girl who also happens to have an insatiable hunger for raw flesh.
I made one of those once. She was a genki junk gothic that just wanted to make friends and eat zambos. She kept trying to feed everyone any spare innards she could find because they never ate and she wanted to share a lunch with her new friends!
A 20ft tall Victor is... actually pretty scary.
The mental image of him just kind of hanging around Goodsprings is amusing though.
There's an entire class based around being nothing but a head that can hijack other compatible bodies.
Cr*nge for faggy subversionists.

It was a subversion 9 years ago when it came out.
Now it's just part of a sub branch of MG stuff that's grown up in the intervening years.
It wasn't even a subversion when it came out you secondary.
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The enemy that it was a token for wasn't 20ft tall. More around 6-7ft. The came in a group with these parts.

>Grabbing Claw [Action/3/0] Unarmed 1, defends are ineffective against this maneuver. The AP cost of their next move maneuver used on themselves is increased by 2.

>Pull'em Apart [Auto/0/Self]Note what location Grabbing Claw hits. If the same target is hit by this attack again, they will begin getting pulled apart. The target cannot make move maneuvers and will take 1 damage to each location hit every 2 count. This effect ends when the grabber takes an action other than wait or one of the affected hit locations are destroyed.

They had other robots with harpoon guns that could further mess with the PCs ability to move as well.
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Pull'em Apart makes me think of a similar homebrew part I cooked up for my first time running a combat, though I think I softballed my party a little too much and didn't get a chance to actually use it.

In hindsight I shoulda used their NPC pal as an example but GMing for the first time was kind of frying my brain.
>tfw making a madoka style meguca game out of cannibalized nechronica
Sounds p interesting, cannibalized in what ways?

Do you mean reskinning nechronica as something else?

like how it's been used to run mech combat?
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>Y-you don't really think I'm c-c-creepy, do you anon?

Well, some of the artwork is ok.

I wish I had plug and play sockets like that to swap out legs.

imagine being able to swap from ones good for standing all day while you work, to ones that can do highway speeds, to general purpose ones for doing stuff around the house.
I love it when the PCs create their own villains.
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I can't say I've come across something like this in any of my games. Nechronica sessions seem to trend towards being a bit more pre-set than a lot of other systems due to how the encounter system works. Care to elaborate?
I haven't had that in my game yet.

While there is a character who has a vendetta against the party, they killed her sisters in self defense, and that doesn't really count as the party "creating their own villain" I don't think.
How do you guys feel about using fan content? I see it a lot on the wiki. Of course the Drug Eater is a popular example but what about other fan-made classes? Chariot & Valkyrie caught my eye. How much "DLC" do you use?
What's Nechronica?

And why wouldn't a guy play it?

Why has it gotten harder to tell the twinks from the fujos by just looking at posts Now ?
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>what is Nechronica
The basic premise of Nechronica is that some interprising scientists figured out how to bring consciousnesses back from beyond the grave, creating the first undead. This spiralled horribly out of control and eventually lead to the Necromancer Wars, which destroyed the Earth.

Nechronica takes place long after the world has ended; the only things left are the Necromancers and their creations. The player characters are what the book refers to as 'Dolls.' Self aware undead created by Necromancers for the purpose of basically being entertainment. Some Necromancers are bored with whittling away eternity in their ash kingdoms so, for some entertainment, some Necromancers occasionally create teams of Dolls and let them run around and be cute until the Dolls break from being born into a hostile apocalypse without hope. Kind of like how some kids will burn ants with a magnifying glass or peel the wings off of flies.

As a player, your basic objectives amount to:
>don't get annihilated
>don't go insane
>don't let your party members go insane

>And why wouldn't a guy play it?
The majority of Nechromancers are complete sickos (surprise). So the average Doll tends to be a cute girl, ages 7-17, with just enough trauma balled up in her skull that it can cause a dramatically relevant stress explosion if the Nechromancer can push the correct buttons.
There's no real mechanical reason to stop you from playing as a boy or an adult but that's how the game sells itself, which weirds some people out.
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Running a flamethrower character with some of these skills would be absolutely silly.
>2 AP
>Range 0-1
>Blast Attack 3 + Explosive + Chain Attack 2
God I love the smell of napalm in the morning.

Personally, most of the fan content aside from Drug Eaters does not really hold my attention. Occult stuff doesn't really jive with my views on the system and most of the other classes just generally don't interest me. Chariot looks neat but seems like a strong committal to a gimmick.
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Damage timing maneuvers only apply to the damage of the one attack, so it'd be 3 on the hit you pop it on but wouldn't apply to others in the chain.

The real shit is the nuclear loli approach. You take Holic/Erudite and your choice of subclass that gives you enhancements, though Romanesque gets you what you need fastest. You get Zombie bomb, Creative Thinking, Spikes, Fury, and Heavy Payload. Once someone hits you, you blow it all to do
>Blast 8 + Explosive + Area
>That's a Blast 8 + Explosive to savants
>16 damage to horrors
>32 damage to legions
>Also dealt to you. Hope you weren't needing half your locations.

You will want a court with anticipate around to ensure that the enemy can't just meat shield it away.

>Chariot looks neat but seems like a strong committal to a gimmick.

The biggest required commitment is just replacing a basic with Rider's mount, which doesn't even lose you the function of the basic it's replacing. Beyond that you can easily just nab horse armor and pick Baroque as your main class to be a punchy mutant that occasionally gives her sisters piggyback rides. Of course that's not as fun as going whole hog with it.
>>73840598 if you are seriously trying to find a group then you need to calm down and be civil.

Freaking out is a good way to make it far harder to find a group.
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>Damage timing
Woops. I'd missed that bit on my first gloss over. Thought it was auto for some reason.

>nuclear loli
... I actually have a character who I want to give Zombie Bomb too so she can barrel into the enemy and stackpole. The campaign she's going to be in is already going to be heavily homebrewed so I'll definitely be floating this idea with my DM.

>Of course that's not as fun as going whole hog with it.
That's more what I mean. I haven't run into a lot of scenarios in my games where carrying a party member around is actually all that helpful and most times it would be I would still have just been better off taking Follow. If I did it then I'd have to be all in from the start, along with a party member who agreed to play along.
And you will be wanting my manager's number, yes?
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>I haven't run into a lot of scenarios in my games where carrying a party member around is actually all that helpful and most times it would be I would still have just been better off taking Follow.

If you're talking just shuffling them around the map, yeah, you're right. You don't really need that unless you're fighting enemies whose gimmick is flitting about the map. However, the right combos can allow some fun stuff. Stable platform is basically making it so that whoever is riding you has Concentration at no cost to them, and Mounted Weapon means that you can pick up a weapon that covers a niche your sister doesn't have and you both get to exploit it. While most of the stuff in fanworks plays fine with just Core+DoD, Chariot feels like it really needs access to more to come into its own. Chariot/Valkyrie is a pretty obvious one, but Chariot/Jester also does surprisingly well. You basically use Out of a Hat to provide your sister with whatever attack part they need to address the situation, and Jester/Toybox lets you become an eclectic mess for your sisters to take advantage of with a decent way to spend AP in the form of cause a commotion, just as examples.

Any group of strangers that asks for that kind of personal information is not a group you want to play with.

Just don't be an idjit.
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DESU I don't really care for Jester as a class. Out Of the Hat in particular is a skill I find... just kinda lame. I strongly disagree with just being able to pull solutions to an issue out of your rear end via a dice roll. As for the rest of the skills: Disproportionate, Change of Scenery, and Surprise Entrance are neat and pretty flavorful for the class but everything else really look more like Reinforcement Parts than proper skills.

I have a similar beef with Toybox, with their only really interesting skill being Overzealous. Otherwise it looks like any other high favor character that avoided taking Skills.
Nobody plays this shit, that's why you can't find a game.
Tbh I don't really want to play it. What I want to play is a remake of this game that's actually sensible )

Which aspect are you wanting to keep?

The lore, the mechanics, the setting concept or something else?
Keep the setting. The lore is fine but could use some adjustments. The wonky rules and classes need to die in a fire.
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Not gonna argue with you on jester, mostly because it's just a weird class, however, your take on toybox is missing the mark. Mix-up and Swap Accessories work to make people take a different approach to their builds, since usually the optimal approach in this game is "pick one part and take everything you can to buff it." Where as those skills encourage you to get a couple of attack parts, maybe even ones that aren't commonly used to let you set up a combo with a specific property to stick on another attack, such as taking Machine gun and say, Remote attack so that you can slap stagger onto machine gun or area onto remote attack. Having both run for and played with the class, it can have a fun rhythm and interesting combos that you won't get by just buying a bunch of parts.

Sounds like you need to git gud.
I don't play to win. I don't play to fight the rules either.

Well, obviously. Either one of those requires you to play to begin with.

good luck in your search for another system to reskin it onto.

If you find something let us know how it goes.

I'll be the first to admit the system is limited, but I also like what it does and dump most of the lore in favor of making up my own blend of stuff.
The obvious problem with that is that I ain planning on GMing this. GMing one campaing is (more than) enough for me. I just want to bust out my abomination loli and wallow in edgy misery of the world's thereafter.
With the exception of anything from Prosperous Electronica (which is just about 100% gamebreaking mess that needs to die in a fire), most of the fan content is great stuff.

Blast from the Past in particular is essentially mandatory to fix the mess that is Psychedelic (and the somewhat lesser mess of Romanesque) and to make Blast attacks properly viable as a category.

Chariot is an interesting gimmick, though I've not yet used it or personally seen it in action. It seems like a fine addition to most teams, not really unbalancing or anything.

Valkyrie is easily one of the most enjoyable classes I've had the pleasure of playing. High mobility makes fights much more dynamic and interesting, and the class works great as both a coherent package on its own and when mixed with others. My favorite maneuvers the class gets are probably Juke (which is both consistently entertaining and incredibly versatile) and Burning Jets (because launching across the battlefield and leaving a trail of fire in your wake is supremely stylish and helps contribute to damage).

Another one that I'll swear by is Entombed. Playing the big, menacing mecha-doll with like half a tiny girl inside makes for some excellent fluff and really captures the duality of strength and vulnerability that Nechronica excels at. Not to mention, it has some of my favorite skills in the game. Overclock combos with virtually anything and deciding when it's needed is a big decision in any given combat round. The other best thing Entombed gets access to is Grappler Arms, which is great at locking a single target down in what is practically a 1v1 for as long as you can maintain the grapple. It makes for some very memorable moments if you use it to try and wrestle the biggest thing on the field... or to just grab a really cheeky Savant and bully them into submission.

>The obvious problem with that is that I ain planning on GMing this.

As a GM who has been convinced by their players in the past to run a game in a system I didn't know existed previously as long as they took the time to teach me how it works, I will say "don't let that stop you."
You are absolutely right. The game is trash mechanically and carried hard by its setting and themes.

>the system outaide combat is almost non-existent and what you can or can't do boils to mother may I. And when you do roll for it, you have action checks where you GM either allows you to bet parts, nearly ensuring you succeed or just assigns an arbritary success chance
>conversation checks ruin the flow of banter and immerssion. In other RPGs, players talking so much is its own reward and just shows hiw invested everyone is. Nechronica ruins such scenes and makes them so much weaker by having someone go (can I roll?) after those moments.
>madness checks explicitly say more experienced dolls are better against them, but at the same time newer ones are the ones who are hurt by them the most. The Nechromancer won't do a TPK out of battle so they have to not ask for checks from weaker characters and by the time they can handle it, they are supposed to be stronger emotionally, it's a huge discrepancy between mechanics and narrative
>combat has a built in death spiral on bith sides, to the point at least the Nechromancer knows how it will end when turn 2 starts and a lot of it is wasted beating up weakened targets who aren't a threat
>Combat is full of mechanics to make it miserable. Movement for characters with no extra parts, escaping, stray Dismember checks invalidating characters too early, horrors and legions being too beefy or exploding, "situational" parts and skills the Nechromancer has to force them to be good in the same class or tier as options that are better 90% of the time

Nechronica is a fucking mess, but plots you can make are very unique and the only thing saving it because you can't just refluff a random superior system.
Have no fear, I'll make a Totally-not-Nechronica-don't-sue-Japan-onegai module for the new game I am working on. SoonTM see you in three years
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>the system outaide combat is almost non-existent and what you can or can't do boils to mother may I.

Not terribly different from doing anything slightly outside the rules in almost any other system. Something more concrete is just gonna get really fucky and restrictive when people start refluffing parts and figuring damage. The fact that it's so light means it doesn't break or waste a lot of time figuring out modifiers for how your horrific mutant child can open a door when she has tentacles for hands.

>conversation checks ruin the flow of banter and immersion
Most groups save the rolls for after the scene/conversation and give modifiers and additional rolls based on how much people went all out. If that's still too immersion destroying for you, then try finding a system that never rolls for anything because apparently dice destroy your immersion.

Admittedly, madness is one of the harder balancing acts to get right for a GM because unless the PCs know what they're doing, it is incredibly swingy. If you really just can't strike that balance, it's a real easy fix of just lowering how much madness players have to start. Most games have mechanics that you aren't going to go full force on right out the gate on new characters.

>a lot of it is wasted beating up weakened targets who aren't a threat
Factually wrong. The way damage works, a Horror is going to be a threat until you've ground it into a pulp because it can keep its attack/movement until it's the last part if it wants.

>Combat is full of mechanics to make it miserable.
Most of these are just "learn the system/don't throw in shit the PCs can't handle." Especially stray dismember checks. At least there's a lot of fucking control and options on both sides to mitigate/control/prevent it. Unlike some systems where it's "Oh, the enemy rolled a crit. Well, your character is either instantly dead or knocked out and also permanently crippled."
>you have action checks where you GM either allows you to bet parts, nearly ensuring you succeed or just assigns an arbritary success chance
Stick a modifier on it if you want the success of chance to be low. 2d10 doesn't just magically make a -3 modifier vanish into thin air.
>mother may I
Welcome to any skill interaction that takes place outside of the battle map in 90+% of games. Happens in D&D, happens in its derivatives, happens in Silcore, etc. Nechronica doesn't even have skills to get bogged down in, just declare what you want to do, which parts you're gambling, and ask for modifiers from the GM. It's not any more complicated than declaring a STR check in 5e.

I'll take 'Narrative Pacing' for $2.
Hit the lower favor parties with less checks with either no modifiers or a penalty. Hit the more experienced parties with more checks with bonuses.
Don't reply to obvious bait. I hate what this board has become.
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Howdy, folks! Who wants entirely too many words about a quartet making an (un)living in the ruins of Africa?

For those just joining us for Gravel storytime, or anyone seeking a refresher, enjoy these links to archived sessions. Coincidentally, this also spares me from having to do much of a summary for how last session played out! Convenient for a terminally lazy fella like myself.

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/72655511/#p72732935 Session 1
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/73453448/#p73480748 Session 2
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/73453448/#p73509701 Session 3

And so begins Gravel: Session 4.


When last we left off, everyone except the smallest of children indulged themselves in a charming, wholesomely alcoholic shindig. Morning inevitably comes to bring a new day, and with it comes the discovery of where everyone puttered off to when drunkenness claimed them: Alexis outside with Ana the mule, Aida alone on the couch, and the highest concentration of girls all in Rita’s bed, with Adrian and Altina each taking up one end, the ever-grinning albino snuggled up with Rita herself. Adrian may not seem to have much companionship at first, until she eventually comes to and checks what the hell is hugging her lower half under the covers; lifting the blanket reveals Slavic infiltration by way of Buinov.

“Huh,” says Adrian, viewing this with a guileless smile and a shrug.

“Shhhhhhhh,” Buinov whispers, still clinging to the muscle. “The Chinese are here.”
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Indeed, the only sounds to fill the air at present are the faint presence of the radio and Chinese whispering, of which only Aida presently can see the source to be Eddy and Lao Yue chatting over tea. The little bomb rubs the sleep out of her eyes as she sits up, and since she finds sleeping alone on the couch entirely disagreeable, she runs on over to the bedroom with childish enthusiasm to join the cozy bed-pile.

“If you wanna hang out down there,” Adrian is whispering back to Buinov as this happens, “that’s fine by me.”

“I’m not sure if that means what I think it means,” says Buinov, suspiciously. “Just don’t pull the covers.”

Russian agents have more to worry about than blankets being pulled, as Aida throws herself at the bed and is promptly caught by Adrian before the bomb can land and crush Buinov. Or, alternatively, explode. Aida’s feet kick in the air as she looks down at her intercepted bombing target, then gives Adrian a wave, still entirely fine with this new situation. “The couch was lonely!”

