Recent Statuses

5 days ago
Current Wondering what modern genres could be considered "pulp," IOW written quickly for profit, sold cheaply in mass numbers. Romance is a long running good example. Seen a lot of military scifi ebooks.
1 like
10 days ago
Furiously packing. Oh, for the days when everything I'd need for a week would fit in one backpack.
15 days ago
"I really like the old pulps. Why did I stop reading them?" *picks up issue of The Shadow* *reads Walter Gibson ranting about the Chinese* "Oh, right ..."
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18 days ago
Scheduling my first job interview done via Zoom. If I understand the internet correctly, I'm required to have a cat who will intrude on camera. Does the candidate provide the cat or the employer?
25 days ago
Urge to join "just one more" RP wars with the knowledge that I will regret it when they're all clamoring for text and I have no mental energy left.


Mid-forties. Old enough to know better, yet here I am.

Falling out of love with dice as I get older. Getting tired of putting effort into scenes only to have them fall apart because of a bad roll.

Most Recent Posts

"I do not know if these are right words in English but... dangerous animals? Are there any?"

"Weeellll ... yes and no. We got bears - black bears - some wolves and a few cougars. But they're mostly used to people by now and they stay well away from us. Just make a lot of noise and you'll be fine. There's moose, but they're only dangerous if you're driving. We've got snakes and such, even a few rattlesnakes, but with this ..."

She kicks at the snow.

"I figure anything cold-blooded has gone into hiding by now. Don't go poking under logs or picking up rocks and you shouldn't even see them. Hopefully, the cold has killed off the ticks and mosquitos, too. So ... make noise to scare off the big things, don't stick your hand into someplace a little thing could be hiding, and you'll be safe."
'Miss Hattie, was it?' she asked the older woman. 'Um, I think I would like to borrow some of those gloves and scarves, if that's okay.'

"Of course, sweetheart. Lemme just grab some out of the truck."

Hattie stomps over to a battered but serviceable pickup truck. The old red paint carries over to a faded cap, inside of which are visible several dog cages. Hattie rifles through a canvas bag of clothing and comes out with a bundle of scarves and gloves.

"Here we go. You're a small thing, just like me, so I think I can fit you just right. Here's a scarf ..."

It's obviously hand-knit, silver and bright blue, a mixture of wool, synthetic fibers and dog hair.

"... had someone on Etsy order a Ravenclaw scarf for their daughter, but she switched to Gryffindor right at the end. Kids. Here's a pair of gloves ..."

Deerskin - literal deer hide - gloves, hand-stitched.

"Made these for myself as a project, ended up never using them. They're lined with thinsulate, but at my age you need a bit more than that."

She passes them over and turns towards the man with the walkie talkie.

"Alright, Jake, we're here. What are our marching orders this time?"

"Bloody buggering hell,"

"I believe your uncle would be horrified to hear you use such language ..."

Chesa came around Opportunity's side and caught sight of the bleeding remains.

"God of Cathay ... Killed by a single slash to the throat. This doesn't bode well. We're not the first -- although, judging by the wound, we're not far behind. We must hurry now. It's almost certain that whoever did this is after the journal as well."

Chesa waved Alcander and Pierre onto the catwalk.

"I will climb down the netting to the control car, that's the easiest way into the main areas of the zepplin. The rest of you follow me as soon as I get the door open. I will be sweet-talking the pilot, and I may need the back-up."

Chesa deftly swung herself over the catwalk railing and seized the netting with one hand. Once again more monkey than woman, Chesa ignored the howling winds and scampered down and under the gasbag to where the control car jutted out. With two hands gripping the netting, Chesa applied her feet to the great handle of the door. Twisting and shifting, she finally gained the proper leverage, pushing the far end down with one foot and pulling with the other. The door flew open, caught by the winds. Chesa flung herself inwards ...

... only to tumble head over heels when her feet came down on something slippery. She came to a stop as her shoulder slammed into a console, and she shakily looked around her. The floor of the control car was slick, and red.

She found herself staring at the remains of a pilot. He would not require sweet-talking after all.

"... we may have a problem."
So where do we go from here?

Should we examine the body, climb down the side of the gasbag and enter the zepplin?

Meeting any new PCs inside the zepplin?

Hattie didn't bother pulling down her scarf or taking off her mittens before shaking Hank's hand.

"Hi, Jake. It's Hattie under here. We'll find him, even if I have to go fetch my dogs."

"Hi, I am Kurosaw- Hanako Kurosawa. Not the best way to meet new people, is it?"

"Take whichever way you can get, hun. Not many new people in a town like this, at least not any that stick around. Name's Hattie Durlin, I live out towards the reservation."

Hattie stomps her booted feet to knock off the dirty snow. "You'd think with all this blasted muck on the ground, it'd be easy to find tracks. Course, if the poor bastard has any sense, he's hold up someplace keeping warm and not making tracks. Guess it's not gonna be that simple."

She trows a glance at the rest of the group. "I got spare gloves and scarves in my truck if anybody needs a pair. Can't swear they'll fit right, but it's better than losing a finger or a nose to frostbite."

Arghhh. Is this going to become one of those stupidly accurate military history stories where we spend paragraphs describing our " Lee–Enfield bolt action magazine fed blah blah blah ..."

If that's the case, then Chesa is carrying the "YX-350 Wind Horse" rifle, manufactured by yetis in the secret Tibetan factory. It fires special bullets made of compressed yak's milk and is powered by tantric magic.
That's probably the last update I'll be able to do until I'm back from vacation on Sunday. Feel free to fill in around it.
"It is getting stuffy in here. Why don't you open the door, Opportunity?"

With a nod and a heave, Opportunity Knox threw open the cargo bay door. Instantly cargo area was lashed by the frigid winds of high altitude. Chesa tightened the harness of her parachute one last time.

"A sherpa once told me, when crossing a rope bridge, never to look down. And when you have to look down, never look away. Let us face this together, my friends, and not look away."

Chesa raised the weighted end of the rope and marched towards the open bay. With a full-body twist, she flung the heavy end down towards the cruising zepplin. Somewhere down below came a faint *clank* as the weight snagged on part of the airbag frame. Chesa gives the rope one last yank to be sure that it is secured to the plane, then - with a trilling battlecry - slid down the silken length.

The rope swung and shook like a living thing in the high winds between the airship and the flying boat. Gripping the rope with both hands and toes, Chesa lowered herself like one of the macaques from her homeland. Hand over hand, foot by foot, the tiny woman lowered herself along the thrashing length. Finally he feet touched the airbag.

Fingers used to the Himilayas had no problem with the cold winds around the zepplin. In moments, the rope was securely fastened to a spar. Jack Buchanan's level flying and the steady pace of the zepplin kept the rope taut. With a shake, Chesa sent a signal back up the rope.

@Xacha Not actually familiar with the gent, but I'm getting general notion now.

Think Batman, then. Doc Savage was where Bob Kane and Bill Finger got the idea for the utility belt and "those wonderful toys".
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