“Buh…” Buinov grumbles, squirming nervously as she considers her predicament. “She didn’t have to leave me behind.”
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While Buinov laments being abandoned by Vulovic, Altina doesn’t bother to so much as even look over from where she’s cuddling Rita even harder to tell Adrian that “You have a strange way of picking up girls you hardly know~”

“Hey,” Adrian protests, “it’s workin’ so far.”

“Alcohol is a wonderful social lubricant~” Altina responds, and evidently she doesn’t disapprove of Adrian’s antics as she returns to her bartender cuddles – a bartender who cannot peacefully ignore all the commotion around her as she finally awakes.

“Okay,” says Rita, “this is the second time in a row that Yue opens up shop. This is rather embarrassing.”

The door is open enough that Yue and Eddy are well aware of the group all bundled up in bed, save for the identity of Buinov. Chinawoman and translator don’t seem to particularly care to investigate as Eddy calls over, translating for Yue with “[I thought you worked here. Not me. Are these kids turning you lazy like Ed-] I walked right into this one.”

“Hey,” Adrian says. “She’s just showing excellent customer service.”

“...What the hell have you been up to?” Eddy wonders.

“Don’t worry about it,” says the muscle.

Worries are had about it no matter what Adrian says, as Yue questions the team all about things to do with Russia. Namely the owners of that jeep that was parked outside the bar and abruptly vanished, as well as whatever the team’s learned about Russian presence in the town. Adrian doesn’t care to explain what she knows on the jeep front through both the power of not remembering all that much from last night thanks to alcohol and also because “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.” Buinov is quietly flustered.
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Talking about how the party went and cleared out a quarry full of bugged Russians is something everyone is far more forthright about, at least, even if Yue’s reaction is less than favorable about how they handled the cleanup (“[You went straight to drinking? Instead of contacting us?]” At least Eddy sympathizes with an “I don’t blame you.”). Her disappointment only grows when her chastisement over being notified is rendered pointless when she’s told there’s nobody her people could have saved even if she’d been informed.

Her mood isn’t helped as she keeps complaining. “[Great. To top it off, they didn't even call us when it happened. How did they not have time? How is-]”

"I told you,” Eddy says, cutting her translation off. “Their phone was fucked.”

“[That was two months ago! Why would they not fix it? Am I surrounded by lazy bums?]” She rubs her temples, before just focusing on her tea with an exasperated “[Honestly...]”

“Is she ever not like this?” Adrian asks, before quickly adding a “Don’t translate that.”

“Like what?” Eddy asks. “Complaining about people being lazy? Constantly. And I’m the one that gets to hear that. She doesn’t give lip to her Chinese friends.” She rolls her eyes and sips at her tea.

The bed crew is immune to Chinese and African exasperation, Rita humming to herself as she plays with Altina’s hair and enjoying the Yue/Eddy dynamic immensely, Buinov keeping very, very quiet to avoid Chinese questions about who the lump under the blankets is, and Adrian still holds onto an Aida even as she makes time to pat Buinov on the head.

“So what was a Russian doing here?” Eddy asks. “I thought you were killing them all.”

Adrian gives the bomb a playful squeeze. “Something about them chasing deserters or something? They didn’t wanna fight so I didn’t punch their faces in. Besides, they were kinda cute.”
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“They were good Russians!” Aida concurs, quite happy with her place in life. “We didn’t even have to blow up their car!”

“Very pleasant people, yes,” Altina adds. “Not like the ones we had to kill, not at all.”

Buinov, hearing all this, can only whisper “oh for fuck’s sake”

“[That’s probably just an excuse, you know,]” Yue says. “[They send their people in and call them deserters to free themselves of their responsibilities. They’re scared shitless of the ceasefire ending. We send the word and Siberia goes up in flames.]”

“Well,” says Adrian, “they weren't foaming at the mouth like the others so I don't fucking know. I'm just here to punch shit.” She remembers the tiny girl in her arms. “Oh, sorry.”

“...Foaming?” Eddy asks

“They looked crazy or some sh- something like that. Besides, you'd have to be crazy to want to go against these,” Adrian boasts as she flexes the arm not holding Aida.

Aida doesn't mind the swearing, in fact judging by the confused look she gives Adrian she probably doesn't even get why she's apologizing. “The bugs were making them all bad! That's what the number-girl said!”

“Terrible creatures, those bugs,” says Altina, “burrowing their way inside your body to make you do awful things. We were doing those deserters a mercy, honestly.”

“Bugs? Number-girl? Er...” Eddy is seemingly having a difficult time conveying these messages to Lao Yue. Probably because she doesn't quite understand them herself.

“The bugs! They're like this,” Aida indicates a really small thing with a pair of fingers, “and then they go here,” she pokes at her head close enough to where the bugs had burrowed, “and then you get all mean and bad and we have to blow you up for Allah!”

“[What.]” Yue's puzzlement is profound.
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“Does it matter?" asks Adrian. "We'll take care of whatever's left and then you don't gotta worry about it.”

“[Okay. So you're volunteering, yes?]”

"Why would you do that?" Eddy asks, because it's not normal for most people to want to go out hunting for trouble, even if they're super-strong undead.

“Because otherwise I'd get bored,” says the muscle, and such a reason will be given again for many, many, many times to come. “Beside, those Russians got good drink.”

“Oh, come on,” Rita complains, "Mine aren't that bad.”

“They're not, but more's always better.”

Aida chips in with a smiling “I like the special stuff!”

“At least someone appreciates my brew,” Rita says, bolstered by a child's goodwill, even as Eddy makes a face at the prospect of meat drinks.

“[If you are really so eager to throw yourselves in the midst of all this, go downtown,]” Yue suggests. “[Kill anyone who isn't a citizen of ours. We've had people disappearing for a while now after the local necromancer died and we took over. We have scanned our own but no luck so far. The first to go was the mayoress. If there really are bugs like you said, you should go see that woman.]”

“Scanned?” Adrian asks.

"I think she meant investigated,” says Eddy. “My bad. Same thing, more or less. I have no idea who she means, she doesn't know her name either."

Rita, however, has Bartender Knowledge. "Camila, the mayoress's sister. If it's about bugs, that's probably who she means. Haven't seen her in a while. Wasn't much of a drinker. But really liked insects."

“Oh, her?” Eddy asks. “...You don’t think she disappeared too?”

“Who knows. Why don’t you have someone check?”

“Eh… we can have Lola pay her a visit on her time off.”
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Adrian views all this chatter with the urgency that one can expect from her when there isn’t a fight to be found. “If it's been a while, then it can wait till I've had some more sleep.” This said, back into bed she flops, carrying Aida down with her.

“[You really are lazy,]” Yue chides.

“I show initiative at my own pace,” comes the reply from the bed.

“Are you staying in bed all day?” Rita asks. “I’m not entirely opposed.”

Lao Yue is rubbing her temples once more, vigorously, at this bunch of layabouts. Aida doesn’t see the problem with any of it, though, asking if they’re going back to sleep – once this is confirmed, she’s all too happy to wriggle her way into the middle of the bed and cozy up with everyone else. Nobody seems to be bothered by the potential explosion in their midst.

“Be careful walking around at night,” Eddy warns, as her and Yue pick themselves up and make ready to leave, Yue hurriedly, Eddy more relaxed with her hands in her pockets. “That’s when people get snatched, I think.”

Adrian is unbothered, because “If they try to snatch us, they get the shit beat out of ‘em.”

“And then!” says Altina, “I will shoot their limbs off and Aida will explode all over them.”

“[Whatever.]” Yue’s contempt for inanity is clear. “[You tell Carla to call me *before* stuff like that goes on air. We’re leaving.]”

“Will do,” says Rita, as Chinese and African girls make their exit, Eddy sighing as she ambles after Yue at an arguably lazy pace. There’s bickering in Chinese outside, briefly, before it fades out and the bar is left in peace.

It’s only once Adrian’s reasonably sure there won’t be any interruptions that she looks under the blanket. “I guess you can come out now, or you can stay down there, if you like.”

“They’re gone?” asks the hidden slav. Even though she’s told they’re merely outside, that still gets a “Good enough for me,” as Buinov pops her head out from cover.

“Hello, bed-friend,” says Altina. “I hope you are well.”

Wellness is debatable when Adrian wraps an arm around Buinov and pulls her further up to ask “So what are ya gonna do now?”

“Is this really necessary?” Buinov asks, being squeezed.

“Maybe,” says the muscle. “Do you have a problem with it?”

Buinov is in no real position to answer. Aida, however, all curled up and comfy, has her own question. “Huh? Aren’t we gonna sleep now?”

“Possibly.” Rita doesn’t seem opposed, but alas, life has her. “Unfortunately, I may or may not have a business to attend to.”

“Well, you have fun with that,” Adrian says.

“Eh, probably won’t. But you know how it is.”

“She nags at you if you don’t?”

Rita gives Altina a kiss on the cheek before hopping out of bed, causing the albino to emit a pleased little hum before tugging the blankets over her head and achieving Peak Cozy. Leaving her bedmates behind, the bartender at least has the decency to answer questions before she abandons them. “Yue? She nags everyone. It's just up to Eddy if we can understand it or not. I don't mind her. Though I thought you'd be more cooperative towards her. Oh, well. It's been fun, regardless.”

“I don’t get a kiss?” Adrian asks, and when Buinov (perhaps unwisely, considering her situation) asks if the much larger girl hasn’t already had enough, she gets an “Of course not,” in response.

“Sorry,” says Rita, already heading out to tend to a veritable pile of dirty glasses. “Busy, busy.”

“Aw.” There is muscly disappointment. But, as ever, there are bright sides. “Well, we did say we’d spend more time in bed.” Hugging Buinov tight (and disregarding the smaller girl’s “...goddammit, Vulovic.”), so does Adrian doze off. With Altina (“This is still fine. Cozy, cozy, cozy~”) and Aida (“Nighty-night.”) all too happy to join in, everyone is content. Except maybe Alexis, but who knows where the jedi got off to? A car takes off in the background, and everyone dozes back off to sleep…

...until five minutes later, Adrian’s eyes shoot open. “Well, I’m bored,” she declares, and so leaps straight out of bed and onto her feet, still holding Buinov tight despite the latter’s protests (“Are you always like this?” “Like what?” “Never mind.”) There is heavy discontent from the sleeping bomb suddenly awoken (“Sleeping with everyone was nice... Are we getting up already?”), but Altina at least matches Adrian’s vigor in rolling out of bed and springing upright (“Up so soon? Ah, it isn't the same without everyone together.”)

Rita is seemingly enjoying her eternal suffering. Cleaning the glasses and the counter, that is. “That was fast. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“She's what you might call, 'a high energy individual,’” explains Adrian’s second head, for Coach is helpful, if not always active.

“What are you up to now?” Rita asks.

Aida is in the process of slowly lowering herself off the bed, resigned to getting up, when this question is asked. “We have to go look for the bug-lady... right?”

“I dunno,” Adrian was also in the process of saying, before a bomb interrupted. “Yeah, that. And maybe pick up some clothes.” The resulting clap from the bandage-clad Altina is genuinely joyful (“Yay, clothes!”), so there’s no objections from her either.

“You’re in luck,” says Rita. “She lives downtown. Well, despite the fact that it's a hellhole. Wasn't always like that.”

More information on this topic would be good, but instead, Buinov butts in. “Put me down. I gotta wait for Vulovic to come back now. She took the goddamn jeep.”

Adrian’s attempts to sway Buinov to stick with the team fall flat (“You can come along with us~” “I’d rather not.” “Aw, why not?” “Don’t wanna.”), whereas Altina’s musings on the topic probably don’t help motivate her either (“I guess bugs and monsters and fun things like that aren’t something she’d enjoy? I don't see why she wouldn't find them fun, but…”) and Aida’s own suggestion (“Maybe she'd feel bad for all the bad Russians we have to blow up!”) is also summarily ignored.

“I need to stay hidden for now,” Buinov says, still firm in her stance of Not Being Held. “As long as Vulovic is with me I’ll be fine, I just need to wait for her.”

“You’d be fine with me,” Adrian says, still set on this despite everything.

“You’re not my type,” Buinov responds, with various comments from the peanut gallery (“Ouch,” from Rita, “Mean!” from Altina) to really let the sting of that sink in. This was probably a mistake on her part, though, since Adrian’s smile remains firmly in place but her hug grows notably stronger.

“And after how close we were,” says the slighted muscle as Buinov squirms in her grip. “It’s not nice to use a girl like that.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Buinov asks, her alarm growing with the pressure upon her poor ribs; Aida is increasingly confused by what’s gotten into Adrian, but Altina is decidedly more with it, covering her smile as she beams at bullying in progress.

“Just going and breaking my heart like that after we share a bed,” Adrian says in a low, menacing voice.

Buinov latches onto the key phrase in that statement with the desperation of someone beneath a hydraulic press. “We just shared a bed! I’m really grateful about the whole hiding business but please stop.”

Rita sees fit to dig Buinov deeper. “Well, that’s true, you know. Or were you having dirty thoughts?”

Adrian opts to give her very own Russian another, stronger squeeze for a few moments before letting her go, whereupon Buinov clutches her crushed sides and staggers over to the couch to sit and recover. “Don’t be an asshole when rejecting people,” says the muscle, her tone pleasant.

“What the hell?” Buinov wheezes, still hugging herself in pain. “Are you really hitting on me? What is wrong with you? You’re insane. I need a drink.”

Rita fends the request off for a bit, while Adrian actually looks confused by Buinov’s reactions. “Oh, did that actually hurt?”

“What do you think, genius?” seethes Buinov, attention drifting down to her stomach, which she gives a poke.

“Oh.” For once, Adrian actually seems genuinely apologetic. “Well, I’m sorry then. Guess I don’t know my own strength.” Even Coach is confused by her main head’s reaction here (though Rita’s dismissive “Pshaw,” shows there’s at least one person who disagrees, even if Altina’s “Ah, well, no lasting harm done, I believe?” exists to oppose her).

“You’re lucky nothing spilled,” Buinov says, before poking her stomach again. “...I hope.”

All this poking gets Adrian to poke Buinov’s tummy too. “What, does candy come out or somethin’?”

“Entrails,” says Buinov, unappreciative of this. “You should know.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about those,” says Adrian. “They grow back.”

“Ah, you’re one of those,” says Rita knowingly. Adrian doesn’t get it (“One a’ what now?”), but such lack of knowledge is easily disregarded by the bartender. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just that some girls can’t really just grow stuff back, you know. You’re quite privileged, having that gift. Make the most of it.”

Adrian’s questions on the topic are simple (“What, does it come with great responsibility or something?” “Nah.” “Good.”), while Aida’s are more practical (“But what do they do if they can’t grow stuff back?”) and immediately answered by Buinov and Adrian alike (“Then you’ll have to find someone else’s.” and “Don’t worry. If I broke something, you can have some of mine~”) Altina is merely inane. (“I have been in this situation before! It is most unpleasant.”)

Rita’s wellwishes are given then as she watches the party make ready to leave, though Adrian is entirely confident in her ability to stay safe (“Dying doesn’t seem very fun, so I’ll avoid it.”) and Aida is enthusiastic about more chances to explode (“Allah will let me up into paradise when he’s happy with me again!”)

The bomb is scooped up in muscly arms and Adrian sets out in search of good times and good loot (“Since no one else wants to come along, we get to keep whatever we find for ourselves!”) followed by Altina prancing after her (“It’s time for adventure!”)

Heading outside reveals the desert and the slums in bright daylight, but no sign of Alexis or Ana, the whereabouts of mule and jedi alike a mystery. This heroic journey comes to an abrupt stop with the realization that nobody is actually sure which way leads to clothing shops and good times. Requesting directions from Rita isn’t that informative on the store front, but there’s relevant info about a bug lady to make up for that, as *her* residence is shown to be at the edge of town – it stands out by dint of both being an old place with not much surrounding it, and also because it’s an actual house instead of a shack like most of the slums. Evidently it was also where the mayoress resided as well before her own disappearance.

Thus do three dolls set off in search of fun, excitement, cute clothes, and violence.

...There’s none of that for a decent while, unfortunately for them. Mostly it’s just walking, since it isn’t like they can pester Lola to give them a drive through town. The desert and slums are all rather samey as they march on – no wonder the town feels rather hopeless. At least the drinks were free. And, after an indeterminable amount of time, a detour presents itself; a sign leading to a farm off the beaten path. There’s no danger sensed, heard, or flung towards them, despite Adrian straining those doggy ears of hers to catch sign of anything exciting. Alas for her, all she hears are… chickens?

Adrian *feels* like something terrible might be happening over there, but on the other giant, buff hand, it seems fine, and this isn’t a party of RPG protagonists who just barge into people’s homes for no good reason, even if Altina thinks chickens are awful creatures and Aida has to wonder if she needs to blow them up for Allah because they might be bad. Instead, they press forth, leaving the farm and whoever resides in it for another time – which will come up soon enough, but not right now.

Further down the road, the shacks transition from scarce to eye-searingly plentiful, a nuisance to one’s sight as the team makes it further into town. Eventually, as the path goes from dirt to stone, the shacks are gradually replaced by concrete buildings, and everything actually starts resembling a proper town after a while, complete with sidewalks. It’s certainly more pleasant to look at… but also it’s incredibly dull, for there’s no signs of unlife anywhere. (“Our quest continues!” says Altina, “Slowly! Boringly! But that’s okay.”) Even when they do come across signs of anyone’s passage, it’s in the form of an intersection littered with destroyed vehicles and bodies. (“Maybe not so boringly,” says Adrian.)

The bodies are twisted, to say the least. Their limbs contort inwardly as if they tried to scratch an itch right into their internal organs. Unlike the quarry, however, these weren't burned. A few of them seem quite big from a distance, until they’re approached. Most of them had their chests and bellies burst, their skin dried and hardened in a manner that projected their skin upwards, as if the explosions from inside them created beautiful flowers of dried skin. Truly, works of art.

Our heroines aren’t so hardened that this kind of thing doesn’t disgust them, Adrian’s grin turning hard as hooks emerge from her barbed, clenched fists, Aida mutters *something* as she focuses on their exploded chests, and Altina dares to tip-toe up close and lean over to inspect such art with a manic edge to her own permanent smile (“Loooooovely. Just lovely.”) Closer viewing reveals more holes in the back of these unfortunates’ necks.

There’s not much else to see here, so walking resumes soon enough. There is the occasional gunfire here and there in the distance but no more explodey corpses, and the team reaches their main destination quite swiftly.

Much like it was described by Rita, there seems to be a fancy house atop a hill, surrounded by an empty plot of land – and only fancy when compared to what it’s surrounded by. Standing alone as a beacon of good old days contributes a lot to the old and rundown appearance of the place. There’s no clear path up, only very tall grass which the party bravely ventures into without a worry, Adrian’s ears open for anything menacing (like velociraptors) and Altina’s cannon-arm deployed and ready as she merrily skips along after the huge girl. There’s a meaty CRUNCH underneath Adrian’s foot after only a few steps, and looking down reveals a completely pulverized bug – clear proof they’re on the right path.

“There are bugs here!” Aida says. “The bug lady must be close.” Her logic seems completely sound to her, despite not actually seeing any sign of a bug lady herself.

“So chances of her bein’ crazy too?” Adrian asks, continuing her march uphill.

“She is a bug lady,” says Aida. “She’s probably crazy.”

Child logic is impeccable, and so the team moves up until they’re at the doorstep – if there’s any more bugs along the way, they scatter before they can be thoughtlessly crushed. The wooden house itself looks like it could have been quite homely and welcoming in the distant past, but presently is leaning more towards the kind of thing one would expect from a place known to be haunted. With nothing on the front porch save for a derelict swinging loveseat, Adrian carefully knocks on the door, listens for a response, fails to get any, and then bangs on it. The door pops open slightly, then, already unlocked.

“I don’t think the bug lady can hear the knocking,” says Aida. “Let’s go in and look!”

“Might as well,” says Adrian, moving inside.

“Breaking and entering!” chirps Altina as the team intrudes into what appears to be a dining room, complete with empty table. “*Exciting.*”

“Nuh-uh,” Aida shakes her head at Altina. “We didn’t break anything, the door’s still fine!”

Altina considers this, nodding thoughtfully. “Just entering, then. Very well.”

The inside of the house is even more derelict than outside, the furniture in worse shape than even the outside loveseat, with an excessive amount of dust having collected inside to coat everything and fill the air. The stairs up to the second floor look like they might fall apart at the slightest touch, so the investigation first moves to the kitchen right by the dining room.

What follows is an inspection of everything the dolls can get their hands on, from inspecting a derelict kitchen with a fridge filled with dirt, dust, rotten foodstuffs, and bugs that scatter on approach, and from there to the bathroom, bits of glass scattered on the checkered ceramic floor from a broken mirror. The bathtub is concealed by a curtain, and so, after Adrian asks who wants to risk checking it (which Aida gleefully accepts responsibility for with a “Ooh, ooh! I’ll do it!”), the curtain is ripped open to grace the girls with a foul smell as they gaze upon a tub half-filled with still water, but also, more concerningly, a mound of sand – fleshy, riddled with holes, but sand. There’s more bugs moving inside the holes.

Nobody cares for this, although Altina’s passing comment that it looks like *meat sand* piques Aida’s curiosity enough for the little cannibal bomb to carve a bit of it out of the tub to chew on as they head out to keep exploring, at which point they get to see yet more bugs panicking and scurrying away – the more they inspect the house, the more bugs they seem to find. Aida’s culinary sampling of the meat sand as they carefully head up the *incredibly* creaky staircase reveals it to merely taste like dirt, albeit coated in some sort of resin – there’s no real taste to it except being a sticky nuisance for her teeth.

“Bleh!” complains the child, trying to get rid of the taste. “That’s not meat.”

“That’s why you don’t eat things when you don’t know what they are,” Adrian chides, reaching the top to find a wide corridor with a number of rooms to check out, alongside the dusty paintings and faded pictures on the walls.

“But Altina said it might be meat!” Aida whines, tossing away the rest of her sand-chunk in disappointment.

“I never said to *taste it,* Aida,” Altina says, obligated to defend herself even as Adrian starts listening intently to skittering above them, the muscle also the only one to notice such a thing.

“Why not?” Aida says. “If it was meat sand, it’d taste good.”

Altina’s resulting “Eeeeech” of disgust closes out that conversation, before Adrian mentions that she hears something in the ceiling. Looking up does reveal an attic entrance with a small metal chain dangling by it, and so Adrian gives it a yank, before deftly catching the ladder that drops from the attic before it can smash right into her face.

“Funny,” says the muscle, unamused, before she climbs up. Altina’s request that she not get eaten actually gets a “Hah!” out of Adrian as she squeezes herself up the hole and into the attic proper. It’s dark enough she can’t see shit save for a faint green glow on the attic walls, but pressing into the darkness and ripping the boards off a boarded-up window casts plenty of light on the situation; there’s quite a few tables on the other end of the attic, with plenty of glass jars and other such containers scattered across all of them, some even giving off the same faint glow that the walls had. The other dolls climb up once Adrian claims that the attic is secure, and so three girls swarm all over the jars to enthusiastically check out private property of the long-since-missing.

The contents vary, some with plants and dirt in them at varying degrees of wholeness, with quite a few plants looking like bugs had been gnawing on them. Other jars contain bug corpses of varying sizes., one jar of which is very big to accommodate a positively enormous bug inside, just about ready to burst from its confinement with how ill it fits. The glow seems to originate from a few jars containing what look to be similar mounds as the one found in the tub, their holes luminous, though the light from the window seems to dampen the effect.

"Maybe the glowy meat-sand tastes like meat...?” Aida wonders, picking one up to take a real close look at it as if it might just become meat by sheer force of staring at it.

Adrian is less inane, looking around one more time to confirm no one’s hiding anywhere. “Dammit, where the hell is she?”

“Maybe she was so buggy that she turned into all the bugs?” Aida posits, before shrugging and putting her meat-sand down.

“That’s…” Adrian has to think on this for a moment. “I guess I can't say it didn't happen, but probably not.”

With nothing else to investigate up here, everyone descends, beginning to check the rest of the rooms at random. First up is a dusty, abandoned bedroom – a fancy enough one despite the disrepair, with bed, wardrobe, tall mirror and comfy chair making for a cozy enough environment. The important part, though, is the wide-open window with an enormous bloody trail going out through it, which goes out across the roof and eventually stops at the edge, as though whatever was dragged or dragged itself there jumped off or was thrown. Meanwhile, the gunshots outside, ever constant, grow louder and closer still. It’s not really relevant to the dolls yet, so they ignore it, but it’s definitely something to check out when they’re done here.

“IS ANYONE IN HERE?” Adrian hollers, as though she could will the owner of the house into existence through the mighty power of her lungs alone. There’s no answer from their target, alas, even though Aida pipes up to wonder if they’re going to be blowing up more bad people soon, with all those gunshots outside.

The investigation carries on through a closet and bathroom, both irrelevant, and just as boredom seeks to claim the souls of these dolls (“I almost wish something would jump out to try and eat me, at this point,” Altina whines, as Adrian showcases her irritation with a “I have half a mind to punch her face in when I find her,”), they make their way into the final room of the second floor – an office with its walls covered in bookshelves. An office chair and table with a dusty pile of paper atop it rest in the center of the room.

"For the love of-" Adrian sighs. This has been both fruitless and frustrating.

“Maybe she left a note about where she's gone!” With that cheery thought, Aida goes to look at the papers. There’s documents and more documents, with words she’s never even heard of. “Adriaaaaan! I dunno what these big words mean!” Aida waves a pair of pages around, unable to make any sense of them.

Adrian comes over to inspect things, and notices a yellow bit of paper sticking out from all the rest, which naturally means she yanks it out to inspect it as everyone crowds around her to see what she’s got. It seems to be a tab of some kind. The front has a table containing the names of quite a few drinks, with strikes next each. On the back is messy, but still legible handwriting in blue ink. ‘I' M GONNA PRAY COME or youl be sorry..’ it says.

Aida scratches her head as she looks at the yellow paper as well. “I know the words but I still don't get it.”
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Have you ever had the necromancer secretly be the pet of one of the dolls?

“...This would probably be a clue if I could make sense of it,” Adrian says. All the commotion outside demands her attention, however, as she tucks the note away. “Let's go see what's making the gunshots and then come back."

Altina’s all for this, and a passing comment from her to collect the papers gets Aida to stop right in her tracks as the little bomb was so enthusiastically heading out to find more bad people to explode, before turning around and snatching up the other papers to stuff in her little handbasket. From there it’s simple to head outside, getting, for the first time, a proper layout of the town.

The more notable landmarks are a park, a large building with a field that one might assume could be a school, and lastly a chapel. Proper study of these places is interrupted by ever more gunfire, vaguely in the direction the dolls approached the house from – close to the intersection with its corpse-art, even. They venture forth to find the source, and that’s how, as they reach a street corner, a shot flies past and barely misses the lot of them.

“I think we found ‘em!” Aida says, not all that bothered by this as Allah’s guiding light calls to her to explode all over bad people.

“Goodness!” Altina raises her arm, hand snap-crackle-popping apart to ready her blaster. “I think I should reciprocate!”

It’s then that the screaming reaches the A-Team, but it’s a peculiar sort; no terror to it so much as confusion and shock. The long, sustained cries come from multiple sides, almost like moaning but for its volume. Two blocks down from the dolls, the gunfight responsible for all these bullets is spotted, groups of girls huddling behind trashed cars as they exchange extremely erratic, inaccurate gunfire, never quite managing to hit each other and in fact sending many of their bullets straight to the pavement.
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Bullets occasionally fly our girls’ way, but the slightest bit of caution on approach proves more than enough to stop any direct hits. Up close, those responsible for the commotion can be studied in detail: all black girls wearing ragged clothing with the occasional camo pattern, making them look more like guerrillas than any professional soldiers. Their faces are frozen in toothy grins, some with both eyes and mouths wide open, giving away their ungodly moans. From the looks of it, both sides went berserk. Not only that, there’s quite a few bugs in-between the groups, scurrying about as if dodging the bullets.

Given that they don’t seem intentionally hostile, Adrian sets out to remove the problem at the source by ripping out any bugs she can get her hands on, which Altina and Aida are happy enough to leave to the giant girl with her equally muscly fists. Before Adrian can make good on debugging, though, whistling cuts through the air, before a large silhouette smashes through the clouds and crashes down in front of the team with great force, its piston legs letting out puffs of steam as it settles down with the girl who was sleeping on its back.

“Now you show up,” Adrian says, as Ana shakes her body around and jostles the sleeping Alexis awake, dislodging the tiny, snoozing jedi, who awakens with an exasperated cry as she lands. Leaving all this behind her, Adrian rushes forth, bulletproof arms up to protect herself, and promptly faces no resistance whatsoever. In fact, one of the frenzied guerrillas drops her gun to approach Adrian, and though her face is still frozen in rage, tears pouring down her cheeks, her movements at least are somewhat calm.
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“What the hell are you doing?” Adrian asks, slightly lowering her guard as the girl reaches out for her. A warning from Altina (“I would not advise letting her touch you!”) is enough to make her take a step back and tell the guerrilla “You gotta say something before I let you do that,” leaving her to grab nothing but air. When her grip meets nothing, she clutches her belly with one hand, covering her mouth with the other as the tears continue to stream down her face and into the stone road. She cringes, looking at the ground. Adrian decides to be proactive, and tear into the girl's gut to sort out the bug problem directly; soon the both the road and a muscly arm are covered in tears as Adrian rams her fist right into the girl’s stomach, which has the not entirely unexpected effect of forcing out what was being held in, a stream of vomit spewing over Adrian’s arm, intermingling with bugs to provide undeniable proof of what was truly at fault here.

Which wasn’t to say that this was an entirely wise decision, given both the girl’s condition and Adrian’s own strength – when that fist makes contact with her belly, her backside explodes outwards, blood, guts and insects pouring onto the street, and any sign of life abruptly vanishes from the girl as she collapses against Adrian, covering her in yet more fluids. Adrian rapidly tries to shake it off, especially the bugs, and so the unfortunate guerrilla hits the ground, the way her skin twists upwards when she falls dead on the street entirely familiar to three members of the party while Alexis is entirely confused, late to the party as she is.

“That… went poorly!” says Altina, grinning widely at this manslaughter that just occurred.

“I have no idea what’s happening,” says Alexis, looking to Aida as the only solution to her lack of knowledge, as no one else looks available to answer and Ana vanished once again.

The bomb is happy to put forth her theory. “They're all turning into bugs! They must be really buggy, like the bug lady! What do we do?”

“Well, shit,” Adrian says, seemingly only mildly bothered by her unsuccessful debugging. “I guess it ain't something we can just punch out of them. Maybe just ripping out the stomach might do it?”

The other girls are losing their collective shit while all this goes on. The ones that drop their weapons are quick to instead grasp their own stomachs or, in two cases, their heads. Their screaming loses the odd, moaning edge to become Advanced Screaming, instead. Not the most peaceful environment to operate in, but Adrian is ever optimistic as she tries again, this time being somewhat more precise about it. Her surgical skills are proven good enough to be able to reach into the guerrilla's tummy, grasping the stomach and ripping it out before tossing it aside. This girl does not explode, instead merely collapsing to the ground as a single bug scurries out from behind her neck and disappears in the swarm. The tossed stomach quickly bursts on its own, the explosion nothing like what was witnessed earlier being much less noticeable. The bugs pour out, regardless.

“Hey, it worked!” Aida says, her nail claws the perfect tool for what she’s about to do as she approaches another of the guerrillas clutching her stomach. “We can get the bugs out!” Indeed she tries.

“Is this our plan?” Alexis asks, as muscle and bomb get to work. “To punch the sickness out of people?”

“I have a laser sword,” Altina helpfully says, lowering her gun arm and pointedly not shifting to the saber. “But I don't think it would be very helpful in making them not explode. So! This is all in your capable hands, friends!”
They never figured it out and took him with them when they escaped.

The doll's are it's unwitting cover as it's got plans in motion to fake a coup by it's head savant as part of an elaborate scheme to draw in outsiders looking to take advantage of the chaos of the "regime change" so that they can be camptured and put to work. This is the most effective way to increase it's doll collection, fooling outsider dolls to come to it be they free dolls coming to loot on their own initiative, or dolls in command of forces sent by other necromancers.

Adrian tries one of the ones clutching her head, and settle for trying to crush the head bug she knows will be there, by jamming a super strength finger down the hole. She doesn’t find the bug that usually resides in this hole as her finger goes straight through a crunchy layer inside the girl's torso. Her arms are hulking out, it seems. They might even rival Adrian’s as they become incredibly swollen, along with the rest of her body. The crunchy feeling and noise are followed by the girl falling to the ground, her expression of rage turned to despair. Her body has become bulky and distorted, with mad gains, but further growth has been stopped. She occasionally twitches, but otherwise seems harmless.

While Adrian was busy with this, the other girl clutching her head just hulked out completely, looking like a very twisted version of the muscle – yet a proper fight is denied Adrian despite her being entirely ready for one as the Ultimate Bugmuscle screams in utter rage for several long seconds before her head abruptly explodes in a fine mist of gore, prompting Adrian to pounce and rip her arms off for good measure to stop any aggression before it can kick off. One of the Big Fuckin’ Bugs crawls out of the neckhole, but Adrian snatches it up before it can scurry away and crushes it, its weak flailing no match for Adrian as it’s squished into mush. Clearly the newborns aren’t as strong as when they’ve been around for a while. Other surgical operations, courtesy of Aida carving out tummies, meet with variable success; in the end, four more girls explode all over the bomb with bugs and blood, but she’s undeterred and the rest are safely extracted without any unfortunate mishaps, leaving a total of six girls resting peacefully enough on the ground, and actually alive, at that.

“Now who the fuck do I have to pound into paste for this?” Adrian asks. As if to answer the question, the swarm gathers into a black whirlpool of insects. The insects then starts scurrying away from everyone at speed, surprisingly fast despite not flying. The natural solution presents itself to Adrian: “Aida, blow ‘em up!”

“Blow up the bugs!” Aida cheerily agrees, running after the swarm quick as her little legs will carry her, ready to pounce on them, before Adrian’s sisterly instincts activate as she lunges for the girl and hurls her at the bugs like a football. The impact of the child alone crushes a few bugs on its arrival. As for the resulting explosion? In the blink of an eye, there are only a few left. Having lost their core group, they scatter. Despite this, it seems they are all going in the same general direction.
Adrian gives chase, everyone else pursuing because this is exciting, especially to Aida, whose expression says plenty about how fun she found her sudden flight and terminal stop as she energetically follows the muscle. The pursuit leads, soon enough, to the chapel that had been spotted earlier, Adrian’s psychotically energetic mutterings of “Gonna punch'em, rip'em, tear'em, pound'em…” getting a cheery “Blast ‘em and slice ‘em, too!” from Altina before the A-Team is stopped by the chapel’s large, sturdy doors despite Adrian’s first impact against them hitting like a pro linebacker, the bugs rushing beneath the doors to relative safety. There’s more skittering from inside, too.

“KNOCK KNOCK!” Adrian roars, her fist punching clean through the door when she swings. Repeating the process a few more times in a line gives her room to work with before she starts chopping through the holes with the bladed ends of her hands. Aida offers to help explode all over it, but the muscle has this well in hand, soon enough destroying the doors and granting access to the party.

Surprisingly, despite the high sun outside, none of the light from outdoors pours into the chapel, its insides terribly dark. The skittering intensifies, followed by murmurs.

“IT’S RUDE TO REFUSE GUESTS!” Adrian yells again, getting zero response. This doesn’t stop her from marching straight into the darkness, her steps becoming increasingly crunchy as she presses inside with her sisters. The insides of the church are pitch black, and chanting can barely be heard in the background, incomprehensible though it is. In the distance, they can make out the shape of a cross on the far wall. It gives off that same green glow from the attic. In this darkness, however, the glow is very strong.

Adrian finds this the appropriate time to wish they’d brought a light, and while Aida helpfully pokes her glowing, exposed lattice-stomach, it doesn’t provide enough to help. Altina’s lightsaber, brandished high and held as a torch, reveals nothing but blackness surrounding them. However, the light is seemingly bouncing off the ground as the surface is revealed. The floor starts moving under their feet, and another whirlpool forms underneath them, from it emerging two large forms that are somewhat familiar to the team in the shape of two Russian soldiers in uniform, hulked up like the two guerrillas that had been seen outside. These girls, however, are gripped not with despair but glee as they gaze upon the team, their bodies twitching and pulsing as something moves beneath their skin.
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Meanwhile, the chanting in the background becomes louder as two more shapes reveal themselves, the first a robed priest covered in large chains and broken shackles, floating on air while bleeding heavily onto the bugs below. In front of her stands a small girl wearing a very large ornament on her head, something akin to a triangular table with a decorated cloth on top of it, her face concealed. She wields a staff that is much too large for her size, made of ribs and joined skulls featuring horns, with thorny vines slithering in and out of its sockets.

With a fight ahead of them, Adrian’s fists are ready for blood. “I bet you’re the bitch responsible.”

“We found the bad people!” Aida cheerily adds. “Now we just gotta blow ‘em up!”

“SACRIFICES,” says the worshiper. “INDEED,” the priest concurs.

“Yes,” Adrian snarls, “I’m going to sacrifice you to my fists.”

And so combat begins, with an ominous “I COMMAND THEE,” from the Worshiper, as her Order kicks into effect and all enemies take an immediate action. The bugs launch into a frenzy, swarming at the team: Alexis gets mildly chewed up before she fends them off, as one of the Russians tears at Aida, ripping into her torso… and setting off another gloriously lethal explosion from the bomb as a result that eviscerates a hefty chunk of everything menacing the party. Alexis attempts to force-yank the worshiper into the blast radius, but a chain from the priest shoots out to drag her back. Both Russians are severely scorched by the explosion and gives no shits, as seen when the second swipes at Alexis like the first did Aida, barely scoring a hit that the girl mostly shrugs off.

Adrian makes good on her earlier threat by hurling herself at the worshiper, slamming a meaty barbed fist right into her chest for bone-cracking levels of damage, but she’s unable to truly work her fists in there and shred the bitch due to some built-in resistance of the girl’s body.
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A meaty tendril emerges from the staff as the Worshiper swings back at Adrian, chunks of her guts exploding outward as she puts all her effort into making it slam into the muscle’s legs and shatter them completely, though at least the followup swing bounces off Adrian’s biceps. Adrian’s counterswing comes in hard and fast, but defensive footwork and a vine shooting from the Worshiper's staff prevent Adrian from ripping clean through her body with another haymaker, the enemy instead taking a nasty hit to the legs before the Priest lashes out at Adrian with chains, slamming into her body and face hard enough to crack, crunch, and smash muscled perfection into broken, gory messes.

Altina was busy blasting bugs away for fun and also crowd control, but Adrian’s problems require support, and so pulsing bolts of blue fly uprange to carve away at the Worshiper, slicing flesh apart and leaving only the tiniest bit of a torso behind, which also shreds her ability to resist Adrian’s barbed fists. More bugs skitter up as this goes on, while the Worshiper swings a wickedly sharp vine about, bloodily carving into Aida and Alexis. The hulking Slavs aren’t so fortunate with their swings at the other girls, at least.

Adrian’s life continues to be suffering as the Priest’s chains lash at her face and arms some more, even those mighty biceps being caved in under this hideously strong assault, as yet more of the bugs swarm over her and chew away, her head and torso utterly annihilated at this point even as the gory mess of a musclegirl frantically reattaches a detached fist to keep swinging with. Aida’s busy pouncing on a hulking Russian and chewing away with sharp, sharky teeth, tearing away so much flesh that the bestial girl expires and hits the ground – which, unfortunately, also unleashes another Big Fuckin’ Bug from her neck.
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Altina, for her part, sees how unfortunate an existence Adrian is suffering right now and unleashes another precise blast of laser fire at the Worshiper that’s launching herself at the rest of the team; blue streaks carve through the savant’s torso… and cause the bomb implanted in her to explode, shredding yet more bugs around her but also, unfortunately, blasting Adrian even further apart before the Worshiper rockets forth to land by Altina, and she lashes out with a meaty vine at the albino – an attack easily avoided, however. The muscle’s perseverance is as great as her hunger, even mostly Annihilated, as she pulls a bone together back in her legs in what’s probably a wise move to evacuate, while Aida leaps for the bug that came out of the trooper with intent to discover the taste of bug meat… and instead lands on Alexis, accidentally ripping a tasty chunk out of the jedi while the bug takes offense and eats Aida’s legs for this.

Alexis is a kind soul who doesn’t mind friendly chewing all that much, instead slicing away with her saber at yet more bugs swarming around. The insectoid vengeance that comes from this amounts to nothing as they fail to latch onto the dolls, though the Worshiper’s anger is roused at Altina for previously blasting her, the staff’s meaty, biting tendril lashing at all parts of the albino’s body save her face. But one shouldn’t tempt fate with a grinning maniac, as Altina jams her blaster-hand straight into the cultist’s staff-bearing arm and repeatedly unloads into it, slicing and slicing and slicing through to the point that, no matter the defenses the enemy brings to bear, her arms are cut clean through and severed, staff shattered in the process. That threat effectively gutted, Altina can perhaps be forgiven for not noticing the bugs before they leap on her and start chewing away at her pretty face, even as more swarm over Alexis.

The rest of the swarm’s assault is ineffectual, thankfully, and the Priest’s menacing approach is made somewhat less menacing when Alexis spitefully lifts a clenched hand and starts choking her through the power of the Force, staggering her as Adrian, even in her completely fucked-up state, pounces and rips apart her torso.

The fight, bloody though it’s been, is now leaning towards the A-Team, despite all the swarming bugs still chewing away at the girls, and even the Worshiper still persisting with bloody-minded spite as she bites down on Altina’s arms, ripping great chunks out of the albino and exposing blood and metal underneath. This, however, is something of a mistake as Altina grabs hold of her, beaming madly, and cheerfully tells her “Welcome to hell!” before leaping away with surprisingly strong legs and dragging the savant with her straight into The Fuck Zone, where any and all friendly dolls can consume a bitch. “Let’s show her a lovely time, girls!”

The bugs are so confused by this that they start eating each other with critfails, only one managing to land on Alexis’ face and eat her eyes. There’s incoherent gurgling from Adrian that roughly translates to “Fight me, you stupid bitch,” before the Worshiper disregards this challenge to chew on Altina’s arms some more. In response, the albino shakes said bitch off and points those deadly lasers towards the Priest, more pulses of laser fire ripping through the big girl’s very, very large head – her every defense is brought to bear, but for a wave from Alexis’ hand to cloud her mind in anticipation of such things, which is just the edge Altina needs to cleave clean through and separate head from body.
Oh boy IT'S TIME!

More enraged biting from the Worshiper rips chunks out of Altina’s body for this heresy, but there’s little time for her to focus on that as Aida starts banging at herself. “Blow up again! There’s lots of bugs so blow up again!” She unfortunately fails to set her bomb off, until Alexis gives her a kick, and a helpful “BLOW UP!” that sets everything off and the entire world goes up in Allah’s fire once more, nuclear bugspray cleaning out infestations like it was built for the task even as it spares Aida’s sisters for being on the side of righteousness. The Worshiper flings herself out of the blast zone in alarm, and manages an escape after a tug of war between the Jedi’s force pull and the Priest’s chains ensues, but this leaves the religious leader the target of Adrian and Altina alike, as they both tear into her with fist and laser and dismember away.

This annihilates the main source of remaining resistance, as jedi and bomb carve at the still sizable swarm of bugs while muscle and albino murder the Priest. However, the honor of finishing things off goes to Alexis, who swiftly pursues the Worshiper and devotes her saber’s might to slicing away at what remains of the fiendish bugmaster – with her last swing eviscerating the fanatic, the bugs find themselves without any leadership, and animal instinct takes over as they hurriedly disperse to avoid being butchered.

With that, combat draws to a close, all four dolls in serious disrepair as Adrian starts consuming whatever she can get her mangled teeth around to start rebuilding herself. The process of stitching each other back together is unpleasant, as one might expect, but the worst of the sting is alleviated through the fact they’re all intact and alive and the enemy most certainly fucking isn’t.

Thus, through hardfought victory, does Session 4 end.
Dolls can be subjected to some pretty gruesome fates.
>GravelAnon posts up like 20 posts worth of content
>but I must sleep
Curse you, GravelAnon2. But also thanks for the content.

Things that necromancers do to dolls they don't like, or got bored with, can be very fun.
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With more to come. Presently my bed sings to me a lullaby sweeter than any reduction in AP cost. But the next session nears completion, long though it's taken. Expect it in the near future.

As an aside, the both of us have been given the GM's asset folder. If it was still on his hard drive, we should have it. So if you like the art, remain assured it will continue to be a thing, and have a full-body Rita that shows off her snazzy suit better while I contemplate the void.
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I was too chicken to play an evil necromancer in my first game so I wound up making him a nice dude. Or at least as nice as you can be and still succeed in a world like Nechronica.

I wonder what the reaction of rival necromancers would be to his creations now that he's gone. Predatory, maybe? I wager a lot of necromancers would jump to get a look into a rival's trade secrets.

Funny, that was one of the most fun parts.

>The necromancer that made the PCs wanted to get at the colony of humans on the moon, the only remaining human population, and build a monument out of their bodies that would be visible on earth.
>Another hid in an underground dome where the walls were covered in crucified dolls that were hooked into him because he enjoyed and was powered by their suffering.
It really does depend on what kind of necromancers are out there, I reckon, and their situations. More powerful necromancers might just scoff and ignore/exterminate those dolls, whereas someone more down on his luck may be eager to actually get them to like him so he can possibly have some loyal-ish minions. I don't doubt there's people out there who'd just look at Necromancer-free dolls and deciding that they just want to rip them open and look at what makes 'em tick, though.
Looking forward to reading this when my shift is over.
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>eyes on the inside
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I honestly have a difficult time playing up Evil characters in general. I can't even be evil in RPGs like Fallout because it winds up making me feel like an asshole. I'm worried I may have a problem.

But I am keeping some necromancer assholery in my back pocket if we do ever return to that campaign. I just couldn't bring myself to cold-open with it.
The future is now. I am pleased to present session five. So, with no further ado.

Foes lay vanquished, their chitin and organs scattered across once-hallowed halls. With the extermination of pests – humanoid and otherwise – there's little left of any interest. The girls in charge of leading Mass have not been completely destroyed, but nonetheless it seems their pale shadow of life has been severed, for they do not so much as quiver. Seeing this, Adrian's burgeoning interest in the bodies dies off immediately – they can be neither saved nor interrogated. “I guess we might as well go back and tell'em we solved their problem for 'em,” she decides as she rises.

“And how!” Altina's cut-in is quite the chipper one. “We could have died! It was very nearly unpleasant.” Yet evidently it wasn't, an opinion she's not alone in.

“We're still all here, so it's fine,”Adrian asserts, with none present who'd oppose this viewpoint. In the case of white-hairs, they'll even agree.

“True. Very true! Instead we have done nicely for ourselves and have quite a story to tell! I believe Rita will enjoy hearing it.” And, while successful murder is an excellent source of joy and happiness, it's an activity of that loses its luster en masse. As instanced. “So let's go tell her! Because frankly I'm quite done with the shooting and slicing and eviscerations for the moment.”

Not that there's much left to perform those on right now. “I guess we outta take back all the ones we gutted who aren't dead or whatever,” Adrian decides, having nothing left to rip and tear.
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“Well, if you feel that's best, then I won't stop you. Trophies are important after all!” Altina's takeaway is slightly off – but Adrian decides to grab the torso and feet that were left intact as proof of our triumph. What she actually wants, however, is to go back to the site of the impromptu surgeries, to make sure everyone that was there gets proper attention. No one wants to do anything else in this place of insect worship, so it's back off there.

Adrian does make a note of the shops near the chapel, which don't look picked clean – we can return to those at a later date. For now, slated is an uneventful walk back to where we left the corpses, moving and not. Nary a single interesting sight greets us on the way there, but there is a curiosity on our arrival: a truck's been parked in the middle of the 'battlefield', and a small figure in a familiar red trucker's cap is trying to load bodies into it. The muscle remarks, both surprised and impressed, “Wow, you got here fast.”

As she struggles to lift a body at least half again her size into her truck, Lola retorts, “Are you going to help me or just stand there like Eddy does?” To do so, Adrian scans for the ones that're still moving – everyone's still moving. Squirming, really, existence not exactly comfortable with fresh surgical wounds.

As Aida grabs someone by the arms, dragging them across the ground to the back of the truck, Adrian inquires, “Uh, did you already pick up the other ones?” Last she checked, there were a few malpractice suits waiting to happen.
“You mean the bodies?” Lola confirms, getting quick affirmation. Finishing loading one of the girls into the truck, wiping some sweat from her brow with her cap, she starts slowly with, “Well...” Adrian starts picking up the remaining girls – all of them, because she can – as Lola starts pointing. “They're still here. And there. In the air. Take a whiff.” What she's pointing at while speaking are marks of char upon the ground, suspiciously placed where there used to be inert corpses.

Not a lot to be done at that point. But Adrian can take solace in one thing, as she sets all the bodies in the truck. “At least we got the bitch doing it.”

News to Lola. “Bitch? It was a person?” Disgusting to Lola are the chunks of bug cultist she's presented with as preamble to further explanation.

The meat and potatoes Adrian follows up with is, “Two crazies worshiping them or some shit. That's what's left of'em.”

“Why did you bring those?” Lola can't help but ask, in spite of carting bodies being in her job description.

Jutting herself forward and into the discussion, Altina's response is, “Well, why not?”

“They're dead,” the trucker informs her flatly, seeing this as sound logic.

“We can always just mount them on the bar wall,” Altina suggests, as though every kill achieved will now be commemorated in Rita's fine booze dispensery.

Adrian just shrugs, having her own reasons. “Proof? Extra body parts for whatever it is you use'em for?”

Aida also needs to get in on this. “Or they could be snacks!” she declares, more than happy to feast upon them, should no other use be found.

Altina's still on her glory kick, spreading her arms wide with eyes on the sky. “Think of it! Local quartet takes down bug cult, ruin evil plans, are generally heroes! Yes. Yes, this is good.” It's an inspiring idea and an inspiring delivery – it's giving Adrian thoughts.
Thoughts Lola would like to temper with a dose of reality. “Well, watch out then. I'm sure someone would be very interested in taking credit for that.”

“What?” Adrian wonders, puzzled. “Who'd be dumb enough to try that?” Who indeed, Adrian? Who on this great Earth could be so monumentally retarded?

“Well, about that...” Lola says, sucking in a breath. “... Let's just say folks around here aren't the brightest.” Well, their skin color is the darkest, so that's true in at least one respect. Setting that aside however, Lola does take a closer look at the pieces Adrian's been displaying. “Nope, no idea who these are,” she decides upon inspection's end. “Doesn't look like Camila to me, in any case. Or the mayoress.” With this assessment delivered, Adrian also fishes out the note from the manor, as crude as ever. “What's that?” the trucker asks.

“Note we found lookin' around the mansion,” Adrian answers. “It had shittons of bugs in it.” Lola has a takeaway only barely related to the note on hearing that.

“... You went there?” She sounds just a smidgen miffed at the thought.

Confirmation is a casual, “Yeah, but no one was home, just bugs.”

It doesn't much help the trucker come around. “So Eddy had me go there for nothing, basically.” Hardly true at all.

“Well, we don't have to carry them all back.” Adrian gestures at the wounded that've been loaded onto the truck. It's a lot simpler than just stacking them on her muscles and carrying them all the way to the bar.

Conceding this, the tiniest trucker wonders, a bit pointedly, “Well, uh. Was there anything you wanted back there?”

Nothing comes to mind for Adrian. “Nope. Not unless they got some ancient treasure hidden in the basement.” One thing comes to mind for Adrian, who pauses for a moment. “Does that place even have a basement?”
Lola's attempts to answer come concurrent with Aida's addition of, “The meat sand wasn't very meaty, so it didn't taste very good.” With a shake of her head, the tiniest cannibal denies any desire to return.

But by the manner in which she does it, Lola only gets as far as, “Oh, good. I didn't see a basem-” before she stops and processes Aida's words. “... You ate that thing? I saw that. WHY?” With incredulity plain in her voice, she can conjure no reason to do so. Aida can, however.

“Altina said it might be meat sand!” The one at whom she points, and onto whom she foists blame, will not acknowledge her share of fault in the consumption of rather less than meaty sand.

The trucker just holds her head, astonished. After a few seconds of this, she decides Adrian acts as our representative for a reason, answering her again. “Well, I did check every room. Even the attic. Lots of bugs. Not anymore, though.” Though she barely finishes saying this before the note and the mention of cults and worship clues her in to where we just had our fight. “Oh, boy. Guess they have a lot of work ahead of them.”

Aida has jubilant consolation at least, in the form of, “But we blew up lots of 'em!” Let it not be said the party hasn't done their part to combat the insect menace.

Thoughts of the chapel do spur Adrian to consideration. “Come to think of it, wasn't some shit in there glowing...?” There was a lot of glowing shit today. Some of which is slightly unrelated to her question.

“You mean the little bug houses? Yeah. Spooky.” Lola gets back a stare that's more confounded than it needs to be.

“Wait, you knew about the glowing shit in the chapel?” One would think context could inform Adrian this isn't the case, but the trucker will have to do it herself.

“No?” She's rather confused she has to do so, but one track minds don't shift easily. “I'm talking about the stuff in the attic. I went in there to check. I told you already. Creepy as fuck.”
“Oh, because that's what I was talking about.” Finally, everyone's on the same page. “Maybe we should go check that out then, since the bodies are in the truck now...” An idea with initiative behind it. An idea that's irrelevant.

“It's just bug houses. That glow in the dark.” Lola might find them creepy, but impressive is another story. “Don't ask me how that works. I'm sure Camila kept notes on how that worked somewhere. But the papers are all gone now. It's okay.”

The mention of notes and their disappearance is attention-grabbing to the muscle. “Wait, what?”

“They took it,” Lola clarifies without clarifying much. Who did? “The committee.” Who? The continued absence of understanding prompts a more thorough explanation. “Uh, the mayoress' office, I guess that's what you'd actually call them. She calls it the committee, though. I couldn't just leave that place full of bugs like that. So I called them over after I left.” Local officials, then. Answers things tidily enough for Adrian's liking.

“So what are you gonna do with them?” Pointed at are the girls in the makeshift recovery ward that is Lola's truck.

“Well, there aren't many options,” the trucker admits as she considers it herself. “Rita's place, Eddy's place, Kuku's place. Need to have them checked out for bugs. And fixed.” One of these things is not like the other. One of these things, Adrian doesn't know about. “She's in charge of the farm,” Lola explains.

“Ohhhh, with the evil chickens.” Now Aida is also up to speed. And slightly misguided. But no one pays the remark any mind.

Our muscled leader has further questions, after all. “What, does she use stuff from the farm animals to fix people up?” It's a pretty good guess in an undead society.
“I don't think so.” But apparently it's wrong. “Maybe she does.” Or perhaps it isn't? “She's really good with knives.” We'll call it inconclusive. “People go to her pretty often to have surgeries and other stuff. I think that annoys her a little, since it's not her actual job. She just wants people to take chickens from her.” And why would one so desperately pursue this as a goal? “Hell if I know. She breeds 'em.” That's all she's got for Adrian, who's gotten less out of this inquiry than she'd like.

“Whatever, let's go there,” she decides, for want of anything better to do. “Chicken dinner doesn't sound so bad.” It doesn't, really, and we wouldn't even have to pay; the wonders of communism.

“If -I- had chickens, I'd want someone to take them off my hands for me too.” Altina is not on the side of the poultry of the world, but at least she's alive again, for a given definition. Doesn't up her relevance to the conversation.

“You want a ride, is that it?” Lola figures, continuing her discourse with Adrian. Not that she's saying 'no.' However, “I'm gonna have to make a quick stop by the manor first. If it's still there.” Why, pray tell, would it not be there? “Like I said, I called the committee over. Told them there were bugs.” To the horizon Lola points, where the hills were raised and the manor stood. A very final past tense, should the trail of black raising up to the air be any indication. “Gotta tell them about the bugs in the chapel too.”

Adrian won't begrudge her the priorities. But she will try and save the group another trip out. “Well, you can go do that. Could you pick us up by the stores over there when you're done?” She jerks a thumb towards the site of both chapel and commerce.

“Change of clothes, eh?” the trucker figures. “Sure, I guess.” Thus is the plan set in motion.
And so, finally, the dolls can actually look for new outfits; or – in some bandaged cases – an outfit. With any luck, it'll actually go as planned this time. “That was supposed to be why we came down here before all the shit with the bugs... twice.” Adrian doesn't appreciate all this side-tracking, even if it leads to glorious combat.

“Well, that's why I'm telling them,” the trucker assures the muscle. “So we kill all the bugs. With fire. Shame we have to lose such pretty-looking buildings.” And a shame that Russian deserters are publicly executed to make a statement, but heavy-handed policies seem to be the rule of the day.

In the midst of this slightly morose remark, Altina gleefully rubs her hands together at the prospect. Of clothing, not of burning down half the classy buildings this town has to its name. “Why, I'd forgotten, with all the fighting and general violence! I am entirely for our new plan that is, technically, the same as our old one.”

With this comes the slamming of the truck's backdoor and its locking. “Well, see you then, I guess,” Lola says as she boards and the engine roars to life

“Bye-bye! Have fun burning bugs!” Aida calls cheerily, wishing her the most merry of massacres.
“I'm not the one that does that, but sure.” Thus does the trucker truck away, goodbyes said, the party once again by themselves. The only notable happening as they return to the shopping plaza is the distant smoke turning fully to a billowing cloud, nearly so voluminous the scent of burnt chitin and rotting wood reaches the nose. Upon arrival, an inspection of the options available provides no less than six stores in sight immediately that promise to deal in clothing and accessories. Most of them are women's clothing stores, but judging by how heavily they've been looted, their total inventory count makes a store, maybe a store and a half's worth. Unsurprisingly, while there's a single men's wear place among the lot, it looks like it's been passed by in almost every raid for intact garments.

The dolls disperse, each with different goals in mind. “I wonder if they have explosion proof clothes?” Aida wonders, as though these ruins would contain anything so convenient for her peculiar manner of fighting. Altina is practically prancing about as she sets off in her search, though her desire to be fashionable may find itself undercut by the realities of being the dozenth scavenger desiring that. Adrian, though? Adrian just wants some workout clothes and other garments that don't constrict the body much; considering she has the perfect build to ransack the men's place, she's spoiled for choice. The rummaging begins.
When it ends, the results are rather obvious. Aida has had to abandon the idea of acquiring something that won't suffer from her explosions, but has managed the compromise of acquiring some very covering numbers, by not concerning herself with whether or not most would deem them 'cute.' Altina, having set her sights a little too high, has found herself with a singular one-piece dress that goes down to her knees; sleeveless, lest it get caught when her arm transforms into a laser cannon. And Adrian has acquired so much she had to nick a backpack to go with, so she has a place to store everything.

After stuffing the excess inside that pack, the muscle takes a vital moment to appreciate herself in one of the store's mirrors. “This will work,” she decides, satisfied now that nearly the only thing announcing her gender is her chest. … Perhaps nothing has really changed; a karate gi isn't the most feminine garb. Undaunted by her march towards manliness, she sets off to meet up with the others, and more specifically Altina. She finds the white-hair balancing atop a counter in her chosen attire, arms outstretched and leg held up behind her back in a true display of flexibility. The muscle announces her presence via a combination of posing and the question, “What do you think, -mon chéri-?"

Altina's smile when she spots Adrian is nothing short of radiant. She's more than happy to report, “Ah, it suits you nicely! I can only approve of your taste~” For this she's given a wide smile of Adrian's own and a wink. Leaping off the counter, twirling through the air, dress fluttering as she goes, Altina lands before Adrian without so much as a stumble. “And I am fully content as well!” she announces alongside impressed clapping.
As those two flirt without reserve, Aida is not far off, performing her own mirror inspection. More than just covering, her choice of clothing is oversized; it clearly doesn't fit well at all. She's quite pleased with it however, as she finishes wrapping cloth 'round her head. The same can't be said when she turns to see Adrian. “Allah won't be happy if you dress like that!” she cries, seeing just how much skin the girl's showing. And why's that? “Girls are supposed to dress like this!” She points at herself, with hardly a fraction exposed. She considers, however, that her statement is not entirely correct, as the Quran does not state your clothes must be three sizes too large. “Well, you're supposed to wear something special, but they don't have those here.”

“Why?” Adrian wonders, looking at Aida's slightly absurd state of attire. “Does he want girls to die of heat stroke when they work out?” That may be more of a her problem than an Islam problem.

The bomb takes a second to get to the answer, a slightly unsure, “Uh... it had something to do with boys...” And as she says this, she puts a finger to her chin in thought. “Have we seen a boy?”

“I don't think there are any? Notice how no one's touched the men's store?” Adrian's argument is an effective one, getting the girl to reconsider her stance in a moment of realization.

Looking down at herself again, Aida ponders the matters of faith and religion, wavering. “Maybe this isn't so... No, no! It's important, so I gotta.” But she'll not yield.

Not even in the face of the muscle asserting, “You're gonna trip all over the place in that.”

The only reasonable comeback is a snappy, “Will not!” with a tone that leaves one expecting a stuck out tongue.
“You should wear something that leaves you with good mobility, like me!” Altina takes her position beside Adrian, in the face of such devotion to scripture. “As an aside, it looks -far- cuter than covering yourself all the way up.” Hardly as effective a followup as she'd think, considering what the bomb wished to acquire.

“You'd be much better off in something you can move around in,” Adrian agrees, demonstrating the virtues of free-flowing clothes; her stretching isn't quite as graceful as Altina's was, but it gets the point across and she's no slouch.

Aida's answer to both is a thoroughly dismissive shake of the head. “I can't do any bad stuff,” she explains, quite firm in her stance now. “Allah's already not happy with me.” There shall be no convincing her otherwise. Adrian doesn't bother.

With a shrug she concedes, “If you say so.” Scooping the tiny girl up as custom dictates, Adrian adds, “But I'm plenty happy with you anyway.”

She'll find no further objection from Aida in this case; she will find herself poked and prodded though, to ensure the bomb has her attention. “I wanna fly again! That was fun!” Her enthusiasm isn't quite enough to convince Adrian she's thought this through, but she's quite sure. With another shrug, Adrian heads out, making sure she's not football tossing her in the direction of a building. A drawn out, “Wheeeee!” is what fades into the distance before Aida lands with a divine kaboom. Not good for her new clothes; but it is fun.

Altina whistles at the sight, as Adrian turns to her. “So when do you think Lola's comin' back?” Right on cue, the nightmarish shriek that is the truck's horn can be heard. The truck pulls up in front of the chapel, and people immediately pour out the back purposefully. “Huh, maybe we should go see what's up,” Adrian figures. No sooner does she start on her way there than the chapel comes alight. This is an efficient purging machine.
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“Maybe the bugs taste good when you cook them...” Aida mutters to herself as she follows after Adrian, adding to the list of things she's willing to try. As Altina darts away to try and get some spare clothing – it's only prudent while we're here – the pair finds three new girls hard at work removing religion from this place. The rather obvious leader is a tall girl in a blindingly white ten gallon hat, with long, blonde hair – its color is off though, almost certainly dyed. Between the leather vest over a white undershirt and everything else about her appearance, she looks almost entirely like she was taken straight out of the American mid-west circa the 1800s. Accompanying her are two guerrillas, girls dressed like the group that needed debugging; wearing gas masks and wielding flamethrowers, they spew a constant stream of fire onto the building, to make sure not an inch is spared the cleansing wrath. Lola watches casually, leaning against her truck as they work.

“So you aren't gonna look inside?” Adrian calls to the trio torching the place. There's an upside to its torching, however. “At least no one's gonna bitch about me breaking down the door.” It's said conversationally, a fact not minded.

Not by her, nor by Lola, who responds, “Well, no. That place is gone.” That much is obvious. They could probably stop spraying now and the whole place would still become ash and cinders.

“So they don't even bother looking inside?” Adrian can't help but think that's not the best solution.

The blonde, however, smiles slyly at her, quite confident in claiming, “We have all the data we need.”

“You sure you just didn't forget to look?” Lola chimes in, casting further doubt on these methods. The cowgirl won't be flustered by that, however.

“Really?” Adrian needles. “I'd a thought the place the queen bitch was hiding in would be worth a look.” Wouldn't it? Alas.

It catches the blonde's attention, at least. “Queen Bitch, you say?”
By way of explanation, Adrian's answer is, “All the damn bugs ran into there and she was controlling them.” If one can't call that a queen bitch, what term is applicable?

“Indeed, indeed!” Altina agrees, now jogging over with her own backpack full of spare clothes. “We killed her pretty much stone dead, of course, but still.”

“Too bad, eh?” Lola remarks as the walls of the chapel, consumed by conflagration, start to crack and creak. “Can't claim you killed those.” It's undeniable that a number of bugs fled into the walls with the queen bitch's death. They'll remain forever off the tally.

The blonde just shrugs at this point, her interest in the individual ending at their demise. “Well, if we know one thing about these it's that they'll be showing up again in no time.” Does that excuse the harsh measures, or call them yet further into question?

Whichever the case may be, the muscle's rather interested in an unveiled possibility. “So crazy bug control people show up all the time?”

She gets her answer and a bit more than she bargained for, beginning at bragging. “My term has been ten times more productive than the mayoress'. Sure, we have her sister to thank for how efficient we've become at this. But that's about it. It's not the first time, you can bet your behind on it. And depending on how great of a job you did, possibly not the last.” Could her term be a hundred times more productive if she conducted more investigations? The world may never know.

At least Adrian got her answer. She pursues more, as is her nature. “Who are you anyway?”

“The Colonel,” the cowgirl states in response, with a quick followup of, “And you're new. Otherwise you wouldn't ask.”

This astute observation is shunted aside so that Adrian might wonder, “Like the friend chicken one?” A blank, puzzled stare leaves no question that's flown right over her head.
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The conclusion Colonel Sanders comes to is, “Are you saying there's a nest at Kuku's place?” Bless her heart, she's trying. Though perhaps blessings upon her heart wouldn't be terribly well received at the moment. Her assistants are very diligent in the continuous application of fire to a theoretically holy place.

“I don't think so,” Lola's the first to pipe up.

“No,” Adrian confirms quickly after.

“Certainly not,” Altina caps things with, just in case there was any lingering confusion.

It's enough to make it sink in. “Well, good. Too many places to burn already. Would be a waste to burn the old farm down. We already lost too many of the original buildings during the first outbreak. Can't have that happening again. That's why I always say: If there's a nest, you cannot rest. Have I told you how successful my term has been already?” As a matter of fact, yes, she may have made reference to this in a prior whirlwind of words. “The mayoress would be green with envy. If she were still around, that is. Of course, I'd rather avoid further assassination attempts. If my people lose me, them they'd appoint some Chinese puppet for sure. I will not permit that.”

As she caps off that long bout of speech, a new voice accuses her with, “Who are you calling a puppet?” Attempts to locate the source are simple, as two newcomers approach from the back of the truck. A pair of Chinese children. While both are small, their arms appear rather large; whether this is actually the case or merely an illusion from their oversized sleeves isn't immediately obvious. Though their clothing is unmistakably Chinese, one of them looks like a much more natural blonde than Colonel here, and also happens to have a tan. They're the one to comment, “Heard you talking shit like I wouldn't find out.” Protest though she might, she looks more bored than anything – like the stone road is more interesting than the barely controlled fire.
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“Oh, please.” The Colonel could do without this, really. She's just trying to do her job – burning down everything that actually looks like civilization. An indecipherable Chinese back and forth kicks up in response to this, and Adrian seems to catch their attention. For looking bored? Or maybe for being two feet taller than them. Hard to say.

All the same, the next words out the blonde's mouth – that mean anything to anyone – are, “Who is the gorilla?” She actually sounds amused, more than anything.

“I wouldn't know,” the cowgirl answers, not having bothered with introductions; it doesn't seem unfair to say she also wouldn't care.

Altina cares considerably more. “Oh! Oh! I'm sorry, did I hear that correctly?” She flounces up next to Adrian, head cocking from side to side like she's an overly inquisitive owl. “Did you just call Adrian a -gorilla-?” Her tone is sugary-sweet, eyes just a touch too wide.

The blonde Chinese points at the gorilla, unfazed by the bird's mannerisms. “This is Adrian?” Correct. Good job, small, Chinese child. Very quick on the uptake.

Playfully, the gorilla responds, “Is that a problem?”

A question finding itself answered by a question. “You're a problem?”

“What?” Colonel is confounded by how this conclusion was reached.

Altina is also confused, more by Adrian's tone taking no offense at being called a gorilla. She blinks a few times before her smile shrinks to something a bit more sane. “I would hope she isn't! We're very nice people.” Ignore that she might have been considering the laser arms over the insult.

“I'm sorry,” Colonel apologizes, when her brain kicks in again, “I think the Chinese appointed me defective bodyguards.”

The natural blonde's eyes fall towards the ground at this statement. “I'm not a bodyguard,” she insists.

“Then what are you,” Adrian inquires, “because I hope it's not a diplomat, the way you just insult people like that.”
Two masterful words unveil just what this child is. “A spy.” How courteous of her to just admit it.

“Well, it's not wrong,” Colonel agrees. Even more courteous of her at that rate. One could almost take it as a joke before.

“So a shitty spy then,” Adrian concludes, puzzling the brat before her, who'd like to know why they earn that descriptor. An actual nine year old has her answer.

“Aren't spies supposed to not say they're spies or something?” the bomb asks, not entirely sure. But Adrian's grin confirms that to be slightly poor form.

“Oh.” She seems to see the problem; she also sidesteps it. “But it doesn't matter. I just have to make sure the bimbo doesn't betray the Emperor. If she does, Lao Yue gets to cut her head off.” That does sound like it doesn't exactly require much subterfuge, when China is really the ruling polity here.

Colonel skips right over the comment on her intelligence to tease, “Right, very cute. But you did protect me that one time.”

“You only die when the Emperor says so.” Well, isn't she just the most loyal little thing? Almost makes up for being a cheeky brat.

The cowgirl looks very conflicted over this latest statement, figuring what to make of it. Rather than let her come to a conclusion, the muscle queries, “Are all Chinese so rude?”

“I wouldn't jump to conclusions, since you can't really understand what ninety-eight percent of them are saying.” Wise words out of Colonel. “You should ask Eddy instead.” And reasonable ones as well.

The wise words are more appealing to Adrian. They give her leave to remark, “They certainly pick the wrong ones to talk for'em.” The spy is hurt by this – and presumably feigning it. “I mean, they haven't even told me their name before insulting me,” Adrian continues, disappointed. “That's just uncouth.”
Unfortunately for the spy, Colonel is the first to help Adrian out. “They're New Jaw and New Zew,” she introduces them, striding confidently through pronunciation that qualifies her to be a butcher.

“Niu Jiao. Niu Xiu. You're incompetent.” Blondie doesn't appreciate the bimbo taking a cleaver to their glorious Chinese names.

“So is the mouthy one Jiao or Xiu?” Adrian wonders, doing an excellent job of navigating Chinese phonemes. The answer comes at once.

“Jiao.” The realization comes just a moment later. “No. Wait. Not mouthy.” Jiao looks slightly annoyed, but the damage is done; the descriptor has been accepted.

“What's the matter, Jaw?” Adrian asks, despite having pronounced it right before.

For this jest, a most terrible fate is laid down. “You're incompetent too.” How will the gorilla's pride ever recover?

“So the pot calls the kettle black?” Her skin being thick enough to be as insult-proof as it is bullet-proof might help that.

Off to the side, Altina repeats that name to herself a few times. “Niu Jiao... Niu Jiao...” It rolls off the tongue quite nicely, and so the birb decides, “Such a -cute- name for someone so rude!” Perturbation follows.

“We are not cute.” That very claim is, itself, cute. There's no winning this one; game was rigged from the start.

“I don't know about that,” Colonel voices in disagreement, casting another vote for their cuteness.

Adrian gets in on it as well. “You'd be down right adorable if not for the attitude.” We'll assume that the cheek penalty drops them back to merely cute; that's another vote in favor. Three to two, and the majority wins. Meanwhile there's a chapel burning. By now, everyone can feel the blazing heat emanating from it. It may be physically impossible to set it more on fire.

That being the case, Colonel calls this a job well done. “Well, hopefully the unit I left at the manor is finished cleaning up. You can leave now, Lola. Thank you for the ride.”
“Don't mention it,” the trucker says as she gets into the cab. “Seriously,” she stresses, “don't.” The gang files in after. Adrian gets in the front, as she does. Aida contents herself with being in the back, as she does. “I'll never understand why people enjoy riding in the back as if they were cargo.” Altina springs atop the truck, as she does. “Good god...”

“Nice meeting you, Colonel!” Adrian gives the cowgirl a friendly goodbye, waving as she shuts the door.

Colonel tips her hat in response. “Same here, Ms. Gorilla! I am joking, of course. Ms. Adrian. Let us build a friendship that stands the test of time when we meet next.”

Since no one else actually introduced themselves, no one else needs to say farewell, and Lola is free to start the truck. “Small change of plans,” she tells Adrian as the engine roars alive and she pulls away, “the committee took the girls when I went to the manor. Where are you going now?”

She's going to get to the bottom of this. “Wait what? Where?” The knowledge is legitimately troubling.

“What do you mean?” Lola asks, slightly baffled by the sudden concern.

“Where did they take them?” the muscle clarifies, as the clock ticks for the patients.

Still entirely lost, Lola answers, “The clinic, probably. Why?”

Slightly urgently comes Adrian's, “I'd like to see'em. I mean, we did take the time to stop their guts from exploding into bugs.”

“Like, right now? I mean, you should at least give them time to recover.” The fuss seems almost counterproductive from where the trucker sits. “Why'd you think I took so long? Had to unload them all over again.” No muscle that time, either. Can't just do them in one armful.

If Adrian has her way though, she might be rectifying that for round three. “You sure they aren't being put to the torch like they do the buildings?” she asks warily, not yet convinced a rescue operation isn't necessary.
“Well, keep this in mind: the unit I met burned the dead ones right where they found 'em. And left the live ones for me to load.” The tiny trucker's got a good point. Also a bit of grousing. “They never did mention they had a vehicle that could take them to the clinic on the other side of town, though. Well, maybe they didn't know.” With that all out of the way, this is the moment chosen to just outright ask, “What's gotten you worried.”

The perfectly sensible reason the muscle has is, “I mean, can you blame me when the first time I see'em they just start burning shit down without lookin' in?” It's pretty damning, that's hard to deny. But there is an explanation.

“Well... Let me give you a heads up. The Colonel is not the brightest blonde in town. I wasn't joking when I said she forgot to look.” The explanation is that 'bimbo' is an apt way of referring to Colonel.

While illuminating, this is hardly comforting. “Great. I'm not sure what's worse, if anything useful in there got burned because of some crazy cover up, or because she forgot.” Stupidity, malice, what's done is done no matter what one attributes it to, as the muscle accepts. “Anyway, might as well go get us some chickens then. We still need something for dinner.” Priorities straighter than the average doll.

“You set on seeing the farms then? Oh, well. I can drop you off, sure. … Startin' to feel like a taxi already.” Really, while she complains, don't living corpses make for much better company than dead ones?

“That's what happens when you're the only one with a ride.” The curse of being the lone driver. Its obligations are many, its weight heavy.

The trucker would like to correct the record, however. “I'm not, though,” she insists. A statement both true and irrelevant.

“You and the Russians are the only ones I recall seeing driving anything,” Adrian informs her. “And the Russians won't let me ride in their jeep.”
Concessions do have to be made. “I will admit this is one of the few trucks left. Hell, we lost one in the quarry recently too.” Silence reigns just long enough for her to fully understand what Adrian said. “... You're on good terms with the Russians now?”

“We met some nice ones!” From the back, Aida finally decides she has valid contributions to make. “We didn't have to blow them up. Their seats were pretty comfy.” Lola now has the full story.

… Lola already had the full story. “I'm guessing they all had bugs in 'em. That's the most popular story right now.”

“Well, we're the ones who found that out.” Credit where credit's due and all that. Adrian can't be faulted for noting it.

She really can't, considering, “I'm not sure Carla gave you the proper credit. Unless your name is Loyal Sources.”

Now risen from the grave is Altina, who leans down, poking her head into view at the driver's side window. “I am quite sure that name doesn't fit any of us!” she declares merrily, abruptly, and startlingly. Lola jumps from her seat in a fit of panic. The only reason she retains any control of the truck is the spring-loading of her arms, keeping her hands connected to the wheel even as she nearly cracks her head on the roof.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!” the trucker demands, as though that would be more than a mild inconvenience... or indeed, as though a functioning heart is the default.

A completely unfazed Adrian gives her seat a pat, looking over to the bird. “Why don't you sit down here with me?” she offers, as an alternative to the peculiar choice for where to ride.
“Well, you were talking with everyone else. I wanted to be part of the conversation.” This is Altina's explanation to the slightly skittish driver, before bird eyes swivel over to Adrian, her lips pursing as she thinks on this, shortly before she draws herself back onto the roof and vanishes from view. There's only a moment to think that may be a rather pointed refusal before Altina swoops in through the open passenger-side window, promptly depositing herself in the muscle miracle's lap. “I will take the best seat in this truck, thank you,” she says from her new and comfortable position as Adrian smiles and puts an arm around her.

“You guys scare me,” Lola admits to the group without reserve as she calms her nerves from the accidental jump scare. “Like, a lot.” Oh, now she's just being a baby about it.

With a perfect neutrality of tone Adrian asks her, “Now why would that be?” Sincere query? Amused jab? Who's to say?

“Why're we scary?” Aida asks with much more sincerity. “We're not gonna blow up your truck or something.” As long as she doesn't have an accident. Or take a bad turn. Or hit a particularly violent bump at speed. It's completely safe to transport her, so why does Lola look increasingly nervous at the comment?

“I was very considerate!” Altina asserts herself, getting in on this. “I came in through the other window so you could have a clear line of sight the entire time.” With that sniffy line, she cozies up with the muscle.

The stone path that can be found in civilization proper fades away as the ride carries on, returning all to the desert and the slums. Those that look in the truck's side mirrors can see that least one of the smoke trails is vanishing. “I'm gonna need a drink after this,” Lola is quite certain.
“Ooh, another night of drinking?” Altina hums, pleased. “We'll be glad to join you!” What a surprise. The band of drunkards already intended to bring their chicken back to Rita's. As the agreements roll in and Lola learns she'll be having company, the truck comes in view of the dirt road forking to the farm.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaand, there we go,” Lola announces as she brings the vehicle to a stop. Time to kick out the hitchhikers. “Well, if you don't mind, I have to take this truck back to Lao Yue or face potential decapitation.”

Finding that just an impermissible possibility, Adrian figures the group can hoof it the rest of the way. “Alright, it'd be a shame for you to lose that cute lil' head.”

She's waved out of the truck with this comment by the trucker who blows air through her lips dismissively. “Get out of here, Casanova,” the girl calls, Adrian acquiescing by hopping out with her arm still around Altina, the bird not minding being carried in the slightest.

At the same time Aida extricates herself from the back, with a comforting and cheery reminder of, “It's okay if you lose your head! Heads grow back anyway!” Armed with this knowledge that probably isn't true for herself, Lola drives off towards the setting sun, an orange tint coming to rule the sky as the group heads onto the farm.
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Already noisy chickens bawk and squawk all the more as we intrude, the sounds coming from one of only a few buildings in the complex, and the only one with any lights on. At a reasonable guess, that's the destination above any others, so it's approached. A lamp rests above a screen door, which segregates the outside world from an office space, though it's mostly the large desk with a scale atop it that denotes it as such; the floor is still dirt. Behind that desk, another screen door separates the office from a mob of chickens, in which can be seen an individual. “Hello!” Adrian greets them. What comes isn't a greeting in response, but instead a strange noise, silencing the chickens which part as the Red Sea before Moses at the figure's approach. They stay still and silent until the girl's entered her office, into which we're invited as the muscle looks on with a quizzical, “Huh.”

Aida is the first to rush in after the invitation, with an enthused, “She's a chicken person like the weird bug person!” The others are close after, Altina waggling her fingers merrily in greeting while Adrian engages in introductions.

“Haaah. Welcome, welcome.” The young girl welcoming us has long, brown hair, and also looks like she might be about to murder everyone. Her lower jaw has a massive overbite jutting from impressively sharp teeth; her gaze locks on the ceiling, pupils not pointing at the dolls directly. Her long apron, dragging across the floor, is coated in blood – chicken, one would hope. The well-used blade of a meat cleaver is lodged into her head, and each hand bears its own similarly sharp implement, a knife for one and an axe in the other – all dripping the crimson droplets of freshly doled cuts. Her smile, however, is tender as can be while she asks, “Uhhh, how can I help you?”

Adrian's prompt summation of the situation is, “We heard you got chickens you want to get rid of?” She finds herself as promptly corrected.
“That'sh not true. I jusht want them to find a good home. Be it under a roof or on top of a plate.” The bomb was certainly right; she's a chicken person to the core. That, and possessed of quite the speech impediment.

“Well, a few chickens on a plate would be nice.” Adrian narrows our intent, and the butcher agrees with her.

“Haaah, how nishce.” The only rub is the question that comes next. “Do you have a shlip?” A slip? No one mentioned that.

“What's a slip?” Aida is completely lost as to the arcane means by which one acquires a chicken.

But the bird has a much better handle on guessing what we're missing. “If we needed permission slips, that would have been quite nice to know beforehand!” Would have been, but here the dolls stand, slipless fools.

Doom is cast with the butcher's simple, “It'sh permishun.” Absent this writ of worthiness, there shall be nothing to feast upon in celebration this eve. Or not, as she continues, “That'sh ho-kay. Who do you work for? I can jusht put it on their tab. Ash long ash you don't lie to me.”

There's a very confusing word in that statement of clemency. “Tab?” Adrian wonders, puzzled by its implications. “Everyone else has been yammering about how there's no money or whatever anymore.” Setting aside how strange this exception is, there's another fact.

“We work entirely for ourselves! So there's no tab to put it on anyway,” Altina admits, again exempting us from scrumptious poultry.

An explanation of the tab and its point is forthcoming all the same. “I hafta keep track of how many schickens go out. And where they went. And I can't just hand them over to anyone. Unlesh shomeone can cover for you. I haven't sheen you beforrrr.” Well, that's a very kind offer for her to make to strangers; the lamentations may yet be staved off.

“We kinda just drifted into town and have been fighting crazy Russians and bugs,” Adrian explains, offering the butcher an idea of why we're new. It gives her another idea atop it.
“Uhhh, sho you don't know anyone?” Mercifully, the idea's a false one. After all, there's Lola, Rita, and even Yue, the muscle happy to list them all off. “Sho you want me to put it on Lao Yue'sh tab? Or Rita'sh? Lola doesn'tch have one. She needs permishun from the Col'nel.”

Without much thought or care, Adrian figures it's fine to, “Put it on Yue's.” She's Chinese, she should be affluent enough.

“Ho-kay.” Accepting that without fuss, the girl heads to her desk, marking a paper atop it with a strike using her knife. “How many?” A realization hits a second later. “Ah, shorry. Did you only want shickens? We have eggsh and fruit too...” Eggs would be nice, now wouldn't they? On the list they go. “I have bokshes of twelve, but I could give you lesh.” Twelve works; it's a nice, even number. “Ho-kay. One boksh.” Using the end of her knife like a pen, its slick red coating her ink, she writes that off on the paper next. Then comes the main concern once more. “Haaah, what about meat?”

“Yes. Also does it come in batches like eggs? That would be important.” Adrian can only eat an entire chicken or two by herself, Altina. How important could getting multiple be?

Not very, hopefully, as the butcher's answer is, “Noh. I only put them in bokshes if they're dead. The live onesh don't like it. It'sh too cramped. Uhhh, did you want live onesh? I have undead onesh too.”

Decisions, decisions. Altina's made her decision snappily. “I think we're just going to grill some. I don't know where we'd even keep a chicken– -undead- ones? Huh.” It piques the curiosity, for sure. Would that not make a novel addition?

But the dream is stillborn. “Oh, shorry. I can't give you the undead onesh. I always forget.” A disappointment of immeasurable proportions.

“Why can't we have the undead ones? I wanna try an undead chicken.” Plead though she might, Aida can effect no change in policy.
“I'm shorry. They're the breedersh. We need them to have the live onesh.” As the sad facts of life are considered – or by Adrian, accepted – she carries on. “Sho. Did you want live shickens? Or shome meat? I think it'sh more fun if you prepare them live. Prochesshed meat ish no fun.” She's quite happy to consider the idea of chicken slaughter – and with Adrian's response.

“I'll prepare'em myself,” she claims without hesitation, not needing someone to prepackage her meat.

“Haaah, I like you. You're jusht like me.” Pleased to meet this kindred spirit, she decides, “I'm going to get you a nice, healthy, fatty one.” The kind butcher's generosity is absolutely boundless.

The bird is likewise kind, vouching for Adrian's ability to treat the promised chicken well with, “She cooked a horse for us! It turned out well. I am confident a chicken should be no problem.”

Baffled, the farm worker looks to Altina to ask, “... Horshe? What'sh that?” Evidently, this is a very highly specialized farm. Then again, one doesn't need a draft animal to raise chickens.

“Russian on a horse tried to kill us. A horse is an animal that people ride on with four legs.” By Adrian's explanation, the chicken savant is caught up to speed. But horses aren't as interesting as Russians.

“Haaah, I have permishun to kill any Rushians that come here. Have you sheen any Rushians?” Perhaps some of that blood isn't from chickens after all; some of the stains on the apron might not be, at least.

If Aida's to be believed, the fresh blood can't possibly be Russian. “We blew up all the mean Russians we met! There's only nice ones now. I think.” The bomb's holy crusade has scoured the land of Russian scum. In paradise, Allah smiles.
“Uhh, ish that sho? I thought they all wanted to kill ush. Oh well.” Taking this news in stride, the butcher chooses now to actually go fetch the chicken. She opts not to use her magic, so there's something of a frenzy as she dives through them to fetch a properly gluttonous one. Her head now home to both axe and knife as well, she emerges from the sea of feathers with a chunky chicken after a bit of a wait. Despite leaving the screen open and only closing it when she returns, none of the birds actually try to escape, and even the one she's selected sits clucking peacefully in her almost motherly embrace. “Shorry to keep you waiting,” she speaks on her return. “It'sh more fun when they're not in line.”

Speaking of getting them in line, the muscle's curious, “How do you get'em to do that?”

The answer is as simple as can be. “I jusht do my thing.” Repeating the strange noise we heard before, the mass of chickens all stop what they're doing to stare into the office, the one she's holding freezing to stare up at her. “The necromansher shaid I'm a shickenmansher,” she explains, motes of sorrow creeping into her voice. “I mish her.” Her pupils, once thought to only stare perpetually at the ceiling, are now looking at the ground in profound sadness. She shakes herself from the funk quickly, eyes returning to their natural orientation, filled with determination, like her words. “I'm shorry. She told me to be shtrong, sho that'sh what I'm doing! Ekshcushe me.” Excused, the chicken is gently set upon the scales, as the coop erupts into chaos again. “Two kilosh. Sho heavy. But that'sh good for shickens! They're not like ush. Did you want more?”

That may be a heavy chicken, but Aida looks up over at Adrian, who might in fact be able to eat an entire two kilo chicken by herself. “I could probably eat that by myself,” she confirms. “And by probably, I mean I would.” That settles that matter.
“I know how it ish. I eat a lot too. How doesh three more of the shame shize shoundsh? I'll jusht get thish one ready for you to take home.” With the pleasant offer deemed acceptable, she takes the chicken from the scales, holding it in her arms once more. Bringing it closer to her face, something barely audible – akin to whispering – can be heard, before its neck slumps over. Out cold. Looking up from the cradled chicken she asks, “Did you want a boksh to carry them?”

How silly a question, the bomb thinks, with an exuberant, “Adrian can carry them!” She points at the muscled arms to demonstrate her ability to do just that.

“Haaah, I shee.” Setting the first chicken down, she goes back to grab more. Unfortunately, she can't embrace three at once, so she's forced to hold two of them by the legs, upside-down. Her face shows plain displeasure with this. “Shorry, shorry,” she consoles the poultry as she brings them back for their own weighings. Setting them to sleep and writing it all down with blood again, there is but one important thing left. The furtive eggs. “Oh, almosht forgot your eggsh. How shilly of me.” A fridge at the opposite end of the office contains a box of a dozen. “That should be all.”

“Well, thank you very much!” Altina is the first to offer gratitude, Adrian following soon after as she fills her arms with chickens.

Holding out the eggs for whomever will burden themselves so, the butcher recalls one other thing. “Uhhh, shorry, I'm Kuku. I got sho caught up in work I forget to introdush myshelf. Happensh all the time.”

“Thanks, chicken-la... Kuku!” Aida's late thanks allow her to append the butcher's name, impromptu appellation canceled. She accepts the responsibility of the eggs, as well, hefting them in tiny arms.

“It'sh Kuku because that'sh the noise the shickens make.” Explaining the origin of her name with a little laugh, she finds the bird receptive.
“Cute! As for us, -I- am Altina, and these two are Adrian and Aida. We usually have a fourth but I think she went off to do jedi things.” With that final remark is the illusion shattered, its effect rendered null. No longer does Alexis follow along, acting aloof; she has instead departed with Ana, on official jedi business. Even when she returns, it is having taken a vow of silence.

(Unless I'm much mistaken, this is actually the session where Alexis' player does a flip and pretty much vanishes entirely. If we weren't allowed to make generous use of her mechanically – and if I wasn't rebelling against the GM's revisionist history, trying to pretend she never existed – I'd probably not even have bothered including her.)

“Haaah. Thank you very much for your patronage. Pleashe come again if you need any more shickens. Or eggsh. Or fruit.” She bows with this, a bit more blood dripping from the tools embedded lightly in her head.

“Or any of the above! We'll be sure to, thank you very much!” These words herald Altina's exit.

“Bye-bye! Have fun with your chicken friends!” Aida gives her a dangerous one-armed wave, having to balance the eggs with her torso as they rest on her other arm, before she’s gone as well.

“See ya later.” Adrian's arms are too full for waving, so she just departs, her mind on dinner and drink. Night greets her on her way out, as it does everyone else. There's almost nothing left of the sun to see, faint red traces on the horizon. Almost habitually, a shooting star can be seen to sweep through the sky, all fading to the black of night. It's a puzzling sight actually, if only for its frequency. “Another one? Weird.”

“People must get to make a lot of wishes.” Aida has already done so, and feels no need to be greedy on the matter.
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“Maybe I should start making some...” Maybe the bird should. It might save her some life troubles, like waking up in the back of a truck covered in nothing but bandages. But the moment has passed; that'll have to come later. For now, the walk back to Rita's. It's uneventful, the chickens not even waking from Kuku's hypnotic magic. Upon arrival, the group is greeted with a familiar sight: a jeep parked in front of the bar. This time around it's been splashed thickly with red paint. Wait, no. That's blood. Shit.

Not that the muscle's concerned by the sight. “Huh, wonder what they did,” she muses without much care.

“Hopefully nothing terrible,” Altina puts forward as she views the scene. “We might have to do terrible things back!” 'Twould soil such a wondrous friendship, should that become necessary.

The bomb has faith in our friends though, as she has faith in Allah. “Maybe there were bad Russians!” With this exonerating assumption comes the proximity necessary to hear incoherent Russian wailing. Sensing trouble, Adrian leads the way in, her sisters soon after. “Are there still bad Russians?” Depends how one defines bad. The wailing falls quickly to sobbing, accompanying Russian rambling and possibly cursing – a few cykas and quite a number of blyats here and there. Inside, Buinov hugs Vulovic on the couch, her companion having been reduced to a torso and head; stumps as well, but they don't count as extremities. One wonders how she drove here like this. Behind the counter, Rita looks concerned, for as long as it takes her to see the party enter. Lola is here as well, secluded on a bench and having a discussion with Carla. She just wanted to come drink.

The bar having been a safe haven these past few nights, where after a long, hard day of murder and pest control we could get drunk and relax, Adrian understandably wants to know, “What the hell just happened?”
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“Russian driving in action,” Rita manages to slip in before either of the pair can give a more helpful account.

Buinov doesn't appreciate it, snapping back, “Don't you fucking joke about this!” Considering Vulovic is here and clearly alive enough to feel pain, she may be overreacting.

Considering Vulovic's first intelligible words are, “Calm down. For the eleventh time. Calm down.” she is definitely overreacting. “Can you bring me some spares now?” the more collected Russian asks the bartender. “I think the painkillers are kicking in.” Quickly, Rita excuses herself to fulfill the request, Vulovic slowly turning her head to the group. As casually as a quadruple amputee can manage, she greets the muscle. “What is up, my friend.” A moment is required to register the meal. “And why do you have chickens?”

“For eating, what else?” Given Rita's handling the retrieval of repairs, Adrian sees little reason to continue being worried, answering plainly and obviously. She has other, slightly more productive updates as well. “And we had to rip bugs out of people's guts before they exploded. Then punch the ones responsible.”

Information of great value to the wounded Russian. “You got 'em?”

“They were holed up in a church. A priest and her bitch. They had command of the bugs.” A ground-laying part one, by the muscle.

“We killed them. Hard.” A satisfying second act, from the bird.

“But neither of the weird bug ladies were the bug lady.” A confounding finale, quoth the bomb.

“... When did you kill them?” Oddly specific knowledge for Vulovic to want, but Adrian puts on her thinking cap.

With some consideration of how long the day's felt, a sprinkling of trying to recall the very dull voids of walking, and a guesstimation or three as to how the sun was moving, she arrives at an uncertain, “Earlier today. Like five I think?”
The estimates of time aren't exactly precise, so it doesn't do Vulovic a lot of good. “Well, either way. If it really was them, the bus are out of control now. If it was not, the bugs are still trying to kill people. As you can see. They couldn't eat me, though.” Couldn't completely eat her. Somewhere out there is a bug, content in the Russian calf it had for lunch. Probably multiple of them.

At least Adrian has her answer now. “So the damn bugs tried to get you? That's what happened?”

Thus begins the story. “I left our friend in our closest outpost and headed straight back here. Of course, there was a poor soul lying in the middle of the road.” Thus pauses the story.

Because Buinov engages in some very irate shouting about this. “YOU FUCKING DUMBASS! THAT'S THE OLDEST TRICK IN THE BOOK! YOU SHOULD HAVE RAN THEM OVER! FUCK!” In the land of the undead, there is no such thing as being a good Samaritan, apparently. Though if it always turns out like this...

Vulovic gives her partner a second to calm down after that, before she feels confident she can carry on without further interruption. “As I was saying... I pulled over to offer some help and, well... A giant fucking cloud of them tried to rip me to shreds. A big one even tried to enter my neck, so I grabbed it. And it ate my arm.” Bugs have also recently tried to eat Adrian's arms – with more success than she's comfortable with – and a nod acknowledges this while prodding Vulovic forward. “When I was back on the jeep I had already lost all limbs. Thankfully, there was enough left of my legs that I could hold my AK with the stumps and hit the gas while steering with my teeth.”

“Good work.” That's a sincere compliment out of the muscle, because that is a powerful will to live pulling the Russian through that one.

“Parking was a nightmare.” Mass amputation does tend to lower one's affinity in this area. “But thanks. Guess I learned my lesson.”
didn't read lol
“You fucking better.” At least Buinov's dialed it back a bit back from both swearing and shouting her head off. As she's chiding Vulovic – probably for the dozenth time since her return – Rita comes back out, with limbs and a first aid kit.

“Let's do this before it wears off. I can't say I'd consider myself lucky if I still felt pain like you.” The lot of a Russian doll really doesn't seem to be an enviable one. Shaved heads, defunct tear ducts, pain receptors still going strong.

Vulovic would disagree on that last point. “Ah, what fun is that if you can't even feel it?” she asks the bartender.

She won't fight her on the matter. “So no more meds.”

“... I'm joking, please. Don't do this to me.” The truth outs itself.

“Alright, alright.” The other customers don't seem to mind a surgery happening right in the bar. One might think this is a common occurrence. With some stitching, some slicing, and some shots of morphine, Rita is done in record time. “Well they don't call me magic scalpel for nothing.” Her handiwork is looked over with a hint of pride.

“Thought they called you old lady,” Lola butts in from her seat. How her tune changes when she isn't yet hammered.

Carla gives the trucker a look. “A little more respect, please.”

“Like you respect your listeners?” There's no arguing that one. Not that she won't try.

“It can't be helped if this city is filled with plebs.” Anyone would tire of a musical genre, were it the only one played in town for eternity.

Looking over at the bartender, Adrian will claim, “Oh, I've got plenty of respect for her.” Whether respecting her figure counts or not is a debate she's spared.

Instead she's poked by Aida, what with everything being fine and there being no reason to freak out. “We should cook the chickens now!” If they wait too long, the birds might wake up. Though they remain fast asleep for now.
“How kind,” Rita answers the muscle at the same time. “I take it you've met Kuku, then,” she adds in light of Aida's suggestion. “Hopefully you didn't kill her because she showed up with knives or anything.”

“She is a very pleasant lady. I like her.” Altina certainly wouldn't dream of it.

“Now why would we do that? That'd be terrible.” Adrian couldn't possibly conscience it.

“She was nice! She kinda talked funny though.” Aida... might have been considering it. But only if it turned out chickens really were evil and being a chickenmancer was a bad thing.

Being only food then, Rita's concerns are assuaged. “Let's just say we keep telling her to make herself more presentable but she's just too in love with her work. It wouldn't be the first time someone attacks her because she takes her tools everywhere.” There's a sigh and a shake of the head. “She's such a nice kid, though.” An undeniable fact, letting us take all those chickens on nothing but our word that Lao would be cool with footing whatever passes for the bill.

“I took them there, they'd have to be tremendously stupid to end up attacking her.” Lola is correct. Thankfully, the dolls aren't tremendously stupid, excepting some decisions regarding 'meat' sand.

“I keep offering to fix her,” Rita continues, just a tad disappointed, “but she thinks the 'necromansher' wanted her to have her jaw like that. And that's just not true.”

“Not at all,” Carla agrees. What a nice necromancer they must have had, to be sure of this.

The bomb disagrees just slightly, having her own theory on the matter. “Maybe it helps her talk to the chickens!” The considerations conjured by youth are many, and ever likely.

Shrugging, Adrian doesn't mind much why Kuku doesn't get her mouth fixed. “Well, if she's happy that way. Anyway, let's get these birds cooked.”

Your opinion is noted.
“Well, the grill is in the back where you left it. Unless you want the stove this time.” Our host, of course, isn't going to prevent anything like that. “... Are you eating the eggs too?” Even if she's not sure all that food is necessary.

“I was hoping we'd save them for the morning.” Solid planning, Adrian. Just try and keep that in mind if your stomach rumbles after the first chicken.

“Well, our fridge is at your disposal.” With such an object indicated, Aida scurries off to stow the eggs away.

“I'll grill'em,” Adrian decides as the bomb sets off. “I wouldn't mind trying some of that tea in the meantime.” What a curious choice from the absinthe chugger.

“You sound like Lao Yue. If I could understand her.” Still, she goes to prepare some, as the bomb finds and gets the fridge by the counter open

It is laughable to Adrain, that she'd only have some tea this evening. “Don't worry. I'll dink something more fun when I'm done cookin'.” She goes off to get to just that, while Aida sits there, impressed.

“Wow, there's a lot of food in here.” While there is still adequate room behind the door for eggs, that doesn't take away from the menagerie of jars and bottles containing drinks aplenty, some non-alcoholic. Among those is one rather large jar labeled 'Gothic.' It doesn't mean much to Aida, who looks to Rita to wonder, “Are any of these the special stuff?”
Glancing over from her work, that labeled jar is, shockingly, pointed out. “The big jar is. Did you want some?” Obviously she does, dragging it out so that the bartender can serve her. The child gets a large glass of the meaty stuffs before Rita goes to deliver Adrian her tea. She can be found in the midst of grisly work, chopping off heads, plucking off feathers, and carving off portions. At no point in the process have they woken up. Whatever Kuku did truly is magic. Accepting the tea with quick thanks, Adrian finds it's very sweet compared to the alcohol she chugs without thinking twice. “Enjoy.” With those well-wishes, Rita... continues. “I am obligated to have this on the menu or they'll decapitate me, so enjoy.” One wonders what comes after the Robespierre-ing, as China's seemingly favored punishment isn't exactly lethal nowadays. Thankfully the muscle isn't opposed, so finding out won't be necessary.

“Don't forget me!” Altina is sober; that's a problem she could fix. “I have been silent so far so I can't really blame you for not getting me anything, but I would like another surprise, thank you~” The roulette of alcohol is spun once more, its sections disappearing, that each inebriating option grows likelier. Or they would.

“Oh, my. I seem to have forgotten what I got you last time.” There's a second there to think. “Whiskey, probably?” Whiskey is correct! Armed with that knowledge, Rita goes to consult what remains that the bird hasn't tried. She returns with an oddly colored bottle. The final boss of her alcohols: absinthe. “Take it easy,” she advises as she doles out a dose.

Quite intrigued, Altina leans in with a, “Well!” Surveying her foe with wide, gleaming eyes, she figures, “If you're telling me that, this must be something -special-.”

“Somewhat. Let's see if you handle this a little better than Adrian.” Step one of doing so: don't drink it like it's water.
Altina picks up her glass, eyeing the contents warily... and then she takes just a tiny little sip. Her eyes clench shut as she swallows. “-Hnnngh-.” Despite the noise, she's still on the right track to not ending up like Adrian. “... Okay. I see what it is I must deal with, now.” Her eyes crack open, and she views her drink with newfound respect. In for another sip, but no more than that at a time.

As she slowly works her way through it, Adrian soon returns with both food and an, “Oh, hey.” The latter of which precedes her casually swiping up the glass of absinthe without even asking Altina and taking a swig.

“Beg -pardon-,” the bird demands, packing a surprising amount of menace into her smile as Adrian does her thing. Still, fresh chicken has a way of healing all wounds, so she lets it pass with a muted grumble, as Rita ensures everyone has adequate tableware to enjoy their meal properly.

Returning Altina's booze, Adrian takes a seat and places her order. “Give me some of that and the vodka please.”

“I see.” What the bartender sees is a lunatic who'd have a death wish if she wasn't already dead. “Do you understand the consequences of mixing these two?”

The consequences are shrugged off. “We have different taste.” Coach is fed a bite, officially having more screen time than an actual PC. “The kid likes going blind,” the second head remarks, not really intervening in the process besides. Rita can't say she's surprised. And so Adrian is served. Twice. As the drinking commences, the muscle has a question. “Hey, why are there shooting stars every night?”

“... There are?” News to Rita. Must be too busy making sure the intoxicated fools in her bar don't cause any property damage with their super strength.

“Uh-huh!” Aida confirms this information, swallowing a mouthful of meat both solid and liquid. “Every night!”

The radio host has a perfectly logical explanation. “Maybe the sky is finally going to crash down on our heads.” Maybe it is.
“I really should make some wishes, then, if that's the case.” Quite true, Altina. Perhaps wish for the sky to not fall on your head.

Aida doesn't believe Carla; she has an even better explanation. “Maybe someone wished for infinite wishes!” Genies might have rules, but shooting stars don't. It'd work.

The bartender has to admit, “That'd be smart.” With a slight caveat, however. “Unless someone wishes for no more wishes. Then the person who wished for infinite wishes would be indirectly responsible for the lack of wishes in the future. That'd be a shame.” It would. It most definitely would. But for now, the stars shoot without end. The drink flows without end. But the words? They come to an end, as another night passes in merriment and revelry.

Thus concludes yet another session. Tl;dr as usual, but as yet, opinions have been that doesn't matter. If you actually think that, do feel free to say so. If you just want to shitpost, it's 4chan, fuck am I gonna do to stop you? Regardless, enjoy, hopefully.
>http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/72655511/#p72732935 Session 1
>http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/73453448/#p73480748 Session 2
>http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/73453448/#p73509701 Session 3

This is helpful. Also, if you like this stuff, go into the archive and upvote the threads they aer on so people know there is good stuff on said archived threads.

>Nechronica Thread

I made an English Translated version of the large nechronica battle map a while ago.

Here it is. I've tested it in Tabletop Simulator and it worked well.
What are memorable instances of near mulching or just narrative though not necessarily mechanically gruesome damage you've had in your games /tg/?

I think for me it was What happened to Imp.
This image makes me laugh so hard.

I also misread the filename as Kukri.png which made me think her name was a knife pun.
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You may have to be more specific. A lot has happened to our angry little jigsaw puzzle.

Port sewing her jaw together with a metal cord was a moment that stuck with me pretty well. As well as Protoca falling fifty feet and pulping her own legs on impact with the floor. We really don't fluff the battle damage in the Port game very much, so I really only remember the fights in general terms.
Played it once, it's a good system for a one shot with some pals. System is simple, fights are varied in objective and generally fun, character creation is fast and can lead to some interesting combos.
surprise russian

Also Aida's pretty good at jumping.
I'm reading these threads right now, anyone's got suggestions for fitting music?
I haven't had the time to read through Gravel Anon's story yet due to work, but I've had success with the Brigador OST for more future feeling/dystopian music. For more traditional horror, The House On Fata Morgana has some absolutely stellar tracks.
There was a time where one of our dolls managed to survive a fight after being reduced to essentially a hand gripped around the trigger of a flamethrower, stuck in the sleeve of a torn coat.
I still don't know how we put her back together after that.

I wonder what reinforcement parts and skills Buinov does have.
>Most of them had their chests and bellies burst, their skin dried and hardened in a manner that projected their skin upwards, as if the explosions from inside them created beautiful flowers of dried skin. Truly, works of art.

Oh dear.
I've got music by Aviators stuck in my head.

So I've been reading this while "losing control" cycles over and over in my noggin.
>the curtain is ripped open to grace the girls with a foul smell as they gaze upon a tub half-filled with still water, but also, more concerningly, a mound of sand – fleshy, riddled with holes, but sand. There’s more bugs moving inside the holes.
>Nobody cares for this, although Altina’s passing comment that it looks like *meat sand* piques Aida’s curiosity enough for the little cannibal bomb to carve a bit of it out of the tub to chew on as they head out to keep exploring, at which point they get to see yet more bugs panicking and scurrying away – the more they inspect the house, the more bugs they seem to find. Aida’s culinary sampling of the meat sand as they carefully head up the *incredibly* creaky staircase reveals it to merely taste like dirt, albeit coated in some sort of resin – there’s no real taste to it except being a sticky nuisance for her teeth.

I'm not even sure what this is supposed to be but you've definitely managed to make it seem gross.

So good job conveying some aspects of the substance and evoking an emotional response from a reader, though perhaps a bit more detail would make it easier to imagine what it is.
As far as I recall, we never got to see them on the battlefield. I might be wrong, but I think that information's only in the GM's notes.

That's honestly what was there, double checking the logs. They could've added more detail on the meat sand to fill things out, but the house inspection was, honestly, kind of slightly repetitive wheel-spinning. I ended up suggesting they could by and large skim it, so it wasn't likely to get that treatment.
I think this is the first time since session 1 I've been worried for part of the A-Team that isn't Ana.
>This, however, is something of a mistake as Altina grabs hold of her, beaming madly, and cheerfully tells her “Welcome to hell!” before leaping away with surprisingly strong legs and dragging the savant with her straight into The Fuck Zone, where any and all friendly dolls can consume a bitch. “Let’s show her a lovely time, girls!”

What combination of parts let Altina drag the worshiper with her into another zone of the map?

Or did Altina boost the worshipper into the sector of the map with Aida and Alexis in it, then move on her own to join them?
In the end I went with Perturbator, it works for me
Altina's build was... inadvisable. Which is to say, despite trying to be a dedicated attacker, she was a pure Romanesque. Since we used Blast From the Past material, she had Two to Tango as one of her skills, letting her take herself and a target up to two zones away.

The mental image of a chibi jedi kicking a malfunctioning bomb droid to help it explode makes me giggle like an idiot.
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>Two to Tango as one of her skills, letting her take herself and a target up to two zones away.

Perhapse I should start looking into 3rd party skills.
Specifically, she can move them two zones because of pure classing. The BFtP special skill for Roma makes all Move maneuvers gain 1 maximum range. But Two to Tango is definitely a fun and useful skill.

Update after consultation: Buinov definitely has a Shovel, inspecting the logs, but the stats of Buinov and Vulovic are from a very old time where the GM used a different program/system. He's not even sure they still exist. Can't really do better than that.
An excellent choice.
One of the many good sources of music I discovered through a videogame soundtrack.

How do you guys do combat?

Do you run through the battle mechanically first, then go back and fill in the narrative details of what happened, or do you do both at the same time?
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Thanks for the info.

>where the GM used a different program/system

Do you mean something like Chummer.exe for shadowrun 4th edition or GURPS Character Assistant 4 for GURPS that helps you build characters and keep track of things?

Or more a spreadsheet editor like Calc or Microsoft Excel?
My process is basically to find a chunk of mechanical interaction - hopefully with someone saying something in it - and then turn that into its own paragraph. I adapt any fluff that happened mid-fight into my own writing or, if things were getting a bit glossy at the moment, come up with my own details for how the interactions played out in-universe. For example, Altina's Cover was often just declared, so I decided that it was suppressive laser fire because that was sensible enough.

I just keep at that until I get the feeling the fight was in mop-up mode or I feel like I've run out of decent ways to describe the visceral damage that marks Nechronica combat, then I summarize the rest in one closer paragraph. I figure it strikes a decent balance between showing how the fight progressed and not bogging things down.

He used to use Excel or an Excel-adjacent program, from what I recall. What he uses now I'm not 100% sure. But I do remember some of his early stuff being in that format. There's no Nechronica equivalent to Chummer that I'm aware of.
This thread seems to have some creative people in it. Could you contribute some ideas for Antarctic monsters to this ( >>73800029 ) thread?

>My process is basically to find a chunk of mechanical interaction - hopefully with someone saying something in it - and then turn that into its own paragraph. I adapt any fluff that happened mid-fight into my own writing or, if things were getting a bit glossy at the moment, come up with my own details for how the interactions played out in-universe. For example, Altina's Cover was often just declared, so I decided that it was suppressive laser fire because that was sensible enough.

So when your group does combat do you do it over voice chat or do you declare actions via text?

Is this the kind building I should be imagining for the bar BOTECO RITA?
When we're doing combat in session, we've come to use voice chat to speed up planning and declaration a little. But it's still considered good to actually type out your declaration in the chat for future reference, and the fluffing does happen over text, because that's how we play.

As for how Rita's bar looks, it's one of the few non-scrap buildings in that part of town. Concrete with a little porch/patio - presumably kind of plain because the infrastructure is apocalyptic African stuff, which is, if not as low tier as things get, then pretty damn close. The general feel of that image is likely on the mark, however.

Her whole body screams "doll".
Kuku is an interesting example of a savant or damaged doll trying to carry on after the death of her master.

>A fridge at the opposite end of the office contains a box of a dozen.

Refrigerated eggs? Is your GM American?
Brazilian, actually. It ends up explaining a few things about the setting. But those details are a ways off.
I am enjoying the storytime very very much.

Thank you for including Alexis for as long as she lasted.

It sucks when players flake on you.
I'm too drunk for this thread.

>AP tracker going up to 25 AP

Jesus Christ. I am both horrified and curious as to what madhouse of a battle would include something with that much AP. The max 15 the normal battlemap provides has always been more than enough for my purposes.
You'll sleep it off
Based fujo
Alright, I gotta ask, what the hell's up with all this Fujo/Nechronica association I keep seeing lately? There was that one thread a while back where the guy joined a game and, surprise, it was all fujos, and now it keeps being mentioned here. I don't follow Discord or whatever this is going on at so I'm totally at a loss. Has it suddenly become a constant, major thing, or is it just good ol' /tg/ autism?
100% 'tism. If it was an issue some time in the past, it hasn't even been brought up for like a year.

It is just "good" ol' /tg/ autism.

Could see it for a big bad enemy that needs to significantly out speed dolls to do stuff, but for PCs? That's honestly absurd and makes defends and such practically pointless.
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I'll submit this thread to sup/tg/ in a bit.

Thank you very much both GravelAnons.

Had you guys Gained any memories by this point or no?

I'm guessing you've been relying on lots of conversation checks to try to remove up to your starting memory limit in madness points between combats.

Had the GM thrown madness checks or spirit attacks at you yet?
We had; session three is when we picked them up. Everyone woke up with one. Adrian getting Sweet Lips was part of what made her decide she and Rita had spent the night having fun after all the drinking. No one really had any particular reaction to their fragments though; I think because we might not have gotten anything specific written for them. Made it pretty much impossible to get that across in the story. There's some excellent stuff related to the handling of memory fragments, but we're gonna take a while to get there.

As to madness, I cite again just how long ago this game was run. Madness hadn't been retranslated at that point, so the rule of the day was that only new fetters came in at 3, as opposed to starting at 3 on every fetter. It definitely helped the early success the dolls saw. Most of our group has abysmally shit luck, so having rerolls available to them tends to be vital to their continued physical survival.

Some madness checks got thrown at the party for seeing the state of the bugged guerrillas, but I think that was it so far. The threats had been physical for the most part up to this point.
>Unless I'm much mistaken, this is actually the session where Alexis' player does a flip and pretty much vanishes entirely.

So is this the last we see of Alexis the jedi AND Ana the mule (the latter an NPC) or does Ana stay?

>There was a time where one of our dolls managed to survive a fight after being reduced to essentially a hand gripped around the trigger of a flamethrower, stuck in the sleeve of a torn coat.

>I still don't know how we put her back together after that.

Damn. Which game was that?
Ana might occasionally crop up in roleplay parts, but as I recall she vanishes pretty thoroughly. Alexis sticks around, but only because she was used as a fourth body in combats. We were given control over her and how her favor was spent, so you'll still see her cutting things up or using force powers. She'll just be doing it in silence and without any cheeky antics. So, essentially, yes. Alexis is gone and she's been replaced by a floating lightsaber that somehow learned to use the force.
>Damn. Which game was that?
It was a game that hasn't been storytimed here yet, I just thought you were asking for general input.

>I just thought you were asking for general input.

I was. I think that Anon just got excited.

Thank you for sharing.
The Thread is archived to sup/tg/

Have you ever changed the layout of the battle map to fit the situation?
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Sadly don't have the map anymore but this was the final boss for a campaign and it had the ability to flip the battle map, which would change the position of the PCs but leave it in place.
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>Sadly don't have the map anymore but this was the final boss for a campaign and it had the ability to flip the battle map, which would change the position of the PCs but leave it in place.

Did the final boss have backup?
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Can someone convert this pumpkin face into a black and white or grey scale nechronica token please?

I need it for reasons.
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After seeing that I now believe plant parts with faces on them are an underutilized form of body horror.
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not sure I like these but here you go.

